voice..test....ing.......

[silmarils]

'Tis a cruel title to give, my lady. Allow the madness that was my life to rest and be forgotten.

In death, at least, the Oath is no more.

Comments

...omg!

[silvertree]

Fate itself was cruel enough to you.

sldkfjasd u////u hullo

[silmarils]

I made my fate when I swore. I knew even then that darkness would follow me the rest of my days.

well "hi" there!

[silvertree]

And now you linger amongst us in regret.

8')

[silmarils]

I simply linger. Regret is a notion for those who have hope of absolution.

[bemerry]

Given as I don't know it, I suppose there isn't much that needs to be rested and forgotten on my part.

[ Merry resists the temptation to smoke, those he still bites at his pipe stem, hankering to light his bowl. Elves usually don't like the smell of pipeweed, and Merry doesn't mind being courteous about it. ]

The shire's a nice place to rest and learn to love the little things, if you need it.

Big folk tend to forget the simple things.

[silmarils]

[ .. what..? as small as a child, not so broad as one of the naugrim. then again, even in his life, he hardly saw everything, every creature there was to see, and he's given to understand that it's been a very, very long time since he lived. ]

Likely for the best.

[ a slight quirk of his mouth that might be a smile were it not so exhausted. ] And is that your home? This shire you speak of.

[bemerry]

Aye, it is. Well, technically Buckland isn't part of the Shire proper, but it counts.

[ He can read the exhaustion on his face, and it scares him a bit. Too much like Frodo, in the months leading up to his decision to sail. As though little pieces of him were falling, fading away.

He doesn't know this elf, and Merry still can't help but not want him to slip through his fingers like grains of water. ]

That still doesn't speak to the little things. Like a good song, or a quiet evenin' spent with family and good company.

[ Sometimes, Merry can be deeply perceptive, though whether it is a result of his greater maturity, the ent-draught, or his greater experiences, he could not say. Regardless of where the skill seemed to have come from, this elf screamed lonely in a way even Lothlorien couldn't even manage. ]

You should join me for food. It's about time for a meal, anyways.

[ Not untrue, since all times were almost mealtimes, if a hobbit could help it. ]

<3

[inafadingcrown]

[Somehow, she always thought she'd be angry still, if she ever saw her cousins again. But the anger has long since burned out and she's left with...sorrow. Regret that things happened as they did.]

Such gentle words, cousin. [Can you blame her for her surprise? Her most recent memories of him are less than pleasant.]

asldkfj u/////u be gentle i'm still canon-reviewing

[silmarils]

The Silmarils have passed from reach. The foolish words of youth surely no longer bind me.

[ --as for the things he's done.. there's nothing to be said, no forgiveness to be had, and so no mention. ]

/gently touches. I'm starting a re-read myself, it's cool

[inafadingcrown]

[She nods, choking down a few little barbs that spring to mind. "I told you so" is certainly one of them, with regards to the Oath. But there's little satisfaction in sparring with the dead.]

Have you found some measure of peace?

[bythewaves]

...Brother?

[silmarils]

Macalaurë. [ this he least expected, to see one of his brothers here.

he lifts his hand, touching hesitant fingers to the fall of maglor's hair as if to be certain he's real. ] .. I did not think to see you again.

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor is torn between too many emotions. He wants to weep and rejoice and rail in anger. Instead, you can have a sobbing laugh, and a hand reaches up but doesn't quite dare to touch, as if afraid you'll disappear if he does ]

Is it really you, or have I gone mad at last? Does Mandos so easily release the Dispossesed, now?

[lastoftheline]

The oath, perhaps, might be no more, the but rest of us remain, must live on with the consequences, uncle. [Celebrimbor's face is an odd mixture. Anger was there aplenty, but also grieving sort of nostalgia, the memory of a time when his family hadn't inspired anger, but rather happiness.]

[silmarils]

So you must, and so you shall. I ask for no forgiveness. [ he doesn't want it. to want it would be to think, perhaps, that he deserves it, and he knows far better.

better still had he called the everlasting darkness on himself after the first kinslaying, at the burning of the ships. he'd known then what madness he'd called upon himself, and how hopeless the oath was. ]

[lastoftheline]

[Celebrimbor almost wishes that Maedhros had not been understanding. That he had instead defended his choices, had shown Celebrimbor anger. That what, he could have responded in kind and hid behind his temper. But quiet agreement and grief is all he gets and his own hot anger drains away instead, leaving him cold, with that same sadness overcoming him.]

[He looks on at Maedhros, who had been one of his favorite of his uncles, and sighs.]

The oath...You knew you knew the evil it caused. Why didn't you stop?

[darkenemyoftheworld]

[ A terrible and familiar shadow falls upon you, Maedhros.]

SO WE MET AGAIN, FOREMOST OF THE SONS OF FEANOR. HOW WONDERFUL IT IS TO SEE THAT YOU ARE STILL IN TORMENT AFTER ALL THESE AGES...

[silmarils]

Morgoth. [ no. no, no, no. old scars ache at the sound of that voice, hand clenching around the stump of his wrist. ] You have no place here. You were bound. [ and maedhros died. this place defies such things. ]

[darkenemyoftheworld]

INDEED I WAS BUT NO LONGER. A MORTAL HEART IS EASY ENOUGH TO PERSUADE TO BREAK CHAINS AND OPEN A DOORWAY OF ESCAPE FROM THE VOID... AND NOW I AM FAR OUT OF THE REACH OF MY SIBLINGS AND EVEN FROM THE ONE HIMSELF, FREE ONCE AGAIN TO REMAKE ALL THINGS IN MY IMAGE! THE SO-CALLED WAR OF WRATH WAS ALL FOR NAUGHT, BOTH THE VALAR'S GLORY AND THAT OF THE ELDAR HAVE LONG SINCE FADED FROM THE WORLD WHILE THE DARKNESS OF I AND MY SERVANTS STILL REMAINS STRONG. SO IN THE END, I AM THE VICTOR AS I ALWAYS KNEW I WOULD BE.

/flails

[thingol]

[Oh good. That's one less of you to worry about.

Erm. I mean.

It's not personal, you Kinslaying bastards.

...Switching to dialogue now.]

It seems a fitting title, at least. Perhaps it will be a lesson to you and your kin.

[What? He's the frikking self-titled Lord of Beleriand. He doesn't have to be polite.]

C:

[silmarils]

'Tis somewhat late for lessons.

I am sorry he is kind of a knight templar about his folks. His mun loves Maedhros.

[thingol]

Perhaps, then, you have forgotten what your kin did to mine at Alqualondë. I have not, and I will not. Even after death, in Mandos, you will hear of your mistakes and you will learn. Only when the Valar themselves are satisfied with you will you have my forgiveness, son of Fëanor.

<< OMG yes.

[morgoth]

[ Morgoth's thin lips curve in a wicked, knife-sharp smile. One that doesn't reach or warm the coldness of his eyes, or reveal the pale tips of his perfect teeth. But there is a certain tightness to the fine skin around his eyes, around the corners of his mouth, that suggest a sort of joy. A sort of harsh, ugly satisfaction. ]

My desire for the Silmarils is almost second to my appreciation for what your father's madness for them wrought. And to think how well you played the part, spreading the stain of that singular evil, like blood soaking through the fibers of fine cloth. Tell me, Maedhros, when burning the trees of Doriath and bringing low the citadel at Menegroth, and your sword ran red with the blood of innocents, did you ever stop to think that you were doing the same work your armies during the Battle of Unnumbered Tears sought to prevent?

[ His lips twist, sneering, and his voice goes velvet-soft and disquietingly intimate. ]

The irony was certainly not lost upon me.

alskdjf oh gosh ///////

[silmarils]

[ it's one thing to face morgoth across a battlefield, but this--? this is far, far too much like the years he spent as his hostage. maedhros can't leave, trapped as certainly as if he's in chains again. his scars ache, his wrist feels like it's on fire, and morgoth has too much experience picking him apart, tearing away his defenses. he had survived the evil vala and his imprisonment on thangorodrim, but he'd never been the same. it had been one long, slow descent into darkness afterward.

he clenches his hand around the stump of his wrist, jaw tight. ]

There is nothing more you can say, fiend. [ nothing he can say that maedhros himself hasn't already thought. he'd never felt justified in what he'd done, but-- the oath wouldn't be denied. ] We both received our rewards.

Re: alskdjf oh gosh ///////

[morgoth]

[ Morgoth's invisible power rose around them both. It was a choking heaviness, the flash of terrors that rose unbidden behind one's eyelids with every half-moment blink, the stench of old battlefields and death and the deep, ever-burning fires of the earth. His eyes gleamed like slivers of volcanic obsidian, hard and cold and careless, knowing what sentiments twisted in Maedhros' mind. But his voice, when he speaks, is honeyed and warm, rubbing viscerally over skin like the soft press of living fur. Velvety and luxurious. He leans very close, then, towering over the elf, his stare hard and unblinking. ]

I need say nothing, boy. For I have known you as none other shall; and when I tired of you, I lay you out to hang on the rock of the mountainside to waste away, for you were not fit to be rent under the weight of Grond or to be pierced with the metal of my sword. No, I need say nothing. My presence is enough, and it pleases me just to feel how you shudder in my shadow.

[ He does not smile, but his upper lip curls, as if in a repressed snarl, his nostrils wrinkling as if in distaste of Maedhros before him. ]

Have we, son of Feanor? It seems your mun may yet be intent on pitting you against a longer future. If that is so, your final reward may yet be coming. Could you survive it if once again I bent and broke your body and mind?