#pilgrimsofarda

SENTENCE STARTERS. Flirty/Suggestive/NSFW Edition. || not accepting

“And, by whose expertise have you acquired the supposed location that is their source? From Tauriel? What proof does she offer the that the spiders do indeed breed and nest in that dark fortress? What has she supplied in her reports to Feren, or to me, aside from conjecture?” he questions perhaps a little more sharply than he ought as he paces slow and measured circles about the other, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze shifting once more to the floor.

“However, let us assume––for the moment––that their source is indeed the fortress. What would you propose that we do? Travel to the entire other side of a poisoned forest, risking spiders and all other manner of perils, and then to face an entire breeding ground of spiders who have been given refuge in the Shadows?” 

Without waiting for an answer, he continues, starting a new barrage of questions, all questions that he has carefully considered and answered and yet that he will pose aloud now that his son perhaps may understand that the solution is not so simple as it might at first appear.

“How many shall we take that will allow us favorable odds and yet not leave our kingdom unprotected? How many supplies? Shall we travel lightly or more purposed toward a long and winding journey? With what shall we fight them? Standard weapons, swords and bows? Heavier machinery so that we might utterly demolish their nests and anywhere they might hide? If the latter, how shall we travel with it through the forest? Once we are there, how are we to attack them within a winding and treacherous fortress without exposing ourselves to an untold number of ambushes? Do we know what other dangers may weather there?”

And then he halts before him and turns, his icy stare focused entirely on the young prince.

“Here, we know the lay of the land. Here, we know the trees. Here, we––not they––have the advantage. Why should we abandon our advantage for the uncertainty of a place that is not so well known to us, waging a war against numbers of which we are equally uncertain? Now, tell me, Legolas, does the decision of your King to leave it be now seem so foolish? Have I explained sufficiently enough to justify myself in your mind?”

Chin raising ever so slightly, he looks down at him, patiently waiting…

Oh, let me take you when I go, When I go. I don't want to do this on my own, On my own. I'm breaking free, but of these chains, Oh, let this one remain. Let me take you when I go.

@pilgrimsofarda (Faramir) || cont

 “I- I will be fine, please do not waste resources on me.” The bruises and cuts he now sustained were nothing compared to the much worse hurts that had been inflicted on him before his masters had been cut down- or captured, he wasn’t exactly sure. All he did know, was that accepting anything from men led to debts being exacted- and he had no wish to owe more than his temporary freedom to a new stranger. Whatever poetry he waxed about cruelty and kindness, he was still a man, still likely to lie and take and hurt.

Lindir moved to sit beside the Prince with a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He rolled his shoulders back in an attempt to relieve them of some of the tension that had built up there, but it did almost nothing. It had been so many years since he’d been to the Woodland, and places that had once been full of old memories were now so dark that even he could feel it. He deeply regretted not visiting sooner, before Eryn Galen become Mirkwood.

Lindir looked the Prince over with a curious expression. He’d noticed, for the few hours that Legolas had been in the Valley, that some of his mannerisms were, well, odd, and he wondered if he’d appeared like that when he first came to Rivendell from Eryn Galen. 

Expression Meme || accepting