1. It was disconcerting, to feel the cold at a greater degree than he ever had before. His cloak was warm enough to protect him, the white fox fur of his collar shielding his cheeks from the worst of the winds. His hair, secured under the hood, did not whip about in the wind. The circlet of his office, silver and set with some white, shining gem, was cold against his forehead.
Was this what a mortal felt, then? Was this why they could not hear the song of the earth, nor educate themselves, or think beyond their own needs? It was certainly an excellent theory as to why Men were as they were.
Even his lips were chilled. He wanted the warmth of some hot drink—he wanted a chance to step inside, but the armored Man had told him to stay here, and he had full intention to pull an explanation out of someone as to where he was, for this was like no Mannish city he had ever seen.
A sharp, elegant, utterly careless gesture—well practiced, one might summarize—called the attention of one person walking by. “Hail. Might you tell me where there is mulled wine to be found?”
3. [ she is shy, and the weight on her leg confusing, stymieing her flight. worse yet, she does not speak the language of her sisters in arda, and thranduil has no other avenue than trying out words, slow and careful, until she does understand.
but she is clever, of course, she is a raven, and his praises as to the color of her plumage and the curve of her beak were not untrue.
thranduil stands below her, arm out in the traditional falconcer's stance, forearm offered as a new perch, a better perch. she caws, once or twice, shifts- and he thinks he has her, only for the door to the barn to slam shut, and she to flee to a higher rafter in fright.
thranduil turns on his heel, sharp and quick, addressing the intruder with little sympathy in his tone, and less measure of patience. ]
Your carelessness has cost me the work of half an hour.
[ never mind that he's had-- literally hundreds of thousands of those, and an uncountable number remaining. ]
thranduil oropherion || the tolkiens
Was this what a mortal felt, then? Was this why they could not hear the song of the earth, nor educate themselves, or think beyond their own needs? It was certainly an excellent theory as to why Men were as they were.
Even his lips were chilled. He wanted the warmth of some hot drink—he wanted a chance to step inside, but the armored Man had told him to stay here, and he had full intention to pull an explanation out of someone as to where he was, for this was like no Mannish city he had ever seen.
A sharp, elegant, utterly careless gesture—well practiced, one might summarize—called the attention of one person walking by. “Hail. Might you tell me where there is mulled wine to be found?”
3. [ she is shy, and the weight on her leg confusing, stymieing her flight. worse yet, she does not speak the language of her sisters in arda, and thranduil has no other avenue than trying out words, slow and careful, until she does understand.
but she is clever, of course, she is a raven, and his praises as to the color of her plumage and the curve of her beak were not untrue.
thranduil stands below her, arm out in the traditional falconcer's stance, forearm offered as a new perch, a better perch. she caws, once or twice, shifts- and he thinks he has her, only for the door to the barn to slam shut, and she to flee to a higher rafter in fright.
thranduil turns on his heel, sharp and quick, addressing the intruder with little sympathy in his tone, and less measure of patience. ]
Your carelessness has cost me the work of half an hour.
[ never mind that he's had-- literally hundreds of thousands of those, and an uncountable number remaining. ]
wildcard.
make ur own or pm for a specific prompt.