watcherofroads

[watcherofroads]

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[watcherofroads]

Benim bir çok sevgi için hâlâ umudum var. ama bu isimsiz çaba içimi öldürüyor..

Hang me on the clouds..

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At the sight of her palms his brows knit together. Releasing her arm, he gently cradled her hand in his. The pain when they occurred and when they were healing must have been agony! It was no wonder she thought herself able to move after being shot by an arrow, as she had endured much worse. A dark intensity flickered in his eyes. "I hope the person who did this no longer breathes."

Tirron released her, gauging her recovery and looking for signs of another faint. "Orcs do not care for borders. Their master sent them here, and I intend to find out why. Your home shall be safe once more, Sasha."

On that he would swear an oath. The failure grated at him, and he would remain until he had found the answers.

A shudder ran down her spine as he held her firmly, suddenly realizing how long it had been since she had let anyone get close to her, even if it were for good reason. She made a small, self deprecative laugh and turned over one of her hands to reveal the healed burn scars which covered her palms. "I would as well, though I doubt it will happen."

Sasha glanced up at Tirron and gently shook her head. "It is entirely the fault of the urko then. Those foul beasts had no right to travel this far east and the fact that you didn't find them until now only proves how devious they are."

She blushed deeper when he suddenly apologized and introduced himself, even after he had already rendered aid and held her when she felt faint. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Tirron Seregilion. You may call me Sasha."

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Tirron stilled, his own ears straining to parse out the noise. A low growl stood out among the backdrop of merriment and snoring. The sound had been too brief to determine if it had been an orc or a warg. In either case, Tirron ducked into the tent- the occupants had drunk too much to notice the intruders. With the flap closed, the pair waited and listened.

Urgath trudged along the camp's main path. His dark eyes searched the shadows. Gleeful anticipation had plastered a menacing grin on his face, blackened and yellow teeth showing from between the dirty, cracked lips.

"Come on out and join our festivities."

At Urgath's taunt, Tirron swore under his breath. The element of surprise was still with them. Before their mission faltered, they could eliminate those within the tent.

"These first," he whispered, nodding towards the sleeping forms. "Then we shall go find the sentry."

Elven senses were sharp, but not perfect. It was a tense time; Beleg could hear his blood pounding with adrenaline, the sounds of their poor friend’s torment, the snore of sleeping orcs, the cluttering and clanking of a war camp. Nothing unusual, unexpected, save them. So he did not hear Urgath sneaking closer.

Beleg crept forward first, peering around the edge of the tent to assess the situation. A dozen orcs, all resting, and from the smell, most drunk. Good. That would make this easier.

“You take the left side. I will go – did you hear that?”

Like a deer catching the sound of a twig snapping, Beleg froze. He turned his head, straining to hear the sound again. “I heard a voice.”

But… that was not so unusual. It was likely just another uruk, talking too loudly amid his friends. So then why did Beleg feel so uneasy?

He grasped the edge of the tent flap. “Quickly.”

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A thought was sent to the dark grey horse that Tirron had come across years ago. His previous owners had not treated him kindly, but nor were they willing to part with him. In the end a bargain had been struck and Tirron had worked on their farm for two weeks in exchange as they had not been interested in gold or silver. Many elves would have considered such humble work degrading, or become furious at the humans' snickers while they mucked out the stalls. But, Tirron did not mind the physical labor, not with Bilberry, as the horse was then called, staying close by his side.

"Gwedal has been my companion for many journeys. I would not treat him any less than I would a friend of our kind." Tirron turned to look upon Elrond, open gratitude warming his features. "And, nor do you. I am grateful for your hospitality once more."

With an respectful incline of his head, Tirron understood the command wrapped in Elrond's offer- sit and take care of yourself. Alone in the chamber, he let out the deep breath he had not realized he was holding. Some of the tightness that had knotted his shoulders eased. Remembering his manners, he unwrapped the belt that held his weapons, placing them reverently on a table near the door. There was no need for a dagger to be so close at hand. Not when he was among friends again.

A wordless tune from ages past filled the empty space as he eased his aching body into a chair near the fire. The gentle warmth surrounded him, and while he contemplated the dual nature of fire – its capacity to soothe and to devastate – the song faded as his eyelids drifted shut.

Tirron was haunted by the shadows of loss and terror that had almost decimated them all. Elrond understood him. At times he woke in cold sweat, having dreamed of the sheer desperation on the battlefield and the fall of his beloved High King. Watching him die had sundered his heart and the pain persisted. Pain, much like joy and love, was difficult to forget. This feeling of despair was intensified for his poor friend, who had been used for foul deeds.

The admission made the Elf-lord smile. His valiant friend was not very forthcoming about his ailments. Elrond only tolerated it because it was usually very obvious what hurt Tirron and Elrond could rely on his own assessment. Otherwise he would be prodding, able to be very persisting. "And relief you shall have." Elrond gestured for him to walk with him towards the Half-elf's personal residence. Tirron was tired and hurting and most likely not in the mood for the communal dining hall.

"Your steed is being taken care of. In perfect health, from what I have glimpsed. Those who are in your care are most fortunate." Elrond opened a large door that lead to his little cozy dining room for the older Elf. A comforting fire crackled in the hearth and dipped the chamber in a golden glow. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I will be with you shortly." He needed to take a detour to the halls of healing and grab the ointments for Tirron's treatment. On the way he also organized fresh clothes for the other and made sure his dinner was being prepared.

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Tirron's breath hitched as he saw the color in her lips fade. A film began to cloud her eyes, a sure sign of what was closing in. Knowing what was inevitable, he held her firmly, murmuring gentle words in elvish until she had recovered enough to speak. At her words he let out an amused huff. "I would rather have you live a life that knows of no further violence."

She was far too kind to accept the blame for this. Guilt sobered his features. "My fault entirely. Those urko should not have gotten this far into the forest; I should have intercepted them sooner."

Ah! Such an incident should make acquaintances out of strangers. "Forgive my lack of manners. It has been a while since I had such company. Tirron Seregilion, at your service."

He was granted a trust she did not freely give, on account of his saving her, so when faintness touched upon her, she let herself lean into his arm. Pale features were slightly ashen, her eyes closed for a moment while she took a steadying breath and regained her bearings, brows knitted slightly.

"My apologizes, this is not a detractor to your healing ability, I moved sooner than my body was prepared for. Scarring does not scare me, it is a sign that one has lived."

The moment passed and she righted herself, a rosy tinge returning to her cheeks and an embarrassed look creeping into her gaze.

"I am glad that you did not fare worse due to my negligence." Her cheeks flushed further and she reached for the waterskin, scarred fingers gripping tightly before gradually loosening around it. "Thank you, sir."

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@tidalhaired

from x

[   KNEEL   ]     ,     sender  gets  down  on  one  knee. 

“Please, there is never a need to kneel, mellon. My heart sings to see your safe return to us today.” He reached out and lowered his hand, placing it on Tirron’s shoulder. Watchful eyes already scanned the other’s face. The healer inside him could never resist to immediately assess whether someone was hurt, be it in body or in spirit. He helped Tirron stand and his palm brushed downwards, from Tirron’s shoulder to his heart instead. It beat against Elrond’s palm like a drum, steadily and a little faster than it would in a calm situation. Tirron was nervous. Perhaps the journey had been perillious, as it often tended to be these days. But his form and the rhythm was healthy, so it must be the guilt for something he had no control over that still ate away at him. If only Elrond found a way to soothe this ache as well. Tirron wandered the roads in his endless watch, dedicating his life to protect those who were unable to defend themselves. It was a noble cause and Elrond admired it greatly, yet he wished Tirron were better at looking after himself. Being kind to others required showing kindness to oneself. And so whenever Tirron returned from one of his journeys, Elrond was relieved to see him in one piece. As for the scar on his fair face, it was the next spot that Elrond’s careful fingers traced. It looked reddened when usually it was pale. Perhaps just the increased bloodflow, caused by his nervousness? “Does it smart? The weather has been very humid and unkind to scars lately. It causes the skin to feel like it is stretched too thin and pull uncomfortably. I have just what you need to ease the discomfort though. But first, a meal and then rest.”

It had only felt right to kneel before the one who had tended him for millennia. Tirron's heart had been unwavering in its fealty to Gil-Galad, and now found that same steadfast devotion for the High King's standard bearer.

"It brings me peace to be within Imladris once more. It remains a sanctuary, blessedly untouched by the shadow that creeps across the world."

Stepping across the border into the Trollshaws had been like a deep breath after a long silence. Three years had passed since the Last Homely House had embraced him. His feet had taken him down the North-South Road over the Hithaeglir to Lorien, the Greenwood, and the Black Land.

It was the land of ash and fire that had drawn him. His need to keep vigil at the Black Gates where so many of his friends and kinsmen had died. The Last Alliance had won at great cost, but for how long?

His thoughts returned to the present. Elrond's touch was not unfamiliar or unwelcomed. A poignant longing for connection stirred within him, a simple yearning for touch that he usually resolutely pushed aside, finding instead a quiet solace and kinship with the birds and beasts of the forest. Beneath his friend's gentle touch, Tirron's carefully constructed composure crumbled.

"It has vexed me since crossing the Tharbad. I would welcome the relief." Tirron paused, his gaze not faltering. He had not rushed back from the south without reason. It was too soon to speak of such matters, after a meal that had not been eaten on horseback, he could tell the tale. Lord Elrond would need to know.

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His heart clenched at her tears and the raw edge of her pain. The invaders were beyond his wrath, their demise leaving only a bitter residue. While still strangers, Tirron instinctively offered support, his arm a steadying presence as she sat up. His intense grey gaze searched her face, a silent inquiry for any lingering trace of pain or a faint.

"My healing touch is not as gifted as some of the other Eldar, so the pain will linger for a bit. If you keep it clean it should mend swiftly enough, though it will likely leave a scar."

Her resilience shone through. And then there was her unexpected concern, a warmth in the midst of their shared ordeal.

"Just a small cut. A mere scratch compared to what you have endured." He grabbed the nearby waterskin and offered it to her. "Do you feel able to drink some water?"

Tears budded in the corners of her eyes, a short and pained cry leaving her lips when the arrow was wrenched free from her shoulder. She did not fight against the hands which strove to heal her, remaining as still as he asked of her while he treated and bound her wound.

"Yes, Sir-Elf," she replied, allowing her eyes to close for a moment as she relished the comfort that remained from his song.

She opened her eyes briefly, espying his smile before she allowed herself to rest a moment longer, the adrenaline from the attack having run its course. When he spoke again, she nodded her head and pushed herself to sit up for him.

"It is sore, though far better now that the arrow is out. Were you harmed?"

[watcherofroads]

ELROND & ARWEN (inspo). The Fellowship of The Ring (2001) | The Rings of Power (2024)

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Tirron's gentle song persisted, an offering to ease her pain. He carefully pulled, and the arrow slid free. A bead of blood bloomed in the wound. He cleansed the area, then pressed the poultice in place, finally securing it with the cloth.

"Stay still for a moment longer," Tirron murmured. "Let the poultice do its work before you move."

A soft smile touched his lips before his gaze fell upon the arrow. The arrowhead, though sharp, lacked barbs. It will leave a scar, but the wound should heal cleanly. The bodies of the orcs would need to be dealt with as well. He could not let them further defile this area. But that would be done later, once he knew she was well.

"How does it feel now that the arrow is out?"

Orcs were a constant threat no matter which form she took or realm she camped near. With the threat of Shadow overhead, both elves and men were overly suspicious of strangers, especially those who did not belong, leaving her with little choice but to change camps frequently.

"ʃoː r̥ɔ gɛ ga pəld jɛ." She too could speak a language he couldn't understand. Catlike eyes watched him with apprehension, only relaxing when he switched to common tongue when he spoke next. "Thank you."

A sigh left her, ushered out of her by the melody hummed by the elf, the fey easily soothed in the same ways injured beasts were. Her grip upon the arrow loosened, her hand coming to rest upon her injured joint only to move away with the strange elf returned to her side.

"I will try," she nodded her head, giving him a short, nervous glance before bracing herself for the pain.

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Being immortal can be a drag.

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do you ever think that elrond, who was born amidst war and lost nearly his entire family, created a house of his own to look out for all the war-torn, displaced families seeking refuge ?

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Urgath trudged back to camp, his muttered complaints the only sound accompanying him. Why him? Why did he have to report in while the others got to soften up the captured elf? Groldekh, barely a greenhorn, had not been saddled with such a pointless task. The scowl etched onto the orc's face deepened with each step. There had damned well better be something left for him.

He stopped at the entrance to the camp. "Push bagronk." No challenge came. Ha! Groldekh had abandoned his post! Urgath's scowl transformed into a smile, delighted with the idea of getting to punish the upstart. The menacing grin did not last long. Urgath would not get the chance for revenge as Groldekh lay dead. Unbeknownst to him, his young enemy had been the first to fall.

His brethren were making rather merry inside, unaware that the camp had been compromised.

Idiots.

A cruel scimitar was eased from the worn belt and Urgath entered the camp. Maybe he had not missed out on all the fun after all.

~~~

A raw fury ignited Tirron's dark eyes, his features hardening. Beleg's calm words were a fragile dam against the tidal wave of his impulse to abandon all caution and explode into the camp. Still he nodded, accepting the plan.

~~~

Utterly unbothered by the prone figures around the fire, Urgath scavenged the discarded scraps, shoveling them into his mouth. Waste was for fools. Mid-lick of his greasy fingers, a soft whisper in the loathsome tongue of the elves snagged his attention. With unexpected quietness, he approached.

"Come out little birds so you can join your friend in his cage."

Beleg crept through the shadows, utterly silent. His feet made not the slightest sound, each touch on the earth as light as a falling leaf. Even the twang of his bowstring was muted, muffled by the jeers of their foes as the third feasting orc found an arrow in his throat instead of his meal. Six.

Beleg’s expression turned from triumphant to grave as he heard a scream. They did not need to see it to know what was happening. Poor Aphadedir had not been kept alive out of mercy. Beleg’s stomach roiled and he murmured a prayer under his breath. Elbereth grant Aphadedir her mercy.

By Tirron’s side now, he squeezed his arm lightly. “Do not let it distract you. We will save him by razing this camp – if he is wounded we cannot get him out while they still live.”

He drew the short sword he kept at his hip and used it to gesture at the next tent.

“These next. If Elbereth is kind, they all drunk or sleeping.”

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@sashaofravenlock

from x

"Please," she breathed, her chest rising and falling quickly from where she was laid upon the ground, one hand steadying the orc arrow protruding from her shoulder. Birds chirped and a nearby creek babbled, a sense of peace falling upon the forest as the last orc drew their final breath. Now she was this stranger's main focus, for better or for worse. "Please, it hurts."

The band of orcs had taken an unusual path, invading too far into this forest. Young, bright shoots had been trampled into mud. They had defiled this place, and had wounded an innocent.

Tirron's bloody swords lay on the ground, momentarily forgotten, as his attention was drawn to the wounded woman.

"Iston. Hara, i nattë nin." Stay still. Carefully, he studied the wound, before ripping a strip from the hem of his tunic. "Give me a few moments to make a poultice and then it shall be out."

Though a sense of urgency propelled his search through the small pack, the leaves and waterskin were retrieved with care. A soft hum, a balm he offered to wounded birds and beasts, began to emanate from Tirron as he selected a rock. The grinding of leaves against stone was a stark contrast to the gentle melody, soon followed by the soft splash of water.

Back at her side, he spoke softly. "Forgive me. This will hurt."

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Two down and perhaps thirty more within. Beleg spoke true, only through stealth and skill would they return to their own camp, hopefully with Aphadedir with them.

"Luck in the shadows then."

Tirron's face a grim mask of determination, he set off into the shadows. The weak light from the orc's fires served them well in creating havens of darkness in which they could stalk their quarry. There was a group of three huddled around a fire engrossed in consuming some foul-smelling, dripping offal.

The orc's crude merriment and snorts of laughter abruptly ceased as Tirron's blades found their marks in two of them. The greasy food slipped from their suddenly lifeless fingers, landing with a wet, sickening sound. For a fleeting second, Tirron felt a twinge of sorrow for the creature that had been slaughtered for such foul sustenance.

Five.

A piercing scream tore through the camp. Loud laughter and mocking jeers followed. This sudden, jarring festivity in the wake of pain sickened Tirron to his core as he looked to Beleg.

"Aphadedir."

The second sentry had only a fraction of a second to notice the fate of his companion, before Beleg’s arrow struck true, silencing him forever with a gurgle of blood.

Beleg crossed to the entrance of the camp, by Tirron’s side. His face was tense, alert for any unusual sound from within. For now, he could only hear the faint bustling of their foes going about their chores - not as many as he first feared - their fallen comrades had fought bravely, and thinned their numbers.

“After you, my friend.” he whispered, taking another pair of arrows from his hip. “I will have your back.”

“We will take them unprepared - it is the only chance we have.”

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A flicker of a smile, mirroring her own stubborn resolve, crossed Tirron's face. Elrond, bless his heart, would be fussing, searching for cracks in their resolve. But they were forged in harsher fires, and their purpose lay beyond walls.

Already the woods and the creatures called to him. His soul longed to let his feet wander and root out the dark threads that Sauron had left.

"It is fortunate he is not. I have slept too long. The world calls, and I must answer."

Tirron grabbed a waterskin and an apple from the pile of his belonging. His dagger made quick work of it and he held out a piece. Grey eyes, like still water, studied her. Celebrian's hair, spun of sunlight, gleamed, and her eyes held the untarnished brilliance of joy.

"I sense you also are not one who finds peace in staying still. Moss does not cling to you."

“Good morning, sir,” she answered, a ringed hand resting on her belly. Celebrían had always been restless, and this pregnancy only spurred her wandering feet.

“Yes,” she answered with a bit of a laugh. “I am seeking refuge from a well meaning, but overbearing husband.” Her elvish blood granted her the ability to sink down onto a log gracefully, despite the size of her belly.

“And, if he were here he would insist we both rest.” Despite her words, the love for Elrond still shone in her eyes.

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“‘Rivendell’ said Frodo. ‘Very good: I will go east, and I will make for Rivendell…’ He spoke lightly, but his heart was moved suddenly with a desire to see the house of Elrond Halfelven, and breathe the air of that deep valley where many of the Fair Folk still dwelt in peace.”