[ open ] pardon me for my lack of excitement

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Thranduil & you!
WHAT: Three prompts following Thranduil's arrival in Skyhold.
WHEN: Within three-four days of the newest group of rifters' arrival at Skyhold.
WHERE: Library, Ramparts, Great Hall.
NOTES: No warnings. All in prose, but a switch to brackets is possible.

i. LIBRARY
His lips did not move as he worked over a page. At his right hand sat an inkwell and quill; the paper beneath covered with small, tight tengwar characters. The book before him was a well-loved copy of The Seer’s Yarn, the page open to something entitled ‘Pain and Bane’, and Thranduil had carefully copied out the verses on his paper.

The letters were well-formed, but not fluid. They were an exact duplicate of the page of the children’s book. A few of the words had something in those odd-seeming letters below them- an attempt at a translation, when he could borrow someone to read out the poem to him or translate specific words.

It was a shame to be surrounded by all these books, some of them doubtlessly containing the answers to his questions and to be unable to read them. Clearly, he intended to remedy that as soon as possible.

ii. RAMPARTS
Elves did not sleep. It was not in their biology, they were not designed to need it, and since his arrival, he had managed thus far to avoid it. Three nights without sleep had not affected his looks. Indeed, there were no bags under his eyes, his skin yet flawless and fair. But, as he looked over the beautiful vista, the fur of his hooded cloak shivering in the wind, Thranduil somehow yawned.

And promptly grimaced, his hands tightening on the stone of the ramparts. The sun was below the horizon, the pale light of sunset yet lighting enough of the sky that the torches were not yet. Legolas was safe in their room. He had found sleep by running himself to exhaustion. Thranduil was not inclined to go the same way.

The door to the rooms at the closest tower shut, and his gaze moved from the mountains in the distance to the new arrival. He did not speak—rather, he watched.

iii. GREAT HALL
The plate before the tall elf was not interesting for the amount of food on it. It was full, yes, but not with more than a bite or two of everything on offer for the soldiers, diplomats, and various other people fed here. Thranduil had assembled more of a sampling than a meal, and was working methodically through what was on offer to determine what tasted good—so far, two types of jam and a cheese—and what did not—everything else.

He picked at everything, keeping the distaste to himself when it came upon him. Any irritation was present in how his fingers moved, how they flicked or paused before taking a new item.

When he had arrived, the table had been bare. Now, as the time dragged on, it began to fill. He was not too surprised when someone took the seat across from him, and began their own meal.

 

Comments

[rowancrowned]

Despite that familiar address, he recognized not the Man before him. Perhaps a Man of Dale or Laketown-that-Was? They were the only mortals he interacted with any regularity, and the only ones who would have knowledge of his face. Alternatively, perhaps, and this was less likely, some image of him had escaped from his forest. Elrond was more likely to welcome mortals into his court, and doubtless there was some picture of him lying about in the Last Homely House.

“I am afraid I cannot extend you the same courtesy.” He did turn, and cock his head, curious. “How is it that you come to know my name?"

[thelastking]

Aragorn has been confused before for a man of Laketown or Dale. Not many in Middle-Earth still knew of the Dúnedain and ever fewer knew of their ties to Númenóreans. He's not too surprised that Thranduil didn't know him especially since Aragorn never once met him in person. Though, he knew of him well enough from all that Legolas had said about his kingly father. There's a ton of lore surrounding the Elvenking to paint a rather vivid portrait of Thranduil. Most of the stories revolving the King of Mirkwood aren't very kind if told by a Dwarf but Aragorn reserved his judgment on those tales.

"While we have never met, I heard much about you from others." He answered quietly. "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn." Aragorn couldn't help but wonder how much weight his father's name truly carried in his heyday. "I served as squire to Lord Elrond of Rivendell for a time." A lengthy explanation but one that would undoubtedly suffice.

[rowancrowned]

"You knew my name from my face alone-" and if that was not suspicious, nothing else was. He bore no crest, no crown, no seal-ring of his forest about his finger. "I would know how."

Elrond's name was bandied about, as was the Man's own, but Thranduil paid it little mind, even as his gaze grew cold and his back straighter. Names were names, and easily learned and dropped. Elrond had a Man for a squire- a whelp of a Man- but that was not a secret. Not really.

Suspicion had kept he and his people safe for many an Age. He would not abandon it now.

[thelastking]

A healthy dose of suspicion goes a long way. That much is certain given their current plight. Being whisked away to some foreign land would honestly put anyone on edge, especially someone of Thranduil's stature. This was why Aragorn doesn't question it. Even he would be quite suspicious if anyone knew of him by appearance. The ranger took great strides to conceal his identity over the years and Thranduil certainly doesn't look much like the Elvenking here now.

Therefore, Aragorn indulged his wariness with another answer; one that might cool that cautious disbelief. "I've heard much about you from your son." The ranger stated. "Legolas bears your resemblance quite well." The thought of Thranduil hailing from a slightly different time period hasn't crossed Aragorn's mind as of yet. So far Galadriel recognized him well enough and despite learning of Sam's appearance in Thedas, Aragorn has yet to meet the hobbit in person. The question as of how any of them managed to arrive here to Thedas was lost on Aragorn. He originally thought all of this to be some kind of strange dream but this was too real to be a dream.

[rowancrowned]

If Aragorn had been hoping to cool his ire, he had taken the wrong path. Thranduil was protective of his son. But his tone stayed cool, if clipped—anger and annoyance always in check—rather than warming at the mention of Legolas’ name, it was only for concern, rather than any personal dislike of Aragorn. He hardly knew the man, certainly no more than having just a bare first impression.

“My son is terribly adventurous. I am curious as to where you met him.” Men tended to be informal anyway, but considering how Legolas had mentioned the whole-- adventure, he would term it, for the sake of his own sanity, and so he did not have to consider the scope of the entire mess and doubtless, how many times Legolas had nearly died. “Though I must note that I do not see much resemblance. He takes after his mother, to my eyes.”