Day 5 Domino: Let it Snow: Preperations

[voidtreckermods]

Early Evening

Due to some of the passengers having strange dreams those on the Voidtrecker Express should be expecting something soon and so it is around dinner time on the evening of the fifth day of Domino that everyone's SCA glows with the colour of the void, a holographic message appears with their next mission.

Those going to the dressing car will find the drawers and wardrobes open. Inside are a variety of warm weather clothes, all in team colours. Thick padded winter jackets, waterproof trousers. Hats, gloves, scarves. Thick boots and also a variety of ice skates. There are waterproof covers for a variety of sizes of bags and even some coils of rope.

It seems they are not arriving until the next morning and so they have time to plan as best they can.

Morning: Day Six

No matter if they stayed up late preparing or went to bed early to get some rest before the mission they will wake up the next morning to the morning announcement. "Good morning passengers. Today is day six of the month of Domino. A moment later the voice speaks again. "Our next stop is world#58291. Drop order: Purple, Blue, Red, Orange. Conditions are adverse and so all passengers must be ready to alite swiftly."

There is time for some final preparation.

Comments

[utulien_aure]

Preparations

Fingon spends the time between the visions and the message singing.

Alright, let's be honest: elves have been abroad long enough that long-term travelers should expect some pointy-eared asshole to be humming a melody at any given time. But today, Fingon's songs have focus and purpose: he sings to a set of small stones taken from the rock garden, coaxing each one in turn to life and power. He sits on a bench in the garden, holding each one in hand, calling forth the rock's capacity to hold heat, and it's willingness to do so for him. It's exhausting, to be honest- these rocks are so silent it takes longer than it should to wake them up. But in the end he has a stack of stones emanating their own constant warmth, all ready to be delivered to those descending.

Anyone might come across him in the garden, and some with psychic gifts of their own might catch a glimpse of what he sings to the rocks-a persuasive song of light and heat, at some points, countered at times by one of cold and terror and death. Sometimes, however, they might find him resting- eyes still open in the lidless sleep of the elves.

Morning

He's awake early, garbed in purple (pettily, he still finds that depressing) and with the remaining stones in a bag at his side. For the moment, he's not terribly approachable. The prospect of winter brings too many awful memories.

Anyone who doesn't seem to have anything warming, though, is liable to see a stone thrust into their hand. Like hell he's going to take anything resembling a chance when he has something to say about it.

Preparations

[castintoflames]

A second voice will accompany Fingon's, supporting him in his task. Maedhros slips up behind his cousin, wrapping his arms around him as he settles beside him. He continues to sing until his cousin shows signs of fatigue. Then he kisses the smaller Elf's temple, murmuring:

"The obstacles never end and our worries increase. But I know you can feel my life just as I feel yours."

A happy, thrumming force that reaches out to him, embracing him, steadying him. Maedhros loves Fingon too much to lose sight of it.

[utulien_aure]

Fingon huffs out a reluctant laugh, his mood lightening a little despite himself.

"You are a terrible romantic sometimes, have I mentioned that? It is a wonder you've ever been thought intimidating at all."

He turns to face his cousin head on, the last stone he worked on in his hands. Then with a shrug, he tosses it to Maedhros. The stone lands in the taller elf's lap, the warmth emanating from it steady and clear.

"Ten days, I think, before that one gives out completely. Not my best work, but we make due under the circumstances."

[castintoflames]

"I wouldn't wish to be an intimidating romantic, Finno. That sounds dangerous!" Maedhros teases, jumping slightly at the impact of the stone against his thigh. He lifts the small treasure and holds it against his chest, closing his eyes.

"This is the warmth you give me often. I know it well." he bends forward and kisses Fingon's temple, "When this is done, you and I can share a blanket, hm?"

[utulien_aure]

"Hmmm," he echoes, leaning in slightly.

"You'll be careful? I know Himring never lacked for snow, but I cannot help but worry."

[castintoflames]

He slides his fingertips along Fingon's braids, feeling something deep inside of him settle.

"I'm walking fire. What do I have to fear from snow?"

[utulien_aure]

"You'd be surprised," Fingon retorts, less than reassured.

"Cold is only one killer- and we do not know what the rest will be." He shakes his head, "Indulge me, cousin. This is an enemy I know better than you."

Preparations

[littlepaperbird]

Some time after packing, Paper wanders through the rock garden, looking for any who needs help. He would find Fingon singing and, after hesitating a moment, sit down to listen. Paper would patiently wait until the current song that Fingon was singing was finished, then speak up.

"Pardon me, I know you're working on preparing for the venture ahead, but you have a wonderful talent."

Preparations

[so_dark_a_road]

After he has collected all his gear and stowed it away in his cabin, Curufin is still charged up with too much energy to rest, and so he goes looking for a moment of quiet in which to collect his mind and try to calm it.

As soon as he comes into the garden carriage, he hears the singing. And there is Fingon, sitting on a bench with a collection of stones. He comes near and listens, finding the song beautiful. He, of course, can sense the energy behind it. But he doesn't interrupt his cousin; instead, he waits until Fingon pauses.

"It's a lovely song," he says, quietly.

[utulien_aure]

He's known for a while that his cousin was there, but it didn't seem worth it to stop his work unless he had to. Besides, he'd hardly known what to say.

"The benefits of practice," Fingon says after a moment. He doesn't add, I've had plenty of it. Neither of them need that, do they?

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin hardly knows what to say, either. He just. . . wants to say whatever makes it clear that he's a non-hostile presence, and that he wishes for a dialog.

"I remember that you used to sing a lot, back in the old days in Tirion. You always did have a wonderful voice." Curufin is leaning against the bulkhead, and now he unfolds his arms and comes a few steps nearer. "I wanted to say something, and I don't know whether this is the time or the place, but I do not want to leave it unsaid. I was very wrong when I did not insist on taking the fleet back across the strait to fetch all of you, my Nolofinwean and Arafinwean relatives and all of your followers."

[utulien_aure]

Yes, part of him wants to say, yes you were. How thoughtful of you to admit it now, five hundred years too late to do any good.

That part of him is there, an inheritance of the House of Finwe as noticeable as dark hair and sharp cheekbones. An unforgiving mood he'd mostly thought he'd worked through, or at least could mitigate. Something he'd thought he could control, but somehow kept being jostled on this damned train.

"You were skating here, not long ago," he says eventually. "You were having fun- I saw you."

Another pause.

"You know the snow can be an enemy- any winter in Beleriand would have taught you that. But you've never been forced to see it as nothing else. Did you ever notice? The rest of us skate when we have to, but it's never for fun. And when out children wish to go outside, we have to fight against every instinct instinct to keep them inside, where it’s warm and dry and they won't die. We had to do that with Lalwen's boy, until he was sent off- all these people who would have happily spoiled him, but could hardly bear to let him out of doors because they had seen so many children just stop moving.

"And that's just the least affected survivors, Curufin. Do you have any idea what the rest are like? Did it ever even occur to you to ask anyone in Nargothrond while you were there?"

[so_dark_a_road]

Curufin knows this apology comes far too late to alter anything. But that doesn't cancel the necessity of offering it. He does so not in hopes of receiving forgiveness, but only in the hope that hearing such an admission from Curufin might make some sort of difference to Fingon.

"I did have fun skating, you're right. The snow and ice reminded me of wintertime during our childhood and youth in Tirion, long before all the trouble began."

He listens.

"You're right, I never had to see winter solely as an implacable enemy. But you did. And that was due to our actions, we Fëanorians. I could not blame you if you saw us forever as the implacable enemies who inflicted on you the perilous cold and the resulting deaths of your loved ones and your people. Thank you for telling me what you experienced. And feel free to say whatever you need to say. The least I can do is listen."

He shakes his head. "No, I never asked anyone in Nargothrond. I was under the influence of the Oath then; I did not know how to empathize and thought only of one thing. Finrod's people were the most affected? Do you mean because they were the rearguard in the march and therefore suffered the longest exposure to the elements?"

[utulien_aure]

Fingon just stares.

"Did you think we could afford all those neat ranks and files? People went where they were needed- scouts and hunters are scouts and hunters, no matter whom they are sworn to, and the able-bodied were needed everywhere."

He shakes his head.

"I'm saying you lived surrounded by these people for years- there wasn't even Lake Mithrim between you this time. And it never occurred to you how a decision you might have affected them."

preparations

[flatteries]

Inigo has always been drawn to music. It's been always such a big part of his life, and it's so fully interwoven with all the happier memories he has of the past that he can't help but have such a fond spot for it in his heart.

So when he hears music coming from the garden, he can't control his curiosity enough to not head straight over there to take a peek at what's going on. Inigo may have zero idea of what the song's purpose is - he's never been too magically gifted - but seems to appreciate it all the same as he watches in silence.

His gaze doesn't cross Fingon's until the other is done singing, and Inigo promptly looks a little embarrassed. "Ah.. Excuse me, I didn't mean to disturb you."

[utulien_aure]

"It's no trouble," Fingon shakes his head. "I've rarely done this work in private anyway."

And even if he had, it was hardly as though he could justify blocking off the carriage for his own use.

"Were you looking for some place for yourself?"

[flatteries]

He quickly shakes his head.

"No. Not really. I just.." He pauses. Although it's not fully about his secret passion that he's very embarrassed about and doesn't like to talk about, it's still adjacent to it. So for a moment Inigo struggles to find words before he looks back at Fingon and continues to speak.

"I really like listening to music. And it's been a while since I was able to."

Preparations

[marriedanidiot]

At one point, another voice joins his, Nerdanel's knowledge of stone offered freely to her nephew to take, a cup of tea and a plate of nibbles set beside him.

[utulien_aure]

She's a far more natural touch with stone that Fingon is, even if he has more experience with turning them into emergency survival tools.

(Though who knows whether that's right, really? Aman is generally safe, but he has some idea how far she has traveled.)

Between that and- well- it's perhaps easier to let her help than it would be for most of his other kin on this train.

"Thank you," he tells her when the tea and food come over. "You don't need to trouble yourself, though. I've managed this before."

[marriedanidiot]

"I know." She smiles at him fondly.

"But your mother is not here to make sure you take care of yourself, so I will do so in her stead."

[utulien_aure]

He manages a small smile.

"I wouldn't wish her here, to tell the truth. Taking Mother out of Tirion wouldn't be kind or fair."

[marriedanidiot]

"Maybe not. But she would endure much to see you again, I think."

Nerdanel is a mother herself, after all. And her sons may be the greatest idiots on the planet (their father excepting) and kinslaying demons besides, but still...

Preparations

[signseeker]

Will hadn't had the opportunity to speak with many elves yet, although Nerdanel had spoken of some that he was quite curious to meet.

But it is the music that draws him. Music that even without fully understanding it, he could feel the weight of some kind of power. He stands and listens for some time, not waiting to interrupt.

"That is more than just music, is it?"

[utulien_aure]

At the question Fingon turns and tilts his head, considering.

"I had a purpose in mind with this song," he agrees, and offers up one of his stones as proof. It's warm to the touch, as though it's spent some time in a fire, though somehow it doesn't hurt.

"Whether any music can be just music seems a question for those wiser than I." He pauses, then adds, "Or for my cousin Maglor, at least. He has the best ear for the Song of the World out of anyone I know."

[signseeker]

Will takes the stone and holds it cupped in his hands as he looks at it with other senses than his eyes.

"The song of the world?" he asks aloud. "There is music in my world, and magic as well. But I do not think I have heard of something like that before."

Only, he couldn't help but think of the music he had always heard when a great working of the Light was happening, calling him to the places and times he needed to be.