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eachdraidh2014-09-30 08:41 pm
silmarils) wrote in eachdraidh2014-09-30 08:41 pm
audio; forward-dated to post-feast
[ his arrival hadn't been graceful by any stretch of the imagination. in fact, mostly it had been a blur. his first conscious memories are of fire, burning alive as the silmaril sears through his hand and the flames take him. smoke lingers in the air around him, and there are voices, and the flames are gone and he is still here--
he doesn't remember, exactly, what had happened after that, but the beautiful rooms he's been given are destroyed, and his throat is raw, the echo of a shriek still caught there, and his only good hand burns and burns. he can't do this, can't do this, can't do this can't do this can't can't can't can'tcan'tcan't--
time. moments or hours or years, who is he to tell? these are not the halls, he knows, he's been denied even death. and there is laughter, soft, sly, purring at his ear. that voice will ever be with him, spreading its rot through his veins, flexing its claws against his heart-- until poison pumps through it, until it's darkness alone sustaining him. that voice, which had spoken to him when he'd lain shattered and barely comprehending.
kinslayer, it murmurs, and a void opens beneath maedhros, and he cannot remember-- kinslayer, what hast thou wrought for thyself? these are the fruits of thy labour. a deathless existence, an oath forever unfulfilled. family slain, people scattered, a legacy of destruction.
he grasps for something, anything, struggling through the mire of his mind: his hand clenches, fresh pain drowning out the whisper. he is in unfamiliar rooms, an unfamiliar place, and there had been creatures, strange creatures, and--
--and?
feverish eyes land on the locket, discarded and opened at his feet. speak, he remembers. speak, and he might be heard. but is there anyone, anyone at all, that he would wish to speak to?
if this is where the cursed sons of feanor are taken when denied death, then-- ]
I-- [ the voice is a harsh croak, as if its owner's throat has been stripped raw by screaming. even so.. even so, there may be something familiar in it. maedhros takes a trembling breath through his nose, curled and shaking, scorched and bleeding hand curled almost white-knuckled around the locket. but even so, there's only his voice to judge. ] --I seek the sons of Feanor, should they be here.
[ with a quiet snap, he shuts the locket and ends the message. ]
he doesn't remember, exactly, what had happened after that, but the beautiful rooms he's been given are destroyed, and his throat is raw, the echo of a shriek still caught there, and his only good hand burns and burns. he can't do this, can't do this, can't do this can't do this can't can't can't can'tcan'tcan't--
time. moments or hours or years, who is he to tell? these are not the halls, he knows, he's been denied even death. and there is laughter, soft, sly, purring at his ear. that voice will ever be with him, spreading its rot through his veins, flexing its claws against his heart-- until poison pumps through it, until it's darkness alone sustaining him. that voice, which had spoken to him when he'd lain shattered and barely comprehending.
kinslayer, it murmurs, and a void opens beneath maedhros, and he cannot remember-- kinslayer, what hast thou wrought for thyself? these are the fruits of thy labour. a deathless existence, an oath forever unfulfilled. family slain, people scattered, a legacy of destruction.
he grasps for something, anything, struggling through the mire of his mind: his hand clenches, fresh pain drowning out the whisper. he is in unfamiliar rooms, an unfamiliar place, and there had been creatures, strange creatures, and--
--and?
feverish eyes land on the locket, discarded and opened at his feet. speak, he remembers. speak, and he might be heard. but is there anyone, anyone at all, that he would wish to speak to?
if this is where the cursed sons of feanor are taken when denied death, then-- ]
I-- [ the voice is a harsh croak, as if its owner's throat has been stripped raw by screaming. even so.. even so, there may be something familiar in it. maedhros takes a trembling breath through his nose, curled and shaking, scorched and bleeding hand curled almost white-knuckled around the locket. but even so, there's only his voice to judge. ] --I seek the sons of Feanor, should they be here.
[ with a quiet snap, he shuts the locket and ends the message. ]
....it took me so long to work out this translation whyyyyy
Ve elyë méra, aranya
[ But there is a stubborn tilt to his mouth that says that he will be hard to shake, unless Maedhros orders him to go ]
Yes...
[ AND ABRUPTLY PRIVATE ]
Brother, Celegorm is here. The Seelie champion slew him [ and there is something dark and dangerous in his voice ] but the Unseelie Queen brought him back - a 'last gift for his service' she said. Celegorm is... he is from before Nargothrond. He was... is... so happy, Nyelo. But the Unseelie Queen used him, twisted him - and he bent to her... for me. I am sorry. I could not keep him safe. I was not strong enough. He lives, now - but he wishes it kept secret. We have told very few.
lajdfasdf because elves
instead, he shifts at the mention of celegorm. he's heard from others that celegorm was slain, that he's dead--
his eyes widen, stunned, at the news that he's still alive. for a moment, he can hardly contain his joy, fist pressing hard against his mouth to keep sound from escaping. in all else that has happened, at least he has this, his brothers, his mother. and he does not have to mourn celegorm a second time. ]
He lives. He lives. Ai, I thought-- [ a trembling breath. ] It is enough, for now. Makalaure, it is enough that you both live.
sob yes also PRIVATE FOREVER
As do you. [ okay so maybe it cracked slightly there ] I am not alone. I ... I will come and bring you to him. Will you be well until moonrise? [ How bad are your wounds? ]
no subject
he carefully gentles his tone, as he might have when makalaure was still a child, and upset and frightened. ] I will be well, never fear. I will use this time to rest.
no subject
Then I will come, when the moon rises and the magic that lets me travel works. I... I am with them even now - I will tell Celegorm. Since his... return, he has been unable to use much of the Court's magics, including the lockets. Have a care what you speak over them - we... Legolas and I, and Amme too, we fear that they are ... not entirely secure. But if you need me, hanonya, you need only call.