jikan_rpg | (no subject)

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⌛ Who: Daeron and OPEN
⌛ What: Arrival type stuff, playing the flute, trying to hold a somewhat physical form, that kind of thing
⌛ When: Mid January
⌛ Where: Anywhere nature or with fewer people
⌛ Warnings: Possible mention of mental torture but nothing graphic

This is not how Time works. Not for most people. The Valar and full Maiar can do more with it, possibly. But not the rest of them who live on Arda. Daeron had listened to the various lessons he'd been given after stepping through the time door.

But confusion clings to his heels as he reminds himself how to be present. He can hear the Songs of a few others that nudge at his senses as being familiar, but he dismisses them. He doesn't expect to come across them, after all. The trees call to him, soothing tattered nerves as he moves through them, breathing in the fresher air after being surrounded by pollution of the cities he'd had to walk through to get out.

What calms him most of all is when he pulls out his flute and begins to play, tucking himself away in the branches of a great tree that had seemed to offer itself to him as a comfortable perch. Who is he to deny such a request? With each flutter of fingers and breath, he pushes his thoughts further away from all that has been happening on Arda.

Every pain.

Every weight of guilt.

He embraces the loneliness of self exile, as he has since he'd left Doriath so long ago. Long? He hardly knows how long it's really been. Dwelling on it does nothing. He welcomes the suffering of never walking with other Elves. He'd done that to himself, after all.

Anyone who hears him and comes looking might have some trouble seeing him. And the edges of his form seem to flicker sometimes even for those who do see him.

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There's a Song in the air, one Maglor hasn't heard in... oh, it's been several centuries by now, surely. A whole Age, and more. He shouldn't go. The other wont' want to see him, probably. But...

His feet carry him without him truly trying, drawn to the Song. Softly, tentatively, he offers his own Song back in turn.

An accompaniment. An answering Song that twines with his own. Makes his heart ache and shy back before a lash of anger colors the music.

But not for long.

His rival in music. In some ways, better. But not all. Not the purest sense of Song.

Daeron doesn't come down from the branches, but he can't keep from glancing down as confusing emotions clash horribly. Shaking his head, he lets the Song return. Stilted before he focuses as best he can. Smoothing out to question the Feanorion.

Maglor hears both the lash of anger, but also the question, and his answer modulates, apology.

He just wanted to see him again, that's all. Just to hear him again.

The answer startles him even as part of him decides it's only right for a murderer to apologize. The Song gentles, uncertainty flickering, winding through the notes.

Not worthy. Not worthy to be seen, even by a Feanorion.

But Daeron decides maybe it wouldn't be too bad to just...play. Together. He offers that much.

In all his life there has only been one to match him, to challenge him. Only one who he might be willing to admit is his better, sometimes.

(They say Tinfang Gelion is better, but no one has seen or heard from the moon piper since before the Long Peace, so as far as Maglor is concerned he doesn't count)

He lights up in pleasure to be able to play together.

Yes!

It tugs playfully at Daeron, pleased.

Only one who could come close. That is how they know each other.

And how Daeron finds himself better able to focus on the present. His Song grows stronger. More present and certain as holding to himself grows easier with the welcome distraction of challenge.

It's been far too long since he'd had it last.

He meets that playful tug in kind, flute almost slapping mockingly at Maglor.

Maglor settles onto the ground beneath his tree and brings out his harp, the tune dancing out of the way of the slap, teasing.

Can't catch me!

Blessed teasing.

Tension seeps from him, making the tree shiver as he answers that challenge, sending light music chasing after the harp's tune.

Will!

His eyes slide closed as he loses himself in the music. Notes technically perfect and inventive. If...still lacking, in the way someone not entirely intune with pesky emotions tends to be.

Maglor doesn't care - Daeron's perfection is why he enjoys playing with him, and he can hear the missing notes that he's reaching for in the spaces where the other is still a little uncertain. That's alright - Maglor will fill in those gaps for him.

Can't!

When it comes to music, Daeron has to admit he trusts this Elf to catch him if he falls, as he would no other. This Elf is highly gifted and knows it.

If not for the whole kinslaying business...But Time marches on.

And Maglor's harp fills in the gaps, filling out the Song Daeron flings at him to catch at his heels, tugging in answer.

Right here! His music chortles.

Doriath will always lie between them now, a sin far more personal than Alqualonde. Maglor won't begrudge Daeron his anger - but he's missed this, the opportunity to play with someone who challenges him, always, to do better.

Run away! Maglor's song trills, rolling out from under Daeron's grasp, flitting cheerfully just ahead.

Always. Daeron can't forget what had happened there or who had been responsible.

...but Maglor isn't the only one of them who has missed this. And he can't help but let it color his choice to not simply go silent and slip away.

So he chases the other with his music. Tugging, teasing even. Occasionally catching up just enough to not end this odd game of theirs.

It's a push and pull not unlike the roll of the waves that Maglor knows well, a game and a challenge both, the tunes dancing around each other and meeting only to spring apart and run again. It's freeing - he hasn't had this since the Mereth Atherdad. It's not something he ever thought he'd have again, and gratitude whispers in every note.

A push and pull Daeron is most familiar with when it comes to music, or even the wind. He's a wood elf, not a sea elf. But he's done his time beside the water, too.

And the freedom of losing himself into Song is a great relief. Gratitude is heard...and answered. Returned.

It changes nothing of the past, and that leaks through too, the grief, and the apology, and the sorrow. But there's joy too, unlooked for, undeserved, in the simple challenge of an equal.

He plays until he has to stop, the notes jarring to a sudden halt as his hand cramps, and he bites down on the gasp of pain. Elrond tried to help, when he was here, but there's only so much one can do with a Silmaril burn.

She is lured by his song, her hummingbird wings fluttering quite uselessly as she prances into view. Like another before her, she dances, giggling and bouncing around his tree. Flowers come to life under her feet and she is careful to avoid them, weaving magic with her hands that will sustain them even in this strange, strange environment.

Her dance catches his heart and mind. Bringing his memories to another who had danced gracefully and flowers had answered to delicate steps.

This woman has a similar feel to his sister, too. Only different - as to be expected. Luthien will always be unique.

Daeron doesn't have the heart to deny this woman his music, and has no reason to try. So he plays for her.

Jin Mi is definitely no Luthien! But they do share similarities. One of those similarities is their love of his music. And while she can see him, she pretends not to; he seems to like his privacy.

However flowers will wind their way up the tree to tickle against him curiously. Hello!

It's just his luck that one of his solitary wanderings would bring him into close proximity to someone that would likely not wish to see him, someone he had no wish to impose his prescence on either.

Music has never been his forte, he wasn't completely incapable of carrying a tune but it was nothing like what Maglor or this one could accomplish. Seeing through illusions and concelements however, that he learned to do during his long years of captivity. Daeron is a little blurry around the edges but other than that he sees him clearly enough.

"I can leave if you'd wish me to." He offers, not moving in either direction until he's gotten an awnser.

One was bad enough. The other?

Silence answers the offer for a long moment. Not even the flute plays.

Finally Daeron sighs and doesn't demand Maedhros leave. "Has this world been a cage to you?" He asks instead.

He doesn't blame the other for not being thrilled at his prescence. There are days when he can barely stand it himself.

The question takes him a bit by surprise, it was not what he was expecting to break the tense silence between them. He doesn't awnser directly but spend some time actually contemplating what the other asked of him.

"It depends on how you mean." He finaly says. "Any world is a cage for you when your greatest wish is to simply not exist." This world had dampened his despair to a manageble level but that did not mean that it was gone.

That is something they have in common. The difference is that Daeron has never considered taking his own life.

He busies himself in making sure his flute is clean as he waits, wondering if the tall Noldo will respond or not at all. The answer has him stare down at Maedhros, forgetting to blink.

"I heard you made that happen, of the physical form," he answers after a while. "Is that a lie?"

Maedhros meets his gaze head on. He doesn't really like to talk about that moment of weakness, but the least he could do for anyone he had wronged as badly as the people of Doriath was to be truthful in his replies.

"I did... or I would have if I hadn't been brought here right after I stepped of that cliff." The intent had been there at least, even if the attempt had been disrupted.

Not a lie. An intent for death. They both know where their spirits go after their bodies die.

Daeron tilts his head, silver hair shifting with the motion. "Do you regret it?"

He doesn't understand why any of the kinslayings had happened, not really. It makes no sense. But they'd happened, and even Ages later, there are prices that are still paid. If those he'd directly wronged were before him, he'd respond much the way Maedhros is.

Truthfully Maedhros had hoped for the Void rather than the Halls. If he'd been able to he'd have unmade himself entirely.

That is a more complicated question than Daeron might realise. Does he regrett what he did? Yes and no. He regrets that it hurt his brother and the twins, but he still feels like his life is a heavy weight he is forced to carry around. "I regret that it hurt those I care for."

Well, Daeron has never had his fathers Oath howling in his ears at every waking moment. It wouldn't make much sense for anyone who hadn't personaly felt the lashings of such a thing upon their soul. But that is as it should be, it's not like understanding why it happened would make what he did any less monstrous.

The Void holds Morgoth. And now, hopefully, Sauron. But perhaps Maedhros does not know that - Daeron doesn't know and doesn't bother offering that knowledge he is only half certain of.

Emotions are tricky for Daeron, it's true. Oaths make even less sense to him, especially ones as damning as that he almost feels dogging the heels of any Feanorion he meets.

Regret of hurting those who cared for him. That takes a stab at his heart though and emotions roil confusingly around him. Seeking to lash out - but he manages to reign it in. Fingers tap silently over crafted silver, nervous energy making the tree shiver around him.

"Would you do it again, with that awareness?"

Perhaps he felt like he deserved to be imprisoned together with the other monsters? Likely he just thought the void would reduce him to the nothingness he craved.

Another hard question to awnser. Would he do it again? He doesn't know, truthfully, he hadn't exactly planned to do it the first time around. "I'd like to say that I wouldn't, but I really don't know. I can't say for sure that there would never again be such a moment of weakness for me."

That is how he viewed it at least, a moment of weakness where he let his pain and despair rule him and dictate his actions in a way he'd never allowed them to before. He'd wanted to die long before that but he'd never before acted upon that wish until that moment.

"I've promised my brother to... try, at least. To let him know if I ever... feel like I would do so again." And that was all he really could do without lying.

He's been alone a lot lately. His uncle seems to be busy with his own things and he hasn't exactly been avoiding Wei Wuxian since he arrived but he has sort of. He didn't have to be told the two husbands would need private time catching up and it hadn't been fun watching one of the mentors he looked up too struggle in the presence of a 'dog' boy. Needless to say, he's spent a few nights with the daozhangs instead.

He gone into the woods today looking for any troublesome spirits or ayakashi. He's learned by now how to identify the more harmless ayakashi and to leave them alone. Nonetheless, there were other ones who could and would hurt people.

While out patrolling through the woods, the sound of a flute catches his attention. He hesitates as the flute player he knows might not appreciate Jingyi's presence. However, it doesn't sound the same and he follows the music curiously.

When he finds the source of the music, he gazes in surprise as it seems to be coming from a tree. He senses some kind of strange energy coming from it, so it must be a magical tree. One of his ears rise and the other flattens as he stares at it confused. Unsure how sentient the magic flute tree was, he decides to error on caution- he bows politely to it.

"I'm Lan Jingyi of the Gusu Lan clan. Can you speak, Lao Tree?"

That was strange, to hear a song that wasn't either from her or from Serenes itself. Especially to hear it from the fog surrounding her home. Her wings perked before she decided to go towards the source of the song, this time though to help him through the mists, she goes to start singing to help him find his way out.

[Too lazy to link, lol song will be Tir Mir Nog.]

Thanatos is accustomed to music bearing the weight of the emotions of the person who plays it. He has heard Orpheus' playing often enough to understand how the strumming of strings or the sound of a voice might express more than simple sound.

Still, he's a little surprised to find that when he hears that melancholy tune, he understands the feeling behind it. Perhaps it's... a little closer to home than he expected something like that to be.

Finding the source does not take long. Even tucked away in the tree as he is, Thanatos' keen eyes spy him up there. He sees, too, the way his form seems to be fraying around the edges. How curious a thing, when he seems solid enough to claim to be living... and Thanatos' defintions of whether or not something is alive are often challenged in Nippon.

"I'm familiar with shades playing music, but I have never seen one play from such a lofty perch."

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