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

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

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.}

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[Just because he's learned to read, it doesn't mean he has to write. So he gets answered out loud.]

You lost it. How?

I fell on the field of battle. {Which is why he isn't using voice or video, because he sounds and looks great.}

[ He thinks for some time before replying, favoring voice over the use of text. ]

I may have one available for your use, but there are certain conditions that come with it.

I am listening. {Intently and doing as the Healers say for once. His vocal chords need to heal.}

It belonged to my sister, and carries both her name and image, neither of which can be changed. She would want it to be used, if you are interested.

[ The sidhe's voice is quiet, casual, almost diffident. As if Aragorn's choice means very little to him. ~~This is not exactly true.~~ ]

You would {This is a great honor and he knows it, so he switches to video, looking pale and bandaged. His voice is hoarse when he speaks.} I do not wish to part you from it. She was important to you.

[ Pale eyebrows shoot straight up at the sight Aragorn makes across the connection. ]

I can bear to be parted from a useful tool. [ He hesitates, somewhat uncomfortable. ] Where are you?

{Decapitation is but one of the wounds he bears, though, fortunately, and thanks to Seelie magic, his head now sits firmly on his neck.}

The home of the Elves in the mountains.

[ The eyebrows stay up. ]

That makes things less difficult.

[ Or more, depending on how things go in the near future. ]

How well do you know your way around? Unless you are in recovery, in which case I can find you.

They will not let me travel. {Them being the Elvish Healers.} If you make the journey, my rooms are at your disposal.

{Thranduil basically gave him a whole wing. It's the least he can offer for Nuada's kindness.}

I am already in the mountain, my lord. Though not for very long - only since the attack on Caer Glaem.

[ Another pause. Deliberately being nice to a mortal is new for him. ]

Do you feel up to receiving a visitor, or shall we continue to converse over the channel? Whichever will tire you less.

I would welcome your company, Lord Nuada. {He gets stir crazy every time Arwen leaves the room. This has been hard on her and there's nothing he can do about it. A distraction from his guilt will be nice.}

Please stay with us if you so desire. This is a haven for all Elves and those they consider friends.

Then I will see you shortly.

[ He closes the connection without further ado, because what is polite, and makes his way down to the Healers. It honestly doesn't take all that long -- occasionally it helps to ask directions -- and soon enough Nuada strides in, garbed in his customary black, and flanked by a couple of guards. After a moment of indecision, he opts to settle near Aragorn's bed, leaning forward to let Nuala's locket slide from his palm onto the covers. ]

Lord Aragorn. There is your communication device, until such time as you find a more suitable one.

... How are you feeling?

{Politeness requires more words, so it's probably best if he's concise. The Healers have more or less left him to rest - the pain-killers are numbing any discomfort he might be feeling - but he is awake and alert, propped up against some pillows.

Very carefully, he lifts the Locket and smiles weakly. Happy expressions haven't come easily to him since he awoke in the Seelie crypts, but this deserves a hint of warmth.}

I shall return it to you once I find a replacement. No harm will come to it, you have my word.

{He inhales slowly, his throat raw.}

I fell during the first battle. I do not recall being beheaded... {He touches the bandage around his neck.} But this wound speaks volumes.

[ It is a far different picture that the ranger offers than the last conversation shared with the elf prince. Nuada is not pleased, judging by the expression on his face - a combination of subtle anger, a little pity, and maybe some dismay at the fact he even cares. ]

It does and I like it not. Rest assured no one will come after you here, I will post a watch at your door to make sure of it. Take all the time you need to ... heal.

[ He straightens up, shoulders braced against the chair's back. ]

Would you care for something to eat, or drink, while we talk?

{His point of view has changed too, but he has to heal before he can take a step down that road. It's dangerous to defy Fae Monarchs and he doesn't wish to drag anyone down with him.

The grey of his eyes softens at the words of comfort and he, once more, marvels at the kindness of those brought to the Drabwurld.

Why must they torment us?}

She will not travel such a distance to fight me again. I was simply in her way. {And he stubbornly refused to move.} Something to drink, perhaps, for both of us?

[ It seems everyone's point of view is subject to change, the longer they are a resident -- unwilling or otherwise -- of this world. Nuada watches the emotions play out in Aragorn's gaze and wonders at it. He would be annoyed to be thought of as kind, for this behavior, this consideration for someone not of his people, should be an anomaly.

That kind of behavior better suits his sister.

But he does not remark of it, merely turning to one of the guards and asking them to fetch some hot tea and whatever else the wounded human may desire. The other guard is directed just outside the door, far enough away to allow for some privacy, and close enough to be effective. ]

Should she try, the elves of the mountain will be ready for her. We protect our own.

You are a strange one, Lord Aragorn. I have never met anyone quite like you.

{He tucks Nuala's Locket into his pocket and shifts, raising himself into a better position. His chest and side ache and his hands sting, but those are minor annoyances compared to what he felt the entire ride from the crypt to the Elven fortress.}

I will show my gratitude once I regain my strength.

{Honors are never ignored.}

There are not many like me left even in Middle Earth. {His lips twitch, slightly amused.} I am one of the Dunédain, a descendant of the Elf Lord Elros. He chose mortality and thus led the way to many strong, long ruling Kings of Men.

[ A look of exasperation settles briefly on Nuada's face. Gratitude from a mortal is just as uncomfortable for him as being nice to them, and he wonders -- again -- why his sister bothers with doing so time and time again. It's almost exhausting. ]

Elf blood, of course. [ Disappointed? A little. Apparently it is too much to hope for one human to display true honor. But Aragorn has said something else that elicits interest. ]

How could an elf lord choose mortality? We are ageless, or a close approximation, until killed. Explain this to me.

Edited 2015-02-19 16:09 (UTC)

Someone nicked it off you while you were down?

[he says 'fell', but he's clearly alive enough now to not have died.]

Not exactly. It was taken by the Seelie Monarchy to punish me for dying.

{But he did. And it hurt.}

{He pointedly ignores the exasperation, sensing that whatever connection he can have with Nuada is a thin, fragile bond. He has no desire to break it prematurely or otherwise.}

Lord Elrond and Lord Elros are of the Peredhil. They are Half-Elven; the blood of the Edain - Men - and the Eldarin - Elves - are mixed within their veins. Therefore they were given a choice as to who they would call family. Elrond chose the Elves and Elros chose Men.

[Seven hells. Dead? But still alive. In this place it certainly seemed possible, but all the same...]

Being dead ought to be punishment enough. What's it matter to them if you've got a locket?

{Welcome to the nasty truth about the Drabwurld, Gendry.}

It is their way of forcing me away from court. I am not one who can return home.

{But he never believed their talk about the Shard being their connection with their home world anyway.}

[ It's a good tactic to take with Nuada. His sister has employed the art of ignoring his moods for centuries, if not thousands of years. Which she would no doubt impart to the Man if she were there. And to her brother, who is gingerly stepping into territory he has ignored for thousands of years. ]

A choice. That is ... a generous gift from your gods. [ He has known several offspring of Man and Tuatha De, and being able to make such a choice might have saved them much heartache in the end. Even if all those who are not pure deity die in the end. ]

And you are descended from such a unique union. [ Just so he has all facts correct. ] Do Men not fear and slay those who are older, different, in your world? It is difficult for me to imagine.

Edited 2015-02-22 07:01 (UTC)

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

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