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[ closed ] turkish i mean tevene oil wrestling
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
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?
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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. )
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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. ]
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but that gets abruptly derailed with what Thranduil asserts. tilting his head, iorveth looks back to him, brows knit and a narrowness to his eye that happens when he's assessing something, or someone.
after handful of too many seconds: ]
If I've said you're enough, I meant you're enough.
[ he doesn't really take well to being essentially called a liar. ]
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Are you really, ( in that deceptively calm way that doesn't bode well, the way she narrows to a steady point when she's becoming truly irritated—it's always safer when she's shouting— ) going to pick at this, going to kick off because Iorveth had the grace to stop and consider your feelings and mine and discuss it with us?
We didn't discuss fidelity. We've discussed it now.
( and she was going to step around it, but now she's annoyed, so: )
If your threshold for our feelings is not even noticing anyone else, Maker, Thranduil, I don't meet that. It's that I don't act on a passing fancy because I value my marriage that matters.
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We have.
[ it is difficult, but not impossible, to pick his way over them without stepping on anyone and out of the bed, to pour water from the ewer into the bowl and clean off his face, his hands, drying them on the muslin towel before starting to pick at the knots at the bottoms of his hair, working them out with careful fingers. ]
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After watching the back of his head for a long moment, sat on the bed with nothing but the sheet wrapped over his lap, arms rested on knees bent up, he speaks up. ]
Have we?
[ He doesn't expect this to make Thranduil happy. But he doesn't expect to trail along behind the both of him being told what his rules are either. ]
We've discussed that the two of you don't share well, but we've said nothing of me. [ He's honestly not really sure what he's angling for here, because while Kostos is very pretty, a casual fuck doesn't necessarily mean much to him. but, the closure of a certain freedom that he's becoming suddenly very aware of, does. ] You two walk in the daylight, wed before friends and family and refer to one another as husband and wife. Whereas you're only mine when I hide in this bedroom.
[ perhaps that's for the best, considering the extreme actions Iorveth tends to take, but that, as well, has been tempered by this bond. perhaps Iorveth's just scared shitless of this, the same way he had been when they first started so many months back. ]
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We're still discussing it.
( there are a lot of discussions that they've needed to have, and maybe this will be good; untangling as many of them as they can. less doubt, less uncertainty. it's not easy, or uncomplicated, and they're ill-served by expectation without any understanding. she considers her words, for a moment, and then: )
I want that to be temporary. For the record. And—I mean, there were people that we trusted, before we were doing anything in front of half of fucking Hightown, I'd...like that, too. If you would. I don't want what we do for the sake of Inquisition politics to—be anything but that.
( to reflect anything but that necessity; it hardly reflects anything she values. )
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if he speaks, he will only stumble, and he trusts gwenaelle to speak for-- not for both of them, but to function as a thranduil-translator. ]
Ser Coupe knows.
[ because they've knit that woman into their life, or she did, when she involved herself with gervais; inherited gwen's big elf problem too. ]
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the assurance that gwenaelle would like them all open and able to love each other freely wherever they are is a sweet, touching thing, and he would like it. part of the notion soothes him, but another part - inquisition politics, the fact they aren't likely to be done with them until corypheus is gone, and the idea of spending the rest of his life in Thedas. if he's married to them, he must, he has to, he couldn't stomach breaking that bond.
but the cost of it is the aen seidhe.
his people, his home, his soldiers and friends. geralt, triss and saskia. vergen and the new haven they'd only just won after so many ages of toil and blood. his soldiers are strong, and saskia is an incredible commander, but they can't do this without all of them. guilt slithers into his gut, because he realizes how long it's been since he'd truly thought of them. when this is all done, could he ask Thranduil to abandon Mirkwood, and his son? Or Gwenaelle to abandon her home in Thedas to come to the Continent, where the threat is long from vanquished?
Not for that fact alone, the reality of this bond is daunting, in many ways he hadn't thought of when he'd been so madly in love with the both of them. Iorveth clears his throat, moving to tangle his fingers in Gwenaelle's hand at his knee, and he tells them softly, hoping they'll understand how he means it. ]
I may... need time. [ they went from 'not really sure what we are but we like each other a lot' to 'married for eternity' in a single conversation, and that is... a lot. gwenaelle and thranduil had made this choice some time ago, but it's been a handful of months for Iorveth. ] I love the both of you more than I have words for in any language, but a marriage shouldn't be done in a single night.
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she doesn't look surprised. if anything, she's surprised how well this conversation has gone, missteps aside; they're volatile, all of them, coming at each other from such wildly different directions, perspectives. hers and iorveth's are closer, sometimes, but then he and thranduil share things as elves now that she never will—they fit together in strange ways, and jut up hard against the places where they don't, too.
she presses a quick kiss to his mouth as if she's just made a decision, but she hasn't, really. no new thought. thranduil, months ago, had been the voice of caution—and then they'd tumbled ahead anyway, but she'd heeded that warning. and, still. )
What I need, ( a glance towards thranduil, because she thinks this will be the both of them but no, she doesn't speak for them, and their bond is the better established, better that they not get into the habit of treating it as a unit iorveth is ever outside of, ) is fidelity during that time. I need that to be part of giving us a chance. But I don't need you to promise me tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow until you're sure. And if it doesn't...if eventually this is just something we tried, and it didn't work,
( then that would be awful, her face says, because her face doesn't believe in discretion as the better part of valor, but her mouth says, quirking sideways and trying to coax him with a joke, )
I would not hold Kostos Averesch personally responsible.
( her fingers tighten in his— )
I want you to promise me when you mean it. I can wait. If you never do, I'll love you for trying.
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you can't return to what you never even left. and as more and more time pases, arda feels like unto a dream, if a realistic one. ]
However much you need, [ he echoes. they have that, at least, in a fair amount, all the margins of this war where they've built (tried to build) this little shelter against the rest of it all, the future thranduil holds under his tongue, his aspirations, weak as they are, his greed for a little shaded place with flute music and the laughter of children.
he is satisfied with his hair, at least, the flimsy excuse of being able to step away and consider his vulnerability from afar, his fear. iorveth had shed it, is nurturing it into new growth, but too much of being elven for thranduil are those connections, even the ones that had atrophied by necessity as king.
back to the bed, them, to their orbit, where he keeps being drawn. they fit together too well for him not to think it iluvatar-ordained. they know how best to hurt one another for that fit, even accidentally.
(he could make a joke, about crowns and consorts, in counterpoint to gwen, but he does not. he knows he will never wear a crown again. he never did, in truth. it is only a memory.) ]
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and then he'll probably still try to return to the aen seidhe at all costs, because what's better than one iorveth on a battlefield? two iorveths. he always did want a brother. ]
Fidelity. I swear it to you. [ Iorveth leans his forehead to Gwenaelle's, a hand against her cheek, and a welling of affection, adoration and gratitude for her understanding. it's not something he's sure how to express, so he offers her another slow, sweet kiss, and a nuzzle against her cheek, endlessly fond. ]
Amusing as it would be to watching you chase Kostos through the Gallows with one of Thranduil's blades, I do appreciate that. [ he's feel pretty bad for it, and Kostos probably wouldn't have any clue what was going on besides. not that Iorveth even wants to think about them breaking apart because of this, but it is a reality that ought to be considered, by all of them. iorveth for his convictions, and gwenaelle and thranduil for the fact they may very well lose him to them someday. it spikes an ache in him like nothing else, but that's no excuse for foolishness and blindness.
his attention turns back to Thranduil as he returns to them, and he knows this has been difficult for a man so regal and proud, from a culture so similar, but at the same time, so very different from his own. easing forward to him, iorveth curls his body against his back (still bare save for a well placed bedsheet), sneaking his arms around to hug his torso back against his chest.]
I'm sorry, m'Rion. [ Iorveth murmurs against his ear, tucking his face against the side of his neck. supplication, if you like, but Iorveth would kneel to him every day of his life and still feel like he'd lost nothing of himself in it. it isn't as if thranduil's ever asked him to, but he means so very, very much to iorveth now it's all consuming. ] I've not made this easy for you.
[ for a long while, Iorveth settles there, arms holding tight around thranduil's middle, chest pressed to his back, face ducked against him, clinging and praying for this all to come to a simple union, for his anxieties to pass quickly, and for him to know with certainty he isn't reunion them or himself in this. ]
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If Thranduil liked doing things the easy way, he wouldn't be doing either of us.
( crass, gwenaëlle, and yet not actually incorrect. )