thranduil oropherion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rowancrowned) wrote2015-03-22 06:02 pm
rowancrowned) wrote2015-03-22 06:02 pm
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[ there is not hope. there is never hope. this is thedas. ] They resemble Samson more than the creatures, and they retain speech, that means they can be questioned. Torture, so they did not choose to be infected.
A Templar, sheltered and fed and suffering no great injury, of sound body and mind at the start—how many years of a ‘normal’ dosage can they endure before they are unable to complete their duties?
[ stringing together his thoughts, trying to grasp the whole of the issue. ]
Inaction is inaction, due to dithering or plain stupidity. Can Darton be asked to document his inquiries? [ useless, then, all of them. ] Perhaps you might bring it up directly with the Seeker. Perhaps you are being warned off gently, if ineptly.
[ easily: ] The Firstborn. The Quendi. We.
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Perhaps thirty years. [ and there, it finally caves in: fills with the echo of something grown hollow. ] Thirty-five. Less, more.
[ twenty-five, twenty-six — ]
Gentleness is not within their vocabulary. [ or, evidently, promptness. ] I will have no luck of Darton — there is ill feeling, and he imagines to retain a claim to rank. You might approach him, though you should not attempt to handle Reed. He mistrusts you.
I've acquired a Maedhros and a Fingon, [ tall elves. ] Am I correct in assuming them your kin?
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[ it occurs to him that he knows nothing about wren other than her time in the inquisition itself, and he did not have the authority to go snooping for her file back before it was untouchable. a pity, now. ]
Pretentious. [ clearly displeased, but settling before he speaks again. ] For my breed or for my method of arrival?
[ he is utterly detached as he says: ] Fingon by marriage, though further than Galadriel. Maedhros is mad, but even he should hate the red.
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[ a pause. ]
There is something else to the red. [ the notes are all wrong, and there's no way to say that without sounding a madwoman. she won't allow herself to be seen for that, can't. not yet. ] Your arrival, I presume; he has spoken poorly to de Cedoux.
[ galadriel who, that's something to file away. that they all apparently get spooky vibes off of lyrium — ]
What do you sense of it? Between the two?
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[ well, that's something to work with, but he has no reason to interact with that one, and will use intermediaries if needed. but that he was misplaced with de cedoux-- she is as mild-mannered as cream and a lady to her bones. the most inoffensive rifter of them all.
he inhales, prepares to indulge. she cannot fear him more than she does. ]
You must understand some things about us to understand why. Our history is more real than yours; we are old, we are born knowing. There are no half-remembered things, no differing recollections. We know how everything came to be because we speak with those who were there, those who served the One who sang the Music that made all things, those who sang alongside Him.
One of those who sang desired to change the Music, to gain control, to create and to corrupt. He sang in discord, and from this, all awful things were made, and all wretched things carry the echo of that discord. The Quendi were made pure, uncorrupted, unending and eternal. We are the Song, we know the Song, hear it, and through knowing it are able to-- move within in. To sculpt creation on our own.
[ a pause. ]
It is too complicated. You could not understand. But because we know what the harmony ought to be, we know when it is disturbed. When something moves with malice, with evil, with impurity. Something about lyrium itself is distasteful. It-- sings a tune all its own, but it is not wrong, merely unnerving. The red is-- it festers. It is discord.
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[ it trails off. uncertainty has governed the chantry near four years; those who remain can count upon little. privately, that's something of a relief.
because she holds some regard for him, she listens (arrogant needn't mean incorrect). she listens, and hears only what she ever does, of late: ]
Has else here similarly disturbed you?
[ what the harmony ought to be, no. hold your bloody focus, coupe. ]
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[ reluctantly: ]
The Wardens. Like corpses even the vultures would refuse. My cousin feels these things clearer than I, and the revulsion is-- physical.
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It is no wonder the dwarves conspire with the source of all the filth in this world.
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[ her eyes slip shut, hands spread. what the fuck, buddy,
dryly: ]
If the sense lingers, it would tell us something of its nature. I've not particular faith of Gandir, but I much doubt he would balk for the meeting.
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