there are tall elves and small elves, nice elves and... (introduction)

[mostcraftiest]

Damn fools. Fools, all of them! If they think they will last an hour under that fool Orodreth - well. A slight change in plans only. Though the desertion of his own son - that stung, a little. He should have been firmer with the boy. Spent more time with him here, perhaps, rather than leaving him to tinker in his smithy at whatever little projects

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[arid_white_lady]

Coming out on the porch, walking slowly for the healing burns at her back, comes a fairly visibly pregnant cousin. Her hair is cropped shorter, below the ears, much like her husband's, in face, and she is holding in her hands some needlework.

She hums to her belly, and hasn't noticed the new arrival yet. She's still a bit in her own world, alas.

[mostcraftiest]

He notices her, though, and his eyebrows climb faster than they ever have, because for a moment - but that's absurd. He takes a few steps further into the field, frowning at the house and absently touching the hilt of his sword. That, at least, is comforting. Even if he apparently has that and his bow, and nothing else.

[arid_white_lady]

Since she's busy with needlework, Aredhel's eyes are focused on other things than her surroundings. Her singing, though, is probably fairly audible. She's in a better mood, these days, because of Tyelkormo, the pregnancy which is going well, and her son, whom she loves nonetheless.

Now, if only things could be fixed with Findekano...

[mostcraftiest]

And the singing - something between the voice and the hair and perhaps just the sense of how things are going - oh, no. Curufin's trouble-o-meter is going off. And how. She's here, again, she died years ago, what is this going to do to his carefully cultivated work on Turco...

...if he's even here. Well.

"Irisse?" Perhaps the stories lied. It's not as though Turukano is especially communicative.

[arid_white_lady]

She looks up, her head almost snapping at the voice. It's been a while since she heard it, but not that long by elven reckoning. She knows it well enough.

"Kurvo." In her surprise, she stands, and the needlework - oh, the baby brassier - falls to the ground with a soft thud. "Eru. You've just come."

She's not sure how she feels about this - it's too unexpected for her to have an opinion, really, though she almost wishes she did. Certainly part of her is happy to see him - after all, she was fond of all her cousins. Certainly another part is already seeing trouble ahead. He's perhaps a little too much like her first husband, this one. And fortunately, or unfortunately, now she knows how the tale ends with people of that sort.

[mostcraftiest]

--a slightly disconcerted expression crosses his face, briefly, uncomfortably. His brain can't stop insisting that she's dead. And should not be there. He was almost certain of it. "...I have, yes," neutrally, because he's not sure where else to go with that.

Unexpected, yes - one has to wonder for which more so.

[arid_white_lady]

"Be welcome, then," she tells him, gently and earnestly. "Doubtless Turco will be glad to see you." Even if part of her is keyboardmashing inwardly and worrying about what this is going to do to her marriage.

"But come. Let me make tea for you. I am certain that you have many questions."

[mostcraftiest]

A flicker of a smile. "I do have that." But it's gone in moments, still scrutinizing her. She's pregnant, obviously, and he feels a certain apprehension about that. But she was mated, right? Safely so. Damn. He does incline his head, though. "Thank you, cousin. And have you been here long?"

He's going to ignore the itchy feeling that the mention of someone apparently in two places at once brings.

[arid_white_lady]

"A little under a year, thus far. But come. I am chilly, and it would not to to take ill on behalf of the babes." She looks at the needlework, now on the floor, and asks, sweetly. "Cousin, if you would be so kind?"

The worst bit is that she will perhaps bring up Eol as well, interestingly.

[mostcraftiest]

"Of course not," he says, smoothly, in response to her first, and takes the few steps to bend and pick up the needlework and offer it back. "I knew nothing of...your fortunes." With a slight nod at her - ah - condition. He can do polite. Mostly.

[arid_white_lady]

"It is hardly surprising," she replies as she accepts the items with a smile. Companionably, she offers him her arm, like she would an old friend. "Though I would tell you of this when we are settled, if you don't mind. There is so very much to tell, and I would sooner do so in the very best conditions possible."

And she's thinking she might want to fetch a husband, in fact - breaking the news together might be best.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin's brow furrows a little. Slightly concerned. But of course, she's female, and he's never understood women. "Certainly. I leave it to your discretion." He does take her arm, though, politely, of course - outwardly, he's never been anything else to her.

[arid_white_lady]

She leads him inside, then, smiling, thoughtful and quiet, a moment, before she speaks again. "Have you seen any of the family as of yet, Kurvo?"

[mostcraftiest]

We'll say, "Not as of yet," Calm enough. "Should I be expecting many?" They're all at home this does not compute. But for the moment, focus on Irisse. "I feel oddly...behind." He allows a small, nearly rueful smile.

[arid_white_lady]

"Enough," she replies, thoughtfully. "All your brothers are here save for Nelyo and Cano, though they... may be around, somewhere. It has simply been a long time since they were about. Findekano is here, as are Artanis and ...Findarato." Yeah, she knows about Nargothrond. Yay, awkward.

After they enter the kitchen, she goes to prepare tea for them.

[mostcraftiest]

Curufin, on the other hand, does not seem very awkward. He does, however, start frowning at Fingon's name, and it deepens sharply for Galadriel's. "I see." Problematic. His siblings, what about them, how far have they strayed from their proper path?

"Allow me, cousin...if I may help you." Still perfectly polite, if underneath, tucked away, wary. She is a rival, by some ways.