open

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Thranduil
WHAT: Research Division Office Hours
WHEN: Wintermarch/Guardian as needed
WHERE: Research offices
NOTES: Will match prose/brackets.

( despite the shortages on various foodstuffs, there’s still plenty of firewood, and thranduil’s office is snug, the tapestries on the wall insulating the stone walls, and helping preserve the heat from the fire. the desk is stacked neatly with a half-dozen reports, old and new, plus a few errant books from the library (one with recently increased rabbit-eared pages) waiting to be returned to the collection.

the teapot has herbal tea, half consumed, a mug and a spare at hand—and the door is open. )

Comments

[dirth]

[ It doesn't take long for Solas to arrive after his message to Thranduil, as awkward as he feels. It hasn't been so terribly long since that awful, terrible dream and he had been avoiding his friend - and his friend's wife - for a little time, anticipating his own shrewd reaction to it. Alas, he is... Lonely. Without Galadriel, without his heart, he feels a touch bereft and he has to do what he can to make up for his own empty longing before he loses himself completely.

Slipping inside, he wrinkles his nose at the scent of tea, coming along and sitting down all the same. ]

[rowancrowned]

Chamomile, and mint, ( thranduil says, with exasperation and fondness both drawing out the word. ) I have wine, if that is to your taste. I would not spend so dear a thing on someone who would not appreciate it.

( in a contrast to solas, thranduil shows no concern, no awkwardness, no unease or unsteadiness of manner. he takes the seat beside solas, and holds his cup down in his lap. )

I have been deprived of your company for weeks now. What have I done to earn it back?

[dirth]

I am quite well, thank you. I am content to be bereft of the stuff. [ Ugh, tea. The very idea of the caffeine, as limited as it might be, is enough to leave him feeling a touch out of place. He lingers in the Fade now more than ever, wishing for memories that will never return to him.

Of course, Thranduil comes closer and all Solas can do is offer a wry, sad little smile, almost damning in how secretive it is. He misses Galadriel, terribly. ]

Weeks? Has it been so long? [ He settles in his chair. ] You saw Arlathan.

[rowancrowned]

( he leans back- very far back, making whole use of the length of his reach- and reaches for the watered wine on his desk. there's a teacup, and so into it goes the wine, and then the cup offered to solas. )

It has. ( he marks time; he has only had a handful in thedas ). I was concentrating on my wife and on you. I paid very little attention to anything else.

( offhand, like there weren't people in the gallows who would murder him for it. )

[dirth]

[ Why does he do that? Solas almost rolls his eyes, but manages to smother it. He is constantly reminded that, despite his own height, this elf is taller than him; it reminds him too much of home, of Arlathan, and he feels the bite of it against the tremor of his heart. Nothing to think too long on, he supposes, as he reaches to take the cup.

Just a little, he supposes. It cannot hurt. ]

Oh? [ That makes him curious. ] So you have no thoughts? No theories or questions?

[rowancrowned]

( thranduil pauses to think, cup in his hands, very clearly rolling through what he remembers of the dream, moment by meticulous moment.

once or twice he even lets out a curious little 'hmm'. )

Yes, I suppose I do.

[dirth]

And?

[ Not that Solas is necessarily the most earnest; he'd be content to let the matter die, but... It also needs to be spoken of, that he's sure about. ]

[rowancrowned]

I miss your hair. You were very... striking.

( probably why he had spent so much time toying with it in the dream: he knew it wouldn't be forever. )

Has my lady wife spoken with you yet? Whatever you are feeling, I hope it is not guilt, Solas.

[dirth]

I was wild and uncontrollable.

[ Not something he wants to repeat, given present circumstances. Solas looks more than just a little thoughtful - he looks frustrated, leaning in his chair. ]

I have not. I do not know what I am feeling.

[rowancrowned]

You are wild, ( 'and I am fond of it', goes unsaid. he's the elvenking, with all that entails, bound to a forest soaked through with the blood of his elves and the deceiver's, eating at the edges like mold on toast. )

I would like you less if any of those sort controlled you. ( if solas took orders. if he had yielded, instead of felt the guilt that made him what he was now. )

Unbridled lust, perhaps? ( his brows rise. joking. he sips his drink. ) It was not an unpleasant dream, Solas. What was real was good.

[dirth]

Not like I was. He was a different man. [ A different creature entirely. The stories talk of Fen'Harel and not all of them are true, but the hisses and whispers of a wild and dangerous creature? Those are not entirely off the mark.

He shakes his head, looking up at the ceiling above them and trying to just breathe. It is a struggle. ]

None of it was real, Thranduil. It was a nightmare.

[rowancrowned]

(thranduil flinches. or, rather, he flinches and allows himself to be seen flinching. )

Youth makes us all fools.

( he exhales, and shifts his thinking. he will take a different approach. )

The trappings were— the things that haunt you. The places one goes back to. I dreamed of Doriath. Of my throne. I dreamed—

( does it matter? )

More important, perhaps, was what ought to have not been there. ( impatient. ) Handed power, you dreamt an orgy, not a torture chamber.

[dirth]

Youth makes me a monster.

[ How can he explain thus? That truly was Fen’Harel - what the Dalish imagine from their Dread Wolf. That is not who Solas is, in his heart - it is not what he wants to be. He wishes to save the people, not to destroy them all over again. ]

It was home, but it was tainted. I was the kind of creature that I had never wanted to be.

[ A breath, his hand flexing, almost reaching for Thranduil - ]

It was not an orgy. It was just us.

[rowancrowned]

Out of all of them, you alone made the choice to say no. In the end, you walked away. You perform penance still. I understand you fear what you might be—

( he cuts himself off. why does he always argue this, over and over, when it does not reach solas.

he does not take the hand. he looks at it. )

But it was not ‘real’.

( needlessly cruel, to give solas’ words back. gwenaëlle would not like it. he does not speak to her so, if only after months of training. they communicate.

surely, the lessons is not confined to that relationship alone. )

If you fear him so— why not trust me. I will not allow you to turn into him. And I— I am incorruptible. And my wife is a very good ... voice of reason. Conscience.

[dirth]

I was not one of them. Not in the way that the Dalish believe. It is...

[ Finding the words is hard. He doesn’t know how to express that, not to someone who knows him so deeply and on a level he cannot even imagine explaining. Thranduil knows the truth of him.

More than that, he has accepted him. ]

I trust you enough for that. [ This is easier. This he can cope with, for now. ] You know the things that I must do. My plans for Thedas. I fear I must become more like him before this is over.

[rowancrowned]

Mortal memory? ( thranduil offers. forgetfulness, on an epic scale. he cannot blame the dalish, or any of the elves left. it is not their fault, in the same way children cannot be blamed for many of their own failings.

and all of them will die before time would give them the wisdom due their people.

solas' rejection still stings. )

What changes do you expect?

[dirth]

Mortal desire. Mortal mythos. Mortal understanding. [ The Dalish and their ignorance, their refusal to question their past, what the histories say - Solas does not even care that he is recalled as Fen'Harel, as a Dread Wolf; he cares that slavery and damnation have been forgotten for worship.

Let him be the devil - it would be a worthwhile trade for the truth.

Breathing out, he looks back at his friend, expression softer. Idle hands play with the hair around the jawbone at his neck. ]

I must become cruel. Dangerous. I must accept that these people, made of dreams, must be sacrificed to have the world repaired.

[rowancrowned]

( thranduil watches solas’ hands. the base of his skull itches. )

And what will you do, ( mild as milk. ) when I am no longer there to tell you when your loneliness is making you maudlin and a fool? I know what I am.

( thranduil knows what he’s made of. what he is, in the end.

if he is only a reflection, at least it is a fair one.

he does not ask when.)

[dirth]

I do not know how I shall cope without your voice to tell me of my follies.

[ But his voice is soft and quiet. When he turns to look at his friends it is a glance twinned with the same tenderness he once offered Galadriel, not so long ago.

It is difficult to mask love, no matter what form it takes. ]

I shall carry you with me, always. My memories do not fade and so I shall not lose you to time or death.

[rowancrowned]

Gwenaëlle will pick up my slack, I am sure. ( he grabs the necklace, hooking a finger over the sharp teeth and tugging: pay attention to me. b>)

I am not ( calmly, ) fuel for the fire of your self-loathing, or I will find some way to make myself flesh once more and demand an accounting.

( he lets go. turns contemplative. )

You ought to have been born in Arda.

[dirth]

I have no doubt she has the skill and manner to do so. [ The slight tug is enough to have Solas leaning closer, following the pull of the worn strong around his neck. It is bone and hair together, now, and he knows there is no forgetting.

Solas could not erase this from his mind. How could he? Thranduil is...

Even on his thoughts he bites his tongue. ]

Perhaps I shall do it just the same to encourage your company. [ A soft noise.] why?

[rowancrowned]

Perhaps, instead, we might find a way to manage it that does not involve my death, ( dry. ) for all the trouble my absence will cause.

( fatalism makes one blind. he stands, and twists the ring on his finger, comforted by the presence. ) You could have been a scholar, and left alone to your work. None of this ( he gestures. ) fame or infamy.

[dirth]

That would be most fortunate. [ And, truly, the only reason Thranduil lived through his betrayal. Removing him was more trouble than it might be worth at this stage, even from a purely tactical standpoint.

Solas is foolish, at times, but he is not a fool.

Lifting his head, he looks over at his friend. ] Perhaps. But my People were bound in slavery to would-be Gods. I could not allow it to continue.