Video | Both Courts

[bythewaves]

[ When the video starts it is to a burst of laughter and calls for 'More!' - this is a tavern, somewhere in Cothromach, perhaps, considering the number of dwarves visible.

There is a minstrel seated by the fire, silver harp in his lap, and he swigs back a drink that has obviously just been passed to him in reward for his last song to roars of approval. The silver eight-rayed-star on his cloak may be familiar, although his features are curiously a little blurred, as if hard to hold on to in the flickering light. But his voice now - his voice is probably very familiar to some. ]

Well now good sirs, another is it? And what would you have of me? Joy or sorrow, war or peace?

Sing us something to get us laughing, boyo!

[ He bows in thought and then smiles ]

Ah, then, this one perhaps might suit, considering recent events eh?

[ And he launches into a rolling rollicking tune with a very familiar subject ]

Oh the world will talk of a ruddy fox
Across all time and space
And not because / o’ his fearsome claws
Or punch-attracting face

The monarchs try / to win their war
and finally take the day
But that damn fox / with all his plots
keeps trying to get his way

As popular as a mangy rat
He’s sure he’s so much better than that
Reynard, that phony king in Eachdraaaidh
A pox on that / phony king in Eachdraaaidh

Grabbin’ at a throne / to call his own
Pretendin’ he’s the king
[stage whispered:](We’d rather shove him / in a box)
(and out a fairy ring)

He throws an / angry tantrum
if he cannot have his way
Moans o’er his shard / ‘cause life’s so hard
then allies does betray

He’d like to think that he’s the first
but we all know he’s just the worst
A pox on that / phony king in Eachdraaaidh


He kidnaps all / our dearest friends
And robs us from our beds
but mark, we’ll yet / collect that debt
and crush that fucker dead

We’ll party hard / and party long
when that damned fox is gone
but until then / through mount and glen
we’ll sing this catchy song

So sing it loud and sing it long
Let nobody forget this song!

The scurvy’d, fleabit phony king in Eachdraidh

The snivellin’ grovellin’ / measly weasely
blabberin’ jabberin’; /gibbering jabberin’
blunderin’ plottin’ / wheelin’ dealin’

Reynard! That phony king in Eachdraaaidh


[ ooc: with thanks to Waver-mun & Kaldur-mun, who wrote this. And yes, Mags is going tavern to tavern and singing this ]

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[bythewaves]

In Cothromach? Aye, at present! [ He bows to her slightly over the lockets ]

No lord I, there is no need for such titles with me. But if I draw the attention of the Lady Keeper herself, I must needs ask if she has a request from this humble bard?

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[steeledskin]

[ it had been the song that drew her attention, certainly! and the talk of reynard. but now -- hmm. she hums a moment while considering some new thought. ]

I have no high harp -- [ she confesses. ] But I have a desire to purchase one. Only I wouldn't know how to tell the good from the bad. I remain a student still and could not trust myself to discern which was worth my coin. Will you help me?

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[bythewaves]

For such a simple task as that, my Lady Keeper has all my attention.

[ Maglor smiles at her, more real than the bright gaiety of the travelling minstrel ]

Did you wish for one of wood or metal? And... forgive the presumption, but how tall are you, lady?

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[steeledskin]

-- Wood. No! Metal. [ a girlish (almost innocent) pause. ] I've only ever had one made of wood. What makes the difference?

[ and...and perhaps she not-too-smoothly avoids the question upon her height. it's a little personal to ask for any sort of measurements over the lockets. she tries to pretend like it was never asked. ]

video /makes things up whoo

[bythewaves]

The sound of it, Lady - some prefer metal, others wood - I have a preference for wood, myself, normally, although this one is silver-gilt. [ He brushes his hands across the strings fondly ] But my father was a craftsman of unparalled skill, and I do not know how he made this one to sound as sweetly as wood might.

But steel and silver may last longer, but the sound, I find, is usually harsher, also - sharp, almost, where wood is mellow and grows only richer with age. Also the best bards of the Sindar and Silvan would tell you that the harp will sing to you while it is still a tree, that they know that it is a gift to them, and so the music will echo still from the tree from which it was made.

[ he hears the avoidance but that is fair enough ]

Do you know where to look, Lady Keeper? [ since you know. He kinda needs to know what size will suit you ]

yesss.

[steeledskin]

I can believe it: trees, singing. [ would be blasphemous to hope for a harp of weirwood? ah! a dream, alone. the scant bits of white-barked would to be found in these lands are not the precious weirwoods of her home. not aside from the holy trees asked for form the court of seelie. ] Wood. It must be wood.

And I know there are good craftsmen here in the Cothromach. Mayhaps we might meet at one of their stalls in the market. [ he can then see her considerable height (for her age) for himself. ]

[bythewaves]

The Noldor like myself had no skill for speaking to wood or tree, but I could ask the Woodland Prince, if you liked? [ Maglor offers ] A gift that the tree gave freely would have a virtue in the wood beyond anything that a harp maker could set in it, no matter how skilled.

But otherwise yes, that would suit Lady. Whatever you buy, the harp must sing to you - and then it might be the simplest of things, but if you hear its song, then it will always sing for you.

[steeledskin]

Your faith in these matters is...charming. [ her tongue tastes the absence of a title; it's difficult. ] I will not press you for your time today. You seem...busy enough. But perhaps tomorrow? In the morning?

[bythewaves]

Nay, say not faith but rather the skill of lessons long learnt! [ He smiles and bows in acknowlegement ]

Whenever it suits, Lady Stark. I am at your disposal!

[steeledskin]

It is...difficult to know the hour by the sun when we live below the ground in the Cothromach. But they mark the passage of time well enough, and I have a wide set of steps that enter upon my keep. Meet me there perhaps two hours after the markets open, and we will walk there together.

[ such command and boldness is new to her! but she must practise it -- so say her council. so she practises it when a bard, because why not? ]

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor nods and bows in acknowledgement ]

With good will, lady. Ah... and you may see a little one around - young Muscovy often follows me. I do not know if he will approach you, he is often leery of strangers, but he will do you no harm.

[ Because Muscovy's habit of creeping on people he meets is occasionally a little bit unnerving ]

[steeledskin]

[ little one--? ]

A child, good bard?

[bythewaves]

In seeming. [ Maglor nods ] Although I suspect he is far older than he looks. He is not mortal, but something else entire. Young, but not a child, not truly.

[steeledskin]

And you give your word that he is not dangerous?

[ it matters little, of course. she will be coming with guards in tow all the same. after all, who can say whether the singer is safe? ]

[bythewaves]

[ A wry smile and he shakes his head at her ]

Ah now Lady, that promise I cannot make - we are all of us dangerous, in our own ways - we would not be pawns in this war if we were not! But he means you no harm, nor yours, unless you threaten him or his, first - that much is true. Muscovy means well, but he is a strange one and does not always understand that his behaviour is odd. If you mind him not, likely he will watch for a while and then go off on his own affairs. If you speak to him, he will be shy but courteous.

[steeledskin]

[ courteous. she can cope with courteous. sansa wrings her hands together and already finds herself selecting faces for a small guard. it could not be an insult, she's certain, for a young woman to bring escorts to an appointment of any sort. she wishes she could ask jon or maybe ser gendry along, but doubtless they are busy with their own affairs. guards from the city must suffice. ]

Then I see no issue with his attendance.

[bythewaves]

[ The smile she gets back is kind and understanding ]

I will warn him to be polite - you may not even see him! He tends to be fairly shy amongst strangers, in any case.

[steeledskin]

[ soft words of agreement -- of understanding -- are said. and the conversation ends: prim and prompt as one might come to expect from the reserved lady keeper of the cothromach. but she is (at least) quite punctual upon the morrow. the next day sees her standing patiently on the very last of the keep's steps. she's dressed in gentle colours. pastels; pearlized hues; rosy golds.

and not far from her are three armed men on loan from the aelfenguard. aside from a few bare pleasantries, she does not speak with them. sansa only waits. ]

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor comes up even as she arrives. Unlike the lockets, where he dressed discretely and used elven magic to blur his face (none of the listeners will be able to clearly say, if asked, what the bard in the corner looked like), he dresses today to fit his (her) station. Hair braided neatly into his House pattern and colours - red and silver and gold in small beads and gems, a single dark blue ribbon. He is wearing a fine dark blue cotton surcoat over a white tunic, the dark cloak carefully washed and pinned with a silver eight-rayed star. If she looks closely, the star is picked out in delicate embroidery on the surcoat, also. There is no sign of Muscovy, but he brought his own harp in a oilskin bag.

Seeing her he smiles and coming before her bows formally, hand over heart. ]

Lady Keeper! Well met, Lady Stark - as my folk would say - 'elen sila lumenn' omentielvo' - a star shines on the hour of our meeting.

[steeledskin]

[ she curtseys. deep and respectful, but under the clear impression that she should not be too submissive. this city is her city; she ought not to trade humility for obeisance. wide blue eyes take in all that can be seen.

and her ears! oh. they gather up those precious words. only now does she adequately understand that this bard is an elf. not any elf -- not like her aelfenguard -- but most likely, from that tongue, one of thranduil's sort. her smile is therefore sweet and genuine. ]

Sila. [ she starts. ] I know this word. There are some, I think, of your race who call me by a given name: Siladhiel. Is this some same function of the word?

[ she who shines. the elevenking had been generous in giving her the name, and she holds it in her heart above all honours. ]

[bythewaves]

[ An eyebrow goes shooting up and he smiles wonderingly ]

Siladhiel [ He turns her name into a song ] Shining maiden. High you must stand in the regard of whoever gave you that name! Sila means 'to shine' - to give a name amongst my folk is to take that one as near as kin, lady.

[ He bows to her again ] It means that you may ask aid from any of us by that name, and we would know you for one dearly regarded. I cannot say that all of us would aid you - but most of us would certainly try.

[steeledskin]

[ her small smile turns sentimental. there is little sansa stark likes more than to hear she has options: for allies; for friends; for help when the time comes. shining maiden! she doesn't feel much like shining, even upon good days, but something in the name itself brings a brightness to her cheeks. it makes her want to shine. ]

And so I rightly ask for aid now in this matter of music. But that's unfair; you were kind enough to offer your help even before now. Though, I confess I am somewhat fascinated by the elves of your land. You are an elf, are you not?

[ aside from the language itself -- and that otherworldly look about his face -- the word itself had not been said. it's only polite to confirm what she can only guess. ]

[bythewaves]

You asked so little of me, Lady Stark, and for a thing that I well love - I would have said yes in any case.

[ He smiles back at her and nods ] That is what we are called, aye.

[steeledskin]

The Cothromach houses elves. [ a minor gesture to the guards behind her. ] But I take it they are somewhat different from those of...Middle-Earth. [ although she hesitates, she does eventually name the land with confidence. ] Just as the dwarves of my city also differ. The Cothromach houses they and men alike.

[bythewaves]

[ Maglor tips his head in a small bow to her guards ]

Aye, that much seems to be true. [ He nods ] They are akin to us, we think, but not quite the same. The dwarven folk here are very like those I know, but not quite the same, as the Casari of my home either.

What did you wish to know?