#strider lotr

[thewulf]

In the Arms of Fate || Aragorn

Summary: Request - During the war with Sauron, she gets kidnapped and tortured badly by Saruman. Aragorn and the others immediately get on a mission to rescue her and eventually find her barely alive... Read Rest Here

A/N: This was tough to write but I really like how it turned out. Thank you for the amazing requests anon, hope you all enjoy!

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 4,600 +

TW: talks of torture, pain, reader gets taken, general LOTR triggers

In the middle of the raging war against Sauron you found yourself drawn to the Fellowship not only by fate but by your own unique blend of skills and qualities that made you an indispensable member of the group. Aragorn quickly recognized your unwavering loyalty and the depth of your courage. He insisted on your inclusion in the Fellowship. He saw in you a kindred spirit as someone who shared his determination to see the quest through to the end.

Your skills were varied and essential to the success of the Fellowship. As a seasoned fighter you were proficient in various forms of combat. You sported weapons with precision and grace. But it wasn't just your prowess on the battlefield that set you apart. It was also your keen intellect and quick thinking that made you invaluable to the group. You possessed a sharp mind and a strategic approach to problem-solving, often providing crucial insights and solutions during moments of peril. Even Legolas looked to you for guidance from time to time.

Gimli was initially skeptical of your presence in the Fellowship. But even he soon came to appreciate the depth of your skills and the strength of your character. Your friendship with him grew as you shared stories of battles fought and victories won. You formed a bond that transcended the differences between your races. Together you and Gimli formed a formidable duo. Your strengths complementing each other in ways that made the Fellowship stronger as a whole.

With Legolas, your relationship was characterized by playful banter and teasing exchanges. From the moment you met there was a natural rapport between you. It was like a shared understanding that lent itself to lighthearted jests and witty banter. Legolas never missed an opportunity to tease you. His playful remarks eliciting laughter and smiles even in the darkest of times. Despite the teasing there was a deep form of friendship between you. Formed through shared experiences and mutual respect. He loved to tease you, especially about a certain ranger that had captured your heart with ease. It was on one particular eve that Legolas had let you know that he knew too. He wasn’t blind. He caught your longing looks. But he too caught Aragorn staring right back at you.

The evening was alive with the crackling of the campfire and the soft rustle of the forest around you. As you sat beside the fire completely lost in thought, Legolas approached with his characteristic grace, a playful glint in his eyes.

"Ah, Y/N, lost in thought again?" he remarked. A teasing smile playing at the corners of his lips as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. And he likely did.

You chuckled softly turning to face him. "Just contemplating our next move," you replied, though your thoughts were anything but focused on strategy. Instead, they drifted to a certain ranger sitting across the way who occupied far too much space in your mind.

Legolas arched an eyebrow, his keen gaze fixing on you with knowing amusement. "Or perhaps," he suggested with a knowing smirk, "you're pondering a particular king’s pining for you?"

Your cheeks flushed crimson at his words, and you sputtered in protest. "Wha—no, Legolas, you're imagining things," you stammered. It was a terrible attempt to brush off his teasing with a nervous laugh.

But Legolas only chuckled. His soft laughter mingling with the gentle crackle of the fire. "Oh, come now, Y/N,” he teased, his tone light and playful. "Even the trees can see the way he looks at you. And you him. It's as clear as the stars in the night sky."

You rolled your eyes. Though a part of you couldn't help but wonder if there was a kernel of truth to Legolas's jests. Aragorn's lingering glances and subtle gestures had not gone unnoticed by you. Though you had dismissed them as mere figments of your imagination. "He's just... concerned for my well-being, that's all," you insisted, though doubt lingered in the back of your mind. "We're friends, nothing more."

Legolas's smile widened as his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Of course, Y/N," he replied. His tone dripping with elvish sarcasm. "Just friends."

As he walked away quiet as ever leaving you to figure out you conflicting emotions, you couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there was more truth to Legolas's teasing than you dared to admit. But for now, you pushed aside your doubts instead focusing on the task at hand and the challenges that lay ahead. You couldn’t let that distract you of all things. You had Hobbits to find after all.

As for Aragorn, the dynamics of your relationship were markedly different. From the moment he laid eyes on you Aragorn was captivated by your strength, courage, and insane determination. He found himself drawn to you in a way he couldn't fully explain. His heart skipping a beat whenever you were near. Despite his stoic demeanor Aragorn found himself unable to hide his feelings for you. His affection and admiration shining through in subtle gestures and meaningful glances. Whether it was a reassuring touch on the shoulder or a lingering gaze across the campfire Aragorn's love for you was evident to all who knew him. Maybe except for you.

And though you tried to hide it, the effect he had on you was undeniable. Your cheeks would flush with color whenever he spoke. Your heart deciding to skip a beat at the mere sound of his voice. Despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of composure Aragorn had a way of unraveling your defenses. His presence stirring emotions within you that you struggled to contain.

The Battle of Helm's Deep raged on with unrelenting ferocity. The clash of steel and the roar of orcs echoing through the valley. As darkness descended upon the fortress you stood shoulder to shoulder with Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli. Your heart was pounding with adrenaline, determination, and a touch of fear.

Together, you fought valiantly against the relentless tide of enemies. Your blades flashing in the dim light as you defended the walls of Helm's Deep with all your strength. But as the battle wore on fatigue began to set in and the odds seemed increasingly insurmountable. In the chaos of the fray the enemy's forces surged forward with renewed fury. You were overwhelmed. The defenders of Helm's Deep were overwhelmed with their sheer numbers. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli fought with unmatched skill and valor. Their resolve unbroken even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds.

In the middle the chaos and confusion tragedy struck for you. As the defenders of Helm's Deep rallied for one final stand you found yourself separated from your companions. Unfortunately surrounded by a horde of wargs and orcs. With grim determination you fought with all your might. Every strike of your blade a desperate attempt to fend off the encroaching darkness.

But it was not enough.

As the enemy closed in around you completely overwhelming you with their sheer numbers, you felt a surge of despair wash over you. Your strength faltered and your movements began growing sluggish as exhaustion threatened to consume you whole. And then in a moment of cruel fate you were seized by the snarling jaws of a warg. You were dragged away from the safety of the fortress just as the offenders began to retreat. You were a prize.

Aragorn's heart constricted with dread as he watched helplessly from afar. His voice lost amidst the din of battle as he called out your name in desperation. His pleas were a cruel reminder of how quickly things could change. With every fiber of his being he longed to rush to your aid. To fight tooth and nail to rescue you from the clutches of the enemy. But the tide of battle had turned, and he had no time to rush after you for he would likely die in the cause.

And so, as Helm's Deep fell silent in the wake of the enemy's retreat. Aragorn's heart weighed heavy with grief and guilt. For though the battle had been won. The cost had been immeasurable. And the fate of his beloved remained uncertain, lost amidst the darkness that lurked beyond the walls of Helm's Deep.

In the grim depths of Saruman's fortress, you endured unspeakable torment at the hands of your captors. From the moment they laid hands on you their cruelty knew no bounds. Their twisted minds delighting in the suffering they inflicted upon you. They reveled in your screams of agony. Their laughter echoing off the cold stone walls as they subjected you to unimaginable pain and suffering. Every blow, every cut, every moment of pain was a sickening game to them. A twisted form of entertainment that they relished with sadistic glee.

But despite their best efforts to break your spirit you refused to fold. With every fiber of your being you clung to life with a tenacity that defied comprehension. You endured their tortures with a steely resolve. Your will to survive burning bright even in the darkest of moments. They tried their best to break you. To strip away your humanity and reduce you to nothing more than a shell of your former self. But still you fought on. Your spirit unbroken even as your body bore the scars of their cruelty.

In the depths of despair, you found a flicker of hope—a tiny ember of defiance that refused to be extinguished. And though they tried to snuff it out. To drown it in a sea of pain and despair, still it burned bright within you. It was Aragorn. He was your salvation. Your thoughts that brought light within your darkness. You couldn’t break. Not when you knew was alive and fighting to see you again.

And so, as the minutes turned into days and the days turned into weeks, you clung to life with a determination that seemed to defy reason. For though they sought to destroy you. To crush your spirit beneath their heel. Still, you refused to surrender, your will to survive burning bright even in the face of unspeakable evil. You began to worry they may tire of you. That they may get bored and kill you despite your efforts to survive.

In the grim confines of Saruman's fortress sustenance was a meager and scarce commodity, doled out sparingly by your captors. Each day you received barely enough to sustain your frail body. The meager rations serving as a cruel reminder of your dire circumstances. The food was tasteless. The water stagnant and foul. Yet you choked it down with grim determination. You did it in hopes of seeing Aragorn again. Maybe just maybe you could confess your love to him for this journey made you finally realize your feelings for him.

You couldn't bear the thought of leaving this world laying bare the depths of your heart and soul to him. And so, even as your body grew weak and your spirit faltered, you held fast to the hope that one day, somehow, you would find your way back to him.

As the news of Saruman's demise spread throughout Middle earth a small bit of hope rose within the hearts of those who had suffered under his tyranny. For you, however, trapped within the depths of Orthanc's dungeons, the passing of the once-great wizard brought no relief from your torment.

Barely clinging to life as your body was ravaged by weeks of unspeakable suffering. You lay in darkness your breaths shallow and labored. Each passing moment felt like an eternity as you teetered on the brink of oblivion. Your spirit beginning to falter by the weight of despair.

But in the cruelty of the shadows that engulfed you a faint whisper of hope stirred within your soul—a feeling, a sensation that you couldn't quite explain. It was as if a part of you knew deep down that your salvation was at hand. That somehow, someway, your beloved Aragorn was close and would come for you.

And come for you he did.

Driven by a gnawing sense of unease. A feeling that he couldn't shake, Aragorn ventured into the depths of Orthanc. His heart weighed heavy with dread and determination. Guided by instinct and a love that knew no bounds he searched tirelessly for any sign of your presence. His footsteps echoing through the cold stone corridors as it laid eerily quiet at Saruman’s demise.

And then, at long last, he found you.

Tucked away in the darkest recesses of the dungeons, barely visible amidst the shadows, lay your frail form. Your breaths barely there, faint. Aragorn's heart constricted with anguish at the sight of you, his beloved, so close to the brink of death.

With trembling hands and a voice choked with emotion. Aragorn gathered you into his arms. He cradled you against his chest as if he could shield you from the darkness that threatened to take you from him. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he whispered words of love and reassurance. His voice was a soothing balm to your battered soul.

As he held you in his arms as gently as he could he broke down. "Gandalf! Legolas! Gimli! Anyone, help!" His cries reverberated through the silent halls of Orthanc. Each plea in desperation for your salvation. He cried for someone to come to your aid.

Tears streamed down his cheeks as he cradled you against his chest, his heart breaking at the sight of you—so frail, so vulnerable, so close to slipping away from him forever. He whispered for you to hold on. His voice raw with emotion as he begged you to stay with him just a little while longer. But you remained unconscious. Your breaths shallow and labored, your life hanging by the slimmest of threads.

As Aragorn's desperate calls for help echoed through the halls of Orthanc. His heart broke with fear and anguish. Though finally his cries were answered. Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli came running, drawn by the urgency and desperation in Aragorn's voice. Their faces paled at the sight that greeted them. Your frail form cradled in Aragorn's arms, barely clinging to life.

Gimli, his usually stoic demeanor crumbling in the face of such tragedy, sank to his knees beside you. His heart heavy with sorrow. "By the beard of Durin," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "What have they done to you, lass?"

Legolas with eyes wide of shock and horror, approached tentatively. His usual grace replaced by a raw vulnerability as tears welled in his eyes. "Nay, this cannot be," he whispered. His voice trembling with grief. "Not Y/N... not like this."

Gandalf had a grave expression on his face as he stepped forward. His gaze piercing as he took in the extent of your injuries. "We must act swiftly," he declared. His voice commanding. "There is still hope, but time is of the essence."

With a sense of urgency, they rallied together. Their hearts heavy with grief but their resolve unyielding. With shaking hands Aragorn carried you from the depths of Orthanc, his footsteps echoing heavy through the silent halls as they emerged into the light of day.

As time grew short and the urgency of the situation became increasingly apparent, Gandalf knew that swift action was needed to save you. With a wave of his staff and a word of command he called forth one of the Great Eagles. Ancient creatures who served as allies to the free peoples of middle earth.

As Gandalf summons the Great Eagle to take you to Lothlórien Aragorn's determination to stay by your side remained unyielding. With a glance at the rest of the Fellowship he knew that their journey will be swift on horseback as the Great Eagle could not carry them all.

"Aragorn," Gandalf begins, his voice carrying a sense of urgency, "time is of the essence. We must act swiftly to save Y/N."

Aragorn nods solemnly, his gaze unwavering as he turns to Gandalf. "I will take her on the eagle to ensure she receives the care she needs. The rest of you must ride with haste to Lothlórien. I will meet you there." Gandalf and the others exchange a knowing look. Understanding the weight of Aragorn's decision. With a nod of agreement Gandalf turned to the rest of the Fellowship.

"We ride for Lothlórien," Gandalf declares, his voice echoing with authority. "May the Valar watch over us all."

As Aragorn carries you in his arms and mounts the Great Eagle the rest of the Fellowship saddles their horses and sets off towards Lothlórien knowing it would delay their plans to get to Mordor. But for you they knew they had to. With a sense of urgency driving them forward they rode with haste. Their hearts heavy with worry yet filled with hope that you will receive the care and healing you so desperately need.

After what felt like a lifetime to Aragon Great Eagle descended upon the lush treetops of Lothlórien. Aragorn's urgent pleas for help echo through the elven realm. Celeborn alerted by the urgency in Aragorn's voice, rushed forward from the heart of Lothlórien.

With swift steps, Celeborn reaches Aragorn's side just as the eagle touched down. He sees the urgency in Aragorn's eyes and the battered state of your body and without a moment's hesitation he takes you from Aragorn's arms. His expression a mix of concern and determination.

"Bring her to me," Celeborn commands. His voice carrying an air of authority.

Aragorn watches with a mixture of relief and apprehension as Celeborn rushes towards the healing chambers of Lothlórien. His skilled hands cradling you gently. With each step Aragorn's heart pounds with worry, but he knows that you are in good hands.

As Celeborn disappears into the depths of Lothlórien Aragorn's thoughts turn to the rest of the Fellowship who are still traveling on horseback. He knows that they will arrive soon with their hearts heavy with concern for you. He worried for you. For Frodo and Sam who were continuing their journey ahead. For the delay all of this brought. But he couldn’t seem to care about that all knowing the woman he loved was on the brink of death. The woman who was always so full of life may be taken from him far too soon. Before he could confess his true feelings.

With a silent prayer on his lips, he followed Celeborn into the healing chambers. His determination to see you healed burning brighter than ever. And as he stands vigil by your side surrounded by the gentle beauty of Lothlórien, he knows that though the road ahead may be long and fraught with peril. But together you will face whatever challenges come your way

As hours pass in Lothlórien, Celeborn's efforts to heal you are met with frustratingly little progress. Despite his skill and knowledge your condition remains unchanged. Leaving both him and Aragorn filled with growing despair. Realizing that more drastic measures are needed, Celeborn calls upon his wife, Galadriel, for assistance. Together they work tirelessly through the and night. Their combined powers focused on bringing you back from the darkness of unconsciousness.

Aragorn watched with a heavy heart as Galadriel joins Celeborn in the healing chambers. Her presence a glimmer of hope amidst the peril that threatened to consume him. He knows that if anyone can help you it is the Lady of the Wood, with all her wisdom and grace.

Days turn into nights and still you remain unresponsive. You were lost in a realm of unconsciousness from which you seem unable to awaken. Aragorn's faith began to waver. His heart heavy with doubt and fear as he watches Galadriel and Celeborn work tirelessly to save you. But just when all seems lost, a miracle occurred. After a few days of ceaseless effort, Galadriel kneels beside your bedside and offers a rare prayer to the Valar. Her voice is soft but filled with conviction as she calls upon their aid. Her plea echoing through the halls of Lothlórien.

And then as if in response to her prayer, you stir from your slumber. Your eyes fluttering open for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Aragorn's heart leapt with joy as he watches you awaken. His faith restored in the power of love.

With tears of relief streaming down his cheeks, Aragorn gathers you into his arms. Holding you close as he whispers words of gratitude and love. As you lay there finally awake but still weak and fragile, Aragorn's emotions overwhelm him. Tears stream down his face as he gathers you into his arms holding you close with a fierce, desperate grip but gentle so not to hurt you further.

"I love you," he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. "I love you more than words can express, my love. You cannot leave me again. Please, never leave me again. Please."

His words are a plea. A prayer whispered into the stillness of the healing chambers. His heart ached with the fear of losing you. The fear of facing a world without the light of your presence beside him. And as he holds you close, his tears mingling with yours. He knew that he would give anything to keep you safe. To protect you from harm. As he pours out his heart to you, he realizes just how much you mean to him—how much he needs you by his side, now and always.

"You love me?" you whisper. Your voice barely above a breath as you look up at him, your eyes searching his for confirmation.

Aragorn's laughter fills the air. A warm and comforting sound that washes over you like sunlight breaking through the clouds. He brushes a strand of hair from your face, his touch gentle and reassuring.

"Did I not make it so obvious my wayward love?" he replies, his voice teasing yet tender as he meets your gaze with a smile.

Your cheeks flush with embarrassment at his words. You can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. Galadriel and Celeborn who have been observing the exchange with amusement, share a knowing look, their eyes twinkling with mirth of the love unfolding before them.

But in that moment as you gaze into Aragorn's eyes and share a laugh together all your worries and fears seem to melt away. For in his arms surrounded by the love and support of your companion, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead you will face them with him. Your beloved.

And as the laughter fades into a comfortable silence, you rest your head against Aragorn's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your ear. With his arms wrapped around you, you know that you are home.

As Celeborn and Galadriel summon the rest of the Fellowship, the healing chambers soon fill with the familiar faces of your companions. Their expressions a mix of relief and joy at the sight of you awake, alive and with that smile adorning your soft features.

Gimli with his gruff exterior softened by the depth of his concern, rushes forward to your side. His eyes were brimming with tears. "By Durin's beard, lass! I thought I'd never see you awake again," he exclaims, his voice trembling with emotion as he clasps your hand tightly in his own.

Gandalf had his wise eyes shining with warmth, approaches with a gentle smile. "It is good to see you awake, my dear friend," he spoke. His voice filled with genuine relief. "You have faced darkness and emerged victorious. You are stronger than you will ever know."

Legolas, his fair face radiant with joy, stepped forward with a soft smile. "I am glad to see you awake, mellon nin," he smiled to you. His voice gentle and sincere. "The world is a brighter place with you in it."

Merry and Pippin, their youthful exuberance infectious as always rush to your side with wide smiles on their faces. "You had us worried there for a moment," Merry says, his voice filled with relief. "But you're back with us now and that's all that matters."

Pippin nods eagerly as his eyes shining with unshed tears. "We thought we'd lost you," he admits, his voice wavering with emotion. "But you're a fighter, just like Aragorn said. You'll always come back to us."

As the Fellowship gathers around you with their voices filled with laughter and tears. You felt a profound sense of gratitude wash over you. As you were surrounded by the love and support of your friends you know that no matter what trials may come your way you will always have each other.

As the night descended upon Lothlórien after you woke, Aragorn remained by your side as the rest of the Fellowship retired. His love and devotion unwavering as he tends to your every need.

With gentle hands he washes away the grime and dirt of your ordeal away. His touch tender and reassuring against your skin. He cleanses away the scars of battle as his fingers trace each line and mark with care, as if trying to erase the memories of pain that linger there.

As he helps you change into fresh clothes his gaze never strays from yours. His eyes were filled with an intensity of emotion that took your breath away. He spoke softly. His voice a soothing melody that fills the silence of the healing chambers.

"You are my light in the dark," he whispered softly to you. His words a declaration of love that echoes in the stillness of the night. "You are the reason I fight, the reason I endure. Without you I am lost my love."

Tears fill your eyes at his words. The depth of his love overwhelming in its intensity. "And you are mine," you reply, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach out to touch his face. "You are the reason I am alive, the reason I kept going. Even in the worst of times."

As the soft glow of moonlight filters through the canopy of leaves above Aragorn's adoration for you seems to shine even brighter. With every touch, every whispered word, he worships you as if you were a goddess descended from the heavens themselves.

He kneels before you, his eyes alight with reverence. He places gentle kisses upon your hands, your cheeks, your forehead, as if each kiss is a silent prayer to the gods, thanking them for blessing him with your presence. Thanking them for letting you live.

"I am unworthy of your love," he murmurs. His voice filled with sincerity as he gazes up at you with awe. "But I swear to you, I will spend every moment of my life trying to prove myself worthy of you."

His words melt your heart. Filling you with a warmth that spreads from the tips of your fingers to the depths of your soul. You reach out to cup his face in your hands, tracing the lines of his jaw with your fingers. Feeling the roughness of his stubble beneath your touch.

"You are more than worthy," you whisper, your voice barely a breath as you gaze into his eyes, seeing the depth of his love reflected back at you. "You are my everything, Aragorn. Without you I am nothing."

As you hold each other close surrounded by the quiet beauty of the elven realm. You know that nothing in this world could ever tear you apart. For in each other's arms, you have found a love that transcends time and space. A love that is as boundless as the stars themselves and as enduring as the ages to come.

Taglist Sign Up): @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @guacam011y @illisea @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @kenn-spencerswifey @avada-kedavra-bitch-187

[cannibalistic-vampirefag]

Aragorn edit to Chappell Roan where instead of Pink Pony Club it says Prancing Pony Club. does anybody else see the vision.

[sirnightdamaxan]

Finally got the courage to draw Aragorn.

[maccreadysbaby]

part i ; chapter iii

❝ semblance of starlight ❞

all chapters linked here

⚔︎

THREE DAYS INTO THE JOURNEY, AND ADAVERA WAS ENTERING MIRKWOOD.

The winding, dark paths that cut through the large forest were how they always were... dark, grim, and unnerving enough to keep away even the darkest of creatures that lurked outside its borders. Adavera had been to the wood elves' domain a few times on previous business, but, with its nearness to Dale, she never stayed any longer than she had to. The wood had a way of making her vision tunnel and skin crawl after too much time spent inside. 

During her first journey into the dreaded forest, she was revisited by hallucinations of the broken, battered, and blood-ridden bodies of past targets, looking just as she'd left them, but standing, watching her, whispering things of unintelligible speech. Cepheus ended up having to lead Adhara through the forest via whistles, for Adavera was too incoherent to ride. 

She swore off Mirkwood for a good while after that.

This time, she was pleased to say, she was only passing through.

The massive, winding trees reached far up in the sky, their large, dark leaves keeping the morning sunrise from reaching the forest floor. It created this type of veil that kept the wood separated from the rest of the world -- trapping its own darkness inside to fester and broil into something intoxicating, volatile. Adavera could feel it each time she stepped into Mirkwood, and each time, it was a little heavier. Denser. Colder.

Adavera's company seemed affected by the darkness very minimally, or, in Cepheus's case, not at all. Elves had a strange way of seeing through the thickness that laid over the sick forest. Adavera couldn't explain it, but she knew it were true, seeing as the woodland elves continued to live within the borders even as the forest grew more and more ill.

She wondered what made man so much... weaker.

Adhara, like the good horse she was, was mostly unbothered by the aura the forest gave off. While she had been a little hesitant and antsy upon first entering the wood, she was getting into a groove now — and sticking to the elves' path seemed to help. The trails were typically difficult for non-elvish horses, but they seemed clearer, somehow, like a group had trodden on them in the very near past. The beautiful red horse, a horse of Dale, no less, was doing a good job staying focused and moving at a steady pace.

Adavera, now adorned with her cloak, a leather belted scabbard, and a dagger sheath on her left thigh, looked nothing short of someone ready for battle. Which she would have to be, should she come face to face with any inhabitants of the wood. Animal or elven. 

The deeper into the forest she went, the more her brain fogged. She tried to focus solely on Adhara's hoof-falls, the pat-pat-pat of her steps. She hadn't been in the forest but for a few hours -- and, yet, she could already feel the darkness building on her skin like a dust-storm. Threads of the sickness floating though the air, slithering into her ears, coiling around her brain. A certain familiar coldness settled in her hands and feet. 

But onward she went, for she could not delay if she wished to reach the heir to Gondor before he arrived in Rivendell.

Adavera trodded onward, carried forward by nothing more than a little confidence and sheer force of will. She knew Cepheus was traveling alongside her, even if she couldn't see him. He could lead herself and Adhara to safety should she become incapacitated like the first time. The black-haired elf was hidden amongst the trees, slinking along, undetectable. Adavera wasn't sure where he'd learned that level of stealth -- but she did know he'd been doing it for much longer than she'd been alive. Maybe she could evade the darkness pooling in her fingertips, if she were like him.

She continued to watch Adhara's hooves to distract herself -- to think about the job at hand. Reminding herself of the young Lord's appearance, of the path she would take to intercept him, of how she would carry out the job should he make it to Rivendell before her. 

Adhara chuffed as her hooves dug into some sturdy-but-slick mud, her front-left hoof sliding before it found purchase in an imprint previously left in the wet earth. The horse soon found her footing again, and it took Adavera uncomfortably too long to brush the cobwebs from her brain and realize that these weren't just fortunate imprints Adhara was using to walk in. They were the large, round prints of elvish horses, dug deep into the dirt and mud. Adavera looked up, her eyes bouncing around the trail -- she caught sight of  broken sticks on the undergrowth that lined the path, and plants stamped down into the dirt, indications of swiftly-moving, recently-passing steeds.

Adavera leaned forward and stroked Adhara's mane, trying her best to blink away the fog. "The elves have been moving," She whispered with an exhale, "Urgently. Keep your eyes sharp, darling. I will do likewise. These forests are not for the faint of heart."

Adhara chuffed, stamping one of her feet. Adavera smiled lightly and patted her neck. "Of all the hearts of horses, yours is the least faint of all."

Adhara settled back into a pleased trot.

Suddenly, a whistle pierced the air — rhythmic and melodious and precise, like a long-forgotten bird. 

Adavera and Adhara both perked up, the former's gaze training solely on the dark, whispering forest around them. Like a predator in search of prey, she paused Adhara in her tracks to scan the woods for signs of life.

All she saw was darkness -- winding trees, creeping plants, the small shimmer of the sun far above, and darkness.

That particular whistled melody, tedious and delicate as it was, was no bird. That particular melody was Cepheus, and that particular melody meant that someone was approaching.

From behind.

Adhara chuffed, her head swinging to look around in alarm. Adavera stroked her mane again, urging her onward at a quicker pace. "Stay vigilant, my darling. We'll have come out of the other side in just ere of a week."

Adhara didn't seem to calm, as she kept peering around at her surroundings thanks to the unsettling whistle. It was just then that a new sound met Adavera's ears -- the beating of hooves, coming up quick at their rear. Very quick.

With a soft inhale, she reached subtly toward the daggers that were strapped to her thigh and kept Adhara moving, urging her faster. She listened closely to the hoof-falls behind, trying to decipher the distance, the speed.

Another bird whistle came, melodic and fluttery as the first, but more urgent -- the rider was only one stone's throw away. Which meant, if it were an elf, they could see her.

As the approaching rider grew nearer, Adavera veered Adhara off the path and into the thicker brush beyond. She pulled one of her daggers from its sheath and kept it beneath her cloak, spinning it between her fingertips like a card in the hand of a magician -- a twitch of anticipation, like a bull huffing and scraping the ground before a charge. Most would see it as her being jittery, nervous; Adavera saw it as the wind-up to a perfectly accurate knife-throw.

As the loud hoof-falls came to a climax, a silky, dazzling white horse thundered by as though it were late for something. Its rider was undeniably an elf. They were dawning a silver cloak and long, flowing platinum hair. The horse was moving quick, but Adavera managed to catch sight of a bow and quiver strung across their back, and the horse's carefully crafted saddle -- which was quite unusual, seeing as elves typically preferred to ride bare-back. That either meant that this particular elf wasn't a very good rider, or they wanted more control over their steed for a swift, urgent journey.

Merely five or six yards ahead, the horse whinnied and bucked up onto its hind legs as its rider tugged on the reins. Adavera clung tightly to her dagger, moving Adhara slowly, deeper into the underbrush.

Unsurprisingly, the rider's elvish gaze landed on her anyways.

"If your goal is to remain undetected-" The elf started, in a soft, strangely fluttery tenor tone that indicated it was, in fact, a male. "-it would be in your best interest to veer from the path before a second rider approaches. I have been watching your horse for just ere of ten minutes."

Adavera, keeping her dagger tight in her hand, slowly nudged Adhara out of the underbrush and back onto the dark path. The elf's icy blue eyes followed her all the way. Even beneath the canopy of illness inducing forest, he still managed to catch the golden glimmer of sun and starlight that elves always seemed to have. His platinum hair, twisted out of his face by intricate, dainty braids was very nearly glowing in the darkness of the wood. His white horse, silver cloak, and unblemished skin were doing likewise. He made no moves to grab his bow, though Adavera kept her dagger close; as elves, nimble and agile, could go from unarmed to releasing an arrow before she could blink. Especially woodland elves.

And for some reason that she couldn't quite place through her permanent brain fog, Adavera knew this one's face.

"I was unaware who was approaching," She replied lightly, keeping her eyes trained on the elf's hands, should he make a move for his weapon. "So you have spotted me; now be on your way."

On the contrary to her words, his horse shimmied closer, which had Adhara chuffing and scraping at the dirt beneath her with her hoof. The elf's eyes were trained on something at Adavera's torso -- she shifted uncomfortably.

"Your dagger," He started, eyes flicking up and back down. "You've come from Dale."

Adavera glanced down, and quickly realized her dagger was slightly visible past the hem of her cloak. The engravings on the blade were more than a telltale sign of her origins -- for the dragon Smaug had been skillfully embedded in the blade, along with a rune of old. 

"What of it?" She questioned.

"It is not often a lone rider from Dale passes through; even less often a lone rider whose face I know," He started, his eyes straining to comprehend every detail of Adavera in an oh-so-elvish way. He kept his posture poised, his expression neutral, though there was something she couldn't quite place hidden among the starlight in his eyes. "Tell me, who are you?"

Adhara shifted beneath Adavera, and she shushed her by stroking her mane. "I am just as you said; a lone rider from Dale."

The elf shifted again on his horse, a look of realization falling over his soft, ageless features. "You are the young blacksmithing master who came for my father's permission to study our weaponry."

Adavera drew in a deep breath, knuckles turning white around her dagger as she drew it farther into her cloak. She remembered her first trip into the heart of the woodland realm like it was yesterday — if the ride hadn't been troubling enough, facing King Thranduil in all his elvish glory was an experience beyond any other; and quite possibly the most she had ever feared for her life. The King of the woodland realm was a cryptic, unreadable being of immense power and knowledge, and, to be completely honest, she had underestimated just how easy it would be to get inside his kingdom. Just how easy it would be to talk to him. (The fact that he had to be at least two and a half feet taller than her didn't seem to help her social skills in the slightest.) But alas, he did not cut off her head.

Though he probably would, if he knew what she'd done while she was there.

If this elf said she had asked his father for permission, then that meant...

"My apologies, my lord. I did not realize I was in the presence of the prince," She started, sheathing her dagger and managing a small bow even on Adhara's back. She knew now where she'd seen his face before — at his father's right hand. "All I wish is to be granted travel through your land; for I am seeking safe passage to Rivendell."

A soft smile quirked up on the prince's lips, almost one of amusement. "I am not your prince. You need not bow to me."

Adavera said nothing, glancing up into the trees in search of a black haired elf she knew she wouldn't find. This was a detour they simply could not drag out, if they wished to intercept the heir of Gondor before he arrived at the elven city.

"As it comes to be, I am also traveling to Rivendell. If it please you, we will grant you safe passage by allowing you to ride alongside us," The young prince started, flicking his eyes away from Adavera and looking into the forest beyond. Even his eyes moved gracefully, bouncing from here to there like some kind of animal or machine, seeing far deeper into the undergrowth than she could. His expression was quick to fall. "Darkness lurks far closer than it ever has before — I can feel it."

Adavera watched his gaze grow long, his eyes bore deeper into the forest. It was quite an offer, though not so strange since she'd been in his presence before, she supposed. A kind offer; one that not a single common traveler like herself would ignore. 

He tugged on his white horse's reins, spinning it back toward the open path but keeping his eyes on her. "I must take my leave, though the offer stands."

Adavera looked down at Adhara, who seemed to have calmed in the presence of the elf prince. She stroked her mane indecisively.

To refuse his offer would be suspicious, for no human woman in her right mind would refuse an escort from an immortal elf prince with luscious hair who seemed to glow even in the darkest forest. Especially a human woman who had met him before. (Though she could only really remember seeing him standing near his father's throne.)

To accept his offer would be putting herself at the mercy of the elves' timing, which, while she assumed they didn't stray off-course very often, wasn't high on her priority list. She worked only with Cepheus for that exact reason, for groups were slower than individuals, and timing was of the utmost importance in her line of work. How was she to double back and intercept the heir of Gondor if she was traveling with a pack of woodland elves?

With a quick decision made, she ushered Adhara forward, behind the spritely elven horse as it took off prancing. "I will join you — but I must take my leave before we reach Rivendell. I have to intercept a parcel from a village at the base of the misty mountains; it will require me to double back and go south, toward the river Bruinen."

The prince wasn't looking at her anymore, but instead riding ahead, Adhara having to gallop lightly to keep up with his trotting steed. "It is safer west of the mountains — do as you must."

Adavera nodded lightly even though he wasn't looking, glancing up at the treetops above her. Cepheus was most likely preparing a long speech for the end of the journey about how stupid this decision was. Or, in fancy Cepheus talk, highly unintelligent and precarious.

Adavera didn't mind, for exactly that reason — he'd have to wait until the end of the journey, when they returned to Dale, to let his opinions slip.

She would revel in it.

"May I have your name, now that you travel alongside me?" The prince questioned, sending a graceful glance over his shoulder.

The assassin straightened. "Adavera."

"I am Legolas,"

There was a moment of silence, and Adhara chuffed in annoyance.

"And my painfully-prideful steed is Adhara." 

The horse made a sound of disapproval, and Adavera could've swore she saw the prince — Legolas — smile.

⚔︎

a familiar face already! trying my absolute best when writing this boy I swear~

⚔︎

tag list!

@inkedmoth

[sweetmaggie]

Tolkientober day 18: Reunion

Yes, I'm 3 days late. And all because I forgot to post this on the 18th…. blushes, embarrassed.

[asyncamestel]

some old Aragorn sketches back in 2021

[enbyofdionysos]

was anyone going to tell me Aragorn was friends with Bilbo and helped him with his songs like a man visiting his gay peepaw at the senior center or did I have to read that in Fellowship myself?

[artbyleav]

“I think a servant of the enemy would look fairer and feel fouler”

Friendly reminder that Frodo called Aragorn ugly ☝🏻

[winter-wise]

Watching LOTR as a child: Aragorn and Legolas are so handsome! [also has a raging crush on Galadriel but no framework with which to understand or express it] Watching LOTR as a teenager: Aragorn and Legolas are still hot, also I am now able to understand I am attracted to Galadriel, Eowyn, and Arwen. Watching LOTR in my twenties: You know what Elrond can kind of get it

[inthiskingdomwewillendure]

[minpage]

Aragorn, son of Arathorn

[eobe]

Hunter is Aragorn 🪶 stop smoking, love – even when it’s Longbottom leaf!

Star Wars The Bad Batch meets The Lord Of The Rings ✨🤩 I browsed through my old teenage pre-blockade artwork folder today and then I saw it right before my sore eyes 👀… and drew it 🫠 There are things where I just can‘t resist. Enjoy 🫶

Have a closer look ✨

Taglist – tell me, do you like LotR? 🫶: @eclec-tech @bixlasagna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @covert1ntrovert @general-ida-raven @vrycurious @dystopicjumpsuit @chaicilatte @groguandthebadbatch @justanotherdikutsimp @ladylucksrogue

@clonethirstingisreal get HUNTERed, dear! 😎✨

@foxwithadarkside we chatted! 🫶

@lonewolflupe hehehe 👀✨ so much crosshatching, love!

[no-one-can-save-you-now12]

I just don't understand boromir haters. Most of them likely haven't even read the books and just because he made a few mistakes in his life he's now unforgivable? They don't even have good reasons, it's just things like "o he tried to kill frodo" or "he was being selfish and wanted the ring for himself" like what?

He did not want the ring for himself. He wanted it to protect his people who very likely had the most damage because they are so close to mordor. And in the books he only commented about it once (except for the end). I love movie boromir but I hate how they make it this huge thing where he just constantly is thinking about the ring. Not to mention he was around the ring for at least two months. There were so many others who gave into the ring after only just seeing it. I think the ring was trying to specifically get him to try and take the ring. Seeing as it probably knew he was the most vulnerable to it because of everything else going on in his life (e.g his people and cities dying, the pressure from his father, everything with faramir, ect,)

Boromir is not a bad person. Yes, he makes mistakes, yes he's prideful. But that doesn't mean you can't forgive him, he repented, and without him where would the fellowship be? Aragorn wouldn't have known what happened to the hobbits, therefore Merry and Pippin would probably be dead. There's just so much he did for the people he loves, and if you think otherwise then that's your loss.

[maccreadysbaby]

part i ; chapter i

❝ inescapable ❞

all chapters linked here

⚔︎

DALE WAS BURSTING WITH THE JOYS AND MERRIMENT OF LIFE. Children ran about the cobblestone streets, bellies full and energy abounding. The jingling of coins came and went from the shops that lined the roads, the entire city humming with a loud overlapping chatter -- people talking, laughing, living their lives to the fullest in a city rebuilt to splendor. Seven and a half decades had passed since their faithful city was rebuilt, and over triple that since the great dragon, Smaug, had left it in ruin. Now, the sun was shining on Dale once more, turning the stone streets gold, making the buildings that lifted high into the sky glow. It was peaceful, it was happy, it was plentiful. The evening sunlight streamed bright enough to grace the farthest buildings with its luminous golden rays -- even buildings like packed-to-the-gills pubs that sat right on the edge of the city, near to the docks, facing Lake-Town.

Beorn's Hollow was roaring with drunken laughter and shouts, as men from Dale, as well as travelers from the lands abroad, lifted the weight from their shoulders by filling themselves with stiff drink. A soft, jazzy tune wafted through the air, dancing and mixing with the smells of cigar smoke and fermented alcohol to make a toxic, tempting cocktail that, once swallowed up by it, few to none could escape. Not until the next morning, at least.

The interior of the building was almost completely coated in dark wood, tables and chairs smushed uncomfortably close together, but not as close together as the seemingly hundreds of bodies that were constantly moving around inside. The bar stood tall in the center, with never a seat open. The overbearing shouts of drunken merriment echoed out onto the blissful streets of Dale for the better half of every evening, drifting into the midnights and fading by morning. It was, to some, the happiest place in all the city.

But not tonight.

Tonight, an unfamiliar cold lay over the pub. And while most of the people inside were too busy drinking and socializing to notice, few did, and few left before the darkness of night fell over the building. Few turned around before they went through the door, with a sudden change of mind, of heart. Right ere midnight, pouring rain, accompanied by lightning, thunder, and a fierce wind rolled over Dale, plunging it into a cold, seldom silence.

Half after midnight, the large, wooden door to the pub swung open, hitting the wall behind with a loud bang and clatter of the decor hanging on it.

Standing in the doorway was a hooded figure, the light inside the pub too dim to illuminate their features. Lightning flashed and boomed outside, turning them into nothing more than a menacing black silhouette.

Little to none batted an eye besides a frazzled bartender who, without as much as an upward glance, shouted: "Oi! Careful with the door!" 

The hooded figure closed the door and scraped the mud off their boots, their head and gaze staying low as they moved. They, covered head to toe in a long, sopping wet brown cloak, seemed to disappear into the chaos of the pub, slinking through the crowd unnoticed until they were seated in one of the farthest, darkest tables. There they sat, alone, silent.

A waitress took a break from circling the pub like a wearied vulture to approach them, her dark eyes trailing about their appearance with a glimmer of suspicion. Her blonde hair was tied up in a messy updo on top of her head that sort of made her look like a strange flower. "And anything for you?"

The figure reached up with a gloved hand, and the waitress visibly stiffened as they tugged the hood of the cloak off their head.

"Oh, Adavera. It's you,"

Now visible for all the eyes in the room to see, the face beyond the dark cloak was not that of a suspicious man, or an exiled elf, but a young woman. Her eyes were like shards of crystal ice, cold and sharp, her brown hair the rich color of a beautiful woodland grove. Her face held the shine of youthfulness, her features petite yet striking, her posture and conduct holding years of experience far beyond her age. 

The waitress sighed lightly, the tenseness in her shoulders fading. "You want your usual?"

"If you'd be so kind. And two more, as well, for I will have visitors," Adavera replied, an small grin tugging upward at her lips, her fluttery falsetto a strange addition to the loud chorus of typical pub sounds. The coldness over the building seemed to warm at her smile, fade at her grin.

The waitress smiled, giving her a little bow, her blonde hair bouncing in its knot atop her head. "Very well."

Adavera turned her gaze down to the candle that sat, flame swaying at the center of the wooden table. Wax was dripping down the side and pooling against the tabletop, filling the crevices like water, like blood. Only a few of the waitress's footsteps met Adavera's ears before the woman turned around again. 

"Oh, and Adavera?"

Their gazes met.

"I'd be careful wearing dark cloaks over your head like that. Rumor has it there's a very dangerous man lurking around the cities. Some people might get the wrong idea from you, become suspicious," She explained softly. 

Adavera cocked a brow, leaning forward on her elbows. "What do you mean, dangerous?"

The waitress glanced around, to make sure none of the other inhabitants were listening, then took a few steps back over toward Adavera's seat. "I don't know for sure, but I've heard lots of talk about a mercenary. An assassin. A paid killer," She started, glancing around warily. "Every now and again someone will die — a clean slit to the throat, poison in a drink, an arrow to the chest, and no one can ever find the killer. He always leaves a symbol on his victims, a wolf, cut into their clothes, into a tree nearby, into the dirt. That's why they refer to him as The Ghost. Because no one's ever seen him before... or at least... no ones lived to tell it."

Adavera straightened uncomfortably in her seat. "Well, I'll be sure to keep my eyes open and my hood down from now on," She said, with a faintly uncomfortable smile. With an equally pained grin, the waitress took another small bow and disappeared back into the roaring crowd.

Adavera's eyes wandered over the room full of shouting people, her gaze lingering on a few of the daunting males in the room. A mercenary. A killer. A Ghost.

It was just as her eyes were drifting over the entry that the door flung open again, thudding against the wall behind it, just like it had when she entered.

"Oi! Watch the damn door!"

Again, the bartender couldn't trouble himself enough to look up, but Adavera paid enough attention for the both of them as a dark, cloaked figure entered from the storm, shutting the door and scraping their boots.

It was a tall person, hidden almost entirely from the rain by a dark cloak, bringing a wave of coldness with them. They rubbed their hands together to fight the winter chill as they moved like a cat through the crowd, going almost completely unnoticed. They moved further and further and further from the door until they were near to Adavera's table, and her eyes followed them closely.

All the way into the chair across from her.

Her hand slipped toward the hilt of a dagger hidden beneath her cloak, her gaze staying completely trained on the stranger's shadowed face. A silent moment passed before they, warily, reached up and tugged off their hood.

Beneath said hood was a pair of swampy green eyes, and some graying hair that Adavera knew all too well. The blank face of a man with nothing if not money and power -- aged by greed and grief and hardened to stone by his line of work.

"Sir Godwyn," She breathed, ducking her head slightly as a form of compliancy. Respect. Submission, toward her employer.

He looked around the pub warily, nose crinkling as though he was too high-class for the place, unclipping his brown cloak and letting it gather by his sides. Adavera watched his cold gaze as it moved, a physical drop in temperature following his pupils around the room.

"Are we waiting for the third member of our party?" She questioned lowly, and he only responded with a curt nod.

With that, the pair fell silent again, Adavera peering around the pub curiously. She watched men with weapons on their backs sit at the bar -- those were most likely wary travelers settling in Dale for the night. The men who came in with a weapon on their back tended to scan the room as though a wolf was lurking somewhere within.

Someone slid into the chair to the left of Adavera.

She hadn't heard or seen him come in.

Glancing over quickly, slightly startled, she took in the third cloaked figure. He was taller than her and Godwyn each by at least a foot, easy. Slowly, he let down the hood of his wet cloak.

Beneath it was an uncommon sight in cities of men like Dale -- the ageless and perfected face of an elf. His features were symmetrical and perfectly placed, as an elf's often were, his grayish-brown eyes, even in the pub, dancing with something that looked oddly like starlight. His hair, raven-dark and silky, cascaded down into his cloak, straight as a pin, tied back out of his face by a myriad of intricate braids and silver clasps.

His eyes full of starlight found hold on Adavera's, and he gave her a quick nod of greeting, which she returned readily.

"Nice of you to show, Cepheus. If not on your own time," Godwyn said lowly, as if Cepheus hadn't arrived mere minutes after himself, scratching at the gray scruff that was growing unevenly on his chin. His eyes kept darting around, to avoid meeting their gazes. "Tell me-"

The three of them glanced up at the waitress when she returned with three plates of dinner food and a trio of ales. Godwyn nodded thanks, and Adavera smiled faintly as the woman passed them the dishes. Her eyes seemed trained on Cepheus -- rightfully so, for no one ever saw an elf in Dale. She put an ale in front of each of them and, with a little bow and one last look at the resident pointy-ear, made a break for it.

Adavera looked down at her hefty plate of a pork chop, corn, and potatoes, then up at the others. Godwyn was staring at his food, blankly, and Cepheus already had his half-pint of ale in his hand, cringing down at the liquid like the waitress had poisoned it. Adavera would've made a joke about their fine elvish wine, had their boss not been sitting right across the table.

Godwyn grabbed his utensils and began to cut at his meat, nodding to himself as he caught the perfectly cooked innards of the pork chop. "Tell me, how was your trip to Erebor?"

Adavera picked up her fork and swirled the potatoes around, leaving small trails in it like a vegetable garden on a hill. She glanced over at Cepheus, and his eyes were already on her, fork in hand, and they stared, deciding who was to speak.

Adavera lost the staring contest to the two big stars the elf had on his face. "It went smoothly," She started near-inaudibly, clearing her throat, looking down at her plate and swirling her fork some more. "No hiccups, no witnesses, not a single suspicion thrown my way. All believe I am perfectly innocent."

"Watcher?" Godwyn's eyes flicked to Cepheus for assurance, and the elf nodded, once. 

"Yes, sir. The dwarves even insisted she take her leave afterwards so as to protect her from whatever lurks within, going as far as telling her to send a missive back when she arrived at Dale to convince them of her safety. They have long since closed their gates."

Godwyn put a bite of meat in his mouth, his green eyes lingering on the elf. "Speak to me pleasantries all you like, you know I will not believe the job is done until I receive a token."

With a quick shared glance between Adavera and Cepheus, the former reached into a bag she was concealing beneath her cloak, retracting her hand with a clipping of hair that had been cut by a knife from someone's head, ruddy and red, with a metal clasp still wrapped around it. She handed it across the table to her employer, who took it readily.

She stayed silent as he examined it, putting a small bite of potatoes in her mouth. She wasn't very hungry anymore.

"And did you leave your token?"

Adavera nodded subtly. "Used one of their forging furnaces to brand it into the dead dwarf's leather tunic. Everyone saw it."

After a moment of quiet contemplation, he nodded. "News of the dreaded dwarf's death has spread to Dale and Laketown. No one suspects a thing. Not from us, anyway," He spoke lowly. He reached into perhaps his own hidden bag and withdrew a large bundle of cloth from it. "Your payment, Ghost."  He whispered the last word with a hint of mirth on his lips.

He handed the large, tied up cloth across the table to Adavera, who readily ignored the nickname and took it instead. She pulled back one edge and peeked inside.

"The king's jewels," She breathed, watching the riches twinkle in the candlelight. "Was I hired by a member of the royal family of Dale?"

Godwyn's eyes trailed down to the cloth. "I will not reveal who hired you. You know this."

Adavera said nothing, and he pulled another bundle from his cloak. "And for the Watcher."

He handed Cepheus the bundle, which looked a little smaller than Adavera's, and the elf nodded once in thanks.

"I have another job for you," Godwyn said, leaning forward. He pulled a paper from inside of his cloak and slid it across the table, between Adavera and Cepheus so they could both see. It held a drawing of a man. He was not an ugly man, mind you -- he was rather well-groomed, with shoulder length hair and a warrior's stoic expression. At the top of the slip was written his name, at the bottom, a bounty of much larger a number than Adavera had expected. "This is Boromir, firstborn son of Denethor the II, heir to the seat of Gondor. And he has a very, very hefty price on his head."

Adavera examined the photograph, taking in his features and the details of his appearance, as did Cepheus. She had been to Gondor twice before, to Minas Tirith, on business. She remembered hearing his name floating around the streets. He was an esteemed warrior. 

"Who is it, that wishes the heir of Gondor to perish?" She spoke softly.

"I must not reveal that to you," Godwyn started, glaring coldly at her. "His whereabouts change frequently, though last I heard he was riding north, from Minas Tirith to Rivendell, with only his steed for company."

Adavera nodded absentmindedly, staring down at the little picture, engraving his appearance into her mind. 

"Perhaps the Ghost can intercept him before his lone journey ends," The man started quietly, and she looked up, their eyes meeting. "If he has arrived at Rivendell ere yourself, I expect no shortness of professionalism as you finish your job in the city. Not even from you, Watcher."

Godwyn gave Cepheus one of his signature glares. "I do realize your kin are within that city, and you must make nothing of it. Remember that it is your job not to be seen."

Cepheus nodded once again, but some of the starlight seemed to be dimming in his brownish irises.

Adavera tapped her fingertips against the tabletop. "Have you any idea how long he has been on the road? It may aid us in deciding if we should try to intercept him or continue hastily to Rivendell."

Godwyn shrugged, shoving a large bite of food in his mouth. "I received word right ere noon from a scout who saw him leaving Minas Tirith. Taking into consideration the time it would take for me to receive the message here in Dale, I suspect he has about a remaining two months journey ahead of him if he keeps at a steady pace. You should restock and leave ere sunrise, for if you ride through the nights, through Mirkwood and over the Misty Mountains, you may be able to catch him yet. Keep your tokens close, for I have many scouts on your path."

Adavera's hand trailed to the inside neckline of her cloak, which held a small wolf, embroidered in white — the mark of Godwyn's employees. The same one Cepheus had on the inside of his cloak, and their boss, as well. The same one Adavera left on every single target she killed. She met Godwyn's cold gaze again, but instead of speaking, she nodded, glancing down at the picture of the valiant warrior. Her eyes then trailed up to Cepheus, who looked up at her, and for a moment, they stared.

Cutting the heir of Gondor off before he could arrive at Rivendell. It wasn't the hardest job they'd ever had, but it wouldn't be the easiest. The slightest incorrect calculation could lead their timing astray and throw the whole thing off balance. Adavera wasn't sure who or why someone wanted Boromir, son of Gondor, dead, but she couldn't help the pang of pity that struck through her quickly, like lightning. Like it always did when she got a new job, when she examined various drawings of perfectly happy souls with unfathomable prices below their heads.

But, as always, she was painfully good at putting up a facade.

With an exhale, she pulled her hood up and stood, leaving her full plate of food and cup of drink on the table. She grabbed the slip of paper and tucked it away her bag. 

"Then I must get preparing. I give you my word-" She started, grabbing some money from her pouch and leaving it on the table for their food and drink. She looked up at her boss, then at Cepheus, a small grin flashing across her features. "-The son of Gondor shall die to no blade if it is not my own."

She was as silent leaving the pub as she was coming in.

⚔︎

tag list!

@inkedmoth

[autistook]

The Lord of the Rings: the Fellowship of the Ring

[nvd94]

All that is gold does not glitter,

Not all those who wander are lost;

The old that is strong does not wither,

Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

From the ashes a fire shall be woken,

A light from the shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall be blade that was broken,

The crownless again shall be king.

I love drawing young Aragorn strolling around in Rivendell