faderift | [ open ] pardon me for my lack of excitement

Entry tags:

[ open ] pardon me for my lack of excitement

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.

Threaded | Flat

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.

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 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.

Edited (minor edit) 2016-03-25 17:58 (UTC)

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.

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."

Edited 2016-03-25 19:28 (UTC)

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?"

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."

Mornings were always busy for him. Up early to continue some lessons or to help others with theirs in the gardens. Checking up on some patients in the tents, making sure a bone had set, or healing an injury. If he had time he often slipped in a bit of practice in the training ring as well. With so many things going on it's no wonder that he has an appetite when the time for food comes.

Once he's selected some bread, meat, cheese and various fruits Sam slips into the first available seat he can find, wanting to get off his feet and enjoy his meal. Before he even starts though Sam stops, eyes taking notice of the figure sitting before him. It's his features that catch his eye mostly - the long hair, the pointed ears, his height, and how he just carries himself in general - but it's the way the man is looking down at his plate that has Sam looking down and raising a brow at the varying amount of foods on the plate.

"Trying everything so you know what to get next time?"

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Great Hall

ii

The Ramparts

ramparts.

Great Hall

Library

Ramparts

Great Hall