faderift | Kingsway Rifter Arrival

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Kingsway Rifter Arrival

WHO: New rifters & their rescuers
WHAT: People fall out of a rift and get attacked by stuff
WHEN: Kingsway 8
WHERE: The coast of the Waking Sea in northern Orlais, just west of the mountains.
NOTES: The arrival log is open to all. Solas was able to alert the Inquisition to the general area where the new rifters would be arriving so people could be sent to pick them up.

You were asleep--deeply or fitfully, for the last time or just resting your eyes for a moment-- and then you were not. And wherever you were was not, anymore, replaced by nothing but the sensation of falling, tumbling into endless, bottomless nothing. If this were still a dream, you would wake before you hit the ground. You can't die in a dream, they say. In some worlds.

In this world, you're plunged down through warm, sticky sea air and full-body into salt water. It's shallow enough to stand and keep your head above the rolling waves--but you'll need to do more than that to live. Overhead, there's a flaring, shifting, green-lit tear in reality. Around you, there are a number of ghastly figures: some float above, hooded and rasping, poised to freeze the sea around you if you don't get out of it quickly enough, while others are spindly monstrosities that burst up from the sand and rocks beneath your feet and scream as they emerge from the water. Whatever arrived with you floats in the waves, slowly pushed toward the shore, or sinks beneath the surface. It may be wisest to leave it for now and collect it when the area is slightly less demon-infested.

To add to your troubles, there's a narrow splinter of light in the same sickly green as whatever brought you here, now glowing out of the palm of your left hand. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions.

But there's help, on the shore.

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[ the sheer delight of the sea, the sea cannot even be ruined by the rift, by the churning water full of demons. he can taste the salt air, and knows his hair will be sticky from it, even braided messily as it is to keep it out of his face as he fights.

thranduil is sure he heard somewhere that salt water ruins leather, but declines to mind in favor of going in to help the sodden mass of fabric and jewels yelling for help-

ah, some part of thranduil's mind supplies. a fear demon.

(he's getting very good at telling them apart.)

it's far too busy feasting of the emotions of the small elf? elf-like- those are pointed ears, yes, and proper hair- to bother to look behind itself, which it how it ends up with a sword sweeping through its torso and another in the area that might be best dubbed neckish. it shatters into smoke and the smell of ozone.

two swords leave no hands free to offer in aid to the sodden might-be-elf, so there's a flash of movement as thranduil sheathes one, and then offers his hand to haul this one to his feet. ]

Come.

[ he's likely the better option, considering the demons. ]

[ he's certainly the better option, though maia's still struggling to put the pieces of this situation together in some form that seems remotely sane and familiar. the stranger is-- an elf, he thinks? darker-skinned and -haired than he's familiar with, and so tall! as tall as maia's own grandfather, who is the most giant person maia knows. foreign somehow.

it doesn't matter right now. he takes the hand, his other gathering up his soaked robes to better free his legs. he stumbles after him, water sloshing, silvery eyes wide and ears flattened back in deep distress against his head. ]

I-- [ no, no, that's wrong, maia. he gulps a breath, tries again. ] We do not understand! What is this place? How did we-- [ he flinches at the scream of another of the monsters, finished off by an unseen blow. ] This cannot be the Elflands!

No, it is not. [ elflands. that comforts him, between assessing the best path to the shore and taking another fleeting look at the sodden child? near child behind him.

(beach-combers will be finding seed-pearls on the shores for weeks to come, thranduil thinks, and shards of opals too.)

he has been on two of these things before, and hauled rifters from their points of arrival back to the safety of behind the lines and then to skyhold but some things remain remarkably consistent. namely, the questions and the fear. thranduil had responded to his own arrival by throwing himself into the fight, but this one was unarmed and young. ]

I promise answers to all your questions, child, but we are not safe right now.

[ dying while giving the thedas 101 talk would be a wretched way to go. ]

[ his hand aches as badly as any blow his cousin had ever struck him with, he's sticky with seawater and half-drowned, he has no idea where he is, he's been rescued by a giant, there are demons trying to kill everyone on the shores-- maia would probably be forgiven for a mild mental breakdown, given the circumstances. instead, he gathers up the tatters of his control and calm and forces himself to think through the fear.

he has to run to keep up with the stranger, his slippers sinking into and sliding on the sand. not for the first time, he laments the fact that the emperor must wear so much silly frippery; if he's slain here, he hopes that idra will put his foot down about it all. ]

What-- [ a gasp as he tries to catch his breath. ] What shall I do? [ in court, it would be a scandalous breach of etiquette, but he doesn't have the head for that now, and he doubts the stranger will hold it against him. ] I w-wish not to be a burden on thee-- [ particularly when this kind stranger has apparently taken it upon himself to keep maia out of danger. ]

[ the answer to that at least comes quickly. the agreed-upon signal goes out, thranduil reaches for maia, and with a hand on the small of his back, pulls him closer. it's easier to shield maia with his body as the shard in his own hand begins to reach out to the others in the area. this, at least, has been drilled into the shardbearers enough that it's a well drilled routine. the archers and theodosians without shards will cover them while they seal the rift.

still ankle-deep in water, thranduil is far from unkind as he reaches for maia's wrist with his right hand. ]

Give me your hand, and think of sealing the Rift- [ most of it is instinctual now, as thranduil flings his own hand out, the buzzing song of the shard echoing across the beach as several others do the same, the newly arrived rifters being guided-- or being forced, a compulsion in the shard drawing them. ]

[ he nearly yelps as the stranger grabs him, but controls the urge as it appears as though he'd done so for a reason. the next few moments are a confusing blur of that strange ache in his palm, green light-- and then it's over. the strange rift has disappeared, the monsters are gone, and maia stands trembling in shock and overwhelmed unhappiness.

he rubs at the center of his palm, staring a little unseeingly down at the mark there. he just.. doesn't understand. if only cala was here.. this seems like something he'd know how to handle. but cala is not, maia is alone, and somehow he needs to sort out answers for.. everything.

he finally straightens narrow shoulders, lifting his head and fighting back the sudden dizziness. (it's just that he's coming down from the adrenaline rush, he's certain.) ]

We-- We thank you for your assistance. [ his glance drifts away helplessly, staring out over the vast expanse of the water. .. he's never seen the ocean before. ] There is much that.. we do not understand, but we know, at least, that we would have been killed had you not been there to help us. [ sadly, he's not even that shocked by his near-death, really, so much as everything else. ]

[ he releases maia's hand quickly once he's done what was needed- samwise gamgee's fear and the confession he had made in the wake of the mess at weisshaupt clear in his mind's eyes- and begins to look over the grey elf for wounds beyond shock. ]

I apologize, child. If there had been a chance to give warning, I would have offered one. [ now, the inquisition can limp back to shore- there's blood in the froth of the waves, but no bodies, and for that he is grateful. ] I am Thranduil. I arrived in Thedas as you did, months ago, and I am glad that you are unharmed. You need not thank me.

[ his hand settles on maia's shoulder, warm, nearly paternal in the way he gently phrases his guidance. ] Come. We might yet save your clothes from ruin and you from catching a chill.

[ he flinches at the hand, still unable to entirely control his reactions, still unable to lift his ears from their flattened position. ] Oh, [ he breathes, as if just recalling the state of his clothing and hair, and glances down in distant distress. ] .. Our edocharei will be so unhappy.. [ there's something a little hysterical bubbling up in his chest, but he tamps it down again with something like desperation. is he not the emperor of the elflands? he shouldn't shame his people.

he takes a shaky breath, chin lifting again. ] We-- We are Maia, styled Edrehasivar the Seventh, master of House Drazhar and Emperor of the Elflands. [ he hesitates, an ear flicking uncertainly, setting the earring to chiming. ] We.. have never heard of the lands called Thedas..

[ there's so much about this that he doesn't even know where to begin. it sounds as if-- as if thranduil (and that's embarrassing.. should he call him without titles? would it be a breach of etiquette to do so? but he hadn't introduced himself with any sort of title--) is inclined to explain, at least, which helps.. he thinks.

he's glad to follow the elf--if that's what he is, which he's not entirely certain of--to whatever ends at this point, if it means being away from.. all of this. it's foolish to trust him so swiftly, perhaps, but what are his other options? if he'd wanted to kill maia, he's had ample opportunity. ]

.. Are.. we kidnapped? [ it seems a simple enough place to start. ]

[ there's a fire going on the beach, driftwood and inland plants burning. emperor, well, that has thranduil's eyebrows raising, even as he secures a place for them by the fire, already working the ties on his boots to get them off and drying. he has extras by the main camp, he'll send a runner for them-

-if one of them will take requests from an elf. ]Shall I call you 'Maia' or 'Edrehasivar'? [ it's up to him; thranduil doesn't mind either, beckoning him close to the warmth. ]

They are not kind to elves here, especially those who behave in a way that attracts notice. [ thranduil is- flamboyant. old. set in his ways. but he has a knife and craft enough behind him. slowly, watching maia's face for permission or another flinch, he reaches for the veil, and lifts it slowly. his fingers, smooth and uncalloused, can appreciate the lace and delicate stitches without damaging it. ] Your 'edocharei' will be well-pleased that you are in one piece. Even clothes as fine as these might be replaced.

[ though they do have thranduil longing for his courtly robes. he sets about draping the veil over the line strung up for drying clothes; some brilliant soul's idea. ] No. Not by any entity which would accept a ransom.

[ he goes still, hands curling against one another to hide any uncertainty at being touched by a stranger. when his veil is removed, his glance darts away again, struggling with the instinctive shame. it's been a year on the throne, and he still hates his own skin, and he hates that he hates it. it's not as if the veil was hiding much at this point, though, as soaked as it is.

the question makes him pause, especially after he listens to the rest of what thranduil has to say. not kind to elves? but then, there are peoples that have quarrel with his empire, and he has no idea where this thedas is on any map or how he'd come to be here. with that thought, he cautiously speaks up again, voice a little softer than he wanted it to be. ] .. We feel perhaps that 'Maia' would be wiser. [ beshelar would be horrified that his emperor was in any situation in which he was forced to use his given name, but beshelar would also want him to be safe.

there's a cautious moment, and though it's entirely improper, maia begins to carefully work himself out of his elaborate outer robes, fingers fumbling a little with the buttons. he hasn't dressed himself since taking the throne, and he supposes that he's still a little in shock-- it's the only way he can account for how clumsy he is at the moment. when he's free of it, he hesitates to glance at thranduil, then drapes it too over the line. he reaches up to touch the ornaments in his hair, finding that it's all mostly still secured. he's certain he's missing some of the smaller jewels, but that can't be helped.

once he's satisfied that he's still at least vaguely presentable, he turns back to the tall elf, hands curling together again, thumb brushing the iron oath-ring as he does so. ] .. If we-- [ the formal plural, little though it matters here. ] --were not kidnapped, how did we come to be here..?

Maia, then. [ his eyes are warm, and kind, and his hands gentle as he takes over button duty. ] Mae l'ovannen.

[ he catches the eye of an elven scout at this point, signals him over, spends a few minutes in low conversation. coin leaves thranduil's hand and goes to the scout, who sets off through the trees at a quick pace. then, his attention is maia's again. ]

The thing you helped close is called a 'Rift'. It is a tear in reality, to a place called the Fade, which is rich in magic. They were caused by the actions of a Man from Tevinter who sought to make himself immortal. These elves, Men, dwarves, and Qunari- the tall folk with horns- are members of the Inquisition, a Mannish organization linked with a religious group called the 'Chantry' that seek to defeat him. [ it's the best answer he can give so quickly. ] We Rifters come through these gaps- or are sent- and the Inquisition hosts us, for we and few others bear the shards that might be used to close rifts.

[ he holds his hand up to illustrate. the glow has nearly faded. on to the next thing: ]

It is unspeakably rude to the elves I am of to touch hair without permission. Is this true for you?

Edited 2016-09-12 03:21 (UTC)

[ none of this makes sense, except-- ah. magic. maz. not at all his realm of expertise, and another reason he would be very glad to see cala or kiru. there's no way for him to hope to entirely understand, at least not just yet-- so for the sake of his sanity and thranduil's patience, he simply accepts all this at face value for now.

the greeting is foreign, and it simply reinforces the fact that while an elf, thranduil is certainly not of his people-- as none of these strangers are. though.. though he does find his glance drawn to the ones thranduil calls qunari. they have gray skin like half-breeds, like maia himself, and it's.. interesting.

he glances back up at the question, though, ears lifting briefly in surprise before flicking back. ]

Ah-- well.. without permission, we suppose.. But we are accustomed to having our hair touched by our edocharei. [ they're the ones who dress it, after all, and a good thing, too. after his months on the throne, already long and unmanageable hair has grown even longer and more unmanageable. he can scarcely imagine what it's going to be like after being dunked in seawater. ]

[ the runner returns with a saddle-bag, which thranduil takes with a word of thanks, unbuckling it and displaying the contents to maia. two shirts, another pair of pants, and then some assorted objects. a comb, possibly made of silver, a boar-bristle brush, boot-polish, hard tack- what one might expect to see in a traveling pack. ]

There will be a queue for dry clothes, but I offer mine freely.

[ thranduil makes no move to change now that he's out of his boots and his leather armor, standing easily and as confidently in shirt and breeches as he had fulled armored.

(it's his first time by the ocean. of course he's going to take a swim.) ]

Your hair will dry faster unbound, and I give you my word that I will not steal any of your-- imperial jewels [ that's the word for an empire, right? ] should you allow me to help.

[ it's a joke, maia. laugh. ]

[ he's not certain how to respond to the familiarity. is this how they speak where thranduil is from..? it's so.. intimate. but then, he's told that ethuvereise is considered exceptionally formal outside of the elflands, so perhaps maia is the one who's strange. and if he's going to contrive to hide his rank here.. well.. perhaps he should use informal speech?

he finds his face heating at the offer of clothing, and touches fingers to the wet shirt he's still wearing. ] We-- [ a pause, lips parting, then pressing thin. he takes a breath. ] That is.. thank you, but.. thou'rt quite a bit taller. We-- I.. I shall be fine, given a bit of time to sit by the fire.

[ his flush deepens at the offer and the teasing, mouth twitching briefly, shoulders easing by degrees. ] I doubt not thy intentions. Wouldst have had time aplenty already wert a villain. [ it's almost laughable how uncomfortable he is now with such casual speech. he's had very little cause to use it in the last year or so. ] I-- I would be grateful for the help.

Edited (squints into the sun over word choice) 2016-09-12 03:53 (UTC)

As you like, [ he says, and means it, neatly setting his pack on the bench and stepping behind maia, examining the artful arrangement of his hair. it is lovely- in truth, something that elrond might sport, but the fashions of rivendell are far from the braid-language of his silvans, and so far from thranduil's wardrobe. ]

Cup your hands. [ there's something about how thranduil carries his authority. he does not expect to be disobeyed; speaks with confidence, yet somehow does not edge into arrogance. well- not with maia.

the first to come out of his hair are the jeweled sticks, since on them rests the whole arrangement. he memorized the pattern as he goes; he suspects he might be the one to return it to rights after it dries. then he can begin to loosen the braids, dropping beads one-by-one into maia's cupped palms.

(his nails are lacquered, and thranduil finds it lovely. perhaps he ought to adopt that fashion.) ]

Is that how your court speaks, Maia, or is it reserved for you alone? [ the royal 'we' is not wholly uncommon for elves, a sort of the-state-and-i implied in the use. ] I am curious. I have met elven-kings, but no emperors.

[ there's.. a lot to the arrangement of his hair. removing it is certainly quicker, but putting it back up again the same way may be the work of several hours, particularly with a single person doing it. particularly as it becomes apparent how curly it normally is, and how long. still, maia remains almost stone-still, patient and quiet as thranduil works.

the question apparently startles him, though, if the little, surprised flinch is any indication. he blinks down at his cupped palms, ears flicking up and back to better catch his voice. ]

The language of the Elflands is.. complex, [ he finally says, slowly, as if testing out the words. ] Hast several forms. 'Tis.. improper to speak as I speak now, save with-- with intimates, as 'tis very casual, but thy speech sounds.. similar to me. Wast not using the imperial 'We' until just now. [ he hesitates, head tilting just a little, brows knitting together faintly as he considers the problem. ] 'We' is formal, to refer to thyself. 'I' is the informal form. 'You' is formal, 'thou' informal.. and the like. We use a.. 'We' that is singular to Ourself when We speak as emperor.

[ though it all sounds alike in this language. whatever magic allows him to speak it.. one would think it would be clever enough magic to find a way to better translate his own language.

anyway.. of more importance and interest to maia: ] Hast met other rulers? Here..?

[ it is lovely hair, well-groomed and soft. the only flaw is the sea-water- but that is no permanent flaw at all, for it will dry soon. some of the braid patterns are so complex that he studies them, unwinds them slower than others to be sure his fingers will be clever enough to replicate them. ]

Would you be set more at ease if I was to speak with a more formal tone, Maia? [ he can, either by not thinking about his words and using sindarin but not- and having it come out as common instead, or by following the formula maia's just given him. ]

Yes, [ he says, nearly finished with the braids at maia's nape, taking a chance to run his fingers through and pull gently- the braids were not done unkindly tight, but they were still pulling. the relief should be soothing. ] My cousin, the Lady Galadriel, though she would call herself a caretaker over a ruler, and several here who rule lordships under the Empress of Orlais or the Queen of Ferelden. And I met many whilst still in Arda- court is not unknown to me, though I have always found the rules and dance interesting.

[ if he were feeling a little more himself, he'd really be shocked by this entire situation. here he sits on a foreign beach speaking casually to a stranger elf who is undressing his hair where just anyone can see. it's immodest, and normally he'd be embarrassed, but honestly.. he's just glad for something even passingly familiar, and the sensation of clever hands in his hair is that.

the question earns a widening of his eyes, though, flustered that thranduil felt he had to ask. ] Oh--! No, no. Hast no wish to.. [ he trails off, glance dropping to his hands again. ] Thy speech is thy speech. Wouldst not have thee change it for me. [ a beat, then a little shyly: ] Thy words earlier, mae l'ovannen-- [ the accent isn't quite right, but he mimics thranduil fairly well. ] --'twas thy own language from thy home?

[ it's so.. different from ethuvereise. it's strange to think of elves being so, well.. foreign.

he's struggling not to droop a little as his hair is unbound, but he's interested in what thranduil has to say. home for him is 'arda'. there are places here called orlais and ferelden, and neither of those are remotely familiar, either. ] I've no fondness for courtly games, [ he sighs quietly. ] 'Twould by and large rather be a monk than an emperor, wert given the choice. [ a beat, then as if realizing he's said something foolish, his ears flatten back. ] .. Ah, please forget I've said that.

[ he would find no faults in maia were he not to hold his back so straight and his head so high. what he has just come through is exhausting, the weight of so much falling so quickly down onto such slim shoulders.

he pauses to admire the cut of one very lovely bead before setting it atop the others. ] Mae l'ovannen. [ not quite a correction, though he speaks slowly, clearly. ] Yes. Sindarin. It is 'well-met', but formal enough for greeting someone new.

[ onto the second layer of maia's hair, admiring the work done by- what had he called them? edocharei. ] There is a virtue in not seeking power for power's sake. [ but one burdens with duties beyond ability will do a similarly poor job of handling them. he'll find, with time, if maia is one of the latter. ]

My father was king before me, and I felt as if the grief would be too much to bear, those first years. It passed, but what aided best was ruling well. Honoring what he had done.

Edited 2016-09-13 02:11 (UTC)

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Kingsway Rifter Arrival

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i just dont have alarmed enough looking icons for this intro

i see his precious pressed-back ears in my heart

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you keep to the linguist rules very well a+

i hate my life and his fucking language

lmao

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