[ closed ] turkish i mean tevene oil wrestling

[aenseidhe]

WHO: Iorveth + Thor + Gwenaëlle + Resa + Thranduil + Loki yelling from a window
WHAT: Wrestling!!!! + Catch all for other things that happened in this eventful day that left Iorveth very sore
WHEN: Early Harvestmere
WHERE: Gallows training grounds
NOTES: Gratuitous shirtless boys touching each other a bunch (FOR WRESTLING, GOD) + NSFW things in another thread that will prob be moved to an inbox idk im sleepy

[ "If you two are going to fight, it's no magic, no weapons, wrestling only, and you have to take your shirts off."

Leave it to Gwenaëlle Baudin to actually get two grown ass men to agree to this nonsense. At least, by the time they decide to start up, Thor and Iorveth have made some kind of temporary peace. While they're still at odds over Tevinter's view on elves, they're discussing it more than simply threatening bloodshed. So, let's be real. This is basically because they both think Gwenaëlle is pretty. Aaaaand, a little, a pissing contest still.

So, no shirts she said. Iorveth wears about 4 to 6 layers of gear at any given time, so it takes him a little bit to strip down from shirtless. First, the cloth belt, the leather belts holding his quiver, bow and swords in place, with the badges of slain special forces commanders decorating it, his gloves, and the leather chest guard are all unbuckled and set aside. Then, the chainmail shift. Then, the loose, brown tunic beneath, and lastly, the larger green tunic, and the plain linen undershirt beneath. When he's finally clear of all that junk, the tattoo that usually only peeks through the top of his collar, branches and leaves weaving up his shoulder and neck, is in full and complete view, and it's much, much larger.

The design stretches from his shoulder, partway down his upper arm, down his chest on his left side, until it reaches his ribs, and wraps around his side there. In full, the tattoo forms a tree - the art of it gnarled and old, twisted and mystic in nature, roots stretching out as far as the branches do. all through it, in the grain of the wood and tangle of the roots and branches, new designs are formed. Some foreign symbols, like runes and sigils, some animal faces or bodies. one could easily guess it's religious in nature, because it is. That taken care of, he'll leave the headscarf on, and he's ready to go. Pacing over to Gwenaëlle, Iorveth stands with hands on his hips as he tilts an amused smile towards her. ]

Any other requests, Elaine Ard Rhena?

Comments

[thorndergod]

[Thor arrives as Iorveth is finishing stripping down. It's an impressive pile, he'll admit to himself, as he nods to Gwenaelle. Oddly enough, as much as he'd hoped the elf would drown a few months back, he doesn't actually mind him. Or perhaps it isn't that odd. The Rifter elves all seem to have more to them than any native elves.

He gets to work on his own outfit, weapons first - elegant black staff carved to look like lightning bolts are shooting out one end with a short blade on the other, heavy, gleaming hammer after that. Then he's carefully pulling off dramatic red-and-black layers of jacket, robe, vest, gloves, and bracers, folding them neatly as he goes. If he's spending time out and about in Kirkwall he often forgoes clear Tevinter apparel... but right now he wants to be clearly marked for who he is.

He has his own tattoo on the left side of his chest - a lightning bolt going through an eye - gotten at a young age to mark himself with his own motif and his father's. There are a few scattered scars, but none of any serious note. His mother had been an excellent healer.

Once shirtless he poses for a moment, letting the light of day hit him just right. Then he's bending down and starting to pull daggers out, five in all, that get added to the top of the pile. Finally he ties his hair back.]

Another woman may join us to watch, a Rifter. There is no trick to her coming. I simply knew Resa may be interested in the... combat.

[Show. He knows she likes seeing him shirtless, and Thor likes being admired. He's worked very hard to look this good so why pass up the chance to flatter his own ego and impress a woman he very much should not be trying to impress?]

[elegiaque]

( an arch look slides iorveth's direction for his choice of title for her, but she echoes, ) The combat, ( knowingly, instead of commenting on it. sure, this strange rifter woman of thor's is a connoisseur of tevene and elven fighting styles, that's the most likely explanation for her presence.

deeming it prudent not to throw stones from glass houses, she merely says, )

Would you consider being oiled?

( in all apparent seriousness. she wiggles the large velvet bag next to her. what the fuck is in that bag. )

[aenseidhe]

[ first of all, stop fucking posing, thor, the world is not your runway.

secondly, he sees that bag. He knows exactly what is in that bag. if his eyebrows were visible through his head scarf, they would be seen arched high right now. booboo, please. this is a manly fight for manly reasons that we're also being gratuitous for because you're a cutie. quit while you're ahead. ]

You got shirts. No oil.

[ putting! his! elf! foot! down!!!

as for the extra attendant, he turns to Thor and nods, arms crossing over his chest. ] I've met Resa. It's fine. [ look, he might want to break thor's face, but he's not going to harsh the dude's game, okok? ]

[thorndergod]

[The world is always his runway.

He gives the bag a considering look, but for all his amusement this is still a match. Slipping and sliding turns it into a joke.]

No oil.

[Thor runs through stretches briefly, giving Resa time to arrive.]

You have warmed up?

[He prefers fair fights. Challenges. Even if he wants to put Iorveth on bed rest for a week and tell the one voice on the crystals that they may acquire the elf's skull soon if they were still in need of it, Thor does not want his victory to be tarnished by anything cheap.

Which is why Loki was absolutely not invited here.]

[elegiaque]

No oil, ( she sighs—

but she had been pressing her luck. the fact they're actually doing this by her rules in the first place, considering what her rules are, is in itself delightful and not to be sniffed at. )

Very well.

[aenseidhe]

[ Gwenaelle gets a smirk flashed to her. Later, maybe. With Thranduil. She can oil them up then and have her fun. just not during his pissing contest, it's important and he needs some stress relief right now that doesn't involve slipping around on thor's half naked muscles.

right, about that. thor. ]

I have.

[ he'd had time waiting to get read. still, he moves restlessly, tapping the ball of a foot against the ground, rolling a shoulder. he's far from scrawny himself, though he's lithe as all aen seidhe are. a century of archery, sword fighting, running through forests and scaling trees and cliffs have left him toned and strong. though, of course, not nearly to the extent Thor is.

but he isn't worried about that. he's felled men and monsters much larger. ]

Rules? [ because they aren't, actually, going to be removing spines or skulls. ]

[thorndergod]

[He watches the elf move now with a lot more attention than he'd given even during the pursuit weeks earlier. There's a form there that he hasn't seen in any native elves, one that suggests Iorveth might be able to hold his ground here.

This could be fun.]

Try not to die.

[There's a hint of a smile as he makes the suggestion.]

We stop when someone says 'stop' or someone falls unconscious?

[The question is mostly directed at Gwenaelle. She's the referee here, and even though it looks like she's better acquainted with the elf than himself he'll trust her to be fair.]

[summerfae]

Short and to the point, huh? Not even anything about hair pulling?

[ Resa is here, now. Like a sailor lured with the siren call of shirtless men, she just kind of appears in the training yard, wearing large sunglasses and an even larger grin. It’s hard to tell where she’s looking specifically, but the way she swaggers up to them with that cheeky grin leaves a few clues. ]

Yo. Did I get here in time to catch you guys oiling up?

[ They are pretty obviously unoiled. It would be suspicious, if Resa weren’t completely innocent and had never done anything wrong in her life. ]

[elegiaque]

You stop when one of you yields, or,

( graciously taking the opening resa has teed up for her, )

whoever squeals about having his hair pulled is considered to have automatically yielded.

( and henceforth shall be known as a little bitch. )

same day, later that night, FEELINGS

[aenseidhe]

[ A good sundry of things have cropped up today that Iorveth was not planning on dealing with for at least another month. It started with Kostos, and that led his mind to Gwenaelle and Thranduil, and that led to his place between them, and that led to his feelings on the Chantry wedding, and thatled back to his feelings on the phylactery and the Archon, which he’s still not brought up again since they happened. Thranduil returned safely, and they were so overjoyed to have him back in their arms, and after that… Iorveth never used to have issue with breaking the peace for the sake of important issues. Now, there’s something much more personal at stake, and part of him is cursing himself, because he knew this would come.

By this point, guilt and anxiety gnaw at him. Not only for the interest that spiked when Kostos brought it up, but for what he feels he’s betrayed in those that believed in him. For a century, he has been uncompromising, stalwart, the one they’d turn to when no one else was willing to risk everything to care, to act. He’d heard the things they’d whisper of him - a living legend, a wraith, the last true Aen Seidhe. Were it not the fact it was Thranduil who brought the Archon back, he would have crept into the dungeons, carved the vile human’s guts open, and strung them through the Gallows like garland for all the crimes he’s committed against the elves of Thedas. If Geralt, Ciaran, Yevinn, Saskia, or, gods, Isengrim were here, they’d be sickened with him. Somehow, imagining Isengrim makes it that much worse. The years and years he spilled blood at the Iron Wolf’s side, and all it took was fear of losing out on love to stay him.

Stepping into the bedroom they’ve all shared for the last six months, Iorveth’s stripped off his armor and weapons, left them safely on a dresser where he usually does, dressed in simple, loose clothes he tends to wander their space with, feeling safe enough with them. Arms crossed over his chest, he paces to the bed the other two are lounged in, and pauses several steps away. Doesn’t sit, but after a moment of quiet, he speaks up. ] We need to talk.

[ which is like a sign of the apocalypse with Iorveth, because he never feels the need to talk about this. Probably a large part of the problem there. But, at least he’s finally asking this question. ] What am I in this? In us.

[elegiaque]

( instinct tells her that no good ever comes of we need to talk—

but iorveth is not the only one who's been anticipating this conversation, and gwenaëlle has slowly, reluctantly, begrudgingly learned the value of using her words when she might prefer to do absolutely anything else. (it's all of the time, she would prefer to do anything else all of the time.) and they do need to have it, have needed to have it, possibly should have had it weeks ago when...

when. she could pick from a half-dozen things that have happened or entangled them of late, and any one of them ought to have done it. she wonders, fleetingly, what prompted it from him. she supposes, sitting up on her knees (thranduil's shirt worn loosely, her spectacles on the end of her nose because she'd been reading) and resting her hands on them, considering him—she supposes she's very likely to find out soon. )

I want you to be the same, ( she says, careful how she frames it. desirous, not presumptuous; he is a late addition to something that's been a slow dance, and it would have been at best out of line to expect the same strength of sentiment from him at once, but she'd wanted promises, and permanence, she's always wanted promises and permanence. he had warned them what he was, what he prioritised, and she'd managed her expectations. braced herself, a few times, for less than nothing. it hadn't meant wanting any less. ) What we are to each other, essentially, I want us to all be.

( the very public use of her relationship with thranduil as an elevating act of respectability complicates that, and she's not so willfully stupid as to ignore it. one thing at a time. )

[rowancrowned]

[ he is bone-deep content, in the easy way he has been since he returned from tevinter. lazying on the bed, reviewing the wrestling match he had spied with his elven eyes from his office.

he watches iorveth, clothed, now, but still vulnerable with the removal of his weapons and his layers, but where gwenaelle rises, he stays low. he has had this sort of conversation before. he knows the soothing that gwenaelle prefers will not work with him. ]

What my lady said. [ said first, and said best. ] The three of us are.

[ entangled in one another. literally, now, that thranduil has gotten over that particular hurdle, and given in fully. ]

[aenseidhe]

[ it warms something at the core of his soul, to hear them both express a want for him to part of their love on such an intimate level, and sparks a happiness in him Iorveth hadn't thought would ever be written into his life. that there was no room for it. but at the same time, it aches, for that reason exactly. thranduil, much as iorveth adores him, is rigid and absolute in his decisions. but he has never known slaughter and subjugation at mens' hands, not like the aen seidhe have, or the thedosian elves. and gwenaelle in the middle, trying to make peace of it all. iorveth nods, and pulls in a deep inhale. ]

If we are to all be equal in this, then... [ this is where it becomes messy, but he's had too many lives paid in faith of him to do anything else. ] No Chantry wedding.

[ If they're being bonded to one another, and he's to be bonded along with them, that puts him into the crime of denying his faith just as well. It may not mean much to them, but to Iorveth, it's everything. his people, their culture, their traditions, it is everything he has built into himself, everything he has spent his life protecting. the wedding isn't all, though. ]

And if I hear word of the Archon's whereabouts near Kirkwall again, I will have his head. [ the phylactery he doesn't bother mentioning, as its done and gone. nothing to be done now. but the Archon is both too large an upset to over look, and an issue that persists so long as he remains in Inquisition custody. ]

These are not negotiable.

[elegiaque]

( the archon, for once, is the simplest matter so far as gwenaëlle can see it—it isn't as if she's unhappy with the thought of him being gutted at the first and most convenient opportunity. the arguments for his continuing to draw breath were good, and convincing, and would not stop her from stepping aside and letting iorveth personally put an end to him.

the wedding, as tempted as she is to acquiesce immediately, is trickier. her gaze slides towards thranduil, who can probably guess her ambivalence. it's not as if she's thrilled it's happening, but she understands why he needs it. enough she's been willing, if not pleased, and.

maker, she doesn't want this of all possible things to be the deal-breaker. )

I mean, fuck the Archon, ( she says, first, distracted by trying to order the rest of her thoughts. )

[rowancrowned]

[ now, at least, he sits up, one leg folded on the bed and the other straight across the sheets. he hears what iorveth is asking, but supposes that in this, iorveth is like gwenaelle. he would rather find the source of it than answer the questions on their own.

iorveth came into this knowing what the answers would be. he is clever, wickedly so, which is why thranduil loves him.

he does not say yes. he does not say no. instead, he says: ]

Why now? This sounds like something you have mulled over for a time, but why ask today? What happened?

[ something, to have him forcing the answer. thranduil had watched him tussling with thor, and that was hardly worth a crisis of conscious, which is what this seems to be. ]

[aenseidhe]

[ he watches thranduil closely, different from how iorveth's eyes follow him around the room most nights, warm and content and sated. iorveth knows what this is, and at times he wishes he were a fool so easy to distract and placate. all that he is has been built on the concept that he won't be soothed over these issues. there are two parts of him at war — the hopeless fool he'd been as a child, before his father's murder and his mother's passing, still believing in things like what thranduil and gwenaelle are, and the warrior Isengrim carved him into, the shadow of all that he was to him looming. ]

Someone expressed interest in me. [ he's not saying who, because he's pretty sure one, or both, of them will murder Kostos in the night. ] It prompted the thought that I'm uncertain what I am and what my limitations are between us. But, I believe I've known and I just...

[ a mirthless smile quirks one corner of his lips, and iorveth shakes his head, because really, this is pathetic. ] I thought I could push it off forever. Have both.

[ pretend there was no big issue in it. that there were perfectly legitimate reasons that he decided not to act on any of these issues, reasons that had nothing to do with but I don't want to lose them. he'd deluded himself. the crux of it is this: ]

Honorable, valiant, beloved warriors have laid down their lives for me, because they believed in the promise that I would never be bought, never compromise on our ideals and beliefs. On our people. [ not only the justice for them, but the soul of them. their way of life, their spirituality, everything. Iorveth's head bows, because there's shame in admitting this that stings so keenly in him. ] I have done that here. For you. For this.

[ for the bribe of comfort and personal happiness. because he was shown the thing he'd longed for so much in the two of them, and he couldn't resist falling for it. ]

[elegiaque]

( would she be gwenaëlle still if she didn't immediately object? when has she ever been presented with something she could not object to— )

A different way of doing something isn't trading away your ideals, ( balking at once at the thought, for all that she's only in recent years discovered that she might have ideals to trade or not, beyond those long-standing high-minded notions of artistic freedom. other forms of freedom might also have value she's prepared to do something about, too, it turns out.

what he is describing isn't a struggle she's ever felt. she can't comprehend it, the way that he feels it, but it bothers her at once to hear this soft landing described, defined so. it feels tawdry.

and not in a fun, sexy way. )

It doesn't have to be. I don't see that it has to be.

the We Need To Talk About Kostos And His Beard thread

[aenseidhe]

[ once they've all worn themselves out, emotionally and physically (the latter doubly so for Iorveth, who thought wrestling Thor fucking Odinson was a good idea), the three of them lay tangled up in Thranduil's bed, naked and sprawled across each other, clothes tossed to various places of the room, hair in a mess that Iorveth will have to brush out and braid up so Thranduil and Gwenaelle don't wake up to kittens burrowed into fuzzy nests in their hair. there's a wonderful current of social harmony buzzing through them all, having actually Resolved Issues and had Gratifying And Hot Make Up Sex, and Iorveth feels sated and comfortable beyond measure.

Which, apparently, makes him talkative. After a long several minutes of peaceful, post-coital silence: ]


So, I shouldn't fuck Kostos... probably?


[ how do three way sort of marriages work? is this supposed to be a thing? he's honestly so stupid about romance and casual sex life, you guys, help his dumb ass.

also, oops, he didn't actually mention who it was before. surprise??? ]

[rowancrowned]

[ he can get the appeal of this, and maybe, in this moment, feel something like sympathy for the humans who make their whole lives go around fucking. but it fizzles out like a match dropped in water, like most of his non-elf sympathies. he's busy trying to figure out where gwen's hand ended up so that he can hold it when iorveth starts talking.

he doesn't quite snarl, but: ]

No.

[ and then: ] What could possibly be appealing about him?

[ he's so... not an elf. ]

[aenseidhe]

[ Iorveth lifts his head enough to peer at Thranduil with an arched eyebrow over the rise of Gwenaelle's butt or thigh or whatever's ended up near his face, because, look, despite him not being an elf, which is unfortunate but not his fault, there's something very important here. ]

Have you looked at him?

[elegiaque]

( it's a very shapely, pert rise of backside for how little she is; trousers have arguably been a perk of the new and improved combat gwenaëlle. plenty of good reasons to be glad of her walking away. however, she rolls sideways to squint down over her shoulder at iorveth, pressing it awkwardly to his shoulder— )

First of all, also no. Second of all, how can you tell? He has one expression.

( and it's a handsome face, but. he has one expression. then— )

Wait, the mage or the fat one?

[rowancrowned]

[ jokes about various humans aside, he can't help prying at the matter like an itchy scab. frowning, ]

Are we not enough?

[ there are two of them, right here, and thranduil the sort of emotionally vulnerable and squishy that comes from engaging in two of the activities that he does first rarely and second only behind closed and locked and glamoured doors. ]

[aenseidhe]

Of course you're enough.

[ in the hundred plus years Iorveth's been an adult, he's never really been in any kind of strictly defined 'relationship' long enough for monogamy to become an issue. or feel like it exists at all. he generally completely avoided them, for the sake of what he'd told them before - his prioritizing, the work he does, the nature of the impermanence of his... being alive. He adds on, distractedly: ] The mage, I meant.

[ given that, his sex life has mostly just be casual sex, usually one time, nothing attached to it but getting off with someone hot. he pushes to sit up, as this is rolling around in his head, because the question Thranduil asks seems non-sequitur to what's in his head. ] I believe I just went from a century of exclusively casual sex, to being married, in a single night.

[ o...h.... it's possible he should've thought of that longer than the five minutes he was drunk on love for them both. Hrm. But, he doesn't want them thinking that he needs more than what they gave him. It's just a very odd realization to come to. ] All I would get from Kostos is sexual gratification. The two of you provide me much more than that.

[elegiaque]

( the mage has one expression and it's slapped arse, but if she's honest, gwenaëlle would probably have made a play for his actual arse at some point by now if she weren't thoroughly and possessively married. she declines to say as much, in thranduil's present mood, since she probably couldn't turn that one into a sexy wrestling match no matter how hard she tried—

she wriggles, rolls onto her belly, feet tangled in the sheets as she sits up on her elbows to look at him properly, instead of threatening to at any moment press her backside into his face. )

Neither of us share well, except with each other, ( she says, frank. )

[rowancrowned]

[ he attaches himself to the point like a burr. ]

But not enough to stop you from considering his advances.

[ he is hurt, he thinks, but he considers it as if from far off, which means that he can cling to impartiality, to a moderated tone. gwenaëlle moves, and he glances over to her.

he leaves her hands be. ]