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[rowancrowned]

 

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[elegiaque]

( a small breath of laughter, rueful; an exchange in orlesian; gwenaëlle, again, very reasonably; ) I did eat. Everything is -

fine.

( well, it isn't, but not in any way thranduil could solve even if he were here, she thinks. )

[rowancrowned]

Your friend is dying.

[ rude, but to the point. ]

And you are too- [ he cuts himself off here. the wood of the bed creaks as he shifts. his tone, now, is softer. ]

Gwenaëlle, may I beg a favor from you?

[elegiaque]

( there's a long, stung silence. finally; )

What sort of favour.

[rowancrowned]

That you will eat at twice a day, and bathe once every two days, and lay in bed, if not sleep, for at least six hours a night until I come back to Skyhold.

Tell me what I need do in return.

[elegiaque]

( you're not her real dad, thranduil. )

I've been eating. And bathing.

( probably less than twice a day.

probably not irrelevant she doesn't immediately dispute that she's been sleeping, either. probably he can envision the mutinous expression she's wearing without any help. )

Bring me back something from Halamshiral. I'll lie down.

[rowancrowned]

Thank you, my lady. Your heart is full of endless compassion for an old elf who wishes only for a kind ear to hear his stories.

[ that's true he's much hotter than papa gwen. ]

I will bring back two for you.

[elegiaque]

You aren't very charming when you're being ironic.

( she has already sunk down under her blankets, though, and it's slightly muffled by that. a yawn; )

I need a new hair comb.

[rowancrowned]

[ all the way in orlais, he's pleased, also sinking into bed, pulling the covers up. ]

That is a very intimate gift. You are willing to receive that from me?

[elegiaque]

Is it?

( gently bewildered. )

It's a hair comb, I'm not asking you to go to Liaison Dissension with my measurements.

[rowancrowned]

[ what's that.

now he has to go.

can he even get in, as an elf?

but back to hair: ]

Have you seen anyone touch my hair, in all the time I have been here? Galadriel's?

[ given how everyone in skyhold still has two whole hands, no. ]

Such a thing is a privilege reserved for family, lovers, companions in battle.

[elegiaque]

You haven't seen anyone touch my hair, either, that doesn't make hair ribbons racy. Guenievre combs my hair because my father pays her to do it.

( which neatly sidesteps the fact that guenievre is also. family. )

People I like much less than you have given me hair combs I wear.

1/2

[rowancrowned]

[ gently, gently. ]

It means something to my people, Gwenaëlle. I cannot dismiss so quickly that which I have known all my life, nor do I care to.

[rowancrowned]

[ and he cannot resist: ]

You 'like' me?

1 / 2

[elegiaque]

No.

( immediately and without hesitation. )

[elegiaque]

It doesn't matter, I don't even need anything.

[rowancrowned]

You promise me that hair ribbons are not racy, yes?

[elegiaque]

( there's a pause, and then honesty - despite, she thinks, the unlikelihood of it ever coming up in his hearing - prompts her to say, )

Not inherently.

[rowancrowned]

If I buy you ribbons, will I offend your father or ruin your chances for a good match?

[ let's make it simple. ]

[elegiaque]

An elf buying me a ribbon would be a lot less of a headache and a good deal easier to keep quiet than the last thing I tried to get out of a "good match".

( -- she probably wouldn't have said that, or so cynically, earlier in the day. )

2 / 2

[elegiaque]

It's a bit late to consider my father's feelings. You've done a hundred things to offend him.

[rowancrowned]

And how many of them are legitimate, and not simply because I am Quendi?

[ he's actually curious, he knows little of the culture. ]

[elegiaque]

Neither of those things. He just doesn't care for anyone I -

( can't say 'like' )

- associate with. You'll offend him if you give me a gift. Well, if he hears of it.

( literally any gift.

also, why would he, she doesn't tell him anything. )

[rowancrowned]

He is jealous? Why? You are his daughter, it makes only sense that you should one day leave his house to build your own. Is it the custom to cloister daughters so unbreathable close?

[ he's already thinking of what ribbons would suit her best. he's not afraid of the spectre of her father, a man more poet than warrior. ]

[elegiaque]

I don't know, ( she lies. ) I don't pay it any mind.

[rowancrowned]

I did not mark you as ignorant of what happens around you.

Should I expect trouble from your father?