#elfxstone

send a ♞ to my inbox and i’ll generate a random sentence

Send ↯ for my muse’s reaction to yours holding a knife to mine’s throat+ elfxstone

{The she-elf froze, breath catching in her throat as she felt the cool blade against her skin. After a moment, she composed herself, eyes regarding the man with a glint of confusion, mixed with dull anger. Her hands slowly lowered— they had been positioned to draw her bow in defense —as a sign of surrender.} “I am not your enemy.” {She stated, fairly sure the words were true. Tauriel did not recognize him, so she assumed that they had no quarrel.}

// damn I was expecting her to be offended he thought she is a wh-umm purchasable xD

meme. | elfxstone

     Curious, how he could change so much and a place so little––– and yet here he stands, drinks in sight and breathes in the air of Buzrâburmubizar, everything so familiar to eyes that have lived through six decades of ageing and adjusting. Six decades of peace, the Lonely Mountain flourishing once more under the rule of a worthy king and a network of trade and amity. Yet peace is fragile to behold, and of fickle durability if not tended to; a reason why his feet have carried him westward again in his old age, but not the only one.

     Never would Dwalin son of Fundin have thought it possible to seek out the settlements of Elves - willingly - and yet here he is, one of the first to volunteer when King Dáin brought to light the invitation to join a secret council under the watchful eyes of Lord Elrond.

     He has not come alone but finds himself in a solitary moment now, or so he deems himself to be until a rustling shadow in the corner of his eye catches his attention––– someone approaching, someone tall and dishevelled-looking and unfamiliar. And yet something about the way he presents himself tugs on a memory, a distant yet unforgotten one.

                  The man should have known better than to keep the doors to his assigned guest chambers open but he had not deemed any elf particularily interested in his body and Thranduil to be quite finished with him for now. Their talk had been sober and quite focused on their mutual tasks, leaving very little to be demanding resolve. But the elvenking was his elder by many thousand years and his wisdom was greater, him coming up with another matter to be discussed should not be surprising.         But his praise was, delivered casually and with any right he wanted, this was his kingdom and Aragorn acknowledging his power like he should. “Thank you. I hope your majesty does not mind if I ruin it.” he asked vaguely, half reaching for his pants, half hesitating because what if Thranduil did mind…?

      Thranduil bowed his head to the man in an unspoken apology. He would have offered words instead, had the door not been open and could fault, therefore, hardly lie with him. Nevertheless, making the man uncomfortable had not been his intention, even if he could find some amusement in it now.    "It is custom, in this realm, to close your door, should you not wish to be disturbed." The Elvenking was sure it wasn't a custom particular to the elves, but he wasn't entirely sure about the ways that Legolas' friend was used to.      "I will not mind either way," the Elvenking gave back, unashamed by the situation at hand, but turning to the side to give him the resemblance of privacy. There was nothing shameful in a misunderstanding like this, and he would not have acted any different had their places been that of the respective other.    "Although," he added, turning back with all the force a sudden idea had put into his voice, "It might suit you well to have a set of new garments. The ones you have arrived in... seem to have become impractical." The Elvenking chose the word Impractical over the word dysfunctional, as much as he chose the word garments over the word rugs. A friend of his son and a guest to him, giving him new clothes was an act of kindness and friendship, as much as it could be the potential first act to manifest an alliance in the future.       Should the man, one day, fulfill a fate he was destined for by birth, he would be a king. And he would not forgot who were his friends when he roamed the wild with the child of the woodland realm and delivered prisoners to the dungeons of Mirkwood. Thranduil believed that the son of Arathorn could fulfill that destiny, and he had believed it already when he had sent Legolas out to search for him instead of wandering the world without purpose.        If anyone could, Aragorn would.