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

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.]

shoos it away!!

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