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 ]

Comments

[muscovy]

You have made many people angry at you in the world that you come from. Not here. [That is an important difference.] And Lord Celeborn knows that I belong to you. [Or perhaps he thinks that Muscovy belong sto Maedhros, but even if that misconception is a thing, it's not exactly incorrect - Maglor belongs to Maedhros, in a way, so it's correct by proxy.

He doesn't know about Legolas's father, but Legolas himself seemed to take no issue with him ...still, it's not necessarily a like son, like father thing, so he just doesn't know here.]

[bythewaves]

"Not yet" Maglor murmurs softly. "And my brother Celegorm has. My younger brother, mind, and he did so under my watch. I do not doubt King Thranduil takes a very dim view of me, although he has been kind enough not to blame me for my failure."

"But I suppose you are correct about Lord Celeborn." Gently, he brushes a hand through Muscovy's bangs. "I do not wish you bound to my fate or my doom.""

[muscovy]

"But I already am." For the moment, anyway - as long as he stays with Maglor, he will be bound to him very tightly, and as long as they stay in the drabwurld, their lives will at least be loosely interwined even if they separate now.

Not that that is new. Neighbouring nations will always have their fates connected even if they don't want it.

[bythewaves]

Pain blooms again in his eyes at that simple statement, memory of peredhel twins long ago threatening briefly to overwhelm him, and then Maglor drops his head and nods.

"Oh Muscovy." There is something broken and fragile in his voice. "I am sorry. But if that is truly what you want, and you understand by doing so you tie yourself, perhaps irrevocably, to our fate, then you may do so."

[muscovy]

He could repeat that he is already bound - everyone would see that, because even with Maglor not being a nation the drabwurld is too small for two shardbearers to truly not be connected - but doesn't in the end, because he assumes that Maglor does realize it (his eyes looked like it, even though he doesn't understand the reaction, but then Maglor can be incredibly silly about certain things (and get himself in trouble)) and simply tries to make a different point. And ...he is not sure if he likes the point that he assumes here.

"I will have almost all the disadvantages of it no matter if I wear your sigil or not." And if worst comes to worst he can always wear a coat or take off his shirt. The boy is watching Maglor for his reaction now, purple eyes, firm on the elf's face. "But I won't have half the advantages of being bound to you if I do not wear it, because strangers will not know that I am not alone and if they know you they will know that you are strong."

[bythewaves]

A small crooked smile and Maglor breathes softly and nods. "All right Muscovy - you seem to have made up your mind already."

Distantly he wants to weep, but no Oath holds Muscovy - perhaps their Doom will be kind and spare him.

"When we make your things I will ask for them to add the Star.

[muscovy]

He nods and smiles, but it is the neutral smile that he shows when it simply seems the safest and best expression and he isn't too overwhelmed to reach for it - a brush against his mind will turn up anxiety before any other emotion.

Does all of this mean that Maglor is thinking about leaving him after all? But if he has his sigil - does that mean that he will be safe?

His fingers dig involuntarily into Maglor's hand, afraid to let go. He's come to like Maglor, he's come to think of him as someone close, he doesn't want him to leave him - and in a double step he needs to not be left by him for all the reasons that he put.

[bythewaves]

Maglor leans his forehead against Muscovy's briefly and then pulls back, but only so far that he can press a gentle kiss to his head.

You do not know what it is you do He wants to weep, but his voice is steady.

"So it seems the House of Feanor will add another to their number. I only hope you will not regret it, later."

[muscovy]

He looks up in surprise at the kiss, not having expected it at all, and his grip tightens further for a moment before it loosens up some.

"You will not leave me?"

If there will be regret - he knows that wrong choices are easily made, and often there is no right choice. But this doesn't feel like a wrong choice, at all.

[bythewaves]

"No, Muscovy. You may go whenever it pleases you, but I will not send you away, nor leave of my own will."

Maglor promises softly, and feels another chain lock into place, but cannot bring himself to truly regret it.

[muscovy]

The smile, that until this point was neutral (anxious and careful, though he did his best to not let that show) suddenly turns bright and happy, one of the (maybe the) most radiantly happy expression that he has shown Maglor so far.

To hear this, even more from someone who will not necessarily die on him within the next half-century... He's not even sure how to react to it, but it is one of the most wonderful things that he has heard in a while.

[bythewaves]

Ah, and Maglor falls helplessly, in that moment, and knows that if any came for Muscovy they will have to go through him first. He smiles in return, and brushes another kiss to Muscovy's forehead.

"Oh Muscovy. You bring me such joy."

[muscovy]

And that is strange as well, and something that he is not used to. Everything about Maglor is, really.

...Well, not everything - what Maglor is is, in a way, not something that he isn't used to. He's met people who are terrifying yet can be kind, and kind people that can be terrifying. He's had such people treat him kindly. But they all to quickly turned away after, or left, or turned cruel; they were too weak to stay with him, or unwilling, or they in the end simply wanted something of him. That even includes his own people, more often than not.

But whatever it is between himself and Maglor - it is a bit like what he has with his sisters. A lot, even - sure, Maglor doesn't have a priority before him to the same extent as his sisters, or rather, his priority doesn't clash with his relationship with Muscovy to the same extent (because to take care of his mother and brothers isn't as likely to clash with it as taking care of a nation's people). But it still is more like that than any other relationship that he can think of, despite how briefly they've known each other. It is family, somehow (and again the little nation wonders if this is what having a father or a grandfather feels like).

But... "How?" If he can't replicate it, Maglor might change his mind about him, and he really doesn't want that (and he still isn't strong enough to keep a friend, so if Maglor doesn't want to keep him anymore...).

[bythewaves]

"How?" Maglor crooks an eyebrow at Muscovy and reaches across to fuss with his hair. "Oh Muscovy. Joy is not something that one can control - you make me happy by simply being yourself, tithen pen. No more, and no less than that."

[muscovy]

He nods slowly, though he doesn't answer. He's not sure how, but he'll just have to be himself as much as he can, then.

And the hand in his hair is almost comforting now instead of a source of wishing for it to stay and fearing that the fingers will turn cruel the next moment. He's still not sure how to deal with that, so he smiles neutrally at it, but ...he will fingure it out.

[bythewaves]

Maglor pulls himself together, tucking all the worry and grief back down into his corners and smiles back at Muscovy. "Come then, let us hie ourselves to the market."