(Open)

[castintoflames]

Who: Maedhros & Open
Broadcast: Marsiva
Action: On the Marsiva.
When: Evening

(A voice, beginning softly and then rising in volume, can be heard aboard the Marsiva this eve. Technology brings it to others - the ship is large - not that the singer entirely notices. A bright tumble of fiery hair obscures the picture momentarily before a certain tall Elf steps back. Yet the singing continues and Maedhros's eyes are distant, lost in memory.

The notes reach pitches that are almost keening, but the melody always softens, always returns to a pleasant level. Until the end, that is. The keening returns, then, and the Elf shows his prowess with song - something he will deny until death and beyond - by singing notes that are quick and passionate like flames. His eyes reflect despair and grief before assuming a look of grim determination.

But every song must end and his cannot carry on. He absently brushes back his hair - which is loose from all braids - and finishes securing his prosthetic arm in place.)

Comments

Voice

[twilightminstrel]

[Maglor's mentioned his brother's singing, but Daeron had never heard it himself before. Now...he shudders, eyes squeezing shut at the sheer pain in the music. It calls to his own and when Maedhros' voice dies off, he raises his voice in quiet song to offer solace and the memory of first light.]

Voice

[castintoflames]

(And he responds - effortlessly, naturally - before he realizes what he is doing. That is not his brother's voice or the voice of his cousin. Maedhros's song loses confidence, faltering and falling back to allow Daeron's to flourish.)

[twilightminstrel]

[His music is wilder than there's. A breath of wind and the impression of forest and dancing, rather than Maglor's water. His voice changes, slightly, coaxing and cajoling. He refuses to believe Maedhros timid. He's already heard the confidence in that music, and that's what he wants to hear again and sing beside, not over.]

[castintoflames]

(The coaxing is met with the barest flicker of fire dancing in that wind. He is a candle with a single wick in his surprise; his timidity. But that flame has a lot of emotion to feed off of and though Maedhros tries to dampen it, the need to let it spread overwhelms all. His voice rises like a proud bird and there can be no Darkness. He commands the Shadows to flee.)

[twilightminstrel]

[These are flames he'll coax to brilliant life. Daeron challenges that flame to full life. His voice is the wind that helps the bird soar. The wind that helps chase shadows and darkness away.]

[castintoflames]

(He sings for the brothers he lost; the father; the cousins; his men. He sings for himself, desperately alone inside of his head that is never silent; never kind. The flames are not as bright, but they are fierce. The bird too has talons and a beak that it is ready to use in its despair. On the enemies and on itself.)

[twilightminstrel]

[And Daeron's voice is a buoy. Giving Maedhros an anchor while expressing all his pain and misery, though it hurts. He's used to pain himself, but he sets that aside as best he can and is even mostly successful. Wind is easy to rend and tear, but difficult to deny.

Notes of the forest, of wood, enter his song. Giant, magnificent trees offer shelter and perch.]

[bythewaves]

[ The rooms here are odd, and Maglor's mind is still ringing with too many memories not his. But he knows that voice, and he goes hunting for it, voice gently curling around his brother's in return ]

Nelyo?

[castintoflames]

(Water cools fire and fire turns water to steam. Maedhros continues to sing until he sees Maglor before him. Then he smiles, the expression strained.)

The stars see it all and yet our Vala Queen does nothing.

[bythewaves]

I don't know that she can.

[ Maglor comes closer, offering comfort ]

I think they learnt all too well the dangers of interfearing directly.

[castintoflames]

How useless. (The pronouncement is uncharacteristically flat and biting.) Can you forgive it?

[bythewaves]

Of course I can.

[ Maglor looks at him flatly ]

I do not want another Beleriand, another Numenor. Besides. I can hear them.

[castintoflames]

(He looks away, hair falling like a curtain. So stubborn.)

I cannot.

[valiantfire]

{Fingon hears the song and comes looking for his cousin. He brings his harp, and when he finds Maedhros, he begins to play. The music is light without being obnoxious. Just a speck of light to help chase darkness away if Maedhros allows it.

He doesn't speak, only offers himself for anything his cousin needs.}

[castintoflames]

(The sound weaves in and out of his song and he rises, following it to the source. Fingon may offer a speck of light, but he does not realize that he is practically the sun to Maedhros. The air feels warmer near him and the tall Elf lowers himself to sit beside his cousin, carefully resting his head on his shoulder.)

[valiantfire]

{A gentle smile shines and Fingon rests his cheek on Maedhros' head, fingers moving effortlessly over delicate strings. He hums along, keeping his voice quiet to let his cousin's song soar.}

[castintoflames]

(The song gentles, taking on the quality of a lullaby. There is love behind it; a fractured love that has rarely seen the light of day. But it was - and is - felt nonetheless, though it is no longer a love of innocence and clarity; it has become darkened by grief and fear. Maedhros's voice rumbles to reflect that, but it only makes him press closer to Fingon's side.)

[valiantfire]

{Fingon's accompaniment only pauses while he presses a fond little kiss to Maedhros' forehead. He accepts the darkened love and offers his own. Fierce and unwavering, he's always cared deeply for his vibrant older cousin!}

[castintoflames]

(Burning tears answer the kiss and Maedhros's voice is no longer steady. He cannot explain what his cousin's death did to him in simple words, but a song...

The sound trembles and swells with a grief so sharp it can surely pierce better than any sword.)

[timelysteward]

[...]

That ... that was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.

[The clock wipes tears from his eyes.]

Gorgeous just - just gorgeous.

[castintoflames]

(He flushes and then pales, eyes darting uncomfortably.)

If you like song, seek my brother.

[timelysteward]

Oh, ah, does he sing as well or did he ... write that?

[It was beautiful. Like an angel singing.]

[castintoflames]

He is a Bard. I think he was born with a song on his lips. (He cannot stop himself from smiling.) I heard him sing in his cradle and knew he had a gift.

But, no, I suppose I wrote that for myself.

[timelysteward]

Aaaaah, then he is truly blessed with music. [Cogsworth smiles softly, wiping his teary eyes.]

It was ... luminescent.

[castintoflames]

You have an appreciation for song? A clock must keep good time. (You get it? Time signatures? Maedhros couldn't resist.)

Like fire?