Haldir of Lothlórien (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marchwarden) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
towerofanimus2012-07-10 02:59 pm
marchwarden) wrote in towerofanimus2012-07-10 02:59 pm
Entry tags:
A Welcoming End to a New Beginning
Characters: Haldir of Lothlorien & Whomever else joins
Setting: Room 2-20, then the open halls of the Tower
Format: Action or Prose, whichever is fine. Starting with prose
Summary: Baffled and startled by his sudden presence here, a lone Elf decides to explore the Tower's Halls.
Warnings: N/A
A sense of dread washed over the proud Elf as his fingers curled around the cold steel pressed around his neck. Haldir didn't know what to expect when he first awoke. His dreary gaze was welcomed by a white ceiling that lingered above his paralyzed form. He could see nothing else at first but Haldir could tell he was resting on a bed of some kind. Remembering well that the last bed he slept in was in Lorien, the dread he first felt earlier threatened to consume him now. Was this Mandos' doing? Had he finally come to the end of his long life at last? If so, what sort of judgment will be had for him? The Elf had always prided himself in not fearing the unknown but now he finds the same fear he once scoffed to be his only comfort now.
Attempting to rise from the bed for a second time, Haldir breathed a sigh of relief once his limbs finally responded to his will. Long pale hair spilled over the Elf's shoulders, tousled and knotted with perspiration. A wave of brief nausea welcomed Haldir as he forced himself into a sitting position on the bed, but he didn't worry. Less concerned about whatever wounds he might still possess from that horrors that invaded Helm's Deep, Haldir found himself more curious than alarmed by his current surroundings. Of course, he was a tad baffled by the horrid white attire he was dressed within especially since the bodysuit clung to his form like second skin. Wondering as of how and when he was given such awkward clothing, his dark cobalt gaze spotted something worthy of his intrigue at the foot of the bed. It was a chest of some kind, a brown oak-wood chest that seemed to be tightly sealed. Eying it would much suspicion, Haldir turned his gaze away from the chest and looked up towards the ceiling again.
“...Where am I?” He questioned to no one as he carefully placed his feet down against the cold floor. Standing proved to be a tad difficult at first for Haldir but soon the muscles in his legs complied and he stood evenly off the bed. He gave the oak-wood chest a second glance as he approached it. Carefully touching and studying the chest with his nimble fingers, the Elf balked once he heard a distant click inside. “It's open?” Haldir muttered as he pushed the chest's lid up. “As old as the tales claim to be, never once have I heard of the Valar bestowing gifts upon the fallen.” Noticing that these said “gifts” were none other than an assortment of Elven armament and weaponry, Haldir closed the chest hastily after prying loose a long gray and silver robe out. This, like his other items, were also made by Elven hands, no undoubtedly tailored in his home of Lothlórien. Dressing hastily out of these offending white garbs, Haldir takes the conveniently placed blade out of the chest and makes his way towards the nearest door. However, before he could take his leave, a letter he didn't notice upon the bed beside him catch his notice. It's addressed to him and him only, but what's written there doesn't make a lick of sense to the marchwarden.
“Destroyed?” He questioned with an elegant arch of his brow. “Has Sauron and his minions won?” The silence in the room was nearly deafening at this point. “This cannot...be.” In need for answers and in need of them now, Haldir takes his leave from the room and marches into the halls with his blade ready to be drawn.
Setting: Room 2-20, then the open halls of the Tower
Format: Action or Prose, whichever is fine. Starting with prose
Summary: Baffled and startled by his sudden presence here, a lone Elf decides to explore the Tower's Halls.
Warnings: N/A
A sense of dread washed over the proud Elf as his fingers curled around the cold steel pressed around his neck. Haldir didn't know what to expect when he first awoke. His dreary gaze was welcomed by a white ceiling that lingered above his paralyzed form. He could see nothing else at first but Haldir could tell he was resting on a bed of some kind. Remembering well that the last bed he slept in was in Lorien, the dread he first felt earlier threatened to consume him now. Was this Mandos' doing? Had he finally come to the end of his long life at last? If so, what sort of judgment will be had for him? The Elf had always prided himself in not fearing the unknown but now he finds the same fear he once scoffed to be his only comfort now.
Attempting to rise from the bed for a second time, Haldir breathed a sigh of relief once his limbs finally responded to his will. Long pale hair spilled over the Elf's shoulders, tousled and knotted with perspiration. A wave of brief nausea welcomed Haldir as he forced himself into a sitting position on the bed, but he didn't worry. Less concerned about whatever wounds he might still possess from that horrors that invaded Helm's Deep, Haldir found himself more curious than alarmed by his current surroundings. Of course, he was a tad baffled by the horrid white attire he was dressed within especially since the bodysuit clung to his form like second skin. Wondering as of how and when he was given such awkward clothing, his dark cobalt gaze spotted something worthy of his intrigue at the foot of the bed. It was a chest of some kind, a brown oak-wood chest that seemed to be tightly sealed. Eying it would much suspicion, Haldir turned his gaze away from the chest and looked up towards the ceiling again.
“...Where am I?” He questioned to no one as he carefully placed his feet down against the cold floor. Standing proved to be a tad difficult at first for Haldir but soon the muscles in his legs complied and he stood evenly off the bed. He gave the oak-wood chest a second glance as he approached it. Carefully touching and studying the chest with his nimble fingers, the Elf balked once he heard a distant click inside. “It's open?” Haldir muttered as he pushed the chest's lid up. “As old as the tales claim to be, never once have I heard of the Valar bestowing gifts upon the fallen.” Noticing that these said “gifts” were none other than an assortment of Elven armament and weaponry, Haldir closed the chest hastily after prying loose a long gray and silver robe out. This, like his other items, were also made by Elven hands, no undoubtedly tailored in his home of Lothlórien. Dressing hastily out of these offending white garbs, Haldir takes the conveniently placed blade out of the chest and makes his way towards the nearest door. However, before he could take his leave, a letter he didn't notice upon the bed beside him catch his notice. It's addressed to him and him only, but what's written there doesn't make a lick of sense to the marchwarden.
“Destroyed?” He questioned with an elegant arch of his brow. “Has Sauron and his minions won?” The silence in the room was nearly deafening at this point. “This cannot...be.” In need for answers and in need of them now, Haldir takes his leave from the room and marches into the halls with his blade ready to be drawn.
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