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[rowancrowned]

 

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[rowancrowned]

Genuine? There was some sentiment to this, beyond necessity. It was not entirely a farce.

[ and now it's done and the ink is dry, and thranduil has a claim to the name baudin, should he need it. ]

Once you are finished, and in a fit state, come to my office, if you would. For supper, perhaps.

[filthydipper]

I know what a private gesture means. I read books!

[Scandalised as Mother in the Chantry long enough to be in her dotage.]

As if I've ever been in a fit state, that's a thing that'll never approach me ever in my life. 'sides, why you wanting me for supper? Got a horse to settle. A goose. A cat. Twenty nugs. See if anyone took over my old room or if it's still free, you've probably got better things to do than supper and all.

[rowancrowned]

I do need to eat. Perhaps Gwenaelle and I have run out of things to say to one another after nearly a fortnight of marriage, and need the company.

[filthydipper]

[A three minute raspberry ensues.]

M'lady says more with her silence than three quarters of the Inquisition say with three months of words. And don't spoil the illusion, I don't need to know you eat, thought you inhaled the Dalish looking at you the way deshyrs touch up the Paragons.

[rowancrowned]

So that is why we have had so many Dalish vanish; I merely thought them eloping en masse.

Come. Will you make me say it?

i wish i had a kirby gif so badly right now

[filthydipper]

I mean I grew up here. Even in the dark we had stories about Sundermount and the last clan didn't end up coming out all jolly. [Or at all. Maybe that's what's happening now.

Is it kinder if a big weird rifter elf is absorbing them somehow?]

What sort of supper?

[rowancrowned]

Sundermount is not so bad.

[ downright homey, even. thranduil isn't afraid of the dark. ]

Stew and brown bread, in all likelihood. It is too cold for fish, still. Wine. Some manner of Orlesian pastry.

[filthydipper]

How many times you actually had to go crawling through it, bet you go send your underlings that go fawning about wanting to shine your boots. Or buff your slippers.

[It's velvet slippers yeah? Monogrammed with initials and elaborate antlers?]

If I can convince Gaspard to bed down in a stable again. I'll bring tea, is tea allowed at your table?

[rowancrowned]

Countless. It was mine.

[ l'état, c'est moi. or more specifically la terre, but he savors it in his mouth.

he will not be connected to the land here like that, not even now, after he'd shed his blood at ghislain. he had not worn a rut in the memory of the place, not yet. perhaps he ought to acquire some thick-soled slippers for the task. ]

Tea is allowed.

[filthydipper]

[Right well that's...

A thing not to be touched after coming back to Kirkwall, to the spectre of his father with an arm outstretched; mine and ours and a flexible view of possession even in jest.]

I'll bring the tea you can't be trusted, I'll be about when I'm about. Animals y'know.