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Who: Bucky and Nerdanel
Where: The garden car
When: Late afternoon/early evening of Domino 15
Warnings: Talk of nightmares, PTSD, and possibly torture/mind control

Bucky isn't quite sure what he's looking for, but he knows it when he finds it in the form of a woman in the garden car. He approaches her cautiously, clearing his throat when he's just a few feet away. "Uh... excuse me," he says, mentally ticking off all the boxes.

Pointy ears? Check. Inhumanly beautiful with long hair? Check and check. Glowing? Surprisingly, check. He offers her an uncertain smile. "Would you happen to be an elf?" He can't believe he's actually doing this.

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Bucky nods his agreement. "I don't need as much as a normal human, either, but..." he's pushed himself to his very limits. "I'm grateful for the help." He takes a minute, then, to look for a suitable spot, deciding that a corner of the car was probably best and gesturing to it. "How about here?" A nice, defensible spot. And he could even sleep sitting up.

Nerdanel considers that.

"Not exactly the most comfortable spot - are you sure? I can guard your sleep, but it will be easier if you are comfortable. You could use me as a pillow, if you like."

He takes a moment to consider the spot again. He'd come to her because she was an experts of sorts, so he nods again. "Whatever you think is best. If you have a better place in mind, we should go there," he replies with a weak smile. "I guess I'm not very good at this."

"Hm." She considers. "What about that corner there, under the tree. It's quiet - far away enough from the angry book - and in the back of the garden like that, no one will be able to come over without me seeing them."

"That'll work," he agrees with a nod, and heads over to the place she suggested, sitting himself down beneath the tree and laying down, shifting his weight until he's settled into something resembling comfort. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down a bit.

Nerdanel settles besides him and eyes him.

"Would it help if you rested your head in my lap or on my shoulder?" She offers. "Or will that make you feel too vulnerable?"

He huffs out a laugh. "It takes a lot more than that to make me feel vulnerable," he replies, but the fact that she asked at all is a comfort. "If you're going to stay here the whole time anyway... your lap would be nice," but only if she's planning to stick around, as if she hasn't already been clear about it.

He shifts closer, settling his head into her lap and closing his eyes with a long sigh. "This feels a lot closer to safe than it does to vulnerable."

She smiles and starts carding gently through his hair.

"Good! That will help, I am sure."

Softly, she starts to Sing. She is not Makalaure, with his golden voice, but there are charms that every parent learns, songs to calm hyperactive young children and coax good dreams.

She weaves the images for Bucky, slipping softly into his thoughts like gentle daydreams, a winding path through shady woods, to a tactched-roof house, the windows spilling golden light welcoming into a garden.

Then ran ashore through sleepy seas,
And down a warm and winding lane
And never never found again
Between high whispering trees.

The air was neither night or day,
But faintly dark with softest light,
When first there glimmered into sight
The Cottage of Lost Play.
'Twas builded very very old
White, and thatched with straws of gold,
And pierced with peeping lattices
That looked toward the sea;

Despite how worried he'd been about people being in his head, he finds her voice soothing and very quickly drops off to sleep. Sure enough, the gentle nudges are all he needs to be kept away from the dark dreams that usually plague him. His mind has been manipulated many times before, so many in fact that there's hardly any resistance to her magic, and once she sets his mind in a peaceful direction, it never wavers from that path.

It's the best sleep he's gotten since arriving.

Nerdanel keeps singing, softly, until she's sure he's asleep, and then she drops down to hum softly, running soothing fingers through his hair, guarding his sleep as she has done for sons and grandson and husband.

Luckily, Bucky needs less sleep than a normal human, and since he's getting truly restful sleep this time, he wakes just a few hours later with a heavy sigh. He reaches up, rubbing at his eyes and taking a few seconds to realize not just where he is, but how he ended up asleep.

He sits up slowly, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn and stretching himself out with a contented groan, like an old cat waking up from a nap in a sun puddle. "I haven't slept that well since before the war," he murmurs, and offers Nerdanel a sleepy smile. "Thanks."

"Good morning." She smiles at he sits up.

"You are looking a lot better, that is well! I hope your dreams were pleasant!"

"They were," he replies, still a little sleepy but definitely well rested now. "I dreamed about the last birthday I actually celebrated," he chuckles. "I guess I should probably celebrate the next one, too. I'll be a hundred, if you can believe that."

"A hundred!" She smiles. "By our folk's accounting that would make you a full adult. We should definitely celebrate it, I think. When is it?"

His brows go up, and he lets out a chuckle. "March tenth," he replies with a grin. "I guess that means elves really do live for thousands of years, huh?"

"Well, I don't know how it is for other world, but in ours we are tied to the world - to live as it lives, and to die when it dies. So thousands, or tens of thousands... it makes little difference, after a while. I lost count of my own age long ago." She smiles. "We can be slain! But even then, our fea - our soul, or spirit -goes only to the Halls of Waiting, there to heal, and hopefully one day to return and walk amongst our kinfolk again. Although I do hear tell that some of our wilder Avari kin refuse to return for love of Middle-earth, so their spirits remain with the land they love so well."

"But for you, my dear, why, that would be our coming of age. And I think me that even for humans, 100 must be a significant number, no?"

He doesn't pretend to understand much of what she's said, though he understands the intent of her words, and her warmth leaves him smiling so widely that the corners of his eyes wrinkle with crow's feet. "It's pretty rare for people to get to be one hundred where I'm from," he agrees warmly. "My best friend and I are exceptions to the rule, but I don't think it's any less cause for celebration. It's been a long time since I've bothered to celebrate my birthday. It's about time I get back to it."

He was, slowly but surely, growing a family on this train, and it was filling a hole he hadn't even realized was there.

"Then we must celebrate it properly." She says firmly. "We can even call it your coming of age, and confuse everyone else!"

Bucky nods, letting out a quiet chuckle. "I'd like that," he replies, and slowly gets to his feet. "Thanks again, for the help sleeping. If there's ever anything you need..." assuming it was something he could actually provide, anyway.

"I will ask." She smiles at him.

"And you should tell me how Men celebrate your milestones! We usually have a party."

"Oh! I keep forgetting that everyone is from different places," he blushes, just a little. "We usually celebrate it with a cake, and putting a candle on it for every year the person has been alive -- that's not strictly followed, sometimes the number is in frosting, or made out of candles instead of using that many candles," especially for an age as high as one hundred. "So the birthday person sits in front of the cake after the candles are lit, and everyone else sings a specific song, and the birthday person blows out the candles. It's good luck if they can do it all in one breath," he explains. "There's sometimes a theme to the party, for younger children it's either pink or blue, depending on gender, and as you get older it's more likely to be related to the birthday person's interests."

She laughs softly.

"You are not the only one! I only knew of Arda, before coming here."

She nods. "Interesting! We have cake too, so that is clearly something that carried across. No candles, although as you say, having a hundred on a cake might be a little much!"

He grins at her, nodding his head a little. "Yeah, though Tony might just try to do it, just to make sure everyone knows I'm old as dirt," he agrees with a laugh. "I don't really have any hobbies or anything, to have it themed around."

"Well, we are a little limited on the train." She says thougtfully. "I think we can, however, manage a cake! Have you a favourite flavor?"

"The kitchen should be well-stocked enough for that," he agrees warmly. "Chocolate is my favorite, but any cake would be lovely."

"I think I can manage a chocolate cake." She smiles. "It would be good, to have a celebration."

Bucky dimples at her. "Sounds like a plan," he agrees warmly. "If you want help, let me know. I know it's weird to make my own cake, but cooking seems like a good way to pass time."

Oh! He has dimples. How sweet!

"Nonsense! I'll not see anyone make their own cake." She scolds with a laugh. "I will drag my husband into it - he might as well make himself useful."

Feanor's the better cook anyway - provided he is watched to make sure he doesn't get... creative.

He does, but they like to hide. He laughs warmly at her scolding, and grins. "You'll have to introduce me at the party so I can thank him properly," he replies brightly. "I suppose I'll leave you to planning, then."

"But of course! Although I suppose you might have met him already. Dark hair, slightly manic, overly interested in how everything works?"

Very handsome, but she figures that is not something that would be a useful defining trait.

He considers the description, but the only person he knows that meets it is Tony, so he shakes his head. "I don't think so, but I look forward to meeting him."

"If you know Tony, you'll meet him that way too." She smiles. "They are very good friends. But I will point you out!"

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poem is "You and Me/House of Lost Play" by JRR Tolkien

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