Bandwagon jumping? No way. (Introduction)

[thenotsofair]

This morning there seems to be another new arrival, coming striding out of the woods holding a sword and looking fairly ticked off. He opens his mouth to say something, but the cry dies as he stares at the Mansion. Back at the woods, then at the Mansion again, an expression of "where the hell am I?" beginning to dawn on his face. The new arrival is

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[ringsmith]

Well that was unexpected. Celebrimbor stares for a moment from the trees before stepping forward, uncertain how this particular uncle will react to his presence. After all the denouncing and everything. And when he clearly wasn't having a very good time before his arrival. "...Uncle?"

[thenotsofair]

--what's that one doing here?

But it's still someone. "Celebrimbor," not quite curtly, still examining most of what can be seen. "What are you doing here?"

Because clearly one of them is supposed to be here. And it's not you, silly.

[ringsmith]

"I've been here for weeks," he answers, somewhat more hesitantly than Celegorm may have expected. He looks at the bloody sword again. "It's-- ...we're not in Doriath, or whereever you were."

[thenotsofair]

He looks down at the sword, frowns, and sets the point to the ground. "Where are we, then?"

A little less curtly. Something's a little off here.

[ringsmith]

"No one's really sure, but there's more of us here all the time." He shifts awkwardly.

[thenotsofair]

Celegorm shoots him a look.

"What are you fidgeting about?" Not quite snappishly, but it's close.

[ringsmith]

"Nothing." Still more defensive than his uncle may have been used to and when he briefly meets Celegorm's eyes there's something not quite right in his. "You're supposed to be dead you know. Of course, so is almost everyone else and it hasn't stopped them yet."

[thenotsofair]

"You are the second person today to claim that," he says, almost a growl. "I am not dead."

Yes he is. He totally is. And what's up with the nephew thing, anyway?

[ringsmith]

He's better than he was. "You were. You, and father and...well, everyone but Maglor." A weak smile. "Who was the first?"

[thenotsofair]

A blink. "Maglor." He seems startled, a bit abruptly. "Curufin, dead?"

[ringsmith]

He nods. "Hundreds of years ago, by my memory." This is such a strange conversation.

[thenotsofair]

Yes, it is. Celegorm just stares at Celebrimbor.

"How?"

[ringsmith]

"In Doriath," he says slowly. "He, and Caranthir...and you."

[thenotsofair]

It's starting to get through his thick head, between Maglor and him.

Frowning as he considers this. "...did we recover the Silmaril?"

He'll think about the being dead part, later. There are things that are starting to convince him as well. Memories that he's going to avoid. For a while.

[ringsmith]

Well, yes and no, but the simple version is just, no. He shakes his head.

[thenotsofair]

Dammit.

He frowns more. He wants to ask how he died, but he thinks that'd be a bit too weird.