[closed]

[elfstone]

Who| Aragorn and the two surviving Dragon Ages
What| Arwen is dead and Aragorn is nopeing out of the Arena, so he wants his sweet loot to go to a good home
Where| Near the pond.
When| Forward-dated to late in the week, after the meteor shower
Warnings/Notes| Talk of suicide?

She is dead, and he lingers.

He lingers long enough to find the remains of the camp Maxwell spoke of, and to note in a dull, distant way that it is empty. But he is Aragorn, and he has hunted warier things than these two warriors, and he follows their tracks for half a day. Every step is weary.

Aragorn finds them, and makes no effort to hide himself -- why should he? What does he have to fear, now? He intends to die. If he dies at their hands, then it will just be a few hours sooner.

"I come on behalf of Maxwell Trevelyan," he cries, "for we parted in friendship, and I would aid those whom he calls friend!"

Comments

[allyorfoe]

Tabris doesn't know why this stubbly human is approaching her camp, but she's quite to respond. As soon as she hears him, she's up, her scythe in her hand, clearly positioning herself between him, and the other two people. He doesn't bother to hide, just strolling up, an odd behavior if he's trying to kill them, but she makes no move to relax her stance. It doesn't pay to be too trusting, here.

She relaxes slightly when he mentions Maxwell, but keeps her scythe in her hand, shoulders squared, ready to fight. "We are friends of Maxwell, but he...did not make it." She said, lips pressing in a thin line. He had been one of the hardest deaths, as he had been one of the kindest to her. "But we won't turn down aid, if you still offer it." Trying to toe the line between diplomacy, if it meant aid, and caution, in case he tried to snap her neck or something, she chose her words carefully. Hopefully he'd understand.

[revocation]

In a way, it's refreshing to have someone approach them so openly. If he's hostile, it's the height of stupidity to do so, which suggests immediately to Cullen that, well. He's being honest.

And honesty is hard to come by.

"We know Maxwell," Cullen agrees, approaching the Warden and the stranger, hand at his belt to draw his knife if need be. "What's your name?"

[elfstone]

"Maxwell knew me as Thorongil," he replies. "I healed him of an injury he took at the Cornucopia, and later we exchanged gifts. He offered me shelter at his camp, if ever I needed it, and extended the hand of friendship."

He holds up a hand, stalling any reply.

"I am not here to claim anything from you. Nearly all of those whom I call friend, whom I sought to protect, have perished." The words have weight, a heavy shadow -- for it is not just here where he has failed to protect his friends, but in his own world, as well. The Fellowship broke; Boromir fell; the Hobbits were scattered or taken. He has failed them all.

"I would have what supplies I collected be put to good use, not merely pass to the first Tribute to find my body."

[allyorfoe]

"...Maxwell told me of you. He said that you were to be trusted, and you had made...this." She reaches over to their little pile of supplies, and pulls out the bow that she had been given by the Inquisitor. Handmade, but sturdy. "He was given one crafted by the Capitol, and gave this one to me, and trained me on it. It's given us our dinner several times before." Her attitude is relaxed, now that she knows this is the man that Maxwell spoke of.

She feels for the man. She has lost most of her group, and she wasn't even that attached to them. He, clearly, had been. She walked over to the man, putting a hand on his shoulder, face solemn. "Are you sure of this action, ser? We would not refuse supplies willingly given, but you can't...change your mind, if you do this." She glanced over at Bayard, not wanting him to understand what they are talking about. He's too young. "...You do what you feel best, but. Think carefully."

[revocation]

Cullen, for his part, is a little surprised by the sudden gesture, and the man's reasoning. But not too surprised. Nearly all of their group are gone, now, too. If it weren't for the fact that Adella wouldn't want him to do it, he might be joining this Thorongil.

As it is, though, he has no judgment to offer, or words of wisdom, or anything like that. He doesn't know anything about this man - apart from his helping Maxwell. It's none of his business.

"Something tells me he wouldn't undertake something like this lightly," he comments to Tabris quietly.

[elfstone]

Thorongil recognizes the bow. He is glad to hear that it has been put to good use -- it eases his heart, a little. Carefully he listens to their words, but he is resolved.

"Those whom I love have passed into the Capitol or into permanent death. Whichever it is, they are not here. I would be where they are. I am more needed where they are." His entire manner is weary, but there is an edge to his next words, a touch of simmering anger. "I trust I have put on enough of a show to be brought back for another round."

[allyorfoe]

"Well, no--" Tabris told Cullen, nose wrinkling, before Thorongil speaks again, and she turns, listening. He, at least, seems to believe that they're taken to the Capitol after death--At least some of the time. And he certainly seems willing to die. There's a tiredness to him that Tabris can sympathize with, but she can't give up. Not yet.

"If you are sure, then we accept your offer, with our gratitude. Your kindness for us, and for Maxwell, will not be forgotten." She assured him, patting his shoulder. "Let us know if there is anything we can do to...make things easier for you."

[revocation]

Cullen just nods at the man. "Thank you, for the offer. We won't forget it. And - good luck."

Reuniting with the ones he cares about, he means. If it weren't for his obligation to Tabris, and his promise to Adella, Cullen might be seriously considering something simlar.

[elfstone]

At Tabris's words, Aragorn lets out a short breath, one that would have been a laugh were he in better spirits. "The means, I already have in hand," he tells her. "It is given to my race to appoint the hour of our death, and to pass peacefully. I will do it away from here -- I would not have the young one with you see. But I thank you."

He begins to shrug off his supplies: a backpack, a bow, arrows, a jacket and other cold-weather clothing, and a blanket. The tiger-skin he does not have; it is entombed with Arwen, and would remain there as long as she did. Longer, maybe, if her body were retrieved and revived. They make a pile at his feet.

Aragorn looks just as tall, but smaller, thinner, when he is done.