I can't help but pull the earth around me

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Thranduil + Solas
WHAT: Thranduil prods at an inconsistency, Solas parries.
WHEN: Current.
WHERE: Provost's Office
NOTES: n/a

The room reflects the occupant. There is the tapestry, naturally, the heraldry of the Inquisition mapped out in deep green branches and vines. The shelves are filled with books—mostly the sort that cannot be checked out from the library on a whim, but they are far better guarded here, mixed in with ones they have multiple copies of, or Thranduil’s own stash. Behind his desk, looking out over the rest of the room, the Fen’Harel mask he received for use in the play held for Sina watches out over the room, empty sockets over a long snout.

Thranduil meanders back to the little table by the fireplace, bringing with him a small tray of sweets. He sets them down near Solas’ elbow, and then sits opposite him, offering a brief but conspiratorial glance. They are, naturally, entirely for Solas—in his other hand, he had a glass of wine, which he made no move to offer Solas a twin of. Asking, only to be refused, would be a waste of time.

“How have you been faring?” he asks, settled and comfortable in his seat. “I would comment on the weather, but surely it must be better indoors than outside as I imagine apostates find themselves all too frequently. Barring the location, of course.”

Comments

[dirth]

Solas does play along with the game; he looks around and takes in the blank walls, bare and barren of artistry or anything that might suggest that this room is Thranduil's beyond some personal objects (he is ignoring, still, the mask of Fen'Harel upon the wall). There is some curiosity about what he might do, and it's obvious that his mind is taking that in even as he tries to focus his attention back on his friend.

"You would have me paint the history of the People?" Solas' lips twitch a little, but he doesn't seem put off by the idea. He has seen things in dreams that he might have longed to bring to life around him, but there's some uncertainty about where he might do it. The Gallows were not worthy of such memory, but somewhere private like this...

"If you wish your room painted I would glad to do it, my friend."

[rowancrowned]

“The history of the People, some forgotten scene that pleases you,” he says, accompanied by an elegant little shrug of his shoulders. “Whatever you wished.”

Solas’ assent makes him smile, leaning forward to close some of the distance between them. “Thank you. Truly. If there is anything I could do that would give you as much joy as this will give me, you need only ask.”

Perhaps take the mask off the wall? How his eyes skip over it is most delightful. That he finds the Dalish that offensive is—curious. Someone his age would have had time to have a series of unpleasant run-ins in the woods.

[dirth]

"That pleases me? I should hope it would please you as well." Free reign to paint as he desires opens up avenues of portraits and histories that have yet been denied to him, but there is that gentle nudge in his mind - to be wary, to be careful, to not paint anything that might give him away or ruin what might be too much for someone like him to know. There are limits to the whispers of the Fade and he is yet unaware of just how much Thandruil might know.

Turning his head, Solas relaxes as his friend leans near, his own smile soft and gentle. There is something to be said for the comforting familiarity of friendship and it has been some time since Solas had enjoyed it for the sake of simply having a friend; most of his relationships of late have been borne of necessity, not a simple desire to be around someone for good company.

"Painting my people will give me the greatest joy." He admits it quietly, nodding his head. "There is nothing better that you could give me, truly. I welcome the chance to paint you something wonderful."

[rowancrowned]

"Anything depicting the history of our people would please me," he returns. "Though I will admit a fondness for scenes set in forests at twilight. I had in my rooms as an elfling a large tapestry depicting the awakening of my kin at the shores of a great lake, all lit by starlight with bodies gently rising from slumber. It was soothing to slip into reverie while looking at."

If only he had some way to show Solas his childhood, the singular splendor of Thingol's court or the amber-hued afternoon of his own. Conveniently absent the trappings of his kinghood, of course, for that is a secret closely held.

"Perhaps you could find the time to start within the next month? I will arrange to have the furniture moved to allow you access. Lady Vauquelin is the only one who haunts my rooms with any regularity, and even she has the sense not to bother an artist at work. Do you have all the supplies you require?"

[dirth]

"I have paints and brushes, enough for this room at least." Solas has had little time for painting and frescoes since he abandoned his position at Skyhold; that room is decorated with some echoes of what their Inquisitor had done, once, but had laid bare for some time. With nothing to follow and no stories to write Solas had instead buried himself in research alone, at least until he was drawn to Kirkwall.

The idea of being allowed to paint again pleases him more than he'd like to admit. It's something he does for enjoyment more than anything else, something that hails back to a time and a place that has been ripped from him by his own mistakes; being given the chance to relive that... It is something that he cannot express in words. He thinks, perhaps, that Thranduil understands better than most all the same.

"I can begin within the week, if you wish." He smiles, almost lifting a shoulder, as if casual. "My time is taken by reading and research, beyond the calling of the Inquisition. I'm sure most would be glad to see me leave the library more often."

call it concluded after your tag?

[rowancrowned]

"I do wish," he says, less imperious and more sweetly delighted by the whole matter. "Though I will miss your company in the library, I confess. I have heard you served as a more moderating influence if only by your presence."

Soothing, even, which is what Thranduil thinks he will be with the anchor of the elven once-and-future on his wall.

"It is pleasing to know that you by your own nature will not overwork yourself; I think you least of all would find yourself sleep deprived."

sounds good!

[dirth]

"I would not call it moderate," Solas comments gently, something like a smile colouring his features. "Only that there are some that seem afraid of my company, as if I might bite, somehow. It seems my lessons on the careful handling of books have had some impact, at least."

He cannot imagine any world or place where his presence might be soothing, where he might offer comfort instead of antagonism and uncertainty. His eyes flick around the room, taking it in, already imagining artwork, before he pushes himself up and to his feet.

"I can assure you that I will not lose sleep over this. I am a master of my own time." He bows his head. "If you have anything that you wish to add, any specifics, then let me know. Otherwise, I will plan." And that, he thinks, should be enough; there are many thoughts and things that Solas can do, and with his regular meeting with his friend come to a close he can begin to place them upon paper.