An attempt to join this Inquisition business. (Closed)

[hwaaaitsme]

WHO: Thranduil and Loki
WHAT: Loki speaks with the head of the Research department and tries to get into his good graces. It probably won't work.
WHEN: (A bit timey-wimey.) Backdated to just before the sickness event.
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: Loki gonna Loki.

Thor had already done his part attempting to sell the Inquisition on their services. Unshockingly his attempts had been met with more than reasonable resistance. It was, therefore, up to Loki to make a solo attempt on their behalf. His family name and house did little to sway things in this part of Thedas, as was evidenced by the lack of reaction to the words of Odin of House Asgard, but Loki was, himself, a skilled politician and manipulator. He'd navigated Orlais as easily as a a bird navigates open skies; surely the leader of their research division could not be so tricky as the whole of the Orlesian court.

He was a rifter, or an elf, Loki had heard mixed reports, but either was not so terribly complex that he couldn't work his will upon them. He was charming, handsome, and rich; any one of those would have been sufficient but he was graced with the triad.

He finds himself at the office of the man, stationed in a tower of a Southern mage prison (quaint), and raps on the door expectantly. Politely even, which, it seemed, was a rare commodity in these parts. His dress is not especially ostentatious, not by his measure, but there is no doubt he is from a fashionable and wealthy house. The gold and green in his outfit are woven threads of spun magic, after all, and his jewelry is enchanted to gleam appropriately in any given light.

He would make an impression and they would be set to assist and Thor would, ideally, cease his pouting.

Comments

[rowancrowned]

The door opens, Thranduil behind it, smiling.

“Do come in,” he says, motioning to the chairs positioned neatly by a roaring fire. The effect of the room suggests ‘foreign academic’, books stacked neatly on shelves, rugs over the stone floor, a large tapestry on one wall with the Inquisition heraldry constructed of vines and leaves.

“I am afraid we have not had the pleasure of meeting,” he says, turning back from the now-closed door, hands folded neatly before him. His clothing is simple—tunic, pants, a braid over his shoulder—but cut from good cloth, and well-made. “I am Thranduil, head of research—but I assume you know that. How might I help you?”

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki does not expect to see an elf that stands just taller than he does, it is a jarring sight, and while he maintains a placid expression he does freeze in place for a few seconds. The moment passes and Loki strides into the office at his usual, princely gait. He turns to face the man, Thranduil , and catches back up with himself. Right, diplomacy with...southern giant elf men. His smile is smooth, handsome, and entirely disingenuous.

"A pleasure," he greets mildly. "Loki of House Asgard of Marnus Pel."

Loki doesnt mirror Thranduil's posture, he isn't so obvious as all that, but he does fold his hands before him, idly twining his long fingers and creating a single spot of pale skin atop his inky black outfit.

"My brother and I have traveled quite a distance, as you no doubt realize, and wish to devote our resources and skills to this Inquisition of yours. I have come to learn how we might best accomplish this."

[rowancrowned]

"And yours, too, should you come to stay with us," Thranduil says, still warm and welcoming. "Please, sit. Wine? Tea? After such a distance, I imagine you parched indeed."

He busies himself for a moment, only one backward glance over his shoulder to confirm that Loki of House Asgard has sat himself down, and brings over his own drink-- mulled wine. He sits easily, makes no adjustments to his clothes, which have draped splendidly around him. Cupping the mug in his hands, he settles in for a conversation, at ease.

This is his territory. Loki is a guest.

"Would you be so kind as to inform me of those talents? Have you a letter of recommendation?"

From an Inquisition member in the field, his or his brother's circle-- he assumes one of them mages, at least.

[hwaaaitsme]

"No thank you, we refreshed ourselves upon arriving in this...city."

He takes his seat as Thranduil acquires a glass of something fragrant and spiced. It's not that Loki doesn't trust the man, it's that he has no desire to be poisoned (ever) and that requires a certain amount of inherent paranoia to maintain. He never accepts drinks he hasn't made or paid exorbitantly for.

At Thranduil's next question, Loki almost wishes he had one of the latter. Perhaps not, he might've choked on it.

"A letter of what?"

It has been a very, very long time since anyone has asked after his credentials. In fact, as he thinks on it a moment, he has never been asked to present credentials. His father is practically the face of the military arm of Tevinter. He is an Altus of House Asgard and, frankly, fairly infamous in both Tevinter and Orlais (for a wide array of mixed reasons).

Loki schools the look of shock off his face well enough, but the slip has already happened. He plays it off with a short (and not entirely false) laugh and reclines back in the chair, folding his hands on his lap.

"I beg your pardon, ser, but I haven't one," Loki considers this roadblock for a moment and looks thoughtfully bemused, almost charmed by the idea. "I could petition the Archon for one, but he is a busy man and the people of the South so rarely find his pronouncements to have value."

Loki holds up his hands in a gesture of pause and vague, unstated, generally uninspired apology. It is a move of somewhat genial politesse, little else. Then again, considering he's from Tevinter, that's practically a love letter.

"I am an expert in the study of the rare, the ancient, and the arcane. I have extensive knowledge of magic and magical theory and access to some of the eldest and most extensive libraries in the world." Loki says and lowers his hands to his lap.

"My brother is..." he hums. "Large. He is a skilled warrior, a passable mage, and somehow, a rather charming person when pressed into diplomatic situations."

[rowancrowned]

“You are in the South,” Thranduil says, very gently, and he sets his cup down so he can lean forward. There is no deceit in him. He is being kind, above all else—there would be as much utility in being cruel to Loki as there would in being cruel to a child. “If I were to summon any from the hall—a scout, let us assume—and ask them to point to Marnus Pell on a map, there is a very good chance that they would fail. Oh, perhaps they would manage the coast—they are not stupid—but Tevinter, to them, is more a black mass than any sort of specific facts, and for that you may thank the Chantry. The majority of our forces are Orlesian, and perhaps two-thirds of them lettered. I say ‘Tevinter’ to them and they recall Andraste burning. In Kirkwall, they remember all the stories their mother told them about what the magisters used to do here.”

A smile. He appreciates the apology, ignores, the slip, accepts it in the spirit which it was offered. He makes an elegant little gesture, as if to wave off what he’d just sailed through.

“Your reputation, in other words, will not proceed you. If your large and charming brother settles in well with the mages, and does not raise the ire of the Templars, I suspect he will be forgiven his background. You, though—I would make use of you. It seems I am in a position to collect Tevene researches, and I am fond enough of the one I have now to gladly seize a second.”

Atticus is delightful, if particular. Always simmering is the matter of slavery, but the man’s notes are useful enough, and he has stuck to the rules, so—overlooked, for now.

“Why are you here?” he asks, more intense than before, eyes wholly on Loki. “Why come down to the uncivilized South, with a family as settled as yours? What do you want from us? Forgive me if I do not proclaim you a self-sacrificing man. What can you do here that you cannot do from Marnus Pell, or Minrathous?”

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki's expression doesn't fall as Thranduil dissects him, as he points out all the advantages he feels he has--quite the opposite, in fact. Thranduil threatens him, in a very polite and low-key fashion, and Loki is positively enthralled as he listens. He denigrates Thor, in a very wonderful quiet insinuation of danger, and Loki has to fight to keep himself from smiling openly.

Oh.

This he had not expected.

He likes this elf...rifter...man.

"An astute series of questions," Loki compliments and, at once, his princely demeanor relaxes into something a little more casual. He leans back and settles his hands on the arms of his chair, drumming its fingers against the wood.

"I want absolutely nothing from you," Loki assures him and there's the sense that he is being utterly honest and completely the opposite of forthcoming. He has no designs that involve the Inquisition directly. "I am here entirely for my brother and, frankly, while I would prefer to do this from afar, Thor has me at a bit of an impasse."

He rolls his shoulders in a mild shrug.

"I must be present here and, for all I dislike it, I find that I am rather interested in the outcome of your troubles. My brother is an oaf, but he is occasionally correct. Even a broken clock and all that."

Loki waves a hand between them to dismiss the thought and leans forward; his hands shift and tent over his knees.

"Make no mistake, ours will be a professional relationship at best, but I am very good at what I do. That, and I can have any number of obscure tomes copied and supplied to your cause. Unfortunately, for me at least, I am beholden to your judgement as to whether or not the risk of me is worth the reward.

"Is it, you think?"

[rowancrowned]

“How generous,” he says, that intensity relaxing. “I hope your brother appreciates you.”

He leaves the wine be—forgets it, really, it will be poured into the fire later or reheated, but that is something for later. “From me, no. And reasonable, that. I myself have nothing to offer you personally, but the Inquisition can offer you your own room, if you would like it, or one with your brother, in the mages’ side or the Templars’, if you would appreciate the irony. The wages are—inconsequential to you, but you will be paid them, nonetheless. There are meals in the mess thrice daily, the bathing facilities are on the lowest level. You may keep a servant if you like to clean your private rooms or do it yourself.”

Thranduil does smile. “But I do have things I need from you—or the Inquisition does, and me her hand in this. We have several projects where you might put yourself to use. I suggest staying away from those that would cast suspicion on you as a Venatori spy. I also suggest staying far afield from Atticus Vedici and Benedict Artemaeus, for appearance’s sake, and Dorian Pavus as well as—what was his name, the mercenary—but they are both yet in Skyhold, and easy to avoid.”

He stands, moves to his desk, and opens a drawer, taking out a sheaf of papers and flicking through them before he finds the right one, which he slides out from its fellows and brings back to Loki, neatly offering it while standing next to him, gazing down. On it are several books, including one on Tevinter genealogies, slightly heftier than the ones normally pursued by matchmakers of Tevinter itself. Most are clearly banned by the Chantry, given the magister authors. A few have question marks by the titles, as if he is not sure if they are rumor alone, or if copies exist.

“These would be lovely gifts. And in need of translation, though having them in their mother tongue as well would be appreciated.”

[hwaaaitsme]

Loki very nearly interjects regarding Thor's appreciation of him, but he holds his tongue. That information could prove sensitive. On the other hand, his knowledge of Atticus Vedici and Benedict Artemaeus could be a hindrance if it is left unspoken--he has no particularly strong feelings regarding either of them, if he's honest, but it would not do to have someone think there was a clandestine element just because he failed to mention them.

"Vedici and Artemaeus are here?" Loki asks idly and cocks a brow. He does not know Pavus, or anyone of his house, which is a bit odd, and while he cannot say if he knows the warrior he expects he probably does. He has met a great number of military men in his life.

"And working for the Venatori no less?" Loki sounds amused by the very idea. "Odd but hardly unexpected."

He scans the list before him idly, as though he is shopping for groceries, and then folds it in half and tucks it into the front of his jerkin. It slots into his breast pocket easily.

"Lodgings will be appreciated for the moment. Once I have acquired a suitable estate we will, of course, be moving there." Loki resettles his hands and regards Thranduil with a cool and honestly polite expression. It is as close to friendly as his face can get while still remaining perfectly sincere.

"Now, there is the matter of where to send my brother. If he does not feel he is being put to use he will be insufferable, if only for me. Fortunately, he does have his uses--tell me, do you slaughter many of the Antaam in this Inquisition? He is rather exceptionally skilled at that."

[rowancrowned]

“Is that the rumor in Minrathous?” Thranduil replies, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “They joined the Inquisition of their own volition—or Atticus did, and dragged his apprentice along.”

The fact that Loki will eventually be mined—for Thranduil’s amusement as well as the Inquisition’s well-being—for Tevinter gossip will eventually become apparent to him. Now is not the time; they are getting along so well!

“I bid you luck. Hightown is certainly lovely, but with the price of wood, heating those estates has been wretchedly expensive.” What will this one do with his free time? Play host? Parties in Hightown—perhaps it would do good work in the name of the Inquisition. He could hope.

“No,” he says. “Maintaining peace with the Qunari is—very important. We recently were very much in need of their assistance, which they gave. He is more like than not to pit himself against Venatori, Red Templars, and the like. Can he be trusted to stay calm and follow orders when confronting kossith?”

[hwaaaitsme]

"Depends upon the day of the week," Loki answers both questions simultaneously.

"Atticus is a spider," Loki explains, noncommittally. "An eccentric who is moneyed and brilliant enough to beget some preemptive forgiveness for whatever odd proclivities may come to light. People do not question their betters so boldly in Tevinter, not unless they think they can overthrow them and the Vedicis will not be easily overthrown."

Loki knows precisely what value gossip holds and, for now, he is happy to provide it. The veracity of it is up for some debate, but that is not limited to his gossiping.

"He has gone on sabbatical, last I checked, but I do not check up on him very often." Loki shrugs. "As for my brother..." He hums and rises from his chair.

"You offered me wine before, does that still stand?"

[rowancrowned]

“Always,” Thranduil says, and stands to fetch it. It is not as warm as it would have been had Loki taken him up on the offer straightaway, but the fire has kept the jug hot enough that the handle it warm to the touch. He pours it elegantly, his sleeve pulling back to reveal the pale and blue-lined underside of his wrist. When finished, he offers the cup to Loki and resumes his seat, smoothing his robe about him.

“And so it is with all idle talk,” even though he delights in hearing it, the way they peck at one another—and knowing who decided what should be said is often as important as discovering the truth in the rumor, like kernels of grain in so much dirt. “And if he is a spider, what are you?”

As if he intends for Loki to actually answer. He glances at his own wine, considers taking it up again.

“Your brother?” he prompts.

[hwaaaitsme]

"A snake," Loki admits without pause, almost like a man commenting on the weather, as he takes a sip of the wine. Never let it be said that he was entirely untruthful. He remains standing and tucks a hand into the pocket of his trousers. Even the interior of his black robes have enchanted gold and green weaving.

"My brother is harder to define but, given the circumstances of his being here, can be trusted not to slaughter every qunari on sight."

He drinks from the cup and appreciates the flavor of it a moment.

"I would not permit him to speak in sensitive discussions, but he will otherwise behave."

[rowancrowned]

He admires Men who have acceptable taste in clothing—they have so short a time to cultivate it, after all.

“Venomous?” he asks. “Strangling? There are a great variety.”

They are nearly the emblem of Tevinter, and Loki embraces it shamelessly. He relocates his wine and holds it with his fingers splayed around the rim. “Our forces rarely take up the banner of diplomacy in its own right—I think he will have little trouble, though I do thank you for the warning. And my people? Should I be concerned about either of your manners?”

The head of Scouting is Dalish, after all, and fiercely so, even after the desertion by those who accompanied her here.

[hwaaaitsme]

"I have been nothing but polite and, frankly, intend to be little else," Loki replies in a manner that seems fairly straightforward but...well, promises little.

"As for what variety, well, where's the fun in giving it away?"

He sips at his wine and then gestures to Thranduil. It is a polite, if full bodied thing.

"What is it your organization needs? I am not quite as invested as Thor is in the well-being of it, but I can provide quite a lot. I assure you, I am especially generous when I am to be involved in matters, even tangentially."