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[rowancrowned]

 

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[elegiaque]

( eventually, Thranduil will probably find out that she talked to Solas and that she's learning to control her shard's shield. but not from her, that’s not what this is about: )

Before the funeral, I found out someone read my work and came here to help the Inquisition because of it.

[rowancrowned]

And is their 'help' the sort you intended to attract?

[ a pause, the sound of papers being shifted about on a desk. ]

Congratulations. I am pleased your efforts have borne fruit.

[elegiaque]

He's a blacksmith. Lord Luthor.

( lords in orlais do not have arms like that. also, he'd asked her not to call him that, but it feels improper to leave off when speaking of him to someone else. )

So he has resources, and he's useful.

[rowancrowned]

A Lord who is also a blacksmith? I did not think Men did such things.

[ have a talent, beyond what they inherited. ]

I would be proud even if you brought in an Anders flautist, my lady.

[elegiaque]

He comes very highly recommended. Apparently he's dwarven-taught, which I also didn't know anyone did.

( and then he can hear her nose wrinkling, probably - )

I wouldn't announce a flautist.

[rowancrowned]

The dwarves are best at working what comes out of the earth, being of the earth themselves.

[ that's the nicest thing thranduil's ever said about a dwarf. mark it down, because his nose didn't wrinkle. ]

No, my lady. Flautists tend to announce themselves.

[elegiaque]

I sincerely hope I haven't given anyone the impression that what the Inquisition truly suffers from is a dearth of bad music.

[rowancrowned]

It is, I believe, the one resource we have in great abundance.

[ he doesn't speak for a moment, but keeps the crystal's connection open. ]

I have an abundance of one more thing, Gwenaëlle.

[elegiaque]

Height?

[rowancrowned]

That, I am afraid, is not a resource I am free to give away.

[ there's a rustling in the background, and thranduil's voice, murmuring something in sindarin. ]

Perhaps this is something you would appreciate more if you were Ferelden. That is the joke, yes?

[elegiaque]

( there's a suspicious silence. )

What did you do?

[rowancrowned]

You asked for a present.

[elegiaque]

A ribbon doesn't make noises.

[rowancrowned]

A ribbon cannot mind you and keep you safe while I am away.

[ pause. ]

But I will also bring you ribbons.

[elegiaque]

Maker's breath. That's what all of these soldiers and stone walls are for, you know.

[rowancrowned]

And yet you still wish to learn to fight, despite the soldiers and stone walls.

[elegiaque]

( this answer comes savagely and instantly, the lingering warmth in her exasperation evaporated; )

No, I don't.

[rowancrowned]

I beg pardon. Need to.

There is still time for me to return her to the kennel. Please tell me if you would prefer I do so.

[elegiaque]

You can keep your ribbons, as well.

[rowancrowned]

They will look lovely in my hair.

Goodnight, Gwenaëlle. And again, congratulations.

[elegiaque]

I hope a chevalier rips your hair out from the root.

( gwen. )

[rowancrowned]

[ he thinks about letting her stew. he considers what might happen in letting them both take the same worn groove as a path again. he takes a deep breath, and then: ]

I never mean to cause offence. You are dear enough to me that I would not wish to hurt you. I am sorry, my lady, and beg only to know why exactly I earned your anger.

[elegiaque]

I'm not going to learn how to fight. I don't want to and I don't need to and it's never going to happen.

( some of those assertions are debatable, but that was a hard kneejerk - an irrational reaction based in fears she can't quite express, and like most of what gwenaëlle doesn't know how to deal with, it tends to come out as blind anger. )

[rowancrowned]

I know. I accept this. I have no intentions of trying to change your mind. Nor do I see reason to.

[ at least she's talking. that's enough. it's more than he would have hoped for even a month ago. ]

Can you understand why, in light of that, I might wish to provide you with other ways to stay safe?

[elegiaque]

( that she doesn't want to be mollified is as irrational as the tantrum she just threw, and she knows it. a moment of silence, and finally - )

Yes. I suppose.