speed now this feathered shaft (open)

[utulien_aure]

Who: Fingon and open
What: Fingon makes his preferred weapon
When: Egret 5-6
Where: you seek him here, you seek him-ok, seriously, it's just various places on the train
Warnings: None

the bowyer's art
So the last time they were planet-side, Fingon brought a bunch of wood back to the train.

(So if you saw it in his bunk, Cabin 2D, congratulations- you now have an explanation as to why it was there. Hopefully the new dead tree husk roommate wasn't too weird.)

A few weeks in, it's dry enough to work with, and Fingon couldn't be more delighted. He stations himself in the standard coach with the wood and a borrowed knife, and gets to work. Over time, the main project takes shape- a wooden bow, expertly carved. The rest of the wood is shaped into smaller shafts for arrows.

At the end, he idly fingers a few strands of hair. The knife comes up- and now he has a bow string. Maybe more for arrow fletching, if that will work.

Not a bad bit of work, he thinks as the project comes together. Not given what he has to work with. Now, where to test it....

practice makes perfect

For lack of better options, he ends up in the gymnasium to test his work. A spare scrap of wood makes a makeshift target as he bends the bow back and aims.

One, an arrow sings though the air. Two, calls the next. Three.

He considers things. Not bad- all the arrows made their target, and the bow works well. But would it work as well on something like the ice planet? On whatever else they might face?

Comments

practice makes perfect

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin enters the gymnasium in time to see Fingon place one, two, three arrows in the target.

"NIce shots!" he says.

[utulien_aure]

Fingon shrugs.

"Not exactly a challenge," he notes. "A limited range, no adjusting for wind.... Until we land on another world, I'll have no idea how they really fare."

He likes other kinds of surprises, sure; but this potential one rankles. Fingon is a Noldo, after all; he likes to know his tools as well as the rest of them.

[so_dark_a_road]

"True enough," agrees Curufin. "It'll be the next mission that'll prove your bow's worth. But I don't doubt for a moment that it's a good bow. You always were a good craftsman, and I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

[utulien_aure]

"Well," he gives wry smile. "Not when the material is wood, at least."

Because Curufin is probably too young to remember stories about Fingon's attempts at metal, but Fingon only wishes he was.

(Maedhros and Maglor probably do, though. Possibly so does Feanor, though odds are he felt sorrier for the poor forge than for his nephew.)

"Is there word on that front, yet?"

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin smiles back. "I guess we won't be going hunting for antelope horn anytime soon. I think we're stuck with wood, at least for the time being."

Curufin wouldn't care even if he knew about Fingon's attempts at metalsmithing. He considers Fingon a very competent person, and he always has thought so.

"Word on what front? Do you mean on our next mission?"

[utulien_aure]

"Yes," Fingon sighs. "You'd think that if the train wouldn't let us bring along our weapons, it would at least assist us in doing more than scavenging what we can."

Why, train? It shouldn't be hard to let them off for something that isn't emergency on occasion.

"That's exactly what I mean." (Because his writer has never been timely in her life.)

[so_dark_a_road]

"I would hope so," agrees Curufin. "I did find it inconvenient that the train allowed me my tool satchel with ten of my most often used tools, but didn't allow me my sword forged from meteoric iron. Luckily, I did snag some swords from that goblin-infested planet, and they're adequate, but not as good as my own. I'd be REALLY appreciative if the train would set us down on some peaceful planet that has loads of iron ore and lots of nice brick to build a forge fire kiln. And gives us a month of vacation time there."

He thinks. "Some basic information about the next mission was posted on voidtreckernet yesterday. Not anywhere near as much info as I'd want." (Timeliness is overrated, in Curufin's writer's opinion! Besides, she's not timely either. XD)

the bowyer's art

[unfavorableinstigation]

There's a young woman reading in the corner - though as the cutting goes on, Nita focuses less and less on the book and more on the maestro at work.

"... Is your hair really that strong?" she can't help but ask, once he gets to that point? She sounds more impressed than dubious.

[utulien_aure]

Fingon chuckles and looks up at his questioner.

"Hair is of the same substance as teeth and claws. Why would it not be as strong?"

His hands keep moving as he talks: straightening the cut strands, lining them up, and beginning to twist them around each other. When he's finished, the knife flashes again to cut a few more and the process begins again.

"The trouble is less the strength than the width. But that can be solved with the right technique."

[unfavorableinstigation]

Keratin, Nita knows.

"True, but it'd suck if it got split-ends or something, wouldn't it?"

Granted, if you solved the width problem, you'd probably be fine...

[utulien_aure]

"Well, yes," Fingon agrees. "But one always has trouble with substandard materials."

He smiles, and gives an exaggerated toss of his head- emphasizing the long dark braids the rest of his hair is caught in.

"Besides, my family has always had a certain amount of good fortune with our hair. We even tend to be named for it."

Which is... a bit of an exaggeration, but actually entirely accurate in his case.

[unfavorableinstigation]

Nita's look shifts back to bemused.

"Good fortune, or just good looking, though? Though if it saves your life, that still probably counts as both..."

[utulien_aure]

"Most of the Eldar prefer fairer hair than mine," he shrugs. "Gold or silver, or on rare occasions both. One of my cousins is famous for the last- though I've never known why she was singled out, when her brothers have the same hair."

All the time he talks, the hair-rope comes together, twined again and again until it reaches the right thickness.

"But using hair is an old trick. It was used for our first sutures, and our first thread. And when I was growing up, there was a tapestry in my grandfather's house made by his first wife, made entirely from their hair. His was dark and hers was silver, so she bound them together to show the light of the stars."

[unfavorableinstigation]

Something itches at the back of Nita's brain - she should know who he's talking about - but it's not someone she's met, alas, so the opportunity slips by.

(Her sister would probably laugh.)

"That does sound beautiful, though, that tapestry. And hair's a more immediately available substance than plants, too."

Since plant fibers were the other most obvious source.

[utulien_aure]

Nita will have time to figure it out. Eru knows the family's not secretive (if anything, it's a little too prone to airing its dirty laundry in public).

"I am not sure the plants then could be used easily, to be honest. When the Needlewoman began her craft, most of the ones I know did not yet exist. The Eldar may love starlight, but most of the Earth Queen's creations favor a brighter source."

[unfavorableinstigation]

Nita snorts, settling back in her seat some.

"Brighter how? Kind of hard to see any one of the elements as brighter than a star, let alone a universe full of them."

She may be misinterpreting the remark, there.

[utulien_aure]

Well to be fair, the sun is a fruit is not the explanation anyone who doesn't live in Arda expects to hear. About anything.

"Bright they might be," he agrees, "but Elentari fixed her creations far away indeed. It was only when the Sun and Moon were made and fixed in the heavens that the world beyond Aman had the sustenance to burst into flower."

[unfavorableinstigation]

And thus, Nita remembers who she's talking to. Tolkien, why must you be so strange?

"... I think I know what you mean. Sorry for that; I misunderstood. Usually the Powers of creation I know were a little less- centered? On one location."

Granted, she'd been looking at the greater picture for much of the history. Then there'd been places like Ireland...

[utulien_aure]

...Well he tried to bring Middle Earth in line with scientific principles... it just made things more complicated....

"Most of the Ainur never descended to Ea," he says, now stopping his work to meet her eyes. There's a look to his gaze which resembles nothing so much as a man puzzling out a difficult mathematics proof.

"Their siblings told us as much when we questioned them. That some might have gone elsewhere, before or after the Valar and Maiar descended... no, that does not surprise me."

[unfavorableinstigation]

So, like Ireland, then.

Frankly, that just made too much sense.

"So there may be a few more worlds 'related' to yours... that you just don't know about?"

What a way to find out about the larger multiverse, huh?

[utulien_aure]

....Well.... it really depends on how much you believe Tolkien when he says he didn't source things from Ireland....

Fingon tilts his head to the side, considering.

"Possibly. The Valar are what they are; when they are called to be something else... well. Let us say they do not manage so well. To speculate on what might be happening elsewhere might be difficult for them."

[unfavorableinstigation]

Nita snorts, though she immediately tries to school her expression back to something serious.

"I get what you mean there. It wouldn't just be the Valar who have that problem, then..."

An actual explanation for how Isis had gotten away with what she did.

[utulien_aure]

There's a few moments of silence while Fingon just watches her.

"You've seen a great deal," he observes at the last. "More than any mortal of your age at home, I think. More than ever may; the Valar do not seem intent on speaking with Men in their own voices."

Which is not strictly true, actually, but no one's bothered to fill him in on Tuor yet. Maybe not ever.

[unfavorableinstigation]

Nita looks genuinely surprised, hearing something like that from Fingon.

Like she'd thought they'd be harder to impress, or some silly notion like that. Nita quietly shakes that thought off.

"We find the Powers in the strangest places, back home. But the most important voice is the one that sounds like ours, in the back of our heads. The one that hardly speaks."

Doubting one's intuition could get you killed, in so many ways.

The Bowyer's Art

[castintoflames]

His crafty, sweet cousin! Maedhros leans against the door-frame of his cabin, scarred features tender with open affection. They know it goes deeper than that; it always has, but for one reason or another, they had to keep it secret. Exhaling, he enters the cabin and lays a hand on Fingon's shoulder, bending to kiss his cheek.

"It's lovely, Finno."

[utulien_aure]

He looks up at his cousin, a small smile on his face.

"It is not going badly," he agrees. "But I do wish I had better tools than a knife I borrowed from your brother."

[castintoflames]

"I can ask Atar to -" he hesitates and kisses Fingon gently, a sweet press of their lips, "Or Tony. You will have a kit either way for your arrows."

[utulien_aure]

"Hush you," he chides absently, choosing to ignore the first name that came to mind.

"You needn't worry. I'll manage well enough."