Oh how that cold metal warmed against his skull. The branches of silver twisting into their familiar place against his golden skin and pure locks. It belonged there, that crown, for there were titles far greater than Lord of the North to be claimed. And now that he had cast away the plastic throne, one of gold and silver awaited him.

Only he wasn’t quite there yet. A slithering voice, laced and tight with judgement echoes in the mists. Her steps sound clear, and unfaltering, though muffled by his own heart still pounding away. At her words though the golden finds humor. Ah how lovely it was. She flung condemnation at him, and there rose in his breast no fire to protect himself. No hot burning temper to silence her doubts of him. Only a cool cold laugh.

Haldir was less humored. The dark stag rose, his eyes growing hard with ferocity. All his hours of agony he would not see repeated if another came forward with weapons unsheathed. Perhaps he was a little over protective of one who less than a few days away was ready to pummel him. Yet then, as now, the dark stag found no blocks in his path to love the gold. It was there, whether he wanted it to be or not. His heart still leaping to his throat for it. So he stood, his head high. Only the golden calls his watchdog off. ”No” The deer looked hurt and confused to the golden figure. Was there something wrong in protecting his bonded? Losing himself in his own worries and thoughts the companion side steps away.

His laughter, haunty and broken, finishes rolling off his gilded tongue as the deer moves aside. From his still smiling lips he lifts his head, body unable to hide the strain it brought. From the corner of his earth eye he spies a figure of white, seeming nothing more than a collection of mists. Had he begun to lose it? Perhaps he was going mad. This brings another chuckle as his head he lets fall back to earth, the silver pressing against the flesh of his poll. “Can’t you guess?” His mood rises, eating away at the tide of pain. Had he really all these seasons forsaken this feeling for a life in the mountains? He must indeed be mad.

Legs flinch, preparing, and then he’s moving. It was the only moment his grin faltered, and then only to twist into a grimace, as his head reaches up again. Muscles protest, and bones moan, but he pulls until he at last sitting up. Head swims with the effort though, and it remains low for a moment. The weight of the crown at his skull is felt once more where it had been so sorely missed, and he edges out the pain again. When he looks again towards the creature, he sees a more solid form. Not just mists? Lucky him. “Now tell me. What are you?” It was said with more grace, but could not hide the effort it was to bring even that small flare forward. He was gaining back ground fast though. For in the end, it wasn’t medicine or even rest he needed, it was this. This unbound reveal. Broken and battered though he may be he was still the golden son, and it gods it felt good to call upon that name again.

"Talk?"

OOC:: You are more than okay dear! =D

we live like thieves
     kings among men