TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

TEST DRIVE: ORLAIS EDITION

I. EVERYBEAR I GO

Believe it or not, there are bears in Orlais, too. Stuffed ones posed in noble salons casting intimidating shadows as lords tell unlikely stories about how they bravely stared the great beast in the eye before they slayed it with a single shot. One comtesse keeps bears as pets in large pens on her estate, much to the distress of her nearest neighbors. But most common are the dancing bear acts found on street corners here and there. Perhaps there is some sort of special bear communication network that has passed on a message, because it seems like the presence of the Inquisition has inspired these bears to finally make a break for it out of servitude, and that is how you find yourself being chased by a bear in a belled hat down a narrow cobbled alley lined with street vendors.

II. OUI OUI MON AMI

The Inquisition's efforts are currently focused on Orlais, where a civil war is raging and intelligence indicates Corypheus seeks to eliminate Empress Celene, while the oppressed elven population's discontent threatens to bubble over into a second rebellion. The Inquisition's activities here are mostly political and designed to gather influence and information: endeavoring to make a good impression at the ball of an influential comtesse with ties to the Council of Heralds, or assisting with the reconstruction of the alienage district destroyed by fire. There are rowdy soldiers in taverns to eavesdrop on, and restless crowds listening to streetcorner speakers preach Celene's virtues, or Gaspard's, or lament the end of the world.

But honestly, who cares about any of that? Halamshiral also offers great high-end shopping. Priorities. Gowns, tunics, fur-trimmed cloaks, sleeves slashed and puffed with layers of bright-colored satin. Tall boots with gold spurs to clink as you walk. Veils, lace-trimmed smallclothes, perfumes, necklaces worth your weight in gold. If you have the coin, the shopkeeps have time for you. The slightest whiff of poverty will leave them cold toward you. They might even pretend not to see you, but hey: they work on commission.

Even among decadence and finery, there are signs of unrest. In an out-of-the-way village square, little Orlesian children gather to throw thick gold coins in a gilt fountain, with whispered wishes and giggles. All at once, a thief pushes his way into their circle, breaking the idyllic scene. He leaps into the fountain and grabs a handful of coin. Thin, dirty, ragged, hollow-eyed and, under the hood of his cloak, elven, he scans the now-screaming children -- and then takes off running.

“Stop him!” howls one precious Orlesian cherub, her rosy cheeks streaked with tears. “That dirty knife-ear took my money!”

Kids are just the cutest.

III. SKYHOLD

Skyhold is where people who don't like fun accents and life being a constant masquerade hang around repairing walls, filling out paperwork, and, on rare occasions, engaging in elaborate, color-coded team snowball fights.

That last occasion? Totally over. Now the Inquisition will see you work, work, work, work, work. Working to save Thedas is not all fun and games, and there are plenty of things to keep you busy in Skyhold. See that roof over there? It has a hole in it. Climb up, someone suggests, and fix it. See that hole over there, in the wall? Some drunk from the tavern fell through it yesterday, and it needs repairs. See that floor over there? It’s dirty. And here’s a mop.

If these tasks seem too menial and demeaning, perhaps you’d like to head up to the library and reshelve some books. Perhaps you’d like to meet a special friend there? The stacks are warm and cozy, and at least a little out of the way. Secret spaces are at a premium. But be careful: you aren’t the only one in Skyhold, no matter how many people shipped out to Orlais.

If warm ovens are more your style than warm books, try the kitchens. They could always use a helping hand - especially because one of the baby griffons has made its way down there. A sharp-beaked competition for your plans to pilfer snacks, but you’ll prevail, right? The griffon loves chicken, and the taste of your blood. Get her outside before she gets too comfortable.

Or just feed the dogs, you dirty Fereldan.

IV. WILDCARD

Thedas is a big place. Do something else in it. Maybe in the Hinterlands.

Comments

[drazhada]

[ well, his ears are.. somewhat like the other elves here, anyway. as bizarre as it is to think that theirs are entirely stationary, sometimes he would wish his own were. even now, he occasionally gives more information about his mood away than he likes because of them. and his hair is a curly, tangled mess, entirely unlike thranduil's sleek locks, but.. the sentiment is appreciated, anyway. especially given how self-conscious he still is of his appearance. his edocharei have worked very hard over the past year to make certain their emperor is presentable. ]

We are half-blooded, [ he admits after a few quiet moments, glad to retreat to his little tucked-away corner. he hardly wants someone else to intrude on this conversation, after all. ] Though it means something different in the Elflands than it does here. The full-blooded elves of our homeland are snowy-haired and oft snowy-skinned, too.

[ he glances back up at the question and the offer, ears flicking back uncertainly, then lifting again. ] We know a few simple braids, but little appropriate to be seen in public. [ he touches the knot of braids at his nape, feeling his face heat again. ] We would not wish the chore of our hair on anyone, to say the truth. Though.. we would be glad to learn more, if you would be willing to teach us.

[rowancrowned]

[ he makes use of one of the chairs in the alcove; pulls it out and sits, crossing his legs and settling his hands neatly in his lap. ]

Half elven, and what else? [ but half elven was the term, making that-- the more important half. as it was even in arda. he takes the chance to go over the titles on the desk. it's a wise path for rifters to take, familiarizing themselves with thedas before risking stepping out into it. ]

And what is appropriate to be seen in public? [ he beckons to maia, to the other chair- he won't braid him here, in public, that would be-- too much, even for him. but they might share a table, and discuss possibilities.

he wishes he had wine, to ease the conversation. alas, all his chances at even the most basic of hospitalities have been taken away from him. ]

How old are you, Maia?

[drazhada]

[ maia turns the chair he'd claimed earlier, settling in it and gently placing the books in his arms down atop the others. he gathers the notes he was making--despite his spotty education when growing up, his handwriting is surprisingly beautiful--gently sorting them in a stack and setting them atop the books. ] Our mother was a goblin. [ it seems strange to have to say it, when at home it's so very obvious. his glance lifts, drazhada gray, and he has to force his ears not to flatten back again. ] She was the daughter of the Great Avar of the Barizhan Empire, and our father's fourth wife.

[ fourth and greatly unloved, as his son by her had been unloved. he still thinks of his mother often-- she'd deserved so, so much better in life.

his fingers return to the oath-ring on his thumb, and he twists it thoughtfully. ] .. Unbound is.. immodest. A single braid is only suitable for bed. Simple braids may be pinned and adorned, but we prefer to wear as little jewelry as we may. More elaborate braids may be their own adornment, but our hands are not so skilled.

[ he trails off a little helplessly. he doesn't know how better to explain the politicking that goes into even dressing the emperor's hair-- his edocharei can sometimes spend hours debating the merits of a set of jewels or the placement of a braid.

after a moment, then, almost as an afterthought: ] We are nineteen. [ young even by his people's standards. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ he keeps his face composed, even as he nearly dissects that statement. fourth, and half-elven indicates a lowly status. only half of the blood that apparently mattered most. it would among humans, and in this- in this other difference between elves. ]

And you take after her? [ politely as he can manage. it must be an error in translation, for him to say 'goblin' and mean something other than what thranduil knows as goblin, for maia is not- that. ]

It is mostly the same for my people. [ unbound is... a distinct choice. he is above the language of braids, beyond. apart. as a ruler must be. his eyes skip over the script on the parchment. ]

Nineteen. [ softly. unless their years are very different, that is unspeakably young. it explains his nervous manner. ] How are you braided so ornately now, if you cannot do so on your own? Have you been such since you arrived?

[drazhada]

[ he's certain thranduil is piecing together what he isn't saying. the child of a fourth wife, a half-breed, and young-- tragedy, then, bringing a son that never would have inherited onto the throne.

the question earns a small nod, though. ] In some fashion. We have our father's frame and eyes, and our skin is not so dark as a goblin's. [ a beat, looking down at his hands briefly, long and bony. he curls them together in his lap. ] In truth, there are many goblins that call the Elflands home, that intermarry with elves. Were we anyone but the emperor, our blood would little matter to most.

[ but that's.. all he wants to say on the matter. he's only just met thranduil, after all, and this is a very sensitive subject for him, even now.

he shifts in his seat, the question making his face heat and his ears dip slightly. ] Oh-- no. This is.. not so intricate as it looks. We've only created a number of small braids and knotted them with tashin sticks and jeweled pins. [ in truth, it's something more suited to a child than to the emperor, but he'd counted on no one knowing better here. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ it is quite a lot, for a first meeting, but maia is an elf, and thranduil takes special care to ensure he knows all of the elves here in skyhold.

(and maia is too young.)

he stands, steps over, and glances out to the rest of the library. it is a secluded nook, and if he moves the curtains just-so, they might be more shielded. he certainly understands the inclination towards modesty, wishes more elves had it.

thranduil adjusts the fabric, meant to shield the books from the sunlight, and gestures to maia. ]

May I?

[ he ought to know how it is put together, if he is to fix it. ]

[drazhada]

[ he watches as the taller elf rises to pull the curtains, wondering at the purpose. when he moves closer, though, gray eyes widen in realization. oh. well. of course he'd want to see how it's put together, he supposes.

he hesitates, then nods, turning to give thranduil better access to the knot of braids. he reaches up to pull the jeweled pins from the mass, himself, setting them aside on the table. the tashin sticks and braids themselves he leaves for thranduil to sort out as he likes. ]

We-- [ the formal plural, though it doesn't translate in this language without such forms. ] --learn to do simple braids as children. We had not yet learned adult dressings when we took the throne. Ever after, we have had our edocharei.

[rowancrowned]

We do the same with our elflings. My son- [ and here, he reaches for one of the sticks, fingers resting on the lacquered wood but not yet moving, not whilst he's still studying the patterns of the braids. ] was most reluctant to sit for some of the more complicated patterns, so I learned to do them quickly, before he would dash away.

[ it's a tone of voice that might also utter elflings in fond exasperation, but thranduil is not that casual.

he considers the arrangement before him, and takes his hand off the tashin sticks, and takes a step back. ]

I think this might work better if your hair were freshly washed, and I had my soaps and oils and comb.

[ meaning: would maia accompany him down to the undercroft, to the baths therein? ]

[drazhada]

[ thranduil is a father, and the thought is a curious one. how old is he, he wonders? it takes a long time for maia's people to show their age, but the same isn't necessarily true of the elves of thedas, and thranduil is from a third world altogether. he'd seemed surprised by maia's own youth, so.. older than most, he thinks. ]

May we ask his name?

[ there's clear affection in thranduil's voice, and the sound of it makes something clench painfully in his chest. of course he knows that most fathers love their children. presumably, his own father had even loved maia's older brothers, at least in some degree. it simply aches to wonder at something he'd never had.

the suggestion brings him out of his thoughts, and he glances back, hesitating a few moments before simply nodding. he rises, collecting his notes and tucking them gently into one of the books, then turns, gathering the little jeweled pins in one long-fingered hand. ] We should like to request the archivist not move our work until we return, but we would be glad to accompany you.

[rowancrowned]

[ it hurts, but it is no longer the ripping pain that first came after legolas being torn away from him. now, it is a tempering ache, one that serves only to remind him of his purpose. so he speaks easily, with fondness. ]

Legolas Thranduilion.

[ he holds back the draped curtain, and lets maia slip through, taking the lead as they make their way through skyhold. they stop only for a moment, at a room off the gardens where thranduil slips inside a room- through the crack of the door: a bed, a chest, a mirror- and he slips back out with a small box. ]

Come, Maia. I am afraid I have no scents other than mine own. I hope you do not mind.

[ he opens the lacquered box, and passes a lump of soap for maia's inspection. it smells of sandalwood and something floral, if dark. he does not turn to reach for it back, instead focusing on the descent into the steamy baths. ] Mind the stairs, Maia.

[drazhada]

[ maia gathers his robes with his free hand as they descend into the baths, still thinking idly on the notion of thranduil's son, on how difficult it must be to be parted from him like this. it's hard enough for maia just being away from his friends and loved ones-- he can't imagine what it would be like were he already a father, himself.

(the very notion of fatherhood terrifies him. he has no idea how to be a good parent-- but he at least has ample understanding of what not to do from his father and setheris.) ]

We have no complaint. This is a favour you do us, after all.

[ at least the baths aren't busy at this time of day; maia himself generally chooses odd times to bathe, anyway. he prefers not to reveal more of his skin than he must to others, and washing and combing his hair alone is a lengthy process.

when they reach where thranduil wants them, he offers the soap back, then begins to remove his outer robes to keep them from being damaged, folding the heavily-embroidered fabric neatly. ]

[rowancrowned]

[ the undercroft of skyhold is warm, and he thanks the intelligence of the builders for the pipes, for the water that can be heated and poured into baths that drain and eventually cascade down to the waterfall that falls from the floor of the forge. it's a simple thing to find a large bowl and fill it with hot water, carrying a pitcher of the same back in a single trip to a sturdy table. he would prefer a fresh running stream, but they are where they are. ]

You do not need to disrobe entirely. [ he remarks, reaching for the robes to help fold and place them on the table. he runs his hands over the embroidery, and on a whim, flips one of the unlined ones over to check the back. the stitches are just as fine on the back. ] This is exquisite work. Mine own artisans could not have done better.

[ he prefers to look for similarities between worlds rather than differences. between the robes and the bowl is the lacquered box which he opens with care, pulling out an assortment of vials, bottles, and an ivory comb. these he sets down with nearly ceremonial precision. he takes one vial, opens it, and lets three drops fall into the basin before tucking it back inside. he keeps his eyes down as he works. ]

I imagine your edocharei [ he pronounces the vowels a bit differently, more of a rounding to them than careful annunciation, a fragment of sindarin being his mothertongue. ] commended your patience. Please, sit.

[ the stool he pulls out from under the table, it is plain that he intends maia to lie back and allow thranduil to do the rest. ]

[drazhada]

[ he sets the pins aside, then sits where indicated, lacing his fingers loosely together in his lap as he waits. long hours spent on the throne or in the care of his edocharei or in meditation has given an already patient young man a sort of serenity in such situations, and he settles there without complaint or restless fidgeting. ]

Our craftsmen are very skilled, [ he agrees a few moments later, the faintest trace of warm pride in his voice. ] We feel honoured to showcase their work when we may. [ it seems the least he can do, given that he'll never know them all personally. when he knows where items come from, though, he's taken to writing to the shop or tailor or jeweler. he wants his reign to be one in which all people are valued, whether they claim a noble name or not, and if that's going to happen, it has to start at the top, doesn't it?

he subsides for a few moments as he listens to thranduil's quiet movements, but then he chances a brief glance back to the items spread on the table. ]

This is an act of some importance in your-- your world? [ he hadn't missed the care in which the taller elf had laid everything out, had poured the water and added the oil. ]

[rowancrowned]

It is the mark of a fine ruler to appreciate the work of hands, and not merely the result itself. [ warm approval. it only furthers his disapproval of whomever allowed him to reach such an- dare he say it?- unloved state. gently, he undoes the braids, section by section, allowing himself to slip into the comfort of repetitive work. ]

It is. [ the smell of the steam and the rhythm is soothing. ] But then again, many firsts in an elfling's life are made ritual. First tooth, first bow, first ride. I think it now more for the comfort of the parents, in truth. To think of the delight of moving to hard foods rather than the pain of teething, the joy of archery rather than the worry of a cut from an arrowhead. The delight of feeling the wind on your face and hair than the ever present concern that the heretofore sweet old pony might turn feral and let your child fall.

[ all things that thranduil himself had felt to some degree. once maia's hair is freed- and it is quite a lot of hair- he tests the temperature of the water with his fingers and steps to the side. ] Lie back.

[drazhada]

It is not considered.. appropriate for the emperor, but we are an uncommon emperor in many respects, we've been told.

[ there's a combination of factors that contribute to his strangeness, he supposes; his half-blooded nature, his upbringing, his isolation from court for most of his life.. even csevet being his first encounter with someone from his court. if he had latched on to someone like, say, tethimada instead-- the gods forbid.

he leans back when bid, fingers laced together again, thumb brushing once more over his oath-ring. --csethiro and the others must be concerned. his nohecharei-- he fears for them, to be honest. what will happen, with the emperor having disappeared under their careful watch? ]

We have difficulty imagining, [ he admits after a moment, glance flicking to thranduil, then back up to the ceiling, ears flattening back. ] We are meant to be wedded within the year, and we can hardly imagine that. [ were it up to him, he'd call the entire thing off and bid csethiro train as a knight, as she'd be happiest doing. but that's no more within his power than it is in hers. ]

[rowancrowned]

Better for that uncommonness, I suspect. [ perhaps it's a bit of a too-quick judgement as a response, but despite the leisure with which he might have formed opinions of those he meets, he still decides often within the first quarter-hour or less how he feels about a person- though he does not consider himself stubborn enough to remain unchanged in his views forever. the mortals simply- do not live long enough to make him change.

but maia- he likes maia. he appreciates the trust in allowing him to touch his hair, to put him to rights. with cupped hands, he guides maia's head into the basin, his ears above water so that he might hear thranduil still as he begins to wet maia's hair, to hum softly to himself as he starts his work. ]

Tell me about the woman who is to be your bride. [ it is such a simple ring that maia fusses with. is this how they signal the promise? ]

[drazhada]

We hope to be, at least. [ he's probably not at risk for another attempted coup or civil war, at least, which he takes as a good sign.

the request makes his face heat once more, though, fingers stilling, suddenly embarrassed. what should he say..? they've been betrothed for months now, and there's still so much he doesn't know about her. ]

She is Dach'osmin Csethiro Ceredin. She is very kind and very strong, and we are very pleased to say that though it is the duty of the emperor to marry, we believe that we will have friendship with our empress.

[ provided nothing terrible happens, of course, but he likes her quite a bit, and she seems to like him, and they get along well now that they understand one another better. she doesn't terrify him, at least. ]

.. Still, she would be much happier learning the sword and being one of our knights. [ a small sigh. ] If we were a ruler of thirty years instead of one, we would give her that. [ a beat, and his blush deepens, finally showing itself as a darkening in his cheekbones and ears. ] We should not have said so much. Our apologies.