faemused | Open To Anyone For Anything RP Post

"You do not seem to fear it," she says thoughtfully. "More to defy it. Why is it worse for Curufin?"

"Do I seem so?" He says ruefully. "I'm terrified, Haleth. But unlike Curufin, I'm pretty resigned to it, too. I suppose ... I've always been something of the odd one out. I'm used to not getting what I want. Curufin... he was father's favourite. The baby for the longest time, until the Ambarussa were born. He's used to getting his own way, but he's smart enough to know there's no way this can end well."

For the first time, Haleth feels a stab of sympathy for Caranthir. She is used to thinking of the Firstborn as gifted beyond all others; compassion is not something they have seemed to need, much less merited. Except, in Caranthir's case, on a more personal level, regarding his wishes towards her--but that is a separate matter entirely.

They are already sitting side by side, with his arm around her shoulders; it is not hard for her to reach for his free hand and hold it in hers. His fingers are not so cold as she expected. "What do you fear, and what have you sought that was not given?" she asks. "Tell me of it, if you will.

He is silent a long time, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter than his wont.

"I fear the Dark. The Void, I suppose. I know we are going to fail. We are setting ourselves against one of the Powers themselves, even fallen - how exactly are we supposed to win? Alqualonde demonstrated that the Oath was ill wrought, and will become only more so with time, and yet we cannot break it. Even now, I can feel it gnaw at me, although all of us have become practised at ignoring it - we are none of us keen to replace Maedhros in Thangorodrim! But if we fulfil it not, tis the Everlasting Dark for us, and that... that, I fear. I have known Unlight, Haleth, and the Void must be infinitely worse."

He shrugs awkwardly. "As to things that I have sought... I was always... the odd one. It's in my mothername, even - imagine, if you will, having brothers named for their beauty, for their skill... and yours is no more than a reference to your tendency to blush. I have a temper. I dislike crowds, and yet as a prince I was required to be in them, frequently. Amongst my brothers I do not stand out, and so was often passed over. Only in embroidery was I ever able to find some peace."

What can she say to any of that? The Gift of Men is Death, and it is feared by most. But Haleth can see how even that uncertain Gift would seem a boon in comparison to Everlasting Dark. She considers the Oath to have been a foolish choice in every respect, but it is done and cannot be undone.

There is no advice Haleth can give, no comfort she can offer. Only such understanding as she is capable of, and whatever might be given here and now. She is silent for a long time as she considers his words. "I like your blushes," she says finally. She is still holding his hand, and her thumb brushes lightly along his skin. "And your embroidery is beautiful."

It was foolish, but Caranthir does not regret it - he cannot, for he swore it for love of his brothers and his father, and he loves them still, even when he wants to bash their heads in.

"Thank you." He murmurs, blushing in response. "You are the first to say so. About my blushing, I mean. My brothers prefer to tease."

"That is the way of brothers." She looks up at the sky, thinking about the Gift of Men. "My twin often teased me, saying I was too serious or too blunt, or else so sharp I would cut myself on my own tongue." Her voice is much quieter when she adds, "I would give all I have to hear him tease me thus again, even if it irked me at times."

Haleth understands why Caranthir swore the Oath, foolish as it was.

Edited 2019-02-13 17:36 (UTC)

"I wish I had come in time to save yours." He says quietly. "This war takes too much from all of us."

She sighs and shakes her head. Although her first reaction to Caranthir's arrival in the heat of battle was anger, that was but the desperation of the moment. The Enemy is to blame, not Caranthir, and she will not accept his guilt or regret on account of her dead. He knows it.

She leans back against the wall of the enclosure in which they sit, looking gravely out at the scenery. "My people travelled over the mountains out of the dark country, in search of gods. But we found only more questions, more searching. Perhaps peace is not meant for any of us who live on Arda, little though I like the thought." She sounds younger than she usually does, though also more tired, her usual iron determination set aside for the moment to allow for more quiet musings.

He barks a short sound that is too bitter to be a laugh.

"Having lived amongst the 'gods' you hoped to find, I have to say they are rather less amazing than advertised. I suppose most of them mean well enough, in their own ways, but they were fools to try and hold us, and we were fools to allow them to try." He shrugs, a little bitter.

"But you have the right of it, I think. This is Arda Marred - there is no safety to be truly found anywhere, and what happiness can be found we must make for ourselves."

She shoots him a faintly ironic look, for that last remark seems a little too pointed in her direction, and they have agreed not to discuss it for what remains of the night.

"Sorry." He shrugs. "But the topic is not easy to avoid."

She grimaces a little, but the subject has not left her mind either, for all that it was she who suggested setting it aside. The sky is definitely brightening now, and she watches as the mountains begin to turn from black to a deep blue in the light of the sun rising behind them. "What then would you have, to make your happiness in this imperfect world?" she asks finally. "If I do accept your suit, would you have I and my people join you and yours, where you live? What would you most wish?"

He considers this quietly for a time.

"Not with me." He says finally. "I am too close to the Enemy and I do not wish your people in harms way. And nothing that would compromise your status as Chief. But to be with you, for as long as you will have me, e'en if I must come and go with the seasons. That is my desire."

Even with the question of what he might wish most, he considers her people's safety and her own autonomy. Haleth cannot but be moved by that, and turns her head to kiss him again, lifting her hand to his cheek.

His cheeks heat under her lips, grey eyes shy and fond.

"Haleth?" He asks quietly. "Please do think about it. I would never chain you, but I do love you."

She makes a small noise, a snort of laughter. "You misunderstand. I am wary because I can see how easy it would be to think of nothing else."

This time her kiss is neither brief nor tentative, and her hands tangle in his hair as her mouth catches at his.

"Oh, well, in that case..." He murmurs, and draws her close as she pulls at him in return.

This time she does not stop after but a few moments. This time it is not an experimental kiss, but a fervent one. It is Yuletide, and for an hour she may be only Haleth, setting all duty aside. So she kisses him with as much thoroughness as she puts towards anything she has ever set her mind towards, and with all her attention. The rising sun finally peeks above the mountains before them, but she pays it no mind.

As she kisses him he pulls her closer, one hand tangling in her hair and the other around her waist, kissing her fervently, as if trying to memorise the feel and taste of her, to engrave it on his soul.

She allows this, tugging at him similarly, one hand cradling his face while the other strokes through his hair. It feels wonderful against her fingers, silk-soft, as fine as any fabric he's ever woven. Her breath catches a little at the tightness of his arm around her waist. Cautiously she flicks her tongue out against his, asking silent permission to deepen the kiss further.

He pauses a little at that, shyly opening his mouth, clearly hesitant.

Look he hasn't done this with anyone else before okay.

She knows, or at least suspects, but it is no matter. There is certain irony--or perhaps appropriateness--to having the tables turned, so that she is the teacher for a time. She proves a patient one, unhurried. Her mouth slants across his, her tongue teases in and withdraws, then repeats the motion, small encouraging darts of warmth and wanting.

Shyly he mimics her, learning from her actions, his own tongue pressing forwards to taste her.

She sighs her approval, leaning a little more into the kiss and touching her tongue against his.

and again, the fact that she's making small talk means she *really* likes him

heeeeee

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and again, the fact that she's making small talk means she really likes him