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]

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."