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( although there is no acknowledgment of thranduil's storytelling, it is not coincidence that katell arrives with his shirt (fresh laundered and neatly folded, though she must have been bid to do it apart from gwenaëlle's own things as it carries no trace of her particular scents) not terribly long after the story ends.

there is no accompanying note, and katell has not been bid to wait for response, but simply returns what is his and excuses herself. )

Thranduil-

( a small sigh, and

none of the things she'd intended to say, about Asher or Solas or "training" or; )

Please tell me a story.

( at first, nothing distinct. a fire burning, the distant murmur of voices, night sounds with no walls to muffle them. then; )

Asher passed. I've gone with his friends to the hold, for his funeral rites. I don't want to talk, I only wanted to say. I hope Orlais is -

( she knows what orlais is. he can probably imagine the face she makes. )

You can't bring me anything back if you get arrested for your charming personality, don't forget. Goodnight.

( 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.

Thranduil,

A further question came to mind regarding our discussion on dragons from your world, if you will permit me to ask.

Morrigan

[He isn't sure it will work, at first. Thranduil is both far away, and not of his world, so the journey to him through the Fade is not a straightforward one.

But Solas is patient.

The Fade shifts around him perceptibly as he finds the borders of Thranduils dream - the scenery changing to something unfamiliar, and he is suddenly walking through countless figures and faces talking and laughing that he doesn't recognize, but presumably, Thranduil knows. When he finally spots the elf, it takes only a thought, and suddenly he is beside him.]

Aneth ara, Thranduil. I hope you do not mind the intrusion.

Are you busy?

[ Her voice is distant and slightly hoarse, but still polite. ]

If you are, it's fine. I just...figured that I would ask.

[ It takes a few days after they first arrive in this possible future for the Outsider to have both the presence of mind and the ability to reach out to Thranduil. Magebane is a heady thing, but they have hidden in Kirkwall and his magic returns to him, black returning to his eyes.

He is not fully recovered when he reaches out. He doesn't care. Corvo is accounted for, alive but not well. What of Thranduil?

The statue he had given him after Halamshiral was meant for this; crafted by his hands, small but sturdy. It should not, by all rights, move. Yet it does, magic breathing into it a sort of life -- which means the statue is clearing its throat, wherever Thranduil might have it. ]

I hear it has been a few years, my friend.

[ The face on the statue is unmistakably the Outsider, but that's to be expected. The voice is probably more surprising. ]

( although it's been some time since they've spoken - and although she's never come to see where he stayed before, when they were speaking - Gwenaëlle does know where to find Thranduil when she wants to. she's an observant young woman, she's been paying attention, it isn't so hard.

but he probably isn't expecting her. likely, he expects even less what he gets - which is a small orlesian colliding with his midsection in a liberty she'd not ordinarily take, fists in his shirt and her head tucked to avoid immediate eye contact. )

[ Her tone is clearly a little nervous, though she tries to sound somewhat competent. ]

Ah, Thranduil, I don't know if you're aware of this, but--um. Sina is getting married to...ah. My brother. Soon. And I'm going to be there--well, of course I'm going to be there, it's my brother--but I was wondering if. Well. If you wanted to...go. With me. To the wedding. I mean, it's fine if you don't, I just thought it'd be nice to not....look like the loser sister who's alone at a wedding.

( it has been more than a year since gwenaëlle and thranduil met. two months past, that anniversary - which is not an anniversary, and thus did not require marking, in any case. so she did not mark it. had not even thought, until hearing his voice across the crystals, marking time.

a year ago, they had an argument. it had been the beginning of her newsletter, business she has since set aside - it had been very politely done, for all her private sound and fury. and she had gathered up her lady's dignity and attended his archery nonsense, and they had been civil, and she had promised to help him with orlesian.

nearly one year ago precisely, now.

a runner brings to him a slim introductory volume of orlesian vocabulary and grammar, with the following note: )

Ser Coupe has bid me acquire the ability to defend myself without constant supervision. It will nevertheless remain my preference to leave the excursions outside of the Inquisition's walls to those better suited.

G.

( which seems unsentimental in the extreme, without more close examination. but he has his explanation, now, for her upset, and more than that - that she remembers each and every thing he's ever said to her. )

Thranduil? It's Ellana. I wanted to see how you've settled in.

[ knock knock who’s there? someone thinkin bout ya dick, ]

Monsieur Thranduil,

I understand that you will be keeping residence with Lady Vauquelin, at her address in Hightown. There is a small matter of security which I believe would be prudent for you and I to discuss, if your schedule allows. Any sufficiently private location will suit.

Regards,
— Ser Coupe.

[ to her credit, there’s actually something to Discuss. rather less to her credit, she wouldn’t bring it up at all if it weren't a handy excuse to loom.

(she's heard he's tall, for an elf. she may not exactly have heard how tall) ]

Thranduil;

I am not very good at telling people things that I need them to know. You would think that this is strange - not you, you've known me too long and too well - because I am, as you know, a writer. You might be surprised that I know it, but I'm not insensible to my flaws, I just prefer not to think about them. And I have a lot that I'd like to say. In the usual way of things I would write them into verse and send the package to my publisher and it would be in the world under another name and I would never talk about it again, and that would be that, but in this instance I think I might have to try to say them to the person who's meant to hear them.

Unfortunately I don't know if I would manage it, in person. You would interrupt me or I wouldn't even need the interruption, I'd become uncomfortable and twine my fingers in your hair and change the subject, which is pleasant, and as productive as anything needs to be when no one is making any decisions because of mysterious things about your Nature, but even so. I think that some things it turns out should be said, from time to time, and as I am always better on paper than in person:

here we are.

I love you, very much.

Morrigan said to me that I should live gloriously. That the world is bitter and cruel and I am to take what I can seize from it with both hands and not let go; the world does not care for me so why should I care for it, why should I not be selfish and wild and have what makes me happy. I want to be selfish and wild and it doesn't matter to me if we can't tell anyone we marry because it isn't as if I ever intended to marry anyone else, anyway, fleeting errors in judgment about the constancy of certain individuals notwithstanding.

You are, without exception, the most vexatious man I have ever encountered and I can see your brows right now, you are reading this and you are correcting me in my use of 'man' and that is vexing, also, we don't have another word, you are a vexatious man. You keep secrets. I have also kept secrets and shouldn't object but I am a hypocrite so it annoys me. You courted endless provocations in Orlais and it annoyed me because I have tried very hard - harder than you know - to be the thing that was asked of me but also because I was afraid that you would go around being so much yourself and the wrong person would take it amiss and I would never have the opportunity even to tell you that I told you so, which I did. And you don't appreciate how hard I've tried or why and you don't understand. And it ruined everything. Everyone heard me cry out for my mama but you and then she was gone and I had tried so hard I tried to protect her

( The ink between sentences is slightly different, dried at a different rate. )

I couldn't tell you the truth and I couldn't lie to you. I couldn't pretend it wasn't what it was, to you. And it made me so horridly, desperately angry. I felt as if you'd given me something that was very important and then you'd taken it away again because I couldn't have it any more as it used to be, and I was angry with you for that. For leaving me alone, and for not even knowing you were doing it. For being what you are, when I'm not allowed. When even if the whole world knew what I am, I would not be welcome as you are. What am I, after all, but an insult? A reminder of conquest. Look what humans can do.

I was angry because I love you, very much, and I keep losing everything I love. Asher died, and then Mistress Baudin who I barely knew and owe so much, and I couldn't turn to you, and then Alexander left as well and I don't feel free to reach for things, I feel as if the Maker is trying to tell me to stop, that they'll never be for me, that I am a silly girl who doesn't deserve. But I want to live gloriously, you see. I keep thinking that perhaps I can. I keep thinking: this time. And it never is. And there is a possibility, I know, a very real one that this is not that time. You will find something and it will tell you that I'm wrong and you're not for me, either. And all there will be for me to do is let you go.

So I want you to know - it is important to me that you know - that I don't take any of it lightly. You've been a friend to me whether I liked it or not. You've been patient with me when I didn't deserve it and also when I did. You've shared things with me that I wouldn't have imagined being privy to, when we first met. You were the biggest elf I'd ever seen and you said 'elfling' and I don't remember why it was but I remember imagining you with a rose between your teeth, the most ridiculous image, and I liked you at once, and wanted to know about you. I didn't imagine any of this, then. I have been, for some time now, only I thought it was ridiculous because obviously, you know, why wouldn't it be. And suddenly it wasn't ridiculous and I don't know if I knew what to do, I don't know if I did the right thing. You promised not to leave. I don't know if I made you understand why I need you to stay.

I want you to know that I don't

You aren't just a pretty thing I want. I have lots of pretty things. I love you. I wish I were good at it.

Yours most inconveniently,
G.

postscript;

Please burn this.

Edited 2017-09-15 05:43 (UTC)

Thranduil! I have some mixed news. Unfortunately, due to some troubles with the local wildlife, our trip to rescue the rifters has been indefinitely prolonged. But we're fairly safe on this island, and we rescued all the new rifters!

There are two new elves from Middle Earth, and both of them made it safely to shore. They're quite kind.

[ Though every elf from Middle Earth has been, so far. What's in the water that makes them all so pleasant?? ]

[ pressed into thranduil's hands by a distracted inquisition scout whenever he next visits the docks. it’s written in a familiar (if meandering) script, and looks much battered for journey. there's no signature or return address. ]

Orlais is full of feathers.

It's full of life, too. There was life in the Winter Palace, but not like this. The Winter Palace is Orlais as a tumour is a heart; you would only think it so for the blood.

Orlais is full of life — the fires are gone now, but breaths still smoke with their memory: Tongues trip over each other in search of rain. There was a forest I once knew, in a village a long time gone. They set their own ablaze, that lightning wouldn’t take more later. I suppose it worked for the Prophet, to be reborn as storm.

It’s easy for me to go unnoticed here, if I don’t go upon my own feet. To trade places would change that about, but there’s value in not being seen, and more of it for her than I. Some names hold long memories, long as the plume upon a helmet, long as the faces their shadows assume.

Orlais is full of feathers. The dawn may find wax between them.

[ enclosed is a rough sketch of a mallorn. it’s difficult to tell, after alan’s abstracted style, what size it might be or whether it’s still growing — but the particular shape of its whorls and leaves is rendered faithfully enough. ]

Edited 2017-09-24 21:31 (UTC)

Thranduil,

[ sup, ]

There has been a request, [ which she initiated, but that's hardly the point ] For clarity of the roles and definitions of all recent advisory appointments. A concise summary of individual duties is of value to Inquisition forces, and to the public.

I am uncertain whether you have elevated any direct subordinates to specialized duty, [ he's been sizing them up, but that may have as much to do with clearing house of certain painfully obvious tensions — ] But if you intend to do so, we will require an assessment of their duties.

[ a breath, an explanation: ]

The recent climate.

I will be contacting Mssr. Iskandar, and Mme. Ashara with identical requests; Madame de Cedoux is preparing our own accounting.

At your leisure, I would like to discuss a professional matter I believe is best suited to your division - work I had begun in my tenure there and which has not yet changed hands. Our recent meeting with Mssr Vedici has reminded me of its importance, and I fear my present duties do not allow me to properly attend it myself.

And, of course, I am happy to further discuss the matter of the Artemaeus boy. It's clear to me I've been remiss in not appraising yourself and Scoutmaster Ashara in more depth of how my division has been handling him. Certainly for his own sake I can only hope he has hidden depths, but in the event he does not, there is still a prospect of his stay here being of benefit to both parties.

Thranduil.

[ Beleth speaks far more rushed than usual, voice wracked with worry. ]

Sina's clan--and some of my clan--are here. They're here, they just showed up and set up in Sina's forest. In Hightown. Madame de Coux is speaking with the Viscount.

I have to go to my family. By the Dread Wolf, what were they thinking--Would you come with me? We have to figure out...I don't know. Something.

( FROM HERE. )

“Gi melin,” she repeats, Orlesian accent distinct but her pronunciation not terrible for a first attempt - fitting, probably, that this is the first thing she attempts in his tongue - casting him an arch look from beneath her lashes that speaks volumes of promise for the rest of what he says.

Somehow- still- it doesn't feel entirely real. Nonsense, she tells herself, when she dreamed it, it was different;

not better, though. This is exactly what she wants it to be, and when they reach his promised grove, she doesn't even attempt to contain the delighted noise she makes.

[Some time after his lady fills him in, Yngvi has only one choice left. Not so feisty as he might like or expect to be, he still goes through with it because someone has to step in and do it.]

If you ever hurt m'lady in any way or make her unhappy I'm taking your nug. You won't deserve a nug. I won't hesitate, good day.

Oh and congratulations I s'pose.

[Gotta keep up that cool young dwarf vibe.]

[The note is with Thranduil's mail. It's written in a regular, slightly loopy hand, on very fine white paper and black ink. The top of the page is ragged, truncated as if someone tore a strip away from the original length. It reads:]

Some time ago, you mentioned to me that I should find you 'after,' that you might have some particular insight to share. At the time, I chose not to understand your meaning, but there's no longer any avoiding some realities, no matter how unpleasant. If you wish to speak with me, you may have my time whenever yours is free to meet with it; what other work I might have done, those obligations are finished.

Sorellean, First of Clan Ashara

Edited 2017-12-24 04:58 (UTC)

When you've time, we need speak — a brief matter. The crystals will suffice, when alone.

( At some point during his work-day, Thranduil will notice that a folded paper has been slipped into his clothes—likely early that morning. It doesn't look as if it was written recently, however, and upon reading it he can probably guess precisely when: it is his story of Luthien transcribed. Some parts are more paraphrased or guessed at than others (it looks as if she might've missed part of the start), and occasionally she was guessing at the spelling of various particular details. There are occasional editorial remarks (our mantle is also green), but for the most part she wrote what she heard.

Specifically, what she had listened to, sitting in an armchair in her rooms in Skyhold, very specifically not wearing the shirt she returned later that night. On the back of it, she's written: )

I wrote down the one you told me when you were in Halamshiral as well, but I had to do it from memory and I paraphrased most of it. G.

Edited 2018-01-15 11:22 (UTC)

Uhm. Hello. Warden Serra asked me to come and speak to you on behalf of our, er, Project. We wanted to borrow some land from Kirkwall to try some of our more risky experiments - around the Sundermont - and the clerks at the Palace said we would need one of the Division heads to, you know, be all big and important and whatever at Viscount Bran.

So, if you could do that, we'd be grateful. We need to find new ways to test the shards without hurting people.

no subject

crystal. late evening.

the night before asher's funeral ; from the road.

no subject

a message delivered by raven (she is the raven)

no subject

[sending crystal]

dark future | statue message