You can never have too many elves....

[forwandered]

He's smaller than most elves, small and frail, looking as if one strong breeze might bowl him over entirely. His clothes are little more than rags and he has no possessions but a crude knife on his belt and a small blue lamp carried carefully in his right hand. A collection of rotting rags cover the stump where his left hand should be, crusted over

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[elven_irs]

Here's someone who is also quite dead to Gwindor, if he ever heard of him. Caranthir the dark is ruminating to himself, not joyfully but calmly, at any rate.

He won't mind being disturbed if eventually the little Sindarin elf wakes up - we don't quite guarantee that this will be pleasant, though.

[forwandered]

Oh, Gwindor remembers him though. After all, he was the one to lead the fighting at Nírnaeth Arnoediad for all that he no longer looks the brash, young elf prince after his captivity. He remembers the sons of Feanor very well, even if he spent most of his time around them trying to get out of the way.

And when he wakes up he will jump back a little and stare as if he has seen a ghost.

[elven_irs]

"Yeah, I get that a lot," is Caranthir's nonchalant reply. "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything to you. Been there, done that, got the scars. I'm done with that kind of crap."

Here's one blasé Feänorian for you. "You look like you just got put through the grinder."

[forwandered]

"I... I've escaped from Angband." He has the urge to add something a bit smart ass-y to the end of that statement, but he really can't think of anything appropriate and/or smart and doesn't. "Where is Túrin?"

[elven_irs]

"Haven't seen any Edain from Beleriand save one who didn't know her geography," he replies still nonchalantly. "There's plenty around, though. Crawl out of the walls, them Men." He smiles a little, though. His current infatuation (!) is a young human female, after all.

[forwandered]

"I need to find him." He scrambles gracelessly to his feet and it's clear that even that takes a great deal of effort. It's difficult to tell that he's still an elf. "I was leading him. If he falls back into their hands..."

[elven_irs]

"Don't bother," Caranthir replies with even less grace. "He'll show up if he must. We haven't found a way out of this hell-hole yet, and you probably know that my family doesn't give up on anything easily." Oh, the understatement. "Besides, you won't last more than five minutes in this shape."

[forwandered]

"I've..." Cue the unsteady wobble and the wounded pride. "I've lasted long enough like this."

[elven_irs]

"Yeah, enough aplenty." Caranthir grumbles, and moves to steady him, unless he gets fended off. "Come on. You need to sleep in a decent place. Besides, we need all the swords we can get."

No, I'm not fuzzy, is what that last statement is intended to mean. Even if Caranthir really does have a fuzzy side, much to his typist's amusement.

[forwandered]

He is not fended off because any elf, even this elf, is a hundred times better than an orc or a balrog. Gwindor does laugh rather bitterly though. "Swords? I don't think I could even lift one."

[elven_irs]

"Don't worry. You'll be able to eventually." Caranthir starts to stir him in the right direction, still steadying him. "Besides, even if you were to die - it doesn't stick, here." Unfortunately. "So you'd be back and good as new."

[forwandered]

"Fourteen years did not kill me. Why should a few steps do what the mines of Morgoth could not?" He lets himself be steered by the older elf, a fine and constant tremble running through his body. The words of Caranthir don't make him feel better. He knows that he is much too broken at this point to ever be the way he was; bold and brash, beautiful and brave and strong. No more fighting. If he never hears the sound of a sword being drawn again he will be happy.

[elven_irs]

"Fair enough," Caranthir replies quietly. "You are stouter than my brothers were when the Enemy returned them to us, at any rate." There is darkness in Caranthir's voice, but it`s not directed at Gwindor. He only suddenly is reminded of his need to strike down Morgoth in a very personal way - almost anticipating the next attack, should there be one.

[forwandered]

"I suppose I was not as important to him," he says honestly. An amusing thing to torment for a while; wild and young and half-mad with anger at the death of his brother. Morgoth trembled on his throne at the height of his foolish attack and that earned him a special place in the dungeons for a few years before he disappeared into the mines. It has made him something of a pacifist, if not a downright coward in some eyes, and the darkness in Caranthir's voice unsettles him.

[elven_irs]

"Morgoth has a particular dislike for the line of Feanor," Caranthir mutters in reply. "Doesn't matter." He loos at Gwindor, and says, offhandedly.... "strange. Maitimo came here with both hands, even though he remembered been on the Thangorodrim." Gwindor, if he looks at Caranthir full-faced, might notice that he bears a new scar - it's star-shaped, vaguely reminiscent of the imprints on Grond, and spreads on his left cheek.

[forwandered]

Gwindor notices the scar, but does not mention it. He has no room to talk of someone else's scars when he has so many of his own. "I wish I might have had his luck in that, then. I only have the one after my escape."