@magicbound:
Quietly, he listened to the ranger’s words. His tales of victory and loss, a land far too north for the southern mage to understand. The crackle of their campfire served as background noise. They sat close to the flames, getting all they could from its warmth. Orsino’s head was tilted forward as Aragorn spoke. An occasional twitch of his pointed ears in response to details showed he was attentive.
An impossible task. Something Orsino knew well enough, and it made the question that followed come out easier than expected. “It may have always been an impossible task, but had you always known it was an impossible task?” Orsino inquired, the fabric of one of the mage’s sleeves rubbed between gloved fingers; a minor fidget.
Cold seemed the First Enchanter, his body trembling with the mid-autumn breeze. Long had night since befell them, and shadows foul skulked each creeping bend, the alcove of willows and spruces struck a-sway. Hauntingly eerie did all of life seem; their conversation, however, held a weight more daunting.
Lounging idly in the crook by the pine tree, Aragorn kept his sights carefully ahead. The campfire flecked feeble golds upon him; the blue of the late hour so frigid prevailed. Impossible, unthinkable… “Had I, then never had I heeded it.” Turning to meet that gaze, something like hope rumbled deeply within him; alas, somber this ranger remained, dour in toil and the length of hard years. “That is what those who would see me fail would have me believe. We must hold hope, still–“ if only for those who so look to them. “No thing is so impossible.”
