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danger-xylophones · 5 days ago

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King's Herald Part 5

From now on, I will only be including warnings if there is anything new from the general tags. Series warnings will be found on the navi.

New characters bb

masterlist | elves | king's herald navi

The night air was crisp and a welcome companion to your heated blood.

For several minutes following the slamming of your bedroom door, you did nothing but stare at it with unfocused eyes. Your blood was on fire, coursing through you like liquid wax and scalding the lining of your veins as it solidified. Eventually, when the wax had cooled, you only felt numb. And tired. So, so tired.

Confound you, Elrond. I hope when our paths cross next it will be brief.

When you found the energy to stop glaring at the poor wooden portal you found yourself wishing for another hot bath with the salts. But, alas, you could not find it within yourself to summon Rorick from what was most likely his meal period. Nor to make the bath yourself. So instead, you settled for stripping from the light green dress and into your nightclothes...

Only to find your travel bag neatly tucked away beneath a footstool next to the bed. A sense of unease crept down your spine as you looked to the floor and found that your discarded travel clothes had been looted and the spot where they had been, swept.

You groaned into the empty room, throwing your head back to stare at the ceiling.

While grateful that the servants had cleaned for you, you also found it within yourself to be unnerved by the treatment. While in the Greenwood, you were oft to tidy up after yourself. Sure, the servants did your laundry for you but it was on you to deliver the clothes that needed to be cleaned to them and to then put them away. They were not permitted to enter your quarters without your express permission. You preferred it that way. It had encouraged some independence from you and from Thranduil. You were not sure if Oropher followed the same precedents. Regardless of the small sense of encroachment, you pressed on and moved to the wardrobe to find your sleep clothes.

Folded and tucked into the corner of one of the drawers was a simple white, linen night shroud that you had worn for sleepwear while in the Greenwood. The fabric was light and breathable but warm enough to fend off the night's chill when it bit too hard. Plus, it was a good shorthand for an under-dress when you needed it. Instead of discarding the dress you had worn to dinner on the floor, you hung it back up and placed it inside the wardrobe, tucked away into a corner to be worn at a later date.

You shucked the gown on and loosed your hair, letting the strands fall how they may before moving to the dainty boudoir you had never found much use for when you were younger.

Placed atop the boudoir was a small jar of a cream of some sort that smelt of honey and fir. Tentatively, you poked the tip of your finger into the paste and found the texture to be agreeable. A flicker of recognition danced across the back of your mind; lotion. And an expensive one at that. No doubt, a gift from your father. Although you disdained at the lavishness of the gift, there was no denying the soothing balm it left behind on your travel dried hands. So, you were inclined to indulge and carefully scooped out a small dollop to spread over the dry and cracking skin of your knuckles. The cream, while soothing, managed to slip into the minutest of cracks and leave a vengeful sting that made you hiss in through your teeth. But you pressed on, massaging the emollient into your hands until they felt cool. Then, you worked the excess up the exposed skin of your arms.

It was as you moved to massage the salve around your elbows that there was a knock at the door. You paused immediately and moved towards it.

"Who is it?" You called through the felled Lindon tree wood.

“Your father.” Came the noticeably tired drawl from the king.

You glanced from the door to your lotioned hands and state of undress then back to the door. With an annoyed groan you rose from the boudoir and crossed to your wardrobe again. Wiping the excess of the balm off on your dress, you reached into the ajar door and pulled out a dark blue dressing gown that you quickly shrugged on over your night dress.

“Come in.” You called at length as you finished tying a thin gold sash about your waist to keep the dressing gown closed.

Your father entered sans his laurel crown with his hair flowing freely down his chest. He looked haggard and tired and very much not the image of a king in this moment. “Might I inquire,” he began with a tired sigh as he shut the door behind him, “precisely why Elrond tells me you will not be showing up to the ceremony tomorrow?” He regarded you with a tired disdain you recalled too well from your childhood.

“Ah,” the disfluency was short and clipped, “so he is good for something.” .

“I beg your pardon?” Your father’s weary drawl grew sharp in an instant and you recoiled from the sting.

“My apologies, atar,” you mumbled, casting your eyes to the display case that held your childhood collection of maps, “I meant no harm.”

“If you had meant no harm,” he began, his voice not losing the bite it held although he settled into a seated position at the boudoir you had previously been using, “you would not have spoken without care.” There was a pregnant pause that you knew better than to fill. “Whatever your quarrel with my herald, do not let it spread to your duties to this kingdom.”

Your eyes snapped to his face, indignation clear on yours. “I have no quarrel with Elrond, he has one with me, evidently.”

“Regardless,” Gil Galad began, stepping on the end of your sentence, “I will not permit you to continue it.” You felt yourself deflate, as if you were a ship whose sails had suddenly lost the wind. With a huff through your nose, you sat on the edge of your bed. Your father's gaze was heavy as it rested on you. "You will meet me at the gates to the palace come noon, do not be late." Gil Galad started to rise and you straightened up in an instant.

"Elrond passed that part along as well?" You hedged, doing your best to keep your voice free of disdain lest you provoke his ire further.

"Yes," he answered simply, looking down at you, "Cirdan has agreed to meet with you as well."

You blinked, shocked that your father wasn't posing any argument to your spontaneous decision. Was there something you were missing? Was this some sort of trick? Would there be a horde of elves waiting for you at the docks? You raised an eyebrow at him and he seemed to understand.

"Anel, I am not going to force you to attend," he began, taking a step closer to you to settle a hand on your shoulder, "but I am expecting you to keep your word." He lifted his hand and turned towards the door. As he reached for the handle, you found it within yourself to question him.

"Atar," you eyed his back, not bothering to hide the skepticism in your voice, "why?" You rose from the bed and stepped to him.

Gil Galad looked down at you, turning his body away from the door to face you squarely. "You will be queen soon enough, your word will be law," he raised his free hand from his side to hold your shoulder, "and the law must be true for people far less fortunate than us will depend on it far more dearly."

A moment passed where you could do nothing but stare up at the dark-haired elf before you, a swirling storm of emotion forming in your chest.

His word is law. Your word is suggestion.

Elrond's biting words hissed from the back of your mind, fighting against those of the king before you.

Your father's eyes were strange as he looked down at you. He seemed in that moment to be happy but there was a deep sadness lurking in the depths of his eyes that made your heart hurt. Without warning, you reached forward and wrapped him in a hug. The elf seemed startled but only for a moment before he was returning the embrace, holding you to him. "I missed you, atar." You mumbled into his shoulder. He sighed.

"And I you, anel," he pulled back but kept his hands on your shoulders as he looked at you, "but you are here and together we will chart the path forward." With a final squeeze of your shoulders, your father pulled back to open the door and disappear into the hallway.

Before the door shut fully behind him, you saw a glimpse of a brown haired elf in a green cloak waiting for the king. You frowned suddenly before correcting your face. It probably wasn't Elrond, there was no need to curse the unknown elf outside.

Now left alone in your room, you wondered if it would be prudent to go to bed. After all, you were to meet with Cirdan now. But you felt restless and knew that sleep would not come for several hours.

So, you opted to search for quill and parchment. You began checking drawers within your room, only to find most painfully bare. It seemed as though your knickknacks had also been pilfered when your father decided your room was to be stripped and reorganized. But, luck smiled on you and you found a stack of parchment tinged yellow from age but nonetheless able to bear writing.

A quill was harder to find but one was located tucked into the corner of the top drawer of your boudoir. The quill, like the paper showed signs of age. The barbules were frayed and rend, cutting the feather an unnatural shape but the tip of the shaft was good. But, there was no ink. You had scoured every drawer and knew it unlikely that you had any ink left in your travel pack, you had used up a great deal drafting letters back to Thranduil and what was surely left would be scant at best. So, you would have to procure more.

Quickly, you slipped on some ankle boots but did not bother to tie them and made towards the door. You were expecting the hallway to be quiet as guards thinned for the night and the nobles moved their parleys to more secluded areas. So, you were confident enough to set out in nought but the robe around you and the dressing gown. But, just as you stepped outside you were stopped.

"Evening, miss." A male voice chirped from your right. A thrill ran down your spine, thoroughly startled by the voice, and you whirled around to spy two guards approaching your door. They were clad in the golden armor appropriate for the guards of the palace but adorning their shoulders were long white cloaks embroidered with golden leaves. The cloaks ended just at their ankles, before it could sweep the ground and rested on their hips were long swords. But, one's face was bare while the other wore a helmet. The other's helmet was nestled under their arm and belonged to the elf who had addressed you. "You off somewhere?"

"I beg your pardon?" You asked, straightening up only to find that the top of your head barely met the two guards' shoulders. These were potentially some of the tallest elves you had ever seen and you found yourself a little intimidated.

"Meaning no offense, miss." The guard spoke in a pleasant, masculine voice that lilted like a leaf adrift on the wind as he shifted his weight. "Your Lord Father assigned us to keep an eye on you is all, wouldn't want to disappoint the High King in our first hour." As he spoke, he shook his head from side to side to quickly move a strand of his chin length, auburn hair out of his eyes.

"I suppose not," you bristled slightly. Did your father not want you to move without surveillance? The thought rubbed you the wrong way.

"Forgive him, my lady." The second guard who had been curiously quiet till now finally spoke. Her voice was low and soothing, carrying the timbre of a babbling brook. "My brother jests but his wit is dull." She reached two gauntlet clad hands up to pluck her helmet from her head to reveal the same length auburn hair and a stern face. "Cersei and Connor, my lady, your personal guards."

"My wit is not dull, Cersei," Connor scoffed, "I dare say it's sharper than yours."

"You've yet to ever prove that, Connor." Cersei ribbed without looking away from you.

Your eyes flicked between the two elves, your brain scrambling to find the minutest differences between the two. For all intents and purposes, they were almost identical - identifiable only by voice and bearing. Aside from one other key difference. Cersei parted her hair to the right, while Connor parted his to the left. "My personal guards?" You questioned, relaxing your posture. "Are you two here to ensure I do not leave my quarters without my father's say so?"

"Begging your pardon, miss?" Connor looked at you a little aghast.

"Heavens, no, my lady - your Lord Father is no tyrant." Cersei assured.

"We're assigned to make sure no one tries anything with you." Connor beamed and you raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tries anything with me?" You asked.

"What my brother is trying to say," Cersei interjected, "is that we are here to ensure no one bothers you while you settle in, my lady," she stepped around you, taking up a guard position on one side of your door, "and to ensure that all your needs are met in the meantime."

"Truly?" You eyed the elleth guard as her brother took up his post on the opposite side of her. "So you will not stop me from leaving?"

"Of course not, miss," Connor chirped, "your comings and goings are your business and yours alone." There was something strange about these two elves. They didn't talk like anyone else from Lindon and their names were not elvish if you had to wager.

"Of course, if you would like company," Cersei began, "we are also available to join you as well."

"Is that so?" You hummed, stepping further into the hall to turn and eye the twins. They both looked calm enough but there was a clear energy about the two that you found intriguing. "You are different." You mumbled unintentionally.

"We get that a lot." They answered in near unison.

You couldn't help but give an undignified snort at the two guards and saw mirroring smiles break out on their faces. "What a relief," you eventually sighed, "for a moment I thought I had truly angered him and he was placing me under surveillance."

"You have annoyed him, miss, make no mistake about that." Connor beamed.

"But no more than is customary for a daughter to annoy her father, my lady." Cersei grinned at you and you found a storied history hidden in the expression.

"It seems you have tales to tell, Cersei." You eyed her and her wolfish grin. "Well, in any case. I was going to try and find some ink so I could draft a letter. Would the two of you care to accompany me to the library?"

"If it's drafting a letter you're after, you might have better luck finding good ink in the scriptorium." Connor chirped and you furrowed your brows.

"We have a scriptorium?"

"Oh yes, miss," he continued, "got added to the palace a few hundred years ago."

"You were most likely gone by then, my lady." Cersei amended. "Regardless, Connor's right. The ink in the library is poorer quality."

You clicked your tongue, not expecting an option before you. But while you doubted Thranduil would hold it against you to use poorer ink, you could not deny your intrigue. A real scriptorium? "Very well, Cersei, Connor, would you be so kind as to accompany me to the scriptorium?"

Connor seemed to buzz with anticipation while Cersei just nodded her head once. "Follow me, my lady." She indicated with the gesture of her left hand for you to do just that while her brother hesitated.

"Actually, miss, you may want another layer." He laid a hand on your shoulder. "It's a bit of a walk and the night's chill may nip at you."

With a nod, you assented and quickly darted into your room to grab your travel cloak. As you quickly shrugged the dark green garment on you kept an ear out for the two guards and found it odd to hear their voices painfully neutral suddenly, as if all the personality had been blown out of them as soon as you stepped into your room. You secured the garment with a wide leather belt about your waist and stepped up to the door to your room again. With a open palmed push, the door gave way to reveal the hallway and your guards once more. However, a new figure stood in the hallway that brought a sour expression to your face.

The noble from dinner. Inariel. He was still in his garb from earlier but you still could not find it in your heart to admire his color choice as he stood nearly sneering at the two guards. "-her father may permit you riff-raff to watch her but I-" he stopped suddenly when you emerged. "Ingaranel, good evening." His sneer slithered away, replaced by a thin grin that felt cold and customary. "I trust you are settling in?"

"Well enough,...Inariel? Was it?" You closed the door slowly behind you, not looking away from the older elf. "Did you need something, my lord?"

"Need something? Oh no, not I, ingaranel." He raised a hand to his chest, the other crossed behind his back, and lowered his head in a small bow. "I was merely checking in with your guards. I am ever so pleased to see them at their posts." He looked back up at you, not paying said guards any mind. You noticed that both of them had put their helmets on, obscuring their faces.

The corners of your mouth twitched down into a frown. "Well, thank you, Inariel. They have already proven to be exceptional at their jobs. Now, if you'll excuse us," You moved past him, "Cersei, Connor, I would like to go on an evening stroll - will you two join me?" You crossed your arms behind your back, standing up straight.

"Of course, ingaranel." They said in unison, straightening their postures and passing by Inariel with two solemn salutes. The older elf looked affronted.

"I bid you goodnight, my lord." You hummed noncommittally and began walking down the hall the way Cersei had indicated earlier. The two guards walked side by side, their steps perfectly in sync, as you led them around a bend. At length, you chanced a look back and when it was clear that Inariel had not bothered to follow the three of you, you slowed to a halt. "What was that about?" You asked in disbelief.

Connor wasted no time in ripping off his helmet. "Your Lord Father's treasurer, miss." He huffed, "Never took much of a liking to me and my sister."

"What did you do?" you queried as Cersei took point, her helmet still on her head.

"Nothing, my lady," she said, "he dislikes us for our parents."

"Oh..." the sound was small leaving your mouth and you felt Connor clap you on your shoulder.

"Don't worry too much, miss," he smiled out of the corner of his mouth.

"Our parents were elves with a fondness for men." Cersei's voice carried over her shoulder as she led the three of you through the dimly lit hallways. "They spent much of their time in their villages and even took a liking to the names they gave their children."

"Hence our's." Connor interjected.

"When they moved to Eregion, Connor and I elected to stay in Lindon to train as guards." She continued without missing a beat. "Inariel was never fond of us, said we weren't much elves and more akin to the orcs of Melkor."

"He's as sour as the night is dark." Connor chuckled but there was bitterness in the sound, as though he was trying to downplay the hurt he truly felt.

"Convinced a good few courtiers we weren't fit to bear the colors of your Lord Father. But Gil Galad never gave up on us, kept us in training." The elleth's voice was warm as she remembered the kindness of the king. "Until he announced nigh two months ago that you would be coming home to us."

"Gil Galad was quite a sight that day," Connor cut in once more, "All resplendent and misty-eyed, miss, paid us all a visit in the armory. He said he needed two volunteers to guard his daughter while she was home." Cersei suddenly opened a door outside, blasting you with cold air.

"Several guards were up for it but instead of just picking a few, he had us participate in these trials." Connor continued, "Things like jousting, cross-country running, and sword-play." He waved his hand in a circular motion. "Typical guard training things."

"He supervised us for three days," Cersei began again, "Following each of us around for a few hours." She led you down a set of stairs into the darkness of the kingdom. There was just enough light spilling from the palace to show the three of you the path. "When it came to Connor and I, he asked us questions about our parents, about what it was like to live in the human villages." It began to get darker and darker as you continued on. "But he was most curious about why we wanted to be guards."

"What'd you tell him?" You asked, keeping close on Cersei's heels. At length, you noticed that you had never tied your boots and bent down to secure them, "a moment."

"Truth be told, my lady," Cersei stopped and turned to your crouched form. "I told him what was in my heart - that I had never aspired to be a guard. I'd wanted to join Cirdan's shipwrights but ah," she clicked her tongue, "I never quite learned -how to stomach the sea."

A small pause followed her words, broken by her brother, "And I wanted to be an architect," Connor stepped up beside you as you rose to your full height, "but I haven't got the same eye for design that Celebrimbor seems to look for in apprentices."

"But you said," you began, pointing to Cersei, "that you stayed in Lindon to train as guards when your parents left. I thought that it was something you wanted?"

"It became something we wanted, miss," Connor said quietly, "when we realized that we didn't have the talents for what we originally wanted, we adapted into something more."

"We still serve the realm," Cersei spoke in a soft hum, "just not the ways we intended to."

"And that is why my father picked you to guard me?"

"If I'm honest, miss, we don't know why your father picked us." Connor mused as the three of you began walking again. "But he did announce we would be your guards immediately after talking to us so there must have been something to us he liked."

You hummed, drawing your lips into a thin line. But you kept your thoughts to yourself, half-formed as they were, while Cersei brought you to a heavy looking wooden door belonging to a small cottage-like building. A single brazier was lit outside, casting a warm glow over the darkened front steps and as you got closer, you saw Cersei reach into a small pouch on her hip and pull a few dried twigs from its depths. Without waiting a moment, she tossed the twigs into the brazier. They hissed and spat as they caught fire and smouldered away and when they grew quiet, Cersei pressed on the wooden door which opened with a low creak.

"The illuminators gather the ash from this brazier every morning," Connor explained as he passed you, entering the darkened cottage, "They use it to make ink."

"All the guards know to toss some twigs on to help build up the ash for them." Cersei called over her shoulder, her voice echoing strangely despite only being a few steps ahead of you.

"Fascinating," you muttered to yourself as you passed into the cottage yourself.

The cottage was already alight with the glow of a single candle that Cersei had lit when she entered. The light from the candle flickered and danced off of the golden armor both she and her brother wore, scattering the light even further. Desks upon desks sat in even rows all facing a large altar. Behind the altar hung a huge tapestry that draped down from the rafters to dangle just above the ground and it depicted the two trees of Valinor, their branches intertwining and scattering the white light into one thousand stars. It was beautiful and you found scanning around the room that there were several smaller tapestries depicting important moments in the history of the elves.

At length, your eyes were drawn back to the altar and the contents upon it.

It was an odd collection of tubes and decanters all long since stained by whatever had previously been in them. Several mortar and pestles were scattered around, still bearing the fragrances of the mashed up contents dried into the cracks of the stone. And beside these containers were discarded pieces of vellum with splotches of a thousand colors. "Incredible." You hummed, running a finger along one small square of a bright blue ink.

"Isn't it?" Connor asked from a far off corner, his own candle in hand now. "We've spent many hours in here."

"Really?" You asked, standing in front of the tapestry.

"The illuminators are quite lovely," Cersei hummed from one of the desks she leaned over, "if not a bit bored at times. They do not mind the company every so often." She held up a piece of vellum from the desk she had been leaning over. "Guldur's line weight has improved," she remarked to Connor who immediately moved to see what she was talking about. "You should be able to find some ink on that desk, my lady."

"Make no mistake, it's discard but it's of the finest quality." Connor called from where he was looking over Cersei's shoulder. "We use it to write to our parents all the time."

"Then why is it discard?" You asked, scanning around the altar you were next to for a small pot. It was hard to see in the dim light. "And why are there no lanterns in here?"

Perhaps sensing your struggle, Cersei and Connor both moved to your side, bringing the light closer. "It is discard only because it is not all the same color. They can't always use it for their illustrations." Cersei explained, reaching out with one hand to shuffle away some of the scratch and procure a small vial for you. "But it is the smoothest ink I have ever seen." She held it out to you and gestured to a small decanter partially filled with a void black ink. "And there are no lanterns because the illuminators do not trust unattended fire."

"They do all their work by candlelight, miss." Connor hummed, gesturing with his candle around the room. "It's not rare to find one of them in here late at night still stooped over their work."

"Normally it's Guldur," Connor's sister hummed quietly as you poured some of the ink into the vial.

"A friend of yours?" You asked, careful not to spill any of the dark ink.

"More or less," Connor made a so-so gesture with his hand, "He was in training with us but couldn't hold a sword to save his life. We tried to give him some tips but they never stuck. So, he gave up after a bit and joined the illuminators." You set the decanter down and instinctively wiped the lip of the bottle with your thumb which left a dark stain in the pad. "He's not half-bad, actually."

"Did you need any vellum or anything, my lady?" Cersei asked, moving away from you again.

"No, I'm alright, there was some in my room." You answered, glaring at the stain in your skin. "You two come in here all the time?"

"Yes," they answered at the same time, "I'm sure the illuminators wouldn't mind you stopping by when they're here." Connor finished.

"Guldur, especially." Cersei laughed, "He'd love to be one of the first to copy your likeness into a manuscript."

"I don't want my likeness in a manuscript." You huffed as you capped the vial.

"Well, too bad, miss," Connor chirped with a small laugh, "You're the daughter of Lindon, your face is going to be plastered all over every single manuscript coming out of the scriptorium for the next four hundred years."

You groaned low in your throat, knowing he was right. You'd be lucky to only get four hundred years.

"All done, my lady?" Cersei hummed beside you. At your nod, she stepped away, taking the lead to shuttle you out. When the three of you were at the exit, the twins snuffed their candles out and placed them on a single desk at the door.

The three of you stepped out into the darkness once more and Connor tossed some twigs of his own onto the brazier as you passed. Conversation was short as you made your way back to the palace, the vial of ink tucked safely away in your cloak. You kept your eyes up and ears open as you moved, unease eating at you for a queer reason. Cersei and Connor seemed not to share your discontent, walking with easy gaits and passive faces.

"You alright, miss?" Connor chirped as he fell in step beside you, "You look a bit queasy."

"I can't help but feel unwelcome, I'm afraid." You divulged, looking out onto the darkened palace. "This is by all accounts my home but it feels foreign. It's not the Lindon I left."

"You've been gone for seven hundred years, correct?" Connor asked, quirking his head to the side. "I'd be surprised if it felt familiar."

"Forgive me if this is an overstep, my lady," Cersei looked back over her shoulder, "but it could be you are anxious? I mean, you feel unsettled, so possibly you're reading into small things?"

"Possibly," you bit your lip and looked away from the elleth, "what do you think tomorrow will be like?"

Connor and Cersei shared a look that you pretended not to notice. "Quiet in the morning, surely the older elves will be up to pay their respects to Gil Galad and formally acknowledge you as the heir again." Connor began listing, his eyes looking far off. "The afternoon should start to pick up what with the market."

"The evening will be the most fun, surely some the younger elves will make it a cause for drinking and revelry." Cersei's voice held mischief and you found yourself pondering exactly what drunken revelry might look like in Lindon.

As Cersei ushered you back inside the halls of the palace, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. "I don't imagine I will put in an appearance until noon." You said it wistfully, as if it wasn't a decision you'd made hours earlier. "I have business with Cirdan in the morning anyways."

"As we heard, miss," Connor smiled at you, "I hope you don't mind only one of us going with you - Cersei can't stand to go near the boats anymore."

"The very smell of the sea makes my stomach churn," the elleth added a bit sheepishly, "I will accompany you throughout the afternoon, however, while Connor rests."

"That seems agreeable," you hummed as the three of you rounded the corner, "it seems as if I will have to add to my guard so you two aren't overworked."

"I'd certainly appreciate it, miss," Connor laughed gaily, striding ahead of you when he spotted your door, "but there's no rush. Take your time to pick your guard."

Cersei and Connor settled into their positions in sync, on either side of your closed door. The latter of which reached out to hold said door for you. "Now off with you, miss, you have quite the day ahead of you."

You smiled ruefully at that and leaned against the door Connor held open for you. "I detest the truth of that." You sighed, looking between the two guards. "But true it is. Goodnight, Cersei, Connor," you nodded to each of them, "I look forward to speaking with both of you again." You started to close the door to your room before remembering one last thing. 'And thank you for your help tonight. I appreciate it more than you know."

Cersei chuffed but smiled nonetheless, "Don't mention it, my lady. Goodnight."

There was a small chorus of goodnights shared before you finally shut the door, leaving the twins in the hall. As you stripped back down to your nightwear you set the vial of ink on the boudoir and thought about what Thranduil would like to know. First, he'd want to know about the journey from the Green Wood - the dangers you'd encountered both the real and the exaggerated. Then he'd probably want to know about your arrival which you most likely wouldn't tell him about at all. While Thranduil knew of your disdain for your heirdom he didn't understand it. Whenever you brought it up he would always tilt his head and pout thoughtfully before trying to argue on why you shouldn't feel that way and that it was an honor to bear the weight of your people. While you appreciated his sentiment, you didn't feel much of it yourself. And decided you weren't quite in the mood to hear Thranduil's lecture with this letter.

You sat down to write, pulling the aged vellum and damaged quill from the depths of the boudoir. As you wrote you noted that the twins words were true. Even though the ink was discard, it was smooth and it's color even and beautifully dark. It contrasted with the yellow of the vellum so delightfully, reminding you of the pages of ancient scripts. At length you ran out of things to write about and elected to let the ink dry while you slept. You would send the letter in the morning.

After blowing out the candles around your room, you crawled into bed and settled in for your first night in Lindon.

Taglist:

@kateris-world @goingtoladyworld @imagines--galore @makepastanotwar13

#rop elrond x reader #elrond x reader #elrond #lotr #rop #rings of power

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