eachdraidh | [Video]

[The edges of his lips are torn and bruised from the bit they had put in his mouth. His ribs are mended - they were broken - and his back is covered in marks - scratches etc.. But none of that amounts to what they did to him much lower. It's remarkable he can stand at all.]

My...light? [He wants to laugh and cry at the same time.] I would be stripped of my Whites...

[Actually the Heralds in the Collegium would understand. They wouldn't hold him to that standard. Yet he holds himself to that standard.]

I'll take myself to the forest near Caer Glaem. The trees will give us cover and I'll... I'll hide your presence.

Edited 2015-01-10 08:53 (UTC)

[ Maglor shakes his head ]

I can get in to Caer Glaem as easily as I can any where, this war notwitstanding. [ The joys of having family there ]

Sit. Rest. And I will come to you. It was not your fault, Vanyel.

My room is... [He gives precise directions to it.] The door is open to you.

[The ward he put on it will allow friends to enter.]

Use the Locket if you encounter problems. I have the strength to ensure your safety, at least.

[ Maglor nods and the minute the moon rises he steps through shadows to Celebrian's room, and from there, he slips out, Sketto scouting the way before him until he reaches Vanyel's. He pulls shadow and illusion round him as a cloak - do-not-notice and not-important-ignore-me - and no one will remember him passing, just the echo of a song half-heard. ]

Vanyel? [ he taps lightly at the door and tries the handle ]

[The handle will turn easily under his hand and Vanyel will be on the other side. He is wearing a long robe, obviously trying to hide under the fabric. Yet, even so, he is thinner than he was before and he somehow seems frailer. There is also a deep sense of fatigue and finality about him as well.

He has taken his first steps down the road that will end in his death.]

Come in and make yourself comfortable.

Edited 2015-01-10 09:31 (UTC)

[ Maglor's breath leaves him in another long hiss, and he cannot help the spark of fury in his eyes at Vanyel's obvious state.

I did not think observes Curufin That humans could Fade, but this one is certainly trying

He takes the two steps into the room, closes the door, and then pulls Vanyel into his arms, the same way he used to comfort his brothers and cousins and fosterlings, hand coming up to card through snow-white locks, voice crooning comfort ]

Oh Vanyel. I am sorry, Órecalimo.

[He was given his Gifts for a purpose. Ever since his teenage years, he has been plagued with dreams of his death. He will be all that stands between Valdemar and an army of Mages that work Blood Magic. One of them - Master Dark - will even entice Vanyel to join him.

He knows that particular Mage is the dark to his light and he knows that he can't allow Master Dark into Valdemar. The damage he could do might very well spell the end of the Valdemar he knows and loves. That's why Vanyel calls down the Final Strike. By doing so, he extinguishes his life along with Master Dark's and the majority of his army.

They won't even find a piece of him left behind.

Not that Vanyel knows all of that, but he is being prepared for it by destiny or whatever you want to call it. The Havens will give him a choice even in his death. To make up for the pain of his life, he will be given the opportunity to spend eternity with the one he loves as they guard Valdemar's borders - as spirits - together. Any Mage who steps beneath those trees with ill intentions are driven mad.

Thus he is, even in form, becoming something...beyond human. Deep magic is working within him, changing him so that he resembles an Adept Tayledras Mage.

But even an Adept needs comfort. He is stiff at the embrace, his heart hammering wildly, but then he breaks. Kind touches are a rarity for him - there is simply no time for them - so he trembles under the gentle touch like a frightened bird.]

It wasn't your doing. I wasn't alone, though I felt like it at the time. Yfandes came for me - even in the fire - and Stefen...he calmed my rage. I was so tired...

They took me into hiding. The Kyree accepted us...accepted me. Their Healer saw to me... [His brow furrows.] Kyrees are like...wolves. But much bigger. They are the size of horses and...intelligent. Some of them possess magic and are considered Mages and Healers.

Yet their numbers are not what they used to be. For them to hide me and protect me...

[He shakes his head.] They are like you. I do not know how to repay any of you.

[ Screw Destiny, Maglor would say if he knew, for all he sees is a bright light that is hurting, that does not deserve to hurt, and he croons wordless comfort, the same way he soothed Maedhros' nightmares after Thangorodrim, simply holding Vanyel and carding gently through his hair ]

No. But I am sorry that you had to suffer so, all the same. I am sorry that you were forced to face the darkest parts of yourself in that way. I am sorry that you had to face the depths of the Shadow and felt alone.

There is no debt, Vanyel, nothing to repay. They hid you, like as not, for the same reason that I do. Because they see a light that hurts, that dims, and one that should ever be clear.

[He isn't the only one in his world to be used by the same powers that brought forth the Companions. Yfandes knows what awaits her Chosen - maybe not clearly, but she knows his path will end. He isn't alone when he calls down the Final Strike. She returns to him after making sure Stefen is safe.

His heart never leaves him.]

I thought they killed her. [They shot her hindquarters with an arrow bolt, causing their connection to resound with pain. Then they had drugged him and he had been unable to contact her as they dragged him away.] I couldn't move. They hurt her and drugged me. I was so relieved to see her...

I wish you could meet her. She's my heart. [His mother, his sister, his best friend...] My light is nothing compared to hers.

[Yfandes loves him unconditionally. She has never asked anything of him, though he has given her his love in return.]

I do not deserve her or Stefen or you. But I'm a jealous creature, so I can't let any of you go.

[ Maglor is Feanorionnath, and hypocrite that he is, sees no problems with lambasting Destiny on behalf of another while he throws himself headlong into mad Oaths and tangles himself in its strings in his own world. He will be here as long as Vanyel needs, screw the rulers (Nolofinwe faced Morgoth without flinching, after all, and Maedhros endured everything they threw at him. Can Maglor do any less?). ]

I am glad they did not. [ He says softly, still humming softly ] And perhaps it is, but light, I have seen, is often drawn to light (as, sadly, is shadow) - I think you underestimate yourself. Tis not about deserving, Vanyel. You offered me your friendship, who is exile and forsaken. If it is any, tis I who do not deserve you.

[He releases a shaky breath and tightens his arms around Maglor's waist. Even knowing the Elf's past doesn't stop Vanyel from seeing good in him - and it hurts when Maglor condemns himself so. Oh he understands it - that guilt - but he's not about to see a good friend fade.]

I would offer it again and again. Sometimes we need others to see our light to know we haven't lost it.

[Gently, he pulls back and offers him a seat.]

Are you hungry? Thirsty?

[ A soft, sad puff of air ]

And even now you prove how great your are, Órecalimo. [ Maglor says fondly ]

The Light rejected me, Vanyel, seared my hand and soul. Stained and cursed as I am - there is none left for me.

[ He shakes his head, eyes carefully going over what he can see ] I am well. But what of you? You are painfully thin, Vanyel - even I can see that, and I am no healer. When was the last time you ate?

[He places his hands over Maglor's pointed ears and gives him a small smile.]

I can't speak for the Light. I can only speak for myself. Rejecting you has never crossed my mind. [Even after hearing about Maglor's past, he has never felt unsafe in his company.] Friendship doesn't come easily for me.

[Stefen has been trying to get him to eat for days. Food doesn't have much of a taste anymore, but he knows he needs it.]

Food has been forced upon me, but... I could stand to eat more, hm?

[ He wins a smile from Maglor, who leans a little into the hands on his ears ]

That, I think, is because your heart is far bigger than you know. You underestimate yourself, Vanyel.

[ And then he tsks at him, mock scolding ]

Very much so. The Eldar may go for days without, but Men need more than that. If I had known I would have asked my cousin for lembas, it would be easier on your stomach, I think, and more sustaining than most things. I know she grows the corn now. Do you think you feel up to a short walk? I can take us to the Station and cook you a proper meal, that way, or I can see if Sketto can pinch us something from the kitchens here. [ Who ever looks at the fairies, after all - Maglor's ainsel has far more freedom of movement than he does himself ]

I'm not the one who risked his life to comfort someone else. [He arches a pale brow, curious at the offer. It would be nice to feel...full. And not sick. He is tired of feeling that aching sickness in the pit of his stomach.] I don't want to risk you or Sketto. I can make it to the Station.

[With an apologetic glance, he takes off his robe, revealing his hastily mended and stained Whites underneath. The fabric has been washed, but blood isn't easy to get out.]

[ Maglor snorts, dismissively ]

Hardly. The security here is terrible - I have crept into far worse places than this. [ The camp of the Valar, for example ]

[ He shoots a sly smile at Vanyel ]

You realise, by letting me in, you risk far more than I if caught. [ All Maglor has to lose is his life, after all, which he has demonstrated again and again that he cares little for ] And I can return to wherever I have been - this includes your room, now. [ And with family here probably also explains how he got in in the first place ]

[ He tips his head consideringly, eyes taking in Vanyel's appearance (again he wrestles down the flare of anger and what the dull stains mean) and decides ]

Amil first, I think. I know she has lembas on hand, and she will not mind if I take some for a good cause. And then the station, and we can see if the machines there can do a better job on your clothes, and find you something to wear in the meantime. [ If not, well. Maglor has a good deal of experience in removing bloodstains ]

[ He offers him his hand ]

Do I want to ask? [His lips quirk in amusement, though the motion causes his face to ache.] If I am caught, I will tell Queen Solais the truth and accept my punishment gladly.

[There are other tunics tucked away in his room, but putting them on would require him exposing his marked body to the open air. He doesn't like being bare.]

You won't come here without my knowledge. [And even if he did, so what? Maglor is welcome to relax in his room.] There is nothing here that would serve the Unseelie any gain.

[Besides, Vanyel refuses - absolutely refuses - to let anyone decide his friends for him. Seelie or Unseelie is meaningless to him. Each man, woman and child should be judged on their actions and intentions alone.]

What does this...lembas...do? [He frowns, licking his lips awkwardly.] I'll only change into something else if you promise to look the other way.

[He tries - tries - to make his words light. Yet he knows they're not. After a slight hesitation, he takes Maglor's hand, unsure what to expect.]

Have a care for that. [ He warns ] That one speaks with a forked tongue. She may seem kindly but I do not trust her. [ I blame her for Celegorm's execution ]

And I would not, without good reason. [ He did not ask Celebrian, after all. And Maglor is too old and seasoned a campaigner to ignore the potential use he is, a Shardbearer who can go anywhere... who can get into the Seelie castle with only the smallest of steps ] And I would not be too sure of that second, Vanyel. [ He could, he knows, come into the room and slay Vanyel - a shard is worth much in this world. He would not - probably - but he could and Maglor will not lie about that ]

It 'does' nothing. [ He smiles a little ] But even a small amount is sustaining, and it is easy on the stomach. [ It was what saved Maedhros, after all ] There may be a blessing on it, I suppose - but the making of it is strictly limited to those ellith who studied under the Lady Yavanna and those whom they in turn taught, so I do not know.

[ Gently ] If that makes it easier for you Vanyel, of course I will. Hold tight.

[ And then he tugs them both through the nearest shadow, to his mother's rooms in Caer Scima. Nerdanel is not in, or rather, she is busy at work - Maglor can hear her, the tap tap tap of her chisel, and knows that she will not hear him if he calls to her right now. He puts a finger to his lips to warn Vanyel, and scribbles her a note, before refilling the water jug and making sure that she has a plate of lembas ready when she takes a break. ]

No need to disturb her - she would not hear us right now anyway. Come on, let us hie to the Station.

I am prepared to accept her ire. I have watched for too long as friends took blows meant for me. [Never again, he promises himself.] I have been transported to the Drabwurld twice. Surely I am some use to her.

[He nods before giving Maglor a sharp glance.] And you would be sure to find why I am the most feared Mage in Valdemar and in the bordering lands. [Maglor isn't the only one who has been prepared for battle. In times of crisis, Vanyel's powers are hair-triggered. Not to mention he can use his sword and daggers quite well.]

What became of the Lady Yavanna? [Sorry for his curiosity. Even in a terrible state, it thrives unhindered.] ...mm. [He grips Maglor's hand securely, his head spinning at the magic. Once his vision adjusts from light to shadow to light, he gives Maglor a faint assent. He has no desire to bother anyone.]

I hope she understands.

Use? Aye. So long as we all dance to their tune I am sure we are of use. They have so far used charm and gifts. I wonder when they will decide to use force, instead.

[ A wry shrug ] Then let us hope it never comes to that, eh? [ although a part of him is... curious. He has only seen Vanyel work magic once, after all. He does not know how far his skills might extend ]

Became? Oh, sorry. Nothing - the Yavanna is the name we gave to Earth-Queen, one of the Powers of the World. Many of my kin studied at the feet of the Valar, but... they dwell in Valinor, and not since the first breaking of the world have they set foot in Middle-earth again. So... those of us who left took only what they taught us, and nothing more. But the making of lembas is something taught only to a few - mostly the healers.

[ He takes a few small loaves of the lembas and slips them in a pack before taking Vanyel's hand again. Another step and they are in the Station. Indoors, near Maglor's room here - in the TV room, to be exact, since that is where Maglor knows the best ]

Amil will not mind. Here, rest a while, and if you like, you can see if the lembas will be kinder to your stomach than other food.

When they deem it necessary. [He rests a hand against Maglor's back, wanting to comfort him. The memories of their previous conversations are beginning to become clearer and he knows the Elf has been dealt a sore blow by the monarchy.]

The magic here is greater than the magic in Valdemar. I could do horrible things. [Sometimes he wonders if his magic isn't somehow independent from himself. It often seems like a wild animal that, once loose, cares for nothing and no one.]

Why did you leave Valinor? [He wonders over the draw of Middle-Earth.] I'm grateful the recipe for it isn't lost.

[His brow furrows at the sight of the loaves, curious over their ingredients. Not that he'll pry. His voice is breathless when they arrive in the Station and he quickly finds a place to sit.]

Thank you, Maglor.

[ If Maglor could find a way to kill both queens their heads would be rolling right now, everyone else be damned ]

Is it? I would not know - 'magic' is not a word we use in Middle-earth for anything save the devices of the Enemy, although some of what we do is deemed as such by others.

[ Vanyel might be of use in that regard murmurs Curufin He would make it quick, for you, if you wanted - if it comes to that and you would rather not Fade instead ]

I... cannot speak for everyone. [ Maglor says softly, eyes downcast ] Some, perhaps, for the lure of new lands, new kingdoms. Some for family, for friendship. But we... we went for our Father and our Oath. [ a small flicker of a smile ]

I, too. Galadriel knows how to make it - Celebrian might, as well, perhaps even Arwen, for I suspect my cousin would have passed the recipe down, mother to daughter. I have always enjoyed the taste - far better than the dwarven cram or the waybread of the Edain! [ It reminds me of home ] Amil might as well, but I have never asked.

[ He smiles back quietly ] I will see if I can find anything in your size hm?

That which isn't readily available to everyone and exceeds natural talent is in danger of being considered magic. However, in my case at least, my Gifts are clearly outlined. I cannot do anything outside of them unless I use artifice.

[Meaning diagrams etc..]

Your father has a strong hold on you. [It's not something he can fully understand.] I suspect Elves have a refined palate.

[Compared to Men, at least. He's not sure about Dwarves.]

...yes. I would appreciate anything, whether it is my size or not. [He breaks off a piece of lembas and brings it to his mouth.]

True enough. [ Maglor nods and tips his head to listen curiously ]

Such a strange world yours sounds. [ he murmurs softly ] I think I would dearly like to visit, one day.

[ Mention of his father brings shadows to his eyes and Maglor shrugs ]

He...is my father. Feanor is...was...a wildfire, devouring all in his path, but bringing warmth and light to those who stood beside him. He was brilliant and driven...passionate and whole-hearted in everything he did, for good or ill. They say of him even now, that he was both the greatest and the worst of us, and none will ever equal him again. He was easy to love, but hard to like. But above and beyond all of that... he is my father.

[ A shrug - Maglor cannot explain the tangled knot of emotion that is Feanor, but it does not change the fact that he would follow his father, did follow his father, right into the jaws of damnation without looking back ]

[ He quirks an eyebrow at Vanyel ]

Do not let the dwarves hear you say that! But try it, and see. And I am taller than you Vanyel - I rather think you would not fit in my things

(ooc: or at least I assume so since Mags is like. 6'6)

I will gladly give you a tour when matters are concluded. [Meaning - once he kills Master Dark, he will give tours and take a long break from Heralding.

The description Maglor gives of Feanor is interesting. Even by the end of it, Vanyel isn't sure whether the Elf loves or hates his father. Maybe they have more in common than he first thought.]

We cannot choose our fathers. Even so, family is...important. My blood kin were, more or less, a disappointment in that regard, but the family I have built around myself means the world to me. I would gladly follow them to a new world.

[Love can be crazy and blind. For some, Vanyel doesn't mind being called mad.]

I cannot say I know much about them. I don't mean it as a slight. [His eyes take in Maglor's full height and he nods. While he is tall, the Elf dwarves him. No pun intended.]

A clean tunic that is too large is better than a bloody one that is the proper size.

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