[ open ] tell me everything that happened, tell me everything you saw.

[rowancrowned]

WHO: Galadriel, Merrill, Thranduil, Velanna & open.
WHAT: A tree grows in Orlais..
WHEN: Forward-dated: Matrinalis / August 19th, early, early moring.
WHERE: Low Quarter of Halamshiral.
NOTES: Guerilla gardening.

i. They wait until it is dark, the little hours between dusk and dawn when even the pickpocketing gangs are sleeping. They do not count on that alone to conceal their progress: magics foreign to Thedas keep them unnoticeable, unremarkable, unheard and unseen. Four figures slip through the streets of the Low Quarter to the burned portion of the city, and from there to what use to be a trunk of some magnificent tree. One cloaked figure kneels, reaches out a hand, touches it—

“Gwanur, peld nesto—“ but the figure tucks hands neatly back into the cloak with a realization. No, nothing can be done for this tree, no living parts remain. He turns to look at the tallest standing member of the group, switch languages now that he remembers they are among mixed company, speaking low.

“The soil is healthy.” And heavily watered by blood, but that’s something for another member of the group to take into account. For her, he steps back and offers examination of the ground, moving to the sidelines so the three elleth can move forward.

Galadriel is first to move, kneeling in the dirt and ashes where Thranduil was before, removing something from her pocket and holding it in a clasped hand. There has always been a weight to her actions, a graceful consideration in how she moves that seems effortless. Ceremonial, even.

What she does here is even more ritualistic.

Merrill falls onto bended knee beside her, seriousness cutting through her usual joy. She is the one to lean forward and dig through the dirt and ash with her bare hands until a hollow has been scooped away. Velanna, standing a few steps away, watches intently, thrumming with more excitement than nerves as Merrill takes something small but bright from Galadriel’s hand and drops it in the hollow.

It is Galadriel who passes her—something that Merrill presses against her palm. The rest of what happens is obscured by cloaks as the elleth close ranks about the seed. Thranduil holds a hand up to signal.

“Someone is coming,” Velanna says. She does not take her eyes off the seed and the hole until Merrill pushes the soil over the hollow, and stands, Galadriel after her, all four of them facing the noise from the cramped alley.


ii. Nothing happens for the first hour. All four sets of eyes occasionally glance at the turned soil. Anticipation hangs over them.

Thranduil has found a mostly structurally sound crate and perches upon it, while Galadriel guards the seed. Merrill’s head rests against Thranduil’s knee while she sits in the dirt, Velanna sitting neatly on a crate behind them.

She is the first to notice when there is the smallest of shifts—something is breaking through the soil, unfurling—

It grows faster than it has any right to, behaving more like an animal as it moves, reaching. It is an inch high, and then it is two, three inches, two leaves unfurling, golden and bright. At the height of Velanna’s waist, it begins to slow, until at a meter tall—clearly a proper sapling, it stops. The tree is silver-brown with a riotous burst of golden leaves, as alienly beautiful as the Lady of Light herself.

“A mallorn in Thedas,” Thranduil murmurs, duly impressed. He offers a hand to Merrill, helps her back to her feet and looks to Galadriel for direction. They have several hours before sunrise, but they still need to move before the residents of this part of the Quarter begin their day.

Galadriel steps around the tree, fingers tracing their way around the trunk, wistful, before nodding her assent, the four of them exiting the way they came.

Comments

i

[the_effect_she_has]

Katniss wasn't in the habit of following her own people - especially when three out of the four of them were people she liked, respected, considered a friend. Mostly, she followed so they wouldn't get robbed by any ambitious cut-purses - you know, early to bed, early to rise, rob a few strangers makes one wealthy and wise.

She might not have been discovered, if her surprise over where they were heading hadn't made her step left instead of right, causing a scrapping noise. She rolled her eyes at herself - Zevran wouldn't be pleased - before she stood out into the open.

She gave them all a baleful look, then lifted her arms up, her body language and expression clearly saying, 'What in the name of the Creators are you doing?'

[chainlightning]

Merrill is exhausted.

She had ridden fast, hard, almost as soon as Galadriel had gotten in touch with her -- but she had been in Honey Badger Hold, and it was quite a journey. She's still not entirely sure how she made it, but she had. It shows, though; there are dark circles under her eyes, which are themselves a bit red. She is mourning for Asher still, but there is always work to be done, and when hearing that the vhenadahl had been burned and that Galadriel had a seed with her, something beautiful, that could grow quickly...

Merrill has not been Dalish, not truly, since her clan kicked her out. She has lived in an alienage for the past ten years. To be able to give back to those that took her in will be something she never stops striving for, even though this alienage is not Kirkwall's.

But she is tired, and doesn't hear the scrape -- she hears Velanna only, and turns with the others, brushing dirt off her palms. When she sees it's Katniss, there's a smile and a little wave.

[rowancrowned]

They’re all varying degrees of tired—excepting Galadriel, who is as unshakable as ever. But Merrill is the worst off of them all, and Thranduil is disposed towards extra tenderness to her, for she has done the most. But with that comes protectiveness, and despite Merrill’s friendly disposition, his metaphorical hackles are up—until he sees it is Katniss.

For her, he only raises a finger to his lips. Quiet is best. He has done this thing-- mostly selflessly. Eighty percent selflessly. Whatever the percentage is, he still doesn’t want their little activity discovered.

Other than that, he is warm, beckons her over. She is welcome to stay and watch, and check on poor, exhausted Merrill, who needs the comfort of friends now as much as she needs a solid half-day of sleep and a large breakfast upon waking.

i. oh hay I've been working on this too

[eolasemah]

A timid form, but familiar to at least half the party, emerges from the alleyway. She's likely spotted long before she actually approaches, the shard blazing from her chest making stealth virtually impossible. She's in her night shift, a shawl around her shoulders and her feet bare as she steps up to the others. And the tree.

"I just... had a feeling," she confesses, smiling first to Merrill in mild apology for her intrusion, then looking from her to Velanna and then Galadriel, who is joined by... another like her. Sina is inclined to gape, but perhaps that should come later- she steps forward, her hands clasped over something.
"I'm sorry to interrupt," she continues softly, and opens her small hands to reveal a scorched seed pod. "I've been... well I've been saving what can be saved, and I found this. I don't know much about vhenandahls, but I've been holding onto it in case I found where it's supposed to go."
A cursory glance at the others results in a shy incline of her head. "I see you've. Found it."

[laurenande]

"Yes, we have," Galadriel confirms, cutting the silence. It had been some time since Galadriel had last spoken to Sina, and to see the young elf as they work is a kindness. Sina pauses outside their circle and, after a moment, Galadriel moves to meet her.

"I have already donated a seed to this cause, mellon nin," Galadriel says and stops before her. The seed pod she holds is from the original tree, of that she has no doubt, and there is something wistful about that thought. "But if you are not opposed, I would ask you for that one...and, perhaps, your help if you feel well enough to offer it."

[eolasemah]

Sina can't help but smile when Galadriel speaks to her-- it's always a powerful feeling, like being indescribably special, like being seen all the way through.
The pleasantness is cut only a little by her disappointment that they already have a seed, but it rebounds almost immediately when Galadriel indicates Sina's. "It is yours, Asha'dhea," she says, holding her hands out for the woman to take it. "and so is my help. I will do everything in my power."

[laurenande]

Galadriel takes the seed pod from Sina's hand and quietly tucks it away with the rest of the seeds she carries. Behind her, the mallorn waits for their attention and Galadriel gestures to the newly turned earth as she steps aside for Sina.

"I have brought a tree here from my homeland, as a gift, but I worry for it. The mellyrn thrive in strange places; they are unpredictable in their wants and needs. Thedas has the magic to sustain it, but I wish to give it a bit of...help in growing."

She doesn't motion to the others but it is terribly obvious that everyone here is either from Arda or a mage, themselves.

"If you feel well enough to do so, granting your power to the seed would help it grow more quickly."

[rowancrowned]

Thranduil steps forward once Galadriel finishes speaking, and inclines his head. "I would be honored, my lady, to accept your help."

They are not here as saviors. He makes no such claims. They will aide. But there is only so much two elves can do. The rest-- must be done by those like Sina, who seem to have ready shoulders to take the burdens that will fall upon them.

"You know what we intend? You would stand beside us still?" Blood magic is- he sees how it might be turned to evil, and done so easily. He will make no demands of Sina, only ask her silence if she disagrees.

[eolasemah]

In truth, Sina doesn't know what they intend. But if these two are involved in it, she's willing to trust their judgment. Not to mention Merrill, who she's found to be a good sort despite their ideological differences.

Sina nods eagerly to Galadriel, but looks curiously at Thranduil when he poses his questions. "You intend to help the tree, hanin, do you not?

[laurenande]

"We do," Galadriel says. She does not often speak for her cousin but they are aligned in this.

The elves they had gathered were skilled at this sort of spell-work. Whether it was a Dalish talent or simply chance, Galadriel didn't know. Sina was given to the tending of plants--it was possible she knew how to raise them with magic, as well.

"The tree we are growing is special, even where we come from. There are few places they will grow, outside the Elvenhome, but if we can coax it to sprout, it will survive unto the ending of this world."

She moves alongside Sina and, with a gentle hand, ushers her toward where the seed was planted.

"I do not know how well it will draw from your Fade; we have chosen to give it power from ourselves instead. Be careful, Siuona, and do not give too much...but if you falter, we are here to aid you."

[rowancrowned]

He wonders, as he sometimes does, what his father would think of the scene before him. He has wondered about choices perhaps far more imaginable to Oropher, and heard his father's voice. In Thedas, whenever he draws to mind the image of his father, he hears only one thing- 'keep them safe.'

"It is the least we can do for your people," Thranduil agrees, stepping to the other side of Sina, dropping into a crouch that he might easily spring out of were there to be trouble. "Or the start. But the cost is great enough that I will spill blood for it."

What were a few drops of blood in exchange for a mallorn? It may not grant him the peace and ease the Fade did, but it will not hurt.

i, ages late, I'm sorry

[justice_is_blond]

He's restless, and while he knows it's not entirely safe to be walking around the city in the dark, he also wants to see what the city is like when it's late. Of course, rounding a corner to see four silhouettes facing him down an alleyway makes him suddenly reconsider this course of action. Two of them are tall, two short... and maybe familiar? Possibly familiar. Possibly dangerous.

Which means he should wave, clearly, which he does. Anders at least has a mask on, though his peacock-feathered coat and time-worn staff might give him away.

"I hope I'm not interrupting?"

boops you

[chainlightning]

It's especially not safe for Anders to be walking around in the dark, not if anyone knew it was him. The mask helps, she supposes, but Merrill knows him immediately. There's a little shake of her head, but she can't hide her slight smile.

"You're not very good at being discrete, you know. I don't know how you did it for a few years."

Potentially by not running into Merrill in random places and having her reveal his identity.

/boops back

[justice_is_blond]

"Subtle and sneaky are not my strong points," he has to agree. There's a little relief in his voice, though, as he places her voice and therefore identifies the other short silhouette. Merrill and Velanna, and two taller people.

"I'm not really sure how I managed for a time myself." Anders takes a couple more steps forward, which help him identify Galadriel. The fourth he's seen around, but he's not sure of the elf's name. "Can I help? Provided it's not..." He looks at Merrill, knowing she can mentally finish what the exception is.

:3

[chainlightning]

There's a soft snort, but Merrill shakes her head. "Not much to help with now!" Including blood magic, thank you Anders. She turns slightly, gestures toward the plot of dirt behind them.

"Now we're just waiting. Though I suppose four elves in the middle of the night would potentially look less suspicious accompanied by a human, assuming you could assure everyone that you're not in any trouble."

Maybe. Possibly.

Maybe they'd all better just be quiet and stay out of sight.

[justice_is_blond]

Waiting is interesting. He's curious, very curious about what they'd be waiting for, but he trusts Velanna so Anders winds up shrugging.

"If we make up a name for me and no one slips up, no authorities have to know who I am. But someone else picks this time. Everyone laughed at Detlef." Granted, he shouldn't have expected people to know Ander names. And he should have just pretended to be Fereldan. But again, subtle and sneaky. It's truly a wonder how he managed to escape so many times; it's not at all a wonder how he got caught every single one of them.

"...Can I ask what you were doing?" Curiosity gets the better of him more times than not.

[chainlightning]

"Well, we're all likely to think of elven names."

Which is not really a way to blend in. Still, someone can pick of something if it comes up. Maybe they'll just call him Bob and hope he understands they're referring to him.

"Oh- waiting!" Which is not what Anders meant, at all, and she does know that. It's just- she isn't sure if the others want a human to know.

[justice_is_blond]

He shrugs at her offering. Being called an elven name wouldn't be too bad; people would assume he's elf-blooded. As he has no problems with them, he wouldn't be bothered. But the other is what really catches his attention, and Anders glances behind himself at her answer. There's nothing and no one there.

"For... who? Or what?" Should he be getting out of here after all?

thandoobydoo.

[chainlightning]

There have been no elven lords in ages. Only the Keepers, who were respected, of course, but not kings. Yet here she is, with her head resting on the knee of an elven king, one whose people are at least similar to her own -- to her own of old, even. She is tired and while she had not meant, really, to rest her head on Thranduil- well, his knee had been there, and he had not refused. So they wait, stirring occasionally at some noise, but mostly sitting in silence.

Silence, as it turns out, is hard for staying awake. The suspense is there, of course, but she is tired. She has ridden across what feels like half of Orlais, and she has used magic and her own blood in conjunction to that. Catching herself nodding off yet again, Merrill curses slightly under her breath ("Fenedhis!") and reaches her hands up to slap her own cheeks.

"I think," she murmurs, shaking her head both at the sting and to try and wake up further, "that sitting for my vallaslin was easier than this."

merboogledi.

[rowancrowned]

He pets her hair, hoping it soothes her. It is so short, and the elves of Thedas do not seem to take the comfort from it that the Quendi might, but he does it anyway. Thranduil turns his attention from the alleyway to her, hand halting.

"I hope this is not painful, Merrill." He shifts on his crate-seat, trying not to jostle her as he moves to an angle where he's free to look down upon her, and her eyes. They are terribly bright, even in the dark, and he cannot help but admire them. "And you are free to rest, child. I will wake you if we need you, or when the growth starts."

[chainlightning]

The petting certainly feels nice, if nothing else. Merrill tilts her head into it once Thranduil has resettled, sighing softly. It's nice but it is soothing, and she doesn't want to fall asleep, even with permission to do so.

"I'm not so sure I'd wake up any time soon- it's been a long week." Few weeks, really; Asher had been in the healing tents clinging to life for so long, or at least it felt that way. He'd been sick and none of them had really known, or hadn't known how bad, and she-

No. He was with his Lady of the Skies, and he would return. The tree is what's important, for the moment.

"And the vallaslin itself isn't that painful. I mean, it hurts, but- to have it completed means that you sat through it without crying out. It's a sign of coming of age, of being able to handle the responsibilities of an adult."

[rowancrowned]

He has never touched hair like hers, in his defense. It is Noldo-dark and very soft, and he is very fond of Merrill herself. If it was longer, he would have worked it into some manner of elaborate braid, simply to keep his hands busy.

"I will carry you home." His thumb brushes over the branch closest to her ear, the vallaslin nearly hidden in the dark. He would ask if she wanted water, warmed wine. But she's shown what she needs, and he's glad to talk to her.

"I would not know. Very few elves have such things done. It would be... tiresome, to have to redo an inking such as that every few decades."

[chainlightning]

She may grow it out, just to see how it looks; it was easier short, as the First and in the alienage, just in case any trees or shems reached out to grab it. Now, even so surrounded by humans in the Inquisition, she feels there's less of a chance of that happening. Still, even a simple braid by another's hand would feel nice.

"Honeysuckle would probably try to trample you. He's protective." Or something- he's certainly a war horse, but he lets Merrill dote on him as if he's a gentle gelding bred for delicate ladies. "And even if you calmed him down, he'd likely decide to chew on your hair in protest."

Even if Thranduil was riding. Somehow. Honeysuckle, Merrill is certain, would find a way to sneak it in.

"I do not know if they did it in the time of Arlathan, when we were ageless," Merrill muses, reaching up to trace over the mirrored line that he has touched, just for a moment. "If they did, I don't know if they had to redo them. But it is a ritual, for us; a way to remember that we are a part of the People, that we have not completely forgotten who and what we once were. 'We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.'"

There is a soft hum in thought, Merrill's head tilting just enough to look at Galadriel for a moment. Then it's back up to Thranduil, green eyes glowing like a cat, reflecting the light of moon and stars. "I imagine the two of you are walkers of the lonely path, also. Maybe a different one, but that doesn't make it less important. Just different."

[rowancrowned]

He smiles, even if she cannot see it. "I have a way with animals, my dear. I suspect I may persuade him to find me worthy, especially once he sees we have common cause." Namely, keeping Merrill safe.

He untucks a lock of hair from behind her ear, uses it to tickle her nose. She is so, so unbearably young, and yet handles it with grace. Her eyes shine, and the smile turns sad. She ought not to worry about death.

"I never considered myself lonely. I held myself above, yes, especially when we had shemlen-" how he loves that word. "- visitors, but I had my son, my foster-daughter. My orchids. My elves. Nor am I lonely here. I have you, Merrill, and my cousin, who I find myself... appreciating much more."

[chainlightning]

There's a thoughtful hum, and Merrill nods slightly. "I'll definitely have to introduce you to him either way. Dalish don't usually have horses, but he's so fluffy." Besides, it isn't like most Dalish consider her Dalish anyway.

The tickling has her stiffle a shrieked laugh, and Merrill reaches up to bat at his hand, much like a kitten. It certainly makes her smile less sad.

"I'm glad. But I'm not as long-lived as you are," unless that has changed, when he crossed into Thedas, and she hopes for his sake that it has not, "and I worry. I don't want you to feel lonely here even when I'm gone." It's also so much easier to worry about Thranduil, who is in front of her, than Hawke, who isn't.

"Vallaslin would mark you as one of the People, so they would accept you, but- well, yes, you'd need to find someone to redo it after it faded. And I'm so used to seeing you without it that I think it'd be a bit odd to put it on your face." There's a little giggle. "It's not as though you aren't capable of the responsibilities of adulthood."