[ 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

[dragoon_pride]

Noticing the way the elven man looks at him, Kain doesn't seem as bothered by it as he would have been when he'd first arrived. The natives of Thedas have their own views on dragons as well, and his personal... awe and reverence for them does tend to raise eyebrows in certain company.

Anyway, he shakes his head in answer. "I was just training, and taking a break... I expect I'll return afterward." It's just a habit to bring the weapon along, he's the sort who prefers carrying it most of the time anyway. "I've always favored the scenery up here... this area in particular gives one of the best views."

[rowancrowned]

Between the dragon-adornments and the lance, the Man had certainly made an impression. Thranduil was not sure which would stick with him—perhaps both—nor had he wholly considered which parts of himself might seem odd. He was formed as he ought to be, and dressed well.

He turned to look out over the vista again rather than agree out loud. “We have a training area large enough to host mounted lance work?”

Or did the Man somehow fight unmounted?

[dragoon_pride]

Kain glances over at him for a moment, folding his arms and glancing out at the scenery for a moment.

"Not quite, although we dragoons used to be known for mounted battle in the past. There was a time we once rode dragons into combat." Those days are long lost, and yet Kain has never stopped thinking about the dragoons' glory days. "But my fighting style involves jumping to heights most cannot reach, and striking from above. The lance has the perfect reach for such combat. I'm always willing to demonstrate."

After all, he's found that most people have nothing like dragoons on their various worlds, and certainly not in Thedas.

[rowancrowned]

Certainly, Arda has nothing the least bit like that, and Thranduil, for once, was not keen to learn exactly what such a style entailed. The Man certainly looked as if he would have difficulties getting through a door with a lance strapped to his back, and the force required to hit successfully with--

He stopped himself, and neatly tucked his hands into opposite sleeves of his robes, to keep the chill from his fingertips.

"And whom do you serve? Whom do these 'dragoons' serve?"

[dragoon_pride]

"I'm not from this world, of course," Kain realizes he needs to add that in. The natives have very different ideas about dragons than he does, and what he's seen of it in their histories gives him a really good idea of why that is. He needs to be more cautious, he knows. But it's difficult to balance his pride along with that sense of care. "But we dragoons serve the King of Baron, and have done so for centuries. We're sworn to protect our king and homeland."

Kain gestures off toward the scenery in the distance. "But that world is a long way off from this one. Here, I only serve the Inquisition."