this could get messy (introduction)

[fallenlomion]

It's strange. Again. Just when things were getting better then he had to show up and ruin everything. Maeglin sometimes known as Lomion fought the urge to spit. They would all see, though. Tuor and Turgon and all the rest who looked askance at him for being his father's son and thought the seed of madness or evil was simply lurking waiting to

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[time_willdecide]

There's a sound approaching behind him from the direction of the woods before a voice calls. "Are you all right, lad?" When he looks there'll be a redheaded elf a short distance away, and a second behind him just at the treeline, both on horseback. Apparently the Twins were out for a ride, armed for hunting but not paying much attention to that. If they'd caught anything they must have already made use of it out in the woods.

They might look a bit familiar though neither had ever met him. Resemblence seems to run strong in the Finwean line.

[fallenlomion]

His head whips around in surprise, expression for a moment flashing something close to crazy, but a moment later it's gone and he turns to face them with a smile that's almost pleasant. It's only a little off, and we put that to uncertainty. They do - look vaguely familiar, and now he's trying to place them, though sure he'd recognize such a pair...

"Not so young as that, my lords," lookit how polite and functional he is, "Though I might ask where this is, as I seem to have sidestepped my destination somehow." Seems like it'd be difficult, you know. Big gated city thing.

[time_willdecide]

There's something in that first reaction that strikes the nearer twin as slightly off, but he doesn't remark on it. The other comes up beside him. "You have, and unfortunately we have nothing encouraging to tell you. You will likely not find your destination again. Where had you intended to go?"

[fallenlomion]

Maeglin directs his attention to the twin speaking, maintaining the pleasant expression without effort, at least for the most part. And considers whether he should - but of course, it doesn't matter anymore, does it? "To Gondolin," with a bit of a rueful smile, inviting them to share in his 'oh how funny this is' mood. "And it seems rather astonishing to manage to lose an entire stronghold so quickly."

He longs to ask how Tuor managed this. It had to be him. There's no other answer.

[arid_white_lady]

On the grounds, the figure has to be familiar, perhaps a memory from his childhood. The pregnant woman (she is halfway through, and so her belly, while it is not prominent, is slightly visible in her flowing robes) is just about to bend and pick some summer wild flowers for a wreath.

She hums to herself, hasn't noticed the new arrival yet - but the song is probably familiar to Maeglin, typist willing, an old lullaby he heard every night in Nan Elmoth.

The fact that she is walking in his direction can only be blamed on a mother's instincts.

[fallenlomion]

Oh, she's familiar. And he knows the tune. And he knows her. And suddenly the 'what the fuck' factor is ratcheted up several octaves. He stares at her, open mouthed, and for once taken completely off guard with no cunning or plans or artifice in him.

She's dead. He saw her die. This is not possible. Tuor is screwing with his head no and that is not okay-! Will not speak to her! Just an illusion!

"Mother?"

[arid_white_lady]

Her head whips around, and when she sees -- her boy. In the grown elf she can still see the little beauties of her child, and her face breaks into a wild smile.

"Lòmion." Her steps are fast, though she does not run for fear of tripping.

"My son."

[fallenlomion]

Oh. This. Not good.

He half steps back, a little stunned still, expression still utterly unguarded for pure and total shock. "--you're -" He hasn't even noticed the pregnancy, still a little caught up in the holy shiznozzle you're - what. what.

This is not on!

[fairy_fingers]

We're not sure where she stands with regards to a lot of things in her life, but at any rate, by typist request, here is Angélique...

She is sitting in a meadow, humming to herself and making crowns of flowers like Iphigenia taught her. There is something subdued, and slightly sad, in her demeanor.

[fallenlomion]

She's Edain, which makes him wrinkle his nose a bit - some relative of Tuor's no doubt. Damn that man. However, for the moment he can't afford to scorn whatever information he can find, and if she knows Tuor she might know how to get out of this place.

"You there!" He calls, with a touch of disdain, but polite enough. "Might I beg a moment of your time?"

[fairy_fingers]

She looks up and stands abruptly. "Monsieur." And a halting curtsey.

[fallenlomion]

He inclines his head slightly, and offers her a charming smile, though there's something to it that's a little strange, though it would be difficult, asked, to say what exactly that something is. "Are you by any chance acquainted with a young Edain man - Tuor, by name?"

Politely enough, though he can't help the undercurrent of tension and haaaaet.

[elven_irs]

Here's a second-cousin twice removed, then, walking around with a patch on his eye, a bad scar on his opposing cheek, a bow in hand and a purposeful walk.

Caranthir has decided that if he lost half his sight, he still has his ears, and that will have to compensate, Erudammit.

[fallenlomion]

Maeglin tenses, seeing the bow, and for a moment looks like jumping Caranthir for the weapon, but then raises a hand to catch his unknown cousin's attention. "My lord, if you would?" Quenya, of course. He does like it better, even if he doesn't tend to use the name his mother gave him in that tongue.

[elven_irs]

That makes Caranthir eyebrow quite a bit, and he stops. A small Sindarin thing that speaks Quenya. Huh. Might want to take him to the freak show.

"Yes?" With all the dignity that he can muster.

[fallenlomion]

Maeglin in our head looks a bit dangerous. As is, though, he gives Caranthir a looking over, briefly, taking his measure and getting an idea of what kind of man he's facing, and then bows, respectfully deferring. Appealing to pride is always a good idea. "I seem to have missed my way." His smile is rueful; look how silly I am, "Might I ask what that place is?" A handwave at the Mansion.

[forwandered]

There is another young elf watching Maeglin, though he doesn't much look it. His face is lined and careworn and his hair is cropped close to his head, as utilitarian as his clothing. But the pointed tips of his ears are still distinctly visible and he is also in the rather Elvish position of being wedged halfway up a tree.

Gwindor starts and loses his balance when he sees the other appear, wobbling in an un-elvish fashion that sends his book thudding to the ground.

"Damn."

[fallenlomion]

Maeglin notices Gwindor a moment later and stiffens slightly, warily, for the reaction. So no one here so far has been anyone he knew; that doesn't mean they won't be, but at any rate -

He schools his expression into that friendly but slightly off smile and bends to fetch the book, offering it back up into the tree, surprised by this Elf's appearance. But not going to ask, at least not yet.

"Your pardon if I have startled you."

[forwandered]

"It's all right." Gwindor waves aside the apology with what would have been his left hand. He is silent after that, putting all his concentration into getting down the tree one handed. It's awkward and agonizingly slow, but he arrives at the bottom with his pride largely intact not withstanding a few cuts and scrapes.

"I should not have been so engrossed in my reading at the expense of my balance."

[fallenlomion]

"Your reading was so fascinating, then?" He turns the book over to look at the title, raising his eyebrows slightly. He notes the missing hand and almost starts, but - no, wrong hand and wrong height.

As Gwindor reaches the ground, he nods at the tree with a polite smile. "A comfortable perch?"