#dunadaneth

A remarkable honor to host the Stewardess at her family’s grand estate seated at the foot of the largest vineyard in all of Dorwinion. The northwestern shores of Rhûnaer sit close enough to bless them with its gentle salted breeze. The sway of grape leaves. The lines of perfectly tilled soil. The gentle clang of bronze chimes hung on a rafter nearby. Only years before all lay scorched and silent.

Noting the lady’s admiration, a closed smile creeps along the Dorwinionrim’s lips and grows in her sky blue eyes. A few lines crinkle at their corners but no gray touches her raven locks. “It is a bit heady, my lady, and completely acceptable to water it down it if need be.” To Brianne, there is no right or wrong way to enjoy their wine but simply to enjoy it.

@dunadaneth​ | plotted starter

   His was the song of exile, hummed well below the mountains and accompanied by the draw of his bow to the fiddle. (The fiddle your father made before his death. Aye, there were other things beyond weapons that we dwarves once made.) None beyond kin would hear this song, for like the words kept for dwarvish ears alone, its tune was just as sacred. But Fíli carried it in his heart, low and deep until it fell in rhythm with every heartbeat. This song endured in the forges, where his hands worked the orange-red glow into something worthy to wield in battle. Its message drowned out the clanging of metal and the exhale of the bellows. And it guided him in his travels down from the Blue Mountains, an heir turned merchant--- selling the weapons he forged so that he might lessen the burden of his kin. 

      If it would lessen the sacrifices his uncle made, stop his mother from endless nights of work, and give Kíli extra hours to train, then Fíli would do it. There was no question. He did what he must do for those he held most dear.

   And this was the reason he found himself out there. He was willing to barter what he had made with those who had money in their pockets, or something else useful for his kin. But that did not mean he came down from the mountains with his guard down. Nay, he had weapons of his own beyond those he was willing to sell, and they were tucked ‘neath furs, vambrances, and boots. The wild was no place for those who could not fight nor fend for themselves, Fíli was so taught since he was but a young strapling. And he could do both.

    Such training may prove to come in handy this night, for just as the sun sank low and Fíli had finished making camp, something stirred in the growing shadows. 

There’s an odd sense of loss Laera experiences in watching the ranger count her coins, and knowing that, when she’s done, they’ll no longer belong to her. It’s watching her food, her lodging, and anything else she intended to procure, disappear; though, the same can easily be said of those whom she stole from. Regardless of who anyone is, war makes everyone desperate.

Her dirty fingers pick at the table she sits at, sneaking glances at the ranger, and she wonders why she’s the only one sitting in this room. ( Too slow? Too stupid to run when the group scatters? ) She fell in with a lot of highwaymen that were unbothered in feeding her to the wolves first; funny how that goes...

The sound of another coin falling in the pouch is like another jab to the gut, and she twists in her chair with a huff, ❝ What are you going to do with the money...? ❞ She has to ask, but assumes that the noble jailer she’s found company with will do the right thing; she seems the sort. Or if she was any less noble, keep it for herself. The irony in a thief being stolen from makes her brows furrow, and Laera speaks up again, ❝ Who would ‘old you accountable for simply... walking off with what you ‘ave there? Is there some sort o’ order to you rangers? ❞ Gaze lingers on the other woman, wondering if she’ll divulge, but that seems unlikely.

In her wanderings northward, she came to understand that -- for someone of her occupation -- rangers were possibly the worst thing she need worry about. As the boundaries of the law dissolved, she was told its upkeep fell to the otherwise untrustworthy rangers. ‘ They’re dangerous, ’ One of her associates said, but as Laera sits in the presence of one, that remains to be seen. However, she doesn’t want to remain in her company long enough to see just how dangerous.

𝐀 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐲, 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐫 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐀𝐫𝐝𝐚.    Few things and much fewer individuals were able truly to lure the elvenking out of his realm with eagerness to travel.    An eagerness he had not felt in an age, quite literally.    So far into the west, so far that kin blessed with keen senses could smell the sea’s salt from across Eriador’s planes ; so far that the Evendim-Lake in the Anduin’s stead glittered with dancing reflections of the daylight.    Quaint, how all waters appeared similar and yet vastly different.

It was the air, nigh forgotten winds whipping along vast meadows from which one could spot olden ruins that soon shall prosper again —  but regardless of all this beauty here, Thranduil looked forward only to one thing.    Reuniting with Créa, who the birds had sung of as having earned herself a quite respectable position.

Naturally, he had not parted from home sans company and behind him rode a handful elves, none of who were clad in robes as shimmering as his.    The silver crown atop his fair head may count as unnecessary addition.    By the gates the group arrived at last.    Mounts halted, pushing snorts through flaring nostrils.    Now, would Créa herself welcome them or servants of the city open and proceed to guide the elves to their old friend ?    However, Thranduil could feel his heart sing !    Albeit little about his marble mien conveyed as much —  nonchalance reigned his facade until Créa’s smile would no doubt summon one of his own in response.

Motionless, the lithe emissary stands, back casually leaning against a tree, arms crossed at her front. Lithe form is not cloaked in the black robes of her order, but black is her Rhûnic garb which stands in stark contrast to the vivid colors of her surroundings. Stare sits inward so that kohl-lined eyes appear stuck on no point at all. Weary mind, however, ruminates on her predicament. Out of sight are the elven sentries spread about her perimeter, bid to keep her from wandering too far among the estate before it is time to return to her quarters. But what is there to do but wait? Wait until the one she seeks arrives. Time is costing her everything.

❛ why? because my people have an affinity for stone? ❜ he had yet to work with precious rocks, metals, and gems himself, but his mother and uncle had turned the skill in it into an art form. creating beauty out of natural elements was a point of pride for the khazâd, but as with most things, he had diverged towards other interests — much to his mother’s chagrin. ❛ you would know more than i. you’ve seen the world through a lens that i’ve only ever dreamed of attaining. ❜ while he enjoyed running trade between dunland and ered luin, there was still an entire world out there that he had yet to experience.

his heart ached for it.