I dislike the caffeine. I prefer restful sleep over wakeful hours, though if I must be awake for some measure of time I will have tea. [ With sugar, usually, or honey, something to stave off the taste. He's not particularly fond of the nature of tea in any way, and he's uncomfortable with the way it limits his connection to the Fade - he's just not about to spout all that off to a relative stranger.

He recognises the nature of ownership, of belonging, however, and it makes him feel a prickle of something gentle and nostalgic. He has long missed the feeling of belonging. ] You are welcome to find me whenever you wish. I spent most hours in the library, so you might seek me there.

[ Thranduil is tall, certainly taller than the elves of Thedas are now, comparable to the People of old. Solas tilts his head up for a moment, expression softening, welcoming the company for all that it is. ]

There were no elven slaves, once. [ Solas' jaw clenches, and he feels himself knot on the inside, rolling with the kind of sickness that only hatred and disgust can summon. ] They do not know their history, their past, and they are too willing to accept the bounds that this life offers them, too unwilling to listen to a past that speaks of the People's glory. They shame themselves by believing in false Gods and fabrications.

[ But, ah, he is getting a little venomous, a little off topic. ]

Tell me of the elves of your world.