❧ video; 01

[firith]

[ Tiny, delicate little hands are the first sight to be seen when the locket begins to broadcast, closely followed by a pair of bright grey eyes. A fairy flutters from Thranduil's arm to sit on his shoulder and, pointy-eared as he is with a river of pale blonde hair (not to mention a crown of red berries and leaves), they make a fine pair, though neither of them appears particularly human. It isn't locked to one court or another, singularly because he isn't aware it can be, displaying the brilliant golden walls of a private solar in Caer Glaem. A king's chambers.

The feed shuts off abruptly.

Minutes later, it clicks back on to the sound of the tinkling laughter of the same fairy; someone is clearly learning how to use the locket's functions via trial and error. Judging by the first glimpse of him, he needs the practice. The third time he speaks, the message runs along the screen like a river of inked words taking form: A charming tool. And they will be able to respond in kind, you say? I think I will, yes. How do I —? Ah. Thank you, little one.

Fourth time is a charm; the locket is held at arm's length, affording the best view yet of a fascinated elf. ]

I am Thranduil, Elvenking of Eryn Lasgalen, that which is the Wood of Greenleaves in the land from whence I hail. I would welcome those with greater knowledge of the Drabwurld and the creatures within it. Well do I understand the nature of being summoned thus — that is not a point of contention for me, as it is with many of you.

[ The fairy shimmers insistently, drawing a glance. ]

Lothdithen will visit any who wish to further discuss with me the matter of the war and lead them to where I will be in the castle until nightfall. The library will suffice with its maps of where we might strengthen this fortress with our differing experience and arts.

[ There is no thanks, no goodbye. The feed simply ends with the tone of one who is not accustomed to bandying idle words. ]

Comments

[firith]

Well met, Gavroche. My name is Thranduil, Elvenking of the Woodelves back where I come from. [ His own smile deepens, friendly in a way that adults don't qualify for and his own son used to pull out of him a long time ago. ] I am very lucky to be an Elf, for we do not get wrinkles. That is also why my ears are slightly longer than yours.

[chiot]

I wanna touch 'em. [ He probably shouldn't be blurting everything out, he knows, but still. It's pretty col to see. ] How d'you know when you get old, then? Or when someone else is old? Maybe you're gonna go see a pretty bird, an' she turns out to be as old as your mum.

[firith]

[ Laughter rumbles up, freed by the frankness. ]

You know because you remember everything, like a bag that bulges with all your things inside. [ Tilting his head to afford a better view of an ear, his smile remains. ] If I do let you touch them some day, please show mercy on me; they are very ticklish.

[chiot]

[ That makes sense! And honestly, Gavroche laughs because this guy seems hard to impress. And right now? He's pretty sure he's impressed him. Like an impressing...thing.

Whatever, just let him believe that. ]

You be lookin' so nice and pretty, like the sky an' stuff, I thought you were above bein' ticklish, huh, M'sieur Thran...Fran.... M'sieur.

[firith]

[ No arguments here. ]

M'sieur Thran will suffice. [ In a tone of wonder, ] Even the most hardiest of Elves get ticklish, Gavroche. It is our one weakness.

[chiot]

Really? My weakness is when I ain't get nuffin' to eat. Being ticklish must be a luxury!

[firith]

[ Ah. ]

You must come to me if you cannot find anything to eat, the fairies will tell you where I am and we shall search the kitchens for their best cakes. I am allowed to have those whenever I please, of course, as all kings are, and I think it very wise to have dessert first, in the event something might interrupt, but it gets rather lonely.

Would you do me that favour, Gavroche?

[chiot]

You're a king.

[ He wasn't sure why he's so disappointed--Thranduil had already pointed it out in his first post. Still, his head and heart drops and his gaze lowers, sucking in a breath, before clenching his fists and looking back up. ]

'Ey, listen, I ain't need no King takin' care of me, ticklish Elf or not, huh? I ain't need you rulin' over no one, we ain't deserve summin' like that.

[ And, cautiously: ] But maybe even if you're king and I'm gamin, we could still talk to each other?

[firith]

Oh, an Elvenking is much too busy to rule over anyone who does not wish it, I promise you that. Still, even he needs friends. I would be glad to talk with you, Gavroche, and for us to always be honest with one another.

[gamin]

Our King ain't no Elf, an' he's a right rat. But it's okay if you're king long as you ain't my King and we just stay friends. [ He's echoing what Thranduil says, of course--but if he says it like it's his idea to begin with he thinks it's better. ]

M'sieur Thran, you're all right.

[firith]

I am glad to hear it from so frank a source.

[gamin]

That's the problem with adults. They ain't know when to just say it, they always say nice things that hurt people more than sayin' the bad thing right away.

[firith]

A bad cut that stings can be treated quickly, whereas pretending a wound is not there will only make it fester and hurt for longer. I agree.

[gamin]

Huh. You really ain't that bad of a King.

[firith]

I do my very best. That is all anyone can do, whether a king or a carpenter or a fisherman. Trying at anything is the most important part.

[gamin]

Wish you were mine! But you'd have to speak French, huh.