milliways_bar | (no subject)

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[OOM: Mary Anne and Námo spend some quality time. There is drinking, angsting, awkward kissing, then a slinking home by the Vala. Millitimed to Saturday night. No warnings necessary.]

Tonight, Námo is in the bar. Gabriel is asleep upstairs under the watchful eye of Nerdanel, and so the Vala takes the time now to curl in a booth and nurse a drink. The brief, half-drunk, half-asleep conversation with Gorlim the previous night was only vaguely mulled over. Luckily, he'd been too drunk and Gorlim had been too asleep for any sort of true discussion to occur.

Hopefully, Gorlim had chalked it all up to half-remembered dreams.

For the time being, Námo listened to his iPod, having missed music (as artificial as the iPod was in musical depth). It was better than being in his room or making decisions or making mistakes.

Bother at will.

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If he wants music, good honest music from the land the Vala have spent most of their time ignoring once they created it, there's always the obliging golden-haired elf that just wandered through the door in a light tunic and leggings. He's singing an old song from his more rigidly militaristic days, a jaunty marching tune meant to keep spirits high despite Melkor's harrying attacks.

It has been a gorgeous day in the valley.

In their defense, they only Sang about it.

Eru made it real as a gift to them.

His eyes fall on Glorfindel.

It's been a while since he'd seen the Elf.

Must have not rated as much of a gift.

Glorfindel has been in and out... mostly out, since there hasn't been much call to go indoors now that the weather is fine and the land green and growing. His step, unconsciously in time to his bright little song, is a bit stiff on the right - keeping tabs on the sons of Elrond is ever a hazardous duty.

Yes, one would imagine so.

Luckily, Glorfindel's already died once. Twice isn't really in his lot at the moment.

"Summer already?" he asks the nearly-bouncing noble.

Perhaps it is the the song he had been singing, and the rememberance of old military order that brings him up in precise attention.

Perhaps it is remembered pain.

Perhaps it is only the corridor between tables is too narrow for a proper courtly bow, and this is the next best thing when addressing a Vala.

"It is indeed, my Lord. Green and glorious, as it should be."

He raises a brow.

Pain tends to leave its imprint on minds.

And bodies.

"Until Autumn comes," he points out. "Then everything dies again."

Glorfindel's return look is blank.

"Hardly, my Lord, else the herds would die of starvation, and the people after them." He corrects mildly. Teaching an elf about the patterns of the earth is a little like teaching a child to suck eggs. If they haven't already learned it, it's very doubtful they ever will.

His eyes are sharp.

"Nature goes to sleep. Yavanna rests. Everything is cold or bare, animals kept inside and tended by your kind. Hardly the bustling brightness of Spring and Summer, Glorfindel."

The blankness does not ease.
"We are to few to care for the wild beasts of the field, or the flying birds. The South does not sleep, even winter - there the land is evergreen, where it is not desert." His tone is mild, without any trace of scorn or reproof.

He has been an advisor for some years, and the practice stands him in good stead.

Námo is in a Mood tonight.

He shrugs.

"As you wish, Glorfindel."

Glorfindel has a hard time differentiating this from other moods. Luckily, handling Vala is not even remotely part of his usual job description.

"As Iluvatar wishes, my Lord."

He chuckles.

"He wishes very little. In fact, he tends to sit in His corner and wonder what we all plan on doing with his little Symphony." He frowns. "I personally think it is time for a new version, but I do not often get asked my opinion." Námo sighs. "Have you seen your cousin lately?"

"I am surprised to hear you say so, my Lord. Perhaps your association with Melkor here has changed you more than I expected." The tone is frigidly polite, as is his expression.

"I have not had the honor, as such, my Lord."

He shakes his head.

"No. It is my association with my brother here that has driven me from it."

Námo sets aside the iPod.

"She misses you."

My association... Glorfindel doesn't shake his head in bewilderment, mostly due to long training. He has no idea what that means, but he knows treacherous speech when he hears it.

"I was under the impression, my Lord, that my presence was not so greatly desired."

"I do not believe she ever said she did not desire your company," he points out. "I think it was more the rejection she felt from you."

It didn't much matter.

"She will be returning to Aman soon. This is not a safe place to be. Not for her, not for the child."

"There is no place safe for her." Glorfindel opines, quietly. "Not entirely."

His smile doesn't reach his eyes.

Then again, how often does it.

"She is safer in Aman than here."

[OOC: I am fleeing for bed, but I'll pick up the tag in the morning!]

Glorfindel wouldn't know.

"Safer in body, perhaps." However, the first kinslaying was on Aman's shores. "But hardly given friends or society." He can hardly argue that Nerdanel would be safer here in a bar with Melkor, but to consider her safe in Aman? Where there has been only the briefest contact with those other than elf-kind? Wishful thinking.

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