faderift | Player Plot: I will call you home

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Player Plot: I will call you home

WHO: Beleth, Cyril, Merrick, and Ellana Ashara, Thranduil, Sina Dahlasanor, Metaari, Sam Gareth, Kallian Endris, Alistair and Ruby i think??? whoever wants to go
WHAT: Keeping Up With The Asharas, the reality tv show
WHEN: Backdatedish, around mid-kingsway
WHERE: The Heartlands of Orlais
NOTES: OOC post

Tel'enfenim, da'len
Irassal ma ghilas
Ma garas mir renan
Ara ma'athlan vhenas
Ara ma'athlan vhenas

Never fear, little one,
Wherever you shall go.
Follow my voice--
I will call you home.
I will call you home.

Clan Ashara currently resides in a small valley nestled into the mountains, that seems idyllic for a Dalish clan. A stream runs through the valley, descending into a waterfall with the steep cliffs on one side, and sheer mountain walls going straight up on two other sides. The only way in and out is through a gap big enough to lead several aravels through. It's a defensible position, safe from any threats.

Except the fade rift that has opened up just a little ways from the gap.

The hunters can handle the demons spewing from it well enough, and there are always a couple stationed there to pick off whatever appears. But it's too dangerous to lead the aravels and noncombatants through, and thus, they are forced to wait.

To compound the issue, there's a village close to where they're currently staying, and while both sides have kept to themselves, neither are pleased with the current situation. They've helped get a message to the Inquisition in hopes that someone will come take care of the problem, and now both are tensely waiting for something to happen to change the situation, for better or worse.

And so the members of Clan Ashara, with their friends in tow, return back to their clan.

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He's made the token introductions, gone to see the halla, spoken with the keeper, and now he's perched on a rock near the edge of the camp proper, in sight of all the activity. In truth, he would be content simply watching- watching the elflings play, the cooks prepare dinner, the older children receive lessons. This is how it ought to be-- oh, he knows there's a rift spewing demons not an hours' walk away, and that half the world is embroiled in war, and also the whole matter of Corypheus, but-

This is pleasant. This is how things should be. Elves with elves, all of them well-fed and happy. He need not be a part- he only wishes to watch, and to hold this memory close, for when the fighting becomes thick.

At some point, Beleth approaches Thranduil with someone whom Thranduil had seen before--kind of. But this time, it was safe to assume, this was the real Sorrelean that Beleth was dragging over to him, not a demon. Probably.

Once she reaches him, she shoves Sorrelean in his general direction, like a cat proudly presenting a mouse, slightly chewed on.

"Ser Thranduil," Since she wasn't allowed to use Lord. Rude. "This is my twin, Sorrel! I've--told you about him, right?" There's a moment where worry crosses her expression, as she recalls the first time she tried introducing Sorrel to Thranduil. A time that she had never actually told the real Sorrel. She quickly moves on, however, giving Sorrel a little shake.

"This is Thranduil! He's an elf from Middle Earth. I'll tell you about it later, but it's really amazing."

Edited 2016-09-28 09:15 (UTC)

"...What are you-- Bel no." Shove is the right word, after all; this is his first encounter with one of the so-called Rifters, and Sorrel isn't entirely sure he wants to put himself forward. And particularly, he's not sure he wants to start with someone so...

And then he's faced with Thranduil himself, who is as all the statuary depicts the Elvhen of old. He is tall, kingly bearing, regal of face, and hair like a description one might hear in a fairy-tale of Arlathan. He is very, very intimidating.

Sorrel stares a moment, swallows, then Beleth shakes him and he remembers himself. Dammit, twin, only you could get him into these situations; he'd certainly better at least try to be polite about this.

"Andaran atish’an, and welcome, if you're any friend of my sister's. It's an honor to meet you."

He smiles when Beleth comes towards him, sits a bit straighter and gives her the whole of his focus. Her, and-- he's seen this one before. In the Fade, where something had worn his skin and fooled even him. He stands, and is upright for only a moment before he bends in a small bow, polite and praticed. When he's upright again, he meets Sorrel's eyes, and takes his hand, clasping it between his own.

"Well-met, Sorrel. It is a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, after all I have heard of you from your sister." That bridges the gap nicely, he supposed, and can be used to brush off any bothersome slips he might make.

Being presented with her brother is a fine gift, despite his slightly shaken state, and he releases his hands to turn to his twin.

"Thank you, Beleth. I do not suppose you have convinced him to come to Skyhold yet?" Not the Inquisition proper, of course. But seeing the hold itself- that might be nice.

Well, if he wasn't wide-eyed before, he certainly is now, transfixed by the sudden gaze. A king, Ellana had called him. Sorrel doesn't doubt it.

Though perhaps no small part of that is touch-- people don't touch him, anymore, not like they did when the clan had more his own age. Not like it was when Beleth was here; he blinks.

"I wish I could. But the Keeper would never allow it, so duty keeps me here," Surprise, or perhaps the surprising intimacy, makes him more honest than he should be. He takes a deep breath, running one hand back through his hair, "Wait, what has she been telling-- what did you say."

He has no sister. He has only this walking, talking corpse that doesn't yet know how completely dead she is.

The walking, talking corpse seems quite pleased with herself, if that smug grin is any indication. Now that she's presented Sorrel like a cat might proudly show off a dead mouse, she flits to Sorrel's side, hand still on the arm that Thranduil hasn't taken.

"I want him too, but he's right. The Keeper, ah--she would be more difficult to convince than Sorrel. But I haven't lost hope yet." She glances at Sorrel, with a smile that is sadder than she had truly intended. "Maybe now that she's seen the Inquisition? There's always a chance." She pauses, then quickly moves the subject along.

"I haven't said anything bad, your guilty conscience is showing." She gives him a jab in the side, before turning to Thranduil primly. "He always accuses me of terrible things, you know. Even though I am nothing but loving and kind to him." She pauses, then clears her throat, suddenly recalling that she's actually an adult. "...Anyway. What do you think of the Ashara clan so far, ser?"

"It is a pleasure to be among elves once more." Elves and only- mostly- elves, elven mothers and children and tanners and cooks and mages, he's happy as can be for the normalcy of it all. He withdraws his hand, inclines his head in Beleth's direction. "Only that you are very precious to her, and nothing at all about the sort of mischief you found yourselves in as elflings."

Naturally, he assumes there must have been more than the usual dose- siblings being bad enough, but twins- even worse.

Thranduil looks Sorrel over with warm approval. "You are a mage." He doesn't need to haul about a staff to prove it. "You are the First to your keeper?"

All conjecture, based on what Beleth's said about the keeper's unwillingness to let him go, what Cyril said- and he seems like a fine enough young male. And Beleth's brother, let's only add more fuel to the approval fire. He'll need to grow into the authority, but he'll do it well.

Sorrel's complexion is such that it takes a significant blush to show-- except, his ears are getting quite pink, now. Nothing at all, translates without pause to every bloody thing in his head. And of course Beleth would chat into the ear of a frighteningly beautiful elvhen King, stories about the the thousand little mischiefs they'd thrown at one another over the years.

For a moment, he wants to say something, truly he does, but the time to turn to his sister in outrage rises and rolls past him in a moving wave, unconcerned with Sorrel's desires. Thranduil moves the conversation forward, but the blush remains.

"I am, sir, both those things," Sorrel wants, suddenly to somehow explain himself; he wants to be impressive, in some impossible way, to this man, "I'm a healer, mostly, and I am learning the Keeper's arts."

"It is pretty nice to be able to talk about shemlen being terrible without worrying that an errant one will murder you." Beleth replies agreeably, which is, obviously, the first positive that should come to mind when being around her clan again. As an afterthought, she adds "Or get called rabbit." She turns to Sorrel, her lips twisting. "Did you even know that's a thing they do? Call us rabbits."

Luckily for Sorrel, who is terrible at saying good things about himself, he has Beleth there, who happens to be Sorrel's greatest fangirl. She wraps her arm around his shoulder, and gives him a grin, before turning to Thranduil.

"He was our Second, and cared for the Halla--they're our sacred companions, it's a very important job. And now he's set to become the Keeper to our clan, keeping the lore and knowledge of our clan. And he's doing an incredible job, so far. I know our clan will only prosper when he leads it."

"Please," he says, giving Sorrel's shoulder a light squeeze. "Do call me Thranduil. I would have you speak with me as your sister does." Which is pretty much as often as she wants. He turns to look at her as he speaks about her, seeing how comfortable they are together.

"A healer! A rare and blessed talent. Am I to understand he cared for the whole herd? Your halla-" he means the ones living in Skyhold. "- are beautiful creatures. It is a shame I cannot visit with them as often as I would like. Might I beg the indulgence- of both you, Beleth, and Sorrel- of meeting Clan Ashara's?"

He politely ignores the discussion of rabbits and shemlen, not wishing to make-- he would call it more trouble for himself. Far better to spend the time being delighted with Beleth and her twin.

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writteninblood - 2016-10-28 00:48 (UTC) - Expand

Kallian's approach is shy and hesitant, steadily approaching him in increments. Finally, she gathers nerve enough to speak.

"I... hope this wouldn't be a bad time to inquire about that lunch...?"

There's not much room on his little perch, no chance he can move over and welcome her company. He's free to smile, to stand and cross to her rather than remain seated.

"Gladly." He had intended for the offer to be taken up once they were back in Halamshiral, where he could purchase lunch with his own coin. But this works- he sees no chance to object and risk injuring her feelings.

It's obvious where the food is cooked in the camp, and it is in that direction he begins to walk, slow and sedate and with Kallian at his side, matching his pace to her own. He glances down to her, starting with small talk. "The clan has been nothing but welcoming."

She is more used to the scurrying pace common to urban elves. She slows down some here, but her shorter legs still take two steps to match his stride. Her posture remains demure, her eyes kept downcast.

"They have been, yes. We've been very fortunate. Some clans are not nearly so hospitable," she agrees with a nod. "May I offer you some tea?" she asks as they get close to the cookfires.

"You need not serve." He's perfectly able to help himself, and perfectly willing to cook on a fire. He realizes the tone- she's terribly skittish, and considers another side to the use of the slur rabbit. "I mean only that it was I who offered, and you should not place the burden upon yourself, my dear."

He reaches for her, gently rests a hand on her shoulder, stopping their walk. Thranduil waits until she meets his eyes, and smiles. "I hope I am not that intimidating, my dear?"

The hand on her shoulder is so effective at stopping her, she actually freezes up for a moment, scarcely even breathing. When she glances up, she only meets his gaze for a split second before she looks away again. Her initial response to him otherwise is a curiously stiff little shrug that also has the effect of helping her wriggle away from his touch.

"I'm a healer," she answers softly. "Service comprises a great deal of my life. and I am happy to do it. Are you certain you do not wish me to make you some tea?"

He draws his hand away, takes a step as well. "Your skills are admirable. It is-- forgive me, for I am proud. I know I may seem intimidating, but I wish nothing more than to sit with you and enjoy your company as your friend? If I am mistaken, I sincerely apologize."

Thranduil sits on one of the little stools near the fire, looking-- well, someone like the Elvenking wouldn't ever have such a word as sheepish applied to them, but he certainly is glancing to the side, blows ever so slightly furrowed. "I was raised with a healthy respect for healers. My father insisted that all his children would be so."

Oh, there were many things she was tempted to ask in response... But, for now she held them in.

"Thank you," she murmured, delicately arranging herself on a nearby seat of her own, tucking a bit of hair behind her ear.

She glanced up through her lashes, a shy smile on her lips.
"...I suppose if we are to be friends, we ought to be properly introduced. My name is Kallian."

She canted her head, dark locks sliding over one shoulder. It was a careful gesture, practiced to be elegant and cultivated in Orlesian fashion.

"Do you have many brothers and sisters?"

"Thranduil," murmured warmly, pleased by her smile and her sweet manner. She has a dignified manner, as befitted one with her duties. That sort of grace was a mix between innate and taught.

"Two." Three children were more than enough for a married couple in the years before the sun. "A brother and a sister, both younger."

And both now across the sea.

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kallian_endris - 2016-10-31 21:29 (UTC) - Expand

It wasn't too recently that they performed the ritual in Halam'shiral, but it's all Sina can think about each time she sees Thranduil. In her heart of hearts, it felt like the right thing to do, but her heart of hearts is at war with social rules. She's been a bit on edge ever since, and has told no one, even those closest to her.
Staying with another clan can be stressful, when there are so few of her own, so there are times when Sina will take breaks to just wander alone and collect her thoughts. She's a diplomat, but hardly an extravert, and moments of regrouping are necessary. On one such occasion, she finds Thranduil in similar repose, and gears herself up to go sit by him. She doesn't speak at first-- these ancient elves always leave her speechless, and it seems disrespectful to just blather her way into an interaction.

They had taken a risk not when they used blood magic, but when Sina had wandered into their little party they had made a choice. Blood magic was little to Thranduil and less, he suspected, to Galadriel, having grown up with no such taboo. Oh, to take the blood of others without consent was a sin, but it fell easy under subverting another's Will with your own- the truest evil.

But Sina would have grown up thinking what they had done was wretched and wrong. In her, they potentially had a loose end. The good of the many came before the good of one, and while he cared for Sina, the Elvhen as a whole came first.

Not, he thought, that it would come to that. There were many paths to cross before it came to needing to make such a choice.

"Something troubles you," he murmurs, low and kind and concerned. "Would you unburden yourself, child?"

As Sina takes a seat, she offers him a shy half-smile, folding her hands in her lap. "Much does, of late," she admits, "I've never been so uncertain in my life as I am now. Here." She gestures around, but shakes her head. "...and Skyhold. Away from home."
She thought she knew how the world works, at least to a degree. It wasn't until she was forced to leave her clan that she began to actually learn.
"I'm just... feeling a bit lost, hanin. And Ghilan'nain has yet to show me the way."

"You need not keep your thoughts to prayers only." She's so young- all of them are, and it never stops hurting, not once. He folds his legs, uses the extra room to turn towards her, speaking low, offering comfort. It has never been difficult to pull on the fatherly part of himself, easier now with Legolas' birth, a sort of softness born from practice. If he was feeling more tactile, he might have taken her hands, but for now the warmth of his smile will have to do.

"It is not a bad thing to be at a crossroads in one's life." Eru knew he had made enough choices that had borne impacts larger than he knew at the time. "Indecision oft indicates a cautious mind, a steady heart."

The warmth of his smile is plenty, especially for one who has now been away from her Keeper for almost a year. Interacting with someone else's is almost too much for her to bear; not to mention...
No, she won't think about that right now.
Instead she nods, seeing the wisdom in Thranduil's words. "So much rests on the few of us remaining," she says softly, "we can't afford to make mistakes."

"And what would you call a mistake?" He understands her concern- with the Dalish population so low, the loss of even a few clans could be utterly devastating. He wonders how many clans there were at the start- and how many remain.

Sina shrugs, her eyes casting downward again. "Giving a bad impression," she muses, "giving the shem'len reasons to think we're all out to kill them. That they should... take preventive measures against us."
She sighs, her face falling into her hands, but more from exhaustion than despair. "We owe them nothing," she murmurs, "yet our fate is in their hands. There's too few of us."

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Player Plot: I will call you home

thranduil being delighted at all these elves, come bother him

bothers u

bothers also

pulls both of you to bossom

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