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[ Beleth has to wonder about this princess, who must have been beautiful indeed. And old, if Thranduil were too young for her. Did that matter as much to immortals? Was there a difference between someone who was 500 years old, and someone who was only 400? But it wasn't the time for asking those kinds of questions. ]

Six months. That's--[ She takes a moment to count on her fingers. ]--two months more than me. Maybe it wasn't so bad.

[ She pauses when he asks, because--It's embarrassing, now. All the effort she'd spent, the time she had deliberated over how to go about her confession. ]

I had one of my friends ask one of his friends what kind of woman he seemed to like. I planned out what I would tell him--it was several pages long, at first. I cut it down to about three paragraphs. Then I wrote a letter to his best friend, explaining why he should agree to the relationship--Ah. His best friend has a great deal of sway with him, and I feared he would disapprove. I got him to meet my mother. I asked several of his other friends what kind of present I should get him to accompany my confession, ah...I ended up going with a ring. A rather nice one.

When I told him, I included an explanation as to why I felt the way I did, that I was willing to discuss any concerns he might have with the relationship, and why I would make a good partner for him, along with an assurance that I was willing to listen to any issues he might have with my behavior and adjust accordingly.

He told me that I sounded like I was interviewing for a job.

Edited (wrrrrong icon) 2016-10-27 05:55 (UTC)

[ he shifts to fold his legs a bit more evenly underneath him, settles in. ]

It seems as though he may have been merely stalling for time whilst he considered a better answer.

[ a very cruel way to do so, but likely unintentional. at least, he cannot imagine beleth having affection for someone with the foresight to string her along for months simply to take delight in severing her hopes. not without her sussing out their intent.

a ring, however. that's interesting. ] I have heard that you propose marriage with a gift of a ring, yes? I do not not all the steps in mortal courtship, but it seems as if you were being cautious. You asked for advice, you received approval from your mother. And your friends and his did not express concern that he would feel anything but delight, I assume.

[ he is at a loss for what else might have been done, but he has only courted once. he gestures with his free hand, palm up and fingers unfolded. ] You did not make some misstep along the way. I must ask-- why were you willing to adjust your behavior? Why were the first things you offered changes you would make to yourself? Did you suspect some part of you was disagreeable to him?

I suppose, that's certainly possible.

[ Alistair was pretty good at stalling and trying to divert attention. And particularly, she supposed, when he had to tell her something he knew would deeply upset her. Or maybe he was just being an ass, who knew.

Thranduil has come to several incorrect conclusions, and yet, Beleth doesn't have it in her to bother fixing them. Does it matter if she'd intended marriage or courting, or how her mother felt? No, as things now stood, very little of what she had done mattered. All she does is nod when Thranduil speaks about Alistair's friends (who were, admittedly, also her friends). ]

They said--well. Things friends say. That I was nice, and would make a good partner.

[ His questions make her blink in surprise, glancing over at him in confusion. ]

...Well, yes. Everyone has faults, traits that might be annoying to a partner. I wanted him to feel secure in knowing I am aware that I am not without my own failings, and that if any of them were particularly grating, that I would take steps to correct them. Is it so odd to be willing to take input from someone you care about, to improve yourself?

[ he unfolds himself from his spot on the floor, standing and smoothing his robes in one smooth motion. the room is utterly spotless, thanks to samwise, and there's a little tin filled with biscuits and a warm kettle of tea in the fireplace. how samwise manages this, thranduil isn't sure, but he picks up a plate and sets about fixing a glass for beleth. it's a hobbit habit he's picked up with alarming alacrity, but one he hasn't yet noticed. ]

How do you take your tea?

[ he doesn't bother making any for himself, stirring in her sugar with his back to her, thinking how to best choose his words. ]

And did you ask him to change his own failings at the same time? There are aspects of his character that displease you, I assume. Mannerisms or behaviors that trouble you.

[ Beleth certainly won't be the one to point it out to him. She watches Thranduil, slightly distracted by his last question. She's about to say plain but--Oh, he's already got sugar in there. Well, she's survived worse than sugar in her tea. ]

Just a little sugar is fine, thank you.

[ Would she ask Alistair to change his failings? Infatuation hadn't quite blinded her enough to think that he had none, but of course she would never ask him to change them. Not when he could do so much better than her (something he had, apparently, already figured out), and she was so...her. But she knows that people don't like hearing her say these things. ]

Well, yes. He doesn't think before he acts or speaks, he just. Does whatever occurs to him. And he doesn't take anything seriously, and he's as obtuse and dense as a rock. And! He chews so loudly, you can hear it across the room! But--

[ She frowns, staring at her hands. ]

None of that really bothered me, not to the point I'd make him change. But that's just me, I can't say that he would feel the same.

[ he considers the cup in his hands, nearly considering dumping it into the nearest vase of flowers that sam's set out so that he might remake it with 'a little sugar' but reconsiders and instead presses it into beleth's hands once he's sure the china won't burn her. ]

I ask because it seem so unequal to me, that you would offer yourself and show such willingness to be picked apart and yet not expect he do the same.

[ whomever he was, he certainly wasn't deserving of beleth, considering these behaviors. but the place beleth had put herself in wasn't fair either, acting like this man wouldn't need to accommodate her desires-- as if she didn't see herself as worthy--

he wonders again who this man might be, but that is for beleth's heart only. besides, he doesn't trust himself not to be cold in light of this. still: ]

I could make his life... difficult, if you would like?

[ he smiles, and there's a hint of something more behind it. more elvenking, less thranduil. no violence, of course, but- much fell under that header. ]

[ Beleth takes the cup without complaint, warming her hands while she listens to Thranduil. She doesn't say anything at first, and instead blows on her tea, taking a sip. If she minds the extra sugar, she doesn't bother to comment on that, either.

After some thought, she finally shrugs. ]

It didn't seem to matter, at the time. If it had helped convince him to be with me, it felt like it would have been worth it.

I mean--Being with the person you care for, and having them care about you in turn. Isn't that something worth...[ Don't say anything that's creepy ]...a great deal? People have done incredible feats in the name of romance.

[ Thranduil's offer should be politely dismissed, but Beleth considers it for a few moments, running her finger along the rim of her cup. It would involve having to tell Thranduil just who it was, but--well. Maybe he would understand.

That refusal, the way it was done--it had hurt. He'd hurt her. She still felt the sting. It couldn't hurt for Alistair to sting too, just a little. ]

...Not too difficult...?

[ he holds his tongue, and offers tea and sympathy instead, returning to his chair and resting his hand on her back, below her neck. ]

As difficult as you would like, child, and not a measure more or less.

[ do not give him this authority, beleth.

he sets his cup down on the side table, making sure there's a coaster under it, and then crosses his legs neatly, still leaning just-so to keep his hand on her back. comforting. solid. ]

Someone will look at you as though you are the stars themself. You deserve nothing less, and they will not ask that you reshape yourself to fit them.

[ Thranduil's words elicit a fond, bashful smile, and she ducks her head, a small smile playing across her lips. It would be nice, if it ever happened, for someone to look at her like that. For someone to think that she's something...good enough. More than good enough, even. It would be something.

In the meantime, however, there's pettiness to give into. And authority to give to Thranduil that he probably shouldn't possess. And yet. ]

...I don't want to be mean. I just--It hurt. I was upset, clearly so, when he told me he didn't feel the same way. And he told me I shouldn't have gotten so wound up.

[ Her fingers press hard against the cup, as she frowns at the tea. ]

I just want him to feel a little upset, too. Let him get a little wound up.

[ allowing him to dad her means the full thranduil experience (tm). ask legolas about it sometime, oh wait you can't. his hand stops where the edges of her hair brush against his fingers, and then he smoothes her hair with his hand. ]

Come here, [ he says, meaning he wants her back against his legs. ] Let me tidy your hair.

[ she ought to at least have that in order, and there are a few silvan-style braids that look well even in short styles. ]

That was very rude of him, Beleth. A gentleman knows how to refuse in such a way that the lady or lord keeps their dignity and pride intact. Wanting him to feel the same confusion and disquiet you now harbor is... fitting.

[ thranduil no don't catfish him. ]

[ She looks confused as to what he's going on about for the space of two seconds, and confused as to why he feels tidying her hair is necessary for another three. She's an adult!! She already puts time and effort into making sure her hair isn't allowed to descend into an unkept mess.

But. It's been ages since anyone's fixed up her hair for her, and it sounds too nice to pass up, even if she wanted to be rude enough to refuse. So she swallows down the last of her tea, sets the cup down, and moves off the chair, sliding down to the floor in front of Thranduil. ]

Alright--um. Thank you. I appreciate it.

[ It's a relief to hear that Thranduil doesn't think she's being petty, or overdramatic. That she's not an idiot for being hurt by it. Of course, she's not really sure how returning the sentiment would be achieved, but surely Thranduil--

That's when she realizes she's missed telling him an important bit of information, and she's suddenly that much gladder that she's no longer facing him. ]

The man--um. It was Alistair. The Warden. [ She lets that sink in for a few moments. ] That's why I can't go to my clan about it. Going after some shemlen... It was a poor idea from the very beginning.

[ he's setting to fix her hair as he did for his son. hers is pitifully short, but he'll make do, reaching for his comb so he might put her to rights as elves do. she is a good child, a sweet girl, and she ought to have some of the comforts of her people. it's-- an intimacy he'll risk. these are his people, though they are elflings, and elflings should not go uncombed.

his hand stills just as he's setting the comb into her lovely red hair, because he's not sure he's heard correctly, but she clarifies and he sighs, long and slow. 'men are dumb and hairy' is a bad way to reply, so he goes for a bit more eloquence, starting to run the comb through her hair in the slow, unhurried manner of the sindar. hopefully he can loosen some of the tension in her shoulders-- she's admittedly clever, to try and hide her face from him. ]

Perhaps, my dear, there is a Man who would treat you kindly, and love you as you ought to be loved. But there will always be a canyon between you, child, a depth they [ look he learned something from cyril. ] could not ever hope to bridge, a lack of understanding in their eyes when you spoke of your Clan, of how Men treated you because of what you are. I have seen Men wed elves. The sharpest of the pains, the loss of a spouse who goes where you cannot follow is lessened here, but you still have that depth between you. A lack of understanding.

[ She closes her eyes as he begins to comb her hair, slowly relaxing as she settles into her place. It's a comfortable one. Peaceful--safe, even. Like the things that trouble her can't quite reach past the door.

Thranduil's advice and gentle reproach is...expected, and more polite than it could have been. It's also very true, and Beleth has to stop herself from nodding, lest she mess up the combing somehow. It was even worse for Middle Earth, that much Beleth knew. But it was still a bad idea, here. It was something she'd known, even when she'd gone to speak with Alistair. ]

The Lady Galadriel mentioned that she had a friend whose daughter made such a choice. I couldn't imagine having immortality and... [ She drifts off for a moment, before going back to the original subject. Because she probably doesn't have the right to question the choices of elves she had never met. ] ...You're right. I told myself that, but. Wardens are...different. The Dalish have had allied with them from the beginning. And Alistair, in particular, has not only helped take down an archdemon, but while working towards that, he and his group helped save a Dalish clan from werewolves.

I had hoped--It would be different. And that, out of all the humans, my mother...I don't know if she would approve, but surely she would not begrudge him too much. That he would be different from the regular humans. He's...a lot better about elves than other humans.

[ The knowledge of his parentage is on the tip of her tongue, but she swallows it. While she trusts Thranduil, she made a promise--and she planned on keeping that promise, unto death. ]

But it doesn't matter. You're right, it probably wouldn't have worked, anyway.

[ numbered among his talents is this: he can turn a place into a sanctuary. granted, he has not warded the room- well, more than he wards anything- but it is still his space, and beleth one of his elves, so it will do. he does not falter, his hand remains steady, allowing for any extra movements on her part. ]

Lúthien, [ he says, and does not sound mournful. ] I did not understand the fascination between them, for he was but a child to her eight centuries-- what could she see in him? What sophistication could he possess?

[ he does not say 'they were not equals'. little pitchers have big ears, and besides, the situation hardly compares- neither he nor galadriel intend or even can tie themselves romantically to these elves. they can, when allowed, mentor them.

satisfied with the smoothness of her hair, he begins to braid, his fingers working quickly. ]

'Better' is not... my dear, you deserve someone who sees you as a whole being. As worthy of respect. And equal. What Men have done in this world is disgraceful.

Eight centuries. [ She murmurs it in wonder. ] I can't imagine living that long. If I were that old, I would have seen the Dales--And seen it fall, I suppose. [ She frowns. She couldn't imagine what that must have been like for her ancestors. ] Maybe...It's a good thing I never had to see that.

[ Her kneejerk reaction is to tell Thranduil that she isn't equal, or all that worthy, or--anything all that amazing, she is just one elf in a sea of amazing people. But--that's arguing with Thranduil, which would be pretty rude, considering.

Besides. Humans have done some pretty disgraceful shit. ]

You're right. I just...need to wait. It'll be okay. I have time. I just wish there were more Dalish here. Or elves, really.

[ There were currently two Dalish men that Beleth knew of, one being gay and the other being a former fuckbuddy, which is not something she is going to explain to Thranduil. ]

In times of war, it will seem like a very long time. [ all the losses, piling atop one another, the endless running, following his father with the last of the sinda of doriath who had followed them, his knives and bows constant companions-- he slips near into reverie without realizing it, but comes back to himself smoothly. he pinches the braid between thumb and forefingers, running his hand through his hair and returning with a strand that he uses to bind the first braid up for lack of other options, then takes another lock, starting the braid that means 'hunter'. ] In peace, it will pass in an instant.

[ he realizes, amused, that he's hardly had his age come up. cyril, he may have told, but what's the point? curious, he asks: ] How many years do you think I've lived?

[ he hums, softly, a few notes from the lay, and yes, he'd be able to grasp the concept but the explanation would be... an interesting demonstration of just how embarrassed beleth could get. ]

I cannot help but wish one of my marchwardens might come to Thedas. His help would be immeasurably useful-- and there is one in particular I would have liked for you to meet. When is the next gathering? There ought to be plenty of young men for you to meet then. Or perhaps someone from the city?

It feels like Thedas spends more time in war than not. There's always one part of it that's fighting against another part. [ Through Tevinter fighting the Qunari, or Fereldan fighting Orlais--or mages fighting Templars. ] Does Middle Earth have more peace?

[ At the question of his age, she hesitates, almost spinning around to look at him, as though that would give her any indication of the exact number. But she stays still, frowning up at the ceiling in thought. She knew he was immortal, like the Elvhen of old, but the scale of just how old the elves could be was simply out of her scope. How could someone who only had a handful of decades grasp living over thousands upon thousands of years?

She would have guessed--maybe 500? That seemed impossibly old, but the way he'd spoken of Luthien being 800...She clicked her tongue in thought, then hesitantly offered: ]

Maybe...A thousand? That'd be...before we even started using ages to keep track of the years.

[ Distant, impossible ages were all but forgotten in light of a much more relevant topic: herself. And people. And people interacting with her. This time, she does end up pulling away from Thranduil so she can stare at him, face a mixture of embarrassment and alarm. ]

I--? Um. Well--If you think so. I'd be honored--? If I met them. But. I mean, it'll be fine. The next arlathvhen...I'm not sure, but the Keeper said that with everything that's been going on, they're talking about moving it forward. There's a lot to discuss. A fl--city elf wouldn't be terrible, if they'd be willing to come to the clan. But surely they would want to escape the alienage?

But this is all assuming the Keeper doesn't find someone first. So if all else fails, there's always that option.

[ She sounds much less dismal about it than Cyril did. It's not like her mother would ever force her to bond to someone. And she always seemed to know what was best for Beleth, moreso than she did herself. ]

[ he smiles—or, his lips curl, and he looks haunted, though she cannot see. he is staring off into some other time, more there than here when he says: ] There has only ever been one war.

[ for the elves, at least. he catches himself and soothes his glamour back into calm amusement, lips tilting into a smile. ] Nearer to seven.

[ one thousand is nothing to him now, but beleth’s comment does cheer him some, and he’s merrier as he starts on the other side of her hair, trying to arrange it into something that both suits her and respects her position. it’s turning out quite well, in his opinion. ]

A …? [ he leads, having not quite caught the first half of what she said and supposing it just as interesting as the rest. ] How arranged are your betrothals? Are you offered a selection, or one only?

[ Only having one war seems to be too good to be true, but Beleth knows that even one war is, really, one war too many. She can't see Thranduil's expression, but--she drops the subject. War isn't a pleasant topic, no matter what.

Furthermore, she's distracted by the, quite frankly, ridiculous age that Thranduil actually is, and sputters. ] Seven--Seven thousand? That's--Humans hadn't even arrived in Thedas by then! That's amazing.

Um. It was just. Another word for city elf. But, um. Not...polite. At least, to city elves. [ But the Dalish used it as often as 'shemlen', and Beleth used it among other Dalish freely. Maybe the city elves should just stop being so SENSITIVE. ]

Oh--It's more like matchmaking, really. It's all optional. And plenty of people bond without outside interference. But if you're still single by a certain age and you haven't really shown much success on your own, sometimes Keepers will...try to help you along. They usually just ask around to other Keepers, if they have any single people around your age, and they might pick someone they think would suit you. Then they'll bring it up with you, and have the two of you meet, and see how you get along.

We're not shemlen, we don't force anyone to agree to a match. You can say no, or break off at any point in the engagement. [ What Beleth doesn't mention is that refusing is entirely dependent on your willingness to snub your Keeper and what they think is best for you. Which. Can be difficult. ]

[ he appreciates not having to speak of sauron-- he would answer her questions willingly enough, because he welcomes her curiosity, but sauron and melkor have always been--

evil can be summoned by simply speaking of it. and if thedas cannot handle corypheus, it certainly cannot handle melkor or sauron, and he is loath to allow even the slightest hint of risk with these elves who are so precious and so fragile. ]

There were no Men was I was young. It was [ pause. ] preferable.

[ he finishes with her hair, securing it in place with a twist and knot, and then settles his hands on his knees, leaning back and taking his looking glass, offering it to beleth handle-first. ]

They are your kin too, Beleth. gently, as always. I suspect they have words for the Dalish that you dislike.

[ he will make them get along if he has to put every elf into a giant get-along shirt. ]

And how many break off the engagement?

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