#runilaros || thread

[roquenxnar]

@juneforged || "the job's done." ( fenris to runilaros! )

It was with more than a little shame that he'd asked for the young warrior's help— even old as Runilaros was, he was loathe to ask for help: he was the one who was supposed to be finding those along the coast to aid, after all; it was the reason he'd given himself for his continued life, the one thing he thought himself good for. But where had that left him in the face of a new band of brigands? (Some mages, a rogue templar or two... perhaps there had only been three altogether.) Whatever the case, he simply couldn't allow them to continue down the particularly meddlesome path they'd chosen. How, the old mage had asked himself, would he ever have visitors again if the roads remained unsafe? Perhaps the root of his plea was selfish, but in the end (so Runilaros figured) it would aid anyone who needed to travel along the Wounded Coast.

So now he paced back and forth in his hovel, end of his staff tapping along as he walked and worried, waiting for Fenris to return from the grim job he'd been sent on. The elder elf had, of course, asked his would-be aid to at least try to talk away these bandits— a solution Runilaros himself had already attempted. It'd earned him little more than a fresh wound across his back to care for, one that still needed healing, and a deeper wound to his pride. Creators, he shouldn't have sent that young man into the woods on his own. Would he even see Fenris again? How would he explain things to whatever friends the lad had in town—

An ear flicked as he heard the other elf, a wave of relief washing over him, his lop-sided shoulders falling as he turned, pushing his cracked spectacles back up his beakish nose. He drew a quick, sharp breath, and gave a single nod of understanding. "Good," he said, holding up a hand quickly, to amend the sentiment. "Good that it's done, good that the road will be safe again, and good that you—" he paused, looking the younger elf up and down quickly— "good that you seem to be unharmed. Mythal'enaste, I was worried I'd sent you into something dreadful."

The old man turned, and took up a light coin purse, staff tapping as he made his way over to Fenris, and held it out. "Here. I haven't got much gold, but you are welcome to it. And—" he nodded to his kitchen. "You are welcome to stay for tea, and for something to eat. My younger brother would eat like a damned horse after a job like this. I can only imagine you've got a similar appetite."

[roquenxnar]

❝ end . begin . death . life . it’s all the same circle . ❞ (from Elen to Runi, sponsored by my work boredom lol)

Runilaros looked up from his writing, setting aside the paper and quill at his Lord's (partner's? was he allowed to call Elen that?) words, worry flashing across his face for a moment. "I… I suppose you're right," he said carefully. "For men and dwarves, at least." He rubbed his chin, using his staff to push himself up to stand, and joining the other elf where they stood. "And for us, too, if we're lucky." He tilted his head, brushing dark hair out of their eyes. He felt a stab of pain in his chest, deep, near to his heart— the lingering sickness of the morgul-blade. The physician gave a nervous laugh, a hand flitting over his chest. "What bought on these thoughts, mellon? Am I still that obvious around that time of year?"

He sighed, leaning against the table, though a hand reached for Elen's. "You're worried about something, I can tell. You can speak to me about it, you know. I may not be a Lord, or know much about how to rule a House, but I like to think that I've seen enough leaders to know the good qualities and bad qualities they can have. The good, I learned mostly from you."