Calibrations Spill-Over Post

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Finrod Felagund cont.

[faithfulwisdom]

[Original Calibration here.

Continuations or new tag-ins welcome.]

Beverly Crusher

[faithfulwisdom]

[From here]

[Finrod nods in response, but has little time to say anything more; the room begins to dim around them and it's not long before Beverly will find herself thrust into darkness.

The smell is what comes into the memory first- the dank scent of stale air and decay. The sight that soon follows is no more appealing. It's a dungeon, almost archetypal in its appearance- the cold stone walls, the occasional rat skittering by, and, of course, the prisoners chained to the walls.

There are only two now, though there were many more in the beginning. A man, bearded and unkempt, but with an oddly noble bearing, and one very familiar elf, pale and gaunt. Both men keep staring at the entrance to the dungeon, as if expecting something in particular. Something dreadful, from their expressions. Finrod's face is grim, his jaw set and the light all but gone from his eyes.

And, as if on cue, the door bursts open and a giant wolf comes rushing in, a large fearsome beast with the unmistakable look of a creature who has just been given his meal. It lunges toward the man- but it never makes contact.

Finrod, realizing the wolf's intentions, had pulled at his shackles, straining against them, cutting himself open on the edge of the cuffs. But finally, through some miracle of adrenaline, luck, and, perhaps, destiny, the chain rips free from the stone, and he hurls himself at the attacking animal.

The fight is a flurry of teeth, claws, and hands- a desperate, frantic match that is nearly impossible to follow. But at the end of it, the wolf lies dead on the floor. And Finrod- Finrod lies beside him, mortally wounded, his lifeblood flowing out of him at an alarming rate. Still, he manages to look towards the man and utter a few last words.]

I go now to my long rest in the timeless halls beyond the seas and the Mountains of Aman. It will be long ere I am seen among the Noldor again; and it may be that we shall not meet a second time in death or life, for the fates of our kindreds are apart. Farewell!

[And with that, the vision slowly dissolves back into darkness, until suddenly, with no warning, Beverly is back in the storehouse.]

[dancingmd]

[Helpless to do anything but observe events as they unfold, Beverly is filled with apprehension and anger at the sight of Finrod and his companion chained to the wall. When the wolf enters, those feelings turn swiftly to horror. Part of her wants to turn away from the desperate brutality of the fight, but she forces herself to watch. He deserves nothing less.

Yet she is not prepared for how it ends, for this stupid valiant man to be lying on the floor bleeding to death, with no one to save him as he saved his friend. It is then that she finds she must close her eyes, though it does little good. She can still hear his last words and feel his life ebbing inevitably away. When she opens them again, it's over, and there is Finrod, alive but only by the cruel grace of Atroma.]

Finrod...

[Her voice cracks as tears begin to fall. Any notion that she was ever angry with him is drowned out by the sorrow and the shock. The shackles clatter to the floor. Then, before even being totally aware of her actions, she has her arms around him in an embrace. For what else can she do? No words can adequately express what she wants to say, not right now.]

[faithfulwisdom]

[The embrace catches him by surprise- though it really shouldn't have, now that he considers it- and there is an awkward moment where he sort of just stands there, not quite sure how to react. But his brain catches up with the situation soon enough, and he returns the embrace.]

You needn't weep for me. I knew- I have long known that I would not live to see my people reach a peaceful Age. [His voice is surprisingly steady. It's not his death itself that troubles him. Not truly. What haunts him is what came before; It is one thing to know you will die and another to feel a set of teeth at your throat.]

[dancingmd]

[For that moment, Beverly worries that she did the wrong thing and her grip loosens, but as soon as his arms encompass her, she hugs him even tighter than before. Grieving over the loss of someone who is still here is unnerving enough, so when he tells her not to weep, she only cries more.

Infuriating man.

Still, she does her best to pull herself together for him as she pulls back from the hug and gently cups his face in her hands.]

I will try not to, but I can't promise anything.

[faithfulwisdom]

I will not begrudge you a few tears if you should fail.

[If he was not sure how to react to the embrace at first, her cupping his face completely throws him. It's a gentle gesture, the sort of soft reassurance that has been absent from his life for too long. With a shy little half-smile, he reaches up to place his hand over one of Beverly's.]

I am sorry. It was, perhaps, cruel of me to give you so little warning. But... quite frankly, I do not know how to speak of this.

[dancingmd]

[When he brings his hand to hers, she attempts to return his smile, but it falters and she shakes her head.]

The cruelty was in what happened to you, not in you showing me. Perhaps... [Slowly, reluctantly, she moves her hands away from his face.] Perhaps it was for the best that I saw everything. I hate to think how you've been bearing this all on your own.

[faithfulwisdom]

It... has not been easy, I will admit that much.

[A careful, purposeful understatement. It's not that he expects her to have any illusions about exactly how difficult it has been for him. It's more that this is just so damn difficult to talk about. He pauses, hesitating another moment.]

There is a reason, perhaps, men are not meant to survive wounds such as mine.

[dancingmd]

[Beneath Beverly's sorrow, a silent rage simmers, at Atroma for bringing him here with these memories intact, continually haunting him. She's no psychologist but she wouldn't be surprised if he might be experiencing some post traumatic stress as a result of what happened. How she wishes, for the thousandth time, that Deanna were here to help.]

Certainly not like this, in a unknown universe full of strangers.

[faithfulwisdom]

[A long, slow breath and he manages to shift to a weak smile.] Strangers no longer- for that, at least, I am grateful.

[dancingmd]

Yes, that's true. Not strangers, but friends. [She takes his hands again, giving them a supportive squeeze.] I know words are hard right now, probably will be for a long time, but if you ever need to talk or a hug or just to be with someone who knows, you can always call me, all right?

[faithfulwisdom]

[He nods, smiling lightly as she squeezes his hands.] I will remember. But in return you must promise that, if there is aught I may do for you, you will not hesitate to ask it of me.

wrap?

[dancingmd]

I promise.

[And finally her smile, however small, manages to stick this time.]

We will help one another.

[sinuosity]

[ ooc: from here. ]

[ She shakes her head. ]

If we wish to be strong we must stand firm against all, show no favouritism, and be swayed by nothing.

[ To become cold. She's supposed to get there, eventually. ]

[faithfulwisdom]

And what of strength of the spirit and of the heart? What role would you give them in your estimation?

[sinuosity]

They're not to be underestimated, ​​[ Nyssa concedes, softly. ] but lately I've found that trusting them is misplaced.

[faithfulwisdom]

Trusting in the exclusively, certainly. But even their greatest advocates would not advise that, I think.

[sinuosity]

So how would you advise balance?

[ Something that, because of pride, perhaps she might never ask in the real world. ]

[faithfulwisdom]

[Finrod opens his mouth to answer, then closes it again, reconsidering. Once, he might have answered easily and without thought. But given the cause of his death- that he died giving his life for another, on a quest he knew was likely hopeless- perhaps he was not the best person to give this sort of advice.]

There are some who would say that I am not the sort you should ask- that I follow my heart far too readily. Do you still wish me to answer?

[sinuosity]

Yes. I would wish honesty rather than a lie to please my ears.

[faithfulwisdom]

Then I will confess to having two different approaches. Ordinarily, I would advise placing logic and strategy in service of the heart. Passion and fervor have their place. Maintain mastery over them and they may be useful tools.

There are times, however, when something becomes more important than sound logic and strategy, than success- than life. [He gives a little shrug] But it is a choice.

[catamite]

(continued from here)

[the little elf nods dumbly, belatedly finding his voice afterward.]

Y-yeah... Sorry. I'm fine.

[and he holds the sapling out towards Finrod, because he doesn't even trust himself to put it back into the box. he shouldn't be holding this. he shouldn't even be touching it--not after witnessing something that hinted at that kind of importance.]

[faithfulwisdom]

[Finrod will accept the sapling and set it back in the box.]

You could not have harmed it, you realize. It is long dead- a memory of what once was, nothing more.