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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It's what I used to do, actually. For Cazador, my old master. It was the only time I was ever allowed to leave his side, in fact. I’d get dressed up in finery as though I were still nobility, go trotting out into the city and swan my way into the nicest of parties.
And then into someone else’s heart.
Cazador was particular, though. Nothing less than the best would do. Bringing someone back anything other than the height of beauty and I’d be—
Well. I’m sure I don’t need to explain the details.
[He exhales, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth. His tone is casual. Conversational, rather than overtly pained.]
Anyway long story short, I thought doing this for myself would feel better. Getting to use my skills for my own reasons, that sort of thing.
Admittedly it does. But...
The days are beginning to drag, now. The shine’s wearing, I suppose.
[Like so much else in regards to his newfound freedom, it always feels better at first and then—
Then it stops.]
And then into someone else’s heart.
Cazador was particular, though. Nothing less than the best would do. Bringing someone back anything other than the height of beauty and I’d be—
Well. I’m sure I don’t need to explain the details.
[He exhales, clicking his tongue against the back of his teeth. His tone is casual. Conversational, rather than overtly pained.]
Anyway long story short, I thought doing this for myself would feel better. Getting to use my skills for my own reasons, that sort of thing.
Admittedly it does. But...
The days are beginning to drag, now. The shine’s wearing, I suppose.
[Like so much else in regards to his newfound freedom, it always feels better at first and then—
Then it stops.]
You have my sympathies for the loss of your ( what's the word. ) pastime. Or the possibility of the enjoyment thereof.
( astarion has given him at great deal to pull at, later. lots of little threads begging to be tugged upon. a name. but for now- )
How soon until you return? Surely no more than a fortnight.
( astarion has given him at great deal to pull at, later. lots of little threads begging to be tugged upon. a name. but for now- )
How soon until you return? Surely no more than a fortnight.
[Astarion snorts hotly at that offer of sympathy; no doubt an expected response, given how poorly mercy attunes itself to him. Pity even less.]
No, I imagine we'll be here just a few days more. It's not as if we're here to actually sway the man, only to sniff out the stage, in essence.
[And then, mildly:]
Please don't tell me you want to spar the moment I get back.
No, I imagine we'll be here just a few days more. It's not as if we're here to actually sway the man, only to sniff out the stage, in essence.
[And then, mildly:]
Please don't tell me you want to spar the moment I get back.
Hardly any time at all.
After you showed such an aversion to the idea? ( amused. ) No.
What is your weapon of choice? Besides your charm.
After you showed such an aversion to the idea? ( amused. ) No.
What is your weapon of choice? Besides your charm.
As if I need anything else.
[He might— despite everything— sound suddenly bolstered by the acknowledgment of said charm, however.
Shallow praise. Ever a balm.]
But go on. Take a guess. What do you think I fight with?
[He might— despite everything— sound suddenly bolstered by the acknowledgment of said charm, however.
Shallow praise. Ever a balm.]
But go on. Take a guess. What do you think I fight with?
Knives. ( the guess is confident, immediate. ) Long enough to force distance if you need it, more a fencer than a street fighter. But intimate. The kill must be made close.
[Astarion makes a faint noise at that. Bullseye, sir.]
Not bad. [Said as if it were somehow expected, that entirely correct response.
It wasn't.]
I made it easy for you. But now it's my turn. [A beat, and then:]
A sword, perhaps? Elegant. Dignified.
Poised.
[It's either that or a bow, he'd guess. But no one spars with that.]
Not bad. [Said as if it were somehow expected, that entirely correct response.
It wasn't.]
I made it easy for you. But now it's my turn. [A beat, and then:]
A sword, perhaps? Elegant. Dignified.
Poised.
[It's either that or a bow, he'd guess. But no one spars with that.]
Two, ( he confirms. )
Regal, I would say.
Regal, I would say.
Edited 2021-09-25 04:37 (UTC)
[Astarion would be awash in disappointment for not having won the most insignificant of games, if not for one little detail—]
Regal. [He repeats, seemingly delighted by this fresher show of dignity.]
My my, such a lofty descriptor— not that I disagree with it, there's something to be said for the natural poise dual-wielding requires, and you do cut quite the striking figure when you're not wilting like a fallen willow.
[It's a small little noise, touching the back of his throat.] Well. Even then, admittedly.
But you know, you never did say exactly what your role was before you came stumbling into this miserable world.
[And Astarion, still faintly stinking of vindictively spilled wine, could use the distraction.]
Regal. [He repeats, seemingly delighted by this fresher show of dignity.]
My my, such a lofty descriptor— not that I disagree with it, there's something to be said for the natural poise dual-wielding requires, and you do cut quite the striking figure when you're not wilting like a fallen willow.
[It's a small little noise, touching the back of his throat.] Well. Even then, admittedly.
But you know, you never did say exactly what your role was before you came stumbling into this miserable world.
[And Astarion, still faintly stinking of vindictively spilled wine, could use the distraction.]
Edited (because I can change old tags if I want to, fight me) 2021-10-26 13:55 (UTC)
'Wilting'?
( the word said with the verbal equivalent of being held between two fingers, something gross the cat brought in, corrections wholly ignored. )
I was a lord.
( a steward with a particularly nice hat. )
( the word said with the verbal equivalent of being held between two fingers, something gross the cat brought in, corrections wholly ignored. )
I was a lord.
( a steward with a particularly nice hat. )
[It's so satisfyingly easy sometimes; what a gift, the sound of that revulsion.
Attention is always attention, after all.]
Arda, wasn't it? The place you'd mentioned once before. [A lot can be said of Astarion's callous nature, but his memory is sound, and he covets those fragile details as much as the cluttered curiosities set within his own home.]
Given that you and I are the only sharp-eared former nobility I've met, I'll assume it wasn't just a heap of bark and leaves, or some shrinking recess in the midst of an otherwise expansive world.
Attention is always attention, after all.]
Arda, wasn't it? The place you'd mentioned once before. [A lot can be said of Astarion's callous nature, but his memory is sound, and he covets those fragile details as much as the cluttered curiosities set within his own home.]
Given that you and I are the only sharp-eared former nobility I've met, I'll assume it wasn't just a heap of bark and leaves, or some shrinking recess in the midst of an otherwise expansive world.
Taur-nu-Fuin. Mirkwood, as the Men called it. The largest Elven kingdom yet remaining on the continent.
( exorcised of longing in the tone, but not fondness. )
Enough so that the lord was simply the Elvenking.
( exorcised of longing in the tone, but not fondness. )
Enough so that the lord was simply the Elvenking.
The largest— [His laugh is high. Brittle. Quick in the way anything reflexive is, like jerking fingertips or a twitch at the corner of a mouth— only when it ends, nothing else steps in.
Because Lord finally translates as the pieces settle in. Not a Duke or a Baron, or some self-appointed keeper of a patch of muddy earth. A fucking Elven king. Literally the Elvenking. It's right there in the bloody title.
And here he’s been making an ass of himself, teasing the man about twigs and deer and frolicking in the woods. Making him clean fish and tend the fire and— Hells, even shameless Astarion, nuisance and jackknife rolled into one, knows exactly what kind of insults he's managed.
So just. Just give him one minute. To catch his breath and find his footing and put away the memory of baser commentary or silken hair tangled up in bedsheets before he melts entirely into the stone railing currently propping him upright.]
You couldn’t have told me sooner?
Because Lord finally translates as the pieces settle in. Not a Duke or a Baron, or some self-appointed keeper of a patch of muddy earth. A fucking Elven king. Literally the Elvenking. It's right there in the bloody title.
And here he’s been making an ass of himself, teasing the man about twigs and deer and frolicking in the woods. Making him clean fish and tend the fire and— Hells, even shameless Astarion, nuisance and jackknife rolled into one, knows exactly what kind of insults he's managed.
So just. Just give him one minute. To catch his breath and find his footing and put away the memory of baser commentary or silken hair tangled up in bedsheets before he melts entirely into the stone railing currently propping him upright.]
You couldn’t have told me sooner?
( he waits for Astarion to finish sputtering before he replies, all cool smoothness: )
Told you what?
Told you what?
Told— [Incredulous. Scoffing. How does he not know?]
That you were a damned king? The quintessential sort, in fact, going by the whole Elvenking affair. I—
That you were a damned king? The quintessential sort, in fact, going by the whole Elvenking affair. I—
I have no armies. No holdings. No storied history nor alliances.
( blunt, ) If I were to put on my crown and call myself Lord, I would be thought a madman, or worse, a fool, and an elf either way. What good would that do me?
( blunt, ) If I were to put on my crown and call myself Lord, I would be thought a madman, or worse, a fool, and an elf either way. What good would that do me?
[There, at least, is an utterly sobering truth: the sort Astarion can understand, given that for all his open-mouthed teasing, he's only confessed the depth of his true nature to a handful of people at best— and that percentage drops even more sharply in the case of anyone native to this world.
Self-preservation, realistic perceptions. It's his language, really. How can he blame Thranduil for it, when all he's done is the exact same thing?]
...well. [He starts, quiet in that tellingly contemplative docility of his.] I wouldn't have thought you were mad.
[For the record, at least.]
Self-preservation, realistic perceptions. It's his language, really. How can he blame Thranduil for it, when all he's done is the exact same thing?]
...well. [He starts, quiet in that tellingly contemplative docility of his.] I wouldn't have thought you were mad.
[For the record, at least.]
( this is— better. he likes this reaction more.
how easily the mantle has fallen off, in what, less than a decade? a blink of an eye, for an elf, an idle afternoon. his entire life— )
I have a crown. It might well have added to the effect.
( it’s right over there, under the robe draped over the wardrobe door. )
You will not be behaving differently, I hope.
how easily the mantle has fallen off, in what, less than a decade? a blink of an eye, for an elf, an idle afternoon. his entire life— )
I have a crown. It might well have added to the effect.
( it’s right over there, under the robe draped over the wardrobe door. )
You will not be behaving differently, I hope.
[There's a tepid pause, there. Some point where Astarion's clearly weighing his own answer, still slung across the balcony with his chin settled heavily across his forearms.]
Not if you let me wear that crown at least once.
Not if you let me wear that crown at least once.
It is silver and diamonds. It will suit you very well.
You intend to parade about the Gallows wearing it, I assume.
You intend to parade about the Gallows wearing it, I assume.
[Silver and diamonds? How very to his taste.]
In an ideal world? Absolutely, darling.
That said, I'd rather not cause any further ripples of distress amongst our very narrow social circle. Or— well, your social circle, that is. [If seen preening about like a swanning dove in something unmistakably Thranduil's, Astarion imagines the sting might make things potentially more unbearable than they already are.
The whole damn continent might very well split further in half, in fact. Some kind of aftershock for yet another unintended slight.]
I'll settle for lounging around in it wherever you happen to roost.
In an ideal world? Absolutely, darling.
That said, I'd rather not cause any further ripples of distress amongst our very narrow social circle. Or— well, your social circle, that is. [If seen preening about like a swanning dove in something unmistakably Thranduil's, Astarion imagines the sting might make things potentially more unbearable than they already are.
The whole damn continent might very well split further in half, in fact. Some kind of aftershock for yet another unintended slight.]
I'll settle for lounging around in it wherever you happen to roost.
I will be at the Gallows. She has made it very clear I am not welcome at the estate.
( and she has every right.
he exhales. he has realized how dark the room is, how quiet. )
I am worried she— ( he cuts himself off. astarion could imagine any end to that sentence he might like and probably be right. instead: ) Come back alive and in one piece.
( and she has every right.
he exhales. he has realized how dark the room is, how quiet. )
I am worried she— ( he cuts himself off. astarion could imagine any end to that sentence he might like and probably be right. instead: ) Come back alive and in one piece.
[He doesn’t need to imagine how that sentence might end; the fact that it doesn’t says more than anything else ever could.
Still, rather than press, he opts to deflect from that pained flicker on Thranduil’s behalf. A rare, beneficial gesture.
His tone is easy. Light when he asks:]
You're not worried about me, are you?
Still, rather than press, he opts to deflect from that pained flicker on Thranduil’s behalf. A rare, beneficial gesture.
His tone is easy. Light when he asks:]
You're not worried about me, are you?
Edited (flow~) 2021-10-28 01:47 (UTC)
Trouble seems to find you.
( himself included. )
( himself included. )
Well that—
[A scoff, cut short when he opens his mouth to argue— and then shuts it again.]
Might be a little true. Somewhat.
[If being mauled to near-death, enslaved, kidnapped, infected, thrown into an entirely different world and swept up in its war counts for anything at all.]
But while we’re still on the subject of untold truths...there’s something you should know. About me, I mean.
[A scoff, cut short when he opens his mouth to argue— and then shuts it again.]
Might be a little true. Somewhat.
[If being mauled to near-death, enslaved, kidnapped, infected, thrown into an entirely different world and swept up in its war counts for anything at all.]
But while we’re still on the subject of untold truths...there’s something you should know. About me, I mean.
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