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Messages - Tinuvagor

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 5
Lothlórien / Re: Time Won't Let Me
« on: November 18, 2019, 02:23:17 AM »
He nearly asked how one became known as “the wise” when he was so blatantly determined to act the part of a fool.  But no. He bit back that question and buried it under six-thousand years of practiced control. Yet being able to regain his control did little to quiet the heat of his anger, and even more his frustration. A part of him wondered if this was some trick… or some test, for he could not fully comprehend how Celeborn could fail to understand.  Or had the fool’s memory simply gone bad after all these years?

“I suppose,” he began, forcing himself to breath and maintain a level tone.  “I am simply disappointed.” The words would no doubt be seen as an insult, and he would not have blamed Celeborn if they only further stoked his anger.  But in that moment of choking back his own temper, Tinuvagor had decided that he no longer really cared. The words he spoke now were only for himself. “I had hoped you would live up to your reputation, but like so many of us, reputations are often exaggerated.”  

With the wine bottle still in hand, he stepped back, sinking into a chair where he leaned forward to brace his elbows against his knees,his gaze not directed at his host, but at the bottle in his hands.  He feared that should he look up at Celeborn, he might find himself unable to hold his anger at bay, and should he fail to make himself clear, he doubted he would have the chance again.

“As I told you before, My Lord, I am not here to beg forgiveness. That is yours to offer if you so wish, but I learned long ago to be satisfied with far less.  I came,” he added emphasis so that Celeborn might actually understand.  “... to offer service and penance towards a debt that cannot ever fully be paid.  And I came to make such an offer in the hopes that I might find some measure of peace for myself.  Whatever darkness lies in your heart is not any concern of mine.”

Finding his courage, he finally looked up.  The anger was not entirely gone, but it was dull and muted compared to its earlier fire.  Only just the remaining embers, yet easy enough to stoke to life again should Celeborn choose. 

“The Prophecy of the North bore many bitter fruits, not the least of which has festered in my heart throughout the ages.  It is a sore trial to bear to be ever berated for your sins by those who refuse to acknowledge their own. It is why I stayed so long among the folk of Lindon… It was far easier to serve penance for those who had done me no wrongs. The true trial is to do the same to those who have done me wrong, those whom my heart insists still deserve my anger.

“And so, whatever you may think of me…  however just or unjust those thoughts may be…” He hesitated there.  A lengthy pause during which he warred within himself once more, struggling against that one thread of anger that refused to let go.  And so, at last, the words that escaped were slightly different than they might have been had he finally, fully released that pit of bitterness in his gut.

“I will forgive you.  I will… try to forgive you.”

Lothlórien / Re: Time Won't Let Me
« on: September 04, 2019, 01:06:07 AM »
For a moment, Tinuvagor wanted nothing more than his sword. 

Years spent living beneath the weight and fog of his despair seemed to melt away in an instant, and the fiery temper of his youth kindled once more, the power and rage of a general of the Noldor in the full strength of his wrath.

All those years of enmity between their peoples that Tinuvagor had grown to deeply regret suddenly did not seem so unfair any longer.  “Mind your tongue, Celeborn the Wise,” he warned, his words heavy with the strain of squelching the raging fires within, yet he still managed to twist the word ‘wise’ into a mockery of itself.  “Perhaps you misunderstood my question. Please allow me to clarify.” Courteous though the words may have been, there was no mistaking the bite behind them.

He hadn’t noticed right away, but Tinuvagor had already closed the distance between them, and so he forced himself into stillness.  No closer. Keep command of yourself. He would not deal out his anger in blows when he had words sufficient to the task.  For the first time in what seemed like ages, he knew exactly what words his heart wanted spoken.

“You closed your doors to us, and it was not unjustified. We knew what we had done. And so we took upon ourselves the hardest task. Centuries guarding the northern front from atop Himring, standing guard in the biting wind and ice while you sat warm and safe in your halls. But it was no less than we had earned for ourselves. It was our duty and our penance.” Here he paused, a breath of bitter laughter escaping his lips before he could regain his calmer mind. 

“Yet it turns out, you were no more than cowards all along, thinking yourselves so far above us.  So very far above us that you would not lower yourselves to even speak to us, even were all the world at stake. And so when we called for aid…  to put an end to Morgoth and to all of it, you would not come.”

He sucked in a breath, forcing his clenched jaw to loosen lest he grind his own teeth to dust. And when he spoke again, the anger of his words had finally given way to grief.  “If you had come, we would have won,” he said, the words half whispered as he began slowly the enormous task of rebuilding his control.  “So much might have been prevented had you stood with us.  So much death and sorrow…”

His eyes closed for a moment, and a deep breath further calmed his pounding heart.  “How many children died because we lost that battle?  Numbers beyond counting… And you ask me if I am troubled by the death of children?  Were you?  Because it has troubled me for every day of my life. The children of Beleriand, and yes, the children of the Havens most of all.”

He seemed for a moment to be on the verge of saying more.  The flood gate had opened, and it seemed as if he might let spill out so much else that had spent ages sealed behind the wall that had surrounded his heart. But to share those deeper sorrows with Celeborn seemed foolish. Wise as the lord may have been, he would not have understood.  Rather than delve deeper, Tinuvagor chose instead to close those words off once more.

“So if you please, in your wisdom, do refrain from mocking the depth of my regret.”

After a moment’s hesitation, he took up the forgotten bottle of wine and drank deeply.  From the bottle.  So much for manners.

Lothlórien / Re: tell me why
« on: September 24, 2018, 07:43:42 AM »
Silence.  It was not an unwelcome response, for the effort of baring his soul, even before someone so trusted, had wearied him. Wearied him, but done nothing to ease the dread that pooled in his gut, dread that he blanketed in a numbness expertly cultivated through years of practice.  He spoke no words, hardly dared even to breath too loudly, lest he disturb her, but all the while aware that with every breath, they drew closer to at last coming to an answer. The inevitable doom of finality.

The answer, however, was not what he’d expected. 

His gaze lifted, brows creased, as she finally spoke, and he nearly smiled.  Such an interesting choice, to break her silence in such a way, for he had learned long ago what it was to be spurned by the Valar.  He who had marched in open rebellion and suffered the Doom, as they all had, but had perhaps seen its workings far more plainly than any other left who walked upon these shores. “You would do well not to say such things where the Valar might mark your words,” he answered, a grin emerging from his face, which had until that moment been far too grim.  And yet, this grin held more than simple mirth.  It mixed with the bitterness of ancient memory.  “They make their will known well enough if they have a mind to do so.”

That said, he had no desire to discuss the Valar, for those resentments had never fully healed in all his years, and he knew not how to heal those wounds.

But the words that had followed…  he knew something of that, at least. 

“We do not always make such choices as would serve best those we love,” he finally replied, though he meant it as no defense for the hurts dealt her by her mother.  If anything, they were an indictment of his own wrongs, the hurts he dealt his own mother and father by marching away to war when they had begged him to stay behind.

“It is not selfish to long for our parents to give to us that which is necessary to our very being…”
  His gaze held hers, his eyes dark as gathering storm clouds, the thoughts behind them tumultuous as waves upon a roiling sea.  “It is only selfish to expect forgiveness from those whom we have wronged, even if our reasons are understood.  There is no fault in feeling as you do, and should anyone try to tell you otherwise, I’d be more than happy to educate them on your behalf.”  A light shone in his eyes for a moment, yet another glimpse of some part of himself that lay deeply buried.  Or perhaps it was only another side of that loyalty she had called adoration and worship.  For Tintalde had earned a portion of that loyalty now, and whether she asked for it or not, he had already named it his own task to look after her as best he may.

“Those feelings which lay deep in our hearts are ours alone. It is not for any other to tell us those feelings are wrong.” He paused, looking away and down once more as he breathed in deeply.  There was life in this wood unlike any place else in Middle Earth, and it did him some good to take in what solace he could from the age and wisdom that lived within those trees.

Lips quirked in a faint, sad smile, and his gaze lifted to find hers again.  “It is not even for us to say so to ourselves.”

Lothlórien / Re: Time Won't Let Me
« on: October 06, 2017, 04:40:50 PM »
He wondered momentarily at the thoughtful expression he observed upon the lord’s face, knowing there must be some deeper thought behind such vague words.  Whatever Celeborn was thinking, it was at least clear enough that he did not seem to regard Tinuvagor’s reply as any victory… or really as anything at all.  Perhaps it was unfair of him to expect his host to read the depth behind those words of concession, for there were very few indeed left in the world that maintained the ability that the Lady possessed, the ability to see right through to the very core of you, to pry out meaning from words as easy as breathing. 

So having settled things in his own mind, he wondered if being direct would not be of greater benefit, yet he was not very used to it. Though he had been mostly a warrior all his life, never so interested in the scholarly arts as some, he was still an elf, and so still saw the value in choosing his words carefully and spending them infrequently. But now he chose his words for a purpose, growing tired of whatever it was that he and Celeborn had engaged in, for it could hardly be called conversation.

“Yet, truly, what is forgiveness without understanding?”  He did not give his own answer, yet he knew in his heart what it would have been. It was empty and meaningless. It was the single largest obstacle that had prevented him from granting forgiveness, even after so many thousands of years. “But perhaps that might now be accomplished.”  There was a keen glimmer in his eyes, a sudden shift as they rose to meet Celeborn’s gaze, a glimmer that was almost eager, but did not entirely mask that deep-seated apprehension that never fully vanished, a wariness that had, over time, supplanted that youthful brashness he had once been known for.

“I saw you once before. At Dagorlad.  Though I was one among many and I doubt you noticed me.” Tinuvagor had still been of a less pleasant temper in those days, and so he had easily taken notice of Celeborn of Doriath. “You fought well, and bravely, from what I marked amid the chaos.”  He raised his glass of wine at last, taking a small sip, even as he wished for the wine to be a bit more potent.  Then he remained, arms crossed lightly over his chest, the wine glass perched almost precariously between two fingers. 

“So I would ask you,” he paused, taking in a soft breath, for this was the point of no return. “Did it trouble you at all to sit idle while Beleriand burned?”

Lothlórien / Re: tell me why
« on: August 28, 2017, 09:14:14 PM »
“I don’t know what else to be,” he nearly growled out the words, having put not an ounce of thought into them before lashing out, the fires of his old temper at last stoked to life by her words.  But only because she had been right about him.  Perhaps he did fear change, or perhaps he simply did not know how to change. It was so simple now to think he knew what others thought of him; it was often so very similar that he was rarely wrong.  Celeborn himself had even said it, had told him to expect it.  And even now, his pride raged at having to grovel to the remnants of Doriath.

“I am grateful for what the Lady has done for me, all the more because she has less reason than most to offer me kindness.”  There were few enough places he felt truly welcome, and whatever might be said to him by some who dwelled in Lothlorien, he had felt more welcome here than he had in several other places.  “And I hold her in the highest esteem, by whatever name you choose to call it.”  He had, indeed, bristled once more at the suggestion that came with such words as ‘adoration’ and ‘worship.’   As if he were irrational in his admiration for those who had, by all rights, earned his loyalty.  As if he were merely some mindless devotee who did not know himself, even after all of these years.

Well, he’d had plenty of time to learn to know himself.

He took a moment to release his indignation in a slow, measured breath.  Despite all intentions to be honest, he would do well to put away his temper before it cost him far more dearly than it had already.  “But I can tell you what it is I am afraid of.” At last, he lifted his gaze, seeking hers again, though he struggled within himself for the courage to hold it.  It was far easier to be defensive, to insist, as he always did, that he was not simply some delusional follower who had no grasp of what he had truly done. It was more difficult, though, to speak of all the things that were hidden beneath that righteous indignation that he’d spent a lifetime trying to tame. 

“I fear drawing too near to the sea lest I be unable to resist any longer the longing I feel for Valinor.  I fear that should I return, I would find myself unworthy of such grace.  I fear that my mother will no longer know me, or that I will no longer know her.  That she will call me by a name I no longer deserve and I’ll not even realize she is speaking to me.”  He was not sure if he should have felt any better for sharing these things, but in truth, he only felt more weary.  Gaze shifted away from hers once more, focusing down again where it had always been safer. 

“I came here to find some form of atonement,” he added, his tone softer. “Though I know not what would be enough, and after six-thousand years, the Valar still refuse to answer.”

“And I don’t think you’re ignorant,” he finally added, the toe of his boot working its way into the soil at his feet.  He had no desire to patronize her, hadn’t even meant to do it, but it was simply something else to add to the long list of things he should ask her forgiveness for. Yet he was afraid to ask for it for all the same reasons he was ever afraid.  A ‘no’ was so final an answer, but in ambiguity there was hope.

Lothlórien / Re: tell me why
« on: August 27, 2017, 04:08:59 PM »
That tart reply caught him off guard, and he bristled at the contradiction.  Unjustly so, he knew, for he had nothing but respect in his heart for Ereinion Gil-Galad whom he had served for far many more years than he had served Maedhros. And still he bristled. Gil-Galad had been just a child, fostered in comfort in the Falas and far removed from the steady dismantling of what remained of the northern strongholds.  High King or no, he had not suffered as so many others had, and perhaps it was his own bias that made it so, but Tinuvagor had always held in highest esteem those Princes of the Noldor who held the northern passes despite the hardship inherent in those duties.

At her question, he merely sighed, offering an exaggerated shrug that seemed to encompass the full weight of his current frustration, so much of which was not even due to Tintalde’s questioning so much as it was baggage gathered over a too-long life of attempting to bear condemnation with grace. “I’m sure someone has,” he answered, as honest a reply as he could provide, for he’d stopped keeping track a long time ago what others called him.  “But thank you, it’s a refreshing change from the usual.”  The tone was heavy, not so much sarcastic as disheartened, though the full weight of his feelings on the matter were impossible to define. 

There were fleeting thoughts of defeat, as there always were. That dejected part of himself insisting he might as well add Tintalde to that ever larger group of former friends who had rejected him for his crimes. And it was not so much that he failed to see such thoughts were unfair and perhaps even a bit overly dramatic, but rather that it would have been almost easier to let her go than it would have been to work at it.  But better sense prevailed, for it would have been a great disservice to the young elleth to even think she might be so easily dismissed. She deserved far better than to receive the brunt of his petulance.

Keep trying.  This is worth it.

Having fought through that moment of doubt seemed to have settled the turbulence of his emotion.  When he finally spoke again, his voice was level, painfully controlled, even.

“If you think for a moment that I mean to defend Feanor, then I am afraid you are mistaken.” His tone had gone cold, leaving behind all the quiet distance that had come with his initial recollection.  “He was mad, and if some of us had not known it when first we set out, we came to know it well before our journey ended. I know better than you what it was he destroyed and I have borne the scars for almost seven-thousand years.  We all bore those scars… and better men than me broke beneath the weight of them.”

Or perhaps he, too, had broken and simply did not realize it.  But perhaps it explained why, in seven-thousand years, he still could neither reconcile nor explain his feelings when it came to the years he had spent in Maedhros’ service. Perhaps he had gone mad to feel such admiration for the man who had led them spiraling into destruction, whether it was his intent or not. But, he reminded himself, intent counted for something… or at least it should.

“Perhaps Maedhros was not the best of us,” he admitted almost reluctantly, “but he was for me.”  He risked a glance towards her, but it lasted only the barest of moments before his gaze returned to the worn leather of his boots. “There was no one more worthy of loyalty than he was.  But as you have already pointed out, I am an idiot, so kindly allow me such idiotic notions.” 

Lothlórien / Re: Time Won't Let Me
« on: August 09, 2017, 05:35:05 PM »
The lord’s response was not at all what Tinuvagor had expected, and he made no attempt to hide the curious arch of a brow as he regarded Celeborn.  It became more and more tempting for him to say something impolite, and in this case his pride practically bristled at the opportunity.   Any elf that recalled the kinslaying was at least as old as Tinuvagor himself, or older, and he could not help but wonder if perhaps it was some difference in their heritage.  Did the Sindar still, after thousands of years, have difficulty hiding ancient grudges?  Tinuvagor himself had been far younger when he had set aside youthful desires to act on the old hurts dealt him by Doriath, though in times like this he could still feel his younger self awaken and demand justice.

Again, he nearly allowed himself the free will to speak those words that struggled even now to free themselves from his throat, and though he was long practiced in the art of swallowing his pride, his lips even went so far as to begin to form words before he clenched shut his jaw and refused to say what was in his heart.  You relinquished the right to defend yourself a long time ago, he reminded himself. Whatever hurts might have been dealt him by Doriath in long ages past were no equal measure against what he had done, even if, down to the very depths of his heart, he knew he had every right to those wounds, to the pain of those losses dealt to him by Doriath’s callous conceit towards him and those he had loved.

“Of course,” he finally answered, his voice only half a whisper.  “As you say, my lord.”  It made a part of him almost ill to simply concede yet again, but the other part was quick to remember that he would be hard pressed to achieve whatever it was he now sought (he could hardly recall at times) if he continued to jump at every opportunity for a verbal spar with the Lord of the Wood. “How very foolish of me to forget.”

Chat & Games / Re: Waking up next to you...
« on: August 01, 2017, 06:02:48 AM »

"It would seem you like me more than you let on."

Lothlórien / Re: tell me why
« on: July 06, 2017, 05:14:06 AM »
He was far too skilled in his old age at containing his emotion, and faced with the sharpness of her gaze, he remained silent, weary eyes simply observing as they were so used to doing.  It was her words, and moreso the manner in which she spoke, that broke him, and he looked away.  Emotion surged and for a moment, threatened to force its way to the surface, only held back by closed eyes and a deep intake of breath.

Why, she asked.  As if it were a question he could answer with a single thought.  As if it were even remotely a simple matter.  And just like every time he was ever asked why, he was half tempted to simply blurt out the easiest answer, the answer that painted him in the exact light which they all wanted to see him.  Because I wanted to.  Because I enjoyed it.  A reply so absurd that no one in their right mind should believe it, so absurd that perhaps it would paint those wordless accusations in her eyes as exactly what they were.  Ridiculous.

But he was not that man any longer.  In his youth he would have lashed out eagerly, but age and sorrow had tempered his boldness.  Instead, he met her gaze again and smiled, a smile that had no joy in it, but only weary acknowledgement and acceptance.   “That is a question that has no single answer,” he prefaced, hoping that at least Tintalde would be kind enough to indulge him in a lengthy explanation. 

“I did not follow blindly,” he began, feeling almost defensive on that front, though it seemed an odd thing to be defensive about.  To acknowledge that you knowingly indulged in murder.  And yet it seemed more an insult to Maedhros than to him, and as such, he could not let it remain.  “My eyes were open.  I made a choice, and I would not choose differently if given the chance.”

Knowing the difficulty that was to come, Tinuvagor sunk slowly into the grass.  Best he be seated than give away the trembling in his knees.  There was only one place to begin, and that was with Feanor.

“He was fire incarnate.  Perilous and fearsome and utterly brilliant beyond all capacity for thought.   Never have there been, nor will there ever be, words up to the task of describing Feanor that night we were all plunged into darkness.  And I was young, barely old enough to be called an adult, and he stoked the flame of my passion, turned my fear into rage, and set my heart on vengeance.  And I followed him.  And when my king told me that the Valar had set Alqualonde against us to bar our flight, I fought.  I stole their ships, killed their marriners, and all the while without question.”

It might have seemed as if he had no shame in admitting to such, and perhaps he no longer did.  Who now would claim they had acted with wisdom in those desperate hours?  And really, Alqualonde was the easiest to speak of, for it had been, even then, a mistake.  A fatal, misguided, cruel mistake, unintentional to all but the man they had all followed.  Of that he was as guilty as all the others who shared in it.  It was the later two that were always far more difficult to explain.

“When Feanor died and Maedhros became High King, I was desperate to march north with him, but he refused me.  Told me I was too young and should stay behind.”  Lips twitched, as if they wanted to smile, but were held down by some heavy weight.  Such was the melancholy that came in remembering Maedhros.  “I learned later that he knew he marched into a trap, that he had saved me from a certain and empty death at the hands of the Enemy, and so when, beyond all hope, he was brought out of Thangorodrim thirty years later, I pledged him my sword.  Not out of fear, but out of hope.  Out of respect, out of admiration.”  He paused, taking in a shaky breath, coming to realize only then that he trembled, unshed tears threatening to escape, and with them all the heavy weight of unshared emotion that he’d held in for centuries. 

“He was the best of us.  And I would have walked through the very pits of Angband if he had asked it of me.  Because he would not have left me to walk that path alone.”  It happened then.  His voice broke, and though he still did not cry, he released a single, shaking sob.  Then a breath.

“I could tell you more.  I have already told you more than I have told most.”

Lothlórien / Re: tell me why
« on: July 04, 2017, 04:58:03 AM »
It was not unusual, what had occurred with young Tintalde, yet the hurt was no lesser for it.  The wound was old and raw, never fully able to heal before the next injury, but each fresh hurt was duller as time moved on.  Perhaps one day, he hoped, he would be so numb to it that’d he’d fail even to notice the next elf to look at him with those eyes…  Sometimes they were angry, accusing, the eyes of the victims for whom his sins quickened their old wounds as easily as their eyes quickened his.  Sometimes it was fear, those foolish enough to think it was something he made a habit of.  But most often it was disgust.  Revulsion.  The pure and simple inability to breathe the same air as someone like him without feeling ill from it. 
No, it was not right that he grow numb to that.  It would only mean he had become a man he no longer wished to be.
Still, time healed some of those wounds, and those that chose to return to his side might have counted him as friend, but they were few and all the more treasured for it.  Most learned to treat him with detached courtesy, and that was a comfort in itself, for Tinuvagor had become quite an expert at being polite and inoffensive, despite those urges to be otherwise.
These things took time,  he had reminded himself. She will come back when she is ready. He only needed to wait.  And yet the waiting pained him, more so than it often did.  He had liked the younger elleth quite a bit, had hoped that she might not shun him if she had known him well enough to weigh his sins against his character.  But as weeks passed, even Tinuvagor had begun to doubt if he would see her again.
He was out that evening, as he often was, walking beneath the trees like some silent apparition, lost somewhere in his own thoughts.  But beneath that, he still retained those instincts born a lifetime ago, standing guard in the frigid north, and so the presence drawing near was no secret.  He had taken note of her long before she had taken note of him, and he had begun to hope that perhaps now there would be some resolution.  One way or another.  Hopefully she had come with the intention of finding him and this was not some unfortunate happenstance.
In truth, she had stumbled upon him so suddenly because Tinuvagor had stopped his own measured stroll and placed himself quite fully in  her path.  He was more certain now that she meant to seek him out, though he hesitated to alert her just yet.  Instead, he waited there, purposefully placed where he could be seen, avoiding the shadows of the trees so that he might be illuminated fully, though it managed to cast him in an almost perilous light, as if he were some lost spirit, a shadow of the elder days that did not fully belong in this world.
“You don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he acknowledged her presence with a peace offering.  He would not pressure her to speak now, for she was quite clearly uncomfortable with the thought of it, even now.   Perhaps for a long while now.  And as much as the thought pained him, he found himself more than certain that this was not a friendship he would eagerly set aside simply to hurry things along. 

Lothlórien / Re: Time Won't Let Me
« on: June 15, 2017, 02:52:54 AM »
Did the Lord of the Wood think himself clever?  That Tinuvagor would not see that question for exactly what it was?  It might as well have been a statement.  Had the people been kind to him?  Of course they had.  He’d expected no differently.  They were not, after all, Men, prone to fighting at the drop of a hat over far lesser grievances than Tinuvagor had committed.  No, those words were meant to shame him.  To point out just how gracious the people of the wood had been to someone who so obviously did not deserve it, though Tinuvagor might have pointed out that many who dwelt there now knew very little of the ancient wrongs he had committed.  The greater part of Doriath had fled to Mirkwood, and many of those who had treated him so kindly were far too young to have fallen victim to the kinslayings. 
Putting to use all the lessons he’d ever learned on manners and civility, he fetched a second glass and offered it to the Lord of the Wood so that he might pour the wine, first for his guest, and then for himself.  Civility was something very important to Tinuvagor, and he had learned long ago to weather harsh words with proper manners.  Most importantly, it was the right thing to do, but there was no doubt to be had that a small part of himself enjoyed defying expectations of those who thought he was little more than some rough, tactless old soldier.   Whatever else may have defined him, Tinuvagor had once upon a time been a general and he had served at the pleasure of kings.
He had also raided the wine cellars of kings, which might have accounted for his dexterity in pouring.
“Of course,” at last he answered the question that had been put to him.  “Is there reason to suspect they would not be?” There was some accusation to that tone that, had he been able to, he might have masked, and there was something of a perilous light to his eyes, and that light held Celeborn’s gaze unflinchingly.  The unspoken question in those eyes… do you really think so little of your own people?   
And then he waited.

Elves / Re: Eye Of The Tiger
« on: May 22, 2017, 06:21:30 AM »

Himthoron and Tinuvagor:   Tinuvagor says "come at me, bro." 

Lothlórien / Re: Time Won't Let Me
« on: March 20, 2017, 09:43:09 PM »
How exactly was he meant to respond to those words, he wondered.  There had come no greeting, no formalities, no platitudes.  None of that famous wisdom that was oh so well known to belong to the Lord of the Wood.  It struck Tinuvagor quite clearly that he was being scolded.  Or mocked, if that small quirk of his host’s lip were any indication. 

“Some might,” he agreed, his words maintaining a measure of calm that had never fully suited him.  He wore the mantle of the diplomat with no small amount of discomfort.  He’d always been better suited to soldiering, and it perhaps added to that aura of uncertainty that he had done his hosts the honor of not wearing his sword at every opportunity, even if he felt half naked without it.  Besides, Tinuvagor suspected that there were still many who dwelt in the city who would have believed enough ill of him to think he might use it, and it would not have surprised him in the least to imagine Celeborn to be among them.

It was so very tempting to say more, and in the span of a few moments he had thought up several replies, all of varying degrees of politeness, and even some that were satisfyingly blunt, or even cruel.  But as the wise might remind him, discretion was the better part of valor.  And so he let it slide, satisfied to only imagine what look of shock the lord might have given had Tinuvagor lived up to the lack of grace that was so often attributed to those with, for lack of a better descriptor, poor reputations.

“Might I offer you some wine?”  Caged in courtesy thought it was, there might have been some mischief in the asking.  He was almost hoping that Celeborn would refuse the offer.  The taste of that irony was almost too sweet to resist. 

“Or perhaps you’d rather have a seat?  We can step inside.”  He gestured towards his nearby doorway, though he hardly seemed thrilled at the prospect of welcoming Celeborn into his private space, even if it were a private space granted to him only by the good graces of the lord and lady of the wood.

Chat & Games / Re: Waking up next to you...
« on: November 11, 2016, 04:34:14 AM »

"You're teasing me now, aren't you?"

Plotters / Re: Everyone's Favorite Grumpy Librarian
« on: June 07, 2016, 11:38:13 PM »
Erestor & Tinuvagor  Perhaps not immediately after the battle when everything's so grim.  Maybe not long after, though.  The training field works.  I had it set in another scene a while back that Tinuvagor went out with some scouting parties after the Bragollach, so perhaps set after he returns, which would probably be a week or two later.  I could add this to my list of starters since you're already starting for Elrohir.

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