2 ☼ video / open to both courts

[atoned]

[ zuko is not going to tearbend. ]

[ he may have found toph's shard, tucked safely away where no one, not even reynard, would be able to steal it, and her metal bracelet, worn around his thin wrist, but he will not tearbend. he knows what it means. toph never abandons him, not even when he's annoyed her until she starts calling him sparky just to see him grit his teeth and steam pour from his ears. toph's the one thing in drabwurld that actually stayed — and it's his fault she's gone. even though it's completely and utterly irrational, guilt eats away at him for leaving her alone, believing his own treachery to the unseelie court would only require him to complete a personal quest to see to it his honour is restored. but toph's gone — save for her metal bracelet, the one he never really had seen her take off. had they stripped her of that before they'd taken her, too? he doesn't plan on keeping her bracelet, determined to give it back to her once he finds her again. but it's better to be worn on his person than to be left in his suite, the imps' feet running closer and closer to his door with each passing day he lingers in drabwurld — either at the station or in caer scima. ]

[ his expression is a permanent scowl. two imps can be seen running from him outside the castle of caer scima, their behinds burnt and some of their hair still caught aflame. they keep shouting we don't know where toph is!, but it only seems to make zuko angrier, hands balling into tight fists. in toph's honour, he sends a blast of fire along the grass, slithering quickly toward them like a serpent, to see to it they shriek and jump high into the air. ]

Toph's gone. The imps didn't take her, but I don't believe them.

[ he's not sure what to even believe anymore. he can barely believe in himself, and that's already a can of worms he's trying to shove the lid back on. ]

[ petulantly, he utters, ] Whatever. [ it's not like it matters; he doesn't even know if anyone outside of those in the unseelie even know toph. do they just think he's saying tough? she'd laugh at that; he grits his teeth. anyone would find their life was made ten times better just by her being around. they'd arrived in drabwurld together, they were meant to leave together. ]

[ it appears as though he's about to blast a tree, or even his own locket, held as though another is merely directing it, but he doesn't. much louder, ] I hate this place.

[ and he leans forward to grab his locket and tosses it as far as he can, shooting a thick burst of flame at it as the imp that had been recording him scampers away, its body seen blurred by the camera tumbling into darkness. ]

[ for anyone at caer scima, zuko's in the bailey, sitting against a willow tree, sulking. either he wears his frown, arms crossed against his chest, or he's looking at his locket, as if contemplating burning it until it's ash, even though it seems almost indestructible against his fire. if toph were here ... well, she's not. and he's not chasing any imps or playing practical jokes (nor is he going to the feast later today to do such a thing) on anyone because of that very reason. ]

{Video/After the Feast: Open to Seelie & Unseelie}

[rangerandking]

There is a magic here that I have never encountered in all of my journeys across Middle Earth. I do not know what to call it or even where it originates. {His anger over having been taken from the final battle at the Black Gate has diminished. In its place, Aragorn looks solemn and paler than usual.} I can only ask that it returns me from whence I came. It is of the utmost importance that I do not -

{For the first time, his voice cracks and he falls silent.}

There is a battle. It will decide the fate of my world. If I do not fight within it; if I do not lend my strength to my men, more of them will perish. {Perhaps they will lose heart. Perhaps all of them will die in the face of their greatest fear. All of the possibilities are incredibly grim.} I must return.

My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn and I am the rightful heir to the throne of Gondor. My place is with my people and my friends.

{No feast can distract him; food is naught but a texture against his tongue. Now isn't the time for joy and festivities. Rather, his entire attention is fixed upon that which he can't see anymore.

The Black Gate.

How far has he been transported? And by what sorcery? He holds onto his sword - the reforged Narsil - tightly, ready and waiting to draw it free from its sheathe.}

first snowball ❅ video (open to both courts; post feast)

[winterwork]

[There's a boy with white hair, quite obviously rather young however, staring with eyes blue and wide, a curiosity coursing through him as he peeks through closely. There's a moment where he seems quite anxious, as if he's unable to speak, but as he pulls back, it passes fast, a notable smile blooming suddenly on his face. The video shakes from his apparent bouncing, peering into the locket with nervous excitement.]

Hello! The name's Jack Frost, and if you can hear me, if you can see me—I really hope you can see me—please say something, anything, really.

[Fifteen years and he's only ever spoken to another spirit or two. Oh, how he longs for conversation! To be able to hear responses to questions, laughter towards his jokes, anything to let him know that he's heard, that he's seen.

He lifts a hand, hesitating for a beat before a small wave of frost lifts from his finger tips and he blows it forward. A hearty laugh soon follows, quite pleased with the act.]

I don't know much about what's going on out there, but I've got a huge stash of ammo for the best snowball fight you'll experience in ages. Heck, we can even go ice skating or sledding! We'll slide down hills or even mountains of snow. Anything goes.

[His smile grows ever wider with talk of his plans, a slight excited laugh escaping him as he continues to gaze with delight.] Look, wherever you are, it doesn't matter—I can get you one of the best snow days of your life. You'll have a blast. I promise.

first dream. video -> text. | unlocked

[climbed]

[ the video is at first, accidental--simply because bran was repeating what the fairies had told him when the locket was placed in his hands. what eachdraidh is presented with is not the face of a boy, but the snout and eyes of a very large wolf, looking into the locket as if he could see straight through it. ]

That isn't--Summer, to me-- [ the video jostles for a moment, just long enough to show a blurry, shaky image, as if the locket was being carried by someone and left to dangle. the image is of a boy, maybe eight or nine years old, with curly brown hair and piercing blue eyes. he looks surprised to see his own face in the locket, and when he lunges forward, it's only with his hands, as if he couldn't move otherwise from where he seemed to be seated against a pillar.

(he couldn't.)

the feed cuts off for a moment, before it's replaced with the text function. if it wasn't for the dictation of the lockets, bran wouldn't be able to speak with this, surely, but he watches it move with fascination as he speaks into it. ]

I seek someone who could carry a boy great distances.
My companion might have wandered off
But he only speaks his name, and is very large.
else, I would ask for help, with only kindnesses to spare in return.
I am at the castle the fairy called Caer Glaem, and I would like to move to the room they have granted me.

Thank you

[ bran doesn't like asking for help. he's never liked it, but losing his legs forced the young wolf to learn to trust people, even when he didn't want to. all he could do was hope that meera or jojen or hodor had simply wandered off, and that once he was moved to somewhere safe, he could search the castle through summer's eyes, instead.

if reached before response, bran can be found sitting up against a pillar. summer is a fair distance away, but not so far--the moment someone approaches, the large wolf steps protectively in front of the boy, ears pinned back, nose ready to curl up in a snarl. ]