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
Entry tags:
fade rift ✧ inbox
for notes, letters, etc.
for notes, letters, etc.
If you ever go to Honey Badger Hold, go meet their Augur or at least Aura. You'd be able to talk for hours, she's got a spirit friend now.
[Her letters are strange little things when he gets them, probably the same as whenever she mentions she's written to his lady but she's happy. Healthy. Whole. What more can you ask for these days?]
An Orlesian one, dark red so I think they put berries in it. Smells all wintery and spiced. Mulled wine without the wine.
[Her letters are strange little things when he gets them, probably the same as whenever she mentions she's written to his lady but she's happy. Healthy. Whole. What more can you ask for these days?]
An Orlesian one, dark red so I think they put berries in it. Smells all wintery and spiced. Mulled wine without the wine.
I shall. I would like to hear about her friend.
You will come find me if you need anything.
You will come find me if you need anything.
( At some point during his work-day, Thranduil will notice that a folded paper has been slipped into his clothes—likely early that morning. It doesn't look as if it was written recently, however, and upon reading it he can probably guess precisely when: it is his story of Luthien transcribed. Some parts are more paraphrased or guessed at than others (it looks as if she might've missed part of the start), and occasionally she was guessing at the spelling of various particular details. There are occasional editorial remarks (our mantle is also green), but for the most part she wrote what she heard.
Specifically, what she had listened to, sitting in an armchair in her rooms in Skyhold, very specifically not wearing the shirt she returned later that night. On the back of it, she's written: )
I wrote down the one you told me when you were in Halamshiral as well, but I had to do it from memory and I paraphrased most of it. G.
Specifically, what she had listened to, sitting in an armchair in her rooms in Skyhold, very specifically not wearing the shirt she returned later that night. On the back of it, she's written: )
I wrote down the one you told me when you were in Halamshiral as well, but I had to do it from memory and I paraphrased most of it. G.
Edited 2018-01-15 11:22 (UTC)
Healthy as any soldier in age. [ her knees, thranduil. it should be dry, it isn’t. ] There are provisions made, but with the war —
[ it trails off. uncertainty has governed the chantry near four years; those who remain can count upon little. privately, that's something of a relief.
because she holds some regard for him, she listens (arrogant needn't mean incorrect). she listens, and hears only what she ever does, of late: ]
Has else here similarly disturbed you?
[ what the harmony ought to be, no. hold your bloody focus, coupe. ]
[ it trails off. uncertainty has governed the chantry near four years; those who remain can count upon little. privately, that's something of a relief.
because she holds some regard for him, she listens (arrogant needn't mean incorrect). she listens, and hears only what she ever does, of late: ]
Has else here similarly disturbed you?
[ what the harmony ought to be, no. hold your bloody focus, coupe. ]
So only their minds are ruined. I see. I will have to think on this.
[ reluctantly: ]
The Wardens. Like corpses even the vultures would refuse. My cousin feels these things clearer than I, and the revulsion is-- physical.
[ reluctantly: ]
The Wardens. Like corpses even the vultures would refuse. My cousin feels these things clearer than I, and the revulsion is-- physical.
[ thranduil bids him enter without looking up, and only stands and leaves his desk once sorrel is inside and the door shut behind him. then, he comes to meet the younger elf. he offers no embrace, no salute, just looks him over, gathering what he needs from the hand of his clothes, the paper-thin skin under his eyes. ]
Sit by the fire, [ he instructs. ] Tea? Perhaps something from the kitchens? There was stout pies for lunch; I did not finish mine and cannot bear the waste.
Sit by the fire, [ he instructs. ] Tea? Perhaps something from the kitchens? There was stout pies for lunch; I did not finish mine and cannot bear the waste.
[He wants to decline, and is trying to hide that impulse, but the mention of waste and the good Dalish manners his mother put into him put the words into his mouth whether Sorrel wills it or no; one does not waste food, and one does not refuse gifts.]
Thank you, I- [And in his warm seat by the fire, he'll drink his tea and eat the entire remainder of Thranduil's pie, come void or high water, or the pure shame of his ancestors is likely to escape the fade and smite him down.] ...I did miss lunch.
[And breakfast. But who's counting?]
I apologize for coming so late. I didn't want to interrupt your work, if I could.
Thank you, I- [And in his warm seat by the fire, he'll drink his tea and eat the entire remainder of Thranduil's pie, come void or high water, or the pure shame of his ancestors is likely to escape the fade and smite him down.] ...I did miss lunch.
[And breakfast. But who's counting?]
I apologize for coming so late. I didn't want to interrupt your work, if I could.
[ he nods, and turns to return to his desk, where a tray the kitchen sent up for him rests. there is one whole pie, and stains that suggest there was another. it's about the side of thranduil's fist, and warm-ish, but hearty enough fare. he sets it down on sorrel's lap, and goes to fetch the kettle, the herbal tea already in the pot he'll use to brew it. ]
Eat, [ he says, ] and drink, and we will speak.
[ he keeps moving, putting things in order, being there without forcing eye contact, formality. ]
You are hardly interrupting when invited.
Eat, [ he says, ] and drink, and we will speak.
[ he keeps moving, putting things in order, being there without forcing eye contact, formality. ]
You are hardly interrupting when invited.
[Sorrel doesn't know what to say to that; his first impulse is another apology, but he can tell that that isn't the right answer. So he just hums a wordless, directionless sound of agreement. He does as he's told, and with unexpected enthusiasm. The pie itself seems as if nothing could be less desirable, until Sorrel breaks the crust and the smell rises up to strike him like a physical blow. The first bite is dignified enough, but the second is larger, and soon the tray is empty and even the tea is missing an inch or two.
The body knows what the heart sometimes forgets; death is for the dead, and no amount of love for those left behind can stop life from continuing on.]
Thank you.
[He says it softly, when he's down to the last of his tea, almost sheepish. Finally, he looks up from the cup in his hands, still warm, as if to say Now what?]
The body knows what the heart sometimes forgets; death is for the dead, and no amount of love for those left behind can stop life from continuing on.]
Thank you.
[He says it softly, when he's down to the last of his tea, almost sheepish. Finally, he looks up from the cup in his hands, still warm, as if to say Now what?]
[ thranduil lets him eat without interruption, doubtless using the time to think of all he would like settled before he retires for the evening. he has a good handle on the work he does, the papers are all in order, casimir a cornerstone of the system he's developed. in other words, he's steady and confident and this is not in the least a bad time for him.
sorrel speaks his thanks, and he nods once, easy in his own space, ready to approach the matter without fear or reluctance. ]
Her name is Calenmirel. I met her when we were young, although we did not wed until later. I struggled with it at first, the loving her, for I wanted nothing more than to best her, to prove my sword-arm stronger, my arrows more steady. It is often that way for Sindar, for Silvans, that love should start as a competition, counting enemies felled in battle or who has brought home the bigger hind for the table.
sorrel speaks his thanks, and he nods once, easy in his own space, ready to approach the matter without fear or reluctance. ]
Her name is Calenmirel. I met her when we were young, although we did not wed until later. I struggled with it at first, the loving her, for I wanted nothing more than to best her, to prove my sword-arm stronger, my arrows more steady. It is often that way for Sindar, for Silvans, that love should start as a competition, counting enemies felled in battle or who has brought home the bigger hind for the table.
No. [ and why should he? if this whole thing is the fault of the damned dwarves, his opinion of them will fall even further. ]
It is no wonder the dwarves conspire with the source of all the filth in this world.
It is no wonder the dwarves conspire with the source of all the filth in this world.
[He speaks, and Sorrel says nothing, growing only more confused until understanding finally comes to him. The story started in the middle, and the beginning, but he can see the end-- though not clearly. Her name is Calenmirel? Is, not was.]
You must miss her, stuck here.
You must miss her, stuck here.
Uhm. Hello. Warden Serra asked me to come and speak to you on behalf of our, er, Project. We wanted to borrow some land from Kirkwall to try some of our more risky experiments - around the Sundermont - and the clerks at the Palace said we would need one of the Division heads to, you know, be all big and important and whatever at Viscount Bran.
So, if you could do that, we'd be grateful. We need to find new ways to test the shards without hurting people.
So, if you could do that, we'd be grateful. We need to find new ways to test the shards without hurting people.
[ his tone is different than the one he used to address the whole of the inquisition a scant few days before, but still very much recognizable. nothing to comment on. nothing more unusual than any of the recent events. ]
Not Sundermount, but luckily we are close enough to the Vimmarks that another suitable location will be easily found. I would like a list of these planned experiments, written with a better and more delicate descriptor than 'risky'.
Not Sundermount, but luckily we are close enough to the Vimmarks that another suitable location will be easily found. I would like a list of these planned experiments, written with a better and more delicate descriptor than 'risky'.
[Well he sounds a little ...weird, but maybe it's different one on one. She hasn't had a chance to take apart crystal magic yet.]
Will we have to go through Kirkwall for that [pause, remember manners...] Sir?
Will we have to go through Kirkwall for that [pause, remember manners...] Sir?
Messere Thranduil--
Are you well enough we might speak?
The Lady Vauquelin told me you'd knowledge of the rifters. Something that might help us unravel the plague.
Are you well enough we might speak?
The Lady Vauquelin told me you'd knowledge of the rifters. Something that might help us unravel the plague.
[ sharply: ] I am well. We may speak.
[ myr is one of the only people he'd allow to see him right now, but he's cloistered himself away and disinclined to leave his nest. ]
What knowledge do you seek?
[ myr is one of the only people he'd allow to see him right now, but he's cloistered himself away and disinclined to leave his nest. ]
What knowledge do you seek?
She'd said you called them--yourselves-- [a brief pause,] --"dreams made flesh". Do you suspect--you're some kind of spirit, then? Creatures born of the Fade?
Why do the Andrastians insist upon the Chant needing to be sung in all the corners of the world? What do they hope to wake with their own endless song? [ in the end— the bitter, bitter end— he is only feverish. but he pours out the words like a prophet, endowed with all his age and authority.
it is more than myr asked for. ]
But they have failed—so far— and our people have been dreaming and hoping for so much longer. A dream in the Fade, solidified over years, calling out to us, the right moment and right Craft creating an imprint, and we, summoned, arriving— the sum of two thousand years of hopes.
it is more than myr asked for. ]
But they have failed—so far— and our people have been dreaming and hoping for so much longer. A dream in the Fade, solidified over years, calling out to us, the right moment and right Craft creating an imprint, and we, summoned, arriving— the sum of two thousand years of hopes.
[It's far more than he asked for, pieces of the puzzle spilled out without a frame to put them in or even an idea of how many there ought to be, what shape they were supposed to make at the end. The best he can do in the instant is slip them into the holes left by his own expectations--
As always, the fit jars. He bites his tongue, keeps his words to himself; better the patient listener than the loyal son of the Chantry right now.]
Our people, [softly.] We--we elves brought you here?
As always, the fit jars. He bites his tongue, keeps his words to himself; better the patient listener than the loyal son of the Chantry right now.]
Our people, [softly.] We--we elves brought you here?
She is no further from me than she was before. I have acclimated myself, though it took years.
[ he smiles into his cup, gaze somewhere past the liquid. ]
Time will help.
[ he smiles into his cup, gaze somewhere past the liquid. ]
Time will help.
I will speak with him, if you make the introductions. I would provide what aid I can.
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