Elvenking

                      “I do not doubt that…” leonardo loves it here. and if where thranduil grew up is anywhere like this… leonardo is sure he would  have enjoyed himself there immensely.                                                         this, the one he’s chosen, is a wild chamber,                                                         found in his exploration of this place. a                                                          beautiful room with a pool and mirrors and                                                         a nice little bench for him to sketch.           he should not have, but leonardo left          sketches there already, for any other          person who found themselves there.          leonardo takes thranduil by the arm,          a gentle touch to lead him.                                           “Here! I come here sometimes.” easing back the simple curtain, leonardo enters the room, an almost expectant expression on his face.                      “I am sure you have seen this room before…”

     Without resistance Thranduil  follows as Leonardo guides,      always glad in casual situations when friends don’t tiptoe      around  his  authority and lead him in whatever  idea  they      have in mind--- now being no exception.

          ❝I have.❞

     Of course he has. The caves his Halls were built into had      been in the earth long before the elves had come,  but he      had overseen the building this place into them.

          ❝But not in some time.  It appears you come here often             enough to leave traces of your presence.❞

      “AND NOW you’re just TEMPTING me, ELVENKING. I was not the        one to TRESPASS on your grounds, but perhaps now I should. Pick        up an ELF or TWO to snack on before I start my PROPER hunt.”

          ❝ No, I apologize! I was just – – this place looked so beautiful and I had to take a look around. If I’m not supposed to be here, I can take my leave. ❞

                              With a small nod she confirmed his question; “ I was born and raised amongst the people in Edoras, but found my way easily to the smaller villages spread across the outstretched fields that make the Riddermark. ” Admittedly, Helga’s heart always ached for living in seclusion; enjoying her freedom. “ I come here often, but never found one of the fairer kind wandering here. What would one come here for, if I might be so blunt to ask? ”

❝ who is this Necromancer?  ❞

  or WHAT.  he doesn’t want to be involved,  got too much to worry about already, but he damn sure wants to be INFORMED.   curiosity  baiting the frayed edges of his  nerves,  steel vigilance entwined with  a deeply ingrained caution as azure irises continue to study the others’  well schooled features & look for signs of complacent disturbance.

    the hardened resolve sticking to the bows of his bones clacked against the permeation of returning memories —– of a man with a selfless nature  & a heart bleeding loyalty.   but James Barnes, is a GHOST.  caught in the static phasing his identity into discordant personas. guilt eviscerates  his sleep,  leaves him empty & numb to the slow tug of emotion plucking  at his conscience.

     Thranduil gave the other a hard look,  before turning his gaze elsewhere,      crossing  his arms over his chest as he considered just how to  answer.      The Necromancer.  His vague nature made him difficult to describe,  and      his  location—    beyond  Thranduil’s  borders,   fortified  in  the  ruins  of      Oropher’s  once-capitol—   made it so  that he was  difficult  to  observe.

          ❝———An apparition, capable of bringing forth and commanding the             spirits of the dead.❞

     He  spoke  with VENOM; a distaste aimed entirely at the subject  of  their      conversation.          

@springvigor || Continued from x

The pale woman glanced over the man’s features once more, her brow creasing ever so slightly as she mulled over his name. Yet, still nothing managed to jump to the forefront of her memory.

“I’m…sorry; I can’t recall that I have.”

          ❝Is that so?❞

     If he seemed disappointed, it was merely a superficial feeling; truthfully, he was more confused than anything else. His methods of long-distance communication, though rarely used, had never been unreliable before.

The blood that ran through her veins forever cursed her among her elven kin. A strong dislike for whom she was a descendant of seemed to continuously loom over her, like a shadow awaiting to swallow the last bit of light.

But Galadriel would not allow the ill will of others to crush that which she had worked for. She had not taken part in the slaughtering of her fellow elves, had not been there to destroy the remnants of their elven kingdom. None of the past events was she at fault.

                    “Lord Thranduil, your hostility is                     unnecessary. You need aid, for no                     amount of slaughter will destroy the                     darkness beyond your fortress. I                     only come to offer my help.”

          ❝Your offer is appreciated, but it is as I said; I can handle that which lay within my borders. Whether you believe that to be so is of little consequence to me.❞

     His tone had lost its sharp edge by then, but the words he spoke were no less true for it--- or, at the very least, no less believed to be true. Galadriel was one of The Wise, but in this matter, it was his own wisdom which he would heed. He neither wanted or NEEDED help from the elves of Lothlórien, even if they meant well with their offer.

Every kingdom needs a mule to bear the burden. 

❝ If it is true, then I would be ever so grateful by your guidance— ❞ I am not in familiarity with elves, ❝ it seems I do not know enough to lead my own way. ❞

Men were different. They were much easier to overpower, easier to loom upon and burden them with all your mighty stature—easy to frighten and corner with one look of the eye (but, of course, it was all unintentional), and simply because they were crafted from elvish hands, a knife no better than another seemed to make a better gold coin. Not to be mistaken, however, she prided herself to be a very good smith.

          ❝To not know one’s way through this forest is the norm for those not born under its boughs.❞

     He would know. Many times now he had wandered lost (though not unhappily so) among these trees.

          ❝I will show you to the capital—— from there, you may go where you please.❞

                      “Of course not, my friend! I am quite responsible.” perhaps that is a bit of a stretch. leonardo was hardly responsible. he does as he likes with little thought of the consequences.                                                      still. he hardly wishes to worry his friend.                                                      he can understand of course. leonardo                                                      would hate to see thranduil injured.         particularly by his own stupidity.                                            but there is no stopping leonardo. he                                           is intent to fly. the clouds and the stars                                           and the birds call to him. and he                                           cannot ignore them.     to have someone worry so very     much about him is… nice.                                                         the offer is also extremely considerate.                                                        his own resources are lacking. his smile                                                        widened.                     “I– - I would appreciate your expertise.                          My contacts are– - Well… Lacking. I                         have a few ideas, but your suggestions                         I value. More than most.”

     A quiet laugh follows Leonardo’s initial statement;   he doesn’t quite      doubt  the  claim,  but he also suspects there’s naught  which  can      stop  him  from  pushing limits, even when those limits  prove  to  be      laden with dangers.

     And as concerning as that is,   it’s not a feature Thranduil would try      to force out of him.

          ❝There are some elves whose  craft is in working with wood or             leather  who  may be willing to help you acquire and  utilize  the             supplies you need, if you can convince them.❞

     If  he  can convince them--- it’s partly a jest, partly  truth;  Thranduil      could    easily   commission    anyone   within   his   kingdom    who      specializes in relevant fields of work, but he wishes, at first, to see      if  there  are  any among his people interested  enough  in  seeing a      gliding  or  flying  device  made to  take  up  sponsoring  Leonardo’s      project.

Collect what the dwarves owe .He had to, there was no doubt about that. Yet, even if this whole war was waged because of Thorin and his kin, they had lost many too. It was a bitter victory for all and Bard doubted there would be songs and jesting tonight. No, a celebration would feel off–disrespectful.

“We are— Well, it has comes to my intention…I have been informed that there will be some sort of memorial tonight. I find it doubtful that the dwarves will be in attendance due to the loss of their king. But–my men and, I believe some of yours as well, thought it would be fitting. They fought and died together, there is not much of a better way to forge a lasting bond.” He sounded off, nervous, melancholy. But that was to be expected. It would be quite a time before cheer filled Bard’s heart again. 

“I do not know how elves mourn and I am sure you wish to depart for home as quickly as possible but–I know my children would be relieved to see you. As would I.”

     There was a certain reluctance to join in; hesitation indeed caused by a desire to return home and see to any pressing responsibilities that the events of these past few days had presented so that things could begin settle down once more. That wasn’t a desire he would act on now, though. To do so, when it was apparent that even some of his own people wanted to attend this memorial, would be far too selfish, and he knew that both the Men and Elves could use whatever small salvation of morale they could find.

     ❝Yes… It is fitting,❞ he said, traces of the sort of exhaustion that can only be felt after battle seeping its way into his voice. Tiredness of this sort was of the mind, not of the body, the emotional strain of war exposing a side of the Elvenking which was far from ethereal; fears, regrets, SADNESS.

     He could sense at least some of the same in Bard, however, he expected most who had lived through the battle could relate.

     At any rate, the Bowman was right, in that these sorts of things could help solidify the bond formed between allies in battle. Gatherings of this sort weren’t among his preferred events to attend (were they among anyone’s?), but for the sake of those of his people who wished to attend, he would allow it--- and he wouldn’t mind instilling a sense of relief to Bard's children as well.