[Open: To the homeless, a haven.]

[thehiddenking]

WHO: Thingol & Open!
WHAT: He is coming to grips with his new situation and planning for the future.
WHEN: Guardian, 9:43 Dragon
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: You can reach me on Plurk @ tiger_eyes or through PM/DM for plotting. I am happy to write starters.

He had thought, initially, that he was dreaming. Death had surely fallen upon him - thus freeing his spirit from his body - but instead of him stepping into the Halls of Mandos, he encountered a vicious demon bent on not only annihilating him but all around him. Thingol wasn't a coward - despite what popular opinion might say of him on Middle Earth - and so he had drawn his blade and fought side by side with a few that showed nothing but bravery in the face of a monstrosity.

The entire experience had felt unreal to him - even as he cut into the beast - however the moment he was wounded, he had begun to realize that he was not dreaming. He was not even dead! His body had traveled with him - thanks to gods or a spell - and, by Eru, he was alive again. The shock had remained with him as he traveled to Skyhold and it lingered as he made himself acquainted with the Inquisition and their actions.

Once he had been a mighty King, proud and ready to face any and all who threatened his kingdom. The Dwarves, the Nauglímir and the Silmaril had broken him of his pride - a positive change some might say - though it left him at a loss as to what to do with his time or where it should be spent best. For now, he walked the full expanse of Skyhold, breathing in the mountain air and letting his spirit and body settle into this new way of life; a life where he was not a king or even a lord. A life where Elves were valued very little.

A small smile touched his lips as he paused, peering out over the lands to the north. The Elves deserved a fine leader; someone or someones who could unite them and give them back their worth. Oh yes, that would be a fine use of his time indeed.

For now, all who approached him would be met with a piercing, calculating stare. If you think this Elf will be dominated or belittled so easily, you have the wrong idea. Aranrúth was loyally sheathed at his hip and Thingol took full advantage of his six foot and eight inches of height.

Comments

[universal_charm]

Well, that was certainly a way to stop a man cold wasn't it? It wasn't exactly the first time Kirk had been met with such open hostility, but it usually happened when he had his shard out and not currently wrapped in its customary bandages. That or he was making an ass of himself in the pub somehow - which was rare, thank you very much. Or on missions, but that was to be expected.

He raised his hand in greeting, showing he himself bore no weapon. He rarely wore one in Skyhold unless he planned to go beyond the walls. "Just came to get some fresh air and enjoy the view, same as you," he assured Thingol, flashing him one of his patented charming grins.

[thehiddenking]

He did have that effect on others; an effect he was accustomed to when he entertained the company of those who were not Elven. Kirk was clearly a Man - young by his appearance, but mature - and Thingol inclined his head faintly, his hands relaxed at his sides. Aranrúth would not be drawn if someone approached in friendship.

"The view is breathtaking." his low voice reverberated powerfully even though he spoke quietly, "I have never sought mountains; only forests, yet this one tempts me."

[universal_charm]

Mature might be up for debate at times, but if that's the first impression he would gladly take it. Kirk approaches a bit more when he sees the other relax, but keeps a respectful distance. Not quite a swords length, but it still gives him time to dodge in case Thingol changes his mind.

"Yeah, it's pretty impressive," Kirk agreed, leaning against the stone. "But I think that about practically every place here. Even that desert we have to crawl through one time. Thedas in general is a beautiful place, I think."

[thehiddenking]

Mature in age, Kirk. Thingol knows nothing of his mental and emotional maturity...yet. He stands absolutely still, glancing between the Man and the view, his wary demeanor slowly ebbing away like the tide.

"My forest was more beautiful." but he admits he is biased on that account, "Why did you crawl through a desert?"

Thingol has never encountered a desert and he is curious why anyone would go to a place so desolate. Of course, like his encounter with the Pride Demon, it is likely Kirk didn't have a choice.

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin isn't so much approaching Thingol as she is heading to her usual viewing spot on the ramparts, only to find it occupied. That doesn't bother her in and of itself, though that piercing stare is unexpected. The horned woman, standing a few inches above his own height, isn't easily intimidated though, and she responds with a calmly raised eyebrow.

"Not sure what that look is for, but I'm not here for a fight. Wait--you're one of the newcomers, aren't you? From the Hinterlands." Korrin was dealing with other people at the time, but it's hard to forget one of the tallest elves she's ever seen.

[thehiddenking]

"Then you are in the minority." Thingol observes her with mild curiosity - which is saying much for an Elf of his years, "Elves are treated most poorly and I am unaccustomed to such."

Perfect obeisance suits him far better. He has spent overlong in his kingdom, guarded by such powerful walls that no Dark creature can overcome them. Without Melian - his queen - and his people, he is...a commoner.

"I am." he brushes the silver strands of his hair over his shoulder absently, "My name is Thingol and I hail from Doriath on Arda."

[gatheringstorm]

"Korrin Ataash, of the Free Marches and the Valo-Kas company." She never leaves that last part out when she can help it, regardless of what others might think of mercenaries.

"Qunari are treated like shit, too. Humans are afraid of us or they think us beasts just because we have horns. My advice? Don't go to Orlais, if you can help it. The racism's even worse there. If you're not a human noble, you're only fit to kiss their asses."

She tilts her head, a little curious. "So, would I be right in assuming you're from the same place as the other unusually tall rifter elves?"

[thehiddenking]

"Well met, Korrin Ataash." the titles mean little to him, but he respects them because they hold importance to her. Everyone has a place in the world - he may be given the chance to have a place in two - and they help form a strong, stable identity. Thingol misses his old identities, however he is prepared to take on a new mantle or two.

"I think your horns are beautiful." he, luckily, holds no value in the opinions of Men. The Qunari are interesting to see and he wants to encounter more of them. It is not often that he has to look up to another regardless if their personalities clash!

"Arda?" his lips twitched, "More specifically, Middle Earth, though I resided on Aman for a time at the beginning."

When he says beginning, he truly means the beginning. When he awoke, there were only stars in the sky - no sun and no moon.

"Do you know Thranduil and Galadriel?"

[elegiaque]

Gwenaëlle's full height is - rather less significant, even as correctly as she holds herself (equal parts corsetry and comportment), standing 5'3" in stocking-feet and scarcely more than that in the flat leather shoes her voluminous skirts do not immediately make visible when she slows to a stop. It would be inaccurate to precisely say that she approaches him, but there's nothing of shyness (or, less charitably, good manners) in the frankness of her examination.

Another one, she thinks. Good grief.

If he's seen her pamphlets, she's more or less immediately recognisable from the neat bust sketch on every cover; in person not a good deal less delicate than the depictions of her suggest, although the artist has perhaps softened the edge of her gaze, which she levels uncompromisingly in the manner of one accustomed to having to look up more often than not.

"What?" after a slight pause. "Are you lost?"

[thehiddenking]

She is familiar indeed, though Thingol cannot immediately recall why. Regardless, he is taken by her petite build. Compared to him - whether he is his full height or his current diminished height - she is truly pocket-sized! A helpless smile answers her sharp response and he barely hides a chuckle.

"Not currently, lady, though I cannot say that will always be so." he gives her a shallow bow, arm crossing before him gracefully, "My arrival via the...rift...was eventful, but my journey to Skyhold was less so." which he is grateful for; a large demon attempting to rip him to shreds is not his idea of a fine welcome!

"I am Thingol." while that is added as an after-thought, there is weight to the name - a certain royal air.

[elegiaque]

"Thingol," she repeats, his courtesies - the bow, the polite address - doing much to lower her immediately raised hackles. People in Skyhold are often a good deal more comfortable treating her familiarly than she's accustomed to, and while there are benefits to that, as well...it doesn't hurt to be introduced to her with more care, with more weight.

"You came through the rift from the same place as Thranduil and Galadriel," she surmises, because: look at him, of course he fucking did. She pauses a beat before saying, "My name is Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin. I take it you're finding the lay of the land."

And finding it rather different to whatever he's used to, she doesn't doubt.

[thehiddenking]

He never forgets his etiquette unless he is under severe stress. Or mad. That had happened more than once, though the aforementioned stress had been involved. Thingol cannot foresee those experiences being repeated and his death has...humbled him. The slightest bit.

"Your eyes are sharp." he tips his head back to enjoy the breeze, eyes half-closed, "I believe I come from a point much earlier than them, Lady." which matters little except that he knows almost nothing of them despite being from the same world, "As best as I am able. No one likes to be without a home."

[not_the_question]

Height is just another number to the Doctor, though he suspected he now understood what some of his shorter companions must have felt when stood next to him.

But the man looked familiar to the Doctor. They had arrived together.

"Excuse me? You were there, a few weeks ago? When we were pulled through the rift? Well, not the same rift, as I believe we're from different universes. But Both Rifts brought us here. But you where there when we fought the pride demon?"

He pulled his hand from his pocket and offered it to the other. "I'm the Doctor."

[thehiddenking]

"I was." Thingol rarely - if ever - forgot a face and the Doctor was immediately recognizable to him, "The pride demon was not easily dispatched and if there are more of his kind in this world, I wonder why they are not hunted and exterminated as well."

But that was a discussion for another time. He examined the hand extended and slowly mirrored the Doctor's greeting. Elves do not shake hands; that was a custom of Men and other races on Arda.

"Well met, Doctor. My name is Thingol." once a King and a Lord; now a singular presence bereft of land and people.

[not_the_question]

The Doctor would say it's rubbish being a king, so it's for the best. Also, he'd comment that he was a Lord of Time, so best not get into those kinds of games. He shakes Thingol's hand quickly, he mostly does it, because he's been around humans too long.

"From what I've learned they're not actually from this world. They fall through the rifts like we did."

The Doctor tends to be a bit less - aggressive when it comes to such things.

[thehiddenking]

It certainly isn't rubbish for him! He took pride in being the King of Doriath and the Lord of all Beleriand. That pride has been stripped from him, which, deep down, he understands might not be the worst fate for him. He had lost his way.

The shaking is intrusive, he decides and he frowns faintly before releasing the Doctor's hand.

"Thus the necessity for the Rifts to be sealed, I assume." he tilts his head, silver hair catching the light, "Yet the majority of us must return to our worlds before said seals. I do not know how that will be possible."

[conqueredhearts]

The Elf was tall but Iskandar was taller still. He smiled brightly in response to the stare, not a trace of tension to be found in his form. He had a sword too but it was casually sheathed at his side for the time being since he obviously felt it was not needed. As far as he was concerned, this person was no threat to him.

"You are taller than the Elves here so I can only assume you are a Rifter like myself! A good day to you, my friend!"

He laughed merrily as he stopped right there by him with his hands on his hips. Not quite the reaction one would normally have to such a piercing stare but there he was all the same.

"I am Iskandar. Who might you be?"

[thehiddenking]

He was generally wary of others, choosing only to trust those either he knew or knew of already - such as Thranduil - as well as those who proved they were willing to fight at his side for a short interim. Deeper bonds would take a long time to form and so it was understandable that he met Iskandar's friendliness with a quirked brow.

"I cannot hide it." even crouching would do him no good, "The names I have would perhaps be difficult for you to recall. Thingol will serve."

King Thingol. It had hurt to realize the title was of no use to him any longer and that pride would be his undoing if he clung to it. Yet he, like his brothers, would always have a royal bearing - even if he was clad in rags.

[conqueredhearts]

"Well if I can remember my many titles then I'm sure I could remember your many names. However, I am happy to call you Thingol, my friend."

Iskandar laughed a bit, not at all thrown off by what he'd been told. If Thingol was the name he gave then that was the name that he would call him. That was all there was to it really. Perhaps it was a simplistic way of thinking but complexities were unnecessary presently.

"What are you up to here? Enjoying the view?"

[lettersfromhome]

The stare was certainly very impressive, as was his height for an elf. But never let it be said that a Rutherford was easily deterred or intimidated. Certainly not Mia, who'd been making her usual rounds and noted the new face.

She busied herself mostly with newcomers and refugees with little to their names, here, so it was the sort of thing that would be taken note of.

So Thingol would find himself shortly in the presence of a rather short Ferelden woman, dark eyes running over him with a gently considering look. "Well now, here's a new face. Have you had the chance to find the kitchen yet, dear?"

The once mighty, proud King was going to get himself looked after, like it or not.

[thehiddenking]

Kitchen? The inquiry perplexed him and he gazed at Mia as if he had never seen her like before. Elves, on Arda, did not require much sustenance nor did they have to eat often. But at the thought of a kitchen - and food - Thingol heard his stomach...growl. How odd! He glanced down at himself, touching his abdomen.

"Not as yet." and from the sound of it, he should go there immediately or suffer consequences he had never experienced before.

[lettersfromhome]

"And I suppose no one's thought to tell you, have they? Just hope for the best, I suppose."

There's a faint disapproving cluck of her tongue as she continues to regard him. Rather stately fellow, but he looks confused. Poor thing. Probably sorely out of his element, and those pointed ears won't earn him any additional favor with the locals.

Mia's expression softens. "Luckily I'm headed that direction myself. You're welcome to join me, if you like."

[chainlightning]

The elves of Arda have captured the interest of so many of the Dalish within the Inquisition, seemingly reminders of the past they barely remember. The stories are old and fragmented, their language missing pieces. Whether their past is as true as those like Thingol and Thranduil and Galadriel is a matter for debate, but Merrill has no requirement of truly knowing. What she knows is that she cares for the two she has met, her blond-haired, tall and mighty kin -- and they are kin. She's been named as much by Galadriel, and it is out of her love and respect for the two of them and her own natural curiosity that she's been working on learning Sindarin.

There are papers in her hands, loosely bound; if Thingol looks, the writing is distinctly Thranduil's. Merrill is referencing them only once in a while as she walks, but it's clear she's only partially there, saying the name of what she sees outloud in Trade and then attempting to translate it. Walking and talking are two things she can do, but she's rummaging through the papers, trying to find if there's a term for griffon when she almost runs right into Thingol.

Cue a startled gasp, fingers clutching her papers; none of them float away, but there is a moment where she stares, green eyes wide, before-

"Oh, goodness, I'm sorry- I really ought to just do this in the library, but I don't think of words there and I get so distracted and everyone is cross that I'm saying things outloud and-"

There's a little wave of one hand, which immediately returns to clutching the papers.

[thehiddenking]

Sindarin - or Doriathrin (the Sindarin dialect common in King Thingol's kingdom, Doriath) - is a fine language. Thingol refuses to acknowledge Quenya, though it is technically the older of the two dialects. In fact, he banned Quenya in his kingdom and if anyone dared to speak to him in that cursed tongue, his anger would be riled. He is likely still as sensitive to such, yet his death has humbled him; he is less fiery, less proud.

Since Thranduil was only a child in Doriath, Thingol will not recognize the writing. However the near miss does get his attention. He reaches out to steady her, a pair of piercing blue eyes meeting that green stare curiously.

"There is naught wrong with speaking aloud." the corner of his lips quirks, "May I ask what you are researching?" his fingers barely graze the papers, "Did you say...griffon?"

sorry about the delay, came down with a nasty bug!

[chainlightning]

The elves of Arda -- and she is assuming, already, that that is what he is, because he simply looks the part -- are so tall. He steadies her and Merrill blinks up at him, trying to reorient herself. Many people are taller than she is, but most of them aren't elves.

"I did," she says, with a quick nod. "I'm- well, I'm trying to learn a new language, and I thought it might be better if I went out to try and see things and translate them, but... well, I'm very much a beginner." And it's not as though Thranduil could have anticipated every word that Merrill would want to translate. There are things in Thedas that are not in Arda, and things in Arda that have no equivalent in Thedas. Honestly, Merrill isn't sure if griffons are one of those things.

"You are an elf of Arda, aren't you? A Rifter. I'm trying to learn Sindarin."

Maybe it would be best to actually find out if her assumption is correct, for starters.