[ the outsider will see: thranduil, leaning against the side of an aravel, wrapped in a fur, cleaning his sword. the outsider— the statue— is perched on a swatch of cloth cut roughly from the one used at skyhold; a few shards of driftwood and carved bone sit haphazard on it, as if someone were using them to cast fortunes.
thranduil's eyes flick up— he's slow. between the moment he sees and the moment he reaches for his sword, there's an unacceptable gap, the pause that would have cost him his life anywhere else.
but that voice.
the inside of the aravel is tiny, so he cannot stand. but he does reach out for the statue, sword set to the side. ]
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thranduil's eyes flick up— he's slow. between the moment he sees and the moment he reaches for his sword, there's an unacceptable gap, the pause that would have cost him his life anywhere else.
but that voice.
the inside of the aravel is tiny, so he cannot stand. but he does reach out for the statue, sword set to the side. ]
Duinenor. [ he wants to believe. ]