am I free now, am I at peace?

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Thranduil, Casimir
WHAT: Arranging an escape.
WHEN: mid-Eluviesta/Cloudreach
WHERE: Provost's Office
NOTES: Discussions of Tranquility.

He calls Casimir into his office late on a rainy afternoon. It ought not to be out of the ordinary—Casimir has been here a half-hundred times or more, though less frequently now that he is once more himself.

The afternoon’s heat had dropped off in the wake of the storm, so there’s a chill in the stone but a fireplace swept clean of ashes, and where Thranduil is known to ply with sweets, extra rations, finer wines, there is nothing today. Just Thranduil himself, lingering near the window, the curtain half drawn back as he peers at the harbor.

“Close the door,” he says. “I will be brief.”

Comments

[aestivation]

He does, head and shoulders tipped both askew; that defensive angle he's worn through the better part of midwinter, spring. He's himself, and neither of them blind to the problems that's caused.

But the absence of appearances is unusual. Even when most unnecessary, Thranduil's fumbled to offer the tokens of comfort. There are less generous ways to term the habit than generosity. Whatever they're to speak of now —

"The hallway is empty," — Seems relevant. His hands linger, twist behind his back. He's long improved from hunching in corners, but he is himself, and social graces never that man's mastery. "The others are out."

Or as near to it as he can tell.