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

Entry tags:

[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.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, that was certainly a way to stop a man cold wasn't it? It wasn't exactly the first time Kirk had been met with such open hostility, but it usually happened when he had his shard out and not currently wrapped in its customary bandages. That or he was making an ass of himself in the pub somehow - which was rare, thank you very much. Or on missions, but that was to be expected.

He raised his hand in greeting, showing he himself bore no weapon. He rarely wore one in Skyhold unless he planned to go beyond the walls. "Just came to get some fresh air and enjoy the view, same as you," he assured Thingol, flashing him one of his patented charming grins.

He did have that effect on others; an effect he was accustomed to when he entertained the company of those who were not Elven. Kirk was clearly a Man - young by his appearance, but mature - and Thingol inclined his head faintly, his hands relaxed at his sides. Aranrúth would not be drawn if someone approached in friendship.

"The view is breathtaking." his low voice reverberated powerfully even though he spoke quietly, "I have never sought mountains; only forests, yet this one tempts me."

Korrin isn't so much approaching Thingol as she is heading to her usual viewing spot on the ramparts, only to find it occupied. That doesn't bother her in and of itself, though that piercing stare is unexpected. The horned woman, standing a few inches above his own height, isn't easily intimidated though, and she responds with a calmly raised eyebrow.

"Not sure what that look is for, but I'm not here for a fight. Wait--you're one of the newcomers, aren't you? From the Hinterlands." Korrin was dealing with other people at the time, but it's hard to forget one of the tallest elves she's ever seen.

Gwenaëlle's full height is - rather less significant, even as correctly as she holds herself (equal parts corsetry and comportment), standing 5'3" in stocking-feet and scarcely more than that in the flat leather shoes her voluminous skirts do not immediately make visible when she slows to a stop. It would be inaccurate to precisely say that she approaches him, but there's nothing of shyness (or, less charitably, good manners) in the frankness of her examination.

Another one, she thinks. Good grief.

If he's seen her pamphlets, she's more or less immediately recognisable from the neat bust sketch on every cover; in person not a good deal less delicate than the depictions of her suggest, although the artist has perhaps softened the edge of her gaze, which she levels uncompromisingly in the manner of one accustomed to having to look up more often than not.

"What?" after a slight pause. "Are you lost?"

Height is just another number to the Doctor, though he suspected he now understood what some of his shorter companions must have felt when stood next to him.

But the man looked familiar to the Doctor. They had arrived together.

"Excuse me? You were there, a few weeks ago? When we were pulled through the rift? Well, not the same rift, as I believe we're from different universes. But Both Rifts brought us here. But you where there when we fought the pride demon?"

He pulled his hand from his pocket and offered it to the other. "I'm the Doctor."

The Elf was tall but Iskandar was taller still. He smiled brightly in response to the stare, not a trace of tension to be found in his form. He had a sword too but it was casually sheathed at his side for the time being since he obviously felt it was not needed. As far as he was concerned, this person was no threat to him.

"You are taller than the Elves here so I can only assume you are a Rifter like myself! A good day to you, my friend!"

He laughed merrily as he stopped right there by him with his hands on his hips. Not quite the reaction one would normally have to such a piercing stare but there he was all the same.

"I am Iskandar. Who might you be?"

"Then you are in the minority." Thingol observes her with mild curiosity - which is saying much for an Elf of his years, "Elves are treated most poorly and I am unaccustomed to such."

Perfect obeisance suits him far better. He has spent overlong in his kingdom, guarded by such powerful walls that no Dark creature can overcome them. Without Melian - his queen - and his people, he is...a commoner.

"I am." he brushes the silver strands of his hair over his shoulder absently, "My name is Thingol and I hail from Doriath on Arda."

She is familiar indeed, though Thingol cannot immediately recall why. Regardless, he is taken by her petite build. Compared to him - whether he is his full height or his current diminished height - she is truly pocket-sized! A helpless smile answers her sharp response and he barely hides a chuckle.

"Not currently, lady, though I cannot say that will always be so." he gives her a shallow bow, arm crossing before him gracefully, "My arrival via the...rift...was eventful, but my journey to Skyhold was less so." which he is grateful for; a large demon attempting to rip him to shreds is not his idea of a fine welcome!

"I am Thingol." while that is added as an after-thought, there is weight to the name - a certain royal air.

"I was." Thingol rarely - if ever - forgot a face and the Doctor was immediately recognizable to him, "The pride demon was not easily dispatched and if there are more of his kind in this world, I wonder why they are not hunted and exterminated as well."

But that was a discussion for another time. He examined the hand extended and slowly mirrored the Doctor's greeting. Elves do not shake hands; that was a custom of Men and other races on Arda.

"Well met, Doctor. My name is Thingol." once a King and a Lord; now a singular presence bereft of land and people.

Edited 2017-02-06 05:04 (UTC)

He was generally wary of others, choosing only to trust those either he knew or knew of already - such as Thranduil - as well as those who proved they were willing to fight at his side for a short interim. Deeper bonds would take a long time to form and so it was understandable that he met Iskandar's friendliness with a quirked brow.

"I cannot hide it." even crouching would do him no good, "The names I have would perhaps be difficult for you to recall. Thingol will serve."

King Thingol. It had hurt to realize the title was of no use to him any longer and that pride would be his undoing if he clung to it. Yet he, like his brothers, would always have a royal bearing - even if he was clad in rags.

"Thingol," she repeats, his courtesies - the bow, the polite address - doing much to lower her immediately raised hackles. People in Skyhold are often a good deal more comfortable treating her familiarly than she's accustomed to, and while there are benefits to that, as well...it doesn't hurt to be introduced to her with more care, with more weight.

"You came through the rift from the same place as Thranduil and Galadriel," she surmises, because: look at him, of course he fucking did. She pauses a beat before saying, "My name is Lady Gwenaëlle Vauquelin. I take it you're finding the lay of the land."

And finding it rather different to whatever he's used to, she doesn't doubt.

"Well if I can remember my many titles then I'm sure I could remember your many names. However, I am happy to call you Thingol, my friend."

Iskandar laughed a bit, not at all thrown off by what he'd been told. If Thingol was the name he gave then that was the name that he would call him. That was all there was to it really. Perhaps it was a simplistic way of thinking but complexities were unnecessary presently.

"What are you up to here? Enjoying the view?"

He never forgets his etiquette unless he is under severe stress. Or mad. That had happened more than once, though the aforementioned stress had been involved. Thingol cannot foresee those experiences being repeated and his death has...humbled him. The slightest bit.

"Your eyes are sharp." he tips his head back to enjoy the breeze, eyes half-closed, "I believe I come from a point much earlier than them, Lady." which matters little except that he knows almost nothing of them despite being from the same world, "As best as I am able. No one likes to be without a home."

Edited 2017-02-06 05:25 (UTC)

"Are you a King?" he had a feeling - an instinct that he could not explain, "Thingol means Grey-cloak in the language of my kingdom." a suitable name for one with silver hair that fell, soft and silken to his waist. Even if he should be without a stitch to his name, he was still cloaked in grey.

"I am deciding on which way I should travel." his tone was pensive, "The Inquisition interests me, but I do not easily give my loyalty to another."

He was much too old to be so rash. Let the young charge headlong into danger; Thingol would concentrate instead on bettering the lives of Elven-kind.

That thought quirks her mouth sideways, not quite a smile but the hint of some slightly sly amusement at the thought of someone who might have known Thranduil when he wasn't ... all that he is now. If they were actually speaking, presently, she'd probably be less shy about it (even ask, perhaps, did he dandle a small elf lord on his unnecessarily large knee? did Thranduil ever fight bath time, does he know?), but -

Well, that's a problem for another day. Or possibly never. He hasn't managed to corner her just yet, and she isn't sure what she'll say if and when he does.

"Thus all the refugees," she says, instead, bone dry. "Are you going to join the Inquisition?"

Mature might be up for debate at times, but if that's the first impression he would gladly take it. Kirk approaches a bit more when he sees the other relax, but keeps a respectful distance. Not quite a swords length, but it still gives him time to dodge in case Thingol changes his mind.

"Yeah, it's pretty impressive," Kirk agreed, leaning against the stone. "But I think that about practically every place here. Even that desert we have to crawl through one time. Thedas in general is a beautiful place, I think."

Mature in age, Kirk. Thingol knows nothing of his mental and emotional maturity...yet. He stands absolutely still, glancing between the Man and the view, his wary demeanor slowly ebbing away like the tide.

"My forest was more beautiful." but he admits he is biased on that account, "Why did you crawl through a desert?"

Thingol has never encountered a desert and he is curious why anyone would go to a place so desolate. Of course, like his encounter with the Pride Demon, it is likely Kirk didn't have a choice.

If she asks, he will tell her of a small Elfling that was prized by Oropher, his father, and who was loved by King Thingol and Queen Melian. All of the children of Doriath were cherished and Thingol was known for catching the little ones when the mood struck him and giving them his full focus. No Elf could truly ignore children of any race, though they might claim otherwise if the race is somehow unsavory.

"The Elves concern me most." first, he should say, "I have not decided. I have not allied myself to another's cause in a long time."

The last time he did so was with Túrin and that had ended in tragedy and the loss of his foster-son. He is hesitant to travel such a road again with mortals.

"I wasn't aware elves had some sort of alternate arrangements made in the event of the world ending," in that same tone; Gwenaëlle has been unsympathetically banging the we're all in this together and who cares about your politics, the sky is literally ripping itself apart drums for some time now, although it must be acknowledged that she's never claimed to have any particular sympathy for the various existing plights of elves.

A dead thing that doesn't know it's dead. It's hard to believe anything else when she exists, breathing proof of how thorough is human conquest.

"If it all coming apart around your--" knife, "--ears is somehow not your problem, though, then by all means, take advantage of Skyhold's sympathy and hospitality without contributing anything, you'll hardly be the only one."

"Would not everyone benefit from the Elves being united to one cause or another?" Thingol has noticed that, despite how poorly his race is treated, there is very little cohesion amongst them. There is very little pride. The world can end - he does not fear such - but what shall be done with the time they have left? Should not what has been broken be mended? Strength could come from it.

"You presume." his voice is suddenly colder, deeper, "The Inquisition is composed of many members. Not all might be good intentioned."

If recent events have taught Gwenaëlle anything - if the past year has taught her anything - it's that aristocratic hauteur and good bone structure will not, in fact, protect her from someone who means to do her harm. The burned claw-marks of the rage demon that so violently derailed the quiet path of her life, visible creeping up her torso from the low edge of her bodice, taught her that; her mother's death on an Orlesian highway and the battle at the Winter Palace. She doesn't set her jaw in the face of his coldness because she imagines herself impervious, just -

She's stubborn as a little mule, that's what it is, digs her heels in regardless of whether it might be smarter not to. There are better ways to argue your case and with a pen and ink she can be remarkably persuasive, but there's not much of softness in her without that distance. That it doesn't have to be an argument doesn't mean she isn't very good at making it one, anyway, even if she might not have bargained for it (although she can't be surprised no one likes being called an ingrate to their face); it is not the first time she's offended, and will not be the last.

"There is one cause. It's 'not letting the fucking world end'. That's what everyone benefits from. No one benefits from anything if the only person left to admire all that wasted effort is Corypheus."

Edited 2017-02-06 12:23 (UTC)

Surprisingly, he has a fondness for stubborn ladies. Melian is one - as was Lúthien, his daughter. In the past, he bowed to them and reconsidered his stance on many matters. However he can be one of the most stubborn of beings on Arda. Elu Thingol - once called Elwë - is one of the first Elves created by Eru. He and his brothers are downright radiant and hard-headed; a trait they passed on generously to their children.

It is perhaps best that Thingol only had a daughter and not a conquering obsessed son.

"So shall we work on that cause separately? That should progress nicely!" his voice is sharp with sarcasm, "The tensions between the races are a waste of time. They cannot be ignored, lady, or they will begin to fester." he pauses before continuing, "All worlds must end. If the time has arrived for this one to see its conclusion, how can any of us stop it? What do you have planned?"

"It isn't time that decided this world is worth less than the ambitions of some ancient Tevinter monster to rip it apart and use it to make himself a God, it was the ancient Tevinter monster," she snaps back, and if he thinks she has purposefully ignored what he says about those tensions: he is correct, because that is a sore subject she can touch on only lightly and if she says the first thing that comes into her mind, she is liable to get hit in the mouth for her trouble. "Is that what you're going to do, if someone threatens your people? Just stand there with your arms out--"

she demonstrates.

"Oh, it must just be time, do whatever you want, fuck me up."

Her jaw sets. "If that's where you'd prefer to stand, go lie down and die somewhere else. Space is in short supply and there are people here who actually give a damn about anything."

"Ancient monsters are not easily exterminated. We need our full might if we are to stand against it." he wonders, truly, how anyone dares debate with this woman. She is so quick to bite and to assume what he might do in any given situation. That trait of her chafes and he presses his lips into a thin line.

"Has no one taught you how a lady should speak?" though that is beside the point, of course. He merely points it out to aggravate her further.

"You leap to conclusions about my intentions; about what I will do and say. You are nothing more than a child to me. I have seen battles; I have seen great beasts that threaten the lives of all on my world. I kept my kingdom and my people safe for centuries by not acting rashly." and Melian's Girdle had helped, "The Elves could unite under a King - or a pair of Kings, even. Then they would face this beast of yours with their full force. Does that really sound like I am laying down before the inevitable?"

Every inch of her is furious - awfully, viciously, a wounded animal coming out of its corner. Just as swiftly and mercilessly as her ire rose it then catches in her throat and his jibe lodges there, too, choking her to momentary silence, an echo of her mothers who did, in fact, teach her better than this; one with strictures and disappointed sighs, one by silent example because she was permitted naught else.

It isn't Thingol that humbles her; he starts babbling on some nonsense like elves are going to do anything useful in the near future and she tunes it out, but -

One elf, in particular, who had no last words, her throat wreckage where the arrow (that she tried to stop, she tried - Mama, please, we're so close, I tried) lodged. Who had been as steady as Gwenaëlle is intemperate, who had spoken quietly with Solas and with Thranduil on her behalf, who would likely have spoken the same with Thingol, later, if she were here. Apologised, explained, smoothed her work-worn hands over the messes that Gwenaëlle has made and done it thanklessly, too, for a daughter who sat ill at ease in her company and now grieves her clumsily and desperately and if they could face this beast where were they when she died.

"The elves aren't going to do any such thing," she says, with a bitterness she can neither hide nor explain, and turns on her heel, the flush shame as much as anger.

(They're dead and she lives and look at what she does--)

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 1 of 5

[Open: To the homeless, a haven.]

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject