#tidalhaired

The Olog should have known better than to attempt to follow an Elf so closely. As a young pup Bruce eavesdropped on fireside tales from Orc soldiers in the regiment about the times they’d crossed swords with Elves and barely managed to escape alive. Uncanny creatures, so Elves were described. Skin often unblemished by the sun, without flaws, or scars, or any telltale signs of a life lived. With eyes icy and calculated, and sharp as an iron forged arrow. That they took no prisoners, spared no mercy. Despised Orcs nearly as much as Orcs despised them. Haunting ghostlike creatures as unfeeling as morning frost that clung to the line of corpses they left in their wake.

Yes, Bruce had heard tales of Elves. But he had never seen one in person.

Journeying from Mordor, across the Brown Lands and into Mirkwood — a several week long trek, at best— one might have thought that Bruce would have ample time to come up with a way to greet an Elf, should he happen upon one.

A poor first impression would obviously be to attack, but Bruce couldn’t help but feel foolish throwing all cautions to the wind to merely pipe up a friendly ‘hello!’ across the thick ancient forest where so many ears could listen.

Elves were not harmless, in any sense of the word.

Bruce had discarded his armor and weapons at the base of Mordor’s mountains, if only save for a small knife kept for foraging and hunting— although the latter of which he limited due to the stranger’s close proximity. What did Elves eat, after all? Were they all vegetarians and would take offense to Bruce scavenging a deer carcass? Or did they simply feast on fallen Orcs? Discerning truth from tall-tales proved more difficult and more dangerous the longer Bruce idled in the Elf’s shadow.

He’d expected an attack, or at least a parry. The Olog visibly flinched at the gentle contact, though he took care to at least draw the blade away from the stranger’s throat. Panicked, he retreated a few feet backwards on all fours. Even a fool could spy the quick rising and falling of his chest in the dark, if they hadn’t been distracted by the shine of the Troll’s tapetum lucidem aglow. Beady blue eyes wide with alarm, Bruce still didn’t know what to make of the Elf. Certainly such creatures were capable of magics— were Elves able to control the minds of others? Even ‘darker’ creatures, like those bred of Mordor?

He hadn't meant to start such a commotion. But when a man burst bleeding into the great hall of Imladris, it did attract attention. With one glance at the bloodied cloth covering his right wrist, the poor girl who had first seen him went running for Elrond.

Beren greeted him with a dazed smile, and pulled the cloth from his hand to show him - except, there was no hand, and gash up his forearm that had covered the stump of his wrist in blood.

"I apologise, lord Elrond. I did not mean to greet you like this."

But on closer inspection, once the wound was cleaned and the blood out of the way, it was be obvious to any healer that he had lost his hand long ago.

If only she had not been preoccupied with packing her and Elrond's belongings, then she would've at least heard the signs of the approach. Instead, her warning was the feeling of hot breath upon the back of her neck, a sharpened blade poking into her side, and her hair being yanked back as she was pulled away from her horse.

"Now who leaves a jewel like you all on her own?"

A guff voice spoke into her ear, a dirt stained hand grabbing at her waist to pull her further off the path. Elrond had gone to fill their waterskins, yet in that short amount of time, she hardly had a second to scream for him before she was muffled by the bandits hand.

Before she knew it, she was on the ground, dagger to her throat, and many threats spoken into the space between them as he was over her. As the dagger cut through her dress, she took her chance and curled in on herself, her teeth finding their place around his stubbily throat.

Any cry of shock ended in the gurgling of blood bubbling in the empty space where his throat once was, the fey scrambling away, and blue eyes falling upon the herald as he ran into view. The chunk of meat in her mouth was quickly spit out, her hands shaking as she looked down to see the gash across her belly, tears spilling immediately.

Elrond is a bit on the fence regarding the property owner rights. Like, in general? Yes..

Zuko stood at the edge of the immaculate elven hall, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he scanned the place like it had personally offended him. Which, honestly, it kind of had. The whole valley reeked of serenity and eternal harmony, which was just perfect considering he was about two seconds away from combusting.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and slow. “I swear, if he’s in a silk robe eating grapes off a silver tray, I’m leaving him here.” He glanced up at the impossibly elegant ceilings, muttering under his breath. “Three months. Three months of dead ends, sleepless nights, and chasing rumors across the Earth Kingdom while he’s out here writing poetry about talking trees.” Zuko paced a step to the side, fingers twitching like they wanted to ignite.

“Why do I even bother? No one makes me chase after him. No one asks me to clean up his messes.” He paused, jaw tight. His voice dropped to a low, gritted whisper. “If he even mentions the words elven spa treatment, I'm throwing him into the river.”

Aurelia Bingo! | always accepting! | @tidalhaired // @fatepowered

Aurelia’s eyes flicked over the slip of paper, her mouth falling open slightly.