faderift | [Open: To the homeless, a haven.]

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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?"

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.

She is a lovely Elf and Thingol gives her hands a squeeze as she looks up at him. Thingol is rapidly becoming fond of these foreign Elves and he wishes to give them more. What earned them their lesser status is surely not a current concern. It is time for them to rise again.

"Griffons do not reside on Arda. I would be curious to learn of them with you - if you do not mind the company?" he glances at the writing, reading enough to convince him of the language, "Sindarin? If that is the language you seek to learn, I can be of aid." since he was there for the very beginning of it.

In fact, he might have been one of the originators of it.

"I know Doriathrin Sindarin best. The language might have changed if you have sought King Thranduil's guidance or the guidance of Lady Galadriel."

The hand squeeze goes a long way toward Merrill remembering to take a breath and not panic. He's being perfectly lovely and nice, and some of the tension from nearly running face-first into him eases out. There's even a little hand squeeze back.

"Oh, no! I don't mind at all. We could go and see them, too, if you'd like?" Any excuse to visit the griffons is, in her opinion, a good excuse. "Everyone thought they were extinct for ages. The ones that are here are the only ones left, as far as we know."

They are all the more special, all the more loved and protected, for it.

"I'd love for some help with the Sindarin, though, if you really don't mind -- Thranduil gave me all of this information on Satinalia to get me started."

The small pressure in return makes him chuckle deeply. She is lively - like a happy bird or a curious and friendly doe. Thingol realizes, abruptly, that he does not wish for any ill to befall her or for her to be treated poorly. But how can ensure such a thing?

"Yes, please." he is fond of all animals and the Griffons will soon find themselves pampered, "Then we must see to them breeding and raising families." his eyes brighten at the thought of little ones hatching. There is nothing more precious in any world than a child.

"I do not mind in the least. We shall make a trade, then. You show me the Griffons and I will help you with my language."

Edited 2017-03-08 12:18 (UTC)

If she knew, she would tell him it can't be ensured -- that bad things happen, even to good people. Bad things have certainly happened to her. But she doesn't know, and only smiles up (and up and up) at him.

"Exactly! I mean, there might be some problems there because I think they're all siblings, but... there's not really any other choice." The world, in Merrill's opinion, needs griffons.

Nodding, there's a little tug on his hand; she'll go ahead and lead the way now, if that's what he wants. "They're through the prison, right now; it has the most open space for creatures that can fly since part of it is sort of... crumbling off a cliff."

Oh he knows that lesson. His daughter taught it to him and his foster-son, yet he closed his eyes nonetheless until his own demise. Even now he has moments like this where he wishes he could shut out the danger as easily as closing a door.

"That matters little with animals." Thingol smiles reassuringly, "A race must begin with such close ties unless you wish for it to be mixed." which he thinks would be a shame.

The tug gets a softer smile and he follows her lead. "A good choice!" he can hear the birds already and he is reminded, starkly, of the dear Eagles.

"These are fine creatures." he moves away from her when they are near to the Griffons, his blue eyes warm and merry, "Yes, yes, we need more of you."

[Open: To the homeless, a haven.]

no subject

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

I'm dealing with the Flu myself. Hope you're feeling better!

almost! i hope you feel better soon too!

Thank you! Still fighting the end of it.

shoos it away!!

I'm doing my best! >8| Go away, ickiness!