eachdraidh | ❧ VIDEO; 04 (both courts)

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❧ VIDEO; 04 (both courts)

[ Thranduil hasn't vanished off the face of the Drabwurld again, contrary to popular belief, despite keeping his head down since Samhain. Ensconced in the Caer Glaem library pulling up certificates, maps, and all the other ridiculous paraphernalia required for a legalised contact to take place, he flicks on the locket from his desk in a corner of the vast halls, surrounded by stacks. There he sits sipping a goblet of the last keg of leftover Dorwinion ~~which is currently under strict guard in the cellars (looking at you Samhain revellers)~~. On the table are scrolls and books, all of which have been tidied, while in front of him lies a black leather-bound folder, ostensibly containing the point of the broadcast. ]

The High-King and I have come to an arrangement. In exchange for fair recompense, I have bought the rights to the woodlands south of the forest river and west of the Hidden Falls, within a crux of the mountain-range, to be easily identified on any common map. [ It's not quite as simple as that, of course, but he'll save everyone the pointless politicking. That, and he doesn't want to bring up Celegorm's shard in public; it would be bad taste. ] Aelfen and Elven tribes alike will be travelling to Caer Glaem over the next week or so to replenish their supplies, tools and gold, well within their rights to do so, before continuing on to their new homeland. Please show these former refugees every kindness.

[ As dapper as he looks, he clearly doesn't intend to faff about chatting idly about inanities; someone wants a nice long sleep. ]

If you have business in what will be renamed the Maechenibryth, come the turn of the winter season, or have done in the past which you wish to pursue in the future, you may bring the matter to myself, Thranduil, or to my son, Legolas, who will pass it on accordingly. There is much yet to do and I have little enough time to spare.

[ Sipping his wine, he shuts off the locket. ]

( ooc: if you'd like to continue anything from samhain just pop me a pm and i'll get on it, otherwise i'll take this opportunity to declare tag amnesty on that front as it broke my inbox and burned me out, sobs. tagging will generally be slow until after the weekend because of work. ty for waiting! )

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I haven't been able to look 'em in the eye yet.

I understand. Although, perhaps that is the best way to go about the matter for the time being; to let it settle, then casually note your regret of it at a much, much later date.

Everyone makes a fool of themselves the first time they lose count of their cups. [ His tone is demure and dismissive, keen not to make a fuss of it and embarrass her again. ] They will know that.

My fairies made me a cake to say they were sorry. It was made of porridge, but it was still very thoughtful. They don't understand things like shame. They don't have any. They are what they are.

I was called a fairy, once. I had to point out that, lamentably, I own no wings.

Faerie's what they call the Western lands, across the Sea. Maybe that's why.

[She doesn't know if those lands exist, just the legend that elves travel there and never return.]

But you've quite enough advantages without having wings.

No, I really do believe they were wondering whether I was about to take a twirl about the room on my tiptoes. They seemed very disappointed; I am so tall that I've not seen my toes in years.

[ Straightening a smile, he slumps in his seat. ]

What would you say is an advantage of my appearance minus a pair of frittering wings, Sigrid?

[ Since she brought it up and he's in the mood to slack off, now all the official business is done and dusted. ]

Not your appearance! [She's grinning broadly with laughter in her eyes, imagining the Elvenking with gossamer glittering wings.] I meant to give you the power of flight would be too much for the rest of us. They say you can already enchant the waters and call the thunder, and I know you talk to birds.

Ai! I will waste away, unappreciated.

[ A warning!! But. Anyway. ]

Waters I can enchant with a Sleeping Spell, if we must call it something — yet it is not truly a spell at all — along with anything or anyone else I wish. As for calling the thunder, I wish I could. Many a storm would pass me over.

But that is not where lies any true talent I would dare boast of.

What do elves call talent, then?

I might call it the Shutting Gift, an art by which any chamber I wish to remain sealed will do so against the ravages of war, spells and other forces. It matters no which, for they are all fated to fail. When the doors of my Halls in Mirkwood were shut, nothing could open them. My inherent ... power allows me to endure. Because of this, I was the oldest Elf left on Arda when the rest sailed.

The passage of time does not tire me, just as a relentless wind does not damage a diamond, though all around it surrounded by wearied sandstone.

So it's true. [She seems suddenly somber now.] Seems like...you could protect anyone that way. Could you do it to the gates of the Cothromach?

[Well...when they get built, that is?]

I could, but only while within its walls and I have no need to visit there. I understand repairs are underway.

[Her mouth twists in disappointment, though there is no surprise.]

They shall be, but Sansa wishes to commission a much better and stronger gate from the dwarves.

What dwarves remain from Erebor would no doubt be keener to aid one of Arda, if plied for help.

[ Possibly. It would give Fili and Kili something productive to do with their time besides mourning Thorin, more importantly. ]

I was going to ask Fili and Kili and Gimli. They'll know a good design when they see one. And more important, they'll know a master's design when they see one.

All good recommendations can never come too few or far between. They would relish the distraction, I think.

Because of Thorin? I always thought he was just stuffy and selfish, but they must love him very much to come so far with him.

Oakenshield had his flaws, but he was also very brave. Were it ultimately not for the goldsickness that assailed him, back when I knew your father for the first time, Thorin and I could have come to an arrangement befitting all.

In any case, a king is very different with his family and his nephews must have known him better than most.

Goldsickness?

[She blinks.]

Is that true? I mean I heard it said Thror was mad for gold and it brought the dragon, but I thought it was just legend. The sort of thing that's said about you and Galadriel, when people want to blame things they can't control on somebody far away.

A dwarven malady, not at all something that would come upon an Elf. [ ~~Unless they were the type to backflip over Silmarils.~~ ] What they say about Thorin's line is true. I warned his grandfather what his greed would cost him and he did not heed me; then the dragon came.

I thought the dragon just...happened. I mean of course he came for the gold, but I didn't think it could be Thror's fault.

Amassing that much gold in one place is never a wise idea. It was, as I recall before no longer finding myself a welcome guest within Erebor, as a mountain within the mountain-proper. That is why goldsickness is a sad illness, for it twists the mind away from reason yet the dwarf still remains cognizant of his actions.

Thorin and I were more easily reconciled here, after a fashion. Somewhat.

[ ... Kind of. Mostly. ]

Didn't know you hated each other personally. But that's not my business. I just heard elves and dwarves naturally don't get along. Like cats and dogs, they say.

He trespassed on the road my people made and thrice frightened them at their revels. Thorin and his troupe refused to speak of where they were going, though I knew full well, and for their thoughtless stirrings of the spiders I had them imprisoned for two weeks. They did not take kindly to it, unsurprisingly.

So that's why they got smuggled into Lake-town the way they did. Da was working the barge that day. But I'd've done the same if I was you, and no doubt he would too. Did he come to his senses?

[She's growing oddly comfortable with the Elvenking, and rather talkative. But it's fascinating to have a real talk with someone as old as the forest itself.]

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