open rp post

[troubleyan]

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

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[naharel]

[ Fen'Harel hums a little, a low chuckle as she speaks, and he shakes his head. She has a sense of humour still, which is good, and it pleases him to see that she hasn't found herself at all smothered down by the restrictions she's faced. It's typical for those that arrive here to be smothered by the weight of expectation and the power of the other leaders, so for her to be so open to him...

He cannot fault her for it. ]

I think you know what I mean, da'len.

[ He reaches for a glass of wine, seemingly not interested in eating right now, as if the food is performative for her rather than a meal for them to share. It's clear that his focus lies on her entirely. ]

I'd like to learn more about you. Can I be blamed?

[troubleyan]

[ She knows what this is. This is her sign that she needs to stop thinking about Fen'Harel and Solas as the same person, or she will go insane with anger, frustration at an elf that she's unlikely to see again. Or, alternatively, she'll go insane for oggling his younger counterpart with such open curiossity, taking in every difference and every similarity.

The hair, first of all. All that gorgeous hair.

She forces a breath out through her nose and sets her eating utensils down, cleaning her fingers on a cloth, and shifting to sit more facing him. ]

Fen'Harel. Let's not beat about the bush too long, shall we? I am human, and in comparison to your life mine feels like a flicker. Not a lot of care is had towards humans among your peers, I know, so lets cut through the bullshit.

You don't want to know more about me, you want to dissect me like a fascinating insect, I see it in that intense way you're looking at me.

[ Foolishly, she does what she did as a teen when she ended face to face with a wolf, armed with nothing but a dagger. She bares her teeth at him. ]

Try it.

[naharel]

[ Sometimes, the way she looks at him is entirely baffling, as if she is seeing something there that he is blind to - Fen'Harel can't imagine what it is, because she is a complete stranger to him. There is sometimes a tug, as if there is some bond between them that is yet unspoken. When he focuses on it, it feels as though it is just out of reach, ripped away from him before he can wrap his hands around it.

Tilting his head, he rests his jaw on his hand as he watches her speak. She's very proper, as if raised well.

Nobility, perhaps? ]

Bold.

[ Not that he is complaining. He lifts a shoulder, an idle shrug, as his lips curl into a pleased little smirk. (What had Solas said, once? Wild youth. That may well be rearing it's head). ]

You appeared out of nowhere and have power about you. I don't think I can be faulted for my curiosity.

[troubleyan]

[ Well, fuck. She didn't intimidate the wolf in front of her now, if that single worded declaration is any clue. She made the wolf horny.

Maybe. Evelyn can tell when someone's intrigued, especially when they feel challenged, and she might as well start digging her own grave now, since the shovel is already in her hands. ]

I've no proprietary marking on me and I can be clever with my hands, but I wouldn't call that power.

[ Great plan, Evie. Distract him into thinking about handjobs so he doesn't think about why you reel of Elven orby magic. ]

[naharel]

Your hands?

[ Fen'Harel's lips curl a little. He can almost taste it in the air, considering how she looks at him, as if a little alarmed by his interest. He wouldn't turn it down if she was truly offering it, but he isn't going to push. He isn't like the others, fuelled by his demands, as they can be.

His eyes are intent, gazing at her as if he can see into her very heart. As if he can read her, somehow. ]

Many of us are good with our hands here. Is that all you have to tell me? All you want me to know?

[ It's banter, a little, but he's also a little flirtatious. ]

[troubleyan]

[ No, she wants to tell him more. Wants to ask for his help in returning, wants to ask why he would wake up and call himself Solas, ask why the others would be known as gods in her time and why Arlathan fell, and why his palace looks so much like Skyhold and -

She wants to ask him more and tell him more than she can, and she wonders if in the future he will meet her on a battlefield and remember her like this. Sitting at his table, biting her lip, careful and unreckless. ]

I am not sure that sharing more of myself with you won't be...catastrophical. And it isn't because I don't appreciate your hospitality - or the offer of friendship, no. That much is deeply valued, but...

[naharel]

You’re worried about the influence on wherever it is you’re from?

[ He pauses to take a moment to consider. It’s not a leap to think that she is worried about consequences, about revealing too much, when she had arrived here with a strange accent and strange clothes. Another realm, perhaps… Or another time? Magic can do great things, but he’d not like to leap to conclusions.

Either way, perhaps her concern is warranted. ]

Do you know anything of the magic that brought you here? If this realm is different to yours, or another entirely? It may be that your actions will have fewer consequences.

[ Waving his hand, he motions to the spot beside him. ]

Why don’t you come and sit?

[troubleyan]

[ She eyes the seat next to him, feeling the distance like a chasm. Damn, he is charismatic and intense and she resents that it all works on her.


She doesn't move to sit at his side yet, simply licks her lips and clarifies his point: ]

Not a where, but a when.

[naharel]

Well. You weren’t making it that much of a secret.

[ His eyes don’t leave her even as he pauses to think, considering. It’s not a field he’s expert in, but…]

I would imagine if you’ve arrived here then it is something intended. Time is not bound by the realm of magic, of course, but it acts upon itself like a wave in the ocean. Whatever you do here will change things as they were meant to be changed, surely.

[troubleyan]

[ One eyebrow lifts at his conclusion. ]

Sounds like the kind of explanation a very powerful mage would give a peasant to excuse his curiosity. What, exactly, is your curiosity?

[naharel]

Or an explanation that makes sense. Not everything is a game, da’len.

[ Shaking his head, he watches her pointedly. ]

I like you. I want to know where you are from and what you know. That’s all.

[troubleyan]

[ She chews the inside of her cheek, hesitant, and then concedes. It's mostly motivated by spite - she wants Solas to have these memories of her, she wants him to sweat.

Fen'Harel, in the meantime, has been nothing but surprisingly kind and welcoming, so he gets her to behave. She sits next to him. ]

Long into your future, from a land named Thedas, a cluster of clans that call themselves the Free Marches. My parents - my father was a bann, so I grew up being drilled on the Game, up until the moment when it was clear I wasn't interested in making either a very good monk [ how else to explain Templars? ] or a very obedient wife.

[naharel]

[ Fen’Harel watches her as she comes closer and sits and listens as she speaks. A time in the future… He has questions, but he knows he cannot ask them. Time is fragile, he thinks, and doing anything to weaken the boundaries or asking for too much would be disastrous.

He’ll listen intently instead, nodding along.]

I cannot picture you being an obedient anything.

[ Head tilting, he keeps his gaze on her. ]

What did you choose to do?

[troubleyan]

[ She settles into the seat a bit more at ease now, her hand finding a glass of wine and taking one sip. His, by accident mostly. ]

I ran. I became a problem that they wanted to hide rather than a daughter they wanted, so they didn't send me to the Order and they didn't find any man dumb enough to want to marry me.

I did it for long enough that I learned some better skills along the way, that they found a better use for me - they had more children, you see, so I was rather trivial in the grand scheme of things.

[naharel]

How unfortunate for them. And now you’re here.

[ At least his read on her being a noble of some kind was accurate. As she drinks his eyes flicker over her face, her neck, and he ponders to himself for a few moments. It might well be that they’re able to send her back, but if she’s trapped here tomorrow?

It seems she is destined to always find herself in some trouble.

Shaking his head, his lip curves into a smile. ]

And what do you want while you’re visiting us here?

[troubleyan]

In the general gist of it, and now I'm here. [ The Blight, Archdemons, Corypheus - even the Inquisition - are hard to explain without giving him too much information about the future, without twisting it in some way.

Since too much is riding on the future not being changed by this (in the abstract; she will always be changed by this) she has to leave it at that.

Has to look away from those intense eyes and stop drinking him in when she thinks he isn't looking, fascinated both by the power he so easily wields and by the familiarities she spots there. ]

I want to figure out a way back - but I'm not mage, and so I... [ She looks up, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. ] I need your help.

[naharel]

We can do some research.

[ He can finally lean back in his chair, expression thoughtful. He could ask the others, he supposes, but he’s not of a mind to tell them much of the truth about his guest’s situation. If they got wind of her being from the future they’d beg information from her at their kindest. At their most cruel?

He’s seen what they do to their enemies.

After a few moments of deep thought, he comes back to himself, expression warming again. ]

Consider me at your service.

[troubleyan]

[ He offers it so simply that it knocks her breath out a little, leaves her floored. ]

Just like that?

[ A little flicker of a smile. ] you're not what I expected at all.

[naharel]

You need help. I offer it.

[ His lips curl again, a touch smug as he leans closer. ]

What expectations could you have had of me, hm?

[troubleyan]

[ She doesn't exactly pull away, not exactly displeased with the proximity. He - Fen'Harel, therefore not Solas, and not thinking of him as Solas at all - is very beautiful up close, and Evelyn is a sucker for a pair of intense eyes.

She runs her tongue against the back of her teeth, then smirks a little. ] You earn yourself quite the reputation among the People, to put it mildly. Or - you will, in any case.

[naharel]

I already have. But I won’t ask more.

[ As tempting as it is to find out what he does, how his future unfolds… It isn’t worth learning. It might change, or it might break him, and he’s not prepared for that. It’s too dangerous a thing.

Instead, he keeps his gaze on her, coy. ]

I doubt we’ll have much time for study tonight. How else might I entertain you?

[troubleyan]

[ The realisation smacks her in the face as he smirks, surprising her. ]

You're flirting with me.

[ Is this what the gods are like? Imposing one moment, and keen to say anywah, let's fuck the time away the next? Or is this specific to Fen'Harel? ]

[naharel]

Oh, you noticed?

[ Fen’Harel huffs a quiet chuckle, head tilting. Perhaps he needs to be more forward, but… his eyes flick over her body once before he returns to her face. ]

Are you offended, or interested?

[troubleyan]

[ She only hesitates for a few seconds, running her gaze quickly over his body just as he takes her in.

Her baser instincts make the choice for her, outside of whatever her mind might think. (He won't remember her, or this hasn't happened for him yet either, and either way he offered himself first.)

She reaches up, twisting one long lock of his hair around her fingers experimentally. ]

Oh no, I'm interested. Banter is my form of flirting, don't you know?

[ He wouldn't know - but he does now. ]

Well, now you know.

[naharel]

Indeed, I know now.

[ Fen'harel leans forward, letting her fingers curl around his hair without pause. It's rare that anyone gets so close to him, rare that he allows it, and surely this is the most dangerous option that he could possibly choose, but...

If they figure out a means of returning her to her own time, then it will hardly matter. She will be gone and the danger will pass. It's a game, and he has always found it a rather enjoyable one.

Clearly, he is comfortable with himself, lounging as he does, and his lips curl - wolflike, dangerous. ]

What brings you pleasure, da'len?