(Elvenking)—❧ Thranduil Oropherion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
firith) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
eachdraidh2014-12-08 04:22 pm
firith) wrote in eachdraidh2014-12-08 04:22 pm
❧ VIDEO; 06 (BOTH COURTS)
[ Thranduil is not in Caer Glaem for this broadcast. In the roughly hewn (to Elven eyes, anyway) new study where he has forsaken his usual super fab robes for a plain grey tunic and leggings, the fine sleeves are rolled up and his thigh-high boots look like they have a scuff or two on them. The clinking, clanging, and general chatter in the background is never-ending for the time being through the ajar door; the Fortress of the Many-Eyed, I Othrann-in-Heneb, is clearly under construction now that the united clans under his leadership are able to start shaping their new home and taking to it with relish. Just as he opens his mouth, a Silvan and a Galatath, fair and dark by comparison, stride in. ]
My Lord, three more poachers have been apprehended close to the foot of the mountain.
[ Anyone can see, by Thranduil's pursed lips, that the interruption isn't a source of irritation so much as the news it brings. He doesn't bother initially turning around, sifting through books on his desk. ]
Escort them over the river with the rest.
[ The Galatath, knowing less of his Sindarin king, speaks up as the Silvan immediately lowers his eyes. ]
That is a day's march for them. They are weary and in no mood to follow our orders, they do not recognise you as the lord of these lands.
[ Thranduil's gaze flickers sideways, slowly followed by his head and a cool, measured tone that makes the Galatath Elf straighten. ]
Then give them bread and water, allow them to cook whatever they killed prior to your intervention, and slow the pace of your marchwardens to that of the fastest Man. The others will keep time with their companion. [ He arches a brow. ] Are these not once again Elven lands, rightfully reclaimed?
Yes, Sire.
Then get them out of the Maechenibryth. Throw them across the river if you must or if you prefer, Captain, they may languish on just as hearty fare in the dungeons until winter's chill consents to better their manners and educate them on the situation. Have the guards exchanged hours?
Not yet, Sire.
Have them do it. Ensure all the mountain's sentries are well-rested on your rounds before continuing the combing of the forest.
[ Wood-Elves may not be as sweet and may be less wise, but they are dangerous and clearly, when pushed, Thranduil is not hesitant about making a point of it (he has too much shit going on to care about some dissenting troublemakers). The messengers come to attention after exchanging an uneasy glance. As Thranduil turns back to the locket, the Silvan gives the chastised Galatath a wide-eyed look of What is actually wrong with you? as the messengers leave, and then the door shuts and the lockets have one exasperated Elvenking to themselves. ]
That says quite enough, I should think, and far more succinctly than I intended to put it. The Maechenibryth is being cleared while the mountain's delving is in progress. If you wish to make yourself useful, do not venture south of the forest river in Glaschu or you will be escorted safely across its newly enchanted waters by marchwardens of the Eldar, who have better things to do with their time than ensure trespassers are not falling asleep under its spell on the way out.
[ Kicked out, when not in polite society. As fair and young as Thranduil looks, his air is one of a harassed old person who has no qualms about smacking people with a proverbial walking stick if they get in his way, not exactly harming them but neither crying over doling out a bit of rough handling if needs be. To the point, however; ]
Providing the greater part of the Halls are completed, there will be a midwinter feast for selected individuals, a celebration of the holiday of Yule that a number of the native Elves wish to implement. [ Because Middle-Earth Elves just sort of stick it out until Spring without that particular holiday, but Thranduil rather likes the idea of integrating cultures. ] If you are welcome you will be notified in due course, some time in Girithron. [ Oh. What do people tend to call that month here? ] December.
[Also, on Orithils we wear green. ]
My Lord, three more poachers have been apprehended close to the foot of the mountain.
[ Anyone can see, by Thranduil's pursed lips, that the interruption isn't a source of irritation so much as the news it brings. He doesn't bother initially turning around, sifting through books on his desk. ]
Escort them over the river with the rest.
[ The Galatath, knowing less of his Sindarin king, speaks up as the Silvan immediately lowers his eyes. ]
That is a day's march for them. They are weary and in no mood to follow our orders, they do not recognise you as the lord of these lands.
[ Thranduil's gaze flickers sideways, slowly followed by his head and a cool, measured tone that makes the Galatath Elf straighten. ]
Then give them bread and water, allow them to cook whatever they killed prior to your intervention, and slow the pace of your marchwardens to that of the fastest Man. The others will keep time with their companion. [ He arches a brow. ] Are these not once again Elven lands, rightfully reclaimed?
Yes, Sire.
Then get them out of the Maechenibryth. Throw them across the river if you must or if you prefer, Captain, they may languish on just as hearty fare in the dungeons until winter's chill consents to better their manners and educate them on the situation. Have the guards exchanged hours?
Not yet, Sire.
Have them do it. Ensure all the mountain's sentries are well-rested on your rounds before continuing the combing of the forest.
[ Wood-Elves may not be as sweet and may be less wise, but they are dangerous and clearly, when pushed, Thranduil is not hesitant about making a point of it (he has too much shit going on to care about some dissenting troublemakers). The messengers come to attention after exchanging an uneasy glance. As Thranduil turns back to the locket, the Silvan gives the chastised Galatath a wide-eyed look of What is actually wrong with you? as the messengers leave, and then the door shuts and the lockets have one exasperated Elvenking to themselves. ]
That says quite enough, I should think, and far more succinctly than I intended to put it. The Maechenibryth is being cleared while the mountain's delving is in progress. If you wish to make yourself useful, do not venture south of the forest river in Glaschu or you will be escorted safely across its newly enchanted waters by marchwardens of the Eldar, who have better things to do with their time than ensure trespassers are not falling asleep under its spell on the way out.
[ Kicked out, when not in polite society. As fair and young as Thranduil looks, his air is one of a harassed old person who has no qualms about smacking people with a proverbial walking stick if they get in his way, not exactly harming them but neither crying over doling out a bit of rough handling if needs be. To the point, however; ]
Providing the greater part of the Halls are completed, there will be a midwinter feast for selected individuals, a celebration of the holiday of Yule that a number of the native Elves wish to implement. [ Because Middle-Earth Elves just sort of stick it out until Spring without that particular holiday, but Thranduil rather likes the idea of integrating cultures. ] If you are welcome you will be notified in due course, some time in Girithron. [ Oh. What do people tend to call that month here? ] December.
[
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What traditions are those? I have not heard of one relating to the weed before!
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Are you telling me to... [ Do you hear this disbelief, Thranduil, do you- ] kiss another?
[ Though for all his posturing, and bravado, his cheeks do colour. It's not much at all, a mere kiss, but all things considered... ]
Or even many of them!
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[ Go forth and do ur duty, son. Get us allies!! With your looks. ]
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Then when the hunt is done and over with, I will return to Caer Glaem before setting out to Maechenibryth. To forge... alliances. [ Though he sounds and seems a little... deflated over the idea. Confused and lost. He does not even know if he wants this permission...!! The one he ever dreamed to touch lips with, after all, in terrible and forbidden fantasies is gone, after all. ] Have you attended the feast?
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I did. It was uneventful.
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Has any of the new arrivals caught your eye?
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I like him, I think. Or I could grow to.
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Tell me more of him and his! What makes him similar and what sets him apart from us?
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Yet the similarities are not so few as the differences. If you befriend him, be cautious.
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[ If he caught Thranduil's attention, then certainly he must be an interesting fellow. Little encouragement does Legolas truly need to seek him out at this point. Then, in the next beat he adds with an arched eyebrow. ]
Am I ever not cautious?
[ No, you are not, Legolas. ]