{Text: Locked to Seelie Court | He's Using Faramir's Locket}

[rangerandking]

I have lost my Locket and I wish to replace it with another communication's device. {Lost, yes. That's easier to say than "it was taken from me because I died".} I would be most grateful for some guidance. I will pay what price you set, though if it requires physical strength, it will have to wait until I am healed.

I thank you for your consideration and I wish you well,

Aragorn II Elessar

{Additional Info: The Locket is being held by one of the Elves (Arwen?) for him, which is how he is able to use it.}

Comments

love the tl;dr <3

[rangerandking]

{Something positive is bound to happen eventually. They need to weather the storm.}

You have my sympathy. {He takes a generous sip of water, grateful for the cool rush down his battered throat. As Nuada speaks, he sets the glass down and rests a hand on the Elf's shoulder, expression solemn.}

No one suspects that their neighbors will betray them. I can understand your hatred. {Though his tone clearly says he doesn't approve of giving into said hatred. It is a dangerous emotion that has sparked many wars.} What was this army comprised of? You said it was a great weapon...

{A strange way to describe living creatures. He tilts his head and sighs, feeling torn. On one hand, he knows why the High King took pity on the mortals, but, on the other...}

He should have created a contingency. Blind trust is dangerous. {Nuada may not be nice; that's okay. Aragorn sees where his anger stems and it is a sad history of hatred and bitterness.}

The memory of Man is short. Many would not remember your cause or your race. {Tragically.} But there might be some... I urge you to seek for them. A path of hatred and revenge can only end with your death. I believe you deserve better.

have moar <3

[bethmoras]

[ I don't want your sympathy.

Nuada comes so very close to spitting it out, denying that he could be someone to be sympathized with, by a human no less, but the sudden presence of a hand on his shoulder thoroughly distracts the sidhe. He tenses beneath it, muscles coiling automatically to strike. Aragorn is a perfect target; he's injured, settled in bed, and no match for the elf king even with a strain of superior breeding running through his veins.

And yet --

the blow never comes. It is stayed, tension dissolving oh-so-slowly from broad shoulders until nothing is left but a smoldering gaze. That, too, is banked after another couple of seconds. He says nothing for a time, just listening to the silence between them. Then, a nod. ]

Thank you.

[ He stalls a moment longer by fetching a glass of water for himself. ]

Magic and mechanics, a labor the goblins excel at. They are immense, beautiful creations of gears and gadgets, self-repairing, unstoppable once awoken; aptly named the Golden Army. Only those of royal birth may command them.

[ So, not exactly 'living', depending on your definition. ]

Yes, he should have. I probably should have, but you do not ... my father's word might as well have been set in stone once he came to a decision. Man's memory may be short, but ours are not. They should have remembered.

[ They had, when he'd surfaced at the auction. Remembered and screamed and died. But Aragorn probably does not want to hear that particular tale. ]

It is their race or the ones I protect. Humans who finally understand the depths of their folly are too few, ignored by thoes who encourage the ravaging of the world for ambition and power. I doubt even Nuala could make them listen now. [ He slants a look at the ranger. ] Why do you believe that? You do not know me, or my ... [ The glass of water is set down so that he can hold up his palms. ] These hands are stained with enough blood to fill a riverbed. You do not know me.