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Finrod | Findaráto Ingoldo ([personal profile] finrod) wrote in [community profile] gondolindrim2014-06-14 10:48 am

Page 394.

Finrod: All considered, this little rock ledge is kind of cozy.

Turgon: That's because you can compress.

Finrod: Well...and it's sheltered. And I know what's at my back: rock.

Turgon: We've been worse places.
Turgon: Like a field of hell ice.

Finrod: *nods* Yes. This isn't that.

Turgon: The view's pretty nice too, actually.

Finrod: Fire's warm...

Turgon: I like fire. Not in a crazy way.

Finrod: *chuckles* Same.

Turgon: I like not finding out how sick an elf can get out of Valinor.

Finrod: Agreed. And the light is low, and mostly blocked.

Turgon: I don't like the howling.

Finrod: Wolves at least dislike fire.

Turgon: How long can we stay awake again?

Finrod: We can switch off.

Turgon: Do you think if I let them eat me, you could escape?

Finrod: No. And anyway, they're not going to attack us for no reason.

Turgon: Well, I was just making a plan…

Finrod: Do you want to sleep first?

Turgon: Yeah. *yawns*

Finrod: Okay. You sleep, I'll watch. *stretches*

Turgon: Wake me up immediately if you need me. *lays down, resting his head on his arm*

Finrod: I will! *sets his sword next to him*

Turgon: *zzzzz* *used to falling asleep on a moment's notice with work*

Finrod: *looks out into the night*

Werewolves: *howl*

Finrod: *shivers a little*

Werewolf: *quietly* Come out, elf.

Finrod: *stiffens; must be getting imaginative*
Finrod: *mentally shakes himself*

Werewolf: Come and play with us…

Finrod: *no, no, he definitely heard that... peers harder into the dark, fingers touching the pommel of his sword*

Werewolf: *wheedling tone* Come out, come out…

Finrod: *frustratingly can't see anything clearly* Who's there?

Werewolf: A friend. We can help you.

Finrod: *doesn't let go of the sword* I'm not in need of help.

Werewolf: We can get you home.

Finrod: *frowns* But who is we?

Werewolf: Just the people of the forest.

Finrod: ...Say your name.

Werewolf: That's not important.

Finrod: Isn't it?

Werewolf: It's not a famous name.

Finrod: *glances back at sleeping Turgon*

Turgon: *out like a light*

Werewolf: Come on. Come here.

Finrod: *stands slowly, picking up his sword*

Werewolves: *stay in the darkness until he's just far enough out the flame's light and attack*

Finrod: *wordless yell; slashes with his sword*

Werewolves: *not going for the kill, but getting their teeth in and shaking him*

Finrod: Agh! *grits his teeth, managing to get a good strike on one judging by the yelp*

Turgon: *comes running out with a burning stick, giving Finrod a good look at his attackers*

Werewolves: *scatter!*

Finrod: *stands there panting, staring after them; pain not registering yet*

Turgon: o.o Finrod, you're bleeding *grabs his arm* Back in to the fire. Now.

Finrod: *follows after him, limping a little* Thanks, Turgon...

Turgon: *sits him down, fussing and worrying*

Finrod: *sits with a hiss, starting to notice the deep aches of multiple bites*

Turgon: Those things... they weren't orcs.

Finrod: *shakes his head* No... Just wolves...

Turgon: Why did you go out there? *cleaning Finrod's injuries as best he can*

Finrod: *hisses again* I...don't know...
Finrod: I thought I heard an elven voice.

Turgon: Those were definitely not elves. I'll stay awake.

Finrod: I imagined it, I think now. I suppose I was more tired that I thought...

Turgon: Lay down. We're leaving the second it's dawn.

Finrod: *lays down gingerly* Alright. I'll try to rest.

Turgon: *grips his sword and stares out at the darkness*
Turgon: That's going to scar.

Finrod: *attempts lightness* Which one?

Turgon: Kind of a top ten list.

Finrod: *weak grin, then closes his eyes* Too right...

Turgon: Sleep. I'll guard you.

Finrod: *nods, but doesn't fall asleep right away; keeps vaguely hearing, 'Come on, elf. Come here...'*

Turgon: *sitting beside, holding his sword tight and angry*

Finrod: *eventually falls into a restless sleep*



Finrod doesn't sleep well that night. His dreams replay the recent memory in vague, twisted scenes, and when he comes half awake, his mind listens too sharply to every rustle of leaves and every howl of the wind. It's not until an hour before daybreak that he achieves an exhausted sleep, when the wind quiets and shifts and brings with it the crisp scent of wet earth and the river.