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

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[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.

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"Your ship can traverse worlds?" that takes him aback and he wonders what sort of being has managed such! Thingol watches the Doctor with intense curiosity before his expression darkens.

"They could lead us to our doom."

He sees little reason to be optimistic. "So many who traveled through the Rifts are young. It is the old who should take the risks. If we can re-enter the Rifts, I shall go first."

Edited 2017-02-09 06:29 (UTC)

"She can. And through time too."

Because, why not just blow the other's mind while he's at it. His expression grew serious when Thingol's expression changed.

"Yes. That is the problem with rifts. They're quite - changeable."

The Doctor chuckled at the comment of being old. "Looks can be deceiving. I've seen old men who were only a couple of years old. And then you have someone like me..."

He thought he looked young and for being billions of years old, he probably did.

"Unless you have a lot of experience, I wouldn't recommend it. I've never travelled through such unprotected. And since technology here seems very primitive to what I'm used to, even building something might be problematic."

Edited 2017-02-09 14:30 (UTC)

"Such a vessel is dangerous! Think of all that you could change! Damage!" his mind is blown, but his fear rises above all else, "Please tell me you use it sparingly?"

Or not at all. He would destroy a ship of that sort and bury the wreckage at sea.

"I do not trust the changeable." for Elves are not changeable. Or, at least, they change very slowly. Thingol gazes at him pensively.

"How can they be old at a couple of years? Why are you different?" he shrugs a shoulder, "Regardless, if the possibility arises, I have naught to lose."

"You are correct. Such a vessel is dangerous in the wrong hands. I use it for good. To help people. But I follow rules about changing people's timelines. It's one of my... senses. I know when something can and can't be changed."

He shrugs in return. It's normal for him.

"How do you know what is and isn't changeable?"

Sorry, the Doctor is just going to question that. Because of how he sees things.

"There are some illnesses in the universe that cause people to age in reverse. When they are born they look like little old me. As they grow up, they start to look younger. In a way, they grow into their skin."

He tilts his head at the last. "That might be true, but what if those here need you? You might not have anything to lose, but it's possible that you might be here to help others..."

"How does one obtain such...senses?" he doesn't trust it, clearly. Thingol doesn't hide his reactions like some of his Elven brethren; he considers it a waste of time.

"My eyes and my ears can tell me as much." he smiles thinly, "I am one who stood in the Light of the Two Trees of Aman. I trust my, ah, senses."

Amusement dances in his eyes, mischievous and unapologetic. The Doctor can ask as many questions as he likes, but the answers may not be to his liking.

"How odd." but his frown is intrigued this time, "My race ages to a certain point and then they age no more." unless you are speaking of Elves that live for Ages and Ages. Then they "earn" a beard. (See: Círdan.)

"I am willing to help any who come to me." as austere and detached as he might seem, Thingol does possess a soft heart. Too soft, perhaps, which is why he shut himself and his people away from the chaotic world.

"Regardless, I am not afraid to enter the unknown."

The Doctor smiles as he sees the penny drop for Thingol. As much as he likes humans, it's nice to not have to explain things too many times.

"And you do your race credit, at least when it comes to understanding."

The Doctor might have more spend more time with elves. It's a nice change of pace to not have to fight to explain everything.

He nods with the information about how elves age. He's never heard of such. "How old are you, when you stop ageing? And how long do you live? In general, I mean."

"Helping those who need it... we are in agreement. I do the same."

Now the Doctor smirks.

"You are not afraid to enter the unknown, yet you clearly don't trust it. While I don't blame you, do you see how that might be confusing for me?"

No, explanations tend to be tiresome and even when they are given, they are not always understood. Thingol likes watching others make their own conclusions - at least until their conclusions directly effect him or his people.

"Understanding arrives in its own time; it cannot be imposed on another." he pauses and smiles faintly, "I am four thousand and some centuries old. I admit I have not kept track."

The one hundredth year is important because that is when Elves come of age. But when an Elf reaches his first millennium, it all begins to lose importance.

"We can live until Arda takes its last breath." he shrugs delicately, "As for myself, I lived until Dwarves brutalized me."

Thingol looks entirely unapologetic. "Can I not be a mystery to you, Doctor? I am - I was - a King and if a King does not dare face the unknown, what message does that send to his people?"

"Four thousand. It's a good number. I'm four and a half billion."

Because, while most people might assume when he makes 'billions' comments that it's hyperbole, it's not for him. Not now. He frowned at the comment about dwarves.

"I'm sorry that happened. I have noticed that relations between the races here leave something to be desired."

Which is to say, there's less peace here than he wished. But he offers a grin again at the word 'mystery.'

"Ah, see there's a thing with mysteries. I can't resist them. Mysteries are there to be solved and I'm a man who tries to solve them."

He nods at the last part. "You must have been a great King, if your focus was always on your people and not on your power."

"Come again?"

The Doctor should be thrilled. Thingol has never been floored by another's age and he has known Valar and Maiar, who are basically the maintainers/creators of his world! It is possible he has even known of Eru himself - the creator of all!

"I will not be of much aid where the Elves and Dwarves are concerned." by choice. By fiercely stubborn choice.

"I fear you will be waiting for a long, long while." if for no other reason than him wishing to remain an unsolved mystery, "Mm."

The amusement fades from his eyes and he recedes within himself. "I failed in many regards. The realization came too late."

He preened just a little. "I know. Don't look a day over twenty-five hundred. It's good, don't you think?"

Well, the Doctor sort of cheated. It was about a week lived on repeat for 4.5 billion years. But it's well-earned, since it was over two-hundred billion deaths. At over two-thousand the Doctor said he was old enough to be a messiah. He's nearly older than the Universe now. Could be a god, but he'd make a very bad god.

The Doctor only raised an eyebrow at Thingol's - stubbornness. But he smiled when the elf mentioned the wait. "I'm a very patient man."

Well, for things he wanted to be patient with, anyway. The Doctor's expression softened as Thingol's changed. "What happened?"

Which is always better to ask than, 'want to talk about it.' Because the Doctor has only met a very few people who wanted to talk about it and none of them were kings.

"Determining the age of Men has never been my strong point." he examines the Doctor critically, "Are you a Man or...another?"

Is he speaking to someone from another race entirely? He must be! How else would the unnaturally long life be explained? He can understand living for millennia, but not a million years - much less a billion!

"I suspect so." he knows patience comes from experiencing long, long, long spaces of time, "I fell under blades wielded by spiteful Dwarves. My kingdom must have surely fallen into ruin."

In fact he knows it had thanks to Thranduil.

"Mine either. I'm chalking it up to how long we live."

But the Doctor might be wrong. He just doesn't know why he might be wrong. Something about not being the same age as someone else... (Neural block he has knowledge of Clara - a friend who travelled with him - but the memories are all gone.)

"'Man' is close enough. But in my universe, I'm as much 'man' as you are..."

Which is to say, not at all, but presumed such for a variety of reasons.

"Spiteful Dwarves?"

The Doctor is tempted to ask if there was another kind, based on the information he was just provided.

"Speaking of mysteries!" Thingol smirked at the evasion; they were not so different, were they?

His amusement faded as if it had never existed a moment later. The light in his eyes was sharp like the glint off a sword.

"Indeed. They wished to take what was mine; I denied them and they executed me." his attitude at the time had been deplorable and mad, but was that any excuse for murder?

The Doctor shrugged at the mention of mystery. "I never claimed to be anything different."

But he didn't expand on it for a variety of reasons.

"You... look pretty good for someone who was executed. Do you regenerate too?"

Which is more to see just how similar they were...

His lips quirked. So they had an unspoken understanding. Good enough.

"Traveling through the Rift had a curious effect on me. Elves do heal quickly, but my wounds were too extensive. The magic must have saved me."

For the time being. He knew it would not last.

The Doctor nodded when he saw the lips quirk. Ancients tended to understand each other quicker than most people. At the mention of the Rift, he looked up, expecting to see it. Of course, nothing was there.

"How were you... injured? I mean, was it poison, or arrows, or blades, or some combination?"

"Blades." he had been unarmed at the time and the Dwarves had outnumbered him considerably, "They are fond of axes and swords. I believe many of them met their mark." he truly hoped that didn't soothe their consciences in the least.

The Doctor winced. "I'm... sorry."

More that the other man remembers.

"Why don't you think the magic will last as long as you're here?"

He still didn't believe in magic but, well, since others did, it was a question he had to ask.

He touched his chest. "I will not say they cannot forge fine blades of their own. I used to think Elven swords far superior!" but lesser weapons had felled him and that was enough to convince him.

"Spells do not last forever." he shrugged a shoulder, "The magic will weaken and then break."

"If that happens, then we will all be returned to our proper times and places... Then, yes, I'm sorry...."

Thingol would be returned to his death.

"But while you're here. You have no injuries, yes?"

"You needn't apologize for my folly." for his mistakes and he had made many of them. Perhaps the Halls of Mandos would offer him some much needed insight.

"I am scarred but healed, yes." and for his vanity's sake, he was glad his robes covered those scars.

The Doctor nodded. "Thank you for understanding."

Usually, when he tells people that, they fight and rail against their death. Begging him to save them. Perhaps both of them being as long-lived as they are helped with that understanding.

"That is good, at least. And... interesting."

Now the Doctor wants to see the scars - examine them. He wants to see if they give any clue to how the Rifts work and how to send everyone home.

"What is there to understand? My daughter has experienced this fate twice. My son too..." he closed his eyes to hide the flash of pain, "I am not comfortable with magic, I admit. I find it less interesting and more...disturbing."

But this could be a gift; an opportunity. He need only find his place in the world.

The Doctor nodded. "Well, that's what there is to understand. Most people are just not accepting of it."

The last part, though caught the Doctor's attention. "Elves don't use magic? I thought that would be more common for you than to me."

The Doctor had meat it was scientifically interesting, but he doesn't mind the conversation going in this direction.

"Denial is an enchanting emotion when you are desperate." his gaze was distant, thinking of other times, other places, "No. What gifts we have were granted to us by Eru, the All-Father and sole Creator of Arda. We are not Wizards."

Elves could accept mind reading, for example, but when it came to spells, well, that was just weird.

[Open: To the homeless, a haven.]

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