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

He questioned magic for far different reasons that Thingol, he thought, but there wasn't much point in arguing that. "Magic is a tool, no more and no less. It's the people who make it good or bad," he shrugged. "So I misspoke there. We found the remnants of magic some very bad people had done." He shook his head and shuddered, remembering he scents of blood and death and wondered what it said of him that he he no longer felt the immediate need to retch and the thought of it.

"Ah, no, I don't think it is the After Life. It's the Fade and it's where what the people here call demons come from," he clarified. He was not versed enough in spirits to make a comment except that he knew they to were connected to the Fade, as was magic itself.

He laughed softly. "I wouldn't say that. We have deserts on my home world too, and life is resiliant. It adapts. You just have to keep your eyes open and you'll see it." He cocked his head at Thingol curiously. "Who are your people exactly?"

"I suppose." he did not look convinced, "When temptation is within easy reach, even those with good intentions can falter." and that was where he had his doubts, "There are horrible sights and smells in the Dark. Do your best to avoid all contact with it lest it gain an interest in you."

This Man was bright - a leader - and Thingol thought it would be a shame if all of his good - his bravery, his trust - was turned to ill. He had seen it happen again and again. It was difficult not to be bitter over such transformations.

"These demons live in a place that is kept separate from where souls reside?" he had to admit that was a comfort. No soul deserved such wretched company.

"They truly are akin to Morgoth's creations." his lip curled as if he tasted something foul, "The Elves of Arda. More precisely, the Sindar of Doriath."

He didn't want to get in argument, despite what the other saying just proving his point. Magic was a tool, like sword. It was neither good nor bad, just wielded. Admittedly, there were some types of magic that he could find nothing but a horrible uses for or only had horrible ways of making them work, but even then, it was a tool. It had to be made to do what it did, and it could hardly have blame put on it. Rather, the people who decided to turn it to such dark purpose should be the ones blamed.

Kirk was not quite so easily corrupted. Especially not with recent events in his memory, of seeing what he might have become given enough time lost among the stars.

"I believe so, but I am not an expert, so don't take my full word for it," he shook his head. "I think it is that spirits and mages draw power from the Fade, but I don't think they actually reside there." Again, it was just trying to make a sense of what he had been told and still had trouble wrapping his mind around because he was disinclined to like the term 'magic' in the first place.

He blinked at the string of words announcing who Thingol was, clearly them meaning nothing to him except to confirm what he thought - that Thingol was elvish, but clearly not of this world.

"Guess that means you're a long way from home, huh?" he smile sympathetically.

"It sounds...grey." a color he should be well-acquainted with considering one of his names/titles was Greymantle, but it was such an unsatisfactory hue when one was trying to determine the nature of a place like the Fade, "All of this power sets me ill at ease. Not all Mages or Spirits surely mean well and use it wisely."

In fact, he guessed it was often used recklessly.

"Yes. I was ripped away from my home before I was summoned here, however. Death found me at the hands of petty Dwarves."

"It was colorful. Far to colorful," he shook his head, not quite understanding what the other meant by grey, but even so that place had left to many marks to call it something as dull and unobtrusive as grey. He cocked his head at him and shrugged. "Not everyone who has a sword or wears a crown uses them well or wisely either. Like I said, it's a tool."

Not to mention he felt the instinctual need to defend his lover, who was a mage.

"Do you mean in your home world, or here?" he asked. "The Dwarves, I mean."

[Open: To the homeless, a haven.]

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