@elvcnson ( Lord Legolas ) | p.s. —
Interruptions this removed from the main compound (where she often seeks solitude for a smoke) and in places no longer maintained by gardeners are rare. Though with so many guests from Ithilien roaming the estate, she should expect as much — just not by the prince himself.
Unmoved she sits at first, her rail thin form seemingly dead on the cool stones. The only heat burns at one end of a Rhûnic pipe, which balances over a small copper bowl to catch its ashes. One leg is bent, the other outstretched. Her back braces against the outer edge of a broken and empty fountain stationed near an unswept pathway. But duty to her husband’s people gets the better of her and she begrudgingly stands, stiff bones creaking. A brief dip of her chin follows.
“Good day, my lord.” As usual, Westron finds her coarse tongue before Sindarin. At least her foreignness is known. “Out exploring?”
