Halam'shivanas [CLOSED]

[malavhenan]

WHO: Finel and Aragorn
WHAT: Post-audience drama and elf cultural exchange
WHERE: Courtyard/garden near throne room
WHEN: Shortly after the audience with the emperor
WARNINGS: You might get cavities idk



Finel had chosen not to approach the Emperor, deciding instead to observe. While he had questions of his own, his experience with various human courts and nobles in Thedas had taught him that each one behaved differently with a different set of rules, and it is far easier to navigate when you knew the rules. He could guess, if need be, but after so many years of being expected to take the most active role in the room, the former Inquisitor has no qualms in waiting in the wings, this time.

It was heartening to see Aragorn standing a little stronger than the day they had met. Hopefully the wound was healing properly now, hopefully he had gone to the medical ward to have it properly cared for, better than what a magic-less, one-armed mage could manage on short notice, at least.

Yet as bold and dramatic as his proclamation to fight for the Emperor was, Finel had felt a cold, uneasy feeling twist its way from his chest to his stomach. Although their meeting had been relatively short, already he felt so drawn to him - Aragorn hadn't struck him as someone to go blindly, so rashly, into a fight, yet the readiness to pledge himself to a cause any of them barely understood...

The strength of his worries nearly causes him to miss the Emperor's reply--

You are a King of Men, are you not?

Clearly, there is more to most people here than meets the eye. Yet with his own gaze focused entirely on Aragorn, it's impossible to miss his surprise at the use of the title - which meant that it had been something few should have known.

What else did the Emperor know, about all of them, only to reveal at opportune moments?

With an anxious fluttering in his chest, Finel follows the crowd out of the throne room, so many more questions circling in his mind that he nearly feels dizzy.

Needing some air, he finds himself in a small, nearby sitting garden. A few people pass through at a leisurely pace, a couple of benches are arranged beneath trees to admire the variety of flowers and other flora. Aragorn is already there, standing near a pillar on the edge of the greenery. Finel approaches him, forcing his pace to a casual walk. His cautious smile perhaps belies some of the concern he feels.

"You're feeling better I see." His tone is warm and fond, even so.

Comments

[malavhenan]

Creators, he has a wonderful smile.

"It's the same for our language. It seems there is much in common between them."

Something eases, a tension Finel hadn't quite realized he had been carrying between his shoulders. His heart lightens, as though something heavy has suddenly been lifted away. He smiles, quite unable to contain the way his eyes brighten at the prospect. Never has anyone quite displayed such genuine curiosity like this, in a way that seems to match his own.

"I would like that very much," he agrees warmly. Finel only just manages to tear his eyes away from Aragorn's to find an empty bench a little farther into the garden. He nods in its direction.

"Will you join me?"

[elessar]

"Of course," Aragorn answers with a smile once Finel leads the way.

The gardens here are a sight for sore eyes. Everything shrub and flower bed are neatly trimmed and managed by several gardeners who take their craft quite seriously. The expansive green lawn is close to immaculate with various statues neatly decorated with flower-covered vines. The trees are tall and robust with not a single branch sparse of leaves. There are all sorts of bees and butterflies dancing among the colorful flowers, and the lyrical chirps of the birds give them a song.

The lavish decadence of this garden is almost sinful. It's easy to tell where the Emperor decided to pool his resources. Perhaps this garden was a gift for the one who used to sit upon that empty throne? Nevertheless, Aragorn feels oddly out of place among such decadence.

"The Emperor has a fondness for nature," Aragorn comments once he sits down beside Finel.

[malavhenan]

It's certainly more extravagant than the one at Skyhold, where he could be often seen when he needed some fresh air after (or during) long meetings, occasionally tending to a few herbs he had planted for particular potions or other concoctions. It feels refreshing to be among the lushness, temporarily hiding the colder, harsher stone of the rest of the castle.

Finel lets his fingers trail gently against the occasional leaf or petal, feeling the texture. The air is cool, but pleasantly so with the crisp hint of autumn. He glances up at the tree, tall with a thick trunk and low-hanging branches that let through some dappled sunlight before sitting lightly and leaning back against the bench.

It's probably the most relaxed he's felt in...quite some time, despite everything, between the beautiful surroundings and company.

Still, he smiles a bit wistfully. "That we have in common, at least."

Finel finally turns back to Aragorn, leaning in slightly once more, curious. "Tell me more about your homeland. You said not many people speak Sindarin, are the elves very isolated from humans?"

[elessar]

Aragorn gives Finel a wistful smile when he asks. Sometimes he forgets that Finel doesn't hail from Arda. If it wasn't for the tattoos, the elven healer could easily pass for a member of King Thranduil's court despite his fiery red locks. Red hair is somewhat uncommon among men and even less common among the elves.

"Yes, they are." He states with a slight frown. "The Elves live among themselves within their cities, many of which are hidden and closed off from the rest of the world. I grew up in Imladris, also known as Rivendell in the common tongue. It's the home of Lord Elrond Peredhel, the Half-elven."

It's been years since Aragorn last resided in Rivendell. Ever since he set off on his quest to free the lands of Endor from Sauron's grasps. He traveled the land, scouring past the Misty Mountains and beyond to the realm of Eriador and even further to Arnor. He even traveled to the Shire on many occasions through Breeland, defending the realm from bandits and orcs. It's been years since he stayed in Lord Elrond's house, years since he was last called "Estel". Despite their familial bond, things became awkward once Aragorn began to pursue Arwen.

Just the mere thought of Arwen makes his heart swell. He can feel the silvery pendant resting against his chest. The intricately woven pendant is a testament of her love for him, a promise of their engagement. Despite all who disapproved of their union, Arwen still chose him over the promise of eternity.

"The Elves separate themselves from man, many unwilling to relive the sins we're bound to make in their stead."

[malavhenan]

Even in Thedas, red hair is hardly particularly common for elves. It's perhaps the only part of his appearance he takes pride in, the length now nearly reaching to his waist after five years of never cutting it.

Five years, he had realized, since that day.

It's bound up now, as usual, though these days he requires aid in doing even that much.

"That seems to be a rather common trait," Finel muses quietly in response to the isolation. His own clan had been not nearly as reclusive as some, lost almost entirely to the wilderness and on occasion attacking even other elves that might disrupt their solitude.

But still, the last part makes him frown slightly in confusion, his brows knitting together gently as he tilts his head, his eyes catching at the glint of the bright metal glinting at Aragorn's throat. He hadn't noticed it before, and for a moment he forgets his question.

"...what do you mean? The sins man is bound to make?"

[elessar]

Even though he knew the question would come, Aragorn realizes he's hesitant to answer. To speak of the misdeeds of Isildur bothers him greatly. For too long he's lived in the shadow of that man, constantly reminded of mankind's failure. Aragorn sits there for a moment, his thoughts wandering until he finally finds the right words. Isildur's shadow will not lurk upon him here. He utterly refuses to allow it to haunt him here in Fellden.

"The Elves of Arda are as ancient as the world itself." He begins, "They've witnessed the coming of man, and once partook in the same folly as us. They know of how greed and hatred can corrupt the soul, and loathe seeing such mirrored in us. This is why they keep their distance. They wish not to relive the horrors of the past through us." While most Elves would probably debate this truth, many of them cannot deny that their dislike of mankind stems from their uncanny likeness to them. In their eyes, it's like watching history repeat itself with the coming of humankind. That is why so many of them set sail for the Grey Havens. They wish not to relive the past through the eyes of another.

"The relationship between Elf and Man is strained. Neither is willing to treat each other."

[malavhenan]

For a few moments, Finel wonders if he's asked the wrong question, uncertainty beginning to settle heavily in his chest.

Yet there are elements in the answer that feel unsettlingly similar to the patchwork half-truths of history of his own people. Elves, once ancient and long-lived, yet corrupted by the coming of man. A civilization destroyed and almost entirely lost...

...although evidently, that hadn't been the way of it at all. The downfall of the Elvhen had begun long before. The corruption that had shortened the lifespans and sunk the once-glorious cities had been seen by one as the only option to save them all.

To his regret.

The faint quirk of his lips is sad and ironic.

"I wonder if that is simply the way of things between all elves and humans, to have difficulty understanding one another."

[elessar]

A smile spreads across Aragorn's lips but it holds no joy. "It's because we refuse to listen to each other." He whispers.

"We refuse to acknowledge each other as equals due to our pride."

The ranger falls silent for a time, his gaze focused upon the lovely white flowers that dot the crisp green lawn. They remind him of the wildflowers that bloom upon the statues of his long-forgotten ancestors. It's the first time that Aragorn sees slithers of Arda here within this odd realm. The sight of these flowers help lessen his gloom some, but their effect doesn't linger for long. It's then that Aragorn looks down at the light of the Evenstar. The silvery pendant seems to glow within the afternoon sun, shining too brightly to be some mere trinket.

Aragorn gently caresses the pendant as if scared it would shatter. "But there's hope." He mutters. "If not for Arda, then perhaps for other realms." His gaze focuses on Finel once more.

"If the two of us can converse like this, then surely others can."

[malavhenan]

It's funny how despite his own beliefs, years of hearing the retaliatory comments by his clan members, of still yet any other elf - but especially any other Dalish elf - still cause similar kneejerk sentiments to rise in his mind. It's the humans who refused to see us as equals, so many would not hesitate to say. Are not the elves entitled to their pride, after centuries of enslavement and derision? After promises made and broken, while so many are still yet murdered for sport?

'The Inquisitor, an elf savage?!' The high-pitched noblewoman's voice still prickles in his ears, years later.

For all that Finel did not hold so tightly as most of his kin to a history he now knew to be based almost entirely on lies, he could still never (and would never) entirely deny his identity and heritage.

Yet he had also never believed in keeping humans entirely at bay.

Finel can't help but note the tenderness with which Aragorn touches the gleaming jewel, wondering at but somehow already knowing the meaning of its presence.

He returns Aragorn's gaze with a fond, gentle smile.

"I would like to think that there is hope for both our homelands, but I would feel much better if there were more people in Thedas who felt as you do."

[elessar]

The comment wins a bashful grin from Aragorn. "You think too highly of me." He claims while making sure to avert his gaze. "There's must be others who aren't clouded by pride or hate. It just takes time to find them." Which could certainly be true since Thedas is a rather large realm. The need for change is prevalent judging from Finel's opinion on the subject. Maybe others will step forward in time but for now, Finel has to lament about the fate of his realm while stuck within this one.

"Tell me, Finel---" Aragorn finally meets his gaze again. "What do you believe will become of this realm?" The question is asked suddenly but his thoughts linger. "Is this world not somewhat...reminiscent to yours? I see slivers of Arda here in oddest places."

It's baffling to say the least, enough to confused Aragorn. Sometimes he feels like he never left Arda despite the subtle differences here. It's almost as if this world is an imitation of some kind. It's a little unsettling.

[malavhenan]

Finel murmurs a soft dissent, resisting the urge to shift closer to Aragorn. It isn't possible to think too highly of the man, he believes, even after knowing him a short while. Of course he had been fortunate enough to meet several in Thedas who had respected him as Inquisitor regardless of his origin, but it would be foolish of him to think that the struggles of his people were somehow lessened simply because of his own fortunate position.

But Aragorn's next question is a rather loaded one. Finel holds his gaze solemnly for a long moment before looking thoughtfully off into the distance. Vines have climbed high on the garden wall, a few of the broad leaves beginning to yellow in the onset of autumn. Subconsciously his hand lifts to curl around the carved wooden pendant hanging at his chest, his thumb rubbing over a well worn spot as he thinks. As troubled as it is, Thedas is his home.

"As strange as it may seem, this isn't the first time I have been pulled in to fight someone else's war. There are many parallels to this world and my home. In Thedas, the true history of the elves was lost. Even our language exists only in broken fragments, salvaged piece by piece over the centuries. My people, the Dalish, cling to the few stories and traditions they can."

A small, painful smile curls on his lips. "But I'm afraid most of those customs are based on a false version of the past.

I do not know what will become of Fellden, nor will I pretend to have any idea as to what should become of it...but I think everyone would be better off if they understood their true history."

[elessar]

Aragorn can't help but nod in agreement. "Then it's the truth we seek." He quietly comments as he regards Finel's forlorn expression. "The truth that many seem intent in hiding." His thoughts linger upon the Emperor again. Try as he might to unravel that enigma, Aragorn cannot. There are too many unknowns at work here. Aragorn strives to unearth these truths, but Aragorn realistically can't do so alone. This is why he's seeking the aid of others.

"I'm sorry," He suddenly says after a moment of thought. "For your people." Aragorn offers Finel a halfhearted smile. Despite all their differences, they both seem to hold a similar commonality. The Dúnedain are the living remnants of their Númenórean ancestors, all that's left of Elros Tar-Minyatur and his many descendants. While the Dúnedain strove to preserve the culture of their ancestors, little tidbits eventually fell to the wayside over the long centuries. That is simply the way of things. The erosion of time affects all, even the minds of people and scholars alike.

"It's a difficult task, but I believe the Dalish will be able to create new customs that will be cherished by your descendants to come."

[malavhenan]

There's something strained and sad in his expression as he shakes his head. "I appreciate the thought, but I fear there is far too much pride in the Dalish that many would still cling to the old ways, even if they knew the truth."

Finel thinks of the stories Solas had told him, of the way the Dalish clans had spurned his knowledge, even if they (and Finel) had no idea that it had all been firsthand. Yet what would they have done, knowing that they had turned away the true embodiment of Fen'Harel?

Besides which, Solas had plans to render anyone's beliefs in anything completely irrelevant.

He shifts, searching for a new subject when his eyes fall upon the finely crafted necklace nestled carefully just below the hollow of Aragorn's throat.

"It's beautiful," he murmurs softly, eyes looking back to those lovely blue. "A gift?"

[elessar]

The inquiry regarding the necklace causes Aragorn to pause. He glances down briefly at the pendant, his gaze unreadable with worry. "Yes," Aragorn answers with a remorseful sigh. "A gift." This necklace symbolizes all of Arwen's love. It hints at the promise of their future together but also serves as a reminder of his quest. While the dream he had of Arwen felt so real, Aragorn hasn't seen her since he took his leave of Imladris with the Fellowship. It's been well past a few months now since he began this journey, and now it seems he'll go without her warmth for an additional month.

A hint gloom lingers within his eyes as he regards Finel, his features aged by the melancholy he feels. "It's been long since I've seen her," Aragorn says with a bit of a frown. "Too long."

[malavhenan]

It isn't difficult to understand to understand the ache in Aragorn's eyes. It reaches directly into his chest, twisting at his own. There's a flicker of something also that he tries to ignore - a strange hint of disappointment that Finel has to remind himself he had no right to in the first place.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs softly, both in apology and in sympathy. There's a sorrow he can't quite keep out of his eyes, despite the gentle smile he offers. "You must miss her very much."

[elessar]

"More than words can express," Aragorn admits looking quite sullen. "We're not yet wed but I intend to marry her." Though what good are intentions if all of Arda is plunged into darkness? He still can't believe that Arwen would sacrifice her immortality for him. She could live a thousand or so lifetimes among her kin within the Grey Havens, each time coddled by the love of her doting family. However, she would rather sacrifice all that just to be with him. Aragorn almost feels as if he has nothing to offer Arwen, nothing that could measure up to the eternity she's forsaking.

"It's said that the elves are immortal," Aragorn suddenly begins as he glances over at Finel again. "They were blessed by the Valar, the gods, to be the fairest and the most beautiful of all of Arda. They could live forever if they cast aside their worries but in a cruel twist of fate, many of them became embroiled with men and perished for it."

He pauses for a moment as he regards Finel, his gaze uncertain. "I fear the same fate for her."

[malavhenan]

Finel can do nothing but give into the impulse to reach for Aragorn's hand, giving it a gentle, sympathetic squeeze. If there is something he understands all too well, it's the pain of separation.

"Then I pray that we may bring a swift end to this war, so that you may be reunited with her soon."

The gesture brings him half a step closer, craving nearness and touch. His heart hurts more for Aragorn now, knowing that there is no real reassurance he can offer; there's no way of knowing how long they will be here, in Fellden.

He feels his brows knit together. "You mean that if you are wed, she would lose her immortality? Simply for loving a man?"