[Open] They're coming to take me away ho-ho hee-hee ha-haaa, to the infirmary!

[nadasharillen]

WHO: Everyone under quarantine who's sick
WHAT: Attempt to round up all the blueflu affected into a shared space
WHEN: During Phase 3, after quarantine announcement
WHERE: the Gallows and infirmary
NOTES: Please post your relevant content warnings in the headers of responses, all you beautiful hallucinating/sh*t losing butterflies ♥

With the Rifters drifting in and out of memory, the Templar needing a near constant slow infusion of lyrium--some needing to be doped up with sleeping draughts as fast as Colin, Christine, and the others who’ve devoted their time to the pursuit can make them--and the runners moving slower and slower as they sleep less and less, it's decided that moving everyone to a more easily watchable location for care would be the best, and safest, play.

[Nahariel, Colin, Audra, and any others who remain blessedly unaffected and volunteer are headed out to wrangle you... u mad?]

I. This is Fine

Coming (semi-)quietly? Drop a tag here to let us know, or if there's anything you want anyone to know about your movement, or if you want to hang with others in your new vaguely slapdash home. You live here now.


II. You'll pry my room out of my cold dead hands!

They're going to try to push for it, but aren't going to force you. They do need to know where you are, especially the Rifters... who keep being forgotten just this side of entirely. Your location information is going to be taken down, and they'll continue to come visit you. This can be handwaved, or we can thread it out!

[If you'd like your poor sick bb to be dragged out kicking and screaming, go ahead and indicate that in your tag. Alternately, send me a line @ shaestorms and we can figure out how to pry you loose together. Once you're there, throw a tag to whine about it if you like!]

Comments

I. (but this is not fine)

[castintoflames]

He understands the reasoning behind being quarantined; it is a decision he would have made as a leader. But that doesn't mean he is comfortable with it. Maedhros is stiff and if his face wasn't blue, he would be completely devoid of color.

Care to help the tall, awkward Elf calm down? He is not as unpleasant as he was during Phase I, at least. The illness has humbled him; it has brought him to his knees a couple of times. In a word, he feels wretched.

"To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.
West, west away, the round sun is falling.
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,
The voices of my people that have gone before me?
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;
For our days are ending and our years failing.
I will pass the wide waters lonely sailing.
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,
In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people for ever!"

Elros isn't the only one singing of the sea, it seems.

[tar_minyatur]

He curls at Maedhros' feet, hands busy sharpening a sword that really doesn't need to be sharpened.

"Grey are the sails of the ships that leave
From the havens of the elves
Across the Western Sea
White are the hulls of my people's ships
Looking back east towards them
Sharp are the songs of the gulls that cry
Echoing the gap between us
Long will we tarry there
My brother and I
On opposite sides of the sea"

[castintoflames]

Just what a sick Man needs! A sword. Maedhros shakes himself, but it is so hard to not hear the sea...

Or to see the distant shores of Aman...receding...

"Only to be united by water and flame."

He rests a hand on top of Elros's head. This is real. Focus on this.

[tar_minyatur]

Elros nudges against the hand but his hands don't stop moving, the ceaseless rasp of the whetstone on the blade.

"I want him here. But at the same time, I don't. He's going to be so mad at me..."

[castintoflames]

His thumb makes soothing motions against Elros's scalp. Shhh, be calm. Listen to the waves that totally do not exist.

"Brothers are more often than not irritated at one another. Elrond has an understanding heart and he cares for you."

[tar_minyatur]

Aranruth is going to be the sharpest sword of all time at this rate. That or he's going to wear away the blade

"He made me promise. Not to die before my time..."

[castintoflames]

"See? That is well." Maedhros reaches down to stop the ceaseless motion, "We don't need swords."

[tar_minyatur]

Elros allows the stop but his hands twitch, restlessly.


"And if I die here? Who's going to tell him? Who's going to look after my people?"

[castintoflames]

"You will not." he grasps those hands, feeling the fever and knowing it is like his own, "If you do... Elros... I will follow. I will find a way to bring us back."

[utulien_aure]

Well, that won't do. It won't do at all.

Fingon puts down his harp and pulls Maedhros' head into his lap without a thought for any onlookers. After a few moments stroking his cousin's hair, he begins to hum an old song, one he has rarely sung since they arrived in Middle Earth.

But Maedhros should remember the song well enough. In Fingon's voice, this one is always, always, meant for him.

Light of the world poured into us,
true mirror of the hidden fire,
we lift our voices loud in praise,
our hearts to hope...

[OOC: song blatantly stolen from thearrogantemu's "And What Happened After."]

[castintoflames]

There is no hesitation. Maedhros rests his cheek against Fingon's thigh, curling his arms and his legs so that he fits neatly at his cousin's side. His eyes are soon half-lidded and his muscles are far less tense.

Quarantine disappears and they are on Aman again, free of pain and worry. He hums in his throat, smiling softly.

"Do you hear the waves?"

[utulien_aure]

"Sometimes," is Fingon's quiet reply.

Had he lived longer, had the wounds to his soul festered and poisoned all his other joys, then Fingon supposes the sea-calling would sound more often in his ears. As it did in Maedhros', in Maglor's, in others that he had seen.

(He'd wondered about Turgon, sometimes, in the days when his brother had dwelt in Nevrast upon the shores of the sea. But Turgon had gone inland, to wherever exactly his Ondolinde was, so perhaps that had just been grief speaking.)

But there is- was- so much to be done in Hithlum, and a world beyond it that Fingon had always wanted to see. A longing for the future had drowned out his wish for the past.

But now? He isn't sure.

"Can you?"

[castintoflames]

"Mm yes." he rests a hand on Fingon's leg, "The waves roll against the shore, beckoning...beckoning..." his fingers stretch out as if he can touch them, "And the sky is so blue. The breeze is warm and it catches in your braids. I can see the gold glittering. We will board the ship soon, Finno. Nothing will hurt when we are home."

Unfortunately, along with seeing the waves, he also feels his old scars, throbbing...aching...

"Maybe my hand will come back..."

[utulien_aure]

Home. But which home? The home of his birth, still beloved but left behind. The home he has chosen, which he cannot save.

There's only one real answer, though, isn't there? He catches Maedhros' right hand, pulling it up to kiss the knuckles.

"I am home, silly. I am with you.

[castintoflames]

His eyes open and he flexes the fingers of his...right hand? The softness of Fingon's lips leaves his skin tingling and he frowns, confused.

"Did you bring it back to me?"

That seems to satisfy him and he smiles, touching Fingon's cheek and hair as he rolls to lay on his back.

[utulien_aure]

"You've had it back for some time, Russa." I would have if I could, he adds mentally, as he shifts to make Maedhros comfortable.

"Rest, now. You are safe in my arms, and you will be well soon."

[castintoflames]

He is sweating blue - a worrying sign surely - but he looks at peace for the moment. His hand falls to rest on his chest and he gazes at Fingon for as long as he can keep his eyes open.

"We should go swimming or climb a tree." he chuckles weakly, "Maybe we can find Eagles if we look hard enough."

[seawanderer]

Maglor is here because his brother is. And because it was highly encouraged, because of the sickness even in those who shouldn't be ill.

He's gone from burning, to ice cold and shivering constantly, though it doesn't seem to bother him that much. He's used to being cold.

He raises his voice to twine around Maedhros' song as he snuggles against him, hands burrowing into fabric.

[castintoflames]

The chill runs deep, embedding itself into their bones. But then, sometimes, it dissipates and grows instead into a dizzying heat. Maedhros feels the chill of Maglor's hand and immediately takes off his cloak, wrapping his brother up as snugly as he can manage. Then he holds him again, whispering encouragement against his ear:

"We will Sail this time. This illness will pass like a bad dream..."

[seawanderer]

He hums happily and leans into sheltering arms. For as long as they are both here, he'll enjoy having his brother near again.

"What if we cannot change what is already done, even for having come here?"

He still firmly believes he'll be drowned if he so much as steps into a boat on Middle Earth.

[castintoflames]

He has seen the unbelievable; he has felt the forgiveness of others. If he has somehow earned that then surely Maglor deserves better. They can Sail home. They must.

"Don't think that way." he cautions, resting his chin on Maglor's shoulder, "I believe there is a reason we were brought together again. There is hope."

[seawanderer]

So has Maglor. And yet...

...But basking in his brother's warmth, it's hard to remember that and focus on it. He lets his eyes close as he tucks himself just a bit closer.

"For this world," he answers automatically. He holds none for himself.

[castintoflames]

His warmth can be quite convincing! He has no problem sharing it, either, pressing a kiss or two against his brother's cheek.

"I hold it for you." Maedhros smiles for him, but he looks fatigued, "I won't stop, either."

[seawanderer]

He can't help but hum happily at his brother's affection. He cracks an eye open to catch the smile and returns it.

"It's safe with you, Nelyo." Maglor lifts fingers to play with his brother's hair absently. "...If you are tired, rest. I think that's what they want us to do anyway."

[castintoflames]

Maglor doesn't know how far his brother would go for just that smile. It breaks his heart that he will not see it for the Ages to come.

But maybe...hopefully...after that.

"I am resting." he leans into the gentle tugs, "You can sleep in peace with me, you know. I won't allow any harm to befall you."