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Entry tags:
[ CLOSED ]
WHO: Iorveth, Thranduil and Gwen
WHAT: Arguing, naked people
WHEN: Directly after this.
WHERE: The Gallows, Thranduil's office
NOTES: Bad words and life choices, also Gwen's boobs.
WHAT: Arguing, naked people
WHEN: Directly after this.
WHERE: The Gallows, Thranduil's office
NOTES: Bad words and life choices, also Gwen's boobs.
[ Thankfully, no Templars get in Iorveth's face on the way to Thranduil's office, and he makes it to the door with no blood on his hands. However, he's no less enraged, paranoid, and ready to bolt from this shithole of a city, possibly without a left hand, thanks, Casimir.
Or possibly with all the left hands of all the Rifters. He really shouldn't have mentioned that part.
Shoving the door open, Iorveth marches in looking entirely like the officer that carved vengeance out of men's bodies, claimed trophies from human officers, and burned men alive. There hasn't yet really been cause for him to get so up in arms, until another set of foreign negotiations made rules over his will. It compounds - the thoughts he'd had in wondering what the consequences to telling the Inquisition 'no' would be, how long the Inquisition's insignia will keep him from being cornered into an alienage as well, all the people standing still while things something disgusting occurs and calling it civility, or politics.
It makes his skin crawl. So here he is, because Thranduil called, and somehow he has the respect to obey that when very few else would win it, but today that's been pushed too. ]
What?
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( which might not be entirely true, considering all the other hurdles they had to traverse to reach the point with one another they (finally) have done, but is nevertheless far from insignificant. she comes back to the edge of the bed, sitting down with her knees folded easy to one side, shaking her hair out over her shoulder and dragging her fingers through the tousles and tangles of how they slept as she considers both of them, and this, and what to say. )
You don't have to...none of us, ( her glance at her husband affectionate, ) should be making any dramatic declarations of intent this morning. But maybe we could...
( something about being the sensible voice feels wrong. she trails off, half uncertain that she's doing it wrong. then, )
We could get to know one another. Court one another. We could maybe see if we might like to make some dramatic declarations, in the future. As prelude to some very athletic sexual congress, obviously.
( a meaningful raise of her eyebrows. you have no idea how flexible she is, iorveth. )
And, the other parts. The romantic parts. This part. ( where they share a bed, a morning, their early thoughts. )
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Court him, [ thranduil says, testing the idea. yes, he wants to court iorveth, see how (if) he settles between them, which thranduil finds he desires very much. and testing the idea is far, far better than winding the three of them together that going any further would entail.
he holds his hand out for gwenaëlle to catch in her own, and pulls her closer. yes, there she is. there they are.
to be very clear, and this he says to iorveth: ] My people do not do anything less than centuries. We would court you to have all three of us together for that long. Not as a [ he's reconsidering his earlier words in a disgusted horror. ] kept man. We will have time for coaxing out your secrets, and you will have ours.
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It isn't secrets that I mean. [ just plain and stark truths, that the entire Continent new about him before, and he wore proudly, literally badges on his gear as trophies. sighing, Iorveth pushes up to sit, because it's awkward to say things this seriously while snuggled up to someone's chest. ]
I'm called murderer and terrorist, in my land, in all of my land. I've slaughtered, and tortured, enough humans to fill a valley with corpses, and not all of them were soldiers on a battlefield. [ civilians. merchants, traders. villagers, with houses set to flame. after Cintra, and places like Drakenborg, he stopped caring about armed or unarmed. they were all monsters. and while there are reasons, he's never made a point to try making excuses of it. it is what it is. ] I regret none of it.
[ he's looked to Gwen a good part of it, because he knows Thranduil has seen wars, ought to understand the horror of them, but even still, there's something about living in a world where elves are as noble, respected and untouchable as Thranduil's that just doesn't compare to the sickening cruelty such hatred on both sides breeds. ] I don't mean to sound dramatic, just transparent. These are things people typically want to know about a person before attempting to trust them.
[ he'd rather not have affection in them bloom only to learn of what horrors he's happily committed, would gleefully do again, and feel betrayed by it. they're simple truths about him that will not go away, and will not change regardless of how happy this place might make him. ]
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You'll have plenty of voices telling you that it's me who shouldn't be trusted, ( after a moment, when it becomes clear that he's done. ) I can hardly condemn you for violence I'm well enough used to, ( and she's not inclined to, not bothered by the implications, not even in the ways perhaps she ought to be. )
I thought what I owed my mama was to be what they wanted me to be. And it was a...
( there's never an appropriate moment to complain about how hard it was. least of all now. she swallows that, as ever. )
I've not been any particular friend to elves. Pietro-
( maybe that story doesn't need to be told now, either. )
I don't know. It sounds as if you're exactly what you seem to be, I can't think it's a surprise. I lose my charm a bit, the more you know. ( frankly. )
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Have you harmed another elf in anything but self defense? [ he asks. ] Have you forced yourself upon another? Have you harmed children?
[ children, not elflings, so he means both. kinslaying, rape, harm of an innocent: these are the things he cannot abide, and he would dismiss iorveth now for any of them. there are other laws, customs to be spoken of later, but these are sacred above all others.
and, conveniently, the reasons he will never welcome maedhros with open arms. he failed twice. ]
I have lived through many kings, seen many lines of Men falter and others succeed. A clever tongue could accuse me of a great deal of sins in Thedas, let alone Arda. I have let you know my wife as just that, and you have not disappointed me so far.
[ a glance to gwenaelle, though. what is a pietro. ]
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Of the three total voices I trust in this realm, your husband makes up a third of them, and I trust his intuitions on character. [ The other two are Beleth and Six. He has concerns about others, Adalia too brash and passionate, Bronach too foreign, Kylo too... Kylo. But those two have proven wise, stable, intelligent and noble thus far. But even that doesn't really matter, Thranduil versus the word of others. It isn't how he manages things. ] I make no judgments without evidence.
[ Even with people like Letho, practically a stranger, accused of murdering Iorveth's second, but he made no move until he could confirm the truth of it. As for Thranduil's questions, he turns his eye to him, two of those questions easy, another... less so. ]
I don't rape, I don't kill children. [ But kinslaying? He so rarely feels like he needs self-defense from city elves, but they're such twisted, selfish, ugly things sometimes. he's met creatures calling themselves aen seidhe that would turn a scoia'tael in just for an extra loaf of bread. while he doesn't really target them, they've certainly been harmed because of him in the past. There's the elves that fired on them, at the bordered of Dol Blathanna, and Iorveth's never had any desire to replicate that kind of disgusting betrayal. ] The Aen Seidhe are complicated, on the Continent. One drags on the other, asking the young to lay down in puddles, paint battlefields with their blood, so they can crawl a little further along the gutters of human cities, or die peacefully in a valley of flowers. I no longer protect those that have proven unworthy of my comrades' lives.
[ he has no intention of lying to thranduil or trying to convince him he's better than he is, so it's important to note what harm he has and hasn't done. let him decide where it ought to fall with his principles. ] I won't expend myself or my men for elves unwilling to do the same for them, nor will I concern myself with casualties they suffer due to human reactions to my people doing what's right. But no, I don't hunt them without provocation.
[ he can say that, at least. if they stay out of the way, they won't come under his fire. ]
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it's her own hands that have slowed her, for reasons she knows but can't quite explain without shame. embarrassment as much as anything has driven her unwillingness to take the steps that would have prevented coupe's tutelage of her; how mortifying, to know why.
eventually, )
Elves killed my mother. And Hardie was named for a man who was, besides the best of men, a mercenary.
( her perspective on thranduil's idea of kinslaying is far more thedosian; far more aligned with iorveth than her husband, on that. )
A warrior's fought a war. ( her eyebrows rise in exaggerated scandal: ) Heaven forfend.
( then, because he took the cyclops gag well but this is a serious discussion, and she doesn't entirely mean to be flip- ) You're quite the bastard, Iorveth, I don't mean to imply there's nothing to that. It's just I'm rather at home with bastards.
( because she's a nightmare. to be fair. )
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the idea itself is appealing, tempting, the want to just sink into their warmth and greedily soak it up strong, though iorveth wouldn't be iorveth if he didn't overthink it to hell and back. what benefits there could be, what complications it would make, if one is worth the other. His focus is taken more by gwenaelle, though, and the facts she gives, what they imply. he'd thought of her as a particularly clever, brutally honest noble woman, but the murder and the mercenary are things that don't fit into that picture. he's learned much of both of them tonight. ]
I'm sorry, for your mother. There's no balm that soothes the loss of one. [ one he knows, as well as a parent murdered by a faceless group you know only hatred from, or for. she's come a long way, to find herself married to thranduil. he is, though, pretty exceptional an elf, to admit. there's things admirable, intriguing and attractive in both of them, and Iorveth finds the idea of leaving this room something loathsome. it's careful, hesitant, that he voices it. ]
If it's still your wish to try, [ And that's a big if, because Thranduil had some pointed qualifications that Iorveth may not fit, and it's him that he glances to. ] I'm willing.
[ foregoing dramatic proclamations and promises of being worth anything more than a warm body and convenient assassin. Iorveth's faith in his courting skills aren't great, and maybe never really cultivated to begin with, but he's sure he's made that point well enough by now. ]
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[ to gwenaelle: ] I am not a bastard.
[ the word is funny, coming from him, the same unaccustomed intonation as the one time he'd called her 'bitch', but it is his answer, more or less, and he already finds he dislikes iorveth wavering and discontented. ]
I would ask, [ thranduil says, much more serious than his previous protest, ] that you refrain from harming another elf but in self-defense here.
[ they are all of them rumpled and in need of, perhaps, a wash basin and a clean change of clothes at least, but iorveth has no clean clothes here. thranduil will offer him his own, once they are up, but for now- ]
Let me put your hair in order, Iorveth.
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then again, he might not. which would be more interesting. she acknowledges his condolences with a tilt of her head—dalish elves killed her elven mother, but it was celene's men who did for her sisters, she's no shortage of resentments to go around—and the picture she paints the more one knows her is one of someone who had learned not to be looked at too closely, that she might live a more complicated life. the simple picture had protected her, until it didn't. )
What happened to that Dalish clan was self-defense, you know, ( is all she says, mild. )
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He listens to him, then to Gwenaelle, and the question of what Dalish clan comes through his head. It's apparently a touchy subject, so he leaves it for now, puts a mental note to investigate on it later. Instead, he turns his mind back to Thranduil's request. Iorveth doesn't like to swear to things often, because you can never truly tell what will happen in the future, what people will do, whether they're elves or humans or anything else. It's with no small matter of consideration and pause that he does finally nod his assent, eye meeting Thranduil's. This is Thedas, not the Continent. ]
I can agree to that. [ and yet, there's no telling if this place will become like the Continent. He's a bit lost in thought of that still when he recalls Thranduil had spoken about putting his hair into order. Which, would require him taking his headscarf off, which was tied tightly enough, plus the strap of leather belting that holds it in place, to stay mostly in place throughout the night.
Typically, removing the scarf means very little to him, as he walks around in with his eye uncovered about half the time, especially in peaceful places, his hand already moving to the buckle at the side of his head, when it sinks in where he is, and what they'd just discussed. courting, lovers, romance. a certain quite shame is around it, the loss of something so culturally key to his people, but that's nothing iorveth would admit to, claiming pride in the horrific kind of wound inflicted in a place most try not to stare at when conversing with him, likes that it's off-putting and disgusting. like it says - he can survive this, what can you really else do you really think you can do to him? but it is that - disgusting. not something you want to brandish in front of a potential lover, especially not for the pity it might bring. ]
It's never in order, [ Iorveth chuckles, moving to scratch just underneath one edge of the fabric instead of continuing to the buckle holding the strap, a casual kind of movement. ] And the moment I walk outside, it'll be out of sight again, so likely wasting your time.
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while iorveth makes as if to take off his wrappings, thranduil leans half across gwenaelle to the side table, to open the drawer and pull out one of the simple horn combs rather than a brush. he intends to make no great fuss about this, only thinking of how letting him go in such haste would be unworthy of both of them. as unworthy as sending him back unwashed and in his own clothes to his room, but they will make do with what they have and keep up with the secrecy, for now.
for all his concealment of gwenaelle's nighttime and morning comings and goings, no one has commented on the afternoon ones, much to his chagrin.
comb in hand, he folds himself into something like sitting. ] Not at all, [ thranduil offers. ] I wish to do it for you.
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no, instead, she puts a hand on his wrist, restraining: )
I think, ( carefully, ) that there's something you might do first that might make that more palatable.
( because she saw that hesitation of fingers. the gesture that probably wasn't going to be what it became, at the start. she's spent enough time teaching herself to look in the mirror of other people's eyes without flinching; how much worse must it be, when the injury is so immediate?
much, she could guess from thranduil's smooth, unbroken glamour. )
I was lucky enough rage demons apparently respect 'not my pretty face', ( dry as the hissing wastes, ) and Iorveth's seen mine, but maybe if you want to see his, he sees yours first.
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If you think it best, [ he says, and submits to her better judgement although it has him uneasy. the glamour drops in a ripple across his skin, withdrawn slowly. putting it away all at once feels too much like being made to, and he loathes that feeling.
and then it is there for iorveth's inspection: unseeing eye, a cheek with the flesh burned down to the muscle underneath, a web of healed burns across shoulder and arm that speak of it being lifted to cover from some sort of fire, as if he had expected a shield to raise when his arm had.
(no, he had dropped it, when they had called the retreat.)
he holds still, and steady. ]
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he realizes it must be something like the sorceresses do to stay looking young, even before the glamour starts to ebb away, and the damage to the one side of his face looks painfully extensive. nothing iorveth flinches from, but much more than he's been expecting. it's half-mesmerized, the way he reaches a hand up gingerly touching at the scarred edges of Thranduil's skin, soft, like a caress. ]
You'll have to teach me that trick some time. [ Iorveth murmurs, a small smile on his lips, already feeling a good deal more comfortable, and a little raw from the honesty of the moment. ] Seems much more comfortable than wrapping a rag over it.
[ he's not really sure he should, but Iorveth knows the distinct shame of being an elf that's had their beauty taken from them, and the idea of wanting it to disappear. how difficult this must be even for a elven king of 7,000. by means of thank you, and reassurance, he eases forward, pressing a short kiss to thranduil's lips - chaste and momentary, to make a point, and not looking to start more things than they're wanting to.
So, right, his turn.
when Iorveth tugs the scarf from his head, his hair is braided back in a few small places, but the majority of it is loose, pushed back but now falling to the side in places, at the corners of his face. raising his chin, it's easy to see the wound where his eye used to be, and it's no simple scar over it, or just the lids sealed shut. the socket is burned out, vicious and mangled, clearly something done with intent behind it, rather than a stray battle wound. the deep, jagged scar that curves a wicked trail from his temple down to the corner of his lips is secondary next to it. ]
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more like unto what was done to herian and her father, in its cruel deliberateness, but that's a thought she lets come and go, a story that isn't hers to tell and not made for this moment.
she doesn't let go of thranduil, but she does reach out with her free hand—not for iorveth's face. yet. he's near enough that her hand can fall on his thigh, and settle there. the only way she's ever known how to express a desire to be close to someone is just to be close to them, and it's a small thing, sometimes, but it's always felt as if it mattered. to demonstrate. to be demonstrative, in the small ways. )
Rag, ( she echoes, grimacing at that as she hadn't at his actual face. ) I'm going to make you something nicer.
( she has just decided this. )
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Good, [ thranduil says, pleased with his clever wife, already working at undoing those smaller braids iorveth had spoken of. he needs a long soak and oils for his hair, but this will have to do. ] We are courting you; are you enjoying it.
[ that is far from a questioning tone, far from a tone that expects anything other than a nod or perhaps a drowsy stretch. he will permit the fussing for a quarter of an hour more at most; thranduil will not press his luck, and then he has calls to make. ]
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in the slums, there wasn't courting. there was getting drunk and feeling each other up in the backs of dark taverns and alleyways. in the scoia'tael it was about the same, with a few exceptions of Possibly Actually Real Feelings that were entertained for a night or two. courting is completely behind him, and brings up romeo and juliet nonsense pictures in his head, ladies with fans and suitors making bargains for them.
what gwenaelle and thranduil are doing seems nothing like that imagining, and he's glad for it. he's never had much patience for frivolity and put upon gestures. getting high, snuggling, playing with hair in the morning sunshine. these are things he prefers. ]
You are picking at me like mother hens. [ correction. he hasn't been dotted on like this since he was a child, but the way he's slumped a little, back leaning some on thranduil's chest, his eye blinking shut after a moment, it's clear he doesn't have any complaints about it. ] But yes. I'm enjoying it.
[ after a moment of soaking it up, he looks to gwenaëlle, motioning her to come closer, to sit between his legs like he is thranduil's, because his hands are idle and he wants them closer. ]
Come here. I haven't gotten to put real braids in long hair in years. [ and by real braids, he means elf braids. ]
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( as if she can't guess, yes, but she's already moving to oblige him (patting thranduil's side absently as she moves away from it, casually and familiarly affectionate), sweeping her hair down her back for him and settling between his knees, cross-legged, comfortable. it is long hair, falling to her waist and showing signs of the curl she rarely lets go untamed.
there is something very comforting about someone else's hands in her hair. still. )
I don't think we actually did, you know, ( after a moment. ) You and I, I mean, Thranduil. We didn't have a courtship, we just fought for two years and eventually realised why.
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[ these are, to him, the mark of courtship, or so he insists, in between braiding iorveth's hair into something like order, a few strands left to fall artfully outside of the borders of the head-covering, the rest braided back and behind his ears without being too tight. it is quick work, there is not much of it, and he thinks he will need to leave them abed and start his own work sooner rather than later. ]
They were good Sinda and Silvan courting gifts, even if I did not know it at the time.
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[ Is all Iorveth answers Gwenaelle, when asked about the braids he plans to weave into her hair, content to listen to the bickering going on around him with a impish kind of grin. even if he weren't involved with the two of them in the way they're proposing, it's enough of a joy just being around them. companionship and familiarity is a thing he hadn't realized he'd missed so much from home.
He has no idea what Thranduil's doing with his hair, but doesn't particularly care one way or another. It's definitely not as soft or long as either of theirs, but the man seems contented with it, and Iorveth enjoys the feel of his fingers slipping through the strands. ] But, can they really be called courting gifts if that wasn't the intention at the time?
[ leaning his head back, he peers at Thranduil upside down, a mischievous smirk on his lips, while his hands still work at gwen's hair, braiding up one side of a much more complicated design, but one he knows well. for reasons. ] What else counts as good Sinda and Silvan courting gifts?
[ do decapitated human heads count? because he's got that one down. ]
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I don't think they can. Not when you told my mother so specifically you most certainly weren't.
( the gift that kept on giving, that one brief exchange with guenievre; dutifully repeated to gwenaëlle, and heard later by katell, and passed to luwenna coupe, and speculated on by morrigan. iorveth seems like the sort of strapping fellow who's in no need of owl beaks, at least. )
Alistair bought me hair ribbons, everyone bought me hair ribbons until I told them to stop. And half of Orlais has portraits of me in various states of undress.
( all right, maybe not half of orlais. but there's a few of them floating around, two in kirkwall. )
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he likes what they have now. he likes the idea of what they might have with iorveth, too. iorveth, who will keep her safe as well as thranduil does. ]
Mm. We count kills, in hunting or in war. Trophies from that are not uncommon. Arrowheads, if your intended is an archer, or feathers. Useful, clever, beautiful things.
[ the noldor mostly do jewelry, but greenwood and mirkwood have both tended towards the common. but if your wife was a jewelsmith, then a gift of white gems would not have been out of place.
that thought, he does not keep. ]
Iorveth may buy you hair ribbons, and have a portrait, [ he grants, generously. ]