all hail the new kids

[parkourprince]

WHO: Legolas & whoever wants to meet him o/
WHAT: Legolas's first week in Skyhold.
WHEN: Starting the arrival of new Rifters at Skyhold and spanning about a week. All these elves, man.
WHERE: All over.
NOTES: No warnings! If you'd rather a specific prompt, you can hit me up in a PM or a pplurk @ perfectassassin

( arrival. )
Legolas arrived to Skyhold not only with the other "Rifters," but also with a pony tagging along in his wake and not particularly willing to be parted from him, not even, it seemed, for the stables. They made quite the sight, a tall elf and a short pony, so, so clearly not of this world, neither pleased nor impressed to be where he was.

( exploring. )
There were things to do first, when no other task occupied him in this new place, of course he had to explore and familiarise himself with this fortress that was, whether willingly or not, to become his home from now on. He was wandering the halls and courtyard, perhaps needing to be guided away from certain parts that are not freely available, and especially not to the Rifters. It did not help that he did not part with his weapons, the long white knife still strapped to his waist, the quiver full of arrows and bow still at his back.

( archery range. )
The white war bow felt as much a part of him as his hair and fingernails, as his arms and legs, and so it felt as natural as breathing to bend it, nock an arrow to the string and send it flying at the mark. Unmoving, unchallenging, boring, but much like breathing was always, this was not always about being challenging. It cleared his mind, it soothed some nerves.

He held a handful of arrows in his hand, a couple lodged in the mark already, and in a quick succession, barely noticeable to the naked eye, he shoot the remaining arrows. Thud, thud, thud, they all hit exactly where he intended. There was enough space for two fingers between each, all in a straight line in the very middle of the mark post. There were more arrows in his quiver, but Legolas still jogged up to grab those he shoot: those were good for practise, the shafts made of wood he found in the surrounding forests, the arrowheads made of bone, and fletching with whatever feathers he could find, very mismatched.

After he was satisfied - the post he was using all but shredded to splinters -, he spent a fair amount of time cleaning his gear. The bow, the string, the arrows, and his knife as well even though he had not used it. This was a foreign place, that he was but beginning to learn all about, his weapons had to be in top shape at all times. Just in case.

Though exhaustion was quick to catch on, now that he was capable of feeling it quite this way. Calmed nerves opened the doors to drowsiness, when he was already tired, and he might have fallen asleep where he sat whetting his knife. Head bowed, long hair framing his face.

( ooc: three options here: while he's shooting, while his cleaning, while he's dozing off! Also the shooting is what Lars Andersen uses, so think this. It's super fast, plus it's basically one gesture of nocking the arrow and releasing it, instead of three. )

( library. )
The library, unfortunately, quickly turned out to be rather useless, at least in this moment in time. While he knew the commonly used language of the folk of this world, their letters were still for the most part foreign. Legolas sought out maps, he sought out anything that he could understand with his currently limited knowledge. Curiously, some books he had found had notes written in them, things scratched out or added, but all of them were in a similarly incomprehensible alphabet.

It was one of such that he was trying to decipher, taken by the curiosity to find out just what those notes said, when another bout of exhaustion took him. He fell asleep, sitting with his back resting against one bookshelf, long legs stretched out before him, crossed at the ankle.

At the very least, he did not disturb the dead silence of the place with snoring.

( for: thranduil. )
There was a measly couch in the room they shared, and this couch was exactly what they were currently occupying. Thranduil seated properly, while Legolas himself stretched across the length of it and used his father's lap as a pillow. Their exhaustion was clear at a first glance, sluggish motions, droopy eyes and slow conversation interspersed with yawns.

Still, neither of them gave in.

Legolas bit back a yawn, swallowed it whole stubbornly and he caught himself reaching to rub at his eyes. The hand in his hair, petting, playing with the strands, was not making staying awake much easier, apparently. It wasn't the first time, but it still wasn't a particularly easy thing to do at all: simply allowing himself to fall into the darkness of sleep. Not even when he felt as safe and as content as he only could be in this place.

Instead of giving in, Legolas hummed a song under his breath. It helped a little to stay awake, at least to him, having to focus on the words and the melody.

( for: aragorn. )
Even with all the people in Skyhold, it was thankfully not too terribly difficult to find a private spot or another. There were parts of the ramparts that did not have any guard posts, out of the earshot of all and with a nice view of the surrounding areas to boot. The air was crisp still, but thankfully Legolas managed to procure a cloak warmer than his clothing was originally. It kept him warm well enough, which was a strange consideration after a lifetime of never having had to worry about it.

"As you suspect, my friend, I do wish to hear all of it," if Aragorn had been here for a time already, surely he had learned a lot. Legolas wanted to hear all of it. "I have but thin threads, too little and tangled too greatly to comprehend this world." Things overheard on their journey from the Dales to the Skyhold, things witnessed, things he was told and things he figured out himself.

( for: martel. )
It was one thing to just hear about it, but it was something entirely else to actually experience it first hand: the discrimination, disrespect and general poor treatment of the elves in Thedas. Even with how vastly he differed from the native elves, it did not spare him the mistreatment, all the more so as he did not hide who and what he were. The elegant point of his ear was in full sight of all, with his hair drawn back by braids, and he admitted to it freely.

There was no shame at all in being an elf, but there was plenty of pride — pride and joy, Legolas had not once in his life wished to be something or someone else — in it instead. So he made himself deaf to the snide and rude comments occasionally thrown in his direction, when he dared to foray into spaces primarily occupied by the Men, who, truth be told, all too often acted more akin to orcs than Men. Yet while words were nothing but hot air puffed out of foul mouths, actions were something else entirely and those were harder to ignore—

Especially when he got cornered and, worse yet, touched on the elbow or hip, or anywhere at all really, along with those leery remarks. Legolas stood his ground, deadly calm at first and staring coolly, no matter how revolting the stench of ale mixed with sweat was to his nose. He had his bow and arrows, which there was not enough space to use, but he also had his knife.

But first things first: he grabbed the man's hand in his own, grip firm, painfully so, and he twisted it away from himself, much to the man's surprise, alarm and in seconds also despair. "First, you will be parted with your hands, so no elf ever again will suffer their touch," Legolas spoke slowly, clearly, and he squeezed harder the palm he held, verging now on breaking the fragile bones, while his other hand reached for the knife at his side, "Then, you will be parted with your tongue, so you will no longer be able to spew such filth."

( for: solas. )
It was something Legolas noticed quickly, the more tired he would grow, the longer these halls seemed as he walked them now and again to just explore and learn. His steps would barely carry him closer to his goals, feet heavy as if laden with iron and stone. Still, he carried himself with the usual grace of his folk, only slow, as if was the land of dreams he was walking and not reality, with half-lidded eyes and distracted gaze.

It was a miracle, sometimes, that he would reach the places that he wanted to go to, or return to his father's side after the night fell, when he got like this.

Legolas caught a yawn, quelled it almost violently with a involuntary nose wrinkle and a little frown to the set of his lips. But the sigh that followed he allowed himself. Chilly gust of breeze brushed past him, making him shiver but not quite drawing him out of this sleepy stupor. He was far too gone, though he was still attentive enough to catch some motion with the corner of his eye — outside, he stopped to look out of the window — but he never saw what it was, a bird more than likely, because darkness took him then: his eyes fell closed, his body went lax.

( for: galadriel. )
Legolas knew better than to ask openly, not more than was proper for concerned kin that is, but he kept his ears open and he guided conversations in just the right directions. And it wasn't all that difficult to find out the part of the building, and after that: the exact room where Galadriel was held. No longer a cell, oddly so. After all there were very few, or really, none other, rooms with guards stationed at the door, or with the sole window looking out also watched by another pair of eyes.

Two ways in, both watched, and as far as he knew, Galadriel was not allowed visitors. No doubt, they'd dig their heels in if an elf of her world, that knew her, that had care for her, tried to see her. And, more than that, it'd likely put him under a much greater scrutiny and that was something Legolas would rather avoid at all cost.

In the end he opted for the halls, at night — after having rested well, earlier in the day himself — a fair amount of time before the guards changed their shifts. It was an hour when all that the Men needed was a gentle tug towards the darkness of sleep, when already drowsy after a duty filled, yet boring day. Yawn one, then another, one guard rubbed at his eyes, while the other was slowly sliding down to the floor, back on the wall. It scraped, grated for a couple of seconds, and then all was silent again. Neither could later attribute their failure to stay awake to the indistinct whispers that stole into their ears.

Legolas stepped silently over a pair of legs stretched across the hallway, the guard's chest rising slowly with each breath taken, chin drooped. The other guard was in a similar position, but head tipped back instead and... snoring. The door made a noise when opened, but thankfully not loudly enough to bring attention to itself or wake up anyone that should stay asleep. He was quick with it anyway, open the door, get in, close it behind him softly.

Comments

[parkourprince]

The teasing did earn her a grin, broad and, perhaps unexpectedly, pleased.

“Ah, not even I would claim to possess that many skills in this one field, indeed!” The words were laced with laughter, soft and very much mirthful. “But I fear you may have awoken the great curiosity to count exactly how many I possess, and how many there could be at all?” And as all knew, curiosity could be a terrible, terrible thing, especially for one who could only barely resist it.

“Unfortunately, those years of youth are long, long past me now,” and yet, did he act it at all? Not very often, and probably not right now. “But ‘tis a great compliment to hear, just as well, that the brightness of a youthful leaf remains with me.”

[bookish_lioness]

She appreciated the fact that he could go along with her commentary with a laugh, since that helped ensure that she wasn't simply prattling on. That was good. Hermione hated prattling, especially when it wasn't even to do with anything academic in nature.

Before she could answer him, she realized exactly what he was saying to her, and she hesitated, looking at him curiously. Years of youth? She'd been being sarcastic, but he seemed to be implying that he was actually hundreds of years old. Granted, she didn't know how old most elves in Thedas were, or how long they lived, so she didn't know whether or not he was pulling her leg or being wholly honest.

"You're not joking?" she asked, tilting her head as she looked him over inquisitively. "Just how long is the natural lifespan of an elf, if I may ask?" Witches and wizards lived a little longer than Muggles, but even they usually didn't last more than a few years past their centennial.

[parkourprince]

“Here? I do not know quite yet, myself and my Thedas kin, we are different,” at times it seemed vastly so. But those were only observations of a couple of days at best, he still needed much, much more time to decide on anything for certain, and most certainly needed to grow to know the elves of Thedas better. “At eighty, we reach adulthood, and from that moment onwards… the life will be as long as Arda’s for we are bound to it, and though the flesh may be slain, the spirit never will be.”

Fëa, hröa, he avoided using such specific terms that came from their language. Here, for most, they would be unknown and make little sense.

“I have lived eight hundred years, and weariness or … boredom are so far from my mind it is beyond comprehension.”

Then there was his father, nearing almost eight thousand, and the Lady Galadriel older than the Sun and the Moon themselves.

[bookish_lioness]

"Oh! So you're not...?" Realizing her mistake, Hermione smiled sheepishly and quickly decided it was best to apologize for simply making sweeping generalizations about elves. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you weren't from around here! Please don't take offense."

She wasn't sure what Arda was, but she more or less got the gist of what he was saying: he was old, and there was virtually no limit to how old he would get, so long as he didn't go and get himself killed.

"The elves from my world live much longer than humans, but even then, it's only about two hundred years or so. But then, they're also much smaller than you. And much different in general, really. That's why I assumed you were one of Thedas' elves, given the closer resemblance."

[parkourprince]

To truly offend him, anyone would have had to try much, much harder than that. Though, truth be told, many Men and Women of Thedas were quite capable in that regard, it was quite a few times already that he had lost his temper entirely here. Something that was ever difficult to spark in Middle-Earth.

"Fret not, there is no offense to be taken from such a mistake," for someone unaccustomed to elves like himself, and even the elves of Thedas, it wasn't surprising. Though to Legolas himself, only the upturned points of their ears were the only similarity, and even that differed between them. "They are as much elves as am I, after all, despite the differences between us.

"It is curious, however, to hear there are elves in yet another ... world," that phrase, it still felt awkward in his mouth, still too unfamiliar and difficult to believe, even though he walked in a world wholly different from his own. "And so different, as you say. Would you tell me more of them?"

[bookish_lioness]

"Oh!" Hermione started, trying to think of the best way to describe the elves she knew without potentially making things uncomfortable. After all, while she'd never been ashamed of the elves she'd come to know of as friends, she understood that the elves of Thedas were generally much prouder than the oft-groveling house-elves from her world.

"Well... they're about so high," she began, gesturing to about her waist. "They have large ears - I don't mean pointed, though they usually are, but just overall large - and large eyes and noses as well. They-... well, you have to understand that they have a bit of an unfortunate history, one that isn't very well understood but I'd like to change that in the future. More often than not, they're in the service of wizarding families, and while some people are very nice to them, many people see them as little more than slaves, abusing them terribly. And the majority of the elves, supposedly, enjoy their servitude, but I think that's just a load of rot, the result of generations of brainwashing and accepting their slavery as their lot in life. Some people think they just like to feel useful and so shouldn't be denied that pleasure, but I think it should be entirely up to the elf in question whether or not he or she wants to put the kettle on for guests, or some such thing. At the very least, they should be adequately paid to be compensated for their trouble, and given the same sorts of benefits and such that any other sort of gainfully employed individual has."

She realized that she was going off on a tangent, and it was wholly possible that not all of that made sense, but it was only now that she finally managed to stop herself, huffing softly as she thought back to all the irritation and outright anger the mistreatment of elves had given her over the years.

"I'm sorry, that was quite a bit to throw out at you for a start. I'm just... I'm very fond of the elves I know back home, and one of them... he died. Protecting my friends and me." After a pause to set her jaw so she wouldn't end up getting emotional, Hermione shook her head and remarked, "I just don't understand why it seems like there isn't any place that can treat elves with the decency they deserve. I hope you come from such a place, at least."

[parkourprince]

It was, indeed, a lot, and some of it a little confusing, all the same Legolas thought he understood the gist of the matter, the thing that she wanted to convey. They differed greatly, in appearance and attitude and history. But, it seems, they were still kind, in spite of all of that had befallen them as people. Legolas listened intently, nodding even when he couldn't wholly comprehend one aspect or another, these little things were not big enough to throw him off of the right track.

There was sadness in all of it, though, and she voiced a similar thought that lingered in Legolas's own mind: was Arda truly the sole world where elves lived free, respected and revered? Feared, even, but no other folk — other than the filth of Morgoth and Sauron — ever dared to raise their blades against them.

"There is not one attitude towards the elves, where I come from," he began, "We are... feared, we are respected and revered, and hated only by the filth of the Dark, the scattered servants of Morgoth and Sauron, both of whom had been defeated. We have not known slavery in our lives, though we had known great violence and pain, all the same, brought by the hands of those enemies, yet also...," it pained him to admit that, but it was the truth of the matters, "other elves."

He shook his head, brushing aside those sad thoughts.

"But that is all in the past now," and in his time, Middle Earth and its future looked bright again, "and the time of elves among the free folk is ending, most of my kin has sailed already to where no such grievances will ever touch upon us again."

[bookish_lioness]

If nothing else, at least he hadn't gotten immediately defensive when she mentioned that elves were largely slaves to wizarding families, but then, he likely hadn't pegged her for being part of the wizarding community herself. Luckily, her own family was comprised of Muggles, so they wouldn't even know what to do with an elf if one ended up in their home and insisted on scrubbing the floors. At least that was one good thing Hermione could take away from being Muggle-born.

She didn't know who or what Morgoth and Sauron were, but from the sounds of it, this elf's world was much better off than hers or even Thedas was, at least in their treatment of elves. "Then there is a world where elves are respected and well-treated? Oh, that's wonderful! I'd been beginning to think that being treated poorly was just their lot in life regardless of where that life was being lived; I couldn't understand it, really, especially not after meeting the much more independent elves of Thedas."

Hermione paused, then, frowning a little at the last thing he said. "What do you mean, 'the time of elves among the free folk is ending'? You say it as though it's a good thing, but that sounds like you're willingly giving up your freedom."