I will take that. I will take that over a year since I began this hunt with it eating at me. [And it has been a year or close to that now.
She with her answers that mock her. She who thought she knew and did not, who has sat with another's head in her lap sobbing over her mother and almost wishes she might do the same, but knows it would invite question.
There's a long moment of consideration, of drinking her tea. The immediate answer would be all her anger, her fear, the worst ugly parts racing out to strike and that helps no one.]
Flemeth is first mentioned in the Towers Age. I never asked, and there is nothing to record it but how many of us are recorded? There is no record of my own birth, nor that of my son's yet we live. She has been Flemeth a long time, and it is always Flemeth and daughters and witches.
[Her heart twists as she looks at him, wondering if fate was good enough to give her a son to protect him from her fate.
Certainly her magic wasn't enough alone to have given her a son.]
Perhaps she is bound in some way. There are limits, after all, and she is no longer Mythal entirely if she were slain so easily as a dragon by Cousland and those with him. Spirits can be bound.
[Thranduil would know that better than her, as much as the nature of rifters is something she has tread lightly out of her love of Gwenaëlle.]
no subject
She with her answers that mock her. She who thought she knew and did not, who has sat with another's head in her lap sobbing over her mother and almost wishes she might do the same, but knows it would invite question.
There's a long moment of consideration, of drinking her tea. The immediate answer would be all her anger, her fear, the worst ugly parts racing out to strike and that helps no one.]
Flemeth is first mentioned in the Towers Age. I never asked, and there is nothing to record it but how many of us are recorded? There is no record of my own birth, nor that of my son's yet we live. She has been Flemeth a long time, and it is always Flemeth and daughters and witches.
[Her heart twists as she looks at him, wondering if fate was good enough to give her a son to protect him from her fate.
Certainly her magic wasn't enough alone to have given her a son.]
Perhaps she is bound in some way. There are limits, after all, and she is no longer Mythal entirely if she were slain so easily as a dragon by Cousland and those with him. Spirits can be bound.
[Thranduil would know that better than her, as much as the nature of rifters is something she has tread lightly out of her love of Gwenaëlle.]