ataraxionlogs | out flew the web and floated wide

Entry tags:

out flew the web and floated wide

CHARACTERS: Roy Walker [

fallasleep] and anyone who wants to visit him
LOCATION: Medbay
WARNINGS: Suicidal thoughts, depression. The usual with Roy.
SUMMARY: Roy wakes up when he doesn't want to wake up. People visit him.
NOTES: Takes place from 14 Aug to the end of the month. Please put the date down when tagging in, thanks!

[ His eyes are open and he feels cold and he doesn't want either. His throat and chest and stomach ache. Some might think that is a good thing. But pain means he's alive, and that's what Roy doesn't want. He sees the medbay again. He sees his own fingers, curling by his side, and both seem the deepest cruelty anyone can inflict on him.

Roy understands why he lives, though. He hasn't hidden himself well enough. He was too eager. He didn't try his very best to find what he needed. The painkillers should have been stronger. Maybe he should have taken the acid instead of the iodine. Maybe he should have asked for stronger alcohol. Maybe he should have just taken a scalpel instead of... Maybe, maybe, maybe. A thousand of them and no way that he can fix it.

(But he was so desperate. He is still desperate. He will have to try again, as soon as possible. He knows that.)

He stares in front of him. Straight ahead. No matter the sounds, no matter who looks. He simply stares emptily.

His throat hurts. (There's a part of himself that's happy about that.) He can't speak, though he still has his tablet by his side. ]

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[rather the eager beaver, isn't he? how.. endearing.]

He accepted the quest, of course. Took a horse and rode away, as gallant as any, and his Lady confined to her home, for her father would not have her endangering herself. But she slipped away, the way they do in tales like these, and went to follow her love on his quest.

Beren had gone to Nargothrond, a great underground fortress. His father had once saved the life of the King of this fortress, and so in return, King Finrod Felagund and ten others accompainied Beren to help him fulfill his task. They defeated the servants of their Enemy and donned their gear and weapons to disguise themselves. But to reach Morgoth they must pass the Isle of Werewolves, where his servant lay, and this Lord of Werewolves saw that though they were garbed as Orcs, they did not stay to report their deeds, as their Master had commanded. The Lord of Werewolves and Finrod Felagund battled, not with swords, but with song of power. Though the King was strong, the Lord of Werewolves was stronger still, and stripped the company of their disguise. He threw them into a pit and set wolves among them, threatened to have his pets devour them each one by one, nless they would betray to him their name and purpose.

Thus did Lúthien come upon them, borne on the back of a wolf-hound, Huan, and there was only Beren left, for Finrod had slain the wolf with his hands and teeth when they two were the only ones left. She sang a song that no walls of stone could hinder from across the bridge that led to the Isle, and Beren heard, and sang to her in reply. The Lord of the Isle knew her then, and sent his wolves to the bridge to capture her, only to have them each slain in silence by Huan, until it was that the Lord himself took of a wolven form and set out to do his own deeds. Yet he too was defeated, though not slain, for Lúthien commanded him to yield his Isle to her, or else be sent back to his Master in naked shame. He coneded to her power and the wolf-hound released him, whereupon he took the form of a great bat and fled, bleeding from his throat, but not dying. Lúthien found Beren in his pit and lifted him from it, and together they buried the body of Finrod Felagund, King of Nargothrond.

Together also they would finish Beren's quest. To come upon the Enemy unaware, they slew another of his servants, the Lord of the Isle's messenger, and Lúthien wore her skin as Beren wore that of a wolf that Huan had slain. In these forms they entered the realm of Morgoth. Lúthien put to sleep the great beast guarding the Enemy's tower and they entered; then she sang to Morgoth and his court, after the manner of a minstrel, until they too were cast down in slumber, and he with them. Beren drew a knife then, and cut a jewel from the crown upon the Enemy's brow.

[mairon pauses there, finger tapping upon the handle of the chair he sits in. after a moment he turns to look at roy again with a quirked smile, though he does not recall ever looking away.]

That would be where the story ends, if you wished for one without tears. Or would you like to chance a guess as to what comes next?

[ I could, Mairon had said, and Roy thinks he does not lie, for now he weaves a tale. Perhaps a true tale from his world - the way he tells it seems to imply so - but one so much like a fairytale. But unlike the Princess of a fairytale, Lúthien did not err; unlike the Lady who married the White Bear, she did not carry on her errand alone.

No, this is a story of lovers who are overcoming trials together, and Roy finds, suddenly, that he hates this story. He hates it more than words can describe; hates it because Beren went on his quest and Lúthien followed and saved him. With a song, like in the greatest tales, far beyond those told by old grandmothers. No, this is a tale set down in songs, sang to minstrels to Kings and Queens that America never had.

Roy closed his eyes. She never did, he thinks. He fell for her. Then he fell for her again, and lost his legs in the process. And yet she did not love him.

He stares at his hands. ]

Morgoth awoke, and he killed them both, [ he guesses, tone flat. ] Or maybe they escaped and went back to her father, but she realised that she loved the son of a King, and rejected Beren's offer for her hand.

[ His smile is brittle, bitter, as he lifts his eyes and fixes Mairon with his gaze. ]

Am I wrong?

No, it does not end in that way. [he laughs, a short, quick thing, like a hammer striking metal. it's an interesting response.] But perhaps much heartache and woes might have been avoided if it did.

Morgoth did indeed wake, but Beren and Lúthien fled from his halls. Yet their escape was hindered by the beast that had now woken as well, and it would not permit them to pass. Beren held aloft the Silmaril in his hand, and said 'Get you gone, and fly! for here is a fire that shall consume you, and all things evil.'

The beastly wolf Carcharoth was not daunted by the jewel, and in a moment he took the fist within his red maw and bit it off at the wrist. But Beren had spoken true, for the Silmarilli are hallowed jewels, blessed by the Valar, and they burned the wolf's insides until he was driven mad with pain. Thus he fled, and in his madness he slew all living things before him, enemy or ally. Within the depths of the keep a great wrath stirred, and Beren lay within inches of death, poisoned by venom on the fangs of the wolf.

They were rescued, then, by the great eagle Thorondor and his vassals. As they were borne away, thunder rolled beneath them, lightning leapt and mountains quaked with Morgoth's anger. But high above Beren and Lúthien were safe, and were brought to the high eyries of the eagles, where Lúthien laboured to heal Beren of his wounds. Long did he lie upon the dark borders of death, but eventually he woke again, and with Lúthien he wandered the woods then, content, and Lúthien too was content, willing to wander the wild, forgetting house and people and the glory of the Elf-kingdoms. But Beren could not forget his oath, the task he took upon himself, so he persuaded her and in time they passed into Doriath again, where King Thingol dwelled.

News had been brought to the King that Beren was dead and that Lúthien had been made captive; thus when they returned the lands were silent and filled with grief, for her people had long sought for her in vain. Word of their coming spread like music borne upon the winds, and a great host followed them to the gates. Beren led Lúthien before the throne of her father, and he looked in wonder upon the Man, for he had thought him dead; yet he loved Beren not, for the woes that he had brought upon Doriath. But Beren said that he had returned to complete his task, and to claim his own. 'Even now,' he said, 'a Silmaril is in my hand.' He showed to Thingol his right arm, where there was no hand, and Thingol's mood softened. Together Beren and Lúthien sat before his throne and told the tale of their quest, and Thingol perceived the Beren was unlike all other mortal Men, and that his Doom could not be prevented by any power of the world. Therefore he yielded, and Beren took the hand of Lúthien before the throne of her father.

Yet peace was not found, for the Red Maw had come to Doriath in his blind anger. They prepared the Hunting of the Wolf, and with that company with Beren and Thingol, and Huan the wolf-hound. They found Carcharoth, and the wolf sprung upon Thingol; Beren strode before him with a spear, but it was not the Doom of the Red Maw to be felled by a Man, Beren was swept aside and bitten once more. Huan then leapt upon the Wolf and they fought, with the wrath of the Valar and the Hate of Morgoth, and malice crueler than teeth of steel. Carcharoth was slain then, for that was his Doom, and the Doom of Huan was to be felled by the greatest werewolf that ever walked Middle-Earth, and so he, too, breathed his last breath. They opened the belly of the wolf and took from it Beren's hand, but at a touch the flesh blew away as dust, leaving behind the naked jewel, and it was placed in Beren's other hand. He bore it aloft to Thingol, and bade him receive, it saying 'Now is the Quest achieved, and my Doom full-wrought' and he spoke no more.

I have said before that Thingol was an Elvenking. Thus was his daughter an Elfmaid, and her magic came from Melian, her mother, who was of the race of the Ainur. But Elves are immortal, in that they do not grow old and never die, unless they are slain. Yet Lúthien held the dying body of Beren, and when he passed, so too did she in her grief. But the tale does not end there, either. Where the spirits of Men pass beyond the boundaries of the Universe, the spirits of Elves go to the Halls of Mandos, the Vala who greets the dead. There she wandered amongst the spirits of others who wait, her beauty more than their beauty, and her sorrow deeper than there sorrows. She knelt before Mandos and sang to him of her tale, of the sorrow of the Eldar and the grief of Men, and wept, and moved Mandos to pity who never before was so moved, nor has been since.

He sought Manwë then, the Lord of the Valar, and Manwë sought council in his inmost thought, where he held knowledge of the will of Ilúvatar, that is Eru, the Creator. He gave to Lúthien a choice, then: that she could go to Valimar, as all Elves do when they are reborn, and dwell there without Beren, forgetting all griefs that her life had known. But she chose instead to return with Beren to Middle-Earth, as mortals, to live a mortal life together and die a mortal death together.

Thus does the tale of Beren and Lúthien end, the Lay of Leithian. None would see them leave the world again, or mark where their bodies lay, in the end. [a small shrug, at last, when he had remained still enough during the remainder of the story.] And the world continues, without them.

[ A tale of tears if he continues, he says, and Roy wonders bitterly his idea of tears. Because he sees more happiness here, in Lúthien's faith in Beren, in her love for him, and he looks down at his own hands and is unsurprised to see them white-knuckled on the blankets. ]

A fairytale-like ending, [ he says, and does not hide the bitterness in his voice. (What's the point?) Roy has not missed the laugh - thought it a strange thing, actually, because he has never heard anyone laugh like that before - and thinks that- well, if he can manage to amuse this creature, this not-god not-spirit in front of him, then at least it can be some form of thanks. ]

You lied.

Is it a lie? [hums, briefly.] I know not what fairytales are. If an unfortunate end was the tale you wished for, you should have said. It is no fault of mine if you did not find it tragic and heartful.

[but obviously mairon doesn't think that of it either. stories mean little to him, when he was there for it all.]

[ He drops his head on his hand, false-casual. ]

You told me that this is an ending with tears.

It isn't. They might have died, but it's a happy ending. [ He raises a hand; makes soft, nonsense shapes in the air. ] "And they live happily ever after to the end of their days, as short as those days might be."

Something like that.

Whoever said they lived happily? They might have. They might not have. From him we know nothing of their last days. Some might say, of course, that they died together, and that is all that matters.

[he doesn't. probably. love is a strange, strange thing.]

But tears do not come from the mere ending of this tale. It comes from knowledge of the world that they live in, the truth that they have in their hearts. Death is never the end.

[ Death is never the end, the god-who-is-not-a-god says; the spirit-who-is-not-a-spirit. Roy's lips thin. ]

What is the end, then? If not death.

[ He wants an ending. He wants oblivion.

(And he stopps thinking about her. ]

The end.. is when all things cease to Be. [hums, briefly.] The immortal spirit of an Elf returns to Mandos, and is reborn in Valinor, the Undying Lands, to reunite with friends and family. But the spirits of mortals do not share this fate.

Luthien has forsaken her immortality, and thus, the Undying Lands. She will have Beren with her, but she will never again see her father, perhaps not even her mother, nor any of her people.

[not that he quite expects roy to understand. it's a different world, after all.]

So where do the 'spirits of mortals' [ the air quotes are really obvious in his voice ] go after death?

Will she even care that she never sees them again? Far as I know, when you die, you don't see anything again. [ He smiles, all teeth. ] Oblivion.

I am sure many mortals would wish that were so. [and a handful of ainur as well, perhaps.] It is said that mortal spirits pass beyond the boundaries of our universe and return to the Creator, to wait with him just as immortal ones are bound to Arda.

[mairon falls quiet again. partly mulling over roy's last word. oblivion. he knew such a thing, once.]

..If you lived your life knowing that after death you would see your family again, even those who had died before you, and that you would be with them forever in a land that changes not, and little ever dies.. if you lived with this knowledge for several hundred years, thousands perhaps-- would you willingly give up this certainty to be with one that you loved? [the solemnity slips away in a moment, a quirk of a smile and a small laugh.] Could you even imagine being several hundred years old to begin with?

[ It's not even the part about being several hundred years old. It's Mairon's assumption that he has people with whom he wants to spend the rest of his life. If Roy is Luthien, then his reason for giving up immortality will not merely be for Beren - but because he cannot imagine having to live within this emptiness that now governs his life.

That's why fairytales are fairytales in the end - no matter how dark or sorrowful their endings, no matter how many trials the heroine or hero has to go through, there is joy in every step they take, every word told.

He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. ]

Probably not.

Nor would I. [he shrugs.] But then I have never known the loves that Luthien knew, nor, perhaps, would I ever.

..My apologies if it was not to your liking, Roy Walker. [he offers the smallest of smiles.] There were few Kings in my time, and fewer daughters for there to be tales of.

[ He snorts at those words. He doesn't doubt that Mairon has no interest of having that kind of love at all. ]

Those kinds of love is only for King's daughters and their lovers. [ He pauses, then cocks his head to the side. ] But then, I'm surprised. Is there no King with three daughters?

[ That's always the rule in fairytales: the rule of three. In any case- ]

I don't dislike the story itself. I just dislike the ending. [ It's too much like a fairytale. Roy would much prefer it if they had both died at the paws of the wolf. Or, even better, that they both survived, but Luthien changed her mind about Beren, and ended up marrying a prince after all.

That's how people are, after all. No matter the world. ]

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out flew the web and floated wide

OKAY THEN PART... 2/??? who knows. i'll never forget this story ever again. drat you.

isn't that a good thing???

MAYBE?? NO?? oh i used that icon twice DAMNIT

HAHAHAH /pats gently. also i'm sorry for the short tags in response to your tl;dr

AHAHA NO IT'S FINE story telling doesn't count as actual tagging, sob

/squishes hard

wraps around like a... like a wrapping thing.

... like a boa constrictor?

..yes. wraps around like a boa constrictor.

/dies....

RESUSCITATSE with wordvomits

I'm not quite sure that's worth coming back for

but WORDS…

words, just words...