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War ate a girl and spat out a woman.

Excerpt from Myth Untold // L.H.Z (via lhzthepoet)

#{ musings } heavy is the head that wears the crown

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His Brightest Star Was You.

Aka I write drabbles while listening to Two Steps From Hell.

The Cathedral was darkened, candles burning low as the sun sank beneath the horizon. Trembling, aching feet, covered in new blisters and older cuts, made their slipper-clad way up the path, to the tomb under the rose-window. A sleeping statue carved in perfect likeness, down to the points of his ears and the shape of his nose, and it took a moment before she even dared to tentatively touch it, fearful that she would find under her fingertips not smooth marble but a corpse instead. Mouth drawing into a thin line, brow clenched with pain, the new young Queen reached out at last and brushed her fingers over her father's carven cheek. "Oh, Darvi," she whispered, "why have you left me behind you? You knew what to do, and I do not." She hadn't realised that another was present, until Lallvren quietly slipped out of the shadows and rested a hand against her shoulder. "You proved on that battlefield that you were worthy of his crown." Tear-filled eyes rose, to meet her councillor's own. Laurel was surprised to see tears in his eyes, too. "Yet I cannot hope to be half the ruler, or person, that he was." Lallvren breathed a heavy sigh, staring sadly at the tomb before them. "You have much to learn," he confessed, "and much yet to achieve, but I have faith that you will -- just as he did." Surprised, her eyes shot wide, confusion visible in her expression. "He thought --?" "He knew, and intended, that you would succeed him, from the very moment that you first walked into this city seeking your truth. From the very moment he laid eyes upon you again after all of those long, excruciating years, no longer the baby he recalled but a grown woman with a hand of strength and a heart of compassion... He knew that you would have what it took to step up out of his shadow and lead our people into greatness. Yet he knew also that you would face struggle. He wished to be with you, to help you on your path, to guide you..." Lallvren lowered his gaze, and then his head. "But, alas, he knew also that time was running out. He had foreseen his own death many times. He did not know when, I think, but he knew without a doubt that his heart had only finite beats left to give him." She swallowed, her hands curled around the marble of the statue's hand. "I hoped that I could save him, when I fought Lorccanos. I hoped that maybe, if I could just... if I could just hold the dragon away from him for long enough, a healer could get to him. It is why I -- why I loathe it so much, how everyone says that it was heroic or...or brave or... It was nothing like that. I did not even hope to survive." Fresh tears trickled down her cheeks, and she shuddered as she drew in an aching breath, wiping them away with the back of her left, unmarked hand. "Why could I not save him, Lallvren? I never wished to be Queen, or a dragon-slayer. I only wished to find my family." His hand tightened on her shoulder, to give her strength in this storm. "I know," he murmured, "I know. I really am so very sorry." Softly, Laurel leaned down and pressed a kiss to her father's statue's forehead. Then, she rose, and tilted her head, her lowered ears twitching... before, so gently and so tentatively, she drew her arms around Lallvren's middle, and rested her head against his chest like a child. Lallvren's own ears flicked as he blinked in surprise, before one strong arm drew around her small body, and the other cradled the back of her head, fingers gently coming to card through long silver tangles. "He loved you," he whispered as he held the contact, "never doubt that." You are not alone, Lallvren wished to add, but didn't. Never doubt that, either. Holding close the young Queen as if she was his own darling daughter, Lallvren turned his saddened gaze back onto the tomb, lit up almost crimson by the fading sun. O my dearheart, said a voice in the darkest corner of his mind, though it will not be easy, I will stand. I will stand, where you could not. Fainter than all other thoughts, I miss you terribly.

#side muse: lallvren #death tw

brahilhli:

“All too well,” answers Willem, a grim expression on his face. It will not do to worry him, to state the obvious of how very risky is this little scheme they had concocted.

“Do not worry, Erron. My sister and I swore to you our help should you ever require it and always we are true to our word.”

“We will be there,” adds a different voice as a tall elf casually swaggers up to them with a confident smile on his face. One that belies his own concern.

“And we will eagerly await your signal. Surely you do not think I could stand to lose my rival? Where would be the fun in that? I might just have to cease my evil ways, and I am not prepared to do that… No. The Sunstar will be at the ready. On that I will give my word as well.”

Though still not entirely certain of this ‘Hathlim’ fellow, Willem looks to Erron once more, covering––for his sake––any doubts of the worth of this other pirate’s word.

“See? You have no need to worry. All will go according to plan. I am certain of it.” And then he turns to another, asking her opinion with no more than a look and the utterance of her name. “Laurel?”

Until now, the woman had maintained her silence, leaning against the wall near where Ricente Tansine was perched on a table, jiggling his ankles with obvious anxiety, near where Uhnama kept coming to rest at the end of a lap of her nervous pacing, near where Arelion sat cross-legged on the floor and colouring with coloured pencils in his journal, seemingly without any other care. How much her heart was terribly heavy, and how much she wished that she could have her son's innocence in this moment. Surely, such innocence must have been bliss. Gently she smoothed back some strands of his golden hair, causing him to glance up at her with confusion and worry, long ears twitching in question. Mustering a smile, she leaned and kissed his forehead. "What are you drawing?" She asked, both to soothe him and her own rising fear. "A plan of the city," Arelion hummed, lifting up his journal to show them. "You could take the barracks by leading maybe..." He considered a moment, tapping his pencil (bold marigold yellow) against the hard wooden floor. "...I'd say two crews should be enough, from the guards I've seen while looking around. Two crews, and you'll be able to take the Greater Market. From there it's really close, isn't it, to the Navy's headquarters?" Again he had surprised her, how present he had truly been in the meeting, and how much of the grim council he had chosen to take in, in the hopes that he might aid them. "Two crews," Laurel said, trusting her beloved Arelion's cleverness, as she glanced up to the Captains present. "Could you do it, between the Fury and the Sunstar? Arelion is right, if you could take the Great Market, not only would you have taken out a good proportion of the city's defence from what we have seen -- and what Captain Berrain has told me -- but you will also be far closer to approach the headquarters." She smiled faintly, tightly, concerned but ready. Ready, for whatever might come. "I think we stand half a chance and if we are going to be fantastic rebels against sovereign forces, then it might as well be now, when it looks like it will go in our favour. And besides...the sooner we do this, the sooner my party and I can continue on...and we can find my family. Hopefully." And the sooner they did that, the sooner they could look into undertaking the return journey.

#v; on the way to her throne { main }#brahilhli { willem }#brahilhli { hathlim }#alruenn #withoutanamc #ofwcrries

grimxjudge:

He watches with a strange mixture of both fascination and dismay as tears appear in her eyes.

That any could would be so moved merely by his presence––not through fear but through some other cause that he cannot name––is beyond his understanding. Who is this one that she would react in this way to him?

He does not know.

For once he does not know all and there is a pause as he realizes the strangeness of this. The absence of his knowledge of all that has been and will be, as though a sense as important as his sight has been taken from him and he has been left to stumble through the darkness.

Suddenly he feels fingers ghosting across his cheek and there’s a moment of stunned stillness, though some part of his mind screams his concern for such contact as can bring Death, especially to one whom, in this moment, seems so very fragile.

As soon as her arm falls back to her side, as soon as her head is bowed, he resolves to recover himself, to regain his composure. Such carelessness on his part would not affect him, but it certainly might harm this young one. And yet, then she makes a request of him that is so genuine, so heartfelt that he cannot stop the slight smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“If that is what you wish, then Laurel shall I call you.” And then his expression shifts to what might well be concern, almost reaching for her… and yet not quite. “But surely, you must rest, child. You seem not far from fainting…”

Her relieved smile when he had accepted the name that she preferred faded soon away upon his next words. How suddenly she indeed felt the exhaustion that was pulsing through her frame! She teetered on her feet right then and there, and would have fallen face-first in the snow if she had not pushed the base of the Sceptre firmly into the ground and leaned upon it, quivering. “That is so,” she said, “and rest calls to me, and I yearn to answer.” She had been resting for two days, asleep, dead to the world after being so close to true death upon that battlefield. So close, and yet, she had survived when so many others had not. Not even her own father, who had been so brave and strong, splendid in his golden armour, in the crown, now slightly burned in places, that had now been placed upon her head after being cleaned and prepared for that moment while she herself had slumbered, unaware. One of her advisors had made a comment about getting the crown fixed, but she had refused. She would wear it in this state, she had said, and in this state it would stay; a reminder of what they had loved and lost. “There is no rest for a Queen,” she told him then, “and that is what I am now, for good or for ill...” She was her father’s daughter, his first-born heir and the only one who had been legally able to take his place. She was a King’s daughter and now a Queen in her own right, and she had slain a dragon upon a battlefield soaked in blood and poison-fume, and now she stood in a holy place before a living God. Even so, all she had ever wanted was to find her family, to find her truth...and then to settle, somewhere, and run a quiet little library and a pleasant garden... That potential future that she had planned for herself had been pulled away under her feet the very second King Draotar had stepped forward to embrace the dragon’s flame, and his own doom. She could not, and would not mourn it. She had no time, and barely any time to even mourn her father, or to support her siblings and stepmother while they did the same. No time to talk to her beloved Old Bear, nor to wish Willem well as he started to prepare for the homeward journey, nor to see Uhnama on her way to the coast, nor to make sure Ricente was alright after all that he had seen and experienced. There was no time to be anything but what she now was; Queen of a desperate and fractured people who needed all of the help and compassion that she could give them. But, perhaps she need not walk that path alone. “Will you be beside me, when I address my people?”

#v; thearrowandthesong { au }#grimxjudge

beautyxmarred:

Feren cannot quite stop the expression of surprise that momentarily appears.

Barely a word had he spoken to her all evening. Even her few attempts at some sort of conversation had fallen flat under the weight of his monosyllabic replies as the majority of his effort was focused on saying nothing foolish and on not stepping on the princess’ dainty feet or bruising her hand in his nervousness. The one time he had ventured to say more to her, he had practically babbled and he would have sworn he saw her smile.

He had assumed, wrongfully judging by Laurel’s words, that it had been at his expense, humor at his foolishness, and so, mortified, he had spoken little to nothing more for the rest of the night.

And yet still Laurel says that Cannaeth wishes to see him again?

“She does?” he says, though almost as soon as the question is given voice, it is abundantly clear that he had not meant for it to be. A fact that might well be evident from the very faintest of pink tints to his cheeks, from the way that he clears his throat before he quite readily answers her question.

“Tea? Yes, of course, Your Highness. Tea would be much appreciated.”

Well, he answers one question at least, but, truthfully, he needn’t answer the other.

Surely it is quite obvious that he would die of embarrassment ere he got out the words even to inform the Princess of the weather or comment upon her grace and lightness of foot whilst dancing, nevermind that Laurel had shared such information with him in confidence.

“That she does.” Pouring two cups of steaming, fragrant tea -- pleasant, with hints of oranges brought by the barrel from Longfort traders -- she set one in front of him then cradled the other in her delicate hand. As ever, one of her arms was gloved. Not out of shame, but because she was no fool, and knew well that the ragged mess the dragon had left of her right arm was damned unpleasant to see, at least for those who were not used to it. Little did she think, however, that Feren would not be able to handle such things. It was more for the benefit of the various citadel servants. Taking a sip of her tea, she couldn’t help a slight chuckle passing her lips. It was a bright morning after a wondrous and colourful night, and her heart was glad, and even the ever present pain of her long-standing injury could not bring her distress at present. Not with so much potential to good-naturedly tease poor, dear Feren (and her beloved little sister to boot!) being there at hand. “She spoke to me and my dear Andraval this morning, and she told us all about what fun she had last night.” Fun that had involved trying desperately hard not to get her long, floaty white skirt caught under her little feet as she had danced, fun that had involved her dancing partner being ‘sweet beyond measure’ and making her smile with his earnest babbling. She had also spoken much about how handsome Feren was; how deft and light his movements, how strong his arms, how fair his face. Andraval had been mentally planning a wedding ever since those comments were made, and Laurel knew her brother well enough to know it. The question was, did Feren know it? Judging by his apparent nervousness in regards to the previous night, he did not. “She had a thoroughly good time last night, and that was mainly because of your presence. You should put yourself down far less than you do.”

#v; thearrowandthesong { au }#beautyxmarred { feren }

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feralandfair:

Everything remained dark for a long while. The only sensation was the beat of his heart aching like a well worn bruise through his veins and the stinging of his skin. It felt as if he had broken through a window and fell out a third floor window. He had never done anything of the sort but his older brother had. Findekano the valiant indeed. He had been young when his brother had pulled such a stunt thought it was the second floor window and he meant to land in the lily pond. He had landed in the thorny grasp of the rose bushes instead. He had looked an absolute mess and Turukano felt like that memory.

Maybe he had been in a collapsing building? Or had jumped out of one? But he could have sword he had last been in the tower and…. He mentally shuddered for nobody would survive a fall from that high. Even a maia would find their casing shattered and unusable.

So maybe he was in Mandos? He couldn’t move, couldn’t see. Maybe he was trapped in a dead hroa awaiting the vala to fetch his broken fea. If he was dead… if he was dead hopefully his daughter had made it out alive. Little Idril. She wasn’t so little anymore…. no. She had a son, a precious wonderful son. Oh he hoped with every last fiber of his being that the two made it out alive. He would miss them in death but he would never forgive himself if he saw either Idril or Earendil in the halls of waiting.

Not after failing his wife, after letting Elenwe slip away…

Long fingers twitched as he felt someone touch his throat before curling inward as the touch moved to his wrist. Who?

“Elenwe…?” The words escape him in a whisper, blood flecking his chin and lips. He tried to open his eyes but only one cracked open and his inner lid remained closed beneath it. He murmured something else under his breath, unknown to even him before everything faded out completely again.

Her face filled with tender pity, Laurel gently used her rich golden sleeve to dab away some of the blood. Elenwe? She would have thought he was merely speaking a different language, but there was something about that word that spoke of a name and of loss. Jarring, cutting loss. Her heart turning over within her rib-cage both to so intensely sense, or so it seemed, his sorrow, and to see his terrible wounds. What had he been through? “Stay with me,” she whispered, although she knew not whether he could hear nor understand her. “Stay with me, please.” “His wounds are grievous.” Lallvren’s tone was grim. “He may well be hearing the call of Teferios as we speak. I sense His shadow, nearby, waiting...” “We can do little to heal him here. I have barely any energy after last night.” Still she reached out with tendrils of magic anyway, her eyes glowing green as she let her power start to travel over his body, seeking to try to at least patch up the terrible wounds she saw there... Within a few minutes, nothing more, the glow had fallen away, leaving her eyes returned to hazel, and her lungs straining for ragged gasps of breath. Mercifully, the exhaustion passed quickly. It would not do to have both of them in a dire condition, so far from home. “It is no use. I cannot hold the spells required right now.” “That to me,” said Lallvren, “is painfully obvious.” It was not that the Little Queen was weak; she was a capable mage, and this he knew, even if she did not have the power of himself or of Lady Calahime. She had simply been up all night the night before lending her power to her brother, Prince Andraval, as the two of them had healed a Courier who had all but collapsed as soon as he had crossed the threshold. Stumbling into the vicinity of a Webwood Widow would do that to a man. “You should not attempt such a feat, so soon after the work you completed last night. You cannot save every life, while losing your own in the process from overuse of magic. I will tend to him, for I have strength yet enough. We must make him ready for transport. Step back, please.” Now Lallvren knelt beside Turgon in the space that Laurel, now hovering worriedly, had vacated. “If you can hear me, my friend,” he said, casting a Babble Spell as he moved closer -- for what limited good that might do, considering the awkward flimsiness of such magics -- “I am called Lallvren, and I know a little of the healing arts, even if it is not my main discipline. I am holding your hand now--” And so he was, gently as he could. “--if you can hear me, and you consent to let me tend you, squeeze my hand. We wish to take you to our city for better attention, but we cannot risk moving you before we know in full what is wrong with you.” Last thing they wanted to do was to knock a bone out of socket or jostle a set of internal bleeding while trying to load him onto one of their horses.

#v; starfall or so it seemed { au }#feralandfair { turukano }#side muse: lallvren #injury cw

aim-for-yourself

Grief is forever. It doesn’t go away. It becomes a part of you, step for step, breath for breath.

The Sky is Everywhere by Jandy Nelson (via aim-for-yourself)

#{ musings } heavy is the head that wears the crown

feralandfair:

In scraps of blue and white cloth shimmering with gold- both thread and metal- stirred an elf. One that thought of himself as Turukano. His long hair was in disarray, leaves and loose dandelion fluff tangled in his dreads. The worse offense were the numerous bruises and gashes that oozed bright red all over his dark skin. The scent filled his mouth until Turukano could no longer tell if it was smell or if his mouth was full of it.

Everything ached and most of all was his head. It felt as if a maia had clumsily and forcefully broken through his mental shields to see what was inside. He had seen scouts wounded from such before, incapable of pulling their mind back together to anything resembling sanity. Luckily he was sane. Or so he thought. Simply confused, disjointed. The memories of what had happened to him seemed fuzzy and unreal but he did remember battle and bricks falling all around him…

Lallvren lead the way, exactly as she had expected, but she followed close behind him; as they got closer they both dismounted, and walked across the long grass with light steps, careful not to disturb either wildlife or -- whatever else might possibly be there. When Lallvren saw the scraps of cloth he pointed it out to her. At first, it seemed little more than a discarded cloak or robe that some traveller had perhaps dropped carelessly, but then she saw dark skin littered in cuts, and slight movement. Then she could not contain the squeak that escaped her, and she pushed carefully through to where the Elf (for he seemed as such to her eyes) lay. Alive, mercifully alive, but an absolute mess. Her heart in her mouth, she dropped beside him once she had dared to cautiously step near, concern and sorrow winning out in her compassionate little head, over the threads of wariness that she now discarded, for his sake. She moved slowly, unsure of how much he could see, and how much he was aware of, not wishing to startle him, if she could avoid it. “Olages,” she greeted him, and it carried the respectful meaning of an elder and a leader of unstated gender, “can you hear me? You are wounded.” Fingertips, gentle, probing, sought the pulse-point in his throat, then moved to seek his hand. By Lallvren’s look of paralleled, narrowed concern, his white eyes roving over the wounded Elf’s body, he was similarly alarmed as his Queen herself. “Do not move him if you can help it. He may have fallen from his steed, or been attacked and robbed. Bandits roam these roads.”

“Bandits,” she said, “or something else?” Eyebrows drew to an arch, before she turned back to the fallen one, her hands trembling. “Please bring blankets!” An order to her men, who scurried to do her bidding, before her hand tentatively touched the new elf’s own. “I will not hurt you. You are safe with me, we will look after you. I want you to know this.”

#v; undetermined #feralandfair { turukano }

Slow horses hooves travelled over the rolling, sun-kissed plains, bearing their charge and treasure; a fair young Queen garbed all in gold. Around her, twelve brave knights and a Councillor, riding South to treat and talk with their human allies. They were Elves, these bright people; glimmering faintly under the gathering moonlight, their long ears tapered to fine points at the tips. They sang as they rode, voices rising and falling like the rushing of the tide against the shoreline, ebb and flow, the words hard to make out and in an ancient tongue known only to those sweet mouths of the company -- and the brethren like them. They sang of home, far beyond mountain and sea. Home, underneath crimson leaves and swift sundown.

All songs were silenced when the Councillor held up his ebony hand, his own ears twitching in a way that indicated he had heard something, even if distant and unconcerning. The party halted, and Lallvren and the Queen, and two guards alone proceeded, now off of the beaten road and into the long green grass and dotted wildflowers. At length, still within sight of the others, they paused again, now certain whatever they had heard was close at hand...

#open

FASHION / APPEARANCE STATS

(Bolded for canon, Italic for modern)

BODY

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Toned thighs. Thick thighs (skirts + proportions disguise this a little). Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Toned arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned Stomach. Flat stomach.Flabby stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Beefy/muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Thigh brows. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulder. Narrow shoulder. Underweight. Average weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN.

Pale. Rosy. Olive. Fair. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth. Acne. Dry. Greasy. Soft.

EYES.

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Blue. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR.

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Hip length or longer. Buzz cut. Undercut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Silver. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blondette. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows

TATTOOS / PIERCINGS.

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercing(s). Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angelbites. Labret. Stretches out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercing.

COSMETICS.

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make up.

SCENT.

Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Cigars. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Books.

CLOTHES.

Jeans. Tight pants. Overknee socks. Tights. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight / formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Nerd T-shirt. Sports t-shirt. Sweatpants. Tank top. Fur. Faux fur. Leather. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxi dress. Sundress. Tie/bowtie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress / skit. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Vest. Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Coat. Harlem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sports bra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon Colors. Pastels. Black. Dark Colors. Naked. Light colours. White. Blue. Yellow. Armour. Cloaks. Robes. Gold. Silver. Green.

SHOES.

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stripper heels. Barefeet. Loafers. Oxfords. Gladiator shoes. Riding boots. Armoured Boots.

TAGGED BY: no one. TAGGING: @itxisxstrange @noxsons @forgerxofxfate @sinkxme

#if you boys think you can out-fashion me #have at it #{ about }

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captainelmont:

Left to his own devices, Elmont would have slept through the entire thing. Somehow, or so he suspected, traveling through the portal from his own kingdom to this one had drained him more than he thought - or at the least he was sleeping longer and more deeply than he had for some time. Fortunately for him, the same could not be said of Miss Phoebe.

The mare remained as alert and watchful as ever, keeping as close a guard over her master as she was allowed, and it was her stamping and snorting that had roused him awake. At the first he had remained at a distance, observing the newcomers and taking his cue from the reactions of the men. Which were extreme. A personage of some importance, it would seem.

Still he held back, too aware of his lack of knowledge to go blundering in - only for his eyes to fly wide in surprise as the woman … was she a - ? Well, yes, quite obviously she was a woman, or female at least, unless those matters was not as straightforward as he believed. And yes, to the eye she was very beautiful. But … those ears …

Manners, Elmont, he reminded sharply, clearing his throat and moving his shoulders back. “I am Elmont Chevalier of Cloister, milady. A humble visitor to these great lands.”His heels snapped to attention and, following the obvious respect afforded her by the other men, gave a deep bow. “I do apologise if my presence disturbs.”

“Elmont Chevalier of Cloister.” Rolling off of her tongue, the name was more like an ancient blessing, and her eyes regarded him with grave welcome and, at the same time, a hint of a test. “I am not disturbed by your presence.” Her hands, once more within the folds of their gloves, rose and pressed to her heart, clasping with an inclination of her head, before she extended them towards him. An accepted greeting amongst her people, of great politeness and respect. “You are welcome in this realm. I apologise in turn for disturbing your sleep.” She turned her graceful head now to greet the now-roused Caestor. “Emion! I am gladdened to see you well.”

“And I you, your Majesty.” With a bow of his own before rising, a broad smile on his face, Caestor greeted the Elf-woman like an old companion. “Six months is too long a time to hear so little out of your fair mountain-city. You have left, I think, all of the world bereft from your silence of late.”

Turning to Elmont, he thought quickly to offer his friend an explanation. “This,” he announced, “is Her Majesty, Tila-Qenamine Drakasvir of the House of the Star, High Queen of the Elven Exiles, my country’s greatest ally, and my dear friend.” He swallowed, glancing around his awed men, before his eyes lifted again to her face. “Did you hear of the threat as well, the same one I did? Is that why you are here?”

She did not answer, not right away, instead turning slowly, drifting, almost gliding, over the long grass of the clearing toward the flickering warmth of the campfire. The spell over the men seemed to break, and they at last began to shuffle and move around, some of them whispering amongst themselves. She gave them no heed, extending her hand towards them both. “I wish to sit with you for a while, Emion. You too, Captain Elmont. I think that we have much to discuss together, as friends.” Now at last she smiled, a smile for Elmont himself. “And I prefer Laurel. It is the name humanity calls me.”

#captainelmont #v; giants among men { au }#othcrworld

“I am not entirely certain why anybody thought that this was a good idea,” came the young Queen’s little squeak, heavily muffled by the neon yellow...apparent torture device her Royal Wardrobe-Manager was trying to fit her into. “I-- ah, feel the colour might be just a little bit bold for my tastes, and unfortunately the fabric and the fit does not leave much potential for movement...” “I am told that it is the latest fashion in Vorn, your Majesty,” the new Wardrobe-Manager said, “and very flattering for your figure, if I may be as bold as to say so. Besides, you were adamantly against the previous option, for being too grey.”

“Grey is for funerals, not treaties and banquets,” she remarked, wincing as the corsetry was tightened again, “and while I am always pleased to embrace the fashions of my allies and so do honour to their countries and customs, I am beginning, I fear, to suffer from a lack of vital air!” “Let me just -- let’s see, is that better?” A few adjustments were made by the young man. Alas, Laurel almost cried as she only felt it tighten. “Still a little difficulty in the whole general area of respiration, actually.” A struggling wave was managed as she spotted Percy in the hallway. “You...you know fashion, do you not, Lord Blakeney? Your assistance would be much appreciated.” With a pleading face, and her eyes practically screaming ‘help!’. And to top it all, that was the moment another new guest elected to enter, too. She doubted she would ever live this down. @sinkxme @itxisxstrange

#itxisxstrange #sinkxme #v; thearrowandthesong { au }#the boys need to come help Laurel with fashion

Alright, I’ve been sort of unofficially gone for a while, but I am still here. Owing to suddenly having LOADS of muse for my novel, I’m taking a semi/full hiatus on ALL BLOGS until Monday 3rd July. However, I may suddenly get a huge desire to post some things before then, so you might see a lot of stuff suddenly popping up.

#{ ooc } out of crowns

Edward.

The tense standoff would likely have continued for far longer, Mag'dann's eyes narrowed sharply and hawkish as she stared Teach down – if at that very moment, the Queen had not strode into The Rowdy Dame's common-room, GLOWERING and DRENCHED TO THE BONE. Third time to visit Longfort-town, and already the SECOND TIME that the Dawn Weaver had obstructed her royal galleon and made her have to dock at the furthest end of the harbour. While on a bright and warm day that sort of obstruction was little more than a minor inconvenience (and thus, minor frustration), it had unfortunately opted, typically, to begin a violent and intense thunderstorm at the EXACT moment that Her Majesty had stepped off of her ship. Where was Meara when one needed her? “I have NEVER,” she began, with a sharp hiss, “been so WET in my LIFE.” Tearing off her travelling cloak and gloves with a certain amount of venom and tossing them onto the floor in a pile, she all but slumped into one of the armchairs right near the fireplace, only then kicking off her boots. “The Weaver again. One of these days, I swear to the Pantheon, I will personally blow a hole through her hull.” It was a sentiment that many in the inn could absolutely understand. The Dawn Weaver was a large galleon, captured personally from the United Navy, with a captain who either did not understand 'appropriate docking' or simply did not care. Frequently, it would be 'parked' out just beyond the harbour proper, blocking three or four shipping lanes, making everyone else sail around her and pull dangerously close to the rocks just to actually reach a safe place to unload. From time to time, the captain had even fired warning shots at other ships which dared to sail too close to her and risk ruining the paintwork. Mag'dann, succesfully distracted by the other's arrival, pulled away with a mutter and a curse. Laurel tilted her head, hating to be the bearer of more bad news, but, oh well. “Oh, and, if you are planning to go out at any point, Linna, you will not be able to. The Weaver has blocked you and the Sunstar in.” That did it. Mag'dann's posture tightened like a coiled snake, eyes flashing. Block her in, had they? “I'll go convince Captain Vusif to move...” She jerked a finger sharply in the direction of Teach's chest as she passed. “You and me...not over. You...you have unsettled the sacred balance of the city. You have done this by existing.” And with that, she stormed out. Laurel blinked as she slammed the door behind her, and then let her head drop into her hands. “Do not let her get to you. If I had a gold piece for the amount of times I have heard Linna Mag'dann accuse someone of unsettling the sacred balance of this place by existing, I would have financed my entire bloody wall repairs.” @noxsons

#noxsons #v; thearrowandthesong { au }#I am so sorry Teach XD

"Are you truly happy now?"

“Asa Queen,” Laurel asked softly as she glanced up from the parchmentthat she had been perusing, “or as a person?” She thought thatthat question was an important one to ask in response, as how shewould answer depended on which option he might mean. “I think,”she continued, as she folded the document neatly and placed it in anenvelope – stamping it with the hot molten wax and her signet ring– “that a Queenis never truly happyunless her countrymen are, and it seems to me that I have a long wayto go before that great thing is achieved – if it ever can or willbe, of course.” But as a person?A warm smile came to her face, lighting up her hazel eyes, and shereached across the desk-top to gently grasp his hand. “As a person,I truly believe that I am indeed at the pinnacle of any happinessthat my life might provide me. I have a closely-knit family, manydear friends, a vocation that I thoroughly enjoy and thus havededicated my life to, and a darling, loving partner in Celebrimborthat I am beyond fortunate to have found. I am truly the most happy,and I dare say lucky,woman alive!”

@beautyxmarred

#beautyxmarred #v; thearrowandthesong { au }

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"I'm not comfortable with this conversation."

“Then,”the young Queen said, “the conversation stops right here, with noamount of judgement from myself on the matter.” It was really assimple as that, to Laurel; no one should, in her opinion, ever feelforced to discuss things that they did not wish to, at a time whichdid not feel right for them. The tension hadbeen heavy as the discussion had developed, she thought, inhindsight. It was a failure of hers that she had not paid closerattention to this pressureand thus backed off far sooner. She resolved quite simply to dobetter.The flower gardens outside the Citadel of the Stars were aremarkable feat to have achieved. While the extinct volcano that thecity of High Loft had long ago been built upon (and inside) was notespecially tall in terms of clear altitude, the area closer to thepeak could still get very cold in any month save the summer. By allrights, these fair flowers should not have been blooming as early asthe middle of Spring in such conditions, but bloom they still did,somehow. It was not even that the Queen herself had applied any magicto them, nor that her many fine gardeners had. It seemed thatsomehow, they had merely evolvedin order to persist.Plucking one such flower, with a bright yellow appearance,Laurel held it to her nose, then out to Jasmine for her to take. Itwas sweet-smelling, a cross between a lovely red rose and the finestcarnation in fragrance. “Many young ladies of the city makegarlands of these flowers,” she said, for want of a change ofsubject, “and go about adorned with them for the Festival of Life.I think that their colour would greatly suit your hair, lannuch.Would you like for me to teach you to make such a garland?” @laverginedegliangeli

#laverginedegliangeli #v; those left unbroken

"How long has it been since you lost them?"

“Oh,” theQueen murmured, “to which lossdo you refer?” Her ears were downturned, and her gaze was focusedon the flickering flames of the grate in front of them. “I havesuffered many, many losses, lannuch; each more terrible it seems thanthe one before it, all increasing as the years go by. Thus is thefate of any of Elvish-blood who dare to care for mortal-kind.”These losses brought her awful sorrow, and awful fear; for for eachfriend or relative that she happened to lose, she had many more thatwere still on the inevitable marchdownward to their own deaths.Nothing truly lasted forever, of course, but humanlives in particular were so very, very short. Sighing, sheraised her head, and showed Jasmine a tired and saddened smile. “Letus not speak of loss tonight, Jasmine. Look!” Distraction presenteditself in her rising to her feet, walking over to the window. “Snowhas begun to fall, the first snows of the year. Is it not beautiful?Every snowflake is entirely different from the one before it, youknow, and each a perfect work of art. I find that remarkable.”Snowflakes were indeed slowly, softly falling from the sky, pressingkisses to the window-pane or embracing the dead branches of nearbytrees. @laverginedegliangeli

#laverginedegliangeli #v; those left unbroken

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