eachdraidh

[Margaery's composed on the locket, a soft smile on her lips, hair loose and flowing down her shoulders. If nothing else, the fashions of the Seelie Court suit her. There are fine tapestries on the wall behind her. Yeah, she got a nice room, too.]

I've been remiss in introducing myself these many weeks, I hope you'll forgive me for that. My name is Margaery Tyrell of House Tyrell. Some of you may already know my brother, Loras, whose company I am grateful for every day.

[And, more recently, for his sword.]

Some of you who've so recently arrived may be missing loved ones of your own, but take heart. They may yet find you. I only pray that the courts won't keep you separated.

[She glances off to the side. Woe her darling husband-to-be. She looks back again.]

I am no warrior myself, but I've been trying to find my purpose here as a healer, as well as helping with morale. If it pleases you, I would be happy to take a walk with you in the bailey and discuss our lands while enjoying the beauty of this one. Or I could teach you a song. Even such a simple thing has become quite useful of late. If you're troubled by any mischievous fairies, I believe I can help.

[And maybe make herself as rich as a Lannister in the process.]

firith

The nature of evil is such that it spreads like rot, out of sight and festering until it inevitably makes itself known. This is how it is with people of all races. Elves, Men, Dwarves ... Hobbits. [ ~~Looking at you, Gollum.~~ ] Everyone must decide, sooner or later, to give into this sickness or to rise above it. They know it when it touches them. They know right and wrong, yet still they covet the latter with deplorable excuses.

I have no patience with debate in this matter. I do not care for it.

[ For anyone who saw his furious exchange with the Unseelie a few days ago, it will hardly come as a surprise that the Elvenking is hard-faced and forging his ill-temper into something productive. He cannot be blamed, what with his only child a ruin of his former self. Having felt closer to his father's hot-blooded choices tonight than at any other time, he takes pride in Oropher's name and tempers a long broadcast with an even tone throughout. ]

I am Thranduil Oropherion of the Woodland Realm, Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen; formerly Mirkwood, a land few of you will know. There I raised a kingdom under the threat of a great Shadow and my Halls endured for thousands of years. As of this moment, I renounce fealty to Caer Glaem and its rulers on behalf of myself and Prince Legolas, who was brutalised at the hands of fools that would wear Unseelie colours and fly the flag of those who barter in precious gemstones for the exchange of innocent lives. They are wrong to do so. They excuse their actions in any way that seems fit.

What a pretty war this is, so neatly stacked on either side. Shard-holders do not know one another, yet still they raise their swords and scream war-cries without hesitation.

We teach children better sense than this.

[ Or he did, at least. ]

I will rebuild another fortress away the malicious madness running rife in a location I have already decided upon. One home I lost to the sea, another to a Dark Lord and thrice have I lived in the wilds, forced to keep my people moving for years; the last, I walked away from freely in order to come here. A mistake. The fortunes of Men rise and fall and so it is here too with the Fae, yet still I offered my help. I was repaid in broken bones; as a result I now break ties. Given how simple everything is here, I suspect this will not be difficult for people to grasp.

This land would take my son from me, the last of my bloodline. I shall carve out a new home for us, in recompense, before we are hauled any further into this ruinous mess.

[ The locket pulls back, showing the Elvenking at the Station in one of the odd tops from its endless stores (a hoodie, he has heard it called) while his usual clothing is being cleaned. His hair falls freely over his shoulders and he looks tired, no older than a mortal in their late twenties but with grey-blue eyes that are cold and weathered as tempered steel. He might seem impassive to some, but to a keen eye there is fury behind each slow blink.

Slow are his words, measured things that come from one who has lived long enough to know that if it is worth saying, it is worth saying well. ]

For in time, all foul things come forth. These are early days, the flames of war are but flickers in the dark even with the most recent of losses shared. These numbers will grow and those who were free people ere they were tricked and dragged here will be slain together on a battlefield like so many before, nothing but stains that run ruddy across the unforgiving dirt.

It will be a meaningless slaughter.

[ It's like looking southward toward Mordor; the threat of needless murder is a chill breath on his neck as he recalls Legolas's cries, his agonised sobbing as he could barely hold his broken arms around his own father. He cannot do it. Thranduil physically and mentally cannot commit to a pointless massacre, so in this broadcast he makes it known how he will respond to the current climate: by over-seeing the construction and maintenance of a safe-haven, one that will endure and defend at the command of a single lord that does not care to carve jewels from the chests of innocents.

With Legolas maimed in body and soul, Thranduil cares for very little else at all. ]

These will be my last words on the matter until I have my affairs in order.

[ And the feed ends abruptly because, frankly, his son needs him and is more important than anyone else. Replies will come intermittently throughout the day, while he attends his recovery. ]

( OOC: If you've ever wanted to see an elf in a hoodie, here you go. )

serving

( Through the locket Merlin looks a little ... well, weary, if we're honest. It's not necessarily the same weariness of a young man who's been put through his paces physically (even though the recent rescue mission took it out of him), rather the slightly greying skin tone that indicates late nights, hard floors, and an over-active imagination. The only problem is that this time it's not his imagination that's to blame: it's everything else - it's this reality - that has him unable to stay still. Call it an over-abundance of nervous energy ...

That's actually only got worse since finding Arthur and Lancelot. Merlin's not exactly unused to having strangeness heaped on him but he's still uncertain about the whole thing: Lancelot died the last time he saw him, for starters, and yet here he is with no memory of it. It doesn't add up, and a simple "well, it's magic" isn't good enough for him. Merlin needs answers. He also needs to find out if only the three of them crossed over to the new realm, but asking the network seems too dangerous. Drawing attention to Guinevere, for example, if Morgana is lurking in a new and improved forest hovel, is exactly the opposite of what he wishes to do. Better handle this one with a bit more subtlety.

Still. His niggling doubts haven't kept him indoors on such a pleasant day - not least because outside he feels a little less like he's under scrutiny from every angle. It was the same in Camelot, he realises, if not for slightly different reasons, although he supposes the punishment for discovery may very well end up the same. He hopes not to find out. From his surroundings it should be clear that Merlin's ventured into a patch of thin woodland, and right now he's knelt over a frothy-flowered cluster that looks a lot like a yarrow plant.

He peers into the locket for a moment (as though uncertain it's actually working). )

... Hello?

( He frowns, then taps it a couple of times, before deciding that he may as well continue. He angles it so that the "yarrow" is in view. )

Does anyone know what this is? I'm looking for yarrow, but I'm - um. Not really familiar with what's poisonous and what's not, here.

( The physician's bag he's wearing over his shoulder slips forwards into view - Gaius' bag, for the Camelot bunch, who should be able to recognise it immediately. He'd been out collecting dock leaves when he'd been whisked away to the Drabwurld, and as Arthur had put it, he may as well go on and make himself useful. The locket moves over it slowly, getting a few different angles, before turning back to Merlin's face, where a self-deprecating smile has replaced the sceptical expression of moments ago. )

It doesn't look poisonous, but ...

( Hey, he doesn't look like an immortal warlock. )

Always better to be safe than sorry? And I don't want to end up giving someone a rash.

( But his smile grows broad at the thought of Arthur rubbing an itchy rash into God knows where. Come on, that's funny! )

... Accidentally. Anyway, let me know if you have any ideas; I'm all ears.

( He really does set himself up for the teasing, doesn't he. Merlin offers a little nod before the locket cuts off - and if he didn't give his name? Well. He's beginning to think that, at least with this crowd, a little namelessness might save him a lot of trouble. )

pillager

[ The face that appears in the locket doesn't look distressed at all. Unlike most of the new arrivals, he's actually quite accustomed to being whisked away to strange new realms. So rather than looking upset, Hook's face is calm. He's smiling sheepishly, even. ]

Well, this certainly the warmest welcome I've received in a new realm. Never had a feast held in my honor. I could have done without being dragged here by those nasty little imps, but I'll try not to hold it against our hosts for using such... unconventional methods.

[ In all of the kidnappings he's experienced (more than one, sadly enough), he's been subject to much worse abductions. He leads an interesting life. ]

I'd like to learn more about this shard that's supposedly embedded in all of us... Why hadn't we heard of such a thing before? Believe me, I'm quite familiar with magic.

[ Hook's eyebrows raise, and he reaches into his pocket to retrieve a small piece of paper. ]

Speaking of, I'd like to inquire about a few people-- perhaps you've ran into them, or heard a name in passing. They tend to leave quite an impression.

[ He begins to read off the paper. And yes, he had to write down the names so he wouldn't forget. ]

Rumplestiltskin, may also go by The Dark One. [ If there's any hope of getting out of this place, he'd know anything. ]

Snow White and Prince Charming, also known as Mary Margaret Blanchard and David Nolan. Belle. Regina Mills. [ He pauses, leaning forward and grinning a bit. ] The Evil Queen Regina, if you're into a more dramatic flair.

[ He looks back at the sheet. ]

There's more on the list, but I'll spare your ears. We're all weary, after all.

[ Oh but before he cuts off -- ]

Captain Killian Jones, by the way. Hook, if you prefer a more colorful moniker. A pleasure.

Entries tagged with merlin: bbc's merlin

First ❀ Video ❀ Seelie & Unseelie

❧ video; 03 aka MIRKWOOD OUT (forward-dated to 09th)

oo1 ★ video ★ seelie + unseelie

first sail / video / seelie + unseelie

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