faderift | I can't help but pull the earth around me

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.”

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"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."

"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."

"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.

I can't help but pull the earth around me

no subject

call it concluded after your tag?

sounds good!