faderift | I had the strangest feeling

Entry tags:

I had the strangest feeling

WHO: Beleth and Thranduil, Beleth and Myr
WHAT: Hangin out with some cool elves
WHEN: Now
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: If you want a prompt, send me a message on dw or plurk!

Thranduil

Life has been busy for Beleth, but she's starting working out the rhythm of her new job and responsibilities. Schedules are made, patterns emerge, and she figures out how to find some free time. How to use it is a much easier puzzle to solve--there are some people that she hasn't gotten to visit with in a while, and she's eager to make up for lost time.

Thranduil is, naturally, one of the first she wants to see.

Of course, just showing up on someone's doorstep is rude, even if he'd probably allow it. So she takes up her crystal, sitting in one of the newly erected gardens outside of the tower.

"Thranduil, are you busy? I apologize if you are and I'm interrupting, but if you have some free time, I was hoping that you'd spare some of it for me."

Myr

Beleth had been nervous about training with Myr for a handful of reasons, some of which were quickly resolved. Her fear that she would be made to look like a noodle-limbed idiot were put to rest when she discovered that waving a staff around was not too much different than wielding a large bow. Her concern over a grown man having to instruct her in a very touchy-feely way turned out to be distractingly accurate, and Beleth was still not sure if she should be distressed or pleased by it.

Maybe it would help if she got to know Myr beyond 'strange attractive elf with low standards'. And as it stood, there was something that she had been wondering for a long time--and Myr seemed to be one of the few that she knew could answer. While the subject of her curiosity was a fairly sensitive subject...Well. Myr had been nothing but kind to her.

She'd just have to be careful to handle it with due care.

Thus, after one of their practices, Beleth lingered, catching her breath as she poured herself a cup of water. Once she felt a bit more like a person, and not a gross mess, she turned to look at Myr.

"I noticed that you had set up a group for discussing the Chant."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Myr hadn't known what to expect (nor, exactly, what mad thing he'd been thinking) when he offered to train Beleth in staff combat. Of course, he'd meant it sincerely when he said an archer was surely strong enough to pick up anything a mage could do; all his uncertainties lay in his own ability to teach the art to someone whose form he couldn't see.

But so far, it's gone as well as can be expected. She's taking to the lessons well and it isn't so hard as he'd thought it would be to judge how well she's doing via hands-on means. (And while he's been utterly polite about the whole thing, he's also not going to complain about the opportunity to spend time close to a Dalish woman he's rather starting to like.)

He's in the midst of toweling off (it'd been easier in the end to not wear a shirt) when Beleth addresses him. "I did," he replies, draping the towel around his neck and flashing her direction a smile. "You're welcome to come, if you like; it's not only for believers."

Is he aware of what he looks like without a shirt on? Is he doing this on purpose?? Is it some sort of sinister plot???

She's thought carefully--too carefully, probably--on how to approach this, but now she feels a wave of nerves anew wash over her. What if she says something wrong? She's managed not to offend the faithful that she knows, but she generally steers clear of the subject with them.

But she has to know. Not just so she can know Myr better, but because this is something that she needs to understand, if she wants to work on building bridges between the Dalish and the city elves.

"Would you call yourself a believer, then?" Her voice is light, politely curious. She doesn't want to sound like she's lobbing an accusation at him.

Edited 2017-09-10 05:10 (UTC)

~~Only the most sinister.~~

The exact effect Myr's got on people who're interested in elven men wasn't lost on him, once; now, he...hasn't occasioned to think about it for three years.

That's not to say he doesn't still remember how to show himself off to his best advantage, albeit "sweat-streaked and a little puzzled over questions about his faith" isn't his finest look. Still a pretty good one, though.

"That I would." There's warmth enough in the words to show he doesn't take her question amiss; things could be so fraught between the Dalish and city elves, but-- She's been nothing but kind to him in turn. And he's not going to squander an opportunity for a mannerly talk about his religion. "All my life. My father raised me in the Chant; it's always been a source of strength to me."

Edited 2017-09-11 06:07 (UTC)

Even if it isn't his finest, it's a look Beleth still appreciates. Better than hers, at least, but Myr is spared from the "sweaty, nervous, and hair in disarray" look she's rocking.

Myr's answer is taken in with a thoughtful nod--Wait, shit. "Ah." Silence follows after for a few moments, while Beleth looks nervously around. They're alone for now, but anyone could wander on up, or overhear around a corner, or--being a spy in charge of spies has made Beleth only more aware of the many ways someone could overhear her, and she can't guarantee the ears, or anyone those ears reported to, would take her questions as well as Myr.

"Would you like to go on a walk with me?" She moves towards Myr, taking pains for her steps to be heavier than usual. Unusual for her, but she doesn't want him to feel like she's sneaking up on him. "I, um. I had questions. I didn't want to ask the shemlen, because...well." A light laugh, but one lacking much humor. "They can get peculiar about it, sometimes. I'd rather not misstep and find myself in a...ah. Predicament."

She likes her blood right where it is, thanks.

He's gotten good at inferring what someone might be doing from habit and the small noises they make. The silence accompanying a nod isn't so hard, but whatever Beleth does after--he's not sure; puzzles over it a moment, even, as he takes up the towel again. 'Looking for watchers' is, at least, near the top of his list of possibilities, though he hasn't settled on one by the time she speaks up again. (The heavier tread is certainly appreciated.)

"I'd like that very much." Not a moment of hesitation there. He likes her, for one, and for two she's already caught him by his curiosity with the idea of questions. Though the way she frames them is cause for a brief frown-- "That they can," he agrees, softly; he's decades removed from the alienage and accustomed to thinking himself the equal of any shem in his Circle, there's...things. He's been noticing them more often lately and they don't sit so well with his innate trust in the world.

"And I wouldn't want you getting into any predicaments. --Give me a moment to get my robes back on, here, and we can go."

It doesn't take him all that long to dress himself once more and leave the towel folded neatly on a nearby bench. Not quite the same courtesy as returning it to the laundry, but good enough. "Where to?"

At Myr's mention of getting his robes, she gives a soft laugh. "If you must." Hah, she did it. The flirting thing. Without being horrifically awkward! Definite improvement.

She hesitates when he asks where they're going--where would be a good place, away from any prying ears? "How about a walk along the shore? That would be pretty peaceful, I think. If there's somewhere else you'd prefer, feel free to suggest it." Then a pause, as she tries to figure out a delicate way to word her next question.

"Would you like help going there...? I can guide you--you can take my arm, or whatever works for you." Hopefully, that wasn't horribly offensive.

If anyone had asked Myr two months ago what he thought he'd be doing with the Inquisition, "long moonlit walks on the beach with awkward-but-attractive-voiced Dalish girls" would have been nowhere in the vicinity of his list. But here they are. "The shore works fine. I confess I haven't been down there much," owing to he can't swim and there's that newfound uneasiness of the ocean, too, "so it should be interesting."

There's a beat of a pause from him as she makes her offer, but from the smile on his face, it's got nothing to do with offense. Rather, that's the look of a fellow sorting through too many potential responses for something properly witty. "I'm sorry--you're offering a chance for a walk down the beach arm-in-arm with the Head of Scouting? Even if I could still see, I'd be a fool not to take you up on that."

Suiting action to words, he holds his arm out to her. Let's the two of them go for that walk, Beleth.

"Oh, I--I just wanted to make...Sure you could get there safely..." Beleth trails off, words once again muffled by her hand being planted over her mouth. Not that she minds the idea of walking arm-in-arm, but. What if Myr thinks she's being too forward. What if he thinks she's being clingy or weird or whatever other negative thing a person could possibly think???

But he doesn't seem to be thinking any of those things, so Beleth clears her throat, gives a resolute nod (more for her benefit than Myr's), and gently places her hand on his arm. Okay, she can do this.

Once they actually get to the beach, she starts to doubt that. Will he feel quite as amicable once she starts pestering him about his religion? This is probably a terrible mistake. But she's gonna do it anyway. "Thank you again, for agreeing to this. If I may begin..." She takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. "...What made you choose to worship the Maker, specifically? Instead of worshiping, ah. The Elvhen gods. Have you ever been given much information on them?"

Maybe this was just a matter of the chantry forcing ignorance on them. Maybe this could be fixed with efforts to educate their city brethren in their lost gods.

She could make pamphlets.

There is the niggling suspicion in the back of Myr's head that this might not go so well as he thinks it will. Talking religion was contentious even back in the Circle, and now he'll be broaching the topic with one of the Dalish-- Well. So long as they're both respectful, it can't disintegrate that badly, can it? (Never mind what the Dalish do to Chantry missionaries or how that started a war once...)

Though it sounds like he's not the only one with conversion on his mind; this will be interesting, if nothing else. "We didn't hear much of the Creators in the alienage, no," he replies, amiably. "Other than a few stories. I was always fond of 'How the Halla Came to Be'.

"But that's all they were to us--stories. The Chant was real, the way Father and Uncle Vardren taught it. So I believed from a very young age."

He pauses to consider his next words carefully; it would be easy enough to leave things at that, to make the "choice" to worship the Maker no choice at all, simply a result of his upbringing. But it's hardly true. "I suppose I didn't choose until I was much older, and saw the Maker's hand in my life and how I'd come to be where I was. Magic is His gift to us, a source of miracles even when He has turned away from the world. I held that gift in my hands--all the powers of creation He used to shape the world in the first place."

His voice has grown steadily softer as he speaks; this is a thing of reverence, shared gladly but with the respect it deserves. "It still seems like a miracle to me, even to this day. He chose me to be a mage; how could I do anything but believe?"

Beleth listens intently to Myr's words, adding little Hmms and Ahs where appropriate, to let him know that she's following along. It seems to go pretty much how she would expect it to go, and she even gives a soft laugh at Myr's favored story--it was a good one, after all.

Then he continues, and she abruptly halts her steps. She leans in closer as Myr talks, arm pressed against his arm, but doesn't say anything else until he's finished. When she does speak, her voice is likewise soft, but her tone is one of fascination. "I've...I don't think I've ever heard anyone explain it like that. That...makes a great deal of sense, Myr." More so than anything that any of the shemlen have told her about the Maker thus far.

"I've heard magic spoken about like some kind of curse, like it was something inflicted on them. But you make it sound like a gift." Her tone is definitely warm as she speaks, and she gives his arm a little squeeze. "I like the way that you look at it."

There's a pause, and then she decides--well. She's asked Myr something rather personal. It can't hurt to offer up something of herself. "...When I was born, they thought I was going to be a mage. A powerful one. But--" And she gives a little, dry laugh. "--That, obviously, was wrong. I just turned out to be me." Her tone of voice implies that this was far less than the ideal turnout. "I think I would feel similar to you, had I been a mage."

"It's easy," Myr says, still quiet, "to distort the plain text of the Chant. To teach it wrong and make magic out to be something other than gift. All the same, it's not so hard to look at the cost and the risk of it--and at the awful power a mage's got at her fingertips--and be afraid. To feel like you're going to collapse under the weight of that responsibility on your shoulders."

But she didn't come out here to hear lectures from him on the subject (the warmth in her tone and the touch on his arm don't go unnoticed) and he breaks into a smile that's rueful and a little abashed at once. "Glad to offer another perspective, though."

And when she gives him one in turn, holding out a vulnerable part of herself--a memory that still sounds so raw-- He's taken momentarily aback, silenced by the idea of a family who would want a mage child so much they'd be disappointed in anything less. (Even stunned wordless by the thought he's not devoid of his native empathy; he reaches to touch her arm in turn, sympathetic.) "I'm glad to know that," he says at length. "But I'm also glad to know you as you are; there's not any 'just' about you. Magic's only one gift the Maker gives His children--and it seems to me you've made much of the ones you did receive." Leading an entire division of the Inquisition's not a small thing, after all.

Beleth almost feels guilty that she's relieved he can't see her, so he's spared the utterly idiotic look of surprise and then sudden embarrassment, face burning red. It's so stupid, how moves she feels by such simple reassurances, but. She can't help it. His gentle touch, the words--telling her that he's glad to know her as she is, that she's somehow enough--It's stupid, stupid stupid stupid, but it doesn't make the warm feeling in her chest--or her cheeks--go away.

Sylaise grant her strength. And maybe enough self confidence to not be so easily swayed.

"I--ah. Thank you. That...means a lot." She tries to think of something else to say, without sounding like some star-struck teenage girl, and eventually settles for changing the subject entirely.

"Your perspective is exactly what I want. I--I have this goal." Now she can start talking like an adult, voice raising and gaining surety as she begins to explain that goal she's been harboring, and working so hard for. "The animosity between the Dalish and the city elves is...idiotic. It's worse than idiotic, it's destructive. The only people who benefit are those who stand to gain in the face of elven misery." She's not saying the humans, but. It's the humans.

"We aren't multiple peoples spread out over Thedas. We're supposed to be one people, with groups among us who have made different choices. But we all need to understand those choices, so we can understand each other." There's excitement in her voice, passion--it's clearly important to her, and she puts her hand over the one Myr has rested on her, giving it a squeeze. "That's why I'm asking these questions. I want to know you, Myr. And understand who you are. So other Dalish can, too."

"You're welcome." It costs so little to be kind, and it sounds to him like she's in need of more kindness in her life besides.

...But he's no stranger to the idea kindness can be difficult to accept; the subject change comes as no surprise to him. The sudden animation in her tone, though--if he hadn't already been paying her his complete attention, that would make him prick up his ears. He turns his face toward her to show himself listening; makes a noise in the back of his throat that's half a humorless laugh at the idea of who stands to gain from elven misery. As much as the lessons of the alienage had attenuated in the Circle, he knows who she means even as he wishes it weren't so.

Yet the whole scope of the project she lays out is sufficient to dissolve that moment's despair into gladness. (It isn't a goal easily met; the practical part of him is already worrying away at just what an accord might mean, and who might have to give up what treasured beliefs to maintain the peace, and-- He shoves that down and silences it. You don't take a dream someone's handed you and start remarking on the feasibility.) "That's wonderful," in more senses of the word than one, though he means it earnestly. "And something I've--wondered myself, if it couldn't be made to work. We're all of us cousins, wherever we live or whatever we believe in.

"Whatever I can do to help you with that--whatever I can explain--I'm glad to. You truly think they'd be interested?" There's a certain fleeting hint of trepidation in his tone; hard to think they'd have aught to do with him, flat-ear that he is. But--Beleth had, and Sina had, and maybe they're not so unusual among their people as he'd thought. "Because I surely am, in learning more of you."

She can't help but grin when Myr seems to approve of her goals. Sometimes, she wonders if she isn't just...deluding herself, whether it would work, or whether anyone else would want it to.

"Not all of them will be interested," Beleth admits, not wanting Myr to get the idea that she thinks this will be any kind of easy goal. "There will always be some who will never be convinced, who will never admit that city elves could be part of us. But they are short-sighted fools, who have forgotten the very mission of the Dalish." Her words are laced with derision, and in this, at least, she's openly judgmental.

"There will also be plenty that are initially opposed, but can be convinced. It will just take time, and persuasive speech. They aren't short-sighted, they're just cautious, and when they see that this isn't a fool's errand, they're agree." She nods firmly. "I know that the picture I'm painting won't be easy. It'll take a lot of effort, and a lot of time. Maybe more than I have. But that doesn't mean I should just...not do it. Establishing a foundation is just as important as the rest of it will be."

She pauses, then gives a dry laugh. "I'm sorry, I--I don't talk about this a lot, so when I do, I tend to...go on. And on. But I'm glad that you're on board, Myr. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that I'm not...trying to be rude. Or convert you."

If it is all a fond delusion, it's one at least one other hopeless optimist on Thedas can buy into. That's got to count for something.

But hopeless optimism or not, Myr knows enough of the world--albeit at second- and third-hand--to know things aren't ever storybook-easy. The way Beleth outlines the problems gets a rueful smile out of him, even as he's nodding along and noting them away for later. "I can't say I speak for anyone outside the Circles," or everyone within them; though even if he and Van differ on so much there's still places of similarity when it comes to their people, "but I remember enough of the alienage to know it'll be an uphill battle both ways."

It's an enormous task. It's a lifetime's task, as she rightly surmises, and he gives her arm another squeeze--reassurance, maybe, and agreement. "You're likely right--but a foundation is a place to stand for whoever comes after you, and every greater thing in this world is built from smaller pieces like that.

"Don't apologize," he adds, smile widening. "Really--it's worth hearing about at length. You're not offending me any by asking me what I believe. Not when you listen to the answers."

If only everyone who asked those questions did the same. He's not in the market to be converted away from the Maker he loves; it makes it easier to know that's not her aim. But even if not... "I'd like to hear more of the Creators, though. What draws you to them? Whose," he draws his hand back from her arm to gesture at his face; he can't remember vallaslin, but the translation comes easily enough to his tongue when he reaches for it, "blood-writing is it you wear?"

Beleth doesn't have much to add to that. The politics of the Dalish come easily to her, and the politics of the humans almost so. After all, she's managed to get this far--and she rather enjoys it, really. But the city elves are her blind spot. She doesn't understand them, and she isn't sure how she'll sway them to her side. She just knows that she must, if this is to work.

"Everything important is an uphill battle," She replies. "I'm prepared to fight for it."

But his own question catches her off guard. Well. No one has ever asked her why she believes in the Creators--they are the gods of the Dalish, and she is Dalish, and that has probably satisfied everyone else. "Well, like you, I was introduced to them by my family. Most of the Dalish who came with me aren't believers, but..." She trails off, taking some time to think over her words. "...There's this feeling of belonging, of having beings who are so powerful care for me so much. The Creators gave us all the knowledge and skills that make us who we are. And some day, they'll come back, and they'll go back to helping us, and making everything right again. It's...comforting."

It's not something that she's ever done much critical thinking on, really. The Creators are as much of a part of her life as her own family, they're there because they're hers. And no one has ever done an exalted march against the Dalish under their name, so.

"My vallaslin is dedicated to Sylaise, the hearthkeeper. She brought domestic arts to us, and showed us how to heal with herbs and magic. I chose her as my guide, because I believe such skills to save lives are as important as the skills to take them." There's a pause, then hesitantly: "If you want...you can feel the vallaslin. To...learn what it looks like."

"And some day, they'll come back, and they'll go back to helping us, and making everything right again."

There's so much in what Beleth says of her gods that's familiar to Myr--but that, that catches him through the chest. The stories of the Creators they had in the alienage--lovely, sad, fragmented things fractured off a larger mythos--never mentioned them as gone the way the Maker was. Only distant and unreal, ephemeral as mist, heartening to think upon but never something you could pray to. But to hear they're also missing--even if they are false gods, there's a very real echo of the forlorn abandonment at the core of his own faith and the hope that persisted in spite of it. The soul yearns to believe in something outside itself.

He's taken briefly aback by her offer; given the gravity of their conversation, it seems an oddly intimate thing. (Besides which, he's not yet accustomed to the idea of reading a stranger's face this way--his Circlemates in Hasmal were close as kin.) Yet-- "If it's not too much of an intrusion," he noticed the hesitation, "I'd like that very much." And he offers her both his hands, palms up; she may have given him tacit permission but it's not for him to grope around and poke her in the eye. That would rather ruin the moment.

As might his next questions, now that he's had time to formulate them: "Where did the Creators go? Why did they leave you?"

He is in the Vauquelin estate when he receives her call, papers spread about him. It takes a moment for him to grab the crystal, to put himself in order--

"No, Beleth, you never interrupt," he says, and pushes his chair back to walk to the window. He can see the Gallows, across the harbor. How long has it been since they'd last spoken? He supposes she's been occupied with her new title, and cannot blame her. The reorganization of the scouts to get them as she likes would have taken weeks. And he has been--

He has been far too aware of the disappearances of other Rifters.

"Gladly, iell. Today?"

"Yes, if that works out for you." And it says something about her closeness to Thranduil (and maybe about Beleth's general tendency to say things just because she feels they ought to be said) that she moves right along, as if Thranduil had already agreed.

"Is there someplace that I could meet you at? I know you're not living in the Gallows right now." She only knows that because she herself lives and spends the vast majority of her time in the Gallows. Where Thranduil lives instead...she isn't sure. She hadn't tried to search out the information herself. "So wherever is most convenient for you."

She's already making her way to the Gallows docks--she won't fetch a boat quite yet, but either she'll need to go to the docks, or he'll show up there. Probably.

"The Alienage?" he offers. He's wandered around there often enough these past few weeks to simply be 'that large elf' once more, and the food is good, and they will be left alone, because everyone there will see no problem with he and Beleth speaking.

"I am living with Gwenaëlle," he admits. In Hightown, of course. He tells her because he is not afraid of what she'll say, and she deserves the full picture.

She needn't know more. Too often do people pile their problems at Beleth's stoop and expect her to fix them. He is only here to help her carry some of the burdens.

"With Gw--" Beleth starts, tone baffled. Why in all of Thedas would he live there? She didn't know Gwenaëlle personally, but what she had heard made her content to keep it that way. But she trusts Thranduil, and surely he has a good reason for this. And he'll tell her that reason, if he thinks she ought to know.

"Very well, Thranduil. I'll meet you at the vhenadahl, then?" An easy place to spot, and one that Beleth has been to before--thank the Creators that she'd had Sina take her there already.

"With Gwenaëlle," he commits. It isn't that he fears her judgment, but she does, perhaps, get more weight than just anyone. She's entitled to know his reasoning.

"I await you there," he agrees, and ends the call, going to put his boots on and exchange his houserobe for something a little less showy.

Edited 2017-09-24 04:10 (UTC)

Beleth's lips twitch at that, but--Well. Surely there must be a perfectly good reason, and Thranduil will enlighten her as to that reason, if he feels it's necessary. She trusts him, after all, and that should be good enough.

...She'll give it a day before she asks.

Until then, she puts it out of her mind--discussing random humans she barely knows is not how she wants to spend her time with Thranduil. So she shows up to the giant tree, giving a small, shy nod to the city elves that spot her. She's not so frequent a visitor as some of the other Dalish, but the ones that have been around have made a good impression.

Still, she rather sticks out as she waits there, fidgeting with her sleeve and looking around nervously. It's odd, she muses, that she feels more at ease in fancy Orlesian parties than she does here.

With recent events, he's been in the Alienage more often. Often or not, Beleth stands out from the crowd with her vallalsin and her mere presence-- he knows her face like he knows the face of anyone dear to him, and crosses over to her, dressed in a simple tunic and pants with his hair braided out of his face.

"Beleth," he greets her, and steps into the space at her right, easy clipped paces keeping him in stride with her steps. "It has been far too long. I fear I cannot command your attention as easily as I once did."

Thrandui's arrival is greeted with a cheerful smile--one that turns slightly sheepish as he teases her. Abashed, she ducks her head for a moment, then straightens to clasp his arm warmly. "Lethallin, I'm sorry that I've been so busy. There's a lot of things to do, getting an entire division set up in a new city. I'm glad that I've been given this opportunity, but...I'll be glad once the dust settles."

She pauses a moment, then glances at him reproachfully. "You know that I'd drop anything I was doing, if you asked it of me." She can guilt trip, too!!

"But how are you doing? I hope you haven't been quite as busy as I have."

"I understand." He sympathizes easily. "I am sure it will be splendid once you have things ordered as you would like them."

She grasps his arm and he smiles, bending neatly to kiss her forehead. It is the briefest of affections, but she is dear to him, and both of them afforded anonymity in that there are no gossiping nobles here, only elves, and things would not perhaps filter to smaller ears quite so fast.

"You have far more important matters to cater to than me," he admits, and offers her his arm. "I have not been as busy as you. I have been adjusting to Kirkwall. It is very different from Skyhold."

"I don't know about splendid, but I'll take efficient. Working, at least."

At the forehead kiss, she smiles warmly, if somewhat bashfully. But she can't get starry eyed, she has to look together! And cool! So she just takes his arm, and tries not to look like a total loser about it.

"It is different, isn't it? It's so much larger than any other city that I've spent more than a day or two in. Certainly bigger than anywhere that I ever visited before I came to the Inquisition." She thinks on that for a moment. "I'm glad we're back in the Free Marches, though. It's good to be back in the country, even if this isn't where I'm used to."

They walk in step, Thranduil shortening his stride to better match hers, winding their way towards the market, where he knows he'll find the handpie vendor. A good meal, if not a fine one- they both have so little time, and then there is the question of who will serve them.

"How many days travel are you from your clan?"

Now, with either the sea or Orlais between them, it was easier. But with her obligations, she'd be pressed to find time. Beleth was one of the last of her clan that still considered herself a part of it, had not fallen to city influences within months of seeing another life. She was strong. She grasped what her clanmates did not.

"It depends on where they've put up camp, but usually it's within a day's travel on Vaharel. I used to take the weekend off every other week, but I've had to make it once a month, since I've stepped into my new role." It's not a happy change, but Beleth is practical about it--after all, it's still much more often than it had been, when she was in Skyhold. "The Keeper understands. She can see the potential that I can achieve here, and that sacrifices must be made."

If Deheune ever taught her anything, it was to be willing to sacrifice her own desires for what is the best for the People.

"What about yourself, Thranduil? How are you settling into...Hightown, right?" The question is posed as innocently as possible--Beleth trusts Thranduil, more than most. But she...really wants to know.

"They will understand," he says, and he supposes she means Deheune when she says 'the Keeper' rather than the transplant from Sina's clan.

She earns a smile, a private little one. A bard in training she may be, but some finesse-- ah, but what does it matter? She is dear to him, and he will allow her things he would not allow anyone else.

"Yes, Hightown. With Lady Vauquelin," as he's already stated, but she might as well sharpen her claws on this topic. He'll make her work for every bit of information, every detail she wants to wheedle out phrased cleverly. "It is a lovely estate. Bill has moved himself to her gardens. There is much to eat there, and he is happy."

"I was wondering what would become of Bill." Best to start with him, something safe. And she had wondered, truly. "He didn't seem like he'd enjoy staying cooped up in the Gallows stables all day. I'm glad that you found someplace for him to stay that has vegetation." There's the gardens that she and some of the other elves have been working on, but it's...not the same. And Bill can't just stay there all day.

It's the rest that presents more of a struggle. She can't just out and out ask what in the Void he was thinking, and she doesn't want him to think she doesn't trust him. She does, there are few she trusts more--but still.

"I've heard a little about Lady Vauquelin, though I must admit it isn't much. She doesn't deal heavily with the Scouting division." Or any division, now that she thinks about it. The woman isn't even an official member of the Inquisition. "But she's not the only one to move into Hightown. There've been a few others. Bethany Hawke isn't surprising, of course, that's her home. And her husband along with her." Beleth makes a small face at that, because ew, Aleron. "We had a few people chose to move into the mountains as well, may whatever god they follow protect them."

"It would be like unto when they put Galadriel under guard to keep Bill in those stables," he says, distaste flavoring his tone. "The Inquisition means well, but he spent far too much time with Elves to be as-- poorly spoken as the horses they have here."

Diplomatically put.

"He has enough to eat, and room to roam. It is a good retirement for him." He had earned in. "I am sure those risking the mountain are able to handle themselves."

Morrigan, for one. She was the largest spider of them all, likely had the other ones running in terror. He keeps his smile to himself, turns his head to look at Beleth. "Lady Vauquelin would be as ill-suited for living in the Gallows as Bill was in the stables. But the estate was so large. If I called her lonely, and word returned to her that I said such a thing..."

But it was true, wasn't it? And he had grown used to it to, waking up next to her.

So Lady Vauquelin is lonely, and the only person who can aid her with that is an elf from another world? Either there is more to it than that, or...she can't help but think it very sad, if true. Of course Thranduil is important to her, but that is entirely different. And he's certainly not the only one she could avail upon.

"She will never hear of it," Which is an easy promise to make, because it's not like Beleth is about to go have a gossip with her over tea. "But you are very kind to help her, lethallin. I'm sure that she appreciates your presence there." At least, she must, or she'd have booted him out, probably.

"I hope that you enjoy it there, as well? You're surrounded by shemlen nobles in any direction you care to look." And some that you'd rather not.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I had the strangest feeling

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

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject