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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Impulse control and the nigh on constant desire to provoke him being what they are, it should come as little surprise that she doesn't even pause to entertain the thought of trying not to say, immediately, “Are you sure your hip can take it?” —but she wouldn't have asked if she actually thought the answer might be no, to judge by the tilt of her smile, and the way she illustrates her very serious concern for his well-being by hitching her knee up over it, shifting her weight beneath him like she's trying to test a saddle.
(She prefers him above her, on the whole, but what she likes about riding Thranduil is how much he likes it.)
She missed this, she thinks, though it's hardly as though they've been apart. Scarcely even inches, as if they can fill up the cool absence of Iorveth with their own warmth. Still, recovering from Ghislain, physically and otherwise—neither of them have come to bed with intent in too long, and now they are wedded in the eyes of the Chantry (or at least what parts of it won't continue to decry the Inquisition in general and rifters in particular) and it feels like a welcome opportunity to reassert themselves privately, having done it publicly. Which is an intolerably sentimental thought that she'd derail with something appropriately absurd if she had her hands free,
it's always only been a matter of time before she slapped him on the backside just to see what his face does,
but instead she is warm and near and held so firmly she entertains the appealing notion it may bruise and trapped with the thought that she loves him, very much.
(She prefers him above her, on the whole, but what she likes about riding Thranduil is how much he likes it.)
She missed this, she thinks, though it's hardly as though they've been apart. Scarcely even inches, as if they can fill up the cool absence of Iorveth with their own warmth. Still, recovering from Ghislain, physically and otherwise—neither of them have come to bed with intent in too long, and now they are wedded in the eyes of the Chantry (or at least what parts of it won't continue to decry the Inquisition in general and rifters in particular) and it feels like a welcome opportunity to reassert themselves privately, having done it publicly. Which is an intolerably sentimental thought that she'd derail with something appropriately absurd if she had her hands free,
it's always only been a matter of time before she slapped him on the backside just to see what his face does,
but instead she is warm and near and held so firmly she entertains the appealing notion it may bruise and trapped with the thought that she loves him, very much.
No. The post of Provost is now open. Congratulations, you have a head start on the others who might wish to claim the position.
[ a beat. ]
Provost Solas. It does suit you.
[ a beat. ]
Provost Solas. It does suit you.
Countless. It was mine.
[ l'état, c'est moi. or more specifically la terre, but he savors it in his mouth.
he will not be connected to the land here like that, not even now, after he'd shed his blood at ghislain. he had not worn a rut in the memory of the place, not yet. perhaps he ought to acquire some thick-soled slippers for the task. ]
Tea is allowed.
[ l'état, c'est moi. or more specifically la terre, but he savors it in his mouth.
he will not be connected to the land here like that, not even now, after he'd shed his blood at ghislain. he had not worn a rut in the memory of the place, not yet. perhaps he ought to acquire some thick-soled slippers for the task. ]
Tea is allowed.
[Right well that's...
A thing not to be touched after coming back to Kirkwall, to the spectre of his father with an arm outstretched; mine and ours and a flexible view of possession even in jest.]
I'll bring the tea you can't be trusted, I'll be about when I'm about. Animals y'know.
A thing not to be touched after coming back to Kirkwall, to the spectre of his father with an arm outstretched; mine and ours and a flexible view of possession even in jest.]
I'll bring the tea you can't be trusted, I'll be about when I'm about. Animals y'know.
Why not? It it decidedly bureaucratic when it is not scholarly; I see nearly everything the Advisors choose to send over from Skyhold as well as having no book forbidden to me. Casimir handles most of the nonsense, together we rarely work past dusk.
Or he will, once he's settled again.
And there is the privacy.
Or he will, once he's settled again.
And there is the privacy.
It is not a domain I would be comfortable in. [ Power. Access to everything. Acting above his station.
He is an apostate mage. The fact that he is trusted as much as he is, without anything to support his background, is more than enough. ]
It is best suited to others.
He is an apostate mage. The fact that he is trusted as much as he is, without anything to support his background, is more than enough. ]
It is best suited to others.
She made sure you were well, I suspect.
[ dryly: ] She is a force of nature, mellon-nin. Something this small would not phase her.
[ dryly: ] She is a force of nature, mellon-nin. Something this small would not phase her.
You are kind.
[ he exhales. ]
As were many, I think. It was easily handled, in the end.
[ he exhales. ]
As were many, I think. It was easily handled, in the end.
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