Leventis ⚜ Thorin Oakenshield

Chapter 16 : Harnil

Casadon's Eriks P.O.V

Wandering helplessly to where the company was expect to dine with Elrond. It was like I had no control. Yet the dress I was currently wearing was flattering as the fabric pressed my delicate skin as I strolled through the courtyard. The sun was burning on my light skin yet I did not feel an outbreak of sweat. Which I could consider a good thing. Since am I the only girl in this company; being the only did not bother me either. So what was I too worry about?

My eyes begin to gaze upon the cerulean sky as an orchestra of the wispy clouds glazed with a shine. It reminded me of what home would look like. Sitting against the trunk tree and just patiently watching the puffs of wind blow the clouds. At some point I thought it were a battle. I turned my gazed to a path with the elven floor leading the way and feeling somewhat natural curls bounce against my face and the rest of my locks was formed into some elven braid that touched the nape of my neck. That reached my bottom of my back. I perceive with my emerald green eyes at the elven citizens that are lodged in the safe haven of Rivendell. They have not seen me. Yet i feel the need to conceal myself, by this I rub my arms, concealing somewhat part of it with the surface area of my feminine hands.

My earring to the familiar sound of the soft strings being played by the harp. An elf maiden was playing, her fingers fingers plucking each and every string when I stepped closer. Every string is plucked like an angel, being sent up and the upcoming sound of the elvish flute, vibrating every wave of sound it makes.

Thorin Oakenshield's P.O.V

Lord Elrond holds my sword with such elegance in his scum elvish hands.

"This is Orcrist, the goblin cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the west, my kin. May it serve you well," the elven lord hands me the sword to which i accept with a nod.

I glimpse around, my iris zooming to every corner of the dining quarters. Where is Cas? Or Casadon? Where was she? Does a woman really take that long, to dress? I turn my glimpsing skills to Elrond. He is examining Gandalf's sword. What about Cas' sword?

"And this is Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin. These swords were made for the goblin wars for the First Age..."

If Casadon wanted her sword examined, she have to do it herself. Afterall they seemed to have a relationship when we first arrived. I feel a presence behind me as someone walks behind, moves the chair; it made a horrific squeal of a helpless child, and then sits. Casadon. Erik. The infamous bounty hunter.

"Sorry I'm late," She apologised to Lord Elrond. I had one of her sword placed on above my knees, horizontal.

My glimpsing skills scaled down to her dress, the royal bronze patterns embroidered on the flowy fabric and the butterfly looking sleeves. She was so pretty. A few freckles were spaced out on both of her arms as she hunches over onto the table. Grabbing a fork and waving it around. The music and the other dwarves muttering amongst themselves, was ringing in my ears.

"Cas, if seak your sword being examined by Lord Elrond, then you deserve to do it yourself," I lean over and whisper my soft and rough voice in her pointed ears.

She dropped her fork; banged on the gold-line and white plate, her head turned sharply. Did I do something wrong? I begin to pass her the sword along my knees to hers under the elven table. It's in her collection of treasures. She perceives to look at her sword for a few moments before handing it over the elven carved table.

Elrond unsheathes Cas' sword.

"This is an ancient relic forged even before the First Age. How did you come by this? I presume it was found in the Troll Hoard, on the Great East Road," Lord Elrond examines the elf's sword.

Gandalf's eyes bulged open to look at Casadon, which she looks back. That sword did not come from the Troll Hoard. But where? If it's so old, like Lord Elrond said, wouldn't have disintegrated in the furious battles it has seen? And it was forged even before the First Age. How? How it still here to this day and very age?

I hear Casadon breath, ever so slowly, and its sound like an orchestra of angels.

"That sword belonged to Vara Singollo, it was passed down from generation to generation in her blood and title," Cas seemingly explained.

Who is Vara Singollo?

"How did in come into your possession?" Elrond asks. Gandalf and I are silent as the two elves dwell in the past. Assuming that Vara Singollo is somewhat famous. I begin to question why she even has that sword. It does not belong to her. She has no claim over it. Why does she even have it?

"I don't know," Cas says, picking up her fork and stabbing the food on the plate.

She seems to be pretty good at that.

Of course, she was lying, she knew how every fragment of that sword was made. But it was only a sword. I'd rather not dwell on the past. And I don't think she would either.

"Harnil," Lord Elrond proceeds.

"What?" Casadon questions, obviously not understanding the concept of conversation.

"Your sword is title Harnil. It means to wound"

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Heloooooooooo! Its been like a month or less (IDK!) since I last updated sooooooooo. I had tests (again) but yes i'm back , and i really dont like this chapter soooooo.

BYE MOTHER-FRYING PAN!