Video

[twilightminstrel]

Who: Daeron
Broadcast: Fleetwide
Action: Heron
When: Now!

[One of the newest passengers of the fleet jerks out of the bed he'd woken on and slams back against the cold steel. On second glance, ignoring the quiet gasps for breath, one can see delicately pointed ears peeking through silver hair, along with wide grey eyes before the elf- yes, another one- holds his breath, then slowly exhales a shaky breath as he forces some meager semblance of calm. He frowns, gaze falling to the red light blinking at him, and places a hand over the screen, effectively ending the transmission.

Not that it lasts long, as just as Daeron regains some sense of self and begins to absorb some of the new knowledge running through his head, he's transferred to another ship! He shakes his head slightly, hands clenching as he finds himself staring at a room- the bridge- with another screen watching him. Judging him. Pain and grief touch his gaze before flowing away like water.

He steels his nerve after casting a glance over his shoulder towards the stars, and stares back at the screen with feigned calm, brittle enough that even a breath could shatter it.]

A minstrel among the stars has a certain ring to it. Is it a reward or a punishment, to be separated from worlds of green and living water and air?

Comments

[twilightminstrel]

No?

[Maedhros has a handsome voice. One that is difficult not to listen to, though Daeron'd had preferred Maglor's.]

Yes. Your brother spoke of a garden, on the Iskaulit. It stands, too, to reason there is life on other planets. [He might even visit some.

He startles, staring unseen at the cold screen.]

Why do you, who gave yourself to flame, care if one such as I might be wounded?

[castintoflames]

We have seen planets teeming with fantastic lifeforms and races I cannot even begin to describe to you.

(Like the world of water where he almost lost Maglor to the music of the waves.)

I like visiting the garden; it would be worth the journey for you too.

(With a small wince, he gives into the inevitable. He presses a button and his screen comes to life, revealing his fiery hair and pale, scarred features to Daeron.)

It matters not how I perished. We look after one another on this fleet.

[twilightminstrel]

...I will see others for myself. You need not trouble yourself. [Which is perhaps a double-edged sword, intentional or not.

At least Mae won't have to worry about Daeron around water?

He flinches at the sudden, unexpected sight, shying from the screen before he can stop himself. Then he's back, lips set in a grim line and eyes cool.]

I carry no wounds which you can heal, Feanorian.

[castintoflames]

I suppose it is of no use to say it isn't any trouble. (Maedhros is patient - far less like the flame he had been on Arda - and he waits for Daeron to come back.)

That is fairly put. (He returns the gaze unflinchingly, his eyes filled with nothing but sorrow and regret.) I wish you well during your stay and I encourage you to not follow in my brother's footsteps and forget to eat.

[twilightminstrel]

[There's no point either in agreeing or feigning denial. It won't be believed at face-value.

His eyes flicker at the mention of Maglor forgetting to eat, and the caution not to do the same. Worry? No. He'd deny it if asked.]

...Mayhaps you had better spend your time caring for your brother than for myself.

[Perhaps it's because he's bitter, perhaps it's a lingering shred of the friendship he'd once held with Maglor, but Doriath's former loremaster suddenly sings quietly but true.

Aiming to strike hard and cold, he sings of fire consuming, of promises broken, of the left behind to wither and rot uncared.]

[castintoflames]

I do spend my time caring for him. (He will happily spend eternity seeing to his brother's well-being and happiness. He has ways of getting Maglor eating and they have proven fruitful. Maedhros is proud of how handsome and bright his brother has become again.)

I care for my cousin too. You forget that I come from a large family. There is always room to care for one more.

(His dry logic is no defense to the song and he finds himself without words. An unhappy shiver passes through him and he pales, the scars standing out more on his tense features.)

Stop...

[twilightminstrel]

You have no right to ask me to stop! [His words come out in a harsh snarl before he draws in a breath, teeth clicking together.] After all who begged you mercy and were cut down, you have not the right-

[Daeron stops himself again, this time, and turns away, eyes squeezing shut as he struggles to regain some semblance of control.]

Things slip through cracks, Feanorian. They slip past, through, around, never to be seen again. Or are forgotten, even as one claims they cannot forget them.

[castintoflames]

(There is a fine sheen of sweat clinging to his skin and he looks ill - though Elves are supposed to be immune to such. It takes several deep breaths for him to feel like he will not empty his stomach of its contents or faint.)

Yes... You speak the truth. I have no right to anything or anyone. (But his resolve rises instead of faltering.) I have not forgotten nor will I ever. I carry my deeds with me, Bard, and I do not even have the decency to allow them to devour me.

I stay alive for Kano and Finno. I will not take the coward's way out again.

[twilightminstrel]

[Maedhros might only be sick, Daeron may well shatter! But they kind of do it to themselves.

He struggles for calm, hands clenching and relaxing just out of sight, and he doesn't quite look back to the red-haired elf.]

Hold to them, tight. Your words are ashes, I will only accept the truth of actions of you now.

[castintoflames]

(Ashes. Maedhros can barely bring himself to look at flame - unless he has a good use for it (like branding bodies for example) - and ashes too turn his stomach. Few know what it is like to burn alive.)

Then I will not ask your permission to send you a care package.

[twilightminstrel]

[He flinches and attempts a level stare.]

Your efforts are best used on others.

[castintoflames]

They will be used on others; that isn't your concern. (He adjusts his hold on the transmission device, shifting it to his mechanical hand.) Stay out of your ship's cargo bay.

[twilightminstrel]

Is that a threat, Feanorian? [He doesn't quite know what to do about this promise of a 'care package'.]

[castintoflames]

I am beyond threats, Bard. If I wished to kill you, I would. (He gathers items that can be of use as he talks. A blanket, some food, a book and pen to chronicle thoughts.)

[twilightminstrel]

[It's true enough, and they both know it. Daeron is far from a warrior, though he's able enough with bow and dagger.]

So be it. [He ends the connection then, intent on staying in his room for as long as he can stand it.]

[castintoflames]

(The package will be brought to the Heron and left outside of Daeron's door once he locates it. There is a brief knock and then he is gone like a shadow.)

[twilightminstrel]

[The fact that he is so easily found now makes him tremble, staring at the door. He knows that Maedhros has found him, and it's only when he senses he's alone again that he ventures to open the door, to see what the other elf has left for him.

...A blanket. Food. And a book, for noting down his thoughts, as the blank pages tell him. There could be more, but what he's found so far tumble to the cold hard floor, and he falls down after them. The ship could explode then and he wouldn't notice.]