eachdraidh | ❧ 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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[ she does not need her map to know the area of which he speaks. she's taken her time to commit the larger landmarks to memory. and so she knows how near maechenibryth will be to her own lands. ]

Your grace. It seems the landscape will make us as good as neighbours.

My lady. It seems so, in time. [ By the onset of winter proper there should at least be a newly carved fortress in the south. ] How is the mood in Cothromach? Aransadorien and the birds, too, informed me of your victory.

We survived the Unseelie Queen's wrath. [ for now, she thinks. ] But not without costs. And so the mood varies.

That city does make for quite the hotspot.

[ Like a big red cross on the map, if you ask him. ]

[Deep breath.]

So it's the western bank that will be forbidden to traders. Neither hand nor foot on it. I will be sure the Treun Council knows of it.

[She hesitates.]

Sorry for how I behaved last time.

[When she was drunk.]

It is.

[ The eastern banks were going to be for Thorin and the dwarves of Erebor, but now Oakenshield is gone ... well, it can turn into a merry-go-round for all Thranduil cares. A clear path has been left for any roads that will be laid there.

He tilts his head, watching her unblinkingly in thought. ]

You gave no offence. [ He's seen and heard worse from Legolas, honestly. ] I take it you have apologised to the young men whose names were mentioned?

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.

Maechenibryth?

[Yeah, she totally butchered that.]

Kind of a mouthful.

What do elves call talent, then?

Maechenibryth. Is that how you said it?

And is there a simpler name for those of us who cannot manage your fancy, bird language? I would hate to insult the Elves by butchering their tongue once again.

Wait, you guys are all leaving? Can we still hang out?

[ Okay, so maybe the modern-day girl doesn't quite understand what, exactly, is happening. ]

Well--I mean, I've never met you, sir, I just met--all of the other elves. Elfs. Elves?

[Well. This was curious. Maleficent had barely made the Falls her home and now it seemed she was to have neighbors. Again. How... interesting.]

Is that how it works in this land? You offer recompense for land that you wish to claim as yours?

[Such a silly concept. It sounded human, though she could tell by his ears that he was no such thing. He was elfin, like the one she'd met during the night of the Black Shuck.]

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.

My-ken-neeb-reeth. Maechenibryth.

[ One step at a time, yep. ]

[ He should just teach everyone curses in Sindarin and tell them it means Hello. ]

My-ken-neeb-reeth, like that.

You are all generosity, Master Gimli. [ BIRD LANGUAGE, fff. ] Maechenibryth means The Sharp-Eyed Caves, and is in fact the shorter version of I Othrann-in-Heneb, The Fortress of the Many-Eyed.

[ He gave you all ELF SLANG and this is what happens, wow. ]

Not all the Elves, only those who wish to remain in my company. I am sure the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn will remain in Caer Glaem with the majority of those from my homeland, whereas there is little use for me here.

[ He works best when distanced from the main quotient, after all. ]

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