totally not current-canon stuff. Just something I wanted to write.
Varaelian wrinkled his nose, looking at the armor and robes. Even the clothes meant to be worn under the armor were the same color as the rest- he sat in a sea of black, holding a shirt up and looking at it.
“You wear a lot of dark clothes.” He wrinkled his nose, looking over at Kirian. "It’s all black or dark red.“
Kirian sifted through his clothing, sorting out what needed to be repaired and what needed to be discarded. It had been nearly a year since he had gone through his wardrobe, and Varaelian had offered to help with the monumental task. "Well…yes.”
“Why?” Van looked up at him, putting the black silk shirt in his lap. "It’s all nice, but…it’s all dark.“
“Perhaps I am in perpetual mourning.” Kirian said simply, and he glanced over to Varaelian, his brows kitted together in worry.
“For what?” Van looked over. What was it? His parents? The elves that had died in the siege of Silvermoon? He knew that Kirian felt things more deeply than he let out, showing things in small gestures.
“Perhaps…” Kirian draped a robe over his arm, turning away. "Perhaps I’m mourning my sense of humor.“
“You ass.” Van balled up the shirt, throwing at at Kirian, who caught it with a small chuckle.