#i didn't proofread this so if you see me edit after the fact... no u didn't.

[uruuk]

[hold] for sender to slide their hand into receiver's.

THE SHOW OF AFFECTION AMID SUCH INNER TURMOIL AND EMOTION WAS NOT UNJUSTIFIED, NOR SURPRISED ADAR IN ITSELF. the wind whipping inky black strands, unconfined or restricted as it brushes over his shoulders . . . laden with the grime and blood-tainted curls of THE HERALD. the forehead of whom rests in its scrunched defeat and profound disappointment in the seeming betrayal of a friend . . . inhales he can tell the young elf tries to control softly fanning beneath his armour. ADAR'S HAND IS SECURED TIGHTLY TO THE BACK OF ELROND'S NECK WHILE HE STARES AT THE BREACHED WALL, WITH HIS OTHER TO HIS SIDE. ring safe, in a place where the elf's sticky fingers could not reach undetected. not foolish enough to allow him close while capable of such sleight of hand, nor to hand off to one of his sons to carry...

HE AND THE SILVAN . . . HE GIVES THEM EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO MAKE SMART DECISIONS. EVEN SO MUCH AS TELL THEM OUTRIGHT. HOWEVER, EACH TIME THEY ONLY PLAY INTO HIS HANDS. BOTH LEARNED A HARD LESSON TODAY. NOT TO LET THEIR PREJUDICE BLIND THEM. the judgement of his kin or his purpose met with some measure of justice, in the adamant refusal to concede to the truths that are right in front of you.

"a courtier, still..." his wispy voice speaks against the wind of ost-in-edhil. A BITTER, PERHAPS CALLOUS REMINDER WHEN ONE CONTEMPLATES THE SHARED MOMENTS BETWEEN THEM. his tone maintains a command as he has earned, YET RETAINS SOME SOFTNESS HE HAD ONCE RESERVED FOR THE HALF-ELF. JAW CLENCHING, AND EXPRESSION TIGHTENING AS A SOFT HAND SLIPS INTO HIS OWN. his eyes squinting softly as his chin raises. PALE FINGERS CURLING AROUND THE PINK ONES WITHIN.

"but you lived, commander elrond." it's a whisper, JUST LOUD ENOUGH FOR THE HERALD TO HEAR. trembled from his lips somberly. as if he had just realized that they may have all but missed their chance, in this life. THE STENCH OF BLOOD AND DEATH IS A STARK AND VISCERAL REMINDER, AS IT NAUSEATES HIM. CLOAKING THEM, IN THE GROANS OF THE HALF-SPENT AND THE RUIN OF THE REALM'S CAPITOL. barren battleground of scattered corpses punctuated by snarls of kin beyond the wall.

@elr0nds. soft touch.