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

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.}

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{He is attired for battle, the white tree of Gondor clearly stitched on his chest. His stern expression softens immediately upon hearing her voice. Considering his - their - current dilemma, it's far too easy for him to get lost in his thoughts.

Particularly after what King Thranduil told him.

Eowyn is, as always, a pleasant respite from it all, though he clearly recalls their last conversation. For a brief moment, he worries that he will have to repeat those words. It had been hard for him to crush her hopes. Yet he also knows she is strong enough to withstand his words.

There is someone waiting for her. She simply needs to find him.}

My lady. {He bows to her - a simple incline at the waist with a hand over his chest.} I did not know you had been taken.

[ Her eyes fall upon his clothes first of all - not ones she expects though the white tree she recognizes easily. She knows by now, how people come from days past or yet to be, still it takes her a moment to realize that this must be one of those moments. Never had she seen Aragorn in this attire before, and knowing he had lived his life as a Ranger before, never in the city of Gondor, then...

Her smile dims to something softer, as she inclines her head in a greeting as well. ]

I was brought to these lands recently, as you have. King Thranduil-- Legolas's father, thankfully, found me before it was much too late for me.

[ She lifts her injured arm briefly from where it rests across her front, on a sling hung from her neck. Covered by the sleeve of a dress she managed to find in the room given to her, but the bandages are still visible beneath. ]

{Her inspection of him leaves him smiling faintly. No matter how he is attired or what titles he wears, Aragorn will always be Aragorn. His humble nature will never fade; his duties as a Rangers are always close at hand.}

How did you sustain the injury? {Is it the same one he healed after she conquered the Witch King? His brow furrows as he brushes his fingertips over the sling.}

I am relieved you were found by one so capable. {Thranduil might have a problem with Dwarves, but he has never been cruel to those who approached him in need. Aragorn owes him much gratitude - and not only because the King's son is one of his dearest companions.}

[ She glances down at her arm at the question, and when looking back up at him she seems almost apprehensive. ]

The battle... [ One she is yet to know the result of. Frankly thinking now, she can't even remember that Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli had come, all her memories a blur from the moment she ran to put herself between the Witch-king and her uncle. ] At the Pelennor Fields. Have you memory of it?

I remember it well. {There is sorrow in his eyes at her plight. Such wounds do not heal easily, though he trusts her spirit will endure.} Your triumph was a thing of legends. I feared you would not survive it.

{Which is why he had quickly used Elvish magic to heal her.}

[ She has made it here, at the very least, her body healing though through different means. Her spirit shall follow after, despite doubts and questions still.

Her eyes linger on his features for a quiet moment, her own showing uncertainty as she asks. ] But I did... I survived it?

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

Eoooo-win!

hehehehehe <3

:D

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