[ It's been a little time since they'd all returned to Kirkwall and Six has realised it might be some good idea to check in on the people she had met before; that is what brings her to message Iorveth. ]
[ comes the dry, flat answer, and Iorveth sounds almost like he'd just woken up. Truth was, he'd been sitting up in a tree, reading, and about to doze off. ]
Nothing like civilization to make one weary of peace in a handful of days. [ which is a joke. mostly. ] You?
[Kylo wasn't sure how wise it was to even meet out in the open, and yet he comes where Iorveth has requested. He was careful to avoid interacting with any natives on his way there, feeling too raw from his earlier exchanges that had culminated this week.
When he arrives, he takes in the plant life that had been added, having heard about the memorial where the Chantry had once stood. He can almost feel remnants of it, echoes within the Force of the lives that had once been here. As he got closer to the gardens the louder the energy got, whipping out against him like a soundless scream. He did his best to ignore it. This place, while it had become a memorial, felt akin to a graveyard full of ghosts. It was like a tear within the Force and made him feel uneasy as a result. Iorveth might not understand if he explained so he keeps his expression neutral, if a bit serious.]
Do you come here for the view?
[He's making somewhat a sarcastic remark, not quite a joke. Iorveth doesn't strike him as someone who stops to smell the flowers.]
[ funny story - he does, actually, stop to smell the flowers. private as the aen seidhe are about their faith and spirituality, it's deeply based in the soul of nature and the gifts the earth gives them to sustain life. he spends most of his time here specifically because of the abundance of nature, so much so that his room claimed in the Templar tower is a place used for storage, and the trees in this garden are where he actually sleeps most nights. ]
It's one of the few places in Kirkwall that feels like more than soulless structure. [ iorveth muses, glancing around at the greenery surrounding them, feeling a certain longing for the forests outside these walls. A small, somewhat sad smile touches his lips. ] When my people still had independent cities to speak of, they were built as if grown along with the forests, part of them. Buildings and spires of white stone like water roses, woven around the trees rather than on top of them. The Aen Seidhe believe intelligent life should exist with the earth as allies, not as conqueror.
Perhaps the core of what sets us at odds with the humanity that chose to decimate us.
[ their religions, even in Thedas, have that stark difference in them. The Chant of Light speaks of wars and rebellions, death and destruction, a warrior as a prophet and an enemy in Tevinter and the corrupt forces of magic. the aen seidhe people held a spirituality of confluence, connection, and harmony. they need no war to inspire them. an inherent difference. the conflicts he fights are things that threaten that, the sickening kind of greed and power lust the humans introduced to the peace that had been so guarded before them. they've brought his people into this war of there's and passivity has done nothing but seen them eradicated. ]
Much as I'd like to do the same to the Chantry and Templars here, Thranduil is right to approach it with strategy and cunning first. If we're to force the natives to acknowledge our rights by threatening them with abandonment, thus leaving them vulnerable, we would win, but be left in a constant state of attrition, having to watch our every step with them. [ the same as in vergen - much as he wanted to rain retribution and violence down on the people that caused so much pain, anguish, sorrow and horror on a peaceful people, it is not how his race would survive. only take them further down a doomed path. he wouldn't bow to have them walk all over them, there's nothing to excuse that, but he also wouldn't sacrifice lives that could be kept in both dignity and peace for the sake of righteous fury. ] Playing their game isn't the right path, but it's the survivable one.
[ She approaches him in the garden, stops when she's close enough to identify him. He's...kind of what she had pictured when she heard him speak, actually. Someone who looks like he's seen his share of combat, and that combat chewed him up and spat him back out. ]
Hey there. I'm Resa. I heard what you said, about the phylacteries for rifters. [ The fact that she's a Rifter is probably obvious enough that it doesn't need to be stated. She couldn't look more out of place here if she tried. ] You were angry, but you're calmer about it now.
You don't seem like the kind of person to just roll over and agree to it, so. I'm hoping that you have some kind of plan that doesn't involve making us all look like deranged, violent assholes.
[ that combat chewed him up, spat him back out, and he threw himself right back at it like bitch I ain't dead yet. Rinse and repeat for a century.
His attention lifts as Resa approaches, and the blue hair is an immediate indicator of who he's speaking to, regardless of the introduction. The woman seemed reasonable enough, and he's glad she came to speak with him. ]
Typically deranged, violent asshole is my forte, but I've taken to deferring to Thranduil for the time being. [ until negotiations break down, at least, but he has faith in his friend to carry them through that. ] There are plans in the works, yes. The first is for negotiations. We know it was the Templars that made the proposal, and the Chantry backed them. The Templars aren't likely to be reasoned with, but I imagine if we can separate the Chantry from their support of them, we may be able to win out in this.
Thranduil may have different thoughts of approach, however. He's to meet with the mage diplomats that first heard the proposal to gain a better understanding of where it came from and how to combat it.
Señor Iorveth, my name is Araceli Bonaventura y Castell I was recommended to speak with you by señora Baudin, is there a place and time that would suit? I can offer the naval presence office but I'd understand if you'd prefer somewhere else or of your own choosing.
[Neutral ground or a place less heavily associated with the Inquisition as it stands, even if she can guarantee their privacy and no interruptions in the office. Reaching out has to come first.]
Señora Baudin? [ Iorveth answers at first, confusion in his voice, because he's a douchebag who never learns the last names of his friends. One name is plenty, okay, no one needs two. But it only takes him a beat to catch on, once he recalls the name she'd introduced herself with. ]
Ah, Araceli. Yes, Gwenaëlle spoke of you. Specifically that you're smarter than both Thranduil and I combined. [ which he isn't arguing, Gwen seems like a good judge of character. But as to her actual request - ] I can meet at the naval presence office. I've completed my duties for the day, so whenever you're free, I'm able to come by.
Beleth is a talented elven bard, working as Scoutmaster in the Inquisition. I report to her, as I've joined the Scouting Division.
[ hmm, he didn't really do much research into them, basically met Beleth and decided she'd be the one he's willing to take orders from. Also, because scouting fit what he already has a lot of experience in anyway. and he wasn't going to go Forces and work for the human templar, oops. anyway. ]
The Inquisition is organized into 4 major divisions - Scouting, Forces, Research and Diplomacy. Scouting takes on missions that pertain to exploring new areas, gathering information, utilizing stealth, gathering resources, assassinations. Forces is essentially our infantry, they guard or head first into battle, deal in arm and weapons. The Templar, Coupe, is their lead. Research is, well. Research. Books, experiments, artifacts. They're led by Thranduil. Diplomacy is... [ hmmm how to explain this in a way that will make more sense to Helena... ] Diplomacy is kissing ass to foreigners you want money and resources from. I have no idea who leads it, because it's stupid.
You come to the Inquisition a lot more smoothly than most-- You always see these sort of shell-shocked questions from most Rifters. But not you. You don't even seem all that strange, honestly; if it weren't for the vallaslin, I'd take you for Dalish.
[That is most definitely a compliment.]
Where you're from, your homeland...world.... home-world, is it so similar? Do you have mages and dragons and spiders and all that, same as here.
[ interesting question, but not altogether surprising. ]
Mages, dragons, spiders small and monstrously large, yes. Though, the powerful mages are predominantly women - sorceresses. Simple mages can be either, anyone who put the study into it, but those of particular power are typical female. The Lodge of Sorceresses deposed the Sorcerers some time ago. There are some simply born of the power, we call Sources.
[ what was next? dragons? ]
Unlike what I’ve read of your Old Gods and the arch demons brought with the Blights, our dragons tend to mind their own business. They’re deeply intelligent, power, long-lived and wise creatures. Smaller, less sapient wyverns and drakes can plague the countrysides, but true dragons are rarely seen among the rest of us.
[ aaaand spiders. ] A phenomenon termed the Conjunction of the Spheres, much like the rifts here but on a massive, global scale, brought monsters and demons to live and bred in out realm. We’ve all shapes and sizes, some without evil intent at all. But many with. Overgrown spiders being some.
This world is only really strange to me in the specifics and details.
( true to her word, not long before all set out for wycome, gwenaëlle's handmaiden (yva; a little younger than gwenaëlle, human) runs down iorveth in the gallows to deliver a package from her mistress, and a short note: )
( 'not dramatic' apparently means—the hand-sewn bandana is plain enough from the outside, a similar shade of red to the one he already wears but a far finer fabric, slightly more deliberately shaped to wrap around the head. in part because it must be folded just so that the embroidery within has a finer layer of fabric between stitch and skin, great care taken on gwenaëlle's part that her discreet work not irritate his scars or drag against his hair.
the bulk of the design mirrors his tattoo—not a perfect reproduction, but more than close enough to make it clear her intent—but she's interwoven it with an elk's antlers, and above these, a quill sewn as if it draws the rest of the image, an inkpot with spilled ink to one side. it is the product of painstaking and patient work, more than likely begun the very day she declared she intended it, and it makes for quite the juxtaposition: a very proper lady's occupation, put to most improper use. )
[ Iorveth announces as he lets himself into Thranduil's office, as he's wont to do pretty much any time he's in the area, not unaware of how similar it sounds to 'we've come to take your women'.
the beautiful bandana she'd made for him is clutched, lovingly folded, in his hand, and he stops next to the man to drop a short kiss on the top of his head, before zipping over to the bedroom, letting himself in there as well. ]
This is perfect. And beautifully crafted, thank you. [ He tells Gwenaelle, pacing over to her, with a open smile on his lips. he's yet to put it on, because he needs a mirror for it given there's more thought to having the stitching lined up now. maybe she can help with that. ]
[ the move and stretch of Thranduil's body to reach for his wife incidentally guides Iorveth's hands, once resting on his chest, to slip down over his hips, and Iorveth does very little to stop it. more so, curls his fingers in, gripping tighter to feel the curve of his hip bones, and smooths his palms down over the his pelvis and the tops of his sides - not exactly groping his crotch, but really only an inch or so away from it. subtly is not a talent he possesses.
gwenaelle and thranduil, as always, make a breathtaking picture together, and iorveth watches them kiss with a small smile at the corner of his lips, pleased when the elven king returns to hover over his lap, sans bothersome cloth over the chest he returns his hands to, exploring. ]
Claimed of you? [ he does love that word - claim - in a way his rhetoric probably shouldn't promote. Iorveth's fingers trace along Thranduil's throat and into his hair, sinking in and loving how it feels like silk threads spun with gold. greedy with how he pulls him closer, Iorveth follows after the warmth Gwenaelle left on his lips, claiming his own from Thranduil slow and self-indulging. ] I've been waiting to since we left Kirkwall.
[ demanding is something Thranduil doesn't possess sole sovereignty of, and Iorveth has been incapable of letting go of the want to issue commands to every person he passes since arriving in Thedas. yet, at the same time, there's a certain thrill at hearing the same from other of them. thranduil beckoning, gwen's direct requests spoken as if law, same as the fire she speaks her mind with. he doesn't rightly understand how he came by these people and found himself enfolded by them, but they're a guilty pleasure to him all the same. as fingers card through Thranduil's hair like an idle fixation, his thigh's part, knees spreading and hand falling to thranduil's hips to tug him closer, making room for him. ]
With permission granted, of course. [ a look to Gwenaelle at his side - it's your call, booboo. He's well aware of how much Thranduil considers himself property to his wife, and how deep the devotion there goes. none of this is really worth it if the both of them aren't enjoying themselves. ] And I'll gladly entertain suggestions.
[ since her mind is a treasure trove of deviance and he adores her for it. ]
( hers, his, theirs; gwenaëlle has always been possessive in her desire to surrender, wanting to be had and to have both, to bind what she loves to her and stitch them together past undoing. the edges are different in private - more pliant, less combative, but the light of trouble is just the same. and there, when iorveth looks to her, the corner of her mouth quirking up before she presses it again to his skin, lazy in the way she takes her time to become acquainted with it. him. )
You lie down, ( casually, her fingers finding his shoulders and pulling, pressing, ) and let Thranduil see if he can please you even half so well as he pleases me, what about that?
( very arch. men and women's bodies are a different skillset, in her experience, which is not insignificant. she plucks the shirt she's (only) wearing, meaningfully: )
We could find something for your mouth to do while he's busy.
[ a wrapped package is delivered to the delivered to the infirmary, once they return from the tourney. inside is a long knife... sword, a shorter one, and sheathes for both, made of fine leather and detailed with vines.
[ iorveth will wake sometime later to the package and carefully unwrap it, before spending the next couple hours staring at the weapons in awe, running his hands over them, and attempting to swing them around from where he's confined to his bed, much to the medical staff's displeasure.
later, Thranduil will get a voice message on his crystal. ]
There is a shrewd, elderly elven nursemaid that seems intent on tugging my ear off the side of my head with any attempt I make to leave my hospital cot, so I'm unable to give you my thanks in person, forgive me.
[ he's much rather have just gone to see thranduil, but given his physical state, the nurses hardly had much trouble thwarting his attempts to do just so. ]
The blades are likely the finest gift I've ever received. I do not have the words to express my gratitude, Thranduil.
( the portrait, by now, is about three years old but remains the most recent piece commissioned of gwenaëlle; standing with her back to the artist and audience, her face in profile, nude and holding loosely sheer fabric that might have been a robe. it did not originally feature the scarring on her torso and thighs, but was subsequently updated, making it also the most accurate recent depiction of her—it arrives wrapped up for safety, and is obligingly propped against the wall of his bedroom.
Gwenaëlle is— he doesn’t know where she is, but he suspects either the baths or speaking with her grandfather. He lets himself into his office, then his rooms, and to find Iorveth there is just what he wanted.
His son has returned. They brought the archon back in one piece, if not united in mind and body. He is tired, tired, and clean after a week’s worth of running, but the smell of saltwater clings to his hair long after he’s washed the taste of it from his skin.
The distance between them is inconsequential after the distance between Kirkwall and Tevinter, and Thranduil cuts through it the way he ought to have walked through Minrathous’ streets, ashamed and prideful all at once. He’s not a man driven by violence, he loathes the bitterness of it in intimacy, but he grabs Iorveth half by the cheek and neck between his hands and holds him there for a kiss with the same movement he’d use to headbutt him.
His own mouth will taste stale, not even immortality can undo that, and teeth click against teeth, but this is home, and he is so, so homesick for the man and woman who are going to be very angry with— less him and more the situations he gets himself into. If they will behave like him in that, then he will behave as, at least, Gwenaëlle does, and mix the emotions in with the fucking.
Having thought ahead—something she might argue some of them do not do nearly enough—Gwenaëlle is not as far as the baths in the other tower, nor so sanguine with all that's happened that she'd have been prepared to leave either of them unattended without force involved. No, she had made swift and smart use of the crystals, and the tub (bought to accommodate Thranduil and far too large for her on her own, so: the right size) within their bedroom is already filled with both hot water and wife, behind a screen where she isn't the first thing anyone sees.
(Unlike all the other times people barge into this room.)
So: “Ah,” she says, water rushing as she moves from the middle of the tub to its edge, to lean far enough past the screen to see them, “here he is.”
It's dry, more than anything else. As much as it's never difficult to fan her temper back into flames (and doubtless he will), they had an entire sea journey back to Kirkwall together, and she hasn't anything like the capacity to simply stay angry throughout.
[ iorveth's been somewhat distant on the trip back, things he'd seen on the phantom battlefield having stuck in his mind, unwilling to be shaken free.
when gwenaelle bumps him, it isn't so much startling or surprising, just not immediately expected. she'd had difficult times in the fade as well. but he glances over to meet her eyes regardless, soft smile on his scarred lips. ]
I have as many moments as you'd ask of me.
[ she never needs to worry about that - there will never be a time he tells her 'no' for that question. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
crystal.
Are you bored?
no subject
[ comes the dry, flat answer, and Iorveth sounds almost like he'd just woken up. Truth was, he'd been sitting up in a tree, reading, and about to doze off. ]
Nothing like civilization to make one weary of peace in a handful of days. [ which is a joke. mostly. ] You?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
{ sending crystal }
no subject
(no subject)
action// gardens;
When he arrives, he takes in the plant life that had been added, having heard about the memorial where the Chantry had once stood. He can almost feel remnants of it, echoes within the Force of the lives that had once been here. As he got closer to the gardens the louder the energy got, whipping out against him like a soundless scream. He did his best to ignore it. This place, while it had become a memorial, felt akin to a graveyard full of ghosts. It was like a tear within the Force and made him feel uneasy as a result. Iorveth might not understand if he explained so he keeps his expression neutral, if a bit serious.]
Do you come here for the view?
[He's making somewhat a sarcastic remark, not quite a joke. Iorveth doesn't strike him as someone who stops to smell the flowers.]
Re: action// gardens;
[ funny story - he does, actually, stop to smell the flowers. private as the aen seidhe are about their faith and spirituality, it's deeply based in the soul of nature and the gifts the earth gives them to sustain life. he spends most of his time here specifically because of the abundance of nature, so much so that his room claimed in the Templar tower is a place used for storage, and the trees in this garden are where he actually sleeps most nights. ]
It's one of the few places in Kirkwall that feels like more than soulless structure. [ iorveth muses, glancing around at the greenery surrounding them, feeling a certain longing for the forests outside these walls. A small, somewhat sad smile touches his lips. ] When my people still had independent cities to speak of, they were built as if grown along with the forests, part of them. Buildings and spires of white stone like water roses, woven around the trees rather than on top of them. The Aen Seidhe believe intelligent life should exist with the earth as allies, not as conqueror.
Perhaps the core of what sets us at odds with the humanity that chose to decimate us.
[ their religions, even in Thedas, have that stark difference in them. The Chant of Light speaks of wars and rebellions, death and destruction, a warrior as a prophet and an enemy in Tevinter and the corrupt forces of magic. the aen seidhe people held a spirituality of confluence, connection, and harmony. they need no war to inspire them. an inherent difference. the conflicts he fights are things that threaten that, the sickening kind of greed and power lust the humans introduced to the peace that had been so guarded before them. they've brought his people into this war of there's and passivity has done nothing but seen them eradicated. ]
Much as I'd like to do the same to the Chantry and Templars here, Thranduil is right to approach it with strategy and cunning first. If we're to force the natives to acknowledge our rights by threatening them with abandonment, thus leaving them vulnerable, we would win, but be left in a constant state of attrition, having to watch our every step with them. [ the same as in vergen - much as he wanted to rain retribution and violence down on the people that caused so much pain, anguish, sorrow and horror on a peaceful people, it is not how his race would survive. only take them further down a doomed path. he wouldn't bow to have them walk all over them, there's nothing to excuse that, but he also wouldn't sacrifice lives that could be kept in both dignity and peace for the sake of righteous fury. ] Playing their game isn't the right path, but it's the survivable one.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
Hey there. I'm Resa. I heard what you said, about the phylacteries for rifters. [ The fact that she's a Rifter is probably obvious enough that it doesn't need to be stated. She couldn't look more out of place here if she tried. ] You were angry, but you're calmer about it now.
You don't seem like the kind of person to just roll over and agree to it, so. I'm hoping that you have some kind of plan that doesn't involve making us all look like deranged, violent assholes.
no subject
His attention lifts as Resa approaches, and the blue hair is an immediate indicator of who he's speaking to, regardless of the introduction. The woman seemed reasonable enough, and he's glad she came to speak with him. ]
Typically deranged, violent asshole is my forte, but I've taken to deferring to Thranduil for the time being. [ until negotiations break down, at least, but he has faith in his friend to carry them through that. ] There are plans in the works, yes. The first is for negotiations. We know it was the Templars that made the proposal, and the Chantry backed them. The Templars aren't likely to be reasoned with, but I imagine if we can separate the Chantry from their support of them, we may be able to win out in this.
Thranduil may have different thoughts of approach, however. He's to meet with the mage diplomats that first heard the proposal to gain a better understanding of where it came from and how to combat it.
crystal;
[Neutral ground or a place less heavily associated with the Inquisition as it stands, even if she can guarantee their privacy and no interruptions in the office. Reaching out has to come first.]
no subject
Ah, Araceli. Yes, Gwenaëlle spoke of you. Specifically that you're smarter than both Thranduil and I combined. [ which he isn't arguing, Gwen seems like a good judge of character. But as to her actual request - ] I can meet at the naval presence office. I've completed my duties for the day, so whenever you're free, I'm able to come by.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
sorry for the tl;dr
no worries!! sry for the late tag ;;;;;
welcome to her thesis on thedas and what it means to her
no subject
"Beleth" sounds like old fancy word for bad smells.
( "Smelleth." She's funny. )
Tell me about Divisions.
no subject
Beleth is a talented elven bard, working as Scoutmaster in the Inquisition. I report to her, as I've joined the Scouting Division.
[ hmm, he didn't really do much research into them, basically met Beleth and decided she'd be the one he's willing to take orders from. Also, because scouting fit what he already has a lot of experience in anyway. and he wasn't going to go Forces and work for the human templar, oops. anyway. ]
The Inquisition is organized into 4 major divisions - Scouting, Forces, Research and Diplomacy. Scouting takes on missions that pertain to exploring new areas, gathering information, utilizing stealth, gathering resources, assassinations. Forces is essentially our infantry, they guard or head first into battle, deal in arm and weapons. The Templar, Coupe, is their lead. Research is, well. Research. Books, experiments, artifacts. They're led by Thranduil. Diplomacy is... [ hmmm how to explain this in a way that will make more sense to Helena... ] Diplomacy is kissing ass to foreigners you want money and resources from. I have no idea who leads it, because it's stupid.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
crystal
You come to the Inquisition a lot more smoothly than most-- You always see these sort of shell-shocked questions from most Rifters. But not you. You don't even seem all that strange, honestly; if it weren't for the vallaslin, I'd take you for Dalish.
[That is most definitely a compliment.]
Where you're from, your homeland...world.... home-world, is it so similar? Do you have mages and dragons and spiders and all that, same as here.
no subject
Mages, dragons, spiders small and monstrously large, yes. Though, the powerful mages are predominantly women - sorceresses. Simple mages can be either, anyone who put the study into it, but those of particular power are typical female. The Lodge of Sorceresses deposed the Sorcerers some time ago. There are some simply born of the power, we call Sources.
[ what was next? dragons? ]
Unlike what I’ve read of your Old Gods and the arch demons brought with the Blights, our dragons tend to mind their own business. They’re deeply intelligent, power, long-lived and wise creatures. Smaller, less sapient wyverns and drakes can plague the countrysides, but true dragons are rarely seen among the rest of us.
[ aaaand spiders. ] A phenomenon termed the Conjunction of the Spheres, much like the rifts here but on a massive, global scale, brought monsters and demons to live and bred in out realm. We’ve all shapes and sizes, some without evil intent at all. But many with. Overgrown spiders being some.
This world is only really strange to me in the specifics and details.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
a delivery.
the bulk of the design mirrors his tattoo—not a perfect reproduction, but more than close enough to make it clear her intent—but she's interwoven it with an elk's antlers, and above these, a quill sewn as if it draws the rest of the image, an inkpot with spilled ink to one side. it is the product of painstaking and patient work, more than likely begun the very day she declared she intended it, and it makes for quite the juxtaposition: a very proper lady's occupation, put to most improper use. )
le action;
[ Iorveth announces as he lets himself into Thranduil's office, as he's wont to do pretty much any time he's in the area, not unaware of how similar it sounds to 'we've come to take your women'.
the beautiful bandana she'd made for him is clutched, lovingly folded, in his hand, and he stops next to the man to drop a short kiss on the top of his head, before zipping over to the bedroom, letting himself in there as well. ]
This is perfect. And beautifully crafted, thank you. [ He tells Gwenaelle, pacing over to her, with a open smile on his lips. he's yet to put it on, because he needs a mirror for it given there's more thought to having the stitching lined up now. maybe she can help with that. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
[ NSFW!!! ] tourney thread continuation
[ the move and stretch of Thranduil's body to reach for his wife incidentally guides Iorveth's hands, once resting on his chest, to slip down over his hips, and Iorveth does very little to stop it. more so, curls his fingers in, gripping tighter to feel the curve of his hip bones, and smooths his palms down over the his pelvis and the tops of his sides - not exactly groping his crotch, but really only an inch or so away from it. subtly is not a talent he possesses.
gwenaelle and thranduil, as always, make a breathtaking picture together, and iorveth watches them kiss with a small smile at the corner of his lips, pleased when the elven king returns to hover over his lap, sans bothersome cloth over the chest he returns his hands to, exploring. ]
Claimed of you? [ he does love that word - claim - in a way his rhetoric probably shouldn't promote. Iorveth's fingers trace along Thranduil's throat and into his hair, sinking in and loving how it feels like silk threads spun with gold. greedy with how he pulls him closer, Iorveth follows after the warmth Gwenaelle left on his lips, claiming his own from Thranduil slow and self-indulging. ] I've been waiting to since we left Kirkwall.
[ demanding is something Thranduil doesn't possess sole sovereignty of, and Iorveth has been incapable of letting go of the want to issue commands to every person he passes since arriving in Thedas. yet, at the same time, there's a certain thrill at hearing the same from other of them. thranduil beckoning, gwen's direct requests spoken as if law, same as the fire she speaks her mind with. he doesn't rightly understand how he came by these people and found himself enfolded by them, but they're a guilty pleasure to him all the same. as fingers card through Thranduil's hair like an idle fixation, his thigh's part, knees spreading and hand falling to thranduil's hips to tug him closer, making room for him. ]
With permission granted, of course. [ a look to Gwenaelle at his side - it's your call, booboo. He's well aware of how much Thranduil considers himself property to his wife, and how deep the devotion there goes. none of this is really worth it if the both of them aren't enjoying themselves. ] And I'll gladly entertain suggestions.
[ since her mind is a treasure trove of deviance and he adores her for it. ]
no subject
You lie down, ( casually, her fingers finding his shoulders and pulling, pressing, ) and let Thranduil see if he can please you even half so well as he pleases me, what about that?
( very arch. men and women's bodies are a different skillset, in her experience, which is not insignificant. she plucks the shirt she's (only) wearing, meaningfully: )
We could find something for your mouth to do while he's busy.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
knives for the knife elf
a note is included: ]
𝔐𝔞𝔶 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔰𝔢 𝔟𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢 𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔶𝔬𝔲.
𝔜𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔰,
𝔗𝔥𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔲𝔦𝔩
crystal;
later, Thranduil will get a voice message on his crystal. ]
There is a shrewd, elderly elven nursemaid that seems intent on tugging my ear off the side of my head with any attempt I make to leave my hospital cot, so I'm unable to give you my thanks in person, forgive me.
[ he's much rather have just gone to see thranduil, but given his physical state, the nurses hardly had much trouble thwarting his attempts to do just so. ]
The blades are likely the finest gift I've ever received. I do not have the words to express my gratitude, Thranduil.
crystal;
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
delivered to iorveth's alienage residence by a pair of strapping young men.
the note reads: )
I bought in-flight WiFi for this.
His son has returned. They brought the archon back in one piece, if not united in mind and body. He is tired, tired, and clean after a week’s worth of running, but the smell of saltwater clings to his hair long after he’s washed the taste of it from his skin.
The distance between them is inconsequential after the distance between Kirkwall and Tevinter, and Thranduil cuts through it the way he ought to have walked through Minrathous’ streets, ashamed and prideful all at once. He’s not a man driven by violence, he loathes the bitterness of it in intimacy, but he grabs Iorveth half by the cheek and neck between his hands and holds him there for a kiss with the same movement he’d use to headbutt him.
His own mouth will taste stale, not even immortality can undo that, and teeth click against teeth, but this is home, and he is so, so homesick for the man and woman who are going to be very angry with— less him and more the situations he gets himself into. If they will behave like him in that, then he will behave as, at least, Gwenaëlle does, and mix the emotions in with the fucking.
no subject
(Unlike all the other times people barge into this room.)
So: “Ah,” she says, water rushing as she moves from the middle of the tub to its edge, to lean far enough past the screen to see them, “here he is.”
It's dry, more than anything else. As much as it's never difficult to fan her temper back into flames (and doubtless he will), they had an entire sea journey back to Kirkwall together, and she hasn't anything like the capacity to simply stay angry throughout.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
crystal; at some point
[ right. names. that probably helps. ]
— This is Finch. Did you move into the Alienage?
no subject
I did.
(no subject)
(no subject)
crystal;
no subject
Why do you ask?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
after the fade.
gwenaëlle bumps his shoulder with hers. )
Do you have a moment for me?
( it seems a genuine question. what would she do if he said no? )
no subject
when gwenaelle bumps him, it isn't so much startling or surprising, just not immediately expected. she'd had difficult times in the fade as well. but he glances over to meet her eyes regardless, soft smile on his scarred lips. ]
I have as many moments as you'd ask of me.
[ she never needs to worry about that - there will never be a time he tells her 'no' for that question. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
crystal
[ casually. ]
crystal
Never in my life. I was never of the station for something like that.
Why?
crystal
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
Master Ioverth, fancy showing a particular Prat of a Lord what Rifters, human, elf or otherwise, are made of?
no subject
Always. Where and when?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)