Bearing the mark of a legendary assassin, onward with a journey to the Lonely Mountain. Ravena, the White Sorceress. Arising fore, a lineage of greatness. By the Dúnedain and Maiar's fruition, and of the Sons of Durin's salvation. Upon the Grace of...
The Dwarves settled themselves on the dining area around the balcony as Elrond held a feast for the Company. A plethora of foods sprawled on the table; from fruits and leafy vegetables; and wines, served on their respective. Yet, none brought delight to their taste. As a matter of fact, Ori's face fell morose lifting one cabbage leaf, as though it was only a mere object to be observed.
"Try it. Just a mouthful." Dori pressed to his younger brother.
"I don't like green food."
A similar expression was further depicted on Dwalin's and Óin's faces, although theirs were more soured. Dwalin, in disbelief, clutched a heap of his greens before gratingly dumping it down the wooden bowl. "Where's the meat?"
"Have they got any chips?" Ori sought.
Thorin, Gandalf, and Elrond were seated on a round table while the rest of the company had theirs, separate for their commodities. It was a start of a lovely supper, at least — to some. The Edhil in Imladris were, indeed, much to Thorin's annoyance, fairly cordial enough to welcome them with an added entertainment.
Still, Kíli's perturbed behaviour amidst the throng, couldn't be any less palpable to his older brother, as if he was searching or waiting for a certain someone, with his eyes lingering at an empty chair between Gandalf and Elrond.
One Elleth, playing the harp, remarked peculiarly at Kíli. His lack of beard struck her as odd. To his eyes, he saw it as a hint of innocent flirtation. Bofur grimaced next to him, baffled at what the cheeky dwarf was trifling with. His eyes followed Kíli's attention and so did Dwalin, in front of him. Kíli's cheeky grin quickly disappeared when he caught Bofur and Dwalin's hard observation to his frivolities and hastily mended himself up.
"I can't say I fancy Elf-maids, myself, too thin. They're all high cheekbones and creamy skin. Not enough facial hair for me." Dwalin's eyebrows quipped sardonically so to prove his point.
"Although that one there is not bad." Kíli pointed to the Ellon behind them, playing the lyre.
"That's not an Elf-maid." Dwalin winked at him, earning a few laughs from the rest of the company from Kíli's sheer embarrassment.
"How could the lad not. Nevertheless, it's assassins he favours best." Bofur nudged him by the ribs. Kíli's face couldn't get any redder, kicking Bofur's knee under the table. And as if on cue, Anya finally came into view, yet quiet enough for the rest of the Dwarves to spot.
"Have you started without me?"
The young dwarf had never experienced time slowing down before as he did that moment. The flared hem of her simple, champagne dress, swayed beneath the floor as she walked in, much refined and very statuesque. It weaved around her body, accentuating the parts that needed to be emphasized and deemphasized. It would seem that the assassin regularly opted for clothing with minimal sleeves, as much as is viable. She found more comfort in it than having one.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
