Rúmil of Tirion

Chief of the Lambengolmor. Minor dictator of the Academic Institute of Tirion. Brother of Míriel. Relic of a Forgotten Age. Independent Tolkien Blog (Construction in Progress)

[houseofthehammer-blog]

Appraisal | Rôg & Rúmil

[rumiloftirion]

“Please do,“ Rúmil nodded, fingers lacing together which his fledgeling took as a sign that it could hop out of its nest box and settle on his hands, still glaring at the intruder in the office.

"I would like your opinion on any improvements that could be made,” he added, trying to settle the possessive corvid down with a gentle touch between its wings.

[houseofthehammer-blog]

“Yes.” At least with all the time between the original construction and now, there had been some technical advancements in smithing that would allow greater technical feats. It would be more a question of how well he could fit those advancements in without ruining the feeling of the university. 

He nodded his head, a slight incline of his shoulders turning it into a bow, and pressed his palm to his heart. “Will return soon.” And with notes, and other people to speak for him, but that was more than he could muster to tell the other before he had exited the office and rejoined his smiths to hear what they had seen.

[rumiloftirion]

He left with the faint challenging hiss of a fledgling following him out of the room.  Rúmil shook himself to resettle his upset nerves and then hushed the fledgling gently, stroking a boney head and back before he put the juvenile back in its nest box despite its attempts to immediately rejoin him. 

Then he took a seat at his desk. He really did have papers he could look at but the minutes ticked by without his eyes actually taking in the written word, waiting for the smith to return.

[rosedgrl]

                                              ☻sorry babe☻       

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[rumiloftirion]

  Let my sitting room survive this, Rúmil  thought and tried to intervene but there was no space for his words between their matched fury.

"Indeed I do, wiles and cunning to know when the shift his allegiance and cut his losses, and the luck of escaping not one but two different hidden kingdoms before they fell to ruin" Míriel’s response was immediately on the footsteps of his words, “you think I insult but those first two are traits I find admirable and would find admirable in your sister if it were not that she is not called Kinslayer but shed elven lives as easily as those who were!”

"Alqualonde was the first tapestry I was forced to sit through visions of to weave,” her words held a crushing weight that Rúmil felt push against his bones, “your sister was meant to be a centrepiece of calm amongst the gore but instead I was shown her sword as bloody as any others and therefore wove it.”

To the dismay of Namo, Vaire, and all the handmaidens in attendance.

[findaratoldyouso]

Of course she would value that, of course she would look like them and not know what it means to be loyal unto destruction, to give up one’s own safety to guarantee the safety of another.

"Sword bloody with the blood of those who slaughtered the swordless! She took up her arms to defend our kin who had never trained with swords, who made the mistake of not giving up the crafts into which they had poured their spirits to those would steal them anyway. You wove her rightly, my lady, and -“

He broke off, suddenly, and Findaráto had never defended her before, and never claimed that she had acted justly or even that he would support her decision if asked. After the slaughter he had done all he could to smooth things over between his household, no bereft of its leader, and Fëanáro, had apologized for her through gritted teeth and guaranteed her allegiance. 

For all the good it had done.

And now in the Blessed Realm, he was finding it in himself to champion her decision, and he couldn’t, couldn’t say anymore, didn’t they understand that it was dangerous? He glanced around, lips pressed tightly together, as if Mandos himself might step out from behind a shelf and proclaim undeserving of his pardon to defend kinslaying so.

His heart beat sharply against his chest and in his throat. How futile his vows against anger had been, and how small his anger was here in the face of those with power and knowledge he couldn’t conceive. 

[rumiloftirion]

"Swordless but not unarmed, instead patrolling the docks armed with harpoons, spears, nets, and the knives they used to butcher the larger fish found in deeper waters," Míriel’s snarled reply, lunging for the attack in the sudden silence, rang alarm bells, "do not call the Teleri swordless when the knife that cut my brother's throat could have passed for a short sw-"

"Enough!" Rúmil yelled and he was sure he had yelled loud enough that he had been heard in the University though that certainly would not be possible. Míriel jumped and looked at him with confused eyes. He swallowed a few times, hard, trying to not be yet another angry righteous and hurt person in the room but his sister's words landed like a foot unerringly on a tender place. "Enough," he repeated, voice strangled as he forced it back to normal tones, "both of you or have you forgotten that no place in Aman is private and I would see neither of you called before the court to answer charges of Blasphemy and Heresy."

"Be dissidents the both of you," he added, "in your own ways! But not now and not about this." He couldn't help the way his voice thundered at the end and he stared at his sister till she shrunk back, "set yourself to your embroidery or I will march you to pay attendance to Ingwe myself."

He rubbed his throat. It ached, it ached all along the thin silky line of pale that dissected the colour of his skin.

"And you," he turned back to his guest and bowed as much as his hips would let him, "I apologise for my sister. Perhaps the time has come for you to take your leave."

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto hadn’t truly been angry in response to Míriel’s outburst, so distracted he had been in the hopes she might have some information to give him. He was starved for news of his sister, the only one left he could hope for, the one to whom he had always given a great portion of his love and enjoyed it from her in return. But she had nothing more and now she dared to insult her, she who had never met Artanis, never seen her, never heard her speak.

He hadn’t been angry with her before but now it rose in him in a great swell and something bitter and dark in him rejoiced that it had found some direction. 

And it helped, even as it hurt, that she looked like him, like them, and neither his cousin nor his uncle had ever treated his sister with the respect she deserved.

"Is that how you would speak of Telperinquar as well?" he challenged. "Wiles, cunning, luck, as if he or Artanis were some conniving creatures to have survived this long? Or are those words reserved for her alone."

As for what she said of himself, he would not answer to it. If she hoped he would feel remorse for all he had done for Barahir’s son, she was mistaken.

[rumiloftirion]

Let my sitting room survive this, Rúmil  thought and tried to intervene but there was no space for his words between their matched fury.

"Indeed I do, wiles and cunning to know when the shift his allegiance and cut his losses, and the luck of escaping not one but two different hidden kingdoms before they fell to ruin" Míriel's response was immediately on the footsteps of his words, "you think I insult but those first two are traits I find admirable and would find admirable in your sister if it were not that she is not called Kinslayer but shed elven lives as easily as those who were!"

"Alqualonde was the first tapestry I was forced to sit through visions of to weave," her words held a crushing weight that Rúmil felt push against his bones, "your sister was meant to be a centrepiece of calm amongst the gore but instead I was shown her sword as bloody as any others and therefore wove it."

To the dismay of Namo, Vaire, and all the handmaidens in attendance.

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto started as well and he whirled in his chair to face her. She had been the last person he would have thought to have know the minds of the Valar, but of course, of course she would, she who had spent so much time weaving alongside one of them. What else did she know of his sister? What else did she know of any of them?

Ai Nerwen, Nerwen who never did know when to bow, he’d thought she would have been hold enough to be more prudent, to kneel as he had, to admit to anything that would help her escape from the sword that hung over hem all. What he would give, give up, to see her again, and if she wouldn’t ask forgiveness, he would for her.

"What did they say of her?" he demanded, leaning in closer to Míriel and only barely managing to keep himself from rising from his chair to stand over her. "What news did they give? Why was I pardoned before anyone else, what would she have to do to earn the same?"

[rumiloftirion]

"I do not know, any more of your sister"  Míriel answered him, voice dropping like shards of pleasant ice from her mouth, "for it was not her. I was inquiring after any of my blood remaining and also those that did not remain. When I railed at the unfairness that my great-grandson fit the same criteria as she; having not participating in any kinslayings, but had not been granted forgiveness I was corrected as to my misunderstanding that your sister was forgiven. She has simply, through wiles, cunning, and luck, avoided the fate the Doom would bestow upon her this entire time."

"As for you," her gaze had locked with his, unwavering, "you have been granted forgiveness for your part in the "return" of the Silmaril the Valar now parade across the sky."

And there was the fire. The ice went and there was that great fire. Rúmil leaned back a moment. He had gone so long not seeing that fire that for a moment he could not remember how he had handled it and defused it in the past.

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[rumiloftirion]

  "You are back are you not?" Rúmil asked him, “you have returned to Aman and been welcomed with love and graciousness by all. The doom hangs over your head no longer. You are the only one that I know of who has accomplished that. I would say that you have indeed escaped the Doom for no others have returned in such a manner and many have died before and after your own passing.”

"I say this without judgement," he added quickly, holding up his hands, "this is not an accusation but an observation. You truly do appear to be the only one."

He was a phenomena.

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto was silent for a long moment, something clicking and aching in his jaw, and oh, he was angry, though he didn’t know why. And it wasn’t right to aim it at Rúmil, who indeed hadn’t said anything marked to raise his ire. But the undirected force of it burned in his chest without anywhere for it to escape.

"You misunderstand," he said, his tones and consonants careful and clipped. "While I cannot tell you why I returned when so many have not, it was only after the ban was lifted that I was allowed to do so. My end - my Doom - was fulfilled until the Valar lifted it from us all."

He glanced down at his hands, at the rings adorning them, and then back again at Rúmil. “I spoke of my sister.”

[rumiloftirion]

"She has not been pardoned," Míriel interrupted them both sharply, causing Rúmil at least to jump in his seat at his sister's sudden voice and at the sharpness of it, "none have been pardoned. It is a misconception. Your father did ask and many consider her survival a sign the doom has been pardoned but she has has not proven "necessary penitence" to use the words I was told-"

Her eyes pierced them both, her hands unceasing above the embroidery she was not even deigning to watch as her fingers made jewels out of thread, "-when I was within the Halls of Vaire and did inquire about the lifting of the Doom."

"Forgiveness and Pardon are yours alone," she added with her chin jutted sharply, "though there are rumours of a Laureafindil who has received a similar pardon recently."

Eru preserve, Rúmil thought with despair and nervousness for what came next, she did look like her son so much. 

Too much.

Now of all times he hoped Findaráto's manners and courtly ways would slam into place for if an argument arose ...

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[findaratoldyouso]

  Findaráto fixed Rúmil with a sharp gaze and for a moment he felt proud again, strong again, mighty. “Neither ruined nor damned,” he told him, his voice louder and surer than it had been since his return. Had he been able, he would have shown Rúmil, shown all of Tirion the fortresses, castles, entire cities they had built. He would have shown them the exiled Noldor ranked for battle, armor and steel gleaming. He would have shown them (would have seen,) his sister as his father had seen her, still living and proud and free.

"Our cities were broken but we were not. And there were those who escaped the Doom."

[rumiloftirion]

Rúmil was tickled more than afraid. this wasn’t the anger of before, this was the pride he’d dealt with in more than one classroom, though grown to something regal and valid. 

He would have, so very much, like to have seen the cities and people who had created such worthy pride. 

However.

"Though I was expressing the sentiments of the Doom and not my own you are the only one I can think of that might be considered ‘escaped’ from the Doom," he professed.

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto felt himself diminish as quickly and suddenly as he has grown. It was true that one of the first sensations he had noticed upon his rehousing hadn’t been a feeling at all, but rather the lack of one. The absence of a heavy weight in his chest that had settled there with the Doom, a vice around his heart. It should have left him feeling light. Instead it was nearly a loss.

The difficulty of precise movement after one had stripped off heavy armor. 

It was true, but a consequence of his return, not the reward of not needing to. “I did not escape,” he said shortly, as if Rúmil’s words had been an accusation, a taunt. His early return was an aberration. Nothing more that he wished to face.

[rumiloftirion]

"You are back are you not?" Rúmil asked him, "you have returned to Aman and been welcomed with love and graciousness by all. The doom hangs over your head no longer. You are the only one that I know of who has accomplished that. I would say that you have indeed escaped the Doom for no others have returned in such a manner and many have died before and after your own passing."

"I say this without judgement," he added quickly, holding up his hands, "this is not an accusation but an observation. You truly do appear to be the only one."

He was a phenomena.

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[rumiloftirion]

  "Well there were those like myself who had turned back that gave the confirmation to their acquaintances," Rúmil thought but could not remember once an official declaration announced by the criers. Not that they’d had many criers back. “I believe his majesty was formally asked for confirmation in Court and upon confirming it was entered into the official documentation but that was as close to a final confirmation as we have received. On the topic of the Doom since its saying the Ainur have been surprisingly mumm on the subject. I would have thought they’d be happy to talk of the ruin and damnation of those who had turned away from the Valar.”

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto fixed Rúmil with a sharp gaze and for a moment he felt proud again, strong again, mighty. “Neither ruined nor damned,” he told him, his voice louder and surer than it had been since his return. Had he been able, he would have shown Rúmil, shown all of Tirion the fortresses, castles, entire cities they had built. He would have shown them the exiled Noldor ranked for battle, armor and steel gleaming. He would have shown them (would have seen,) his sister as his father had seen her, still living and proud and free.

"Our cities were broken but we were not. And there were those who escaped the Doom."

[rumiloftirion]

Rúmil was tickled more than afraid. this wasn't the anger of before, this was the pride he'd dealt with in more than one classroom, though grown to something regal and valid. 

He would have, so very much, like to have seen the cities and people who had created such worthy pride. 

However.

"Though I was expressing the sentiments of the Doom and not my own you are the only one I can think of that might be considered 'escaped' from the Doom," he professed.

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[findaratoldyouso]

  Findaráto looked to the end of his paper and in a moment of vanity wondered if those who had marked it had missed him as he had missed so many here. If they had wished, as he had, for a proper goodbye rather than those rushed words and embraces and kisses in the dark, a dark that nobody’s eyes had yet accustomed to.

"They heard of the Doom, I am sure, soon after it was proclaimed." At least, he thought, he’d had the opportunity to try so many of the techniques he’d written about there. Try them in higher stakes than he could have imagined as a youth in Aman.

[rumiloftirion]

"We heard of the doom, some later than others, some by word of mouth. There was no official announcement of the doom even when your father returned until a few long months had passed which unfortunately lead to some believing it was not true, I believe he assumed that the Valar had seen fit to announce it to all in that way of theirs" Rúmil glanced to the age old paper, “there are some who still live in denial even with official confirmation

[findaratoldyouso]

No. His father would not have immediately spoken of it. Even had he not assumed, as Findaráto himself had, that the Valar would have announced it to all (a warning, a threat), his father would have remained silent. He remembered him, as he left. Disbelieving, diminished, struck speechless by the horror of the sticky red and brown sands.

He remembered him turning away, remembered the mixture of betrayal and envy that churned his stomach, but over all the fear. I’m not ready, he’d called after him but still his father left, still his father did not speak. How could he have announced it to all?

"Who gave the final confirmation?"

[rumiloftirion]

"Well there were those like myself who had turned back that gave the confirmation to their acquaintances," Rúmil thought but could not remember once an official declaration announced by the criers. Not that they'd had many criers back. "I believe his majesty was formally asked for confirmation in Court and upon confirming it was entered into the official documentation but that was as close to a final confirmation as we have received. On the topic of the Doom since its saying the Ainur have been surprisingly mumm on the subject. I would have thought they'd be happy to talk of the ruin and damnation of those who had turned away from the Valar."

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[findaratoldyouso]

  Findaráto studied the page and the words he had once written seemed as little his own as the comments marking it up. They were mostly positive, it seemed, with undoubtedly helpful critiques, but where once such a response would have excited him, he felt little. 

Everything here had such small stakes. How did people handle it? What meaning had he found in life before he left - it seemed impossible to remember. He studied where the handwriting changed; clearly someone familiar with masonry had taken up the job, though the writing was unfamiliar to Findaráto.

Why, he wondered, did they even bother to review the papers of those who had left. “Did you suspect our return?”

[rumiloftirion]

"At first we worked in a daze," Rúmil thought about those times, “it was make work to keep our minds from rotting away once we were done securing as much food and shelter as we could for those who remained. Those of us who were older had little hope but I believe a great many younger generations of staff did believe that there would be a return. That there would have been a mistake or a change of heart and that their students would return.”

Míriel moved quietly to retrieve one of her embroidery projects from the corner and settled out of their way. her gaze remained on them though as her hands began to move, staying alert just in case.

"In time we realised there was no returning of you all. It became a process of grieving. We had no way of saying goodbye properly. To both our students and those of the faculty that also left, we completed our duties to them and for them and then placed them in a new archive." It was not on a whim that many referred to the Archive of Unfinished Works as the Mausoleum. "A great many staff left when we deemed we were done. The university lost much of its population and was turned for a while into an orphanage for the children left behind so many of their skills were not needed."

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto looked to the end of his paper and in a moment of vanity wondered if those who had marked it had missed him as he had missed so many here. If they had wished, as he had, for a proper goodbye rather than those rushed words and embraces and kisses in the dark, a dark that nobody’s eyes had yet accustomed to.

"They heard of the Doom, I am sure, soon after it was proclaimed." At least, he thought, he’d had the opportunity to try so many of the techniques he’d written about there. Try them in higher stakes than he could have imagined as a youth in Aman.

[rumiloftirion]

"We heard of the doom, some later than others, some by word of mouth. There was no official announcement of the doom even when your father returned until a few long months had passed which unfortunately lead to some believing it was not true, I believe he assumed that the Valar had seen fit to announce it to all in that way of theirs" Rúmil glanced to the age old paper, "there are some who still live in denial even with official confirmation

[miriel-therinde]

A Garden Meeting

[miriel-therinde]

Rúmil nodded and forced himself to rise, walking the three agonising steps to his desk to pick up the essay there and the few small items that had been stored with the essay in the special section within the Archive of Unfinished Work devoted to the students who had disappeared abruptly in the wake of the loss of the Trees.

There was a small canvas case in which he knew there were a few stylus and nib holders, and a dried up pot of ink.

The essay itself was folded into a bark-paper sheath which had been stamped with bright red ink, the Serati seeming to glow as they caught the light, Knowing the power that the written word had came in two forms, one that most knew of and then the Power that could be pushed into simple marks on ink. The serati stamp had been made by Rúmil in the aftermath, working his will into each metal form. It was a simple stamp that read only “Sealed and Preserved Until Collection By Owner” however those simple words had kept paper, parchment and even chalk covered slate from crumbling away in the archives. The ink was faded , the original marker’s comments faded from magenta ink to a pale pink and the original ink of the essay faded to grey but Rúmil had checked and it and it was legible.

"A good essay I recall. Unfortunately when we rounded up the unfinished works and finished completing them many lecturers were also gone. It was sometimes a stretch to find someone with the necessary knowledge and you will note that halfway through your work the marker has changed."

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto studied the page and the words he had once written seemed as little his own as the comments marking it up. They were mostly positive, it seemed, with undoubtedly helpful critiques, but where once such a response would have excited him, he felt little. 

Everything here had such small stakes. How did people handle it? What meaning had he found in life before he left - it seemed impossible to remember. He studied where the handwriting changed; clearly someone familiar with masonry had taken up the job, though the writing was unfamiliar to Findaráto.

Why, he wondered, did they even bother to review the papers of those who had left. “Did you suspect our return?”

[rumiloftirion]

"At first we worked in a daze," Rúmil thought about those times, "it was make work to keep our minds from rotting away once we were done securing as much food and shelter as we could for those who remained. Those of us who were older had little hope but I believe a great many younger generations of staff did believe that there would be a return. That there would have been a mistake or a change of heart and that their students would return."

Míriel moved quietly to retrieve one of her embroidery projects from the corner and settled out of their way. her gaze remained on them though as her hands began to move, staying alert just in case.

"In time we realised there was no returning of you all. It became a process of grieving. We had no way of saying goodbye properly. To both our students and those of the faculty that also left, we completed our duties to them and for them and then placed them in a new archive." It was not on a whim that many referred to the Archive of Unfinished Works as the Mausoleum. "A great many staff left when we deemed we were done. The university lost much of its population and was turned for a while into an orphanage for the children left behind so many of their skills were not needed."

[rumiloftirion]

"I think that is an acceptable social rule to abide by," Rúmil promised with a stilted nod, head feeling full of glacial blocks of ice. He would make his prayers and sleep as was needed for his health.

No he would just sleep, he decided. Prayer could wait. 

Perhaps prayer at the end of his rest then if his need was so great for rest.

Or a month.

The end of his rest.

Or until he was allowed to leave.

"Noontide’s Serenity on You," he managed to mumble with his tongue heavy as an anchor, through the indecisive flip flopping of his thoughts.

[findaratoldyouso]

"And on you," Finrod murmured before finally turning to look at the Maia who had interrupted them. Lovely as the others and nearly indistinguishable from them as well. Or maybe it was this place that made it difficult to differentiate.

He drew himself up and acted best he could the king he had been, though without his brocades and his gems he felt like play-acting child. “What is it you have done to him?” he demanded. Findaráto was in favor here and with that favor in mind he took a risk.

At the moment, after all, he had nothing to lose.

[rumiloftirion]

"Nothing has been done to the Lord Rúmil," the maia straightened its lengthy body, drapping robes indistinguishable in places from its skin. "The Lord's condition has been brought on by their own actions. To wit they have expended all of their energy first with their walk earlier around the lake against advice then the abrupt violences they attempted to commit against you Prince Findaráto." There was, if one really listened closely, an admonishing tone to the lulling measure of its voice.

It moved across the ground, no indication of leg movements through the cloth of its garment, and from no where began to spread out a sleeping mat beneath the prone body before them, sliding spindly hands beneath the dead weight and seemingly causing the mat to erupt out of the ground. Then from air it pulled out a thin blanket which was laid down.

"Someone in their condition should know better. They have put unnecessary stresses upon their heart and lungs which are operating at a low capacity for a Eldar their size. The qualities their body provides derived from air and food, which are required stay conscious were already low, and straining their body with physical exertion diverted those qualities into energy for unnecessary action. Thus as you see they have become unconscious."

It drifted away from Rúmil then turned its lovely cloudy face to Finrod and seemed to be contemplating.

"The Lord's body would not be like this if they adhered to eating when food is presented to them, resting when their sleeping mat is placed out, staying to the paths of the Garden, and allowing their fea to be soothed by the contemplation and forgiveness of self failures, and the redemption of such that a pious lifestyle allows."

This time there was definitely a reproachful tone to the lovely voice.

"They do not even attend the Lord Irmo when He wishes to speak to them."

It was complaining. It was most definitely complaining.

[rumiloftirion]

  "Either here or at the University if they let me leave," Rúmil watched Findaráto rise, graceful and perfect. "Do try and get out into the world soon. Matriculate, if you would, to reality."

There was a distant pang of jealousy but it wasn’t much. He was resigned to his body as it was. It was his burden to be-

KINDLY KEEP YOUR OPINIONS TO YOURSELF WHEN UNSOLICITED he slammed the thoughts, hot and upset, up against the cold calmness permeating the area and thought he saw a tiny flinch and a mou of upset on the maia’s cloudy face.

"If you send warning in advance I can even put on tea," he added lackadaisically, "and we can discuss the marking of that unfinished essay you left behind."

What had it been about again? Marble quality and its decline relating to over mining and substandard extraction procedures in the regions known for bearing the stone… now why did he remember something like that?

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto almost smiled at the mention of the essay, so long forgotten. At times it felt like he had barely lived before the Darkening, but of course that was not true. Even as politics became more and more alienating, his uncles’ battle sharper and his grandfather’s betrayal more hurtful, even his father was on the verge of retreating once more to Alqualondë so as not to be in the middle of a court at war - there had been so much joy.

He could barely remember now what Turukáno was like before his heart was stained with grief and longing and for something he could not get back. Curufinë before the treachery three times over and Nerwen before her sword drew blood. Oh, Amarië before they had parted, before he had taken off his ring but brought it across the Ice.

She had tried to visit once. He had sent word that he wasn’t ready.

Only his mother remained unchanged and unaffected. He hadn’t a chance to see her in mourning and he felt guilty for his relief.

But it was before all those things and he had been happy, if bored, if restless. He’d been a student and nearly forgotten it. What was the essay on? Which one of many.

"If I send warning in advance," he said, in what was almost a joke to accompany what was almost a smile, "will you refrain from attempting to kill me?"

[rumiloftirion]

"I think that is an acceptable social rule to abide by," Rúmil promised with a stilted nod, head feeling full of glacial blocks of ice. He would make his prayers and sleep as was needed for his health.

No he would just sleep, he decided. Prayer could wait. 

Perhaps prayer at the end of his rest then if his need was so great for rest.

Or a month.

The end of his rest.

Or until he was allowed to leave.

"Noontide's Serenity on You," he managed to mumble with his tongue heavy as an anchor, through the indecisive flip flopping of his thoughts.

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto let out a long breath as the Maia spoke, certain the words were aimed at him and suddenly the need to keep contact with Rúmil was not so urgent. Even the part of him that still recognized the danger recognized also the fact that he would have no true answers now. Better to wait until fewer people were watching.

Until there was no longer a Maia speaking with all the strength and sweetness of mead.

"Perhaps later then," he murmured and stood slowly with a grace he hadn’t managed just earlier during the fight. "Where will I find you?"

[rumiloftirion]

"Either here or at the University if they let me leave," Rúmil watched Findaráto rise, graceful and perfect. "Do try and get out into the world soon. Matriculate, if you would, to reality."

There was a distant pang of jealousy but it wasn't much. He was resigned to his body as it was. It was his burden to be-

KINDLY KEEP YOUR OPINIONS TO YOURSELF WHEN UNSOLICITED he slammed the thoughts, hot and upset, up against the cold calmness permeating the area and thought he saw a tiny flinch and a mou of upset on the maia's cloudy face.

"If you send warning in advance I can even put on tea," he added lackadaisically, "and we can discuss the marking of that unfinished essay you left behind."

What had it been about again? Marble quality and its decline relating to over mining and substandard extraction procedures in the regions known for bearing the stone... now why did he remember something like that?

[rumiloftirion]

  Where indeed, Rúmil wondered, sucking in air and clinging to the sight of grass before his eyes to keep himself awake. 

The feeling of being watched intensified. 

Oh so now you are interested are you? he sneered at them, you do not like where this has turned. You were fine for me to play the part of a raving lunatic but now what are you going to do.

"I’m not saying go back. The past is something you move away from. The face you’re showing me right now is so much more preferable to the one you had on when I first saw you. What I am saying I suppose is do not squander what you brought with what thousands will never receive. " a chill crept up his spin, he heard foot steps moving through the grass. They’re hunting me, the animal part of him said. 

No it was merely attendants.

Hunting.

"Try being the sort of person who would irritate both Manwe and Curufinwe."

"Pardon the intrusions my Lords," a voice said that brought a chill that sank into the mind and doused any passionate fires, smoothing back emotions to placidity, "the midday prayer is about to be read."

"And do come visit me when you leave," Rúmil ignored the voice, dizzy with the rush of anxiety and relief, both of which hit the chill and promptly fizzled out, “I will introduce you to my sister. That will be fun.”

[findaratoldyouso]

Wait, wait! Findaráto called to him, mind to mind, even as an attendant of Lórien interrupted them. He did not turn around to look at the source of the voice, sure that if he did, he would lose Rúmil. He would lose himself, he would forget why it was so important he have this conversation.

"One moment, I beg of you," he said to them both, struggling to keep his voice composed and polite enough to please all those who might be listening in. 

He had so many questions still and a need, childish almost, to defend himself, to prove he had not and would not earn Rúmil’s disdain or his hatred. And he had not and would not dampen his love for his father and his grandmother.

For the first time since he returned, Findaráto decided not to compromise. 

[rumiloftirion]

He was so tired and he had to pray? Could Eru wait a day perhaps before hearing exactly the same thing Rúmil had said to him every single day since he had come here.

"Such thoughts are not exemplary," the maia murmured and the chill inside him increased in gentle icy waves, seeking out irritation and anger and numbing them sweetly.

"My head is not an exemplary place, you should stay out of it," Rúmil grunted back, forcing his gaze back to Findaráto's face, latching onto the words the Prince had flung at him like a swimmer latches onto a buoy. 

"I am probably," he warned in as kind a voice as he could faced with the clear distress on a student's face "going to pass out within a few minutes. I have rather over exerted myself."

Trying to kill someone when you had little muscle mass left and no stamina after repeated fevers was not a good idea. Listening to the ideas that said that killing someone was also not a good idea but he had experience there already. The first lesson was new.

"How may I help?"

He wondered if the chair in his office would still be the same if he managed to return. This would be more comfortable if he could sit behind his desk and talk face to face.

[rumiloftirion]

  What, was that it?

As though he had been feeding off Findaráto’s strength, Rúmil dropped the moment he was released, down onto his knees and then to the side in exact mimicry of earlier when his innocent touch had caused Findaráto’s mind to react.

This time it was deserved though. The greatest punishment would be when he awoke and his body rebuked him. And when the Ainur of course had their say. he didn’t believe for a moment this exchange had gone unnoticed and unrecorded.

"Unless you find that personality of yours wherever it was that you lost it in the Halls, you will be like those porcelain figurines they make where the clay is so smooth near Valmar. The pale ones with the blue tinting and the gilding. Pretty on the outside. Hollow inside. Of no discernible use but to decorate.”

His consciousness was fighting a loosing battle. Too much. Too soon. Not enough healing. Not enough stamina. 

Weak, he spat at himself, disgusting and weak.

"You still have time to jump off the potter’s wheel," he mumbled, "such a waste-"

Perhaps he would get lucky and remain unconscious till it was Elemmire or Miriel’s turn to visit him and he would skip retaliation for this.

[findaratoldyouso]

Findaráto took another several steps back and stared down at Rúmil where he fell, close to panicked. None of this had been what he was promised upon his return. Of course neither was he able to fulfill his own promises. He glanced around the garden, both dreading and hoping to see someone who might help him.

Or had he already failed? Would they rebuke him?

He crouched down but kept his distance, wary of another attack fueled by something he couldn’t understand. Rúmil couldn’t fall unconscious, couldn’t leave him now when he had left so much unexplained! Though his words had continued to jab him till the last.

Findaráto knew what it was to work with clay, but he preferred stone, and when he carved, he left nothing hollow, but preferred the heaviness of what he worked. Preferred the solidity of stone through and through. It was closer to alive that way, he thought.

And was he hollow now? No, he had his fëa, he had his love and hopes and rage, but the passion of so much he was actively pushing down, down and deep, but how else was he supposed to protect himself? The last years of his life he’d been too full, lust and hatred and love and fury and betrayal and sickening, sickening terror.

It wasn’t an option.

Neither was being decoration.

He wasn’t- "And to where?" he demanded. "To what purpose? I cannot go back there.”

[rumiloftirion]

Where indeed, Rúmil wondered, sucking in air and clinging to the sight of grass before his eyes to keep himself awake. 

The feeling of being watched intensified. 

Oh so now you are interested are you? he sneered at them, you do not like where this has turned. You were fine for me to play the part of a raving lunatic but now what are you going to do.

"I'm not saying go back. The past is something you move away from. The face you're showing me right now is so much more preferable to the one you had on when I first saw you. What I am saying I suppose is do not squander what you brought with what thousands will never receive. " a chill crept up his spin, he heard foot steps moving through the grass. They're hunting me, the animal part of him said. 

No it was merely attendants.

Hunting.

"Try being the sort of person who would irritate both Manwe and Curufinwe."

"Pardon the intrusions my Lords," a voice said that brought a chill that sank into the mind and doused any passionate fires, smoothing back emotions to placidity, "the midday prayer is about to be read."

"And do come visit me when you leave," Rúmil ignored the voice, dizzy with the rush of anxiety and relief, both of which hit the chill and promptly fizzled out, "I will introduce you to my sister. That will be fun."

[findaratoldyouso]

  Findaráto dropped Rúmil’s wrist with a look of revulsion, as if it had rotted in his hand and moistened his skin, and took a quick step back, and then another, and another. 

He wasn’t so naive. He’d known what they said about him, even as a child. The child of three kings, the child of three kindreds, and he had tried so hard make all three of them proud. His mother had tried to protect him, he realized later, by bestowing upon him his name, but he’d known too how easy it was to twist the hopes and praise of so many into barbs.

Curufinwë, calling him a Vanya child and tugging at his hair, Carnistir spitting, “Teler,” when they fought and while they hadn’t been alone in their insults, it was the praise that burnt the most.

As a child, he worried they’d find out that he was mediocre. Makalaurë was the better musician and Tyelkormo was more beautiful and Turukáno bested him at mathematics and Curufinwë at linguistics. The children of his mother’s brothers swam faster and sang sweeter and his more distant cousins in Valmar composed poetry more lovely than he could write. 

And each year no one found out, the more frightened he became, and he won accolades, allies, admirers in court but they didn’t know and it wasn’t until the horror the was the Ice that he knew truly what it meant to be a leader. It wasn’t until his city that he knew truly what it meant to be satisfied.

But now he was back and he knew Rúmil was right. Findaráto could pretend he was here under his own merit but sooner or later everyone else would learn what was true: he was a reminder and a warning and a symbol of Valarin grace. Yet he was no saint. He was not golden because gold didn’t tarnish and he was no paragon because paragons didn’t leave their cities to fall into ruin, and didn’t they knew it wasn’t altruism that drove him leave with Beren but a horrible, selfish love.

If he told them that, would they call him humble and use it as more fuel for their praise? Or would they knock him from a pedestal he still struggled to stand upon.

Findaráto wasn’t sure which option scared him more.

Sooner or later they’d see his piety for desperate grasping it was and when that happened, when he couldn’t convince them any longer, what then would the Valar do but silence him? 

It wouldn’t come to that. He would be silent. He would bear his own lies and the lies others believed of him and he would thank the Valar for bringing him home but he would not permit the lays about him in his halls. 

[rumiloftirion]

What, was that it?

As though he had been feeding off Findaráto's strength, Rúmil dropped the moment he was released, down onto his knees and then to the side in exact mimicry of earlier when his innocent touch had caused Findaráto's mind to react.

This time it was deserved though. The greatest punishment would be when he awoke and his body rebuked him. And when the Ainur of course had their say. he didn't believe for a moment this exchange had gone unnoticed and unrecorded.

"Unless you find that personality of yours wherever it was that you lost it in the Halls, you will be like those porcelain figurines they make where the clay is so smooth near Valmar. The pale ones with the blue tinting and the gilding. Pretty on the outside. Hollow inside. Of no discernible use but to decorate."

His consciousness was fighting a loosing battle. Too much. Too soon. Not enough healing. Not enough stamina. 

Weak, he spat at himself, disgusting and weak.

"You still have time to jump off the potter's wheel," he mumbled, "such a waste-"

Perhaps he would get lucky and remain unconscious till it was Elemmire or Miriel's turn to visit him and he would skip retaliation for this.