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Gorlim is here.

Loosely speaking.

Gorlim is wandering with his wife towards the bar. He doesn't want to be here. He doesn't want to be anywhere. He can't hear, and hears too much. He can't see, and sees too much. He flinches from loud noises as if they were blows to his back.

"Come, now, laoch. Just here," the woman says. She sits Gorlim in a booth, close to the stairs. She sits beside the shivering figure, orders bread and cheese and tea from a waitrat, and holds him close to her. Now her arms alone can bring warmth to this ghost, her voice alone is sweet to him. And when the rat reappears with food, only she can compel him to eat a little, even if he'll only nibble at it. He cannot taste it. He barely knows what it is.

But he is here. And she is with him. And it'll be all right.

One more day, and it'll be all right.

---
[ooc: Day 6/7 - next time Gorlim shows up, it will be for the wraith-out by the lake tomorrow, which there will be a backroom post detailing shortly. For now, Gorlim is as fully a wraith as you'll see him before the wraith takes its own form. If you ping him, most of the time Eilinel will speak for him, or at least help him speak coherently. This IS a double-post where you can tag either Gorlim or Eilinel, and both muns will be godding each other's puppets to an extent which has been prearranged and all that jazz.

Psychic-types will now be able to see the wraith more clearly than Gorlim. He is now less distinct a shell than, for example, Theoden in "The Two Towers" when you see him taken over by Saruman. Empaths may not be able to get close to him if they can't block out their input signal as it were: what you'll get from him is pain -- intense, constant, escalating pain. Precognitive types -- he may be dead, but he's gon' die and it's gon' be soon. As in, he's gon' die after sunset tomorrow. Also now people with no psychic abilities will feel him near like a Ringwraith or Dementor. He is ice-cold to the touch as well, and has an aura of ghostly temperature-drop around him.

I should add here, because I failed to make it clear in my monster wraith-post, that I am not just doing this to torment my puppet, and there are reasons why the people who COULD prevent this are NOT. Besides the vague explanations I've been letting Gorlim give IC about philosophical necessity, once Gorlim relives his death and wraithification tomorrow, after that scene is DONE, the Wraith is going to effectively LEAVE HIM ENTIRELY for a short amount of time before gradually returning over the course of a month and a half to a point where it can be seen as a part of him again. In other words, until January 15th (which will mark the 3rd year anniversary of Gorlim being played, from his start in MESPT to now), he'll have no visible scars (except the ones he got prior to his capture and a few he's acquired here) and be as sane as he ever really was.

It may seem a little convoluted, but trust me -- I have to break him this far to fix him. And I will state again that the wraith thing does all have canonical basis etc.]

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One more day--that's what Lee's been telling himself, too.

He doesn't intrude on the booth, but sits at a nearby table, just wanting to be near his brother for whatever comfort he can possibly provide.

Eilinel looks over, and tries to catch Lee's eyes.

There's a sort of smile.

He returns the smile in kind.

"How is he?" he asks quietly.

"He's ... managing. Gorlim? Do say something to Lee," Eilinel encourages.

It probably won't be something that actually makes any sense, but something.

He looks up, his vision hazy, and squints a bit towards Lee.

"Hello, gwador," he whispers at last.

It hurts like a knife to see Gorlim in so much pain. He moves his chair a little closer.

"Hey, little brother." His voice is soft.

He forces something like a smile, though it might come off as more of a grimace. He leans heavily against the wall at the far side of the bar, clutching Eilinel's hand in his own.

"You're here?" he asks, sounding a bit strangled and hollow. His eyes dart about, in and out of focus -- he seems unable to hold them on Lee for very long.

"'Course." Still worried, but his faith in Eilinel's caretaking keeps his anxiety in check. "And it'll be okay soon."

"No," he says with conviction. "No, no, no, it's all gone wrong! It's over, can't you see that?? It's..." He trains off into his own language and slumps forward against Eilinel, clutching her sleeve as he squeezes his eyes shut.

He flinches backward, not having meant to frighten or upset anyone. He knows Gorlim's not in his right mind now, understands the underlying cause, but nonetheless, he's frightened and doesn't want to make it any worse.

"No...no, gwador, nothing's gone wrong, everything's all right. It'll all be okay, soon, just hang on..."

He jerks his head up and stares, eyes clearing.

"Lee. It's you. Lee... sing to me. Please? I don't want to hear them anymore..."

He leans against Eilinel, once more hiding his face in her hair.

He still recognizes me...I don't frighten him...

He moves his chair over to sit with them, nodding silently, and closes his eyes to think through the few songs he knows by heart.

"Do you hear the people sing, lost in the valley of the night?/It is the music of a people who are climbing to the light,/For the wretched of the earth, there is a flame that never dies,/Even the darkest night will end, and the sun will rise..."

He closes his eyes and curls into Eilinel's arms.

"Don' stop," he pleads softly. His brother's voice, his wife's arms, are enough to keep the nightmares away for just a little while.

He nods, and continues softly, taking a quiet breath.

"They will live again in freedom in the garden of the Lord/They will walk behind the ploughshare; they will put away the sword,/The chain will be broken and all men will have their reward..."

Námo knows Gorlim is in the bar.

He has just come in from making snowballs with Lee, and his black hair has a layer of ice, his clothing damp where snow has melted, but he pays these things no mind.

In his mind, Gorlim's thoughts felt more of the cold distress he felt when the Man was gripped by his nightmares.

But Gorlim was obviously awake.

Slowly he approaches the couple, eyes darting to Eilinel for a moment before firmly setting on Gorlim.

"Suilad, Lady, titta aiwë," he greets softly when he reaches their booth.

He listens vaguely to Eilinel's formal greeting to the Vala. The words don't make sense to him. None of this does. But he feels her guide his hand towards the bread which he had abandoned, and he does take it and automatically nibbles at a corner. His eyes dart towards Namo, and he stares a bit, and blinks the tears out of his eyes, and leans towards Eilinel.

"Have you come to take me now, Lord Mandos?"

His heart aches.

And as small flashes of feeling bleed through their bond, his body begins to hurt, too. He swallows it all back, for he had promised to be Gorlim's strength as the Man had been his.

"No, Gorlim, son of Angrim, I have not come for you."

The formality stung his tongue, but he does not let such things show.

He blinks again at the Vala, his eyes losing focus. He ducks his head and begins to cry quietly into Eilinel's shoulder.

He wants to reach forward, offer what warmth he can, but he resists; as much as it pains him to, he does not look away.

"It will end soon."

He says it with quiet authority.

He glances up at the god, and a spark of recognition passes over his worn face.

"Will you come get me when it does?"

"No."

It is all he can say in the face of his torn lover who cannot even remember he is looking up into a face he has loved for weeks now.

He's struggling to keep his mind whole and present long enough to speak.

"Please come. Eilinel's not that strong. She won't be able to take me if... if anything happens..."

He eyes Eilinel, allows her spirit to shine in his eyes, and then turns back to Gorlim.

"She is a lot stronger than you give her credit for, Gorlim..."

Námo is trying, trying oh so hard, not to step into a place he just ... does not belong.

Can never belong.

"She can't lift me," he insists. "Might be inna lake. Don't want her getting sick. Please, Namo..."

He opens his mouth again to deny him, to insist Eilinel... Lee... Random -- any of them should be there, not him, but then Gorlim calls his name.

Námo quiets.

Watches.

And nods.

"I will be there," he quietly agrees.

And Gorlim is lost again in his world of swirling shadows, lost as Eilinel guides his hand once more to take bread and try to eat, or drink some tea. He obeys her like a puppet on her strings.

Námo chooses to sit at an ajoining booth where he can still see Gorlim -- where Gorlim could still see him if he surfaced long enough -- and orders hot tea for himself.

He sits.

He watches.

And he waits.

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