driftfleet | Let's all hold hands and sing Kumbaya

[ He has not the skill to truly project, not like Finrod, or even some of his own brothers.

But in song, all doors are open, especially in a world like this ]

I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold
And leaves of gold there grew
Of wind I sang, a wind there came
And in the branches blew
Beyond the sun, beyond the moon,
The foam was on the sea
And by the strand of Ilmarin,
There grew a golden tree

[ The song is his cousin's, but not golden Finrod - no, this one belongs to another. And to her mind will come the image of Galadriel, gold and silver in her hair, eyes as clear as Finrod's own, tall and great, with a star on her finger.

The trees around them will grow impossibly high, their bark silver and their leaves falling golden, green canopy studded with heavy golden blossom, the little treetop homes becoming graceful Talans, their interlocking walls as much a part of the tree as something other. ]

So stands Lothlorien, the Dreamflower, Laurelindórenan - the Valley of Singing Gold.

Edited (damnit typos sob I think its time for bed) 2016-06-24 13:50 (UTC)

[Lothlorien is beautiful - almost impossibly so - but it's not the place that captures Beverly's attention, but rather the woman, Galadriel. She looks so much like Finrod that she can be none other than his sister. Her emotions transfer easily enough to Maglor, given the nature of the planet and the enhancement of his song. There's admiration, yes - because who can resist Galadriel's beauty, even in memory? - but also a tugging sadness in her heart with the knowledge that Finrod will never see this again, never see her again, and that mingles with her own homesickness for the Enterprise and Wesley. Yet she's happy too, that he showed her this. It makes her feel that much closer to both him and Finrod.]

[ Understanding, flicks back across, the memory of seven brothers flicking up for her, tall and joyful, in those days, mother still madly in love with father, without any care in the world (She will easily recognise Maglor and Maedhros, the eldest two, and even Feanor is easily recognisable, for this is not the grief-consumed madman of Maglor's later memories). The forest is wilder, stranger, but still very similar to this one, in some ways, without the etheral beauty of Lothlorien.

And because she likes to know about their familes, and is missing hers, he throws open memory wider, to his cousins - the golden house of Finarfin, Finrod and Angrod, and Aegnor and Orodeth, and little Artanis as she was, before she became Galadriel. And the valiant sons of Nolofinwe, dark-haired and bold, perhaps a little rash - Fingon and Turgon and Argon, and second to last, fiesty Aredhel, runinng wild after her brothers. ]

[There's so many of them - and oh! how jealous she would have been as a child, longing for siblings and cousins to play with - and they're all so beautiful and warm, warm... It's soothing, especially after the loss of Daneel, who has so long been her emotional center. For a long moment, she says nothing, simply closes her eyes and lets the familial love wash over her.

Yet she wants to give back to Maglor too, uncertain though she is in her ability to do so, despite the magic. The images are perhaps not as clear as his, fuzzy as they are around the edges, like looking at old film, but the love is the same. There's Paul and Isabelle Howard, so young, so faded, compared to Felisa, graying yet vibrant. More than the verse of a lullaby or the smell of perfume, Felisa is dominant in Beverly's mind, a powerful force of compassion and determination. And there's Jack Crusher, forever handsome, with that goofy, expectant look on his face as he hands her a wrapped present. And then there's Wesley: roly-poly Wesley trying to climb out of his crib, gangly pre-teen Wesley who is all arms and legs and his father's lopsided smile, and the serious young man ready to begin the long journey ahead of him.]

[ He hums, softly, as she shares her own memories of family, a sweet tune that rejoices in the warmth of family.

Her own thoughts he circles, curiously, her memories sparking his - Feanor in the forge, hands warm over Maglor's own as he teaches his son, and later, giving him the silver harp he still cherishes now, and Nerdanel in her workroom, Maglor sitting at her feet as she sings to him over her carvings, and tells him how to find the story in the stone ]

[Teaching, yes, teaching. That brings forth more. Nana's hands with blunt nails and knuckles encrusted with dirt digging up weeds from around her garden. And later, those same hands grind herbs using an old-fashioned stone mortar and pestle and apply a poultice to stiff joints. Always a young Beverly watches, her hands following her grandmother's guidance.]

[ Maglor never knew his grandmother as more than a figure on tapestries and in his father's tales, but he remembers his grandfathers well - Finwe tall and imposing, every inch the High King, but still so warm towards his family, and Mahtan, a huge boisterous presence, his callused blacksmith hands always gentle with his grandchildren. ]

[Beverly hardly knew her parents, never knew anyone else, it was always just her and Nana, until Jack and Wesley. But now, the circle expands, the definition of family coming to mean so much more than blood: Jean-Luc, her voice of reason, her constant, her best friend, arguing emphatically with her over cups of coffee and croissants; Deanna, the sister she never had, laughing and teasing and hugging; and Alyssa, brave Alyssa, willing to risk her career for Beverly's sake, such is their trust in one another.

And here, too, Maglor will see the Enterprise, her truest home. Sleek and bright and open, it's larger, far larger, than any ship in Drift Fleet. In Beverly's memories, it's always buzzing with activity, with uniformed officers striding purposefully down the corridor and gaggles of schoolchildren tearing through on their way to class and civilians strolling by to look at the stars through the large observation windows. Almost every face is familiar in some way - a patient, a friend, a colleague - it's a small city unto itself, with everyone working towards a common goal of exploration and discovery.]

[ He is obviously curious, openly admiring and wondering of the ship that sails the stars, and he brushes very gently against the memories of her family and friends.

His own memories flicker in answer - the golden years of Valinor fading to the harder times of Middle-earth.

But even then we had moments of joy.

Hunting with Celegorm and the Ambarussa, Curufin and Caranthir arguing and learning with and from the dwarves. Maedhros, now grim and scarred, finding kindred souls in the dwarf King Azhagal, finding a person he could laugh with again. Their great castles, strong-walled and yet beautiful. And Lothlann, the lands they called Maglor's Gap, green fields rolling on through the mountain passes, the joy of riding, at one with your steed, racing the wind.

And two boys, twins, with eyes as grey as the sea...

He cuts that memory off, with an apology - that one only brings tears. ]

[Beverly's smile is sad and gentle as she brings her hand to his cheek. No apology or explanation is needed. We all deal with grief in our own way.]

[ Shame and Guilt flicker swiftly before he ruthlessly suppresses the memory, offering her another one instead -

Two Trees - or at least, they look like trees. But they seem to be made as much of Light as anything physical. The elder is silver, with dark green leaves and silver blossoms that rain silver light as dew. The younger is golden, it's leaves pale green and gold-edged, with heavy golden blossoms filled with golden light. ]

[The guilt makes her wonder - how could it not? - but she doesn't push that line of thinking, her curiosity about it lingering for only a moment before she follows him elsewhere, to the two trees. They're beautiful beyond imagining, though there's a question in her mind: why this? What does it mean to Maglor? Because they must be important or he wouldn't be showing them to her.]

[ The Trees grow tall and straight, and then the vision narrows. A tall young man - Maedhros, actually, has a little boy on his back - Maglor, by his grey eyes, and they are trying to snag a blossom from the silver tree, but even with one brother on the other's shoulders, they are both too short!

A shiver, a ripple, a bending of... something, and a Lady steps out of nowhere (or rather, substance is given to someone who was there all along). She is tall and her kirtle is the green of new leaves, and her hair is the brown of richly tilled soil, more tree than woman, for all she has the shape and form of an elvish woman. Both boys stutter, the elder bowing to her, and the younger hiding his face in his brother's hair. She laughs at them and cups the younger's face, and asks him what he's doing.

I wanted a flower for amil!

Cano! The elder gasps scandalised. Be more polite!

But the goddess laughs, fondly, the sound like the flutter of wings, and reaches up - and although she seemed no taller than them, she reaches the high branches easily and plucks one of the flowers - which are themselves far larger than the first vision suggested, and gives it to the boy. In his hands the blossom is like a bowl filled with light, and he gasps in delight, the elder bowing to her in gratefulness.

Thank you, for he would not but have anything less

Tis nothing - such a voice he has! I heard his Song wishing for this gift. Take care of your little songbird

I will

T'ank you Lady Yavanna! the boy pipes in a joyful treble, and she smiles at the both before turning and seemingly walks back into the fabric of the world. ]

[The memory causes Beverly to laugh too, a mortal echo of the goddess' laugh, gentle and fond. Though that was so long ago and much has changed for Maglor, she can still see some of the child in the adult, especially in his song. It's a sweet scene and one she particularly appreciates as a mother. All the childhood scribbles of Wesley's, the cards he made for her, then, as he got older, the rare book he'd stumble upon in an old, dusty bookshop or an unusual-looking flower from a tiny moon, all gifts she would always treasure, simply because they were from him.

A wave of homesickness hits her and she has to let go of Maglor for a moment.]

I'm sorry.

No, do not be.

[ His eyes are compassionate as he offers his hand to her if she wants to continue, or not ]

It is hard, for a parent to be parted from a child - even when they are grown.

[Because he is willing, she takes his hand again. As with Deanna, she finds comfort in the empathic connection.]

I don't want him here, but if I could just talk to him, see him, know he's okay...

[Her eyes start to water and she brushes the back of her other hand across them. It's not just Wesley, or even just the people from home. It's the people here too: Vima and Kairi and... and Daneel. He's gone, gone and the heartbreak pushes through, despite all the warmth and love of the memories they've been sharing.]

[ His mental presence almost curls around her, echoing her distress and absorbing it, offering sympathy in answer. ]

I am sorry that the two of you must be parted so.

[ He mourns with her, sharing her pain. He offers understanding (he is the last, alone, he has watched them all leave, by death or ship) but not comfort, for what comfort is there for a broken heart, save only a shoulder to cry on? ]

[Welcoming his mental embrace, she tentatively leans on his shoulder as well. Too intimate of a gesture, perhaps, for friends so new, but she cannot help but include him in her extended familial circle, especially after this. His loneliness reminds her of another's and an old tired voice echoes in her head, the voice of a man grieving for his wife, one of the last of his generation. You know what the worst part of growing old is? So many of the people you've known all your life are gone and you realize you didn't take the time to appreciate them while you still could.]

I'm sorry too. But you're not alone now.

[ Maglor allows it - skittish and shy still, but she's not a stranger, and Finrod likes her too - besides. She needs this, right now. ]

No, I suppose I am not, hm?

[ He sings to her, low and wordless, comforting ]

[Finrod... she doesn't catch the whole thought, just the general shape of their shared connection through him. Mutual love of Finrod brought them together, but it has moved beyond that. She cares about Maglor in his own right too.

She lets his song wrap around her. It's nice, being sung to - she doesn't even remember the last time she was comforted in such a way. Probably not since she was a child. She does, however, remember doing the same for Wesley, for many, many nights after Jack died. He had a terrible time sleeping... but then so did she. The songs helped both of them, really.]

[ Maglor agrees - without his music, he's pretty sure he would have faded long ago. But music gives him both purpose and comfort as well as serving as a form for reaching out to others.

He sings for her, memories of being tiny and held in strong arms and being sung to flickering ]

[Her own memories of being cradled as a child mingle in with his, creating a nice harmony of memory in tandem with Maglor's song. How long they sit like that, she isn't sure, but however much he might doubt his comforting abilities, it does help. It reminds her of Daneel, in a good, bittersweet way, and those memories find their way in too, though she's more resistant on sharing those... especially when one floats too much to the incident with Tek. Before they can accidentally go down that fraught road she pulls away, physically and mentally.]

Thank you, Maglor... but there are some things I am not ready to share. Not yet.

That is well.

[ Maglor releases her easily ]

Some things are meant to be private, hm?

For now. Perhaps another day, when it's not so fresh, I will tell you.

If you one day feel that you can confide in me, I will be honored.

Let's all hold hands and sing Kumbaya

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