faderift | [OPEN] - Conversations and Company

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[OPEN] - Conversations and Company

WHO: Galadriel and anyone!
WHAT: Galadriel has finally been released from jail and is (relatively) free to go about her business.
WHEN: Just slightly backdated. Set before the Illness event (so before 4/16-18), late Drakonis to early Cloudreach?
WHERE: Various - Skyhold
NOTES: No warnings just yet, but I will update accordingly.
(Relevant links, mostly for my personal reference, but hey, why not share? In loose chronological order...and probably only about half of the total relevant threads: Cassandra and Galadriel's Interrogation Fiasco, Galadriel in Jail, Gavin Fails To Save The Day But We Still Love Him, Obi-Wan Kenobi's 'This Is Not How You Do Law Enforcement' Network Post, and Thranduil and Legolas Arrive To Actually Save The Day. And Also: Faderift Civil War OOC Planning Post. )

1. Indoors, Open
Once she had been released, (for that was what it had been; she was not so naive that she would mistake it for being freed, not while the eyes of the Inquisition watched her so keenly,) Galadriel found the fortress far less hospitable than it had been. The stones themselves were not aware enough to influence the world about them, but the rumors that had spread while she was indisposed were, apparently, many and malicious. Where the men that worked and bustled through the keep had, previously, been content to stare at her and shuffle on, now they lingered in her periphery and, rather than pass her by, expended great effort to grant her a wide berth.

Galadriel was less troubled by this behavior than one might expect, she had considerable practice ignoring the slights and follies of mortal men. No, what truly taxed her patience were the guard who trailed after her every step. They were unsubtle in their duty, clad in full branded plate as they were, and their every rattle and footfall was a reminder of the slight Cassandra had paid her. The templars kept some distance from her, lingering in the threshold of rooms or the landing of stairs, but they were ever in sight.

She could not say what purpose they were meant to serve, stalking about in her wake, but whatever it was, they did so clumsily and without foresight. So, as she went to locate her belongings, she attempted to ignore the templars that watched her.

Her possessions, few as they were, had been disturbed from their resting place in the rotunda. Her notes, pages upon pages of tight tengwar script and scattered Theodosian letters, were missing from the table in the corner. Her cloak remained, as did the crimson jerkin and the thread she'd spun to embroider it, but the phial and her staff had yet to reappear alongside them. The books she had borrowed, somehow, had not been moved and beneath them, the most current page of her notes still rested. She had been interrupted from this task and, as she looked at the page, the boldfaced clatter of plate armor disturbed the stillness of the tower.

Had she any less restraint she might've sighed. As it was, she simply cast the human guard a long look and then took a seat at the table in the corner. Resuming her work was a simple thing and, if she refrained from wandering about she would not be forced to endure the noisy gait of her attendants.

(Feel free to have your character run into Galadriel (and company) as she transcribes historical texts into tengwar, as she returns her borrowed (and long overdue) books to the library, or as she sits at a desk and stares, dispassionately, at the awkward pair of templars in the corner.)

2. Outdoors, Open
It was early spring in Thedas and, while she had only been kept from the sunlight for a short time, she had longed to breath the bright spring air and stand beneath the vast blue sky. Galadriel relished the spring and, as she lingered in the garden she could nearly forget where she was. There was a certain ease that came over her in the crisp air of spring, some joy that made her lighter and, indeed, brighter for know it; it alarmed her minders but she paid them little attention as she strolled through the beds of the garden.

She supposed the scene might've been amusing, were it not so grievously offensive to her.

Galadriel seated herself on a bench in the sunshine, confident that she was removed from the comings and goings of those who worked in the gardens, and the pair of templars crowded behind her. They scowled into the sunshine and their expressions maintained as she settled the crimson jerkin in her lap and began embroidering. They regarded her work as one might regard a knife being sharpened and, to her intense amusement, were either unable to detect or too distracted to note the quiet enchantment she stitched into the swath of crimson silk.

(It's spring! It's also probably sometime close to the literal crack of dawn. Please join Galadriel as she embroiders while being closely watched.)

3. Shopping, Open
The merchants that frequented Skyhold had been, until recently, an understanding and agreeable sort. She had never had conflict with any one of them. They had always been gracious helpful in all her dealings, scattered as they were, but it seemed the rumors regarding her arrest had found their way to all corners of the Keep.

She was polite as she spoke to them but, one by one, they declined to trade with her. While nothing she offered or sought was particularly suspect, none of them, it seemed, wished to risk the conflict.

(What does an elf have to do to buy some wool around here? Apparently they have to manifest a friend to help them buy it. Or someone to tell her to move along. Feel free to join Galadriel as she attempts/fails to shop!)

4. Wildcard
(If none of the above appeal and you would still like to do something, please have at! Galadriel will be in Skyhold, here and there. If you have any questions, please hit me up

hikuswing or PM this account.)

Individual Starters:
(Proofreading the lot of them at the moment, I will ping relevant parties as I update!.)

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Once again Kirk had foregone sleep - or in the case merely woken up early and not wished to return to sleep. It was a bit early to go running about, so instead he took to the gardens. He noticed when Galadriel came in with her guards, curious as to the woman and her entourage - or should he say guard? There was something about the way the men stood and carried themselves and eyed Galadriel rather than their surroundings that made him feel they weren't entirely friendly towards the blonde.

Which of course meant he had to come over and say something. Even if they had not been there he would have meandered over eventually.

"Good morning, m'lady," he smiled at her and affected a bow - he was finding it one of the safer motions to go with when greeting someone in this place. And yes, quite on purpose did he ignore the guards with her. "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I didn't expecting anyone else to out here at this hour."

Galadriel had not expected to be disturbed. In her months here, she had found that there were few men who woke and wandered the gardens in the early hours, but to find otherwise was not an unpleasant surprise. The human that approached had offered her a charming smile, the use of her title, and a polite bow as he did. It was curious to find a human so mannered, but she dare not remark on it lest his manners suddenly vanish.

"You have not disturbed me at all," Galadriel assured him, her attention firmly on the man before her. That she had paused and left her guard lingering, just behind her, half on the steps and half in the colonnade was a minor thing--an irritation repaid, as it were.

"I often like to watch the dawn," Galadriel said and arched a brow. "I hope I have not intruded on your morning."

Really the title had been a guess, but one he found served well enough when addressing any woman here so far. Thankfully, it was proving true now, and he was glad that he had paid attention over the past few weeks and picked up the ways of bowing and address.

He noticed her guard - they were not the sort to fade into the background so easily. But other than a quick once over of each his attention remained squarely on Galadriel. She was by far the more fascinating, and beautiful besides.

"Not at all. I simply found myself unable to sleep, so I thought an early morning walk with fresher air might do me some good," he explained. "If you would like, I could provide your ladyship company? I know my morning would be greatly improved if you would allow me to."

Another charming smile, the flirtatiousness rising unbidden.

Galadriel regarded him for a moment and, after a brief pause to think, inclined her head. Her smile was kind but slightly knowing as his flirting became more obvious. She didn't put a stop to it, but she was well aware of what he was doing.

"I would not have your morning lessened, and such company would be a delightful change," Galadriel said and stepped alongside him. "My current company is less than conversational."

She ignored the templars at her back and, with a gentle hand against his elbow, ushered the human into step beside her. He was only just shorter than she was; while she enjoyed the company of the Dalish, it was pleasant to be able to stand tall and remain polite.

"I am called Galadriel. While I take no joy in your troubled sleep, I am glad to have met you."

His own gaze flicked briefly back to her guard, not missing the bard she sent their way, though he was hard pressed to tell if it actually hurt them, or if it was the fact he was conversing with her at all. He had the distinct feeling that he would much rather be on the lady's good side than theirs, so enjoyed the chance to poke a few thorns at them too.

If the height difference bothered him he did not show it and kept to her pace. "James Tiberius Kirk," he introduced himself, falling to his full name since hers sounded so very regal. "But Jim will do just fine, if you like. And I am glad to have meet you as well, Galadriel. What were you working on when I chanced upon you?"

It was not his usual speech pattern and he nearly stumbled over it, but he was trying to adopt the patterns of the time to stand out a bit less.

James Tiberius Kirk--it was certainly a noteworthy name and Galadriel seemed satisfied as he gave it. She would call him Jim, for she rarely called anyone by a name that was not their preference, but it would feel odd in its brevity. They moved into step, strolling through the grey light of pre-dawn, the brisk air of spring stirring as they walked the stone path that wound through the beds. It was peaceful enough and, because the garden was enclosed, her guard saw fit to station themselves in the center of the courtyard rather than keep step at their heels.

His question wasn't unexpected and, truly, it wasn't a secret. She was clad entirely in white, glimmering and unmarked, as was her wont. The fact that she held a swath of folded silk, silk dyed the deepest crimson she could manage, was worth wondering about. As she answered him, she held out the folded jerkin.

"A gift," she replied. "I had intended to finish it sooner but I was...indisposed for a time. I thought that, perhaps, it would be calming to retire to the gardens and complete the embroidery along the neckline."

She extricated an intricately carved, delicate wooden square from the first fold of the fabric. It had been carved with leaves and, through its weaving branches, held a considerable length of impossibly fine golden thread. Tucked into the thread were a number of delicate looking bone needles.

"If you are of a mind for it, you are welcome to join me, but I can understand if embroidery does not appeal to you."

He found himself using it more and more ever since he became a captain, and especially here. He felt he had to measure up to all of the impressive names being thrown around, though he never felt his measured up in terms of aesthetic sound. But still, he tried his best with what he was given. Kirk found the quiet of the gardens comforting in the early morning, away from the waking bustle of the people. It reminded him a little of the gardens on his own ship - a quiet place he and his people could go to rest and reflect.

Well, it was the first thing to focus on, wasn't it? Some questions like "where do you come from" and "are you human or not" just seemed rather rude after first meeting a person. He turned his gaze to the piece of red cloth and he makes an appreciative noise in his throat. The stitching is elegant and refined, and even he can see the skill it took to create such a thing.

"I'll be honest, you probably want me nowhere near your embroidery. I tend to tear cloth, not stitch it," he laughed, shaking his head lightly. "But if you do not mind, I would enjoy sitting with you and conversing while you finish. I have a feeling it will be very insightful watching you work besides."

Galadriel arched a brow at him but made no comment regarding his tearing cloth. He was not the first to demure from this task in such a way, but it was not an excuse she received often. Her smile was firmly in place as she inclined her head and withdrew the winder of thread and the needles.

"I would be glad for the company, though I cannot promise watching me stitch will be terribly enlightening," Galadriel answered and moved, with him, to take a seat on a nearby bench.

She unfurled the jerkin into her lap and, at once, its quality was obvious. She had been at work on it for some time, far longer than she had expected, but she couldn't fault the results. The silk was heavy but flowed like water. Crimson stitching held the bulk of it together and climbed the cuffs and opened seams in long, flowing lines. Around the collar and along the sleeves, delicate gold branches wound across the surface. The thread she used was thin enough and her stitches so dense that it nearly shone like solid metal in the sunlight.

There was something off about the shirt but, held as it was, it would take a very keen eye to spot it. Despite the way the gold glittered in the sunshine, bright and beautiful, where it fell into shadow it seemed to vanish clear away. The stitches and, indeed, the shirt itself did not lend themselves to visibility in shade--they were both present, of course, for true invisibility was a rare gift, but it was all too easy for the eye to simply skip over them and onto something else.

With the ease of someone who had done this for a very, very long time, Galadriel unwound a length of the gold on the winder and threaded a needle. All too quickly she began work on the neckline once more and, as she started, glanced sidelong at Kirk.

"Tell me, are you from Thedas? You do not quite have the look about you that men of these lands do...but I am a poor judge of the origins of men."

He might be demurring from it, but it really was for the best, Galadriel. He was fine with machines, with the little bits and pieces and creating something new, of fitting the puzzle piece together. But needle and thread? He was a bit to ham-handed for that, which seemed odd considering his engineering. But they were different kinds of delicate, and he had never been artistic. At the most, he could poorly stitch on a sleeve in a way that would Galadriel, or anyone, faint.

Blue eyes focused on the cloth, admiring the lines of thread. If he saw the way it seemed to disappear in shadow, he did not show it, so in all likely hood he brushed it off as a trick of the light and the shade of the cloth. He resisted the urge to reach out and touch it so he could run his thumb across the embroidery. Mostly he was impressed with Galadriel's ease with needle, thread, and a complicated pattern which she did not seem to have a guide for. It was artistry, plain and simple.

"No, I'm a Rifter as they say," he smiled a bit at her, as if he is proud of this fact. "I'm from Earth, which I think is a long way from here, to say the least. And quite different besides. This is... let's just say this is very far out of my usual realm of experience, shall we? What of yourself? Are you a native?" Absently his thumb brushed across bandages wrapped around his hand - he still used them to hide his shard.

"Earth?" The question held a note of amusement, inexplicable though it was, and she glanced sidelong at him. She didn't pause her stitching, she had done this long enough that sight was not entirely required to manage her task. His question hung between them for a moment and she let out a short, almost lyrical laugh before she answered.

"I am from Middle-earth," she replied, "Most currently. It is a land far from Thedas as well, though I cannot say I have managed to measure the distance, nor divine how I came to be here beyond vague talk of rifts and The Fade."

She shifted the work in her hands as she turned to complete a careful leaf and segue into the next winding branch. It was an idle task, and relaxing, and James Kirk was a man who was quite remarkably easy to converse with. It was something of a novelty, that; she rarely felt so little malice in the hearts of men, but she detected none of it, even close as she was.

"I have been here for some time, by the measure of your people," Galadriel continued. "If you have questions of this land, I can answer what I know. If you wish to know of mine, I would happily regale you, but I've found men rarely believe me when I speak of the lands and the marvels of the Eldar."

It did not go unnoticed that she did not miss a beat in her workings, and his estimation of her skill grew. Even he could see that sort of confidence only came with long practice, and her work was already so intricate. He found he liked her laugh though, as musical as it was.

"You and I are alike in that," he smiled, chuckling around the flash of his teeth. "I would know how to measure the distance if I knew what stars I looked at night."

His gaze turned down to watch her fingers work as she spoke, his thumb continuing to brush along his shard hidden beneath the bandages. He found it oddly soothing to watch, though he didn't imagine the actual act would provide much comfort. Sticking your fingers is never fun, not even the once.

He raised a brow at her words, his mouth tilting in a wider smile. "Well, I was going to ask you about the overall situation here, but I like the idea of hearing about your lands more suddenly." He turned those blue eyes up to her. "So try me, my lady."

"Oh," Galadriel nearly exclaimed, her tone laced with bright amusement. "A challenge is it?"

He was friendly, this human, and as far from home as she. It also sounded as though he had a fondness for the stars and, at once, Galadriel decided she liked him. Her smile was bemused as she considered what she could tell him that he would deem unbelievable.

"In my lands I serve as steward of the Golden Wood. The trees there stretched taller than any towers of men and, within them, high above the ground, my people have wrought a city of gleaming, live silver, hanging gardens, and twilight song. Time passed gently there, like the deepest currents of a river, and there were no shadows to be found.

"So closely were our secrets kept that entire kingdoms of men and dwarves forgot about us."

She glanced back at her work as she turned a shape and was forced to rethread her delicate needle. Her fingers moved deftly as she tied off the stitching and trimmed the thread she held. It was hard to say how she managed it until it was done--apparently the back of her needle had a sharpened edge. She rethreaded it and arched a brow as she did.

"I have met few men who can measure distance by starlight, it is a rare talent you have," Galadriel said. "The stars here are very...unique, but if you wish to learn the shapes and names in them, I can show you what I've learned."

He tilted his head slightly and raised his eyebrows at her, his way of silently say 'do go on' even as he cracked a mischievous smile at the elven lady.

While his brows did rise at her words, it was not so much with disbelief as it was in a mixture of awe and curiosity. He made no snorts of derision, as if she might be telling false tales, merely leaned in slightly as she spoke and seemed to drink in every word. Nothing she said seemed out of the realm of possibility, not by far, and he wondered at meeting the whole of her people, of seeing her trees and her city. A small part in the back of his mind said there was ever likelihood that her world would be protected and off limits by the Prime Directive, but here and now he could wonder and glean what he might with the greed of a child eating their holiday sweets.

"It sounds beautiful," he said when he was sure she had finished. "If ever I got the chance I would love to come and see your home. Do you never come down from your trees? Or do you spend your whole lives in their boughs?" Hungry and greedy this one is, Galadriel, but there is no malice or ill intent in his questions. Just the avid curiosity of one who simply wishes to know and understand.

Blue eyes glittered at the idea of learning new knowledge, and he tilted his head to her in a small show of thanks. "I would be honored, my lady," he glanced upward, though of course with the sun out no stars would be visible. "If you like, in return I can at least try to explain how my people measure distance between and by stars. The tools we use for it simply don't exist here."

While he had clearly caught her curiosity with his counter offer, Galadriel said little. He was polite for a human but, within his questions, there was a fundamental absurdity. She had no desire to mock him, truly, but she could only stifle her amusement for so long.

"No, we do not live all our lives in the trees," Galadriel told him, laughter lacing her voice. "Though, I admit, we have been accused of such things by our woodland and valley kin. We are even called galadhrim which, in our tongue, means 'they of the trees'."

It was an old joke, traded in jest among the elves, and one that had become reality as time passed onward. Now, it was both a title of some grandeur and a quiet insult that wary mortal travelers whispered as they crossed beneath Lórien's boughs.

"But, for all that the mellyrn define Lórien, I was the one who planted those trees. There was a time before them and a time when they would hardly have borne the weight of a sparrow, let alone an elf. We live in them now because there is safety in it, because they are strong and tall and beautiful, but not because we must. There are few forces who could assail our city from above...or at all, for that matter. The trees are...a comfort more than anything."

Absurd to her perhaps, but the idea that a culture might spend their whole lives in a city up high was anything but far fetched to Kirk. It was an easy possibility to consider, and he thought would have been the more fascinating, though she was plenty fascinating on her own. Even so there might have been a slight touch of pink at his cheeks, sensing her amusement, though he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of with his questions or thinking. Spock would have found them perfectly logical, he was sure.

"I'm sure that must be satisfying, seeing something you planted grow strong," he said, again not blinking at the idea Galadriel might live far longer than humans. Many races had longer life spans than humans, and there were many more who yet might that they had yet to come across. Of course he had no idea how long trees took to grow on her world, but he suspected it meant Galadriel was not precisely youthful in terms of age in her world.

"Is mellyrn your word for tree?" He inquired, trying to pronounce the word as she had. He thought he came close, but not perfectly. "And Lórien is the name for your people?"

Galadriel's smile spread as he spoke of the trees and how proud she must be of them. His attempt to speak Sindarin was a valiant one and he required only a little correction.

"No, it is a kind of tree," Galadriel explained. "Mallorn they are called, or mellyrn when there are many. They grew in my homeland and, surprisingly, in the lands I last dwelt. Lórien, I call those woods, but Lothlorien is their name."

"In the common speak, Lórien is...perhaps a dream? A place of dreaming. Lóte is the old word for blossom--los is better suited, I suppose, but the two of them came together well enough for a name."

Though she had intended to finish her embroidery she was rapidly finding that this human was capable of consuming all her attention. She was charmed and, as such, slowed her stitching to properly converse with him.

"My people...that is perhaps a longer explanation, but we are commonly called the Eldar, the first born. Your people call us elves and, it seems, that holds in Thedas as well.

"Have you never met an elf before?"

He is as absorbed with her as she is with him. He loved learning of new cultures, new people, their language and their customs. It was the best part of his job, discovering these new places, these new people, each discovery enriching the tapestry of the known universe. He could only imagine what they might learn from Galadriel's people, how they would make the Federation greater as a whole.

His lips move as he silently mouths the words she pronounces, as if to better help commit them to memory though a few words did not a language make, much less an understand of the syntax and sentence structure. But they were lovely words, her language, and he found he liked them on his tongue.

At her question, he shook his head. "Where I am from, while we do have the word 'elf', it is a mythological creature. They are from stories and movies, nothing more. Oddly enough, though, there is a race we met across the stars that shares a remarkable resemblance to yourself - Vulcans. Your ears have nearly the same pointed anatomy as they do, though so far you are proving to be far easier to converse with than them." His mouth twitched into a smile and he chuckled, though there was a touch of longing in those last words, missing his close friend.

"I have been accused of many things but never, in all my years, has anyone claimed that I was easy to converse with," Galadriel all but exclaimed, equal parts delighted and amused.

"Vulcans must truly be a cryptic and lyrical people if they have surpassed me so easily," she added in jest. "Tell me, though, I am curious what tales your people have of elves?"

Even in Middle-earth, the Eldar were more legend than fact, and Galadriel more than most. She had watched, with a macabre sort of fascination, as history became myth, as records warped and were forgotten, as ruins were lost to the eddies of time. Seeing history in Thedas was a novelty for her; she had not been present for any of this world's glories or failures and learning them from this direction was...new. Hearing Kirk's tales? Well, the promise of another world of lost elven lore, even if it was fictional, that was too grand to pass up.

He could not suppress the laugh at the thought of Vulcans being 'cryptic' and 'lyrical'. Those two words had never cross his mind when conversing with Spock or any other. He pressed a hand to his stomach as he grabbed hold of himself, very nearly crying at the idea of it.

"No, hardly lyrical. Vulcans love logic, above all else," he said when he could speak again. "They are very much about fact and reason." They could be cryptic when they so desired, but he had yet to come across much of that with Spock or any other Vulcan he had met.

The second request has him thinking though, sucking on his bottom lip as he considered. "The problem is that there are many types of elf," he explained to her. "The idea of them shifts depending on whatever the author or the legend calls for. Generally, though, they tend to keep to being ethereal, beautiful, long-lived, and usually very in tune with nature and magic in some shape or form."

Galadriel took no offense at his laughter; it was too sincere, too bright to be malicious. She could not say what had inspired it but he explained quickly enough. Why one could not be both lyrical and logical she didn't ask. No, there were more familiar topics that captured her attention and, as he spoke about the inconsistent nature of Elves, she could only quirk a brow.

"You are quite certain they are fiction in your lands? For that describes most every elf I have ever known."

She glanced aside at the gardens around them and her smile fell a bit as she did.

"Most. Unfortunately my kin in these lands are far more...mortal than I would have guessed, but they are still quite similar to your tales. Perhaps your elves have simply kept their secrets very well."

"Yes, very sure. That's the general, but there are stories of them being small and living only in the North Pole, others of them living beneath the earth and being creatures of evil. Like I said, they tend to take forms necessary for whatever story is being told." He wasn't much of a fantasy fan to be honest, but he had read a few novels and he liked movies so he had seen some other iterations of elves.

He could see her smile fall ever so slightly, but he did not think it a thing to press much on. He merely kept his own smile in place and chuckled.

"If only that were true. It would make Earth a far more interesting place. But no, I assure you, elves do not exist on Earth. Nor do dragons. Or magic - at least, not in the way it is represented here."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[OPEN] - Conversations and Company

Outdoors

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I laughed out loud at that shirt ripping joke, ngl.

Haha, I was hoping you'd notice it

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