driftfleet | First song

Who: Maglor
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Marsiva
When: Now until shuffle

Broadcast

He comes awake in a gasp, hands flying immediately to weapons that are not there as he rolls into a wary crouch. The man is slender, almost beautiful, long dark hair and clear grey eyes that seem to glow from within. He is dressed in what are best described as robes - once fine but now faded and worn, if clean due to the efforts of whoever put him there. Almost innocuously compared to the shabby state of him, there is a silver eight pointed star pinned to his clothes that looks impossibly untarnished and is obviously of very high quality.

"Who is there?"

Action

Maglor moves silently through the halls, no sound of his footfalls. He is wary, anxious - this is something totally outside his experience. But then he passes a window looking out and he stops, a cry of wonder breaking from his lips as he falls to his knees. A hand comes up to his mouth, the other gripping the harp that seems to have been the only thing that came with him, as silent tears run down his face.

"A! Elbereth!"

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"If you expect me to believe that she no longer causes trouble of any sort, you are utterly mad," he says, grinning all the while, "but I am not surprised to hear that she does well for herself either."

For a moment, just a moment, he looks horribly homesick. "Will you tell me of her? How is she? And the rest of our family?"

"Define 'trouble'." Maglor retorts wryly. "For I doubt she would consider herself to be doing so, these days!"

He gentles in answer. "I can - but are you sure it is alright to tell you? This is your future, Finrod. Are you sure you want to know? And how much, if so?"

"Ah, but what she considers does not always line up with what everyone else does, does it?" His tone is unmistakably fond, though.

"Is it my future? The Halls of Mandos and a rebirth is what awaits me. It will be long indeed until I hear what has occurred on the Eastern side of the sea after my death. But your point is well taken." He considers for a moment. "You have said my sister does the best of all of us. You cannot simply make such a statement without explanation; I will drive myself mad, wondering. Tell me of her, at least, and whatever else you may deem safe for the moment."

"You know I will not refuse you, if you ask. But your sister now - you would be pleased. With her husband she now rules in Lothlorien, east of the Misty Mountains. Amroth's former realm, if you remember. She has a daughter, and Finrod - she Sails. At the end of the Third Age, Galadriel returns home."

He looks stunned more than anything else, but, slowly, a grin spreads back over his face. "Truly? You did not jest when you said she did the best of us. But if any could accomplish wonders, it would be her, if only through pure stubbornness."

And then something else filters through to him. "The Third Age, did you say?"

"Her stubborness is tempered now with wisdom, her fire with maturity. You would be so pleased - she has grown truly great." Maglor agrees, and a small wry smile crooks his lips.

"I did say it had been a long time."

"Perhaps one day, in another lifetime, I will find out for myself."

He answers that wry smile with a startled little laugh. "So you did, but I did not imagine you meant quite that long."

"I am sure you will - if only because she will come and hunt you down herself, if you are not there to greet her I do not doubt!"

Maglor smiles back. "Well now you do. By the count of Men, for me it was the 29th of September, in the 3021st year of the Third Age."

"And ...Morgoth?"

Surely their world could not have lasted so long at war. But the chance of victory seems so remote, so small, that he hardly dares hope.

"Gone." He says with satisfaction. "Sealed behind the Doors of Night at the end of the First Age. Sauron remained, but he was pushed back at the end of the Second Age, and is now defeated."

"Gone." Finrod repeats, though it's little more than a whisper. "It seems almost beyond belief." He's quiet for a moment more before speaking again.

"I will not ask of the circumstances, for such a thing surely must have cost many lives; it is, perhaps, best I do not know."

"It did." Maglor agrees. "But I will abide by your decision, unless you change your mind in that regard."

He rather hopes Finrod doesn't, as that tale will... hurt.

"But they are both gone, and a new Age dawns. One where we will have little part to play, I deem."

"And who is 'we,' in this case? For the fact that I have little part to play comes as no surprise."

"The elves in general, actually." Maglor shrugs. "The Eldar are all sailing." Barring him. "And even many of the remaining Sindar are leaving, and the Silvan, I do not think will linger much longer baring a few stubborn ones."

"Then the Doom of the Mandos?"

It seemed the most obvious and pertinent question.

"Is seemingly lifted - at the least, your sister Sails."

"And you?"

Maglor flinches but his voice stays steady, the quiet, tired resignation clear.

"There is no ship to bear one who refused the Valar twice."

Edited 2016-06-15 13:07 (UTC)

Finrod's voice, on the otherhand, is suddenly tinged with sympathy.

"Oh, cousin."

The thought of Maglor wandering Middle Earth, alone, for all eternity- it's more than heartbreaking. It's his own doing, he knows- that Oath, that damned Oath. But somehow that only makes it worse.

"What will you do?"

A tired shrug.

"I will remain, and I will remember. I... there are folk that I still care about, remaining. I will watch over them, and I will tell our story, so that it is not forgotten, for as long as there are folk willing to hear."

Finrod's smile is uncharacteristically muted- a quiet smile for a bittersweet thought.

"A bard to the last, hmm? I would expect no less. And I am glad; there is much that should be remembered."

He smiles back, equally bittersweet.

"Someone should remember - the good things, as well as the bad."

Suddenly, Finrod's expression shifts into a wry grin. "Are you going to clean it up a little? Give us all gleaming white horses?"

Startled, Maglor laughs.

"Oh cousin. You always knew how to bring a smile. Do you want a gleaming white horse? They're terribly hard to keep that way, you know. Or perhaps I should add long passages devoted to your taste in fashion?"

"Well, I would not object to the additions..." He grins back at Maglor. "You, of course, are the true poet of the family. You know these things best."

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