❧ video; 01

[firith]

[ Tiny, delicate little hands are the first sight to be seen when the locket begins to broadcast, closely followed by a pair of bright grey eyes. A fairy flutters from Thranduil's arm to sit on his shoulder and, pointy-eared as he is with a river of pale blonde hair (not to mention a crown of red berries and leaves), they make a fine pair, though neither of them appears particularly human. It isn't locked to one court or another, singularly because he isn't aware it can be, displaying the brilliant golden walls of a private solar in Caer Glaem. A king's chambers.

The feed shuts off abruptly.

Minutes later, it clicks back on to the sound of the tinkling laughter of the same fairy; someone is clearly learning how to use the locket's functions via trial and error. Judging by the first glimpse of him, he needs the practice. The third time he speaks, the message runs along the screen like a river of inked words taking form: A charming tool. And they will be able to respond in kind, you say? I think I will, yes. How do I —? Ah. Thank you, little one.

Fourth time is a charm; the locket is held at arm's length, affording the best view yet of a fascinated elf. ]

I am Thranduil, Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen, that which is the Wood of Greenleaves in the land from whence I hail. I would welcome those with greater knowledge of the Drabwurld and the creatures within it. Well do I understand the nature of being summoned thus — that is not a point of contention for me, as it is with many of you.

[ The fairy shimmers insistently, drawing a glance. ]

Lothdithen will visit any who wish to further discuss with me the matter of the war and lead them to where I will be in the castle until nightfall. The library will suffice with its maps of where we might strengthen this fortress with our differing experience and arts.

[ There is no thanks, no goodbye. The feed simply ends with the tone of one who is not accustomed to bandying idle words. ]

Comments

[lastoftheline]

[Once again Celebrimbor's mind casts back to what Charles had mentioned, a place without magic, where they were nothing but stories. A different place, or merely a different time?

His mind shies away from that though, focusing back on Thranduil.]

The weariness...must have been very great. [His words are quiet. He had rarely felt that weariness himself despite his age, only in the quiet moments as he thought on his family, and wondered what they could have built if they hadn't come in bloodshed and ruin. ]

[firith]

It is not. [ A courteous correction, one that almost surprises himself. ] For therein lie my Arts, of endurance and protection. That the time of the Elves in Arda has passed does not touch me, for I love my realm and people as ardently as ever I have.

[ A dismissive cant of his head. ]

Perhaps in another seven-thousand years I shall feel differently. I may yet. My son has grown restless in Valinor and longs to return to my Halls, so there I will await him and we shall watch from the forest as Men grow.

[lastoftheline]

[The Sindar were meant to endure, after all. He should have known better.]

You are very lucky then. [He vents a small laugh before continuing on,] Somehow I am not surprised that he is bored there. My...[The quickest pause as he glances at Thranduil again, before forging on,] father and uncles would always speak of it with longing, and yet it never appealed to me. We faced so much strife and pain in Middle Earth, but it isn't that what life is? To simply....idle our endless time away, [He shakes his head Even if I simply spent the time forging, what's the point of it, if it won't have a use?

[firith]

[ He catches the faltering, giving no look or comment on it. To bring up Celebrimbor's family and why they haven't any right to miss lands such as Valinor is a can of worms that the Elvenking can do without. ]

I feel much the same. My father was not of the Undying Lands, nor my mother. A paradise has no need for me and I do not tire of life. My realm lies next to a town of Men that has suffered a rise and fall only to return to its former glory like the bricks of an elfling scattered and piled high once more. Peace and idleness are, as you say, very different.

[ A pause. ]

My wife was lost in the woods. I would not yet leave that place.

[lastoftheline]

[Celebrimbor's breath very slowly trickles from between his parted lips, and he nods, carefully as this piece of knowledge is given to him.]

I see, I think. [His voice is soft.]

[OOC: Oh god I forgot it was my turn on this I am so sorry. If you want to drop it, nbd, I understand.]