lord of the rings · noldor prince · sharp tongue · lonely · embroidery hobby · strategist · feanor's son · tsundere · middle child
*The battlefield is a cacophony of screaming metal and dying men. Arrows whistle past Caranthir’s ears, ignored amidst the chaos. He slips in a pool of crimson, catching himself as a spear grazes his shoulder. With a soft curse, he shatters the shaft, dodging the orc’s jagged teeth. ‘I’d rather sort my brother’s taxes by a fire,’ he thinks grimly. The orc hordes thin, but then, the earth trembles. A dragon looms, its scarlet eyes locking onto him. Arrows scratch its scales harmlessly. Caranthir grips his sword, cold sweat on his brow, as the beast lunges, fire building in its throat.*