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.
Ten years is very little, to an elf, and Maglor knows that as surely as the tide rolls back in that Dearon will find his way to him.
There's a little house by the sea, nothing fancy, but it's dry and it's comfortable, and there's space for two. Maglor's outside, perched on the rocks overlooking the sea when he hears it, the Wood coming to the Sea, and he lifts his voice in joy, voice twining around Daeron's in welcome.
Always. Daeron's grown used to feeling freer when he drifts back to Maglor. Why wouldn't he continue?
Just hearing the other voice joining his raises his spirits, and he almost smiles as he spies the cozy little house. But he knows just where Maglor is waiting, and goes there instead. He comes around and leaps up onto the rocks before sitting beside the other elf, sac coming to rest at his feet.
"I went to France," 'again' goes unsaid. "Paris only grows dirtier," his voice twists wryly, almost sadly. "But the museums remain an amusing visit."
He smirks, shifting to fold legs and face the other elf, elbows resting on knees comfortably.
"Do you claim you haven't already done so?"
Daeron keeps loose hold of Maglor's hand, unwilling to completely let go in this first period of reunited. "There's an undeniable pull and connection between the two."
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
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
Date: 2017-06-09 05:28 am (UTC)There's a little house by the sea, nothing fancy, but it's dry and it's comfortable, and there's space for two. Maglor's outside, perched on the rocks overlooking the sea when he hears it, the Wood coming to the Sea, and he lifts his voice in joy, voice twining around Daeron's in welcome.
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 12:58 am (UTC)Just hearing the other voice joining his raises his spirits, and he almost smiles as he spies the cozy little house. But he knows just where Maglor is waiting, and goes there instead. He comes around and leaps up onto the rocks before sitting beside the other elf, sac coming to rest at his feet.
"I went to France," 'again' goes unsaid. "Paris only grows dirtier," his voice twists wryly, almost sadly. "But the museums remain an amusing visit."
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 01:10 am (UTC)"I did enjoy the Louvre. Did you travel far afield from Paris itself?"
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 01:31 am (UTC)"Mm, went to Nice on the circuit back." Of course he took the long way back. "I let myself get lost in the Louvre." What other way is there to see it?
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 01:36 am (UTC)"You always do. Did you frighten the night watchman again?"
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 01:38 am (UTC)"They forget I'm there by morning." Meaning of course he did.
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 02:38 am (UTC)"Did you inspire another few poets?"
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 02:40 am (UTC)"You have been slacking no less than I, I am sure!"
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 03:05 am (UTC)"There may be a few more with the sea in their dreams now." He acknowledges.
"And a few tales in the local pub of sirens"
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 03:17 am (UTC)"The sirens never could resist you," he teases. Not that he can really blame them!
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 03:26 am (UTC)"No more than they would be able to resist you!" He retorts with a smug smile.
"But I have reasons to stay on land instead of following the Sea."
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 04:41 am (UTC)"Shall we sing to them together?" They can't help but enjoy an audience.
Daeron smiles faintly, gently. "Just as I have reasons to go by the sea, rather than stay solely to land."
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 04:48 am (UTC)"We will ruin them for everything else!"
He hums softly, fondly. "I am glad. Here where the ocean meets the land."
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 05:00 am (UTC)"Do you claim you haven't already done so?"
Daeron keeps loose hold of Maglor's hand, unwilling to completely let go in this first period of reunited. "There's an undeniable pull and connection between the two."
no subject
Date: 2017-06-10 05:12 am (UTC)"The Sea needs the Wood to complete the melody."