[ 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

Great Hall

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne found the Great Hall unnerving, most of the time. Too many scents, too many of them still strange. As hard as she tried to familiarize herself with Thedas and its inhabitants, it still continued to surprise her. Not that she was getting overwhelmed but...well...maybe she was getting overwhelmed. All the more reason why she only came to the Great Hall when there were only a few people around.

That and because fewer people meant fewer people watching her as she quietly moved from table to take, picking up the leftovers off of people's plates. A roll here. A strip of dried meat there. She was careful and unobtrusive, only taking what no one would really miss.

If her bag bulged, well, it was no matter. Most people didn't see the bag when they saw Ariadne. They saw the long rope of braided hair, hanging past her hips. They saw gray eyes, widen and innocent, flashing like silver coins. They saw the facsimile of a Human face, just a little too perfect to be real.

Well. Most people saw that, anyway. But not everyone.

ii

[serannas]

It was in Ellana's nature to be helpful where and how she could. She was always willing to lend a hand to those who needed it, and thankfully there were people in the world who weren't too proud to accept the aid of an elf. On this day, she wasn't exactly searching for a way to be useful, but when she came out onto the battlements to see the tall elf with small, pointed ears, her heart leapt. Could this man be from Galadriel's world too?

"Hello," she greeted gently. "Or would the phrase 'Mae govannen' mean anything to you?"

The Ramparts

[thelastking]

The first inkling of dawn prompted Aragorn to wake. He had settled here within the battlements to keep watch somewhere between his diligent survey of the Frostback Mountains and his shrouded thoughts, Aragorn fallen asleep. If it hadn't been a combination of the first sign of sunlight and that slight yawn, he probably would've slept a little longer. Mostly obscured from view, Aragorn took a moment to rub his aching eyes before glancing towards the direction of the yawn. What he had expected to find there was a guard or soldier, not this fair being blessed with Ilúvatar's grace.

Sheer disbelief lingered within Aragorn's gaze as he stared at the other with a hint of surprise. The Elves of Thedas were mostly short and squat little people. Half of them resembled men more so than Elves but they seemed to have longer ears than those hailing from Middle-Earth. So color his surprise to see the King of the Woodland Realm standing there in place of these Dalish Elves. Aragorn almost couldn't believe his eyes. "Lord Thranduil." It's been years since he last laid eyes on the Elvenking but Aragorn was quite aware of his identity. Legolas's likeness to his father was utterly telling and he could spot that familiar likeness in Thranduil easily.

Dressed plainly in his usual dark brown long-coat and hunting attire, Aragorn approached the Elvenking slowly. The nature of their encounter was shocking enough without him startling the Elf.

[rowancrowned]

He was on the verge of considering most of the meats a lost cause. To one who was accustomed to game, the marbled fat of these beasts was disgusting, greasy on his tongue and nearly impalpable. But, as he now required food as much as he needed to—sleep, as disconcerting as it was, he needed to become accustomed to it.

Seven thousand years had given him a serene and near absolute control over his expression. For now, he took a healthy sip of wine after every bite. He ought to see if Legolas could be persuaded to go hunting. Not in the nearby area. Doubtless, the great mass of Men living nearby had either frightened them away or over-hunted them. But he was not inclined to allow Legolas so far from him after so recently recovering him.

The sound of his knife and fork on the tin plate as he began sawing his way through a new piece of meat was loss to the bustle of the hall.

[demonicbeauty]

Lost to most of the hall, anyway. For some reason, Ariadne picked up the sound of someone cutting. And it was then, as she turned in that direction, that she noticed a new scent, one she hadn't encountered before.

But why? He looked just like any of the Elves she'd seen in Thedas. In fact, he looked like the Elves from back home too. Especially with the long hair.

Yet her eyes instinctively shifted down to his hand and she saw it. The same mark that branded her as an outsider. A new outsider. Now that was cause for curiosity.

Hesitantly, she started to move closer to his table, lifting a stray bite of food here and there. Her thread was light; she carried herself like a bird. Her head even canted slightly to the side as she looked him up and down.

ramparts.

[trouvaille]

Gwenaëlle hadn't exactly not anticipated finding company here. Skyhold is a lot of things, but a bastion of people's privacy is not one of them; there isn't really enough space for everyone, and they're a stronghold in the middle of what is arguably a most confusing war. There are probably men and women on watch, up here, and -

Thranduil is still a bit of a surprise. Conceptually. She isn't sure what to make of these strange, foreign elves that are just allowed to go about, being - strange, foreign, and elves. As if rifts that spit out demons weren't enough. (They were. For the record. There are newly healed and still-angry scars that begin in her decolletage, where the rage demon caught her with its claws, and she is nearly so tired but what keeps her awake nights now is fear. She sees fire when she closes her eyes, and the chill in the air on the ramparts is just the cold comfort she desires. Maybe it will linger when she leaves, and let her rest.)

With her hands tucked in her fur-lined muff, she wanders nearer, a little. Maybe if she looks like she has company, she won't be shooed away so quickly by those that are up here to a purpose beyond observing the sunset.

[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?"

[rowancrowned]

Despite his fatigue, he managed a incline of his head and a smile. For kin, he would gather himself as best as he was able. What he had learned of the state of the Quendi in the short time here was alarming.

"Only recently, my lady." He turned away from the wall, and tucked his hands into opposite sleeves, the yards upon yard of his robe allowing easy storage and a multitude of hidden pockets. The long train of the robe was pinned up, and so the hem only whispered against the ground as he stepped closer. "I am afraid I am only recently arrived, and have not had a chance to learn the tongue of my kin in this world."

[serannas]

His garment was as fancy as anything she recently saw Orlesian nobles wear to the soiree. They balked at the fine dress she had made for the event, because here elves were lowly and undeserving of such finery. What would they have made of him?

"I learned the words from Lady Galadriel," she explained. "Though we are both elves, there are some differences between us. I've been teaching her our version of elven in return. Dalish elves say 'aneth ara' as a greeting, for instance." A smile comes to her face. "You and she are far taller than any elves here, that's for sure. My name is Ellana. I hope the Inquisition has been helping you become accustomed to this place?"

Great Hall

[gatheringstorm]

After time well-spent training in the courtyard, Korrin has worked up a sizable appetite. She wastes no time in assembling her own plate, the horned woman moving with the ease of someone who never has to worry about getting in others' way...mostly because they see her coming first and wisely move aside. That tends to happen when she's a foot taller or so than most human men.

As the Vashoth woman settles down, she glances over to the elf seated across from her with some curiosity. It's as much his activities as his unusual height -too tall to be a Thedosian elf, and with ears smaller than native kin- that gets her attention, and her eyes stray to his assembled sampling. That so little seems to pass inspection is noted, though she doesn't seem inclined to pass judgment. Skyhold can be pretty hit-or-miss when it comes to her own tastes, a mix of what's best -and worst- of Orlesian and Fereldan cuisine.

Pouring herself some wine, she nods over to a fresh plate of goods set down by the staff. "You might like the hearth cakes. That's the one thing I can always trust them to get right here." She'll snag a few for her own plate, without missing a beat. "The banana bread is...passable, but southerners never seem to get it quite right."

[rowancrowned]

He did not shift his stance to make room. There was a good deal of space, and no reason to give ground. When she came closer, he turned his head to glance at her, catalogue her clothes. Then he was free to turn his attention back to the setting sun, and the stars as they came out.

Elbereth was with them, even here. He was able to draw less comfort from it than he expected.

She came nearer, but did not intrude, and for that he was appreciative, sparing her one more glance before continuing his silent vigil.

[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]

The horned—well, they were not Men, but he was not sure what they were. They resembled the yrch, but malice poured from them as much as it did from any mortal. Which was to say, no more than normal, and not at an alarming level.

He kept his response polite, if measured, inviting further conversation but not too much familiarity. The horns, despite his observations, still provoke unease and discomfort.

He hid it behind a placid enough expression, neatly carving his meat with his knife and fork held just-so. “Hearth-cakes? I am afraid I am not familiar with the term.” A quick survey of her plate reveals something small and round and quite possibly what she is referring to. He made a note to add it to his next plate.

[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.

[rowancrowned]

".... Galadriel." He said it carefully, enunciating every syllable, so there could be no chance of misunderstanding or mishearing the name. "The Lady Galadriel is here?"

He caught on that to the loss of everything else she said, beyond perhaps her name. But that one thing was very, very important, and he regarded her with a much more critical eye, stepping closer. "Where is the Lady? I desire to speak with her. Why she has concealed her presence here is of great interest to me."

Thranduil paused, and added on: "Please, Ellana."

[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.

[serannas]

Oh, this was a topic that pained her to speak of, because despite their efforts, Galadriel was still under arrest. A woman so full of light left to languish first in a dark cell and then stuck in a room without visitors was such an affront to many of the elves at Skyhold.

Her eyes lowered in frustration for the situation.

"Seeker Pentaghast responded unfairly when Galadriel said she would not swear an oath to the Inquisition, and has imprisoned her. My people made a formal request to release her, but the Seeker wouldn't budge." Her eyes lifted, showing that instead of acceptance at this news, she was still angry and close to defiant. The next step would be to speak to Cassandra in person, to make her understand how bad this looked for the Inquisition. Not only was Galadriel an elf and a mage -- two persecuted groups in Thedas -- but she was a rifter as well. What message did it send to the only people in Thedas who could close the rifts that they would be imprisoned for the slightest offense?

"At first, she was allowed visitors. Now they've taken even that from her."

Library

[ombranera]

Finding new and exciting smutty Antivan novels for Merrill to read with him (it was a darling habit by now and one he was not ready to break) took a bit of time and digging- as they kept being moved about the library by either the Tranquil categorizing such things by language, Merrill herself when she was 'hiding them to find later', Varric to keep him from reading said books with Merrill, or others hiding them to find later.

If they only had a dedicated shelf for such things, this would happen less. This being one half of a two part series on a shelf high where Zevran could not quite reach (but he managed) the other somewhere else. Which happened to be on a shelf behind a rather serious looking fellow bent over his notes. "Ah- excuse me."

Slim as he was, he still could not quite get around him without bumping something- if there was ink involved? Better to not bump. "If I could get by for a moment?"

[gatheringstorm]

Any attention given her horns is met with no surprise or discomfort on Korrin's part. Despite the abundance of elves and humans in other worlds, she has yet to learn of her kind having a presence anywhere else but this one. So, that she's a new and weird sight for rifters is taken in stride. She doesn't have the time or energy to get offended about that sort of thing, unless they go out of their way to make it so.

Korrin picks up one of the hearth cakes, tilting them for a better look. "It's a Dalish recipe; flour, sugar, dried fruit, and some spices. None of the cooks are Dalish, but I wouldn't be surprised if some of the clanspeople here passed it on to them. It's a nice reprieve from bland Fereldan dishes, at any rate."

[trouvaille]

Her clothing speaks to privilege; finely made in quality fabrics, tailored to her shape, petticoats thickening the skirts of her dress and protecting her some from the chill wind. She's not quite in step with the prevailing Orlesian fashions of pale palettes and bright accents, in dark chestnut brown and hints of purple, and a set of reading glasses hangs from a chain at her waist. Her cloak isn't pulled tight and the hood hangs loose, as does her hair - there are a great many details to take in, if he cares to.

Her own curiosity is sidelong but frank, for that; the emerging stars aren't so interesting she isn't tempted to study him. She's restrained, though, at least for a time - for some time, enough it seems she might say nothing at all before she goes.

"You are very tall." For an elf.

He is, though. Her voice has a very slight hint of critique in it, for being one of her 'observations' - what business do elves have being so tall, and broad, and

other things she isn't accustomed to associating with them.

Ramparts

[dragoon_pride]

Although he comes up here for solitude, Kain is finding that he does seem to come across people pretty often whenever wandering along the ramparts. He's not the only one who enjoys the heights, the perspective that comes from standing high up and staring wistfully down below.

The man approaching is fully armored, the helmet on his head with a distinct draconic appearance. He carries a lance upon his back. Kain looks every bit the warrior, walking tall and confidently along.

He glances over toward the other man as he approaches. "Greetings."

[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.”

[rowancrowned]

Thranduil looked up, and offered a small smiled, nodding once. Only when he looked over the mess of papers he had assembled did he truly realize how far he had spread, and how much he needed to call everything to center.

It was little work to shuffle the papers together, and then pull his seat away from the desk. They were in a library; obviously the other elf wanted access to the shelf of books. The ink was capped as a final thought, and in a sweep of silk and brocade, Thranduil stepped away, his focus on Zevran and how he moved rather than on his papers. He looked old, in a way that elves should not, but that was not the sort of question one began conversations with.

[rowancrowned]

A basic enough recipe, the sort of thing one might find commonly in kitchens. It looked inoffensive enough, and like it would keep well. Perhaps he ought to smuggle a few out. There was a mice problem in the hold, one the Men seemed content to ignore—or even refuse to acknowledge.

“I cannot yet place cuisine by region, I am afraid.” This was a conversation he would much rather have with another elf, but there was none around. Thranduil nudged the plate half a handspan or to closer to Korrin with a finger. “Would you identify these for me?”

[ombranera]

"Grazie." Zevran offered a quick dip of his head before slipping past and leaning up on his toes to fetch the book in question. The cover was innocuous enough, at least until one looked close at the shapes the curls of embossed gold ivy twined about on the leather created. Not quite so blatant as the printed images within but more than enough to be suggestive.

Merrill would adore it.

Smiling over the thought did cause the crinkles at the corner of his visible eye, the other safely hidden behind a leather patch, deepen all the more. "You would think someone would not want these books found, how they get shelved about."