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zhieI'm running out of palindromes.
Sprinting to the finish, and if I didn't have to go bake a pie, I'd do it tonight! (I suppose I could get up early and do pie then and sprint my way to the finish in the wee hours.)
Sauron... he's just being a dick. Which he does so well. And Erestor's the only elf within a hundred acres of Angband, so you can just imagine who he's taking his aggression out on.
And with that, I leave you with... something that could only happen during NaNo... a 'counseling' session with the future counselor...
“But Feanor and his followers are not emissaries of your brother – in fact, they are renegades as much as you are! It makes no sense for you to have stolen the silmarilli from Feanor,” argued Erestor.
“Of course it does. Eventually, I will kill enough elves to convince my brother to come here and face me,” explained Morgoth. “Admittedly, I may have killed a few for more personal reasons, but then, a father is entitled to make such decisions from time to time.”
“I... what do you mean?” Erestor looked back at Morgoth. “Do you speak of Gothmog?” he asked, for rumors were that the lord balrog was of Morgoth’s own flesh and blood.
“Gothmog...” Morgoth let out an agonized sound. “He was so very loyal to me. Like a son, as he was a son. Yes, those who speak of it speak the truth."
Yeah... so... I blame that bit on the fact that there's a virtual cocktail party that happened one night for the ML-types, and I *may* have written that under the influence of a cocktail... or three...
you be the judge
to balance that, something a bit more thought out, from probably the second or third day of writing... 'the truth about blonds', if i were naming the chapters and had to title the one this part is in...
As it turned out, Beleg was a fairly decent conversationalist himself, and thus asked of Glorfindel, “What family have you left in Dorthonion, or have they come with you to Gondolin? I had always thought Gondolin was filled only with the vilest of Noldor.”
“That is not true, my friend. Though there are what we might call slayers of kin within Gondolin’s fair gates, not all are so inclined. The majority, in fact, are at odds with the thoughts and wishes of Feanor’s sons. They followed King Turgon in hopes of finding a land where they could be free from those worries.” Glorfindel sighed, his thoughts on his own plight. “We have a diverse population – a mixture of Noldor and Sindar, and many intermarriages between them.”
“But alas, only one Vanya,” said Beleg.
“Yes, well, I have adapted to that.” Glorfindel nodded, as if needing to convince himself. “Everyone has been very welcoming of my heritage.”
“Of course they have. Everyone wants to have the Vanya in their realm.”
“How so?” asked Glorfindel. “Why should I be so different from the others?”
Beleg stopped and Glorfindel followed suit. Mablung walked a little further before doubling back. “Have you looked at yourself? Ever?” Beleg circled around Glorfindel. “Why does a horse master gather the finest stallions? Why does a cook bake with the best ingredients? Why does a Noldorin King keep a Vanya in his court?”
Glorfindel looked down at the trampled path they were taking. “I suppose. I like to think there is something more about it. How I attained my position, that is. Intelligence or chivalry or—“
“Do not delude yourself, friend.” Beleg started down the path again. “I would not be surprised if our King makes a vain attempt to stall you here for what time he can.”
Sprinting to the finish, and if I didn't have to go bake a pie, I'd do it tonight! (I suppose I could get up early and do pie then and sprint my way to the finish in the wee hours.)
Sauron... he's just being a dick. Which he does so well. And Erestor's the only elf within a hundred acres of Angband, so you can just imagine who he's taking his aggression out on.
And with that, I leave you with... something that could only happen during NaNo... a 'counseling' session with the future counselor...
“But Feanor and his followers are not emissaries of your brother – in fact, they are renegades as much as you are! It makes no sense for you to have stolen the silmarilli from Feanor,” argued Erestor.
“Of course it does. Eventually, I will kill enough elves to convince my brother to come here and face me,” explained Morgoth. “Admittedly, I may have killed a few for more personal reasons, but then, a father is entitled to make such decisions from time to time.”
“I... what do you mean?” Erestor looked back at Morgoth. “Do you speak of Gothmog?” he asked, for rumors were that the lord balrog was of Morgoth’s own flesh and blood.
“Gothmog...” Morgoth let out an agonized sound. “He was so very loyal to me. Like a son, as he was a son. Yes, those who speak of it speak the truth."
Yeah... so... I blame that bit on the fact that there's a virtual cocktail party that happened one night for the ML-types, and I *may* have written that under the influence of a cocktail... or three...
you be the judge
to balance that, something a bit more thought out, from probably the second or third day of writing... 'the truth about blonds', if i were naming the chapters and had to title the one this part is in...
As it turned out, Beleg was a fairly decent conversationalist himself, and thus asked of Glorfindel, “What family have you left in Dorthonion, or have they come with you to Gondolin? I had always thought Gondolin was filled only with the vilest of Noldor.”
“That is not true, my friend. Though there are what we might call slayers of kin within Gondolin’s fair gates, not all are so inclined. The majority, in fact, are at odds with the thoughts and wishes of Feanor’s sons. They followed King Turgon in hopes of finding a land where they could be free from those worries.” Glorfindel sighed, his thoughts on his own plight. “We have a diverse population – a mixture of Noldor and Sindar, and many intermarriages between them.”
“But alas, only one Vanya,” said Beleg.
“Yes, well, I have adapted to that.” Glorfindel nodded, as if needing to convince himself. “Everyone has been very welcoming of my heritage.”
“Of course they have. Everyone wants to have the Vanya in their realm.”
“How so?” asked Glorfindel. “Why should I be so different from the others?”
Beleg stopped and Glorfindel followed suit. Mablung walked a little further before doubling back. “Have you looked at yourself? Ever?” Beleg circled around Glorfindel. “Why does a horse master gather the finest stallions? Why does a cook bake with the best ingredients? Why does a Noldorin King keep a Vanya in his court?”
Glorfindel looked down at the trampled path they were taking. “I suppose. I like to think there is something more about it. How I attained my position, that is. Intelligence or chivalry or—“
“Do not delude yourself, friend.” Beleg started down the path again. “I would not be surprised if our King makes a vain attempt to stall you here for what time he can.”
