asgardmeridiem | Seeking Truth [Active

Entry tags:

Seeking Truth [Active - OPEN]

Who: Maribelle, Tohru Adachi, Seimei Aoyagi, The Fourth Doctor, Soushi Miketsukami, Kirigiri Kyouko, and Naoto Shirogane. Also, any questioning volunteers, witnesses, and people who want to meet and talk after!
What: The questioning begins.
When: D504, morning - afternoon
Where: Everyday Sunshine in the Sigyn District
Rating: G for now.

They were ready. They'd discussed their process earlier, gathered ideas and chosen their partners, and now it was time to properly get to work. They'd all arrived at the Everyday Sunshine building bright and early, and after placing a sign-in sheet for the volunteers, went into their assigned spaces. Each volunteer was allowed a witness, if they so chose, and there were breaks scheduled at regular intervals so that those with special abilities could rest and recharge as much as possible.

Now, all they had to do was wait.

Room 1: Adachi and Maribelle [OPEN]
Room 2: Seimei and Soushi [OPEN]
Room 3: The Fourth Doctor [OPEN]
Room 4: Kirigiri and Naoto [OPEN]
After: The Sigyn District [OPEN]

[ooc: Everyone is available for questioning in their individual threads. Volunteers can go in a thread of their own by responding to a comment by the investigators so they don't have to thread hop. Also, please try to spread out volunteers between the questioners, so we have less chance of power drain. Thanks! ♥]

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Four's always been generally fond of music. And yet there's more to it than that. It's like staring into the Untempered Schism, almost - he doesn't quite want to run, this time, but the hairs on the back of his neck rise as he settles into the shape of Maglor's mind.

"Why don't we start with what you think of Asgard overall? We'll go from there afterwards."

The Song whispers around them, grief and joy and life and death and all the thousands and thousands of years in between that Maglor has lived, although he does his best to shield Four from the worst of it.

"Asgard?" He murmurs softly. "I thought her a punishment, at first - that I had been cast out from my own world."

Blood and fire whispers the song, the fleeting images of an elf with fire in his eyes (his father), and three peerless jewels, a light that is alive, swords and blood and the dragging weight of the guilt of kinsblood, spilled over and over again - but Maglor pushes those images aside swiftly.

"But I have come to love it here, to understand that this is my chance for redemption, and I am grateful."

A new song whispers up - the tension of war and siege, the sharp joy of battle, the grim knowing that his life would buy anothers, the joy of an elf who should hate him smiling up at him I forgive you father. I love you, a sweet, sad song, the image of a boy weeping in his arms, one brighter, stronger, a bit brassy and yet fragile, Alice letting him braid her hair in his house colours.

"I have found much here to rejoice over, but much to grieve me, also."

He's known most of the things the Song sings of, at least, which helps. He may not be near as old as Maglor is, but he knows them. Some more intimately than others, but he puts those thoughts out of his mind. If they come up anywhere they can be for later.

He notes too, the images that are swiftly pushed out of mind. They're certainly interesting, but there are other things to focus on. Things that aren't being metaphorically swept aside.

"It does have it's up and downs, yes," he agrees. "Any world would, really, but they do seem more pressing here." Mostly because the effects have the possibility of being terribly wide-spread if nothing's done about it, in the end. The end of everything, or so he's generally been led to believe.

"And it might never be quite the same as anywhere else, but it can be that. Even with the losses."

It probably does help - and it is the only reason Maglor would have allowed the Doctor this close in the first place. Anyone else he would have been terrified he would break.

"True enough." Maglor agrees, and in his mind the long stretch of years flashes, siege and war and watchful peace, the gradual building up again of shadow when vigilance fails... or sometimes, even despite it.

"But few worlds teeter on so delicate an edge as this one - that is also true. But on the edge means that we might still tip the balance in our favour."

The growing shadow makes the Doctor think briefly of the Black Guardian. The shadow that will always be there, equal and opposite to the White Guardian. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if it is the Black Guardian partially to blame for it. Starting a war that might well seems about like the sort of thing he'd do.

He doesn't mention it. Maglor hardly needs to hear his thoughts and it wouldn't really help the line of questioning he's meant to be following anyway.

(Not that he's always been good at doing what he's meant to, but it's the point of the thing, really.)

"It does. A knife's edge might not be comfortable, but it's still an edge. A place to make a stand, before things fall to whatever final fate might be waiting."

Perhaps, and perhaps not. Morgoth's shadow lies ever on Arda after all.

"Well said!" Maglor nods, and his mind brings up a voice calling, fierce and proud, and knowing that failure is the only option.

Aure entuluva!

A man swings his axe and another foe falls, but he already knows that there are too many, and he cannot escape. But he still spits defiance in their faces, for he knows that his life has bought time and life for his King.

Day will come again!

"A fall, aye - but hopefully not a bad one. It seems we must find our way through sorrow to find joy; or freedom, at the least."

Maybe they're two of a kind, the Black Guardian and Morgoth. Or being close enough to being the same. But the point is largely moot, given that neither of them are likely to mention either of the beings in question.

He nods, instead, both at Maglor's comment and the memory that comes with it. Day will always come again. They might be standing closer to midnight than most have ever dared, here, but he doesn't mean to let that stop him. As long as there's life, there's hope. And that can be the very best weapon of them all. The hope to see a new day, or to see an old friend again.

"Not one so bad that it can't be recovered from, hopefully. And sometimes it's the joy that comes after sorrow that can be the sweetest, even if it means having to deal with the sorrow beforehand." A pause and then he continues on. "Freedom can be joy, too. It's just a different sort."

Who knows!

"True enough." There is a pang of old, old sorrow, and the memory is of a star that is more than a star, it is a ship, white and fair, sailing the sky, and the captain has a star (has a jewel, has one of the Three that Maglor's Oath demands he seeks) bound to his brow, and the name they give the star is Gil Estel - the Star of High Hope.

They cannot conquer forever says a Hobbit, pale but resolute.

"I suppose that is also true." Maglor nods. "Of a sort, as you say. But after finding my Hope again here, I cannot believe us forsaken, e'en if we fail."

"We might need hope like that, in the days to come."

He always hopes for the best, and he's not lost his own yet, but the more people who can listen and understand to that hope the easier it'll be to keep people from wanting to give into the despair that would be easy to fall into.

And if that hope should be more than a word, that doesn't matter nearly as much. Not when it can be the act of believing, of hoping, that can be the most important thing.

(He's fairly certain he should get back to asking actual questions as well, but that would mean disrupting the flow of the conversation.)

"Of course, I imagine most people here would prefer that we didn't fail, even if we aren't entirely certain on all of the details."

Maglor shrugs wryly "That much is also true - but in my world we have a saying 'Eru draws straight with crooked lines' - that is to say, sometimes what seems a fall is only a fleeting thing to a greater tomorrow. Who knows what the final end will be?"

A memory of a Lady who is neither human nor elf but something Other, something greater. Fairer than words can tell, with a voice that is not a voice but a song, heard in heart and soul as much as ears, a light in her eyes and face and stars in her hair.

If all else fails Makalaure, remember this - not even we Valar know what happens at the End of the Song, but trust that we are all of us loved, and none of us forgotten.

"Who knows indeed?"

If he had the TARDIS he could theoretically pop forward and check but he's never really bothered with that. There wouldn't be any point to it for one, and he's not ever been that interested in seeing what any given conclusion is going to be.

And in any case, there's the fact that what if there is no escaping this darkness. Better to leave the uncertainty that can create hope, then.

"Well. The gods here probably know. But they aren't terribly likely to explain either, I expect."

Edited 2014-10-02 03:39 (UTC)

"Or they think they do" Maglor points out wryly "But I do notice that their prophecy gives no reference to what happens after the end comes. I suppose we shall have to wait and see!"

Thereafter shall Earth be broken and remade, and the Silmarils shall be recovered out of Air and Earth and Sea... Then Fëanor shall take the Three Jewels and bear them to Yavanna Palúrien; and she will break them and with their fire rekindle the Two Trees, and a great light shall come forth. And the mountains of Valinor shall be levelled, so that the light shall go out over all the world. In that light the Valar will grow young again, and the Elves awake and all their dead arise, and the purpose of Ilúvatar be fulfilled concerning them

"There isn't always a next, in the tales of Ragnarok. The Twilight of the Gods, when even the gods die, fighting alongside those who died in glory."

Which isn't really anything like this Ragnarok. For one, they haven't all died. Some of the people here may have done so in their own worlds, but he knows that he hasn't. Not in any way that would better.

"Some of them do have an afterwards, yes. But only some of them."

"It seems to be a pity, that" Maglor shrugs a little. "We do not know what comes after - but we know that there will be one - and so my people fight the Long Defeat and do not yet lose Hope"

Estel says the memory of his cousin, Finrod sitting by the fire beside a mortal wise woman. Is not optimism, or wishful thinking, but endurance - trust.

And to what should we pin our trust? Andreth challenges, still with that spark of fire, for all her age.

That we are not forsaken

That they aren't forsaken... yes, that's a good thing to hope. A good thing to trust, even though it can be hard to. Against life and loss and pain... there's a reason he doesn't much stick around in times like these. Too much war is never good for anyone.

"There's always an after. Even if someone seems to be doing their best to make the ending less than hopeful. Certainly less so than most of us would like, anyway."

Is it a loss of hope, he wonders? Or is their traitor just someone who's wanted to throw the metaphorical wrench into the works.

"They certainly seem to be." Maglor nods, something dark surfacing in his eyes. "But I think they will not succeed. Asgard is united now - they cannot hide forever."

Traitor! Maglor's voice snarls in memory. Oath-breaker! The High King is dead and my brother near insensate with grief! What mercy should I show you?

A flash of a sword, the sweet deadly taste of blood-rage. Two young men lie at his feet and the father snarls back mockingly.

The Dark Lord will destroy you all

Maglor's answer is terrifyingly disspassionate, although the emotions that boil in the memory are tainted black with fury. But you will not live to see it

A single swing, and a head goes flying.

Put his head on a pike and leave it as warning. Leave his body for the crows. Sound the retreat - We have lost, and the High King is dead. I will not loose my brothers as well.

"No one can hide forever," the Doctor agrees, and for a moment his voice darkens as if in parallel to Maglor's memory. He doesn't expect that he'll be the one to find their traitor, but Asgard is looking now, and that's more than anything else that had come before.

He does have to blink a little at the sight of a head going flying. It's not something he expected to see, and even on his own travels things have never quite gotten that bad. Still, he figures he can live with the image. It's only one image.

(On the other, he's pretty certain that the traitor isn't Maglor, after that.)

"And the longer we stay united, the better. Not just for this but for the rest of the days to come."

"Well said." Maglor agrees quietly. "It was when we were together that our Enemy truly feared us, and looking back, it was our divisions that slew us, in the end"

And that too was foretold whispers a ghost, tall with a brilliant shock of red hair, kingly and beautiful, despite the terrible scars - Maedhros, Maglor's older brother, now little more than an echo of a memory - is he truly there, or is Maglor truly that insane?

Ah, Finno, my beautiful Valiant cousin. If not for Ulfang's betrayal we might avenged our fathers and assuaged my Oath, but all we reaped was death and tears and it is hard to say if the voice is Maglor's or his brother's.

The King is dead! The High King is fallen! The memory of bright banners falling, and Maedhros crumpling to his knees in agony. Finno! No no not Findekano! Fingon! Let me go to him!

No, Maehdros no! You cannot! Celegorm, Caranthir - hold him! We are lost, the battle is lost, Get him to safety! We cannot lose him as well!

It's hard to say, and the Doctor doesn't ask. The ghosts of those long gone aren't his to ask after, no matter how closely they may draw in moments like these. He's not certain what to make of the foretelling either. He may travel in time, but that isn't entirely the same.

(Briefly, he remembers seeing the Lord High President dead twice over, once in a premonition and once in truth, with his hands presumed to have been the ones to it. He remembers trying to struggle against the arms of the guards, as well, insisting to no avail that of course he couldn't have done, that it was only coincidental that he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time.)

"It always is."

No matter who's at the hands of the divisions that pull people apart so well.

Death and tears unending are our lot says the spectre grimly, By treason and fear of treason, as it was told, his silver eyes fixed on the Doctor before vanishing.

The Dispossesed we are forever echo the others - Celegorm, fair and fey, dark brooding Caranthir, solemn Curufin, and the smiling Ambarussa, one slightly more auburn than the other, before bowing to the Doctor and vanishing - ghosts or memory?

"Yes. May it prove otherwise here! If Asgard can pull together, I deem there is power enow to change history, but only time will tell."

He hides it well, but a shiver runs up the Doctor's spine as the ghosts of memory address him, and even if it's only a quirk of memory it's not the sort of thing that he's used to. But he nods in answer to them, and if Maglor thinks it's more in answer to the comment about only time will tell at least it's not an odd thing to be caught nodding at.

"It's not quite as easy here," he answers. "But we might be starting to pull together."

In bits and pieces, yes. But that's still pulling together, of a sorts.

In Maglor's mind they are as real as they ever were, his beautiful tragic brothers. He knows they are only memory, only ghosts, but if he can trick himself, even so briefly, then he will, for he knows full well that they are lost to him, and he will never see them again. To the Doctor, walking in his mind and seeing through his eyes, their memory is as alive as it has always been to Maglor.

"No - too many disparate worlds and motivations, eh? But I think we begin to, and that is a good start." Maglor nods quietly. "We shall see - a good beginning, at the least, is not something to scoff at."

"All the best things have had a good beginning somewhere," the Doctor answers with a nod. And all the worst things too, he thinks, but he leaves that unsaid. There's no sense in marring what could be the beginning of something truly great. Not to mention they have shadows enough as it is and a little light can hardly hurt now.

"But yes, we'll see."

"Everything has a beginning, and an end." Maglor shrugs. "Saving only the One."

A song that is more than a song, a hymn that is a paen of joy and creation, in voices that are not so much heard as known and felt in the soul - a memory of one of the few times the Valar sang.

Aira, aira, aira, Heru Eru Iluvala
ilyë Carmelya laituvar Esselya,
Arda ar Lúmelóra Mardissë

"May this one come to a good ending!"

Edited 2014-10-30 07:42 (UTC)

The words of the hymn mean next to nothing to the Doctor. It's not a language he really knows, and there's nothing here to offer him the benefit of translation. But he can hear the joy of it, and the fact that it's perhaps more than just a song. And that, he figures, is all he really needs to know just at the moment.

"Agreed. And may our hope burn strong, in this."

I should probably say hover for translation~ (this is almost always true for random elven)

bythewaves - 2014-11-05 10:24 (UTC) - Expand

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Seeking Truth [Active - OPEN]

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belatedly it occurs I SHOULD WARN FOR VIOLENCE considering this is Mags... sorry!

No worries!

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I should probably say hover for translation~ (this is almost always true for random elven)