#arrced

            ❝  i left a piece of myself in the forest  .  ❞

                                                                                                          @arrced​​  /  starter call

EVERY AILMENT, EVERY AFFLICTION that befell the man was only a reminder to Thranduil of the bowman’s MORTALITY. Every passing day ( or weeks, or MONTHS, it was often difficult to keep track ) served only as a reminder of the day the mortal would depart this world. To join the WHITE SHORE with his past beloved, leaving the elven king alone once more. How could he not WORRY ?? Whilst the man’s HUMANNESS could be measured in the sniffling of his nose, or the brief fit of a cough. Of which elvish remedy only soothed for a time, till another symptom of the man’s HUMAN CONDITION arose again. Leaving Thranduil frivolously searching for a cure.

[ meme ]

SUCH A DAY he knew would come. He thought about it OFTEN. Any time the man caught a fever, a cough, a cold. His mannish ailments collected in his mind, leaving Thranduil in a constant state of WORRY. For he did not TALLY HIS DAYS as men did. He is uncertain if he could recount the days that had passed since his first meeting with the DRAGON SLAYER. Had it been months ?? YEARS ?? He is almost afraid to ask . . .

@arrced​​ asked : ❛ Do you even know where you’re headed ? ❜

↢  meme  ↣  bard status┆accepting !

CONCERNED / SENTENCE PROMPTS

       WORDS OF THE OTHER drifted through the haze of discomfiture. although it belayed naught of the dizziness nor hurts he felt , moments of clarity flittered forward to steady his vision & dull the roar within his ears. ere it left him bereft once more , legolas sought to face the owner of those words. gaze narrowed & pinched at the corners , it so in deference to the ache behind his eyes that spanned along the width of his head. not to do with suspicion , even though there should have been shreds of it about his aura.

       DISORIENTED& ACHING AS HE was , it left little thought to much other than remaining upright & ahold of his knife. attention , fleeting & wavering , was drawn there at the passing notion. his grip tight , near bloodless were his fingers they held so very tight indeed. yet slick was the hilt & the backs of his hand. the vile stains stretching upwards along his arm , miscolouring the olive hued fabric & adhering with a visid might to his vambrace.

       THE KNIFE’S MERE PRESENCE in hand & with the marks of bloodshed were enough to wary the bravest of souls , but recognition came forth ere unthinking action could take place. having finally gathered the wit of mind to locate the one who’d spoken. he was known to him ; although name & details escaped the elf’s recollection. the familiarity was unmistakable.

       NOT SO AS HE was with elves of his father’s halls or kindred of more distant homes , but the inkling of trust followed the recognition. despite being unable to recall much , he simply knew this adan , for he appeared no elf nor orc to his befuddled senses ( the latter would have been rather obvious even had he been near unconsciousness , his sense were not so yet diluted ) was amicable & worthy of the lent trust he wished to extend.

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