Forgotten harper, singer doomed. (gold_cleaver) wrote in untold_logs, @ 2008-07-10 20:23:00 |
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Entry tags: | caranthir, feanor, ithiriel, maglor |
Who: Maglor, Ithiriel, Caranthir, Feanor
What: Maggie has a 'moment'. Off-kilter elves are fun. So...there's off-kilter-ness...and aftermath.
When: Recently present...ish. After the log where Caranthir sought advice, Ava was driven batty by an already batty Maglor, and after brain!Haleth tried to talk some sense into Caranthir.
Maglor: *does not matter, does not matter, does not...* *repeats*
Ithiriel: *thinks he matters, to her*
Ithiriel: *also thinks he matters, to Caranthir, but that's just her*
Maglor: *twitchy while writing the uber play of tragic...uber...everything, where even the dog dies*
Ithiriel: *is so very glad she went to Celeborn for some relief earlier today, was ready to start doing drastic things that won't be mentioned*
Maglor: >.> *also likely will forever think of Ava as the brothel dancing elf* -_-
Avarian: *will try* *will make effort*
Maglor: *can not SCRUB BRAIN like he wants to, sometimes*
Maglor: *so is finishing the middle bits of play, to tie it into last pages where the 'stage is awash with blood and fire.'*
Maglor: *thinks its 'light fare'*
Feanor: *has been ... really, crazily, working hard on theatre .... almost has all the insides painted the way Maglor wished*
Maglor: *finishes with a huge sigh of Maglor!angst(tm)* *gets self semi-presentable, puts on gloves, gathers up pages, gives wife a smoochy kiss of be-back-soonish, and heads off to the theatre?*
Ithiriel: *sighs a bit, as he goes ...was hoping to talk to him* *gets back to work on the cloth she's weaving, instead, and pretends not to miss the time when she had him to herself*
Maglor: *walks down to the theatre, not really watching where he's going, so nearly trips over one dog, bumped into one vendor, and caused two carts to crash together to avoid smashing into HIM by the time he got there*
Maglor: *walks in, walks over to where Feanor is* ... *sighs*
Feanor: *is on scaffolding, painting!*
Feanor: *looks down at him* You married the elf, what is your problem now? Is she beating you while you sleep?
Maglor: ...no. She would not do that.
Maglor: It is not Ithiriel.
Feanor: Caranthir then? I thought I sent him after the elf he bought, who ran out of here after I scared her away telling her she looked as if she'd seen a ghost.
Feanor: She nearly lit the entire Theatre on fire, you know. She was quite distressed. *paint paint paints*
Maglor: *sighs and it is half woe and half 'ugh'*
Maglor: *slightly more heavier on the 'ugh' side of the spectrum*
Feanor: She had better come back, I like her.
Maglor: *resigned look of woe*
Feanor: You should see the kitchen, it is gorgeous workmanship, and she can make my glowy rocks work now.
Maglor: *says softly* She will not be coming back, any time soon. *sits down...on the floor*
Feanor: *points at the ceiling, where glowy rocks have already been set into a starry night sky*
Maglor: *looks up just briefly, then nods a little* It is beautiful.
Ceiling: *also has very pretty metal and wood carvings between the panels thanks to Caranthir!*
Caranthir: *is currently making preparations to GO AWAY for a few years**got saddlebags all ready to go!*
Feanor: It is your design. I am merely painting it.
Maglor: It even looks like stars, and the carvings are very pleasing also.
Feanor: *might have 'child mischeif' sense tingling, if he remembers what that feels like*
Maglor: *is not aware that Caranthir is going anywhere, is about to ask, after admiring the painting work for a long moment* Have you seen Caranthir?
Feanor: Nay, I have not seen him since I sent him after the woman he had better marry or else.
Maglor: ...I...might have told him that I thought it an ill match. Though I also said it did not matter what I thought.
Feanor: *wrinkles his nose, smudges a bit of paint here and there, is making the sunset part of this panel now* It matters what you think. Unfortunately for all of us. It always has. You think it an ill match?
Maglor: *reiterates, which covers both the mattering statement and the question afterward* It does not matter what I think.
Maglor: It only matters what he thinks of it. Or what she thinks of it. Not what I think, or say.
Feanor: If it did not matter what you thought, I would be in a mortal female's body, and so would Caranthir.
Maglor: *says glumly* And look at the harm that, itself, caused. Now that we have laid hands on this theatre, it will likely crumble into ruin, next week.
Feanor: *says that sternly, and matter-of-factly, while painting some more* We would not own a theatre, which is gorgeous, because of your design. An elf would still be working in a brothel.
Feanor: And your wife would have probably died to finger loss.
Feanor: A woman who I respect, and admire, because at this point she would have to be of the Valar herself to share headspace with this. Listen to yourself. *rolls his eyes*
Maglor: *points out in a frustratingly 'calm if not twitchy' way* A theatre co-owned by the owner of the brothel, with an elf who was 'bought' along with it, who is tied down to a bed in the healing houses.
Feanor: *blinks* What?
Feanor: *actually stops painting*
Maglor: And my wife would not have felt the burden of guilt over killing Caranthir in a witch's body, either, forcing her to rip out her own stitches...and....*sighs*...she is in the healing houses. She had...a vision. Of war. And death.
Maglor: Do not go troubling her. I have already troubled her, enough. -_-
Feanor: That would explain running out of the kitchen like that.
Maglor: *nods distractedly*
Feanor: Nay, I am not going to go trouble her. If she is here, then Caranthir brought her back. And if you have gone telling him things like this, in the manner you are acting now, he is likely about to run off. *jumps down off the scaffolding* For fear of ruining everything HE touches, as well.
Feanor: *rolls his eyes* I had better go after him.
Caranthir: *trots through the city!*
Feanor: *heads for the door* If you wish to ruin your own life with piles of self-loathing, go ahead. I am going to make the most out of my life. He hopefully will make the most out of his.
Feanor: *doesn't wait for son's response, though prays he doesn't pull the theatre down, himself, after all their hard work* *instead, runs through the city, hoping to spot Caranthir*
Caranthir: *rides by!*
Feanor: *runs* ... STOP! .... *tries to catch the horse*
Caranthir: *pulls to a stop near the theatre* What do you want?
Maglor: *is sitting there, considering which beam needs to be toppled first, in order to send the rest of them toppling down*
Feanor: Your brother is about to wreck the Theatre, and is being fatalistic again, and apparently your elf is tied to a bed?
Caranthir: e_e
Maglor: *thinks he knows which beam just might do the trick, but then ponders over the larger matter of...how to get it to topple*
Caranthir: I am going to leave, until I find the thing that sparks life in me again.
Feanor: He told me she had seen a vision of fire and death. And that he had upset her, and thought ill of you two together, and ... what on earth did you two discuss that started all this?
Caranthir: I came to him for advice, and we ended up arguing.
Maglor: *instead decides to try to finish what Caranthir's bought elf started, so takes Play of Death!(tm), goes to 'kitchen' and finds oven, and starts to...make a fire in it, using the Play of Death!(tm) to start it*
Maglor: *admires craftsmanship of oven while cramming things that burn into it*
Feanor: You are going to run off, to find something that sparks life into you. You are leaving the thing, that will do it. .... and ... We need to go into the theatre right now.
Feanor: Because I swear I smell a fire, and this cannot be a good sign
Caranthir: I am beneath her, and will only bring her to ruin if I do not expunge the darkness from myself.
Ithiriel: *is quite distressed, actually, as the door she used to shut Maglor out is not entirely working right now*
Feanor: You are not. Such thoughts are what are currenly leading Maglor to burn the theatre down, possibly, and if HE were to say them you would hit him for doing it.
Maglor: *is busy busy busy elf, trying to shove pieces of a wooden chair into oven* *why won't it FIT* *breaks it into smaller pieces, and NOW it fits, huzzah*
Caranthir: I refuse to ever hit anyone ever again. >.<
Ithiriel: *opens up her thoughts a bit, squeeeeeeks the mental-visual door in her head open a bit, and tries to think at him* Maglor?
Feanor: That is a good start.
Feanor: I am not joking at all about the burning, and your brother being in one of his moods. Come with me? Please? ... I am asking nicely?
Maglor: ... *eyes a bowl full of old dried-out dough in it, then tosses the bowl in, dough and all* *gets little wifey inkling and answers in a serenly insane sort of way* Yes, meleth? I'm afraid I'm rather busy.
Maglor: *busting a small wooden table into pieces, that is*
Maglor: *chucks that in, also, or...well...is making it FIT in*
Ithiriel: I'm afraid I'm rather concerned about you.... what ARE you doing? *sets loom aside*
Caranthir: *dry look**one eye twitches and he swats at the air* Oh fine! *gets off his horse, ties it to the wall*
Maglor: Oh, nothing of consequence...only attempting to burn down the theatre. Love you?
Ithiriel: *absolute panic-shock*
Maglor: *starts chucking wooden bowls toward the oven, for good measure, since...if they're close enough, they might catch fire, too*
Feanor: *runs inside, and down toward the kitchen*
Maglor: *twitchy* *nervous little half-laugh, then scours for more burny things*
Caranthir: *doesn't run, just walks*
Feanor: *likes theatre idea* *doesn't want theatre to burn DOWN*
Maglor: *thinks its all existentially doomed to fire!ruin!brimstone!the return of Morgoth! anyway* *so is idly tossing wooden spoons toward the oven, from the doorway*
Ithiriel: .... I would rather you did not...
Caranthir: *smells fire**thinks father was right**huh, go figure**breaks into a RUN*
Maglor: I think its rather too late for that. *tosses last spoon like 'wheeee.'*
Feanor: WATER.
Caranthir: *facepalms when he gets in, grabs a bucket of water and THROWS IT ON THE OVEN!**crosses fingers*
Feanor: *runs back to his scaffolding, grabs up a pail he was using to clean his brushes, runs past Caranthir and Maglor with it and throws it on the oven too*
Maglor: *piled in a lot of...burny things, into it...and sort of...out of it*
Maglor: *stands there, doing nothing helpful other than staring*
Ithiriel: *chews her lip, has tears running down her cheeks* *quietly, calmly, shuts Maglor back out, then goes to get her cloak*
Fire: *FLARES UP from the paint that was in the bucket from the cleaning of the brushes!*
Caranthir: *throws up hands, rushes out, returns about 30 second later carrying a TROUGH of water**DUMPS IT!*
Feanor: *didn't think the paint would do that* *runs out for more water with NO paint in it*
Maglor: *sighs in the sort of way that pyromaniacs must sigh when they feel they've done a job well done* *and yes, kinda sounded like a girl with that contentment sigh*
Ithiriel: *runs out of the Citadel, and down to the theatre, so quickly she nearly trips on her dress 5 times, then actually DOES, picks herself up, KEEPS running... smells burning, runs QUICKER*
Feanor: *runs in with more water, just in case*
Caranthir: *runs out again, trying to find more water, or a blanket, or something to SMOTHER the fire!*
Maglor: *thinks the smoke smells vaguely of what would have been very good bread, had it ever been finished*
Feanor: *dumps his bucket on the fire, too*
Ithiriel: *runs into the Theatre, takes 3 seconds to admire how gorgeous it is* *spots Caranthir*
Maglor: *wanders his way back to the theatre seating and sits down in the front row*
Caranthir: *runs back in, throws on more water**Phews*
Feanor: *stares at the oven* .... it should scrub clean. .... she really did excellent work.
Ithiriel: *stares at Maglor*
Caranthir: What the name of Eru is wrong with my brother. >.< This is my fault, isn't it.
Maglor: *blinks, then looks over at Ithiriel*
Ithiriel: *walks down to the front row* *looks at him*
Maglor: *smiles?* *then starts to...cry!laugh*
Ithiriel: .... *walks up to him, wrinkles her brow, and pulls him out of his chair*
Feanor: I .... am not sure it is.
Maglor: *is pulled up onto his feet, while cry!laughing?* *like something is hysterically...hilarious...somehow*
Caranthir: *rushes out into the main part of the theatre**blinks*
Ithiriel: *pulls him against her, wraps her arms around him* *nuzzles at him, starts using healing energy to fill him with warmth, and love, and .... just generally, good thoughts, to calm him down*
Maglor: *hugs onto her and tries to talk through the hysterical cry-laughing fit* ...its all...doomed to ruin...there is going to be war...and death...and fire...
Caranthir: There will not be so long as we have anything to say about it. >.<
Maglor: ...and we bide our time...with a theatre...it will burn, anyway...should destroy it now, by our own hands...and ride south...
Ithiriel: *runs her fingers through his hair* It will not burn. The archives, and the library, and this theatre have already survived burning, and assault. They will not break now.
Feanor: *walks out of the kitchen, stands next to Caranthir*
Maglor: No, no...this place is not ready...not a second time...we are here, to witness this doom...
Caranthir: Then we will help make it ready.
Ithiriel: Your father has shored up the roof and made it beautiful, it would survive a thousand assaults, now.
Maglor: *shuddering exhale sigh*
Ithiriel: Maglor.... There are many parts to be played, when it looks like the end is drawing nigh, and all must surely come to ruin. Many, many parts.
Ithiriel: There are the parts that ready to face the war .... you are not those parts..
Ithiriel: Then there are the parts that prepare to heal the fallen, and pick up when it is over ... I am one of those parts, and you may yet be, but there is a third part.
Maglor: *is fragmentally listening, has already made up his mind, even if...well, what's left of his mind, rather*
Ithiriel: *cups his face in her hands, and looks into his eyes* There is the part, that makes carrying on afterward worth it.
Ithiriel: The part that gives hope to the people, so that they WISH to see the other side. Music, and dance, beauty, and joy, and love.
Feanor: *smiles*
Maglor: *blinkblinks at her* ...then there will be time for that...after the battles are over.
Caranthir: You need not fight any more, Maglor. I shall fight for the both of us.
Maglor: *GLARES* *in that bristling sort of way*
Ithiriel: But if you do not make it now, before the battles even get here, there will never be any time for it afterward. *looks at him with pleading eyes*
Maglor: ...I would not advise waiting, if I were asked...
Maglor: And I wish everyone would cease thinking that I can not weild a sword. >.<
Caranthir: Build the theatre, Maglor. It is something that excites me, as well, and I do not want to see that effort or enthusiasm wasted.
Caranthir: I am not saying you cannot!
Caranthir: You are skilled, but your heart is no longer in it.
Maglor: You ARE, without SAYING so!
Caranthir: *almost pleads* I do not want to see you further tarnished by the shedding of blood!
Maglor: I am already tarnished by it! Did you not stop to ponder, ever, that perhaps I WISHED that I could be like that! *mini-hand-flailing, but is cautious not to thwap Ithiriel in the process*
Caranthir: You WANT to fight? You WANT to be like the rest of us?
Ithiriel: *lets go of him* *instead, goes to check on the damage to the kitchen*
Feanor: *watches this interchange, calmly*
Maglor: *look of woe* *refuses to dig self into deeper hole by saying anything further, so sits down and is fidgety instead*
Feanor: If you want to fight. Then fight. Use the sword I made you. Ride off to the south, to face an army single-handedly. And die.
Feanor: I will make sure your wife gets on a ship.
Caranthir: Feanor! >.<
Feanor: ... Nay. For he is his own person.
Feanor: I am his father and you are his brother, but neither of our names are Maglor.
Maglor: *grumbles under his breath, but is refraining from saying anything clearly enough for it to be understood by others*
Feanor: His concern is for himself, and for his wife. Leave it to him.
Feanor: I am merely offering to do what parents aught to offer to do. She is my daughter, now.
Maglor: *stands up and says semi-snappishly* ...oh, shuttup and go to Angband. *starts to pace*
Feanor: Incidentally, if you are going to go off to war like that. I think you aught to sign this place over to me, or the Madam of the Brothel entirely. For I will not be raising a sword, again.
Maglor: *is repeating mantra of 'shuttupshuttupshuttup' under his breath while pacing and mulling things over in heavy Noldo!contemplation*
Feanor: And I hear that is where the elf Caranthir bought went, who is currently tied down somewhere. It does not sound like a place you would even wish to send your father. *smirks*
Maglor: *starts pulling on hair* >.<
Ithiriel: *is trying not to go all woe! herself while looking at the kitchen*
Caranthir: *tugs at his own hair* Will both of you sit down and shut up!
Feanor: *leans against one of the painted walls, arches a brow, and ... shuts up*
Maglor: I do not WANT to sit down, I don't want to, and I'm not going to... *paces while pulling on his hair*
Feanor: *suddenly remembers when Maglor was ... yes.... 10*
Maglor: *was CALMER at age 10 >.<*
Feanor: *but about as petulant. <3 *
Maglor: *that is not HIS fault, look at who his FATHER was, the High King of being PETULANT*
Caranthir: This family is not going to go to war, ever again! *said as if that's final!* We will fight to defend this city, and the people we have come to care for. We will defend them. But we will not raise armies or march.
Maglor: I did not SAY raise an army! If we three are HERE?! Why not be of some good use, and fight to protect what we have here, instead of sitting here...sitting on our hands, and waiting!
Caranthir: No one said to sit on our hands and WAIT!
Maglor: Its stupid, who out of all these mortals knows how to wage war like WE do? Even myself, included!
Caranthir: Building this theatre is not sitting on our hands and waiting. Ensuring we can still fight with a sword and training is not sitting on our hands and waiting!
Caranthir: Do you honestly wish to teach them the way we waged war?
Caranthir: Consider that for a moment, for the love of the valar.
Maglor: No, I do not want to teach them that, but I am saying, that it is better to strike from shadows than to wait for these witches and southerners and whomever else, to strike first! Consider that for a moment!
Maglor: While time is passed by building a theatre!
Caranthir: What would you have us do?
Caranthir: We do not know the tactical or diplomatic situation.
Caranthir: Perhaps by our striking from the shadows we INITIATE this fire and bloodshed!
Maglor: ...there is no harm in the three of us going, and seeing for ourselves, what might be amiss. I do not mean to ride into this other land, to the south, but it is not as though we do not know how to hold a watch....
CAranthir: I do not wish to hold watch on a land again. >.<
Maglor: Then I will go alone. >.<
Caranthir: *sighs, and stares at the ceiling for a moment* I will go, if you promise to do two things - continue your work here, and practice and train until your art of war is honed. Train others if you wish.
Maglor: I know it is not my land to watch, but I would watch it, regardless. And I am only going alone because no one else will go with me. >.<
Caranthir: I will go alone.
Maglor: No, no you will not. >.<
Caranthir: Yes I will!
Maglor: You must settle things with the elf you bought, before you go anywhere! *waves hands around, then is back to pulling on his hair again, while pacing and muttering to himself*
Caranthir: You do not understand! I can settle nothing with her until I am not so engulfed in darkness.
Feanor: Yes, and I am sure it will be very shiny in the Halls of Mandos.
Maglor: *growl-mutters under his breath while pacing, which consists of 'we're all engulfed in darkness' etc etc woe etc*
Maglor: *is being twitchily pessimistic/fatalistic again*
Ithiriel: *noticed*
Caranthir: *nearly makes a snarky comment about falling on blades but decides that Maglor might take that literally*
Ithiriel: *is watching the three of them, with her arms crossed over her chest*
Feanor: I doubt we were brought back here to wage further war and bloodshed. *points this out, calmly*
Maglor: *counters* I doubt we are allowed to converge in this place, now, to not protect what we are granted, while we are here.
Maglor: *can't word thoughts right, gets frustrated, starts to head out of the theatre for breath of fresh air, before hyperventilating and hair-rippage happens*
Caranthir: *follows!*
Ithiriel: *looks around her, up at the ceiling, and all the detailed work that has gone into this place*
Caranthir: Maybe we need to REMAIN here!
Ithiriel: *sighs a bit*
Maglor: *twitchy! steps outside, slaps both gloved hands over his face and is like lalalalalanotlistening*
Feanor: *looks at her* *watches son storm out* You appear more calm about this than the other two.
Ithiriel: *smiles a bit of a weary smile, and glances at him* Would you like to know how many times I have fought in a war which was supposed to be the utter end of the world?
Caranthir: *grabs his brother's shoulder*
Maglor: *tries to shrink-shrug out of shoulder grip*
Feanor: More than once, I am guessing?
Caranthir: *pulls Maglor into a HUG*
Maglor: *would be blinky, normally, but has hands over face, and lets out a sigh of woe, instead* *way of wording things in his head is pretty much blown to Angband and then some*
Ithiriel: Three times. *sighs* And I will tell you... It may never end how you wish it to end, but it is never the unmaking of the world.
Feanor: Perhaps you had better tell my son that.
Ithiriel: It does not matter, for in thinking that his words do not matter, he has shut mine out completely. *sighs a bit*
Maglor: *knows it is not the end of the world at large! >.<* *is frustrated at self for lack of...mind is jumbled mess right now, thanks*
Ithiriel: But it is a shame, that this work shall never be finished, for the peoples of the world that follow to use and enjoy.
Caranthir: There is nothing we can do, but help defend this city, should war come. Perhaps we can train them to fight better. But if we..rode off, and attacked on our own, I think we would cause that which we wish to prevent.
Feanor: It will be finished, for I will not rest until it is, whether he works on it or not, and despite his attempts to burn it to the ground.
Maglor: *lets hands slip away from his face with look of resignation* *just...gives up, entirely*
Caranthir: Slow down. And talk.
Maglor: No, no. You are all right in this and I am wrong. *nods like this must be true* Yes, should bide time with theatre...yes, should do that...should be working on...more music and things such as that.
Caranthir: I swore I would not hit you, but... *slaps him* Snap out of this!
Maglor: *twitched at the slap, then blinks a little*
Ithiriel: *smiles at Feanor* I think, if you do, he will appreciate it, even if he does not know it now.
Feanor: *nods his head*
Maglor: *brain tries to wrap around fact that...Caranthir just slapped someone, without...punching them*
Caranthir: *shakes him a little at the shoulders, is somewhat distraught*
Maglor: *winces, since brain is having trouble wrapping around that, too, and the shaking is not helping either*
Feanor: *walks up to Ithiriel, and hugs her* You look like you could use a good hug, and a good nap. As soon as we straighten my son out.
Caranthir: Please calm down. >.<
Maglor: ...shaking me...not...helping?
Maglor: *even if its only a little shake, that's all it takes to further rattle him*
Ithiriel: *hugs Feanor back*
Caranthir: *stops!*
Maglor: *sighs and says simply* I will stay. It is what is wished of me, to do.
Caranthir: *sighs* You do not wish to.
Maglor: ...it does not matter.
Caranthir: Of course it matters.
Maglor: Especially in this case, for I am wrong.
Caranthir: Are you wrong because that is what you believe, or because we say you are?
Maglor: ....both?
Maglor: *stares at Caranthir like he's waiting to find out if that is the correct answer*
Caranthir: *rubs his face*
Maglor: *takes opportunity to take two steps back, while Caranthir is rubbing his face...and maybe another step back to stay out of slapping range*
Ithiriel: Thank you. I will consider resting once my husband is no longer insane.
Feanor: *smooths her hair* Consider resting before then, he will be insane until the world's end. *winks at her, lets her go*
Caranthir: *twitch*
Ithiriel: *laughs a bit* I will let you get back to work.
Caranthir: *throws up hands as if to give up*
Ithiriel: *wanders out to find her husband*
Maglor: *chews on one side of his lower lip*
Feanor: *grabs up reserve bucket of water, hops up on the scaffolding, and gets back to painting* *figures he'll know if Maglor goes insane again because of child!mischeif!sense*
Maglor: *murmurs while doing that* If I can not leave, then neither can you.
Caranthir: *Scowls**then sighs and nods his head* So be it.
Ithiriel: *leans against the entrance to the theatre, watches them*
Maglor: *folds arms in self-hug sort of way and nodnods at that, then glances over at Ithiriel*
Caranthir: We will still plan, and prepare, and help the city plan.
Maglor: No.
Maglor: Work on the theatre, and see to that elf you bought, before she too goes insane. I fear I may have driven her to despair, already.
Caranthir: *twitch*
Caranthir: I will.. attempt to see to her. But I must see to myself first.
Maglor: *nodnods like Caranthir checking up on her is a good idea, yes, it is* ...without leaving this city. If I am to be confined here, then so are you. *dirty little look, then is back to being a resigned doormat again*
Caranthir: *holds out his hand to shake on it*
Maglor: ......... *shakes hand?*
Caranthir: Deal. =D
Maglor: ....deal. -_-
Maglor: I have to go home. I'm in trouble now.
Ithiriel: Are you?
Maglor: Yes. I'd imagine so. For I'm usually very disappointing, somehow.
Maglor: *if he was a puppy, would have droopy ears and tail tucked between legs right now* *nope, no perky ears and tail wagging, definitely not*
Ithiriel: You only disappoint me when you say things like that, melethnin. *softly*
Ithiriel: *stops leaning against the wall, and walks over to him* *hugs him*
Maglor: I'm sorry. I should have warned you that I am constantly disappointed with myself and... *shuts up because shutting up is good, and hugs her*
Caranthir: *lets out a sigh* I shall go....*waves a hand* Forge something.
Caranthir: Or perhaps carve something.
Maglor: *nods a little* I will...we will go...and... *just points in general direction of 'up'*
Ithiriel: Or perhaps check in on Lomiel.
Caranthir: I will check in on her, after I have made something. -_-
Maglor: I do not think we like one another. *says that to Caranthir*
Ithiriel: While we go, yes. I think I want a nap.
Maglor: -_- *nods at wife*
Caranthir: That much is obvious. *sighs* But then, I doubt you would like anyone who I chose to be with. *actually chuckles a bit*
Maglor: *siiiiiiiiiiighs* I'm going to...just...go write, now.
Ithiriel: I am hoping you will both at least get along, or family time will be impossible to deal with.
Maglor: *no comment*
Ithiriel: Especially considering the fact that I like her. *sighs*
Maglor: *thinks that's the safest way of dealing with it* *by not saying anything*
Maglor: *in that way that parents go 'if you don't have nothing nice to say, don't say anything at all.'*
Ithiriel: *sighs* *starts walking up toward the citadel* *will probably end up pulling out loom again*
Maglor: *walks with her in full mope*
Caranthir: *goes to carve something**wants to make something beautiful, and ends up failing miserably and trying over and over, but can't get things RIGHT*
Caranthir: *while fielding criticisms from no one that anyone else can see XD*
Maglor: *goes to...do what's probably going to be him staring at a blank page for a few hours* *and sighing once every five minutes*
Ithiriel: *shuts the bedroom door when they get home and curls up in bed*
Maglor: *sighs at that too*
Feanor: *has a theatre to finish, and an elf Caranthir bought to question*
Maglor: *oh good? has plenty of time to stare at the word 'the' he managed to write on the top of a blank page, and be clutter!miserable <3*
Feanor: *is going to flay her alive for ruining his sons* *both of them*
Feanor: *LIKES her, but.... shit*
Maglor: *was not ruined, was already ruined, nothing and no one in the past five hundred years to the current date, has ruined him*
Maglor: *but then again, is telling self that being a quiet doormat is probably better right now, before things get burned down*
theatre: *doesn't burn down. Yet. DUNDUNDUNNNN*
Maglor: *has also ruined marriage, apparently**is better off dead*
Ithiriel: *has some resentment right now, will be fine when she's had a nap*
Maglor: ... *is not comforted one bit by 'resentment' nor that he can't blame himself for causing her to be resentful*
Maglor: *can be a good doormat though, since that will set things right...after he gets finished sighing at the word 'the' for a few hours more*
Ithiriel: *never thought he was a doormat.... thought he was brave for going after witch, despite everyone telling him it wasn't wise.... * *sighs*
Ithiriel: *and for looking after moose-father... practically driven when it came to learning the other languages... brilliant, in fact* *wonders where that elf went*
Maglor: *has plenty of years experience being a doormat, is very good at it, and since couldn't word what he meant and its fruitless to even try to since was getting the big fat 'nooo' from all sides...is going to fallback on doormat profession, for the meantime.*
Ithiriel: *sighs*
Ithiriel: *seriously... feels like marrying him has just screwed him up more than helped him. :( *
Maglor: -__- *guilts*
Ithiriel: *and can't talk about how she feels at all since he'll do THAT, which just makes the WOE worse, and ..... screw this, is going to go on vacation to Ithilien*
Maglor: *GUILTS, can't HELP it*
Ithiriel: *doesn't care, is going anyway, good training for bow used with bad hand*
Maglor: *thinks things would be much easier if he was not present, so will go to Ithilien, instead*
Ithiriel: *sighs*
Maglor: *so that she is not further injured*
Ithiriel: *needs to go KILL something ><*
Ithiriel: *And you cannot go anywhere, you swore to your brother. <3*
Maglor: *will end up sitting in healing house next to her bedside, being OVERWHELMED WITH GUILT so that it is like a big heavy presence hanging all around him, if she goes and tries to 'kill' things*
Maglor: *will leave a note, so he can be found.*
Ithiriel: *cannot imagine that that is any worse than being so engulged in his own self-loathing and hatred, that he ignores his own wife, and burns his gorgeous theatre down ><*
(Zhibal: Both of you, stop acting so childish.)
Ithiriel: >.>;
Maglor: ... *is going now, so that self-loathing and hatred does not result in further overwhelming guilt and woe, and will take the time to let his head clear a bit, so can write again*
Ithiriel: *sits on him so he can't go* -_-
Maglor: *is thinking that going is a good idea, since staying is making things worse*
Ithiriel: *is siting on him* *is not getting up*
Maglor: *is thinking that she can not sit on him, if she is in bedroom taking a nap, with the door closed? and that, even if she were sitting on him, she can't do that forever*
Ithiriel: *will hear him getting ready to leave, since all his travel gear is HERE in the bedroom*
Maglor: *does not need it, is taking a short trip*
Ithiriel: *But if he goes, he will not be here, and I will ... miss him, even though he does not ... speak much to me anyway... :( *
Maglor: *-_-* *sighs* *stays put, since that's what's wanted*
Ithiriel: *beats her head against the wall*
Maglor: *...or...is not...what's wanted? >.o*
Maglor: *doesn't know, so stays put*
Ithiriel: *is going to seriously end up tearing her own hair out at this rate. @_@*
Maglor: *well what do you WANT me to do then?!* *let YOU go to Ithilien by yourself, so you can come back from THAT injured all over again?!* *so I can guilt more over being the cause of that, too?*
Ithiriel: *wants him to .... .... doesn't know, just wants him to be happy again* *misses the happy, can't stand the fact that she isn't enough ;_;*
Maglor: *GAH* *lets guilt gnaw on insides*
Ithiriel: *wants him to do what makes him happy* *yes* *whatever that is, just... go and do it, and be happy*
Maglor: .... *goes into bedroom, since they were apparently having a little mental-conversation moment*
Maglor: Ithiriel, just...take your nap. I am not leaving. -_-
Maglor: I can not explain things the way I would want to, so...its better that I do not even bother to try.
Ithiriel: ... You used to try.... at least with me, you used to try.
Maglor: Its.... *makes jumbled up twiddly fingers motion next to his head* ....its a...really muddled mess right now.
Maglor: I'm sorry.
Maglor: Bonding with me must have been a little...messily overwhelming. *sighs*
Ithiriel: *just looks at him, like kicked puppy in a mud puddle*
Maglor: *looks at her much the same way*
Ithiriel: I do not regret marrying you. I merely wish you could have kept that joy within you for longer than a few days. *is really .... very upset about that, for some reason, may even have tears in her eyes*
Maglor: *sneaks into bed with her?*
Maglor: I only regret that you now carry pieces of my own troubles and regrets, within you. Had we never bonded, my trying to burn down the theatre would have resulted in my laugh-crying for a month or more, not just under an hour.
Ithiriel: *curls up against him, and presses her face into his chest*
Maglor: *hugs onto her and whispers* I think some of my self-doubt and self-blame bleeded over, also.
Ithiriel: *isn't sure what to say to that, can't say anything that won't make him feel bad, so just says nothing, and hugs him*
Maglor: *knows it already, so it doesn't need to be said* *cuddlehugs onto her*
Maglor: It was still, and always will be, the greatest joy I have ever known. And I still love you, as much as I did, before.
Ithiriel: *blinks up at him from where she'd apparently been crying into his robe a bit* .... honestly?
Maglor: *nods while looking down at her, and tenderly kisses for a moment* Yes, it is. But it can not fix all ills, no. Just lessen them, I think.
Maglor: I would not undo it. Although that is selfish of me, since I think it did you more harm than good.
Ithiriel: I would not undo it, either.
Maglor: *smiles a little bit like he understands*
Ithiriel: Even if it is a bit overwhelming, at the moment. ... I was taught a way to help that, and .... Nay, I would not undo it, at all.
Maglor: ...a way to help?
Ithiriel: *nods her head*
Maglor: Help with the sorrow or all my insane thoughts?
Ithiriel: Not with the sorrow ..... I think that was of my own making ... but with keeping your thoughts and feelings away when they become too much. *nods*
Maglor: ...oh.
Maglor: *admits in a softened tone of voice* ...I think that is a wise thing to do, Ithiriel. *since even on a good day, at any given hour, his thought process is a disorganized mess*
Ithiriel: *caresses at his face* I worry that my own thoughts and feelings do not even reach you in there, through that tangle....
Maglor: I am...still better than I used to be? *though that's questionable, and he shouldn't be allowed around flint or flammables* *then sighs softly* Faintly, now and again. And it is not because I am trying to block myself off from you, at all.
Ithiriel: *rests her head on his shoulder* There is so much that goes unsaid in there.....
Maglor: *rests his cheek against the top of her head*
Maglor: ...I fear that is very true, and its not even an old habit. It is merely the way that I am, and was, and... *can't even put that the right way so just finishes with a hushed exhale*
Ithiriel: *snuggles him* I want you to try something... with me, at least, try it....
Ithiriel: And do not say that yes you will, simply because that is what I wish to hear.
Maglor: Its...a lot is left unsaid, because not even I know how to say it or... *blinks and has a questioning expression on his face* ...but if you want to try something, shouldn't I say yes because you want to try it?
Maglor: Or if...I mean...I do not know what you want to try, yet. >.<
Ithiriel: *lets out a bit of a sigh* You should say yes to a thing, after listening, and deciding that you wish to do that thing, and only then. Even if you take everyone else's opinions into account, first.
Ithiriel: Even if your reason is simply 'I love Ithiriel and want to try things with her'. *nods her head, gently so that she doesn't dislodge his cheek*
Maglor: So, if you want to try it, isn't that an opinion too? *sharply exhales and nods* All right, lets try it. After you tell me what it is.
Maglor: I meant, I'll say we'll try or...not that, instead I meant...all right, what is it?
Ithiriel: Since I'm privy to your thoughts anyway .... but I would rather not have to sort through them in my head like I tried to this morning.
Maglor: Oh. Which ones? *just shakes his head a little so nothing's dislodged either* Or...what is it we're trying, then?
Ithiriel: If it gets to be this bad, this.. swirling meandering thoughts of .... just, generally, bad thoughts, and woeful thoughts, and things...
Maglor: *shifty-eyed*
Ithiriel: Please try and ... talk to me. I am not that far away. I am just.. in here, most times, or on the other side of the table.
Ithiriel: Possibly down at the healing houses, but, I am here, and I would rather try and help you work through them than have to worry like I did today.
Maglor: *meekly* ...all right, we'll try that?
Ithiriel: I might be able to help... I would like to try. So... yes, please, try that next time... please..
Maglor: I'll try it...that...yes, we'll try that...though...I did not know...well....
Maglor: ...that is to say...I did not know I was going to do that, until...well...it was well on its way to happening, and then I realized it? *smiles like :D?*
Maglor: But by then, I thought...I had already started, and everything was and was going to be in ruins, which isn't uncommon...for me to think that, I think...sometimes, at least...so...
Maglor: *pauses* ...I can come and tell you I set something on fire, I suppose.
Ithiriel: Nothing is ever as in ruins as anyone thinks it is.... and... nay ... well no, please DO tell me if you set something on fire, but...
stuff on fire: *yes, start the fire and then go tell her you started it, while stuff burns...and elves are supposed to be WISE? thanks, fire-starting elf!*
Maglor: >.>;
Ithiriel: Maybe if we can try and talk it out before it GETS that far ... I would not have to sit in here, thinking that you do not wish me around, or ... that I am not enough to make you happy, or....
Maglor: Uhm.....?
Ithiriel: that you do not wish me to be a part of your life, which is ... not what you ever said, but that is how I feel when you are so very filled with sorrow and do not take comfort from me.
Maglor: No, I do not want you to think that, I mean...that is not true, either of those things...
Maglor: It is...uhmmm.... *thoughts sort of get jumbled again, just trying to explain it* ...yes, I'll do that. *>.>; *
Ithiriel: *squeezes him* Even if you have to speak the jumbled thoughts in all of their jumbled-ness. I may be able to put them back together a bit?
Maglor: ...all right, well...then...
Maglor: ...maybe talk about this later?
Maglor: Tomorrow or...next week or...?
Maglor: ...tomorrow's good?
Ithiriel: *nods again, nuzzles at him* Tomorrow, maybe?
Maglor: Later. *leaves it at later, yes, so its not a definite thing*
Maglor: *is getting slightly twitchy inwardly at the mere thought*
Ithiriel: *thinks that's the best she's going to get and just nods in agreement*
Maglor: *pethugs* I'm sorry?
Maglor: *blurts out* I never knew when I was going to do...things. Like that. -_-
Ithiriel: Alright, well .... we will work on that... maybe... yes.
Maglor: They just happened, and usually I was trying to swim back to Aman when I realized it, and by then I was quite 'oh well, I'm here already, so...'
Ithiriel: .... I rather understand that... actually.
Maglor: *headtilts a little*
Maglor: Actually...I think you do, yes.
Maglor: I wanted to go south, but...I wanted you all to come with me. *there, finally got it out*
Ithiriel: Why would we go South?
Maglor: To see what is happening, to try to prevent it, not stage our own attack, first.
Ithiriel: The fire and war that Lomiel saw. *ponders this*
Maglor: I wouldn't ever do that, unless it came down to it. I failed trying to say it, before. With everyone saying no to it, I thought that no was probably right, and I am probably wrong, and....
Maglor: ...and...that the valar have nothing to do with us being here, now.
Ithiriel: Everything has a purpose, meleth.
Maglor: And maybe...all we are meant to do, is start a theatre, only to leave it, in the end. *shrugs a little* I am probably wrong. It was a bad idea. Like you all said it was.
Ithiriel: Or you may be right.
Ithiriel: *nuzzles at him* You are right more often than you realise.
Maglor: Everyone always says I am right, after the fact, and...I do not ever feel like I was right, or that it mattered at all in the end. Since...well...I can not prevent anything, ever, it seems.
Maglor: I did not mean to...lead an army. Only ourselves. Including that elf in the healing house. And even then, I am no leader.
Maglor: I can only hold things together, for so long. It was always Maedhros who was more of a leader, even if he had his own regrets.
Ithiriel: *listens, and thinks it all over*
Maglor: *sighs softly* Even Feanor knows how to lead, very effectively, but he will not raise a sword, even to protect that theatre he is crafting on.
Ithiriel: No one, no matter how great, or wise, or right... can stand in the face of the tide and think to prevent it. It is unfortunate..... but it does not mean that you, and your voice, do not matter.
Maglor: Perhaps, in my mind, though I did not realize it...if I burned it down, he would not have to be so absorbed with building it, and perhaps would have been moved to action. *looks pensive at what she said though*
Maglor: See then? I am wrong, in thinking such things.
Ithiriel: You are not wrong.... we all wish, that we could do more, or that we had been listened to, or that being right meant something...
Maglor: No, I was wrong. It can not be prevented. The valar do not have anything to do with this, it is merely coincidence. That even trying is probably unwise.
Ithiriel: I did not say that.
Maglor: I am saying that, though. *sighs* I could not even explain it, when it would have mattered.
Ithiriel: I do not think it is coincidence that you, and Feanor, and Elrond, and Artanis, and a Noldo from the past, and Caranthir, and Gandalf, are all here in this city. And Lord Celeborn, he is important, too.
Maglor: Yes, to bear witness, but not to act. For most of us, that is.
Ithiriel: In any case, you matter. Your actions matter, even when you do not realise they do. If you had not saved Lord Elrond all those many years ago, for instance, I would be dead.
Maglor: ...I was not about to slay two elflings. -_-
Ithiriel: Your words were right, after the fact, and though they may not have served to ... prevent anything, they did serve to teach your father, and brother, and perhaps the others, remorse.
Ithiriel: Which is important, too.
Ithiriel: And the theatre is important. *nods her head slightly*
Maglor: *sighs*
Ithiriel: And your brother came for your words, because he wanted them, not because your words do not matter to him .... and that is all I will say on that, as I know it is still a soft spot.
Maglor: *SIGHS*
Ithiriel: *lets out a sigh, too*
Maglor: I should have just agreed with him.
Ithiriel: But then you would have been lying. *kisses him* None of us wish you to lie.
Maglor: *returns the kiss and whispers* No matter what it was, for disagreeing only made things worse...even a lie would have been better. And I can convince no one to do anything. So I suppose I will watch the wounded and maimed mortals pass by the theatre door, on their way to get their limbs sawed off.
Maglor: You will be very busy, as a healer, at least?
Ithiriel: I think you will all three end up aiding, in the end.
Ithiriel: It is not in your heart, to sit by while people suffer and do nothing.
Maglor: When it is too late to do anything of worth. *morose* I do not think, now, it is wise to bother with it.
Ithiriel: It is never too late, to do something of worth, to someone.
Ithiriel: Or for someone.
Maglor: Oh yes, lets put on a show or two, so that people forget for a single hour, and then step back out into the fray and are reminded of the world's ills once again.
Ithiriel: Even the tiniest thing. *nuzzles at him* *is exceptionally weary, blames the Maglor!overload earlier today*
Maglor: That is so effective in preventing anything, that I think I will throw myself entirely into that. *pessimistic again* As I said, I was wrong.
Ithiriel: You will understand, later. *sighs a bit*
Maglor: Yes, after I throw myself into the theatre, as Caranthir and Feanor wish me to. Because it is 'better' for me to do that, than try to do anything else.
Maglor: *clams up*
Maglor: *will just stew on that for a while, while she rests*
Ithiriel: ... Just do what your heart tells you. If you wish to grab up your sword and ride South to scout things out, then do it. I will pack your bags. I will go with you, if you let me rest first.
Maglor: *pets her while holding, so she can rest, regardless of what might (and probably will not) happen*
Ithiriel: *snuggles in again, and decides that ... yes, she can finally rest now, and does so!*