[ The 16th saw the worms burrow through into the bailey and Thranduil almost fell, but for his son's bravery. Snapped up by a huge serpent and tossed like a ragdoll into one of the walls, he has suffered puncture wounds around his ribs and a perforated lung, not to mention a broken arm and slices from badly-made armour that was stabbed inward along with fangs. The Elvenking has since been removed to his private rooms by the matrons to gather his strength in the way of his people, certain to recover. Elves do not die easily, after all. So while the battle rages on below, in the lofty Keep things are generally quite peaceful. A blessing and a curse, requiring the silence but eager to learn how the fight is coming along. Something of a mess to see in his bed, he flicks open the locket and requests an audio line. Having made it his business to know how to lock conversations to Seelie forces while commanding the now annihilated war-tent, he ensures she receives the privacy she desires.
Sansa ought not to see him like this even if his weakened voice cannot be helped, the usual strength sapped. ]
Like so, Lady Stark.
[ It's a sight better way to spend the day than staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep while his wounds are still largely raw. ]
private voice »
Sansa ought not to see him like this even if his weakened voice cannot be helped, the usual strength sapped. ]
Like so, Lady Stark.
[ It's a sight better way to spend the day than staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep while his wounds are still largely raw. ]