forget the bull in the china shop

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Thranduil (rowancrowned ), Legolas (parkourprince ), and Cassandra (stabsbooks )
WHAT: Finally getting Galadriel out of prison, Mirkwood style.
WHEN: Mid-Drakonis
WHERE: Cassandra's Office
NOTES: Occurs morning after this.

Displeasure left a sour note in his mouth—he was far less prepared than he would have preferred. But he has the bare minimum; knowledge of the language, an outfit suitable for his rank, and support in the form of his son, behind him by one step and to the right, where he ought to be. His hair hung long and silver-blonde down his back, his circlet set just-so, the rich brocade of his robes and the silk of his clothes adding to his appearance. Legolas was similarly stunning, and he mourned that his son was not also crowned. Perhaps it would have been too much.

He arrived at Cassandra’s door half an hour after she had entered for the morning. The elven servants had been very helpful when it came to advising him and his son of her schedule. Catch her now, after she had eaten, before she had trained—catch her at what he thought would be her most malleable. Thranduil would take every advantage he could—he would need it.

He knocked, waited for a response to affirm he could enter, and swept inside with a rustle of silk and the sound of his and Legolas’ well-cobbled boots on the flagstones.

Thranduil bowed—no, Thranduil inclined his head the precise number of degrees appropriate for a king addressing a foreign diplomat, gave Legolas the space to do the same, and then spoke.

“Seeker Pentaghast—“ the insignia on her chest piece meant she could be no one else. “I am Thranduil Oropherion. This is my son and heir, Legolas Thranduilion.” He indicated Legolas beside him with an elegant little gesture before returning his attention to her. “I understand there have been difficulties with my cousin, the Lady Galadriel. I would remedy them.”
 

Comments

[stabsbooks]

Cassandra's mouth curves down in a frown. She doesn't like this, and she doesn't have anything near Legolas' confidence that the Dalish will be so quick and so eager to fall in line. That centuries of bad blood - on both sides - can be smoothed over with a touch of respect and goodwill.

But something must be done about Galadriel, and Thranduil is the first who has offered anything near to an assurance that the threat she poses could be quelled. If nothing else, he will be obligated to help stop her, if she threatens the Inquisition again.

And if he refuses to help, should the time come, he will face the consequences for breaking an official treaty.

Slowly, she nods. Time may prove him foolish, perhaps. She understands, now, the regard that the Dalish have for Galadriel, despite her otherworldly origin. It is possible, perhaps even probable, that they will regard Thranduil the same way. But awe and wonder do not equal blind obedience, and Thranduil, for all that he claims to be, does not know the Elves' history.

Still, that is his lesson to learn, if he must learn it. Perhaps he is right, and the Dalish will listen. For herself, Cassandra is tired. Tired of Galadriel, of her disagreement with Leliana, of the judgement and disapproval of the Dalish and - it seems - everyone else. And no one else has offered anything close to a solution.

"A treaty," she repeats. "Yes. If we can manage to compose one that suits us both, I will sign it. And I will uphold my end."