TEST DRIVE MEME!

[faderifting]

What if there is no tomorrow?

Only more Hinterlands

Maybe the Inquisition sent you, maybe you came seeking the Inquisition. Maybe you fell out of a rift into this world last week and are still just trying to find your feet. However it happened, the first days of the new year find you in the Hinterlands. Tucked between Ferelden's massive Lake Calenhad and the icy Frostback Mountains, the Hinterlands are a hilly region covered in patchy forests and small farms trying to eke out a living between the boulders. Though somewhat remote, the area is rich with game and minerals and home to Redcliffe, a bustling town on a busy trade route.

Lately the Hinterlands have also been full of mages and templars and rifts, all threatening to turn once-peaceful countryside into a dangerous warzone. The Inquisition has set up several camps and sent personnel to try to restore order to the region, unwilling to let it slip into chaos. There's a lot to be done, some of it straightforward killing bad things, some of it weird and nebulous morale-building.

STILL WITH ADDED SNOW AND NOW ALSO ADDED KINDNESS TO ANIMALS (MOSTLY).

1. IF I GET SCARED, YOU'RE ALWAYS AROUND

You have turned the wrong corner in the snow, forded the wrong stream in the snow, crested the wrong hill in the snow, entered the wrong cave in the snow. Maybe you are far from camp, in the snow. Maybe you are in camp, which is also snowy. Whatever has happened, wherever you are: you are being chased through the snow by bears. Did you throw a snowball at the bears? Are they huge and snow-dusted? Babies burrowing through the snow drifts and coming for your ankles? Fade-touched in addition to snow-touched? Controlled by cold mages who are hiding in the snow? Popping up out of the snow like a game of whack-a-mole? What are they chasing you away from in all of this snow? What are they chasing you into, other than more snow? What warm things do you plan to make out of their hide if you kill them in the snow? What do you think they'll craft out of your hide if they kill you in the snow? P.S. It's still snowy.

2. THEY SAY WE'RE YOUNG AND WE DON'T KNOW

The Inquisition has, possibly, been a little too good at dealing with the Hinterlands' bear problem, and a group of concerned citizens--including young burgeoning naturalists, farmers concerned about the effect an unchecked population of rams may have on their crops come spring, and at least one woman who claims to be directly descended from bears--has taken issue. Maybe they're blocking your character's attempt to enter a bear-infested area. Maybe they've doused your character in bear blood. Maybe the bears they have been working so hard to save have cornered them in the wilderness and they're changing their tunes.

3. WITH YOU I CAN'T GO WRONG

The Inquisition's (cough Leliana's) habit of communicating by raven works out fine, usually, but this particular raven has gone a little rogue. It's not the raven's fault! She's young, she's trying. But she has very important information tied to her leg, and instead of delivering it, she's joined a flock of identical wild ravens to hunt for food in the snow. Recover her, somehow, without hurting her and making any spymistresses angry.

4. BEFORE IT'S EARNED, OUR MONEY'S ALL BEEN SPENT

The tavern at Redcliffe remains as busy as ever, filled with locals, travelers, and Inquisition members. But this month in addition to the usual free-flowing ale and rowdy conversation there is also a contest going on. Bakers have come from across the Hinterlands bearing their very best in an effort to win a coveted ribbon and the title of Best Cake. They pack the tavern and spill out into the surrounding courtyard when the weather allows, cakes sold off tables, out of packs, small chunks given away to whoever is passing and not paying enough attention to refuse. The votes are carefully guarded by several serious looking fellows in the back corner of the tavern. In addition to traffic issues, the cake madness has also caused an infestation of large local rodents, who have appeared out of their holes to devour the many crumbs. Legend has it that if they can be humanely eradicated from the tavern before the final vote is cast, spring will come early. No one in living memory has succeeded, but you are strongly encouraged to try anyway.

5. AIN'T NO HILL OR MOUNTAIN WE CAN'T CLIMB

Hunt game so you can rescue it before other hunters get there, kill demons or maybe just try to hug it out?, dig under the snow for herbs or plant some of your own to replace what others have taken, track bandits through the snow and see if they need a hand, deal with someone charging extortionist coat prices now that it's snowing and convince them to do the right thing, fall off a deceptively tall rock into the snow and admit it was your own fault, get lost circling the same hill ten times trying to find a way up to the weird glowing skull on a stick you can see is up there in the snow so that you can give it a decent burial, climb trees or abandoned towers covered in snow and be careful not to knock them down, rummage around in empty homes to get out of the snow but leave a nice apology note, run from a dragon in the snow and promise not to trespass on its territory again, definitely don't kill any fennec foxes, set up camp and chat around the fire about your feelings because it's snowy and cold, give yourself a pat on the back (figuratively, or even literally if that's more your speed)-- the Hinterlands are your playground.

Comments

1

[laurenande]

Redcliffe was, in the way of many human settlements, strangely named. It boasted a large but unimpressive looking fortress, off in the distance, but was neither red nor had any cliffs that she could see. The town was little more than an array of little buildings; each was tidily kept and well built, but made of terrible wood sheltered beneath questionable thatch. To walk through Redcliffe was to trudge through mud and watch as the architecture soaked up the snow and damp. The buildings would crumble within two decades; it was nearly enough to make Galadriel frown.

Fortunately, the fate of Redcliffe's simple cottages was driven from her mind fairly quickly. She stepped into the yard between the buildings she caught sight of Thranduil, his arm half extended in gesture. Before him stood a human, arrested in place, staring at him in the most peculiar way. His expression was some combination of offense and shock, as if one had tried to wipe the other away and both had gotten tangled together in the process.

It was a look Galadriel had received on more than one occasion and, ultimately, one that she felt exemplified how it was to be Eldar in Thedas.

"I would suggest speaking with elves whenever possible," Galadriel said as she strode toward them. The human's eyes darted between them, still caught in between both expressions, and he shifted away. Snow had already begun to pile atop his shoulders and head. A glimmer of panic danced in his gaze, as if he expected they would attack him, and Galadriel turned her attention to Thranduil instead.

"I have found the men of Thedas are rarely very helpful."

3

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ He jumps back, startled, his eyes wide. ]

B-begging your pardon!

[ The elf is tall, taller than the elves he has become accustomed to seeing here in Thedas, but between his surprise and the dark of the barn, darker still after being out in the sunlight, Sam does not quite take note of that at first. He hesitates, staring at the Elf and trying to figure out just what it is he had managed to ruin. ]

I - I didn't mean to, honest I didn't! I - I could help, I can put it right or try to anyhow. I could -

[ He looks around again, still at a loss. The Elf doesn't seem to have been working on anything that he can see. ]

...What were you doing, anyway?

[rowancrowned]

[ it is impossible to be mad at a hobbit. indeed, thranduil- regret is not the right word, for the elvenking does not regret- would have been less sharp, had he a chance to redo it. all he can do now is wipe the anger from his face, and calm the halfling to the best of his ability. ]

'Tis I who must beg your pardon, child of the Shire. [ and he bows in apology, an incline of his head. ] I thought you to be one of the Men bumbling about- stinking of drink.

[ thranduil cuts his rant short, and steps closer, to have a better point from where he can gesture to the bird, high in the rafters, the sunlight coming through the rafters turning motes of dust into sparkling glitter. ] She is frightened, and, whilst not in pain, close to panic. The tube about her leg is new to her. I seek to calm her, and remove the tube.

[rowancrowned]

His attention shifted from the Man to Galadriel in a moment. His fingertips brushed his breast, he bowed by a measure of scant degrees. The gesture ought to be familiar to her—it was the same he had greeted her with so long ago, when he had been but an elfling, and she newly arrived in his birth city to meet Melian.

He performed it with much more grace, now. Still, it told her all she might need to know of his mood—displeased enough to be in one of his more fey tempers, the sharp side of his tongue freshly whetted.

“My dear Lady.” He caught her hands in his own gloved ones, and gave a light squeeze. A friendly enough greeting for cousins-by-marriage, and carefully without royal overtones. “I find Men unhelpful as a whole excepting a few, but I have seen no kin since arriving until you. I cannot feel any fëar beyond yours, and then only barely.”

He himself felt… floaty. Nauseous. Thranduil cocked his head, affected a smile. “Do you imply you know where I mind find something to thaw the ice from my ears?”

The Man, of course, was wholly useless to him now—and had been unhelpful too boot, rendering him unworthy of future attention.

[kremdelacreme]

"Sorrelean. Pleasure to meet another one of you," he offers, holding a hand out to shake. At least there's not much blood on the gauntlet. "You could say I'm a bit close with some of them. Share a room with Pel. Plot the mild harassment of templars with Beleth. Watch Cyril try fruitlessly to flirt with my-" what is Sam to him, anyway? "-friend."

[laurenande]

Watching him offer silent greeting felt somewhat surreal. It was a simple gesture, made with ease and a sharp, telling sort of grace. It had been barely any time at all since she had been in Lorien, mere months since she had last been greeted this way, and yet the familiarity of it, however brief, made her take pause. The human beside them was alarmed and drew himself tall as Thranduil's attention shifted from him; when Thranduil took her hands, the human began to make his escape, backing away from the both of them gradually. The leery look he leveled at them persisted until he was well and truly out of sight.

"I do, though I suspect you may find it wanting," she replied and drew a hand free to gesture at the largest building in the small town. "Come, and once we have chased away the chill, you must tell me how long you have walked these lands."

This situation should not have been as strange as it was. It had been some time since she had last spoken to him, at least in person, but not so long that she should be stunned by the very sight of him. To find him here was odd, truly, but not without precedent. She had not been so staggered by Samwise Gamgee--or perhaps she had. It was hard to recall how she had felt; the hobbit had charged straight into her and nearly toppled her over as he embraced her legs.

Galadriel moved alongside Thranduil and remained there as she ushered him toward the "Gull and Lantern". The tavern was, perhaps, the least perishable of the buildings in Redcliffe. The windows were lit gold and red, welcoming as and warm as the firelight within. The doors were open and the snow drifted away as the heat rose up around the roof. It was not until they arrived that she realized she had not released his hand.

"I have met many elves in this place, though they are...removed from themselves." She released his hand and immediately felt as though he had moved far away. The distance that yawned between them, even as it did not, was fairly disconcerting. "I cannot sense their fëar at all, but we are not entirely alone in Thedas."

[gatheringstorm]

Korrin nods in firm approval, pleased that he was willing to listen and join her cause. She hadn't been actively recruiting, but why not? The Inquisition needs more people like him, and not just because he's a Grey Warden.

"We're lucky to have you then, Warden...?" Pausing since just then, she realizes that she didn't catch his name.

[sunshinethroughgrey]

She watches that nervous gesture with a quick smile, before she tucked her hands together in front of her, the picture of calm serenity.

"Kindness is as simple as breathing, if you think about it. Pick one person up is like picking up one leaf. There are thousands of leaves, though, so ... it'll take awhile." She grinned then, flashing his dimples.

"I most certainly can, mostly because I don't want to be kicked out before we even have the drink." A bright smile. "Redcliffe. In a few hours time?"

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ But Sam misses Thranduil's patient explanation entirely. He stands stock-still, stunned into silence for one in his life, and stares.

He knows him.

He knows him for a hobbit, and he'd barely even blinked to see him there. ]

You're - you're an elf!

[ But that's not enough. There are so many elves here, and he expands on the exclamation immediately, his words tripping over themselves now in his haste to get them out. ]

You're a real elf! You're from Middle-earth! You -

[ He realizes what he'd said, and claps a hand over his mouth. Real elves they all are, of course, but, well, there's elves and there's elves, after all. And this one looks nearly as elfy as Galadriel.

He lowers his hand, craning his neck to gaze up at Thranduil, wonder in his gaze and his voice a mere whisper. ]

- You're from back home.

[rowancrowned]

He did not offer her his arm in replacement—the situation not formal enough to need it, and while he was in a foul temper, he was not that poorly to remove his hand so rudely. If Galadriel had answers, she would share them, or they would spar verbally until the edge was taken off and he might pry them from another source. No point in denying her what amounted to comfort.

“Not long.” A quick glance to the sun—assuming it moved similar to Arda’s, he would measure “—perhaps six hours. I—stumbled upon whatever this place is to find myself fighting what I can only term dark shades, dispatched them, and found my presence… requested by the Man who found me.”

He raised a brow as they entered the tavern, glancing at Galadriel. This is where the Lady of Lorien would go to drink? This is the best this Mannish town can offer?

“Like unto the Avari?” He had some Penni in his kingdom, though most married outside that group, and no purebred elflings of that group had been born in an Age or two, to the best of his recall. He listened to the conversation in the tavern—eavesdropped, in truth, but it was in his favor to gather as much information as quickly as possible. “The Man with his law on the floor, he acted like he had not seen an elf before. Pray tell why that was.”

[rowancrowned]

[ clearly, the bird can wait, for the hobbit is in a worse state than she, and thranduil is able to prioritize. he smiles, reaches to brush a lock of his hair behind his ear, highlight the point. the rings on his fingers glitter, the room is warm and bright as if filled by unfiltered sunlight.

thranduil appreciates the need for theatre, and is certainly not above using it. ]

I am indeed an elf, master Hobbit, and we are both of Arda, though I am of Mirkwood, and you the Shire.

[ he's not too interested in giving the poor little thing a heart attack, so he sweeps over to the stacked bales of hay, and sits, smoothing his outer robe to keep it from wrinkling. ]

Will you not sit with me, and talk? I long to hear the story of how you came to be here.

[iknowlove]

( psst go here )

legolas, tolkien

[parkourprince]

( 1. ) in the tree, take 1.
Most people would be quite concerned at finding themselves in this kind of a situation, where they would be stuck on a tall yet thin, snowy tree while beneath it a roaring bear paced this way and that. Legolas, on the other hand, was, for one, wholly unconcerned, and for second, quite amused. He sat perched on a branch well out of the way, and stared down at the bear, murmuring words to calm it down and send it away. It would be too easy to nock an arrow to his bow and send it flying to lodge in the beast's skull, but it was rightfully grouchy with him, so he didn't particularly think this solution to be fair. It was hungry, he trespassed, now he needed to apologise and be forgiven.

His breath misted before his face with every exhale, cheeks flushed from the chilling air, he watched the bear raise on its back paws to rest the front on the tree trunk and shove. The entire tree trembled from the force, his branch shook, bunches of snow falling off of it, but Legolas did not lose his balance. "There is easier game in this forest, you and I both know it," his native tongue still flew freely from his lips, Middle-earth or no, though he wasn't so sure the bear understood it, but it should understand the tone at least: gentle, if mirthful. "Your hunger will only grow worse if you insist on the unachievable."

A couple moments later, the bear turned and wandered away with tired, disappointed noises. Next, Legolas leapt down onto the soft snow with practised grace in a flurry of falling snow and flowing coat.

( 4. ) is that even safe to eat?
The crowd was surely eye catching, though Legolas stayed at the very outskirts of it, well away from the mass of bodies brushing and squeezing together. His curiosity was great, sure enough, but not quite great enough to have him attempt to see what exactly was so popular with the Men.

A couple paces later, something large skittered across his foot and Legolas looked just in time to see a rat disappearing among the crowd. Apparently, this competition invoked the same desire in both Men and rats. He grimaced, then a little farther away, hid his discontent behind a mask of diplomatic neutrality when a piece of one of those competition cakes had been offered to him. He accepted, politely and graciously even, until he was out of the ear- and eye-shot, which was when he rid himself of the burden without a single bite taken. If caught... well, at the very least he was honest, "One cannot say if the rats have not taken part in the making of it, and I would not risk any undue surprises."

( 5. ) in the tree, take 2.
There were many things wrong in his current situation, many things very frustrating and disconcerting, worrying. But at least the forest was beautiful, and a much better place to spend time in than the city, if colder than the taverns, but smelling much, much better. Of crispy cold, fresh air, and sleeping nature. It gave him the time to calm down the racing thoughts, even if it couldn't offer a solution when the manner of his coming here was as incomprehensible as it was, at least as far as he was concerned.

How could the Valar allow this? Who, or what, was so powerful to bring him to such a foreign place; it wasn't only that it was not Middle-earth or Valinor, but it was not Arda at all. And though the prospect of exploring a whole another world should, and normally would, be exciting, it wasn't quite so when it happened so suddenly, unexpectedly, and without his agreement to it.

option a.
A noise, or simply a presence, down below caught his attention, Legolas didn't look but he did issue a helpful warning.

"I would not head there, the bears are still out and prowling and the territory of one grouchy fellow begins at your next step," it was, indeed, the exact same tree where he hid from a bear, as it offered a nice view of the surrounding area, and in his white and grey garb, he was well hidden on the branch up here. "So be aware as you take it."

option b.
His distraction was a song, beautiful and soft, that seemed to flow along with the surrounding nature. Foreign for most here, for it was in Sindarin, the language of the elves of Arda.

( ooc: I have not decided on a canon point yet, either pre- or post-canon, rifter, also feel free to wildcard anything. )

iv

[rowancrowned]

Mice—and worse, rats-- happened when one stored food. There were solutions: cats, traps—though his Silvans were more likely to eat than release—or simply storing food correctly. Men, of course, heeded none of the above.

“They will bring a plague down on the whole castle.” Spoken in Sindarin, of course. Legolas wouldn’t sicken, but the thought of what might be in the cake had, wisely, encouraged him to throw away the sweet. Thranduil merely raised a hand to refuse, apparently unconcerned with what impression that would give.

A raised brow, and he turned to address Legolas properly rather than speak into the middle distance. “We ought to provide our own food, seeing—this.”

[parkourprince]

Were this back in Middle-earth, perhaps these Men would heed the advice of an elf, and especially so an elf king, but here such advice seemed to be worth less, once they realised who it was they were talking to. Legolas kept his hair down, not to cover his ears specifically, but as a means to keep them warm rather. The ever present chill managed to bite even his flesh, now and again, and he didn't find it particularly pleasant. And so, currently, the flaxen strands bundled with the thick, fuzzy collar of his cloak.

"To hunt will not be terribly difficult, not even here," Legolas thought back to what exploration he had already done of the surrounding areas. This land might be resting beneath a thick blanket of snow, but the game in the forest was still plenty. Besides the bears, he had seen rabbit tracks, elks, other large forest creatures that could provide a feast. "Even in such heavy winter, with so many bears roaming, the forest is filled with game as far as I could see, and there is fish in the rivers and lakes.

"It is all else that may be out of our reach," Legolas shrugged a shoulder, meeting Thranduil's gaze with a small smile. All that he listed was already plenty in the current circumstance, even if it lacked in variety, anything else beyond would be an extra, something more for pleasure rather than simple survival. "No luxuries, I fear."

[rowancrowned]

He played with one of the rings on his hand—some were heirlooms, from his father and grandfather, and some were merely beautiful. And valuable. No great loss, to trade them.

“We will eat well enough, my son, if all we trade for is but salt and bread.” Legolas could bow hunt for fish, and Thranduil was a decent enough cook—hot coals were all it took to bake fish, and there were roots that could be eaten in the winter, if found. “No wine, I fear. The rest of whatever coin I procure ought to go to our cousins, and to keep you in iron arrowheads.”

Ones best suited for piecing iron armor. Hunting could be done with bone or simply whittled ones. A smile, he reached out and brushed a lock of hair behind Legolas’ ear, tender and affectionate. “You do not mind providing for your poor father? Were that I still possessed an ounce of skill with the bow.”

That had been lost with his sight at Dagorlad.

2. (Loki | MCU)

[felsendesalters]

If he were to be perfectly honest, something as rare as a cold day in Valhalla, Loki did not join the Inquisition for purely altruistic purposes. Far from it actually.

There was an organization with poor leadership. There was a hold that could almost rival the Asgardian palace...almost. It lacked a certain splendor. There was, in addition to all of these things, a throne.

How could he not be tempted by that?

So why was it now that he was so compliant, even helpful, given his own ambitious nature and self involved personality? It wasn't that he could not cooperate when he wanted to, he could be completely charming if the situation demanded it.

The long game.

Here he was in a world he knew not where, unable to pass from one dimension to another, with this glowing oddity on his hand...and even with his vast knowledge of the arcane he had no explanation.

It was intriguing at best, annoying at worst.

So he needed the Inquisition for now, just until he could learn more about what had happened to him, how all of his plans had been foiled. What this strange glow was, why he had lost access to certain of his own gifts, and how he could bend this world to his own advantage.

Perhaps this Maker he'd heard so much about needed to be usurped and not by pretenders either.

For all of that he could do his bit for the Inquisition...unfortunately his charm only carried him so far. Particularly when faced with an angry mortal mob armed with bear blood, perfectly mundane and not at all unexpected. Precisely the reason such creatures needed a proper ruler.

A blood bath was easily deflected, but of course that did raise alarms...apparently magic was this frightening thing that should be treated with caution, contained. Such nonsense.

Of course Loki did little to dispel this by blowing up the nearest structure as indemnification for the insult. What? There was nobody inside, and think of the good it will do, if that ruckus attracts bears these witch hunters will have plenty of fire to ward them off.

Silver lining. One must be shown the negative in order to see the positive, let them fend for themselves if that was how they really wanted it. Armed with no regrets and perhaps the tiniest smile touching the corners of his lips he returned from whence he came.

(Feel free to wild card at him.)

[parkourprince]

More so than ever, to get back all the arrows - or at least as many as possible - would be important. It wouldn't be so easy to replace a single arrowhead here. Legolas nodded his agreement, knowing well enough what it was Thranduil was planning. It didn't take a genius to know he'd sell his rings, and unfortunately between the two of them, his father was the only one with jewellery to offer for coin.

"I have it enough for the two of us," and he was proud of it too, proud to show off or prove it, and most of all happy to be the one to provide for Thranduil as well. He didn't flinch away from the gesture, but leaned in by a mere degree. Out here, among all the on-lookers, about as much appreciation of the affection as he would allow himself. That, and the private smile, a brief flicker of it for Thranduil's eyes only. His bow was on his back, along with the quiver, so he could only nod towards it, "No more is necessary than this!"

Mirth seeped into his expression next, cheeky and he tipped his head, looking ahead again, only glancing at Thranduil with the corner of an eye.

"Perhaps it is more that you mind to be at my mercy with variety of provided food?"

[rowancrowned]

He had his jewels for now—some he would never part with, his crown and the ring designed to match his wife’s necklace among them. Once Legolas began to hunt, there would be furs. Damnably foolish was the amount they needed to eat, now.

… the smell of cake, though he knew what else had been nibbling on it, still made him hungry. “Come, Legolas, my little Silvan. I tire of this foul air.”

What a comfort it was to have his son by his side! Better here than elsewhere, his location unknown, and Thranduil fearing for his safety. They slipped free of the tavern, heading for an alcove where the wind was not so sharp, and they were freer to speak. “Am I to expect a repeat of your thirty-first year, when you would eat nothing but rabbit?”

Not even seasoned, or baked—roasted, over a fire, eaten before meals in the Halls, leaving the princeling to do nothing but push his food around his plate—‘but Ada, I am not hungry!’ coming to him as perfect in recall as if they were there again. “I would request that we have fish too, and boar, if you can hunt it.”

1~

[felsendesalters]

Loki's observation upon his arrival was that there was a clear division between the peoples of this world, that some were superior to others. It tended to be normal, unremarkable, humans who placed themselves at the top of this imagined hierarchy that they clung to so desperately.

It was shocking really, though that seemed to be the way of human behavior, lost creatures that killed one another in droves. How they could be at the top of the food chain here, or anywhere, was a mystery.

Loki had been treated with the same sort of dismissive, mild neglect all because he carried a scepter and looked like one of their mages. He was learning, he was learning quickly, where his place was on their list of concerns...not that they shouldn't be concerned, but the presumption of it all drained the good humor right out of him.

It was time to get it back.

And to the man who neglected to answer the elf's question Loki conjured snakes at his feet, this was one of his favorite pranks to be honest. People were easily put out by creatures that slithered on the ground and the man was no different.

As soon as he noticed that his feet had been beleaguered by serpents the fun began...the screaming, flailing, and scurrying about as if he'd been lit aflame? It brought an unrepentant smile to the sharp features his face.

"He seems to be...in a hurry," Loki said in a low, indistinctive voice, waving his hand after he'd had his fill to dispel his illusion, "...a shame he could not be more helpful, though perhaps I could be of assistance."

[parkourprince]

Legolas followed without question, weaving between the people who broke away from the crowd and milled about the tavern. Nobody bothered them on their way out, and once outside, Legolas too took a deep inhale of crispy cool air. It smarted, and he laughed at the stinging and Thranduil's words.

"I think even you would appreciate a finely roasted winter rabbit, ada," white teeth flashed in another grin, teasing, he made no indication to agree to the request, "In those years, I have become a master at preparing it."

He walked easily, puffing misty air before his face with each breath.

"I will consider it." Kindly, to show just how merciful Thranduil could expect him to be.

[rowancrowned]

“I can appreciate the peppers the Haradrim use in their foods, Legolas, but I cannot appreciate them every day. One must give the skin on the roof of one’s mouth time to heal.” Excepting, apparently, the Haradrim, who likely built up an immunity.

“And for that I thank you, my prince.” Having grown up with such a sharp-tongued father, Legolas had always seemed more able to handle Thranduil’s wit. It helped. Not as much was censured—some matter of state, but not casual conversation.

He worried about Legolas spending too much time in the cold, and turned their path towards the main keep. “Perhaps we might visit the kitchen, and see what we find there? I understand they have the sense to keep a cat or two.”

[harthad_uluithiad]

[ It's better than anything else he could have said - all those words that remind him of home, so strange and unfamiliar to anyone else in Thedas save Galadriel, said as easy as anything. Sam gazes up at him, stars in his eyes. It speaks to just how overcome he is by the Elf's presence that he doesn't even hesitate when Thranduil invites him to sit, but follows close at his heels, unwilling to stray too far away.

But Thranduil's question hardly registers; he's still caught up in something else. ]

Mirkwood? [ His eyes go wide. He's never seen Mirkwood for himself, nor does he ever wish to, if half of Bilbo's stories are true. But the other half, of course, had been filled with elves and dragons and wonderful things, and Sam looks up in awe even as he perches on the edge of a bale of hay, legs dangling off the edge. ] Are you from Mirkwood, then? Were you there when the dwarves all got locked up by the elves - when Mr. Bilbo broke them out? Oh - [ He claps a hand over his mouth suddenly, eyes wide with alarm now rather than wonder. Once again he'd said too much. ]

5b

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam was walking along in the grass below the trees when he heard it. A song, sung in a clear pure voice, the sound so beautiful that it stopped him in his tracks.

He stood there, listening for a while, and as the music filled his ears his brow furrowed in sudden thought. For though he could not have said what language he was hearing, the music gave him the same feeling of peace and wonder he had felt when hearing Elven songs in Rivendell and in Lórien. He felt almost as if he could understand what the voice sang of, whether he knew the meaning of the words themselves or no.

Suddenly it struck him - this was not the language of the elves of Thedas. It was the same music as that he had heard in Middle-earth, but the voice that sang it was not Galadriel's, and he nearly cried out in surprise and joy before stifling the sound, dashing forward in an attempt to find the singer.

5a

[arlathvhen]

Beleth would like to think that she is a fairly observant woman. She's a scout, after all--Observing is kind of in the job description. So when a voice unseen appears out of the trees, she feels rather embarrassed about the way that she nearly jumps out of her skin. Still, the warning is heard, and Beleth pulls out her bow carefully, taking a step or two back and peering off in the distance, to see if she can spot the mentioned bear. Unable to, she turns her eyes up, and tries to see the person who gave her the warning instead.

"Thank you, ser. These bears are so troublesome, makes me want to get those folks who were trying to kick up a fuss about killing them and tossing blood on people, and make them--"

She trails off of whatever threat she had in mind as she finally spots the person. The elf, she should say, who seemed to be a city elf from his face. But he looked like no city elf that Beleth had ever seen--She's reminded of the Lady Galadriel. Tall, pale, almost ethereal. It makes her feel...utterly plain, a sparrow to a parrot.

"Aneth ara, lethallin. Ma vhen?"