They are not friends, the two greatest bards of Elvendom, the twilight of the forest, and the moon of the sea. They will, perhaps, never really ever be friends - too much blood between them, now.
But they are rivals, yes, and comrades, also, two of the few who can truly hear the Song of the world.
They meet, and they part, and they are not friends, no. But perhaps they are something like it.
When Maglor finds himself amongst the stars he does not think of Daeron, does not expect or wish for him to be there.
If there was anything between them at all, it was a mutual love and respect of Music. Sometimes that was enough, though Daeron never forgot either what he did, or what he knew Maglor had done.
Another thing they had in common was a keen sense of self-hatred.
They should both be long gone, and yet somehow, it never ends. He'd never wanted to sail, though he didn't begrudge others for going.
Then perhaps one of the more frightening things happened, and the former minstrel of Doriath struggled not to gasp for breath, learning he was in space! The walls felt far too close, despite knowing objectively they were right where they should be.
"If any know of another who needs a minstrel..." A soft voice ventured, uneasy with reaching out to those he neither knew nor could see.
That voice, that voice, as wild as the trees which birthed it, grey sorrow forever wound through it, and Maglor would know that voice waking or sleeping, despite all that lies between them, both time and blood-stained floors.
"The stars sing clearly here."
It is not... the right answer, perhaps, but he knows Daeron will understand.
The door slams shut with bang, and one Loren DelaFiore, currently headmaster of Elf Academy, drops his bag to the ground and flops dramatically onto the couch.
"Why exactly did we think this was a good idea again?" He grumbles to anyone (and no one) within range and shuts his eyes, rubbing his nose with a sigh.
Darren Harper had just been having a nice cup of tea, reading when he heard a certain elf come in with such flare it drew a smile. He poured a second cup and walked over to his friend and held it out in offer. "Because it was."
They never expected to see him again, and although Luthien mourns her childhood friend, they both have other things to think about, other concerns to worry about.
(Like the fact that Luthien is mortal now, with all a mortal's frailities, and didn't that make him fret when Dior was born)
Beren doesn't often leave Tol Galen, but it isn't as if the family is stuck there. Luthien likes to visit her parents, from time to time, and Beren usually accompanies her when she does. This time, however, he's out on the East fences, while Luthien and Melian coo over Dior and Thingol watches indulgently. The elven rangers were quite understanding of his need to get away for a while, and although he knows they slow down for him, he is very grateful for the chance to get out of the palace.
He'd meant to stay lost, but between a surprise troll attack and signs of warg scouts, Daeron moved slower and more painfully than his usual swift grace and skill. He stopped dead when he saw the so very slight signs that elven patrols came this way, and there was a song in the wind that hinted he was about to be discovered by one such.
And there was no where to run they would not find or over-take him in the shape he was. Still, he had to try, and searched frantically for a depression that might hide him long enough to be left unnoticed.
A bad step sent him tumbling with a muffled hiss before his head slammed hard into a rock, steeling his senses. Unnoticed by him was the rather painful position he landed in, limbs askew and travel pack out of reach.
Berrn has fallen behind, not that he minds, much. Melian's Fence keeps out enough that patrols are a formality, and the rest of the patrol will wait for him once they realise.
The unexpected sound brings him up short and he frowns, loosening his blade in it's sheathe to go looking.
She had a distinct problem when it came to his music. Though she knew well of how he felt and she did not wish to fan the flames of his heart, her feet carried her to his song the moment it touched her ears. No matter where she might be - as long as it was within hearing distance - Lúthien would find herself dancing before him, joy in her heart.
This moment was no different and her hair whirled about her, free from all braids and ornaments. She preferred it this way - just as she preferred to be without shoes. Beaming, she tipped her head back and looked up at the star-filled sky. Were the stars twinkling for Daeron? For her?
He couldn't help but be entranced by her. Drawn to her bright light and the joy the lit her heart and shone from her. It hurt that she didn't love him as he loved her, but they retained a strong friendship. He just had to be content with that, though he knew he would watch over her safety. She meant far too much to him for him to do anything less.
Daeron let his music laugh and play with her, swirling around and encouraging her joy and dancing. She was so beautiful, so wild and perfect! It soothed the wild chaos of his heart in moments like these, under the stars Elbereth had once made for them and even now watched over them.
It was good that they had preserved their friendship for she simply could not deny his music. Her feet moved in a wild, yet perfect tandem with each piece he chose - no matter how he changed it. She could sense his creativity as if it was a living, breathing entity and she responded to it accordingly.
She beamed at him, though the expression was shyer than it had once been.
His Rings were given to the Elves he trusted most and Sauron was hot on his heels. Celebrimbor stumbled into Daeron's realm by accident, bone tired and terrified. He had put on a brave face for those who would carry his Rings for Ages to come, but that mask had cracked and now he felt his end nipping at him from every shadow.
The trees called to him and he stumbled into their shade, grabbing onto one trunk and another...and another...
Until he collapsed, appearing dead in his exhaustion.
Appearing dead and actually being dead were two different things, and the former bard of Doriath knew it well. The trees whispered of an elf in desperate need of care, and Daeron heeded their plea, racing to the source of their distress.
He paused only when he saw signs of a Noldor, but it was short-lived before he carefully pulled the elf up, slinging a limp arm over his shoulders, then up onto his horse before leaping nimbly up behind and nudging it back to a safer place. He sang softly to the trees to do their part in shielding and protecting the land he'd come to call home, for his energies would soon be fully on healing the near-dead elf.
His home was small, well hidden underground, but large enough for his horse and what he needed of it. A small underground stream kept him watered and clean, and the forest held plenty of game, herbs, and various other plants he needed. Including athelas.
He gently stretched the wounded elf out beside the stream and did his very best to heal what he could. Then bound up those wounds. Finally he sat back with a quiet sigh and took up his harp to start up a gentle melody, aimed at healing mind and body.
The call drew the minstrel's attention from the trees he'd been singing to, and he leaped lightly down, fearlessly approaching his king. Only to frown in concern at the look of pain on Thingol's face.
"What ails you, my king?" He made sure to speak softly, not wanting to add to the pain.
Relief softens his features the slightest bit. His head is pounding far too much for him to smile or give a proper greeting, but he trusts Daeron will understand. Gracefully, the King of Doriath lowers himself amongst the roots of a large tree and peers up at his Bard solemnly.
"My head is fit to burst. I have tried herbal remedies and nothing soothes it." his voice is uncommonly strained and his face is pale, "Will you sing for me?"
Time passes, and the world changes, but not all those who dwell in it change with it. Still, they keep up as best they can, hiding in plain sight or loosing themselves in the wild places.
But there are less and less wild places, these days. Too much concrete, too many people.
It's hard to hide, in the modern age, what with cameras and video and records kept online. Difficult, but not impossible.
(Elves are just fairy tales, after all. No one expects them to be real, so no one is going to think too hard about it either)
He's that cute DJ, in the club that you went to the night before, or the bartender in the quiet backalley pub who listens and makes you feel a bit better about yourself. He's the voice on the street corner that makes you wonder why no one's offered him a contract yet (but oh yes, homeless bum), or the friendly stranger who talked to you on the lonely beach when you were maybe wondering if it was worth it to keep going.
( The Elves are still here - you just need to pay attention. )
And sometimes....
Sometimes on the isolated beaches, there's a harp, winding sadly through the air, a voice that is the very sea itself. He doesn't only play laments these days - he's too old for that. But that doesn't mean he doesn't get homesick. He's waiting, waiting - for a ship, maybe, or... maybe he's waiting for someone. The song is unfinished. It's been a decade now. But he's patient. The other half of his song will come.
(They swap, where they meet, and it's his turn to wait)
Ten years of the sun isn't that long for an elf to wait.
Songs take time, too. Some musicians pour their entire lives into one song.
Even elves can adapt to the new world of men and stone. Even the lost. But they're not completely lost, as long as they have the other half of their song to find, to rejoin and raise up.
He's learned to live with what he'd done, and even has times when it's not at the front of his mind. Maybe that's a betrayal of the memory of Doriath, of Thingol and Luthien and Beren, but it's the truth of things, and he's more comfortable with himself when his steps turn to seek out the other lost bard.
He pays attention. He listens to the wind and the music of the sea. He spies other elves, once in a while. Sometimes he even pauses to sing for them of the ages long passed. But he always slips away, going wherever his feet take him.
To the sea he goes, more often than not. He hears their song, teasing in the air, half played and quietly yearning for it's complement.
Silver hair still hangs down past his shoulders, half down his back, loosely braided but with a dark cap pulled over his ears. It's his turn to bring food, and he has a sac at his side with some interesting new bauble he'd discovered on what the men call the mainland. France.
He raises his voice to twine with Maglor's harp, steps near-silent as he walks barefoot over sand, worn boots in one hand, stuffed with socks. He sings of how the sea meets the woods, how they mingle and play as he walks.
The world has changed and changed and moved on... but the elves are still here. These parties spring up without particular rhyme or reason, the scattered remnants all drawn together without any particular reason (although to be fair, social media helps a good deal with that, nowadays).
Maglor likes this town, down by the sea with the woods so close, and Thranduil is politely ignoring him, allowing him to annoy Daeron all he likes.
"Hullo Daeron." He says cheerfully. "Isn't your voice tired yet?"
The world might be different now, but it's still home. Daeron never wanted to sail west, and so he hadn't. He was far from the only one!
And there's always at least one elf who decides to come harass him sometimes, regardless of where he's gone off to. Maglor. He feigns annoyance, most of the time.
At the query, he rolls his eyes and pointedly adds just a bit more volume to the flute he's been playing for...a little while. Silly Feanorion will just have to try harder if he wants to get him to stop!
The Mereth Aderthad is a whirl of noise, of nobles and lords from both the Noldor themselves as well as emissaries from the Falathrim, the Sindar and the Silvan, and even the Avari. Most interesting to all, of course, are the emissaries of the Sindar, for seldom indeed does Thingol open his borders to send anyone out!
Rumors fly about and Maglor smiles a prince's smile but keeps both ears open. He knows why Maedhros invited him, specifically, rather than any of his brothers. He has a job to do.
In admist all the bustle, his eyes are drawn back, though, over and over, to the Doriathrim. Only three came, but three of such renown! Beleg Strongbow, Mablung Heavyhand, and the last, an unexpected pleasure - Daeron, who Maglor's Silvan friends all tell him is his match, or even his better. Some part of Maglor twists, fighting the bonds of court manners and politics that keep him in his place, wanting to go and meet him properly, to learn more about him.
Later, later. When everyone is in their cups. For now he turns another smile at his eager audience, and strikes up another song on his harp.
Daeron is of like mind. Later is a promise silent between them, expressed with the flick of eyes and a hint of smile as the prince of Doriath pays his respects to the Feanoriath with his dear companions.
He's learned to appreciate those not like him, and how to reign his extra skills in. But sometimes he doesn't care to. Rare, for the consequences, he's been taught, aren't always what one would expect.
Instead, he helps charm those emissaries like himself, and their hosts, to make the gathering merry along with Maglor. He settles in beside the other bard and melds his music with the other, harp and voice teasing the Noldo into playing through the music they both know intimately.
There is a spy following Daeron's steps like an eager hound chasing a fox! Said spy comes in the form of none other than Lady Luthien, the daughter of Elves and Maia. She sticks to the shadows so that he won't see her, yet the birds give her away, chirping and singing gloriously for their queen.
Melian has the same effect on them and Luthien doesn't have the heart to tell them to hush. So instead she speaks out, bright and clear:
The birds have always given her away! But he pays her the respect...and play...to pretend obliviousness until she calls out to him.
Until she says that.
At least they're alone, aside from their little friends. Daeron pauses, one hand pressing to the trunk of a tree in a silent hello to the spirit within it.
"Which do you ask after?" Yep. Playing dumb and oblivious. He's not sorry, sister dear!
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2016-11-14 03:29 pm (UTC)But they are rivals, yes, and comrades, also, two of the few who can truly hear the Song of the world.
They meet, and they part, and they are not friends, no. But perhaps they are something like it.
When Maglor finds himself amongst the stars he does not think of Daeron, does not expect or wish for him to be there.
But when he hears that voice...
no subject
Date: 2016-11-14 03:44 pm (UTC)Another thing they had in common was a keen sense of self-hatred.
They should both be long gone, and yet somehow, it never ends. He'd never wanted to sail, though he didn't begrudge others for going.
Then perhaps one of the more frightening things happened, and the former minstrel of Doriath struggled not to gasp for breath, learning he was in space! The walls felt far too close, despite knowing objectively they were right where they should be.
"If any know of another who needs a minstrel..." A soft voice ventured, uneasy with reaching out to those he neither knew nor could see.
no subject
Date: 2016-11-14 03:50 pm (UTC)"The stars sing clearly here."
It is not... the right answer, perhaps, but he knows Daeron will understand.
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Date: 2016-11-14 03:31 pm (UTC)"Why exactly did we think this was a good idea again?" He grumbles to anyone (and no one) within range and shuts his eyes, rubbing his nose with a sigh.
no subject
Date: 2016-11-14 03:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-11-14 03:54 pm (UTC)"Darren, as always, you are a life saver." He sips and hums appreciatively.
"I truly do hate the accreditation process. At times like this I truly miss Erestor's knack for making the paperwork somehow vanish off my desk."
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Date: 2016-11-14 04:09 pm (UTC)(Like the fact that Luthien is mortal now, with all a mortal's frailities, and didn't that make him fret when Dior was born)
Beren doesn't often leave Tol Galen, but it isn't as if the family is stuck there. Luthien likes to visit her parents, from time to time, and Beren usually accompanies her when she does. This time, however, he's out on the East fences, while Luthien and Melian coo over Dior and Thingol watches indulgently. The elven rangers were quite understanding of his need to get away for a while, and although he knows they slow down for him, he is very grateful for the chance to get out of the palace.
He isn't expecting anything unusual.
o-oooowe ;.; <3
Date: 2016-11-14 05:40 pm (UTC)And there was no where to run they would not find or over-take him in the shape he was. Still, he had to try, and searched frantically for a depression that might hide him long enough to be left unnoticed.
A bad step sent him tumbling with a muffled hiss before his head slammed hard into a rock, steeling his senses. Unnoticed by him was the rather painful position he landed in, limbs askew and travel pack out of reach.
You love me >3
Date: 2016-11-15 08:14 am (UTC)The unexpected sound brings him up short and he frowns, loosening his blade in it's sheathe to go looking.
"Who goes there?" He demands.
FOR SOME STRANGE REASON
From:MWAHHAHAHA?
From:sobs on
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Date: 2016-11-16 11:23 am (UTC)This moment was no different and her hair whirled about her, free from all braids and ornaments. She preferred it this way - just as she preferred to be without shoes. Beaming, she tipped her head back and looked up at the star-filled sky. Were the stars twinkling for Daeron? For her?
Perhaps!
no subject
Date: 2016-11-16 09:47 pm (UTC)Daeron let his music laugh and play with her, swirling around and encouraging her joy and dancing. She was so beautiful, so wild and perfect! It soothed the wild chaos of his heart in moments like these, under the stars Elbereth had once made for them and even now watched over them.
no subject
Date: 2016-11-17 02:07 am (UTC)She beamed at him, though the expression was shyer than it had once been.
"I think she must be smiling on us."
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Date: 2016-11-18 12:26 pm (UTC)The trees called to him and he stumbled into their shade, grabbing onto one trunk and another...and another...
Until he collapsed, appearing dead in his exhaustion.
HOW DID I MISS THIS
Date: 2017-02-10 01:07 am (UTC)He paused only when he saw signs of a Noldor, but it was short-lived before he carefully pulled the elf up, slinging a limp arm over his shoulders, then up onto his horse before leaping nimbly up behind and nudging it back to a safer place. He sang softly to the trees to do their part in shielding and protecting the land he'd come to call home, for his energies would soon be fully on healing the near-dead elf.
His home was small, well hidden underground, but large enough for his horse and what he needed of it. A small underground stream kept him watered and clean, and the forest held plenty of game, herbs, and various other plants he needed. Including athelas.
He gently stretched the wounded elf out beside the stream and did his very best to heal what he could. Then bound up those wounds. Finally he sat back with a quiet sigh and took up his harp to start up a gentle melody, aimed at healing mind and body.
no subject
Date: 2017-02-09 11:42 am (UTC)"Daeron? Daeron!" he didn't dare raise his voice too loud lest his head complain over the sound.
;.; Thingooooool <3
Date: 2017-02-10 12:54 am (UTC)"What ails you, my king?" He made sure to speak softly, not wanting to add to the pain.
:( He has an ache of the head!
Date: 2017-02-10 01:42 am (UTC)"My head is fit to burst. I have tried herbal remedies and nothing soothes it." his voice is uncommonly strained and his face is pale, "Will you sing for me?"
poor bb ;.;
From:a very tall bb! o.o
From:yus but oh so sweet
From:it balances out the crazy in his later life? ;-;
From:lol yes...ish XD
From:;n;
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Date: 2017-06-09 04:03 am (UTC)But there are less and less wild places, these days. Too much concrete, too many people.
It's hard to hide, in the modern age, what with cameras and video and records kept online. Difficult, but not impossible.
(Elves are just fairy tales, after all. No one expects them to be real, so no one is going to think too hard about it either)
He's that cute DJ, in the club that you went to the night before, or the bartender in the quiet backalley pub who listens and makes you feel a bit better about yourself. He's the voice on the street corner that makes you wonder why no one's offered him a contract yet (but oh yes, homeless bum), or the friendly stranger who talked to you on the lonely beach when you were maybe wondering if it was worth it to keep going.
( The Elves are still here - you just need to pay attention. )
And sometimes....
Sometimes on the isolated beaches, there's a harp, winding sadly through the air, a voice that is the very sea itself. He doesn't only play laments these days - he's too old for that. But that doesn't mean he doesn't get homesick. He's waiting, waiting - for a ship, maybe, or... maybe he's waiting for someone. The song is unfinished. It's been a decade now. But he's patient. The other half of his song will come.
(They swap, where they meet, and it's his turn to wait)
no subject
Date: 2017-06-09 04:18 am (UTC)Songs take time, too. Some musicians pour their entire lives into one song.
Even elves can adapt to the new world of men and stone. Even the lost. But they're not completely lost, as long as they have the other half of their song to find, to rejoin and raise up.
He's learned to live with what he'd done, and even has times when it's not at the front of his mind. Maybe that's a betrayal of the memory of Doriath, of Thingol and Luthien and Beren, but it's the truth of things, and he's more comfortable with himself when his steps turn to seek out the other lost bard.
He pays attention. He listens to the wind and the music of the sea. He spies other elves, once in a while. Sometimes he even pauses to sing for them of the ages long passed. But he always slips away, going wherever his feet take him.
To the sea he goes, more often than not. He hears their song, teasing in the air, half played and quietly yearning for it's complement.
Silver hair still hangs down past his shoulders, half down his back, loosely braided but with a dark cap pulled over his ears. It's his turn to bring food, and he has a sac at his side with some interesting new bauble he'd discovered on what the men call the mainland. France.
He raises his voice to twine with Maglor's harp, steps near-silent as he walks barefoot over sand, worn boots in one hand, stuffed with socks. He sings of how the sea meets the woods, how they mingle and play as he walks.
(no subject)
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Date: 2019-09-02 01:34 pm (UTC)Maglor likes this town, down by the sea with the woods so close, and Thranduil is politely ignoring him, allowing him to annoy Daeron all he likes.
"Hullo Daeron." He says cheerfully. "Isn't your voice tired yet?"
no subject
Date: 2019-09-03 09:17 am (UTC)And there's always at least one elf who decides to come harass him sometimes, regardless of where he's gone off to. Maglor. He feigns annoyance, most of the time.
At the query, he rolls his eyes and pointedly adds just a bit more volume to the flute he's been playing for...a little while. Silly Feanorion will just have to try harder if he wants to get him to stop!
(no subject)
From:YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS
Date: 2019-12-11 06:53 am (UTC)Rumors fly about and Maglor smiles a prince's smile but keeps both ears open. He knows why Maedhros invited him, specifically, rather than any of his brothers. He has a job to do.
In admist all the bustle, his eyes are drawn back, though, over and over, to the Doriathrim. Only three came, but three of such renown! Beleg Strongbow, Mablung Heavyhand, and the last, an unexpected pleasure - Daeron, who Maglor's Silvan friends all tell him is his match, or even his better. Some part of Maglor twists, fighting the bonds of court manners and politics that keep him in his place, wanting to go and meet him properly, to learn more about him.
Later, later. When everyone is in their cups. For now he turns another smile at his eager audience, and strikes up another song on his harp.
I DO
Date: 2019-12-11 07:52 am (UTC)He's learned to appreciate those not like him, and how to reign his extra skills in. But sometimes he doesn't care to. Rare, for the consequences, he's been taught, aren't always what one would expect.
Instead, he helps charm those emissaries like himself, and their hosts, to make the gathering merry along with Maglor. He settles in beside the other bard and melds his music with the other, harp and voice teasing the Noldo into playing through the music they both know intimately.
Re: I DO
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From:Maerchen Shenanigans?
Date: 2020-11-19 02:17 am (UTC)Melian has the same effect on them and Luthien doesn't have the heart to tell them to hush. So instead she speaks out, bright and clear:
"When will you get on with it?"
XD
Date: 2020-11-19 02:24 am (UTC)Until she says that.
At least they're alone, aside from their little friends. Daeron pauses, one hand pressing to the trunk of a tree in a silent hello to the spirit within it.
"Which do you ask after?" Yep. Playing dumb and oblivious. He's not sorry, sister dear!
>:3
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