thranduil oropherion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rowancrowned) wrote2015-03-22 06:02 pm
rowancrowned) wrote2015-03-22 06:02 pm
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Once I sat outside her door when I didn't know if she'd come out again.
[Which is the easiest but still very hard way to say that when a person you love hurts, then you hurt too, and he doesn't want that for her.
(He feels guilty telling Thranduil; people saw him out there, knowing why is another thing.)]
She's been good to me. You too but she's been good to me for a lot longer so I need to make sure you know how high she sits in my priorities yeah? I mean you're weird but if you're her thing and that's true then... you're welcome.
[Which is the easiest but still very hard way to say that when a person you love hurts, then you hurt too, and he doesn't want that for her.
(He feels guilty telling Thranduil; people saw him out there, knowing why is another thing.)]
She's been good to me. You too but she's been good to me for a lot longer so I need to make sure you know how high she sits in my priorities yeah? I mean you're weird but if you're her thing and that's true then... you're welcome.
Not subtle at all, he finds, and to one who is hardly afraid of feedback, of redirection, it is a blessing. And using his hair as a leash hardly hurts—he is easily redirected, and goes with a smile against her skin.
He applies himself to wedding her with the sort of enthusiasm he’s reserved for the most important tasks in Thedas—teaching himself to read, Cassandra Pentaghast, his job as Division Head—and if they run up against a few walls or miscommunications, they have the ready-made excuse of several thousand years of chastity.
He is a gentleman throughout, up until the point of completion—shuddering pants with his head presses into the curve where neck meets shoulder, his hands fisted in the blanket, Sindarin he doesn’t pause to translate—and then he is just a very big elf with all his weight on top of her for as long as it takes him to remember himself and roll off her, ribs moving as he breathes deeply to gather himself. His hand finds hers, curls around it, and he turns his head to look at her. The nature of his glamour is such that no expression is projected errantly. It is chosen-- though that is not a truth he will admit to, ever, but the smile he gives her now (soft, unguarded, devoted) is clearly private.
“Hervess,” he says, and after a moment: “Wife.”
He applies himself to wedding her with the sort of enthusiasm he’s reserved for the most important tasks in Thedas—teaching himself to read, Cassandra Pentaghast, his job as Division Head—and if they run up against a few walls or miscommunications, they have the ready-made excuse of several thousand years of chastity.
He is a gentleman throughout, up until the point of completion—shuddering pants with his head presses into the curve where neck meets shoulder, his hands fisted in the blanket, Sindarin he doesn’t pause to translate—and then he is just a very big elf with all his weight on top of her for as long as it takes him to remember himself and roll off her, ribs moving as he breathes deeply to gather himself. His hand finds hers, curls around it, and he turns his head to look at her. The nature of his glamour is such that no expression is projected errantly. It is chosen-- though that is not a truth he will admit to, ever, but the smile he gives her now (soft, unguarded, devoted) is clearly private.
“Hervess,” he says, and after a moment: “Wife.”
He moves and she does, too, in the space of a breath; trading places, Gwenaëlle doing the rest of her finding composure curled lazily to the shape of him, draped over his body and making herself quite at home there, tucking her head so she can commit that smile to memory and treasure it without feeling quite so immediately vulnerable looking back at him. There's all these -
She's got lots of practise at meaningless sex. And she likes the alternative, but it's new and strange and permanent in a way that has to be processed.
On top of him. It's comfortable there, she's going to do loads of her processing in this position in the future.
“There'll be no getting rid of you now,” murmured into his collarbone, warmly affectionate in a way she rarely is.
She's got lots of practise at meaningless sex. And she likes the alternative, but it's new and strange and permanent in a way that has to be processed.
On top of him. It's comfortable there, she's going to do loads of her processing in this position in the future.
“There'll be no getting rid of you now,” murmured into his collarbone, warmly affectionate in a way she rarely is.
You protect her. She needs protectors.
[ even if this one is a dwarf. but he is not greedy, not quite right in the way that the elves of thedas are also distorted reflections of their counterparts in middle-earth. ]
I think I am 'her thing'. We do not wed lightly or carelessly. I am hers. I will always be hers. That is not a duty I take lightly.
[ what if he slips in battle, what if the rifts swallow him like they swallowed legolas-
no. he will not think of it. ]
[ even if this one is a dwarf. but he is not greedy, not quite right in the way that the elves of thedas are also distorted reflections of their counterparts in middle-earth. ]
I think I am 'her thing'. We do not wed lightly or carelessly. I am hers. I will always be hers. That is not a duty I take lightly.
[ what if he slips in battle, what if the rifts swallow him like they swallowed legolas-
no. he will not think of it. ]
He wraps his arm around her waist once she’s curled herself against him, holds her close. She’s real, and here—and he knows that, as sure as he knows there is a stream, and trees, and the elk grazing nearby. He simply—did not account for this to happen, ever again, secure in his widowed state, not so much celibacy as a lack of desire, but—
Here he is. Here she is. Both of them with shard and he with the weight of what he might be behind his heart but locked away. Thranduil tucks it all side, and kisses the top of her head. It’s a good position. A shame they cannot share a bed every night.
“Oh, no, not at all.” He smirks, strokes a hand down her hair, fingers threading into it. “I have my teeth in you. Weren't you warned?"
Here he is. Here she is. Both of them with shard and he with the weight of what he might be behind his heart but locked away. Thranduil tucks it all side, and kisses the top of her head. It’s a good position. A shame they cannot share a bed every night.
“Oh, no, not at all.” He smirks, strokes a hand down her hair, fingers threading into it. “I have my teeth in you. Weren't you warned?"
She deserves them.
[Plenty of people who don't have too many, far too many deserving of them go without but some things you know in your bones.]
And y'know I don't think anyone does that lightly? Someone watches it that's bigger than you or that's the idea, the Stone is a load of rot, Dalish got theirs locked away, the Maker shuns everyone but the Avvar ones all real and living watch. Or just doing it. Being willing to do it.
[Almost wistful, same as when he talks about even mountains being whittled down. Willing to take his word on the Stone thing?]
[Plenty of people who don't have too many, far too many deserving of them go without but some things you know in your bones.]
And y'know I don't think anyone does that lightly? Someone watches it that's bigger than you or that's the idea, the Stone is a load of rot, Dalish got theirs locked away, the Maker shuns everyone but the Avvar ones all real and living watch. Or just doing it. Being willing to do it.
[Almost wistful, same as when he talks about even mountains being whittled down. Willing to take his word on the Stone thing?]
“As it happens, I was.”
Guenievre perhaps did not have this in mind, particularly, when she had warned her daughter not to get her heart broken or her reputation ruined; Gwenaëlle is relatively sure the first one isn't going to happen and that the second...will be survivable, when it comes. Probably. There are many choices that will need to be made, in the future, but even before kissing him in the library it had seemed less and less likely that that future would be in Orlais.
Certainly unlikely it would look as any of her parents had imagined it. It's hard to reconcile, sometimes-
but she isn't second-guessing herself, doesn't regret. She is quite sure of where she is, and where she's meant to be.
Guenievre perhaps did not have this in mind, particularly, when she had warned her daughter not to get her heart broken or her reputation ruined; Gwenaëlle is relatively sure the first one isn't going to happen and that the second...will be survivable, when it comes. Probably. There are many choices that will need to be made, in the future, but even before kissing him in the library it had seemed less and less likely that that future would be in Orlais.
Certainly unlikely it would look as any of her parents had imagined it. It's hard to reconcile, sometimes-
but she isn't second-guessing herself, doesn't regret. She is quite sure of where she is, and where she's meant to be.
[The note is with Thranduil's mail. It's written in a regular, slightly loopy hand, on very fine white paper and black ink. The top of the page is ragged, truncated as if someone tore a strip away from the original length. It reads:]
Some time ago, you mentioned to me that I should find you 'after,' that you might have some particular insight to share. At the time, I chose not to understand your meaning, but there's no longer any avoiding some realities, no matter how unpleasant. If you wish to speak with me, you may have my time whenever yours is free to meet with it; what other work I might have done, those obligations are finished.
Sorellean, First of Clan Ashara
Some time ago, you mentioned to me that I should find you 'after,' that you might have some particular insight to share. At the time, I chose not to understand your meaning, but there's no longer any avoiding some realities, no matter how unpleasant. If you wish to speak with me, you may have my time whenever yours is free to meet with it; what other work I might have done, those obligations are finished.
Sorellean, First of Clan Ashara
Edited 2017-12-24 04:58 (UTC)
“Specifically,” he says, breath hot but brief at her ear, pulling her just a little bit closer, so they can lie chest-to-chest. “About large Rifter elves?”
More dangerous than the garden variety of elf, less tame, more dangerous.
“You are precious to me,” he says. “I would have no secrets between us. You know you can tell me whatever you like, and I will still love you, no matter what it is. I will not think less of you.”
His will test her, when she asks after them or when they are no longer secrets, but he is not speaking of those. Instead, he considers her ‘I am afraid’s, her ‘I need you’s. The help he has not yet pulled a promise to agree to ask for.
More dangerous than the garden variety of elf, less tame, more dangerous.
“You are precious to me,” he says. “I would have no secrets between us. You know you can tell me whatever you like, and I will still love you, no matter what it is. I will not think less of you.”
His will test her, when she asks after them or when they are no longer secrets, but he is not speaking of those. Instead, he considers her ‘I am afraid’s, her ‘I need you’s. The help he has not yet pulled a promise to agree to ask for.
Her sigh is slow and more air than sound, breathed out against his collarbones, her body fit lissome to the line of his, her foot sliding up his leg like they're interlocking parts of some clever dwarven contraption, or, no - no, like rose vines cultivated to grow together, blooming different colours. Lovely things that don't keep secrets, except,
“You'll peel everything back from me and find there's nothing left underneath,” and it rings hollow where it should have been a joke.
“You'll peel everything back from me and find there's nothing left underneath,” and it rings hollow where it should have been a joke.
When your obligations are finished, my door is open.
- Thranduil
- Thranduil
Edited 2018-01-13 01:56 (UTC)
Perhaps we should all go be Avvar.
[ everyone cries out, and no one listens, until someone does.
and this sticks in his mouth like a child who stuffs themselves with toffee and tries to speak, but yngvi is gwen's, and that makes him thranduil's now, if only a little too ].
Is someone minding you? It is cold.
[ wear your boots. keep warm. ]
[ everyone cries out, and no one listens, until someone does.
and this sticks in his mouth like a child who stuffs themselves with toffee and tries to speak, but yngvi is gwen's, and that makes him thranduil's now, if only a little too ].
Is someone minding you? It is cold.
[ wear your boots. keep warm. ]
[Sorrel arrives, not over-late, but past when any business of the day might reasonably be assumed to have concluded. He knocks, of course, because however far Sorrel has come, he still hasn't fallen so far as to join the animals. Still, it's a hesitant noise, and when he's bid enter, he's a man somewhat changed, since their first meeting.
Has he lost weight? It's hard to tell at a glance. Certainly he hasn't been sleeping well, anyone can see that. No smiles here, except those wane, polite fictions that seem more a memory of happiness than an expression of what Sorrel is currently feeling.]
Good evening.
Has he lost weight? It's hard to tell at a glance. Certainly he hasn't been sleeping well, anyone can see that. No smiles here, except those wane, polite fictions that seem more a memory of happiness than an expression of what Sorrel is currently feeling.]
Good evening.
I am uncertain how thoroughly you were briefed of the events at Haven, this year past. I accompanied the expedition.
[ a possible future. a breath in, to gather the words: ]
Among the intelligence recovered was that of red lyrium's effect upon Seekers. If the Lady Seeker has not spoken so previously, their order is above the influence of mundane lyrium. They do not imbibe it; it does nothing to them.
[ she doesn't allow bitterness to colour her voice, but it doesn't take a terribly astute man to guess its presence. ]
The red does. A resistance, and not immunity. The symptoms are not as pronounced, slower to manifest. Perhaps six months, a year.
Darton and Reed were made aware upon our return. I have now too informed Delacroix.
The danger posed to personnel is obvious, as is the potential to bolster Venatori forces. But my concerns lie elsewhere. Whatever is doing this, it is not the lyrium alone.
[ 'and i need you to funnel me back any information that your stable of nerds uncovers because i don't trust them to do it on their own' ]
[ a possible future. a breath in, to gather the words: ]
Among the intelligence recovered was that of red lyrium's effect upon Seekers. If the Lady Seeker has not spoken so previously, their order is above the influence of mundane lyrium. They do not imbibe it; it does nothing to them.
[ she doesn't allow bitterness to colour her voice, but it doesn't take a terribly astute man to guess its presence. ]
The red does. A resistance, and not immunity. The symptoms are not as pronounced, slower to manifest. Perhaps six months, a year.
Darton and Reed were made aware upon our return. I have now too informed Delacroix.
The danger posed to personnel is obvious, as is the potential to bolster Venatori forces. But my concerns lie elsewhere. Whatever is doing this, it is not the lyrium alone.
[ 'and i need you to funnel me back any information that your stable of nerds uncovers because i don't trust them to do it on their own' ]
Edited (double edits for an icon because i love your inbox that much) 2018-01-13 05:39 (UTC)
Briefly.
[ har har. ]
Nothing to which my name was attached. I assumed I had either perished or retreated. But none of this. Does it eventually turn them into the creatures that the Templars become?
[ he has not partaken of lyrium and does not intend to; it sings and he does not trust it, a little whisper in the back of his mind that is the song but not the song, and anything like that is usually melkor-influenced and impure. ]
And what have Darton and Reed done to handle it? Has the Lady Seeker and the others taken any steps? I would not wish to overreach in making suggestions in my division.
[ after a pause. ]
It is-- unclean. We have an aversion to it. We do not trust it.
[ har har. ]
Nothing to which my name was attached. I assumed I had either perished or retreated. But none of this. Does it eventually turn them into the creatures that the Templars become?
[ he has not partaken of lyrium and does not intend to; it sings and he does not trust it, a little whisper in the back of his mind that is the song but not the song, and anything like that is usually melkor-influenced and impure. ]
And what have Darton and Reed done to handle it? Has the Lady Seeker and the others taken any steps? I would not wish to overreach in making suggestions in my division.
[ after a pause. ]
It is-- unclean. We have an aversion to it. We do not trust it.
No.
[ creatures. telling him to fuck off and throwing her crystal in a drawer would, of course, be an overreaction — ]
Red eyes, veining. Intermittent lucidity. That may be as much due the torture, [ No need to talk around it, between only the two of them. ] But I think, not all. They spoke similarly to afflicted templars.
[ to my men. her fist tightens, releases. calmly: ]
Reed maintains silence as action. Darton disbelieves. He claims to be making inquiries as to the whereabouts of his fellows, but admits to expect defeat. I am not privvy to the work of the Lady Seeker. [ must take it for granted that cassandra has been informed. ] 'We'?
[ creatures. telling him to fuck off and throwing her crystal in a drawer would, of course, be an overreaction — ]
Red eyes, veining. Intermittent lucidity. That may be as much due the torture, [ No need to talk around it, between only the two of them. ] But I think, not all. They spoke similarly to afflicted templars.
[ to my men. her fist tightens, releases. calmly: ]
Reed maintains silence as action. Darton disbelieves. He claims to be making inquiries as to the whereabouts of his fellows, but admits to expect defeat. I am not privvy to the work of the Lady Seeker. [ must take it for granted that cassandra has been informed. ] 'We'?
If they are not— [ giant hulks of rock that scream, less man than beast, less beast than fabrication. ] that, then perhaps...
[ there is not hope. there is never hope. this is thedas. ] They resemble Samson more than the creatures, and they retain speech, that means they can be questioned. Torture, so they did not choose to be infected.
A Templar, sheltered and fed and suffering no great injury, of sound body and mind at the start—how many years of a ‘normal’ dosage can they endure before they are unable to complete their duties?
[ stringing together his thoughts, trying to grasp the whole of the issue. ]
Inaction is inaction, due to dithering or plain stupidity. Can Darton be asked to document his inquiries? [ useless, then, all of them. ] Perhaps you might bring it up directly with the Seeker. Perhaps you are being warned off gently, if ineptly.
[ easily: ] The Firstborn. The Quendi. We.
[ there is not hope. there is never hope. this is thedas. ] They resemble Samson more than the creatures, and they retain speech, that means they can be questioned. Torture, so they did not choose to be infected.
A Templar, sheltered and fed and suffering no great injury, of sound body and mind at the start—how many years of a ‘normal’ dosage can they endure before they are unable to complete their duties?
[ stringing together his thoughts, trying to grasp the whole of the issue. ]
Inaction is inaction, due to dithering or plain stupidity. Can Darton be asked to document his inquiries? [ useless, then, all of them. ] Perhaps you might bring it up directly with the Seeker. Perhaps you are being warned off gently, if ineptly.
[ easily: ] The Firstborn. The Quendi. We.
[ the edges of the crystal dig, cut against her grip. bergier had kept his tongue about him, a piece of his wits, his soul. creatures, ]
Perhaps thirty years. [ and there, it finally caves in: fills with the echo of something grown hollow. ] Thirty-five. Less, more.
[ twenty-five, twenty-six — ]
Gentleness is not within their vocabulary. [ or, evidently, promptness. ] I will have no luck of Darton — there is ill feeling, and he imagines to retain a claim to rank. You might approach him, though you should not attempt to handle Reed. He mistrusts you.
I've acquired a Maedhros and a Fingon, [ tall elves. ] Am I correct in assuming them your kin?
Perhaps thirty years. [ and there, it finally caves in: fills with the echo of something grown hollow. ] Thirty-five. Less, more.
[ twenty-five, twenty-six — ]
Gentleness is not within their vocabulary. [ or, evidently, promptness. ] I will have no luck of Darton — there is ill feeling, and he imagines to retain a claim to rank. You might approach him, though you should not attempt to handle Reed. He mistrusts you.
I've acquired a Maedhros and a Fingon, [ tall elves. ] Am I correct in assuming them your kin?
So you are a familiar witness of the decay. Does this seem similar, in any way, or an entirely different beast?
[ it occurs to him that he knows nothing about wren other than her time in the inquisition itself, and he did not have the authority to go snooping for her file back before it was untouchable. a pity, now. ]
Pretentious. [ clearly displeased, but settling before he speaks again. ] For my breed or for my method of arrival?
[ he is utterly detached as he says: ] Fingon by marriage, though further than Galadriel. Maedhros is mad, but even he should hate the red.
[ it occurs to him that he knows nothing about wren other than her time in the inquisition itself, and he did not have the authority to go snooping for her file back before it was untouchable. a pity, now. ]
Pretentious. [ clearly displeased, but settling before he speaks again. ] For my breed or for my method of arrival?
[ he is utterly detached as he says: ] Fingon by marriage, though further than Galadriel. Maedhros is mad, but even he should hate the red.
They remember the world being young. You'd like them. The spirits are there, and it's…it's not like when mages here do things with them, they love them. Respect them. Even when a whole forest is burnt away to nothing for the new one to sprout up, some spirit will know about it to tell an augur and his apprentices about it to tell the hold.
[If Yngvi had to pick a thing to be that sounded like faith--
It's not so bad. Piecemeal. That's what all this is, this having that he has between where the Boneflayers are and Kirkwall now.]
Wren left her really big dog here [the way someone tries to sound annoyed but can't, what a good dog] and there's lots of blankets now thanks. Me and the nugs and a dog and a goose. Stole some tea too.
[Not drinking. Being better about things. Less to worry about.]
[If Yngvi had to pick a thing to be that sounded like faith--
It's not so bad. Piecemeal. That's what all this is, this having that he has between where the Boneflayers are and Kirkwall now.]
Wren left her really big dog here [the way someone tries to sound annoyed but can't, what a good dog] and there's lots of blankets now thanks. Me and the nugs and a dog and a goose. Stole some tea too.
[Not drinking. Being better about things. Less to worry about.]
I was among them several months ago, I found them to be good Men. It is important that they remember. It is a large measure of what makes them good.
[ yngvi cannot see, and it does not last, but his eyes soften. this one is so gently earnest. he is many things thranduil has never seen a dwarf be, often right next to things he is. but on this, this kindness, this childishness--
he is an elf. they are fond of the young of any race by design. ]
What sort of tea?
[ yngvi cannot see, and it does not last, but his eyes soften. this one is so gently earnest. he is many things thranduil has never seen a dwarf be, often right next to things he is. but on this, this kindness, this childishness--
he is an elf. they are fond of the young of any race by design. ]
What sort of tea?
Different, entire. It is as to be — displaced, within memory. Within dream. Details fade. Events cloud. If there is violence, it is often for confusion, fear.
[ a pause. ]
There is something else to the red. [ the notes are all wrong, and there's no way to say that without sounding a madwoman. she won't allow herself to be seen for that, can't. not yet. ] Your arrival, I presume; he has spoken poorly to de Cedoux.
[ galadriel who, that's something to file away. that they all apparently get spooky vibes off of lyrium — ]
What do you sense of it? Between the two?
[ a pause. ]
There is something else to the red. [ the notes are all wrong, and there's no way to say that without sounding a madwoman. she won't allow herself to be seen for that, can't. not yet. ] Your arrival, I presume; he has spoken poorly to de Cedoux.
[ galadriel who, that's something to file away. that they all apparently get spooky vibes off of lyrium — ]
What do you sense of it? Between the two?
I have seen elderly Men grow foggy, think themselves younger. This is seems the same, but brought on sooner. Are they healthy besides? Does the Chantry mind them, or are they often lost?
[ well, that's something to work with, but he has no reason to interact with that one, and will use intermediaries if needed. but that he was misplaced with de cedoux-- she is as mild-mannered as cream and a lady to her bones. the most inoffensive rifter of them all.
he inhales, prepares to indulge. she cannot fear him more than she does. ]
You must understand some things about us to understand why. Our history is more real than yours; we are old, we are born knowing. There are no half-remembered things, no differing recollections. We know how everything came to be because we speak with those who were there, those who served the One who sang the Music that made all things, those who sang alongside Him.
One of those who sang desired to change the Music, to gain control, to create and to corrupt. He sang in discord, and from this, all awful things were made, and all wretched things carry the echo of that discord. The Quendi were made pure, uncorrupted, unending and eternal. We are the Song, we know the Song, hear it, and through knowing it are able to-- move within in. To sculpt creation on our own.
[ a pause. ]
It is too complicated. You could not understand. But because we know what the harmony ought to be, we know when it is disturbed. When something moves with malice, with evil, with impurity. Something about lyrium itself is distasteful. It-- sings a tune all its own, but it is not wrong, merely unnerving. The red is-- it festers. It is discord.
[ well, that's something to work with, but he has no reason to interact with that one, and will use intermediaries if needed. but that he was misplaced with de cedoux-- she is as mild-mannered as cream and a lady to her bones. the most inoffensive rifter of them all.
he inhales, prepares to indulge. she cannot fear him more than she does. ]
You must understand some things about us to understand why. Our history is more real than yours; we are old, we are born knowing. There are no half-remembered things, no differing recollections. We know how everything came to be because we speak with those who were there, those who served the One who sang the Music that made all things, those who sang alongside Him.
One of those who sang desired to change the Music, to gain control, to create and to corrupt. He sang in discord, and from this, all awful things were made, and all wretched things carry the echo of that discord. The Quendi were made pure, uncorrupted, unending and eternal. We are the Song, we know the Song, hear it, and through knowing it are able to-- move within in. To sculpt creation on our own.
[ a pause. ]
It is too complicated. You could not understand. But because we know what the harmony ought to be, we know when it is disturbed. When something moves with malice, with evil, with impurity. Something about lyrium itself is distasteful. It-- sings a tune all its own, but it is not wrong, merely unnerving. The red is-- it festers. It is discord.
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