faderift | [open] concerning hobbits

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[open] concerning hobbits

WHO: Samwise Gamgee and EVERYONE HE CAN FIND
WHAT: Sam's arrived at Skyhold and is exploring! Also asking questions. All the questions.
WHEN: After arriving from the Fallow Mire
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Feel free to meet Sam in any part of Skyhold! He'll be all over.

He'd tried to stick close to who he'd already started privately thinking of as his new friends - the other Sam and the wizard Twisted Fate. He'd even glimpsed, once or twice, the Man who'd pulled him out of the Mire in the first place, and saved him from being drownded. But the road from the Fallow Mire had been long, and Sam had spent much of it on his own, tucked away in small corners of wagons or sitting astride horses alongside dwarves, being too short to walk and have a hope of keeping up.

And when they'd arrived at last, he'd found himself suddenly left completely to his own devices.

Skyhold. He rolls the word around in his mind, staring up, up at the battlements and the clouds beyond. It's a good enough name for the place, he supposes, being up in the mountains as it is. And there's something in it that appeals to him - it's not quite Elvish, not quite Rivendell or Lothlórien, but it's a bit more fanciful than Hobbiton or Bywater, he thinks. As for the place itself, he finds himself a bit overwhelmed - not only with the size (which is enormous in its own right, apart from everything in it being built proportionate to Big People), but with the ceaseless activity and the seemingly endless places to explore and get lost in.

He finds the kitchen first, hobbit-senses guiding him true, but after he's snacked his fill he finds himself wanting to explore more, and he steps carefully down the stairs into the yard. There are folk of all shapes and sizes everywhere (though nobody he recognizes), and he takes a deep breath before walking forward, not quite sure where he's going.

There are Elves here; he knows that much. If nothing else, perhaps the Elves will know more about what's happened and why he's come here. Perhaps they'll at least know Gandalf's name.

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One such elf is Ellana, who is keeping busy making deliveries around Skyhold. If the workers need drinks from the tavern, she brings them; if the blacksmith in the undercroft needs instructions sent to the workers in the armory, she delivers them. She's just set down a couple of tools in the barn beside the stables and is wondering where to poke in her head next to see if she can be of use. The kitchen, perhaps? Turning that way, she spots someone shorter than a dwarf. A child? But no, his face looks more mature than that. Who can this be?

"Hello," she greets, trying not to look too puzzled by his appearance. She thinks that would be rude. "Are you looking for someone? Or something?"

Here he'd been thinking about elves, and look who the very first person he meets is! Sam gazes up at the elf with wide eyes, taking in her pointed ears and the strange markings on her face. Twisted Fate had had the same sort of markings, though not the same pattern, and he wonders, not for the first time, if there's any sort of deeper meaning to them.

For the moment, though, he doesn't ask, merely shakes his head sadly.

"Seeing as you're kind enough to ask, my lady, I am looking for someone - or a lot of someones," he admits. "Only I don't think I'm very likely to find any of them."

After scouring the Mire and looking hopefully for any sign of his companions throughout the whole journey to Skyhold, he's more or less accepted that he's the only one of the Fellowship to have come through. It doesn't help that no one he's talked to seems to have heard of any of them.

"Why do you think that?" she asks gently. He looks so sad and she doesn't want him to give up hope, but then again, she doesn't know how long he's been looking.

It's still impossible for her to work out just who he is, but now that she's taking a good look at him, she takes note of the shape of his ears and the size of his feet. He's unlike anyone she's ever seen before, and that's exciting.

"My name is Ellana. What's yours?"

In reply, he merely holds out his hand, extending it palm-upwards to show her the glowing mark in the center. From what he's gathered, it's something that all of them who have come out of the rifts share; something that will immediately identify him as an outsider.

"It seems I've the only one who's come through," he says. "I've looked and looked, and none of them are here. Or leastways, if they have, they've managed to hide themselves so well no one at all has been able to find them."

He sighs, but not wanting to leave her question unanswered, inclines his head. "Samwise Gamgee, m'lady."

"Oh, I see," she replies in sympathy. "I know this must be very difficult for you, but there are people here who will try to make you feel at home until we find a way to send you back." If they can even be sent back. Ellana thinks that it may happen without their intervention. If a rift opening is what pulled them here, then perhaps another opening will suck them back through?

"I'm not a lady," she adds after a brief pause to allow him to take in what she's said. "I'm Dalish. We have no nobility."

Sam nods quietly. He's been assured by more than one person that he'd be safe and taken care of until he could get back, and it is reassuring, and yet not, all the same. No one seems to know just how they will send him back, or when. What if it never happens?

"Dalish?" The word is unfamiliar to him, and he tilts his head, trying to remember if Bilbo had ever mentioned it. "Beg pardon, but what does that mean?"

"It means I'm the type of elf that was raised in a clan, instead of growing up in a city among humans." Being Dalish means so much more than that, but it's not easy to ease a rifter into the politics and history of Thedas. "We have these tattoos on our faces to honor our gods. City elves don't have them." But that doesn't mean they're any less an elf to her. They are all Elvhen.

This is making less and less sense. Sam's confusion shows clear on his face as he does his best to follow her explanation, but it's hopeless. At least now he knows what the tattoos are for. Sort of.

"Why would elves live in a city with humans?" He'd never heard of such a thing, nor seen it. There are no elves in Bree, and Boromir had never talked of seeing them among his people in the White City. "And why wouldn't they honor your gods just the same?"

Obviously wherever Sam hails from, all elves live separately. She'll have to ask him about that too. Ellana gestures to a patch of grass where they can sit and she can tell him the story.

"There was a war long ago between elves and humans. It was fought in a place called the Dales. I'm sure the humans tell it differently, but how we elves learn it, the humans wanted us to worship the Maker, but we have our own gods, the Evanuris -- the Creators. They launched an Exalted March on us to bring us to heel. In the end, we lost the war, the Dales, and were left with a choice: either submit to humans and worship the Maker, or live in exile as nomads. The elven people split then. Those who live in the cities worship the Maker, though some try to keep the old ways. Those who don't are called the Dalish, and we say, 'We are the last Elvhen. Never again shall we submit.'"

As she finishes, her expression is sad. It all happened so long ago, but it affects every elf today. She has long wished her people could all settle down in houses permanently and have a sense of security, but that's easier said than done.

"But I do think city elves are as much a part of the Elvhen as we Dalish are. It's just something we say."

Sam settles onto the grass beside her right away - he's always loved hearing stories about Elves, and even if this isn't the story and these aren't the elves that he's used to, he's certain it'll be just as good.

Only it's not. It's war, and submission, and exile; he doesn't know what an Exalted March might be, but it's clear enough that it's something terrible. Sam's expression goes from interested and eager to horrified and bewildered, and when he sees how sad Ellana herself looks, he feels just that much worse.

"Of course they are," he agrees passionately, without a thought given to the fact that he's about the last person to be an authority on the subject. Not all elves are alike, he knows that much, but they're still all a part of the same people, no matter where they might live. They're still all Elves.

He shakes his head. Wars and gods, and men and elves - it's all a bit above him, and he chews his lip for a moment, troubled and unsure what to say.

"Don't see how it matters much, who a person chooses to pray to," he says at last, slowly. "Don't see how it helps to try to force them to change, neither."

"It matters very much to them," she says with a sigh. "Or, rather, to some humans. Many here have never even brought up their religion with me, for which I am grateful. It's just that they want to believe the Maker made all people, and we should worship him for it. But the Creators did it all long ago. Once, we elves had a great empire, but we lost it all with the coming of humans. So we claimed the Dales as our second homeland and tried to hold onto our culture, only to be scattered to the winds."

But it's a heavy topic to go into and while some elves tell it with anger, the loss of so much just makes Ellana sad. She's never thought all humans could be bad, and it's proved true being here in the Inquisition, but that doesn't mean she doesn't grieve for what the People have lost.

"But tell me about yourself. I'm so interested to know all about the rifters and the worlds you come from."

Sam had thought the elves leaving Middle-earth was sad, and it had been; but this is sad in a different way. That had seemed sad yet inevitable - bittersweet, somehow: the Elves had been leaving forever, traveling far away across the sea, but they had been going home.

This...this is sadness, this is pain that is senseless. Tragedy and death that could have been avoided, if only people had learned to live with each other. And now these Elves have no home at all.

He wipes away a stray tear, one he hadn't noticed falling in the first place, and does his best to put on a brave face before looking back up at Ellana. She doesn't want to talk about it anymore, and that's fine. It's a bit of a relief, really, to think about (hopefully) happier things for a while, even if the prospect of talking about himself stumps him a bit.

"Well I don't know that there's much to say, least not that'd be of any interest to an Elf," he says, ducking his head a bit. "You'd have been better off asking old Mr. Bilbo, if he were here. Now he could tell a story!"

Oh, she hadn't meant to make him cry. Certainly the history of her people is filled with tragedy, but she didn't expect someone from another world to sympathize. What a sensitive soul he is.

"He is a great storyteller, then? Well, perhaps you've picked up a thing or two from him."

"I don't know about that," Sam says, shaking his head. Bilbo had taught him a lot, true enough, but storytelling hadn't been among the long, patient lessons in Bag End as the old hobbit had guided him through his letters. He's silent for a moment, brow furrowed in thought, before he works out how to start. "I imagine you haven't heard of hobbits neither, leastways it seems no one else has. But that's what I am." He spreads his hands, gesturing to himself. "We keep to ourselves mainly, so most Big Folk in Middle-earth don't know about us neither. But it seems there are no hobbits here at all."

"Hobbits? No, I've never heard of you, and I think even if you do keep to yourselves, someone would have sussed you out here by now. I've been reading books in the library by this great traveler: Brother Genitivi. He's been everywhere, and I'll bet he would have found hobbits somewhere if they existed in this world." Her expression is gentle as she adds, "Not everyone here is kind to those who aren't like them, but you can be assured that I will be. You can ask me anything you wish, and I'll do my best to help you."

Sam looks glum at having his suspicions confirmed; he hadn't really held out much hope that there were other hobbits here in Thedas, but if even great travelers hadn't found them, it's likely true that he's alone here.

He smiles ruefully at her combined warning and reassurance. "I know that right enough," he promises her. "There's folk like that everywhere, I reckon - ready to speak cruel and take what ain't theirs, just because someone else looks or acts a tad different. But you don't need to worry about me thinking that of you. You've been as kind as anything this far."

"Good," she says with a smile. It would be easy for people to take advantage of rifters, since they barely have a foothold in this world. "I treat others as I would wish to be treated. Sometimes, though, they judge me in advance, and I'll admit that I have some pre-conceived notions of my own." Ellana shakes her head at herself.

"Two countries who have done horrible things to elves in the past are Orlais and the Tevinter Imperium. I've been having to remind myself that the people I see here from those countries are individuals, with their own views. I can't judge them by their country."

It's still a bit much to absorb, the idea that anyone could do anything to elves that they didn't want to have done to them - or that anyone would want to. Sam frowns, his brow furrowing. He has to quash a spike of anger himself at both Tevinter and Orlais - whoever they might be - on the elves' behalf, but he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

"I've got the advantage, I guess, not knowing anything about anybody," he says at last. "It's easy not to think poorly of people, when you can barely keep straight who's who." He glances up at her. "Just so long as they don't try to do anything like that again!"

Ellana can't help but chuckle softly at his innocence. Part of it can surely be explained by the fact that he's a rifter, but she assumes the other part is just him, thinking it's as easy as people suddenly treating elves fairly.

She wishes it were so, because it's nice to dream.

"Well, let's talk of brighter things now. Anything you have in mind?"

He's taken off guard by the request, and it shows in the way he hesitates, looking a bit blindsided. An Elf, offering to talk about anything he might wish to, and letting him choose? It's almost too much to hope for.

"I don't suppose," he says shyly, at last, "you have any happier tales of the Elves you might be willing to tell? Or any - any songs, perhaps?"

"I'm afraid to say that all our songs written in elven are about sorrow and loss," she says, wearing an apologetic smile. But she's also one who doesn't like the sound of her own singing voice. She only sings with her clansmate Merrick, or under very rare circumstances, because she doesn't want anyone to hear her. Maybe with time and encouragement, she'll be more open to it.

"But happier tales? Hmm." She needs to take a moment because all that are coming to mind have death and destruction in them. All of them. It's enough to depress a person, but finally she recalls one to tell him.

"There are evil creatures in this world called darkspawn. They are corrupted beings, and their blood does the same to others. Once, long ago, one of the Dalish clans fled from a group of darkspawn, but no matter where they went, the darkspawn followed. Finally, the clan's leader, Iloren, stopped his people. He said they would stand and fight, but they would be clever about it. And so before the darkspawn arrived, the clan gathered dried grass, brush, and anything else they could that would burn, laying it out all around their camp. When the darkspawn came, hungry for chaos and death, Iloren used his magic to call down lightning upon the brush, which lit and engulfed all the darkspawn, sparing his clan."

Sam listens intently, watching Ellana with a rapt expression. He's always loved tales of Elves, and he's taken some comfort in the thought that if everything is new and different here, at least that means stories he hasn't heard before.

But when Ellana finishes her tale, all Sam can do is stare at her for a moment, blinking uncertainly. Oh. That story...well. It hadn't been what he'd expected, that's all. A bit more corruption and death than he'd hoped for.

"Well...thank you," he says, finally, and ponders a minute more, trying to find something good to say. "I...I'm glad the clan was saved. And that Iloren was so wise - though I wouldn't want to clean up after that fire," he adds.

Since he takes so long to form a response, the only thing she can take away from it is that he didn't like the tale. Perhaps it's a cultural difference. The elves celebrate their victories because there are so few.

"They would have moved on again," Ellana answers. "They were far in the Anderfels, a desolate land of desert. Once the darkspawn were defeated, they would have traveled back to more hospitable lands."

"It doesn't seem a very nice place," he mutters. "Full of these - darkspawn creatures." He frowns. Her description of darkspawn, unsurprisingly, reminds him of Orcs, making him shiver. And he still can't wrap his head around the concept of Elves on the run, without a safe and beautiful home to retreat to. "Wouldn't it have been better not to go to such a horrid place to begin with?"

Edited 2015-12-16 19:46 (UTC)

"They had no choice," she answers gently. "We Dalish do not have permanent homes. We live in camps, and move to where there is food, or where there aren't hostile humans closing in on us. It's the way it's been since the fall of the Dales."

Ellana looks off into the distance for a moment, deep in thought, before she turns her attention back to Sam. "Between just us? I have long wished to have a permanent home with a roof over my head. But tradition is hard to break and my people don't feel the same."

[open] concerning hobbits

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well this will be a fun conversation

so fun. /sobs internally

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