(Untitled)

[hermajestysfury]

Sir Nicholas has, for the most part, remained upstairs. He has a lot to think about, to look over, to study. Most of the histories he has been reading (so strange, to think of his life as history) have been nothing like his world

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[gondolin_noble]

Some entrances are more interesting than others.

This one is dead boring.

Sorry.

Though there's a certain healer that lives here who would never believe that Glorfindel of Imladris (or of anywhere else he managed to end up) could ever come in without blood, both his and others, dripping off of him.

Today he comes in off the training fields, dressed in simple green tunic and hose, with a minimum of embroidery (but not none, this is Glorfindel, after all), three unstrung bows in one hand (one rather much larger and heavier than the other two) and a quiver of arrows in the other. He gives the room at large a rather wry look - it isn't that he doesn't appreciate the gesture, but perhaps taking up residence somewhere other than the armory would be a fine thing.

[hermajestysfury]

Sir Nicholas takes in the weaponry, the fighter's body, then the ears, and then the clothing. He does not rise, nor bow, but the brown eye of the old soldier narrows as he attempts to spot hidden weaponry.

It's a hobby.

[gondolin_noble]

Knife in the boot (obvious), knife in the arm sheath (less obvious). He has come from the heart of Imladris, so he's only minimally armed. He definitely moves like a fighter, and like someone who has worked out exactly how his body best moves through space at all times. 'Economical' doesn't even begin to describe it.

He has evidently weighed the pros and cons of staying, and the idea of a nice glass of Dorwinion has balanced out the need to put away the used bows. Besides, he can spend the time sorting out which of the arrows need refletching.

It only becomes clear that he's noticed the scrutiny when he raises his glass in salute to the scarred man, offering an impish grin as well.

[hermajestysfury]

Sir Nicholas lifts his own glass in return. Belt, obvious. Boot, obvious if you know how to look. One sleeve hangs in such a way that it appears to be missing a knife which is usually there.

[gondolin_noble]

Glorfindel, never being shy (even when he ought), takes that as an invitation, and wanders over (neatly avoiding getting run over by a trio of rats trying to take a too-tall stack of dishes back to the kitchens).
"Good eve, sir."

[hermajestysfury]

"Good evening." Sir Nicholas says in turn, "Do you care to join me...?" name goes there, please.

[gondolin_noble]

"Glorfindel, of Imladris." He offers, with a short bow. "I would be honored...?" And if the man would be so kind as to return the favor...

[hermajestysfury]

"Sir Nicholas Fury, displaced in time and space." he says with a return bow (more of a head dip, seeing as he is seated).

[gondolin_noble]

"Aren't we all, here. I can only hope no one needs the practice bows before I return, their absence would be a trifle difficult to explain."

But the great thing about being Captain of the Guard is you don't have to explain yourself to anybody (except maybe Erestor, but that is an entirely different matter).

[hermajestysfury]

"I think I am rather more thoroughly displaced than you are." Sir Nicholas says with quiet amusement, "I stepped into a tear in space and time which was expected to drop me several centuries in the future. Instead I am here, rather more than mere centuries from whence I came."

[gondolin_noble]

"A few centuries one way or the other will not matter overmuch, I do not think. It took an age or more to return to Arda, and I found it much as I had left it, save with a different coastline." Glorfindel notes, sipping his wine. Thranduil really does have excellent taste in wine. Not so much for homes, but what can one expect from a Wood-elf?

[hermajestysfury]

Sir Nicholas blinks (or winks, hard to tell) once. "Ah." he says, "You are not witchbreed, then, but rather some other species far longer living than human. I am human, and my home time-at least-is lost to me."

[gondolin_noble]

"Elven." Glorfindel supplies, without heat. "I grieve for your loss, then."

He knows the pain of losing a home. He still, on occasion, cannot bear to be near open flame.

[hermajestysfury]

"My loss is, I hope, my world's gain." Sir Nicholas states grimly.

[gondolin_noble]

"Ah, but then you will have to spend the rest of your time attempting to gag any minstrel you happen upon. Annoying things, minstrels." He muses, sipping his wine.

He has gone so far as to order that they find some other elf from Gondolin to sing about, if they must sing about that city's fall.

[hermajestysfury]

The eyebrow over Sir Nicholas' remaining eye arches and he says, "I have yet to find a way into my world, in any time. If the mission that drove me into the portal failed, there is no world left with minstrels to sing. I would rather minstrels."