marriedanidiot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marriedanidiot) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
voidtreckerexpress2020-10-20 12:29 am
marriedanidiot) wrote in voidtreckerexpress2020-10-20 12:29 am
she and Fëanor were companions in many journeys
Who: Nerdanel, Nie Huaisang, anyone who wants to talk to mama elf or look at sculptures
Where: Garden carriage
When: At varying points during this month
What: Noldor, as it turns out, mourn by crafting
Warnings: Grieving for a lost spouse
She tries hard not to allow her grief to swamp her, knowing well how if the waves drag her down, it might be too hard to come back to the surface again. Knowing that she cannot hurt those here, no matter how much she might want to leave.
She's done this before.
She can do it again.
But when even Wangji's quiet, or Ple Two's soft concern, when even Curufin's and Glorfindel's fear pressed close against her are too much, she retreats to the garden.
There she sits amongst the stones and pebbles, and buries herself in her Art, drawing shape and figures out of stone so alive that they might almost breathe and speak, no matter that they are all miniature.
Maedhros already looks up out of stone, and Maglor sits beside him, bent over his harp, almost finished, but she turns now to another, and Feanor's flashing eyes look up out of the piece in her hands.
She will not speak to any unless spoken to first, but ever and anon, a low hum might be heard, just out of the range of hearing, steadiness and grief, fire and earth. A memory, perhaps, of long ago.
Where: Garden carriage
When: At varying points during this month
What: Noldor, as it turns out, mourn by crafting
Warnings: Grieving for a lost spouse
She tries hard not to allow her grief to swamp her, knowing well how if the waves drag her down, it might be too hard to come back to the surface again. Knowing that she cannot hurt those here, no matter how much she might want to leave.
She's done this before.
She can do it again.
But when even Wangji's quiet, or Ple Two's soft concern, when even Curufin's and Glorfindel's fear pressed close against her are too much, she retreats to the garden.
There she sits amongst the stones and pebbles, and buries herself in her Art, drawing shape and figures out of stone so alive that they might almost breathe and speak, no matter that they are all miniature.
Maedhros already looks up out of stone, and Maglor sits beside him, bent over his harp, almost finished, but she turns now to another, and Feanor's flashing eyes look up out of the piece in her hands.
She will not speak to any unless spoken to first, but ever and anon, a low hum might be heard, just out of the range of hearing, steadiness and grief, fire and earth. A memory, perhaps, of long ago.
no subject
"She does, but I wouldn't say she belongs to me, more that we have a bond of friendship. Even if she calls me her master, but that is more of affection than properness. It can just be easier to explain that she's mine to others."
A warm smile is on Willow's face as she approaches in a friendly manner, sitting down nearby, admiring the creations being made.
no subject
"You can speak to her? How lovely. Is it only her in particular or all beasts?"
no subject
She tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear, revealing the pointed tips that often get her mistaken for an elf.
no subject
no subject
"There is one on this train who knows what my people are, I believe he's an elf like you appear to be?" Little does Willow know she's speaking to Curufin's mother.
no subject
"Myself, Lord Glorfindel, my son Curufinwe, and my nephew Findekano."
no subject
"Ah, forgive me but, is Curufinwe by chance the same person I've met called Curufin?" If so, then she could possibly entrust her own secret to Nerdanel as well if that's the same person Willow shares a bond with.
no subject
She gave him that name, after all. He generally will not accept it from anyone else, but from her, he will.
no subject
She had already decided to give her trust to the elves on the train about her kind, so it wasn't a difficult choice to reveal what she is, although her voice becomes more hushed.
"Ah, then for that matter, I can tell you what my people are. We are Phoenixes, but my kind are hunted so I would like this secret kept as such. It is how we understand birds, for we are birds ourselves."
no subject
"I am glad." She tips her head curiously. "I see - then you do not normally look like this?"
no subject
She shakes her head sadly. "Ah, no. We take a form similar to elves in my world out of convenience. Unfortunately I cannot show you here, I would be much too large, but I can tell you that we shine like the sun and radiate the flames of life itself." Her voice is soft, speaking fondly of her people. Then, an idea strikes her. She moves back a little and cups her hands together, breathing into them as a fire in the shape of a magnificent bird with a long flickering tail appears and flutters around.
"Very similar to this, but we aren't always aflame."
no subject
"Thank you for saying so." He is also much more sane than he was by all accounts when alive, but that's neither here nor there.
"Oh!" She leans forwards to look. "How lovely! You must have magnificent plumage."
no subject
"Oh yes, it certainly is. I'm not saying this from bias, but many who are not of my kind have said such things about us when we fly."
no subject
no subject
no subject
"Then we will have to make time, yes? Perhaps we can steal one of the carriages for a moment."
no subject
She had seen some in her world create lifelike statues, but none so real as Nerdanel's.
no subject