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

"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.

Well, that's good since the Doctor is a touch-telepath. He noticed that far-off gaze though. He had felt it upon his own features often enough to know not to ask just yet.

"This is the only place I've been recently where people haven't called me a wizard or magician. For me, it's all a matter of science: biology, technology, or simple knowledge."

Perhaps he had misjudged Thingol at first. They seem to have more in common than he could have imagined.

He would find Thingol's mind difficult to read; as an Elf he had a certain protection from such probing powers. Besides, it was likely he would feel the Doctor peeking and that would make for a poor conversation.

"I have never heard of science or biology." he had intimate experience with the latter; he just didn't know the modern name for it.

The Doctor doesn't use it without permission. At least for mind-reading purposes. Occasionally, he will - like with annoying children. He calls it 'Dad Skills'.

"Oh? Well, I'm sure you have. Science is the study of... stuff. Biology is the since about how your body works: Your heart, brain, how you reproduce, how blood flows through your body."

And he'll stop there to see if Thingol recognises anything.

[Open: To the homeless, a haven.]

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