{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.}

Comments

[rangerandking]

{Her interest is unusual. Aragorn blinks and arches one eyebrow, yet he doesn't seek to dampen her enthusiasm.}

Are you a teller of stories?

[playmakings]

No. I mean--yes, but mostly no. I mean, I write, but not stories. I write songs. [ She's proud, and it shows on her slightly brighter smile, even if she's trying to remain humble. ] It's what I'm going to school for, and since you just sort of look-- [ She grasps at nothing with her hands, as if that makes any sense to anyone but her ] --like a hero. And since all the great songs are about heroes and and castles and love, it would be good for my history project.

N--not that you're old. I mean, not that you're history, just that you're history, I just... Sorry.

[rangerandking]

A Bard. {That makes sense and his posture relaxes.} There are others that are worth far more attention than myself.

{Some but not many.}

I do not see myself as a hero. {Humbleness is a virtue Aragorn partakes of heartily.} I am older than I seem; that much is true.

[playmakings]

Yeah, a bard! [ She has no idea what that means, not really, but she's too wrapped up in the soft cadence of his voice and the slight lilt of the way he pronounces his words. ]

You sound pretty humble. You're a prince! Or, King. So I guess that's good?

[rangerandking]

Is it? {His experience ruling a kingdom isn't substantial; it's nonexistent.} I will not know until I assume the throne.

[playmakings]

She hopes she isn't pestering him, but she's excited; there's a bit of hesitation even as she asks question after question after question.

What about horses? And dragons?

[rangerandking]

There are many horses, though we are lacking in dragons. {Thankfully.} I would not like to encounter one if the stories hold any truth.

[playmakings]

Breathing fire, hoarding treasure? That sort of stuff?

[rangerandking]

Do you know this tale already?

[playmakings]

No! [ She's still wondering if she's sticking her nose a little too much, but her hands jut up and sort of wave in the negative. ] Definitely not. But they're just little kid stories where I'm from, they don't even exist.

[rangerandking]

They are not mere stories for some in Middle Earth. {Dragons are a painful reminder of loss and fear for those who lived through their existence.} The last dragon was named Smaug.

[playmakings]

Middle Earth...

[ She's scribbling something or other, and when she looks up it's all right eyes and eagerness, even if she does have to pause to adjust her glasses. ]

It sounds romantic. Not--Not Smog. Smeg? Smawg... Um--not the dragon, I mean.

[rangerandking]

I have never given it much thought. {It's like saying Earth is a romantic name.} There are far more ornate names.

[playmakings]

What's your favourite? Name, I mean.

[rangerandking]

I grew to manhood in a place called Rivendell.

[playmakings]

What was it like? [ She's picturing a huge, medieval castle, of course--something she'd see while flipping through TV and seeing an add to visit Ireland. ]

Oh! Gosh--I'm sorry, I just realized I might be--you know, bothering you, uh, you don't have to answer anything if you don't want to!

[rangerandking]

The Elves prize beauty when it comes to their architecture. They chose pale stone, jagged cliffs and waterfalls for their palace.

{He shrugs one shoulder.} I will answer any question you wish - unless you start repeating yourself.

[playmakings]

Okay, no repeating, I promise!

[ She's thinking Christmas Elves, but she's not going to voice that--she'll have a nice shock at Galadriel later on, however. ]

That sounds beautiful... Wow. Absolutely beautiful. Maybe one day, you can get someone to draw it. I'd like to see it, I mean!

[rangerandking]

I have your word.

{Oh my, no. Christmas Elves don't do the Elves he knows justice.}

The Elves are far more skilled when it comes to art, yet I think I can manage to draw you an adequate picture.

{He knows it won't do Rivendell justice, but no piece of artwork could encompass its full beauty.}

[playmakings]

I'll hold you up to it, then--don't forget, okay?