Quiet as still water... (Introduction)

[winter_came]

Comments

[valiantfinwe]

These two actually have a good few things in common. And out today walking silently as he has taken to - it's part of what Niko taught himm, about control, and his uneasiness has been great recently - he catches a climpse of Eddard as he arrives and turns his steps in his direction.

Being Elvishly quiet, he might not be heard until he speaks. "Good day," carefully, and polite, though tense and wary just by virtue of his normal reticence.

[winter_came]

Ned stands, stern as he ever was, ever will be, once his prayer is done. He does not reach for Ice, nor does he startle more than he would usually.

His eyes are observing the man who addressed him - so very tall, dark haired --- he can't place him. A person of this world, then, whatever it is.

"Good day," he replies, stern, subdued and dignified as he ever was. He inclines his head, politely.

[valiantfinwe]

Fingon returns the inclination, if his is even more marginal, giving Ned the same looking over, examining the sword, trying to determine what it has been used for. Nothing occurs to him, which leads...

"Ah. Might you be new come?"

[winter_came]

Go ahead and ask what it was used for, Fingon. It will be fun.

"I -- I suppose so," he replies with the barest hesitation. "Though where this is, I do not know. Did the old gods send you, then, My Lord?"

[valiantfinwe]

He blinks, once, and then shakes his head. "I know not which gods you speak of. Many could be called 'old.'" Still frowning at the sword.

[winter_came]

"The ancient gods were revered by my ancestors, long before the Andals came," Ned explains. "But -- then you must be as I am, dead, then, My Lord."

And a beat.

"I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell -- lately the Hand of King Robert Baratheon."

He's avoiding pointedly the look at Ice. He's having a hard time lookiing at the sword himself.

[valiantfinwe]

Fingon twitches his long braid a little irritably. "Yes, most of my kin is," a little shortly, but then he regrets it. Calm. "The Valar, then?"

[winter_came]

"Is that what they are called?" He just -- doesn't even question the irritable. He's irritated with him too, at any rate.

[valiantfinwe]

"I know not. Maybe. There are no other gods I know of." A pause. "Your name?"

[winter_came]

He's already given it, he gives it again, tiredly.

"Eddard Stark, lately Lord of Winterfell," he replies, and inclines his head, very politely. "And yourself, my lord?"

[valiantfinwe]

Ahahaha. Blame the forgetful typist. "Findekano," he says, with a touch of pride, "High King of the Eldar."

[winter_came]

Ned bows, then, lower, as fist a High King. "Then forgive my curt ways, My Lord. I did not know."

If I could keep my head on my shoulders, I'd be grateful.

[valiantfinwe]

Fingon doesn't behead people for small things. That's his cousin. He inclines his head, and almost smiles, wryly. "No matter. Many here are worse." A pause. "Be welcome, I suppose."

[winter_came]

Ned is likely to never meet said cousin, cough cough. "My thanks, then, Your Grace." Why the gods would send a King to greet him is beyond Ned's understanding, but he bows to their will. He doesn't quite notice the ears, and supposes, perhaps, that this is a king from the East, perhaps. Do they not braid their hair as well?

"Forgive my forwardness, then, but -- what now?"

[valiantfinwe]

"You might not want to remain in these woods, for the first place," with a glance past Ned, "They're not entirely safe."

[winter_came]

Ned looks over his shoulder, then back at Fingon. "Whatever is in the woods cannot kill a ghost, now, can it, My Lord?"