#v:ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍʏ sᴡᴏʀᴅ

[telcxntar-a]

    — - @simplywalks

         Alas, Amon Hen: the Fellowship had broken upon the shores of the ancient Anduin; with blood and pain and shattered promise they had been split. The Ringbearer and his faithful Gardener had gone to carry their burden, and only HOPE flew with them now; Merry and Pippin carried away, their only HOPE lying in the swords and arrows of those behind; Legolas and Gimli, an unlikely yet STALWART pair, going ahead and tracking, relentless hunters. 

        And then were the two left behind, for Aragorn could not in good conscious leave a companion so WOUNDED and alone. The arrow had been vicious, but not MORTAL, and he had been swift to keep it from being so.  

        The evening fire burned low, scarcely more than coals; orcs still patrolled these hills. Had they all been well he would have not have it burning at all, but there were much more pressing needs for the fire than comfort. 

         He knelt alongside Boromir with a cup held between his hands, still warm from the fire and the liquid inside warm enough that it steamed into the evening air. It smelled of Kingsfoil; sweet and subtle, dried herbs swirling through the water, and it was this he pressed into the Captain’s hands.

        ❝ You must drink, ❞ said he, soft and insistent and not without compassion, but it was firm. Distantly, the Falls of Rauros crashed eternal over the rocks.  ❝ It will help the pain. ❞   

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                            @simplywalks - cont. 

           Unlike: perhaps. But the ranger had many aspects to him, and many of those were slow to make themselves known to any who were not close. He was rarely one who spoke from the heart with anything but fire. Grey-blue eyes, endlessly and ever heavy with the weight of so many worlds, met the captain’s, and a crooked smile followed — instead of immediate words, though, his hand eased, fingers pressing flat against Boromir’s chest. The faintest of smiles came, crooked and not without a heaviness to it that told tales of thoughts left unsaid. ❝ You flatter me;  but you do know I could accuse you of the same, son of Gondor. ❞ 

           Instead of lingering upon words: he leaned in, and O, let it ne’er be said that he did things halfway; the kiss was first offered, with the scarcest touch of lips that tested (almost teased), and then claimed with something that was heart-achingly sincere — but O, certainly not lacking in want. 

[telcxntar-a]

                    — - @halconath

         The beginning of their journey had been so fraught with peril! Nazgûl had near ended their quest before it had a chance to begin, but FATE had a way seeing them through. Now, they rested in Rivendell; a great council had been called to decide what the future would hold ( though he felt in his very bones that whatever decision was to be made, his future was tightly entwined with it ).

         And yet: of ALL who followed the summons to come to the Valley, there was one yet he had waited to see above many — and he excused himself upon the first opportunity, down to the pathways that glittered with the warmth of waning evening light — to find the one he had HOPED to find upon these paths.  ❝ Mae tollen, Legolas, ❞ said he, quietly, but not without the faintest of a smile and the touch of knuckles to his own chest in quiet greeting. ❝ Anann gen ú-gennin. ❞ The barest pause, and with a quiet emphasis:  ❝ It is good to see you. ❞

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❛ if we must die, we’ll die. but… we’ll stay free. ❜

. @maethorcaun .

       The exile King’s gaze is hard to read this night; his weight is leaned hard upon the parapet to the keep, calloused palms gripped tight against stone so old and ancient that even the pitted scars of past wars are worn smooth. 

       His cloak stirs ‘round his ankles, and he HEARS his friend speak but does not look his way. ❝ There are worse fates than death, ❞ he says, low, but it doesn’t sound like disagreement. The words come soft, low, not meant to carry beyond their ears. ❝ But I fear them not. It is not our death that the morning will bring. ❞ A glance finally follows, and though he does not smile, the look in his eye is not unkind, and nor is it angry — but it IS resolute. ❝ These men have more fight in them than you credit them for. ❞ 

[telcxntar-a]

Sneaks up on.

           meme - accepting

            ‘twas not often a Ranger could be caught off guard — even in the quiet and safe halls of the Last Homely House. He had been leafing through an old text Gandalf had, in all his wisdom, insisted he read, though he had gleaned little from it yet. Though, the sudden appearance of his old friend startled him out of his reading with a quick glance up and a muffled curse, but any surprise was quickly replaced with a faint and warm smile. 

                 ❝ Ai, Bilbo! You are as silent as ever. I heard tell of your journey here. ❞

[telcxntar-a]

          The Ranger has found some peace in these days of endless travel, and despite all the worry that gnaws at him — he at least has the knowledge that the Hobbits are safe and his friends, at least at this point in time, all whole. War still snaps and bites at their heels, but for THIS night, they are safe, and he must take what he can. 

          But that is not the only reason he is at ease, and he knows this now. For the longest time of their journeys, it was not something he would acknowledge; it was TOO HARD and too foreign a thing, and ‘twas easy to merely let it be what it was without complication. And now he finds himself here, in easy relaxation, taking those scarce few moments they ever had to just be — fingers crawl up and down Boromir’s still-clothed back, low hum of a song without word in his throat, and he’s aware he’s a little too warm as he’s laid upon so, and his own leg is surely falling asleep —

          But he has seen this man of Gondor who had captured his heart so fiercely sleep soundly so little since those early days of injury ( perhaps even the early days of Fellowship ) and he is loathe to move. ( There is still far too much to be done, and fear still curls in the very pit of his stomach when he thinks of it. They face much, so much, and at times it seems overwhelming— )

          He grounds himself, and he just lets a long breath go. He allows himself to look down, and to smile, and to find peace in these quiet hours. Eventually — too soon — they would be forced to stir, but that hour was not upon them yet. And so he just drew his lover close, and allows a small, soft smile to come.  ❝ Loro vae, ❞ he murmurs, so soft as to barely be audible at all, and just let these moments carry him slowly to his own sleep — and the moon drew higher, higher, higher, and for at least one night, the world around them allowed for peace.

[telcxntar-a]

❛ i discovered i had a heart because it was broken. ❜

            red dead redemption starters - not accepting

            Every bone, muscle, fiber in his body feels ripped apart. It burns for rest — he feels both more alive than he has ever been and like he is a breath away from death even so. For all he had fought, for all the close calls he had — ne’er had he felt so close to eternity than these moments. 

            It is the first private moment they could have, and even so, it is likely destined to be BRIEF: war yet thundered on their doorstep, and the clamor in the halls is ripe with fear and worry. He feels pulled in so many directions; a heart laying with this Captain of Gondor and a heart that is becoming a leader of MEN.

            It aches for all of them, but now that look that Boromir gives him — that causes his chest to ache for him most of all. War and such things are a hell that never ceases. 

           There is stark exhaustion on his features — ragged hair, torn clothes, still filthy with river mud, sweat, and blood. His eyes are a bright, almost feverish blue, and he rests a hand on Boromir’s shoulder before that hand slides up to his neck — thumb brushing cheek. ❝ Ai, Boromir - It would take more than a warg to fell me. ❞ It would be more humored, but the smile is tight and a wince follows, fleeting but well-guarded — ruefully, he considers that a rib may be broken. ❝ I am sorry for worrying you so. ❞ 

[telcxntar-a]

tries to make them laugh.  [from frodes]

         meme - accepting

        It did not quite hit the mark; his humor was not an easy thing to stir, especially when so burdened with other thoughts. The Hobbits — O, how carefree they were, and how unburdened with the trials of life outside the Shire! He knew they were frightened, and he knew they huddled together in fear and uncertainty of the beyond ( though at least they had grown to trust him more than those early days ).

       Frodo was wiser than the other three, in his own way; the others carried their strengths, but the Ringbearer had a far greater awareness of the task before them — and Strider admired his tenacity and dedication to keeping them all strong. Even he — though this recognition by itself made him realize his inclination towards brooding and melancholy affected more than just he. 

        He managed a smile; he was rested upon a rock, jutting prominently over a stretch of clearing, wrist resting upon knee and lit pipe dangling haphazard from his fingers. ❝ My thoughts were elsewhere, ❞ said he, voice quiet with contrition for more than just almost missing Frodo’s reaching for companionship. In it, too, was silent invitation to join, present more in the shift of his weight than any overt gesture. 

                             ❝ — - tell me more of this; Pippin did what? ❞

[telcxntar-a]

tries to make them laugh.

          meme - accepting

           MUCH still rested heavily on his mind; far too much still lay ahead of them in coming days. Heavier had his duties become, and he felt that weight more and more every passing day. 

           He had grown fond of the shieldmaiden, for her SPIRIT was one he knew well.  There were few that could pull his mind from the thoughts that he had become so mired in, but she indeed was one of the few. 

            — and so, at her words, he smiles, gives a low chuckle, and lets his attention be swept fully to her and away of thoughts of war. ❝ Is that so? I would not have thought it to be, but you know better than I! ❞

[telcxntar-a]

he wraps hands around him and tugs him close. from in front of him, he presses his face into his neck, and tucks their hips together. [from legolas]

            Distantly, there are sounds of war. Nay, not close by, not immediate, but war was on their doorstep, and the man who would be King is UNEASY and restless. His brush with death has left him bruised and battered, but he still could barely take time to rest — it has always been this way on the eve of battle. 

           He is scarcely at his best, this man who returned from the lost. Even cleaned up, he still smells of horse and pipeweed and steel, and there is something that is keenly aware of the way Legolas has greeted him and interrupted his pacing — something different, something charged, and it leaves his heart beating fast. 

           Most times, he would say something: he would allow frustrations to vent, he would let out all of those troubled thoughts that battered at his mind. But this time — O, this time is different. This time, Legolas knows — he already knows. He knows that pain that courses through him ( then I will die as one of them! ); words will say little more than is already known.

            He stands there and breathes for a moment, breathing deeply of all he knows and loves and is ever doomed to change. But then, hands move to pull the ellon CLOSER and presses his lips against his ear — scratch of beard against soft skin — and lifts a hand to draw him into a kiss that he drowns, drowns, drowns in, sinking and falling and crashing against the weight of it all and for once just letting his guard tumble and fall into pieces. 

[telcxntar-a]

@hisburden

        The low fire crackled warmly in the evening air, woodsmoke coiling softly through the trees. ❝ Surely, ❞ he mused once the others had gone, a quiet and faint smile upon one corner of his mouth –– for the others had been telling tales ‘round the fire of Gondor, of the Misty Mountains, of Mirkwood. Most had gone their separate ways for the night, but even this Ranger of the North was not above the faintest teasing: ❝ There are some tales that are told around the Shire. You have been quiet this eve, Master Baggins. ❞ 

[telcxntar-a]

"Why shouldn’t I keep it?” omg frodo no

Lord of the Rings Starters - Not Accepting

           The words –– O, THOSE words –– they sparked a tight feeling of unease in his chest like none other. ❝ You mustn’t. ❞ His voice was scarcely above a whisper –– but fierce in his belief and adamance. He turned, cloak brushing against his shins, and dropped to a kneel –– hands CLASPING the Hobbit’s shoulders, gentle yet firm. 

           ❝ It poisons the mind of its owner, Frodo. NOTHING good can come of it; its destruction is the ONE weapon we have. ❞ His features softened, but there was still the barest wrinkle between his brows, grey-blue eyes seeking to catch those of the Hobbit in entreaty to HEAR those words. ❝ It is naught but evil. Look what it has done to Gollum, what it did to Isildur –– it will betray you. It must be destroyed. ❞

[telcxntar-a]

“I am coming with you.”

Lord of the Rings Starters - Not Accepting

            ❝ So I have heard. ❞ In truth, it WORRIED him more than he would let on –– these Hobbits who were so unused to the Shadows that lay before them volunteering so readily for this quest. If it had not been for Elrond’s FAITH in them, he would have protested their going more firmly. 

            His brows furrowed ever-so-slightly, a query somewhere in them, and he passed along a share of their rations and supplies.  ❝ You have followed him already where most would not, Merry; no one would think less of you if you went back to the Shire. Are you certain? There will be no turning back once we leave. ❞

[telcxntar-a]

✮ = stargazing.

Send One For My Muse’s Reaction To –– -  // Not Accepting

            These Halls were so QUIET this eve; the very air that they breathed was heavy with both victory and loss –– of a battle WON and a battle yet to come. And yet, for this moment, the world was silent –– and for that, at least, Aragorn was grateful. 

            The night sky was clear, but how were they ever to forget those distant threats that loomed so on their horizons? It was a WEIGHT upon them all. 

            The hour ‘twas late; he had not expected to find another on the balcony as he stepped outside. He did not recognize the figure immediately, so dark was it even with the faint light of moon and stars. It did not take long, though, and as he stepped closer an intentional soft scuff of a heel against the stone underfoot gave warning to his approach. 

            ❝ The night is fair, ❞ said he, voice quiet as a hand came to rest upon the railing; a keen eye, though, was cast sidelong to the youngest son of Denethor. ❝ Though I sense that your thoughts wander far from it. ❞ 

[telcxntar-a]

▤ = falling asleep on them.

Send One For My Muse’s Reaction To –– - 

          The days had been long, fraught with danger and hard travel; Rivendell was still many days from where they were, and the going was not easy. Roads were avoided at all cost, and though HE was not unfamiliar with the wilds –– he knew well that the Halflings had never seen such things, but their constitutions were strong and their will stronger, and they had IMPRESSED him much in these past days. 

          The night was deep upon them, the chill of evening fog settling thick about him. He rested with his back against the tree, taking long pulls from the pipe as he had answered all the sleepless Ringbearer’s questions that eve –– tales and stories of from whence the Ring had come, fading eventually into the old stories of the world before. 

          ❝ –– - and so then ‘twas said that he –– Frodo? ❞ At last he looked down, having felt the easing of the Hobbit’s weight against him; a brow rose, and he just gave a smile, scarce, to see the Halfling had finally let himself succumb to rest. His arm stirred, and with near-fatherly care, he dropped the edge of his cloak ‘round the Hobbit to keep away the chill. 

          ❝ Rest well, ❞ he mused, some flicker of amusement in his eyes, and then his eyes returned to their vigil on those distant stars –– dots of light upon the midnight sky, their brilliant constellations peaceful and quiet and yet somehow so cold and far away.  

[telcxntar-a]

☮ = waking them up after a nightmare. ( you know exactly what this is B] )

Send One For My Muse’s Reaction To –– - // Accepting

           THE HALLS OF HEALING were busy this eve; despite the victory over Pelennor Fields, there had been prices paid, blood spilled: they had emerged victorious, ‘twas true, but victory was never paid without sacrifice. 

           Aragorn had lent his hand to their cause; with knuckles still bruised, with limbs sore and aching, with the song of battle having long left his heart and replaced it with a weariness he felt in his very bones: he had aided those in these Halls, sitting at bedsides and luring those away from the shadow that threatened to claim them. 

           At last, though, the Halls were quiet: it was the quiet of a breath held before exhalation, the silence of a balanced knife before it fell –– but it was quiet, and the only sounds that were uttered within it were the sighs and mutterings of sleep. 

           And yet –– still he was awake. 

           The sweet smell of athelas still clung to his hands and clothes, and there was blood dried on his tunic that was not his nor that of foes. And yet, as he cleaned his hands and prepared to leave to at last rest ––

           This White Lady of Rohan, so gravely wounded to near death –– she had stirred, and within that stirring was the sound of a soft distress. His brows pulled down, a shadow across his eyes –– and he dried his hands, making his way with quiet footfalls to her bedside, where he knelt and placed a hand –– scarcely a ghost of a touch –– to her arm, and there came something pained to his features: his voice, though, was quiet and calm, barely even enough to reach her own ears. ❝ Be at ease; your battle has been won. ❞