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WHO: Anders and You*! (*unless you are someone who will turn him in. ONE DAY THERE WILL BE CR. /reaches sadly)
WHAT: Detlef going about his days, helping out, being argumentative, everything
WHEN: Mid-Wintermarch
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Probably nothing? I'll edit if that changes

Healing tents

Anders is found in these most often during the day. Everything's easier when he works, really, when he and Justice can both be on the same page. They're doing good. They're furthering the cause of mage freedom. And more importantly, no one is being hurt. Are you a patient? He's probably checking you over before getting to work. Co-worker? Hand him the elfroot salve, please? Or just drop by and find him where he's most willing to be chatty as he works.

Garden

There's nothing like seeing a mage seemingly talking to a tree. Considering previous events, it's probably a little worrying. But upon closer approach one can see that there's a terrified cat clinging to a very small branch that's just barely supporting its weight, and they can hear the mage trying to talk the cat down as if the cat can understand anything that's being said.

"You can do it. Just step... Come on. A little lower. Please?"

Just outside Skyhold

There's a garden inside the walls. It has plenty of things growing in it, including basically everything Anders is looking for. It's hard for him to stay inside the walls for too long, though. He needs to be outside, to wander some, to remind himself that the walls aren't keeping him in. While it isn't the healthiest method of coping, there are certainly worse ways to go about it.

Anyone running into him out here gets a look that's a mix of surprised and bashful - the latter due to him not really having any way to explain why he's out here with a handful of easy-to-get herbs in hand.

Library

He's seated in the Library, head buried in a book the way it never was when he was at the Circle, with a pair of large tomes next to him. They're probably not that surprising for a spirit healer, treatises on spirits and their nature, but he doesn't look pleased. And he isn't. He's not finding anything that will help with his situation, and Anders is aware that he might not have a lot of time left for the looking.

Approaches from strangers get a glance up and a nod, before he'll ask if they need to get to something past him. Known people get asked a little absently how their day is going before he turns another page.

[Or] Alternately, he's curled up off to the side, on the ground, paging through a book on obscure magic that talks about various rumored spells that the author doubts really exist. His attention is primarily on the shapeshifting portion, and he looks a little wistful. Anyone approaching who glances at the book get a half-smile and asked if it wouldn't be fun, being able to transform into animals.

Wildcard

[Hit him up wherever? He grabs food in the kitchens on the go, sometimes is at the tavern in a corner near the back, sits on the walls and looks out sometimes, surreptitiously feeds the stray cats around skyhold (and scolds any dogs that try to take the food,) and may, every now and then, see if he can zap armor in just the right way so straw and fabric and all sorts of things stick to it.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Galadriel was as fond of Skyhold as any other place; it had a certain safety, a certain comfort to it, but she found that being within the walls she felt tired too easily. Whether it was the proximity of beds, the promise of distraction or rest, she did not know, but she felt more herself when she was outside of the fortress. She needed her focus for the task at hand and the guard hadn't been bothered when she left to the snowy wilderness beyond.

Her new staff was still bare, it lacked a proper grip and the blade had yet to be attached, but the armorer had assured her that it was sufficient to test. Unfortunately, with what she understood of magic in Thedas, she was uncertain how to test it. Given the overt nature of the native spells and how much power she could unintentionally wield if the staff truly did assist her, it had seemed best to be alone.

And yet...she was wary of traveling too far from the keep. There was danger in what she intended to do, for herself as well as others, and she had no desire to test the breadth of her immortality in the wilds of Thedas.

With care and a gentle, meandering gait, Galadriel searched the nearby wood for a glade that would serve her purpose. It should be secluded but not distant, calm, peaceful, and empty--it didn't take long to locate such a place but, sadly, it was not as empty. The man occupying the clearing was familiar, in a passing way. She had seen him among the healing tents, moving about the throng as Adelaide did, but he had not caught her eye.

At the moment he appeared to be picking elfroot.

"A long walk for simple herbs," Galadriel remarked and broke the silence. Her approach had been soundless, as walking atop snow generally was, and she felt the need to announce herself. It was only polite. "Though, I admit, it is a pleasant day and the mountains are quite lovely."

She stopped in the center of the clearing and held her staff at her side. Without its blade it came just shy of her shoulder. It was very close to the same height as the human she'd stumbled upon.

"Do you require assistance gathering more?"

He jumped, completely startled, and whirled around at the voice, dropping the plant he'd just picked and reaching for his staff before catching himself. It was just a mage. Just a mage he didn't recognize, and not one that was attacking. He could breathe. He did so, reaching up to rest that hand over his chest for just a moment as he calmed down and hoped there hadn't been anything blue that would have given him away.

"It's... yes. It's a pleasant day." It took a few moments for him to collect himself. Anyone waiting to ambush him this far out would have something intimately personal against him, and that was a very tiny group. Fenris and Sebastian. She was neither.

"It's more the walk than the herbs themselves, if I'm to be honest." He took another breath and picked up the plant he'd dropped before giving the woman a small smile. "I don't need assistance, but I wouldn't object to company. Most of my time spent exploring has been spent alone, and I enjoy talking. ...Which is both invitation and warning."

She was tall, he realized as he straightened back up. Very tall. Easily the tallest elf he'd ever seen by far. A part of him wanted to jokingly ask what she'd been fed, but at the same time there was a presence about her that made him not quite certain he wanted to tease just yet.

Galadriel had clearly startled him but, thankfully, he had caught himself before he lashed out. She had very little experience blocking the magic of mages in these lands and she would prefer not having to attempt it because she surprised someone. She appreciated his restraint but, frankly, it was curious that he hadn't attacked. She was unknown to him and he hadn't actually assessed her much beyond that first glance. He politely dismissed her offer as he gathered his wits and even managed a joke as he did so.

Galadriel's smile was reflexive.

"The allure of conversation and company is certainly something I understand," Galadriel replied and shifted her unfinished staff at her side, "and I cannot say I have no desire to explore, but I expect if I join you, I shall ignore my intended task entirely."

She glanced sidelong at her new staff and then back at him. She had been wary of attempting to use the weapon in the company of others, for all that could go awry, but he would know better than she if this staff was decently made.

"Perhaps you could assist me?" Galadriel suggested after a pause. "I have never tested a staff, I would not recognize a quality from a flaw, and it must be returned so it can be finished."

"Never?" Had she only just discovered her magic as an adult? But he shook his head a moment after asking the question. It didn't matter. If she'd been avoiding detection by not using a staff she'd been smart, frankly.

"Never mind. I can help, yes. I've borne more than a few in my time." Some quite cheap, ones scrounged up on the run to help him try to stay free, others with heritage and great craftmanship that he'd been sad to leave behind.

"...Actually, I can help so long as it's not attuned to entropy. If it is, I'll be of no help at all." Yes, he could still use the staff, but any flaws or issues would likely arise from that direction and he'd have no idea. "Which sort is it?"

His agreeing to help was a great relief. She thought little of extended the unfinished weapon toward him. Unfortunately, as he stated his caveat, she came up short and shot the staff a long look.

In Arda she could sense a great many things, subtleties that evaded all others who were not fea given form--even then, her insight often outstripped their own. She could feel the shadows of the past, the pull of the future, the burn of corruption and malice, even the rippling of time was not beyond her; in Arda there was precious little she could not suss out given time. In Thedas...she was not quite so capable.

As she peered at the staff in hand, the only thing she was able to sense, with absolute clarity, was that it was made of wood.

"Honestly, I've no idea," Galadriel admitted easily. She even sounded amused at the shortcoming. It was inconvenient, and possibly dangerous, but she'd not been so at a loss for many thousands of years. "I had only ever seen others wield them before. It had not occurred to me to ask what sort it might be."

There was something about the staff that was distinctly more than a simple stick. It was not entirely dissimilar from enchanting as she knew it, but it was blunter, more overt, and unfamiliar. She couldn't have placed the result of the spell, even it if she tried.

"I expect it is neither exceptional nor strong, given how reluctant they were to create it for me, but anything else...I cannot say."

"Then let's see what I see. And I can help you figure it out for the future, as well." Telling her will be good. Teaching her will mean that she can do it on her own in the future.

Anders took the staff, carefully beginning to cast and seek flaws or strengths in the wood. It was definitely a hasty job - he can feel that it's aiding, but it's not as smooth as something well-made.

"They're not experts. ...Or they didn't feel like putting a great deal of effort into it. It'll help. It's not going to help as much as careful craftsmanship does. Can you feel what I'm doing? The way magic is flowing through it? This is how you check for flaws. And now..."

He added fire to the mix, and there's no real change. "If you can feel the change in what I'm casting, the fire, and the lack of any response from the staff, that's how you see if it's attuned to fire magic. And it's not. Are you following, so far?" There wasn't any rush. He was outside the walls, and he could teach her about staves.

Galadriel's expression was fixed into a look of polite interest as he examined the staff. It was habit, mostly, to hide the full extent of her interest, but he was the focus of all of her attention. Without the rest of Skyhold nearby, or the threat of demons and rifts, he was the only thing affecting the--was if the Fade or the Veil? The distinction had not been made entirely clear to her, but his was the only force acting upon this place.

It was a strange and removed sensation, the pull of magic. It didn't behave like the power to which she was accustomed, nor did it, she noticed, behave as the powers of the Istari did. Their staves were more tether than weapon, an anchor to the world; the pull of power through this staff was the opposite, as if it were a siphon made of spun silk. The feel of its function and lightness were irritating in a mild but deeply unnerving way.

When he directed his focus, set his mind to fire, she felt the shift.

The outward change was negligible, the staff neither repulsed nor embraced his efforts, but she was able to label the feel of it. It was a sensation that traveled along her bones in a quiet way, spilling like sand, or the echo of sand over her arms and hands. This magic was drawn up from somewhere deep and distant, it skated across the world but didn't infuse it as her own was wont. She disliked the creep of the veil intensely, she would have preferred to stop but knowing that this was how "fire" felt was invaluable.

"I believe so," Galadriel replied evenly. Her stare was far too intense for her mild expression, but there was little to be done about that. "Does the quality of the staff hinge upon the resilience of it, or the severity of its reaction, should you find how it is attuned?"

It seemed too delicate to be of use, as though she would level her will upon it and it would shatter. It was unlike the mark in her hand, it was fragile in a way that the power of the rifts were not, but it was equally bizarre. Perhaps this was why there were so many staves available in Skyhold, why every mage regarded them as a simple possession and not something truly dangerous, truly powerful?

"And is there not the possibility that it could be attuned to something you do not know how to cast? I presume its alignment must also be by design, else it is the materials that dictate it?"

"Ah." That was a lot of questions, and while Anders knew some basics, he wasn't sure he could satisfy all of her curiosity. He could try, though.

"First and foremost, I've never made a staff, so what I know might not be precisely accurate. I know the basics, however. You tend to learn them, as you use staves. The quality of the staff is based on how much it aids you. Magic is there, in the Fade, and casting spells means channeling it. Staves make that flow smoother and stronger, no matter what its attunement."

He hefts it, feeling the weight a little better, wondering why no one had bothered to tell her anything about using a staff before. This isn't a problem, though. He likes teaching, likes helping. If the Circle had been a voluntary place, he could gladly have become a teacher. ...A teacher who traveled often. And had fifty cats. Back to staves for now, though.

"The quality of the staff defines how much it helps with that flow. Even the poorest staff will help a little. This helps... enough. It's no great staff, but it's not worthless. They're also better the more sturdy they are, as they tend to take a beating, but that's a tertiary concern. Quality, then attunement, then durability. ...And then prettiness. I like pretty staves."

She gets a flash of a smile before he continues talking. "The only thing I can't cast is entropy. This could be attuned to it, or nothing at all, but I can run through everything else to eliminate them first. Then all you have to do is find another mage who isn't a Spirit Healer and is familiar with staves. That's most. And now ice."

He tries... and feels no response again. She gets a shrug. "They didn't say anything about it at all?"

"They answered what few questions I had," Galadriel said.

"Ice," as a sensation, was not as unpleasant as "fire"; the way the power moved was quieter, slower, but it had an erratic pulse that alternated between grinding and jagged as it crystallized. He had done her a grand favor, casting both in sequence--she could almost feel where they crossed to be something else, where water might lie on that spectrum, but she would rather wait and watch than attempt to find it, herself.

"I know it is sturdy enough to carry the blade I wished to attach, that it is balanced so that it might be easily swung and distribute a blow," she explained, "and the grip, I'm told, is especially effective if wrapped in fabric of some kind.

"I am uncertain of the veracity of that claim, it seems a bit thin by my reckoning."

But, as much as he had answered her questions about the weapon, as much as he was still answering them, he had given her a detail about himself that she could not pass up.

"You are a Spirit Healer?" she asked and, despite her attempts to keep interest from her face, tilted her head slightly as she peered at him. "It must be a strange string of luck I have; most mages I've met of late are Spirit Healers. Is your spirit incompatible with entropy?"

She got a flash of a smile as he drew his attention away from the staff for a moment. "It's more that the world's lucky we're not caged up and stalked anymore. The difference we can make now that we're free is immeasurable, and there will be more of us now that constant watching and scrutiny and fearmongering isn't being shoved upon us. But as far as my spirit goes, no. Many mages who are especially strong in one area are weak in its opposite. I'm an exceptionally skilled healer, even without the aid of spirits, and entropy is creation's opposite."

And he much preferred creation to entropy anyway.

"Speaking of Creation," he spoke as he cast, sending that through the staff and again getting no response. At least talking would help keep him from getting frustrated by repeated failure.

"And the staff itself... It is thin. It isn't the best staff, but it will do what it's made for. You can wrap it and attach a blade, both. I prefer blades on the ends of my staves, personally." He was just currently making do with plain. "And earth."

Finally, at last, there was a response. Earth magic. The staff amplified earth, and he flashed the Elf a small smile. "There we are."

The concept was not at all strange. She knew that there were opposing forces, she had watched fate wind them for centuries, and it was easy to imagine that entropy would be difficult to command. What she had difficulty with was the idea that entropy was the opposite of creation. Yes, entropy and discord were the very antithesis of all that was...but they were the antithesis of everything. No mage here had done something so grand as kindling Creation--even she could not picture how that might be achieved--

Perhaps it was a conflict of nomenclature? It had to be.

The sensation of "creation" was alike but separate from "fire" and "ice". It was as the words were, built of different sounds and feelings, but all of them spoken in the same language. She had just taken stock of what "creation" meant when he shifted to test another variety. The first draw of "earth" through the staff yielded an instant reaction. The staff drew on the veil like a weighted line drew through water. It didn't part it, not like the rifts, but the distance she'd felt with the other types of magic was no longer present.

The staff wanted to cast earth spells. The power would flow more readily if that was where she reached. His smile held a note of accomplishment and, glad of her new knowledge, Galadriel returned it.

"You have my thanks," she said and paid careful attention to the feel of "earth".

The staff drew the magic easily and with fervor; the amount of it made the feel of it cluttered and harder to pick apart--it flowed oddly and branched outward. It was not like "ice"; it was flexible, passing, but immovable--"earth" something to be confronted and directed. It was not unlike how she bent Thedas, but it was not entirely similar either.

In any case, he'd given her another two points on the spectrum of native magic. With effort, she might find where they all met and which of them fell closest to her own.

"I suspect I shall need to learn something of earth magic if it is so attuned," she said in the same way one might remark about a book they intended to read in the far future. "Else I must wield a heartier staff and depend on stabbing more than magic."

"You don't..." He trails off. Echoing what she doesn't know doesn't help her at all. There's a pause as he frowns, holding her staff back out toward her. She doesn't know how to test a staff, she's a mage who doesn't know earth magic, and she's a tall elf.

"You're a Rifter, aren't you." A rifter mage. A part of him thinks that of course other places would have mages too, how could they not, but it's still strange to meet one who isn't from here.

"Would you like me to teach you some of our magic? And perhaps I can learn some of yours, and hear of where you're from." He'd especially like to learn what mages have to face in other places to see if they can adapt strategies for continuing freedom.

Galadriel took the staff as he offered it, her expression polite as he frowned and part of his expression became critical. His assertion was correct, something he seemed to realize as he spoke the words, but she inclined her head nonetheless. She was a Rifter; even without spying the green that guttered in her palm, most people were able to guess as much. His offer was unexpected, though, and Galadriel's surprise danced across her face.

No one in Thedas had offered to instruct her. Korrin and Adelaide had shared as much knowledge as had occurred to them, but Galadriel hadn't had the context or the knowledge required to craft questions. It had taken monumental effort to learn even the basics of the veil, but now that she had a grasp of how magic worked in Thedas, a teacher would aid her greatly. That he had asked for the same in kind gave her pause, but not because she was opposed to the suggestion.

"I would like it very much, if you care to teach me, but I am uncertain if I can share much in return," Galadriel replied after a moment. "I will teach you as I can, but I have never met a human who is capable of using the arts I wield."

"So they're race-specific?" That's new. Sure, there are spells he's only seen the Dalish do, but it's not because humans can't do them, as far as he knows. It's because the Dalish don't teach others.

He cuts off his own question for a moment with a shake of his head. "If you can't, that's all right. I'll teach anyway. I'm not the one in an unfamiliar place." With politics that must be strange, away from all friends... he'd thought it rough to be alone and on the run, but at least there had been people who sympathized, and he'd re-acquainted himself with friends here. She likely has no hope of that.

"Do you have any sort of... basics, yet?" The Rifters seem, so far, to be woefully unprepared for this world, as if no one had bothered to give them a little helpful information upon arriving. Granted, when they came through it tended to be while other things like demons attacking were going on, but still. How hard would it be to put together some basic information for the Rifters to prepare them for their new home?

"You weren't familiar with the schools of magic, I can run through the rest, but has anything been shared with you at all?"

Race-specific?

"I suppose my...spells would seem wholly Elven. They have been called elf magic often enough, and their origins are both distant and strange," Galadriel allowed, a note of amusement in her admission. "But, no, my concern lies more in age and will. You are...exceptionally young; if nothing else, that may be an obstacle I cannot help you overcome."

He was willing to demonstrate for her, however, and Galadriel was keenly interested in the topic at hand.

"I have had some teachings, in basic forms and drawing from your Fade, but Skyhold is mired in much magic. It is often hard to parse what I should learn from the lingering effects of what has been recently cast. That is one of the reasons I have strayed so far today."

Exceptionally young. No wonder she's amused. Anders can feel a smile spreading on his face too. Age-related magic? His mind goes to Flemeth and how confidently she'd told Hawke that she could never be a dragon. He'd easily believe that some spells were related to age and experience, and also that it didn't matter how old the spirit inside him was.

"That's a first. You... don't look that old, if I may say so. But that you can feel the remnants of spells..." That's new. "I've never heard of that before. I can feel when someone's casting, if it's close enough, but not where someone has cast."

That's a sense he hopes people here don't start to learn. If mages keep their freedom it's no issue, but if there's pursuit again? How much easier will it be to catch a mage than following where and what they've cast? But that's a concern for another day. Hopefully it's not something that's teachable.

"Let's review the basics, starting with the four schools of magic. There's Entropy and its opposite school, Creation. One drains and tears down, the other protects and builds up. The other two are Primal and Spirit. Primal is the elements. You've felt fire, ice, and earth, and now..."

Anders holds up a hand and electricity crackles between his fingertips. "As you can guess, that's lightning. Modified a little so I'm not blowing up a tree and bringing a flood of Templars down on our heads. Spirit is everything else, from slight alteration of time to the ability to repel attackers violently, to alteration of magical energy itself and its sources. That feels like this."

He drops the lightning and casts Spell Might, the most harmless Spirit spell he can think of. After a moment, he drops it. A moment later he thinks of wisps, but no matter. She's now felt how Spirit magic feels.

"Those are generally the umbrella all magic falls under. Or so I was taught. Frankly, the way mages were imprisoned and kept as ignorant as possible so they'd be easier to manipulate, there's a great deal of contradictory information and definitions."

Galadriel watched carefully as he cast the other spells. They were done in quick succession, the last of the "primal" elements and then the "spirit" spell, but their brevity wasn't enough to hinder her recognition of them.

The feeling of electricity was bright and faceted as it snapped across the surface of the veil. It reacted readily to his call and, perhaps it was the lack of staff within his hand, but there was some sense of sharpness to it. The power seemed no harder to conjure than "earth" or "fire", but it was a prideful thing, drawing power from the air, and she was reluctant to consider it for longer than she must. As quickly as he drew the lightning into his hand, he let it go.

The power ebbed back into the air around them as the last spell dissipated. The world was still for just a moment and he cast something else and this--this felt familiar. Whether it was the spell itself or the type of "magic", she could not say, but the sudden surge of power was invigorating. She felt more like herself, more alert and whole than she had in all her time in Thedas. The sensation persisted as the spell went on but, unfortunately, once it was released, the fleeting feeling of renewal vanished.

Her frown was speculative, but not unkind, as she considered him.

"I fear I will be of little help defining types of magic, the very word still confounds me." Galadriel turned her attention on the staff in her hand and considered how she might test what he had shown her. To use such a fleeting object to draw power seemed...an unreasonable risk, and yet that was its sole purpose. Perhaps if she tried to simply draw magic into the staff, to mimic the sense of "earth" he had shown her, the risk would be reduced.

"For two Ages I have heard that word and, even now, I cannot claim to understand what it involves. It is fortunate that I have some experience wielding power, at least in this way, and a sense of how it behaves."

She adjusted her grip on the staff, just slightly, and stared at the roughly hewn wood. She didn't heft it, nor even shift her stance to something less casual as she reached through it and tried to draw from the Fade.

The surface of this world, the veil upon which magic traveled, was a strange and uneven thing. It was intangible but ever-present, it rested thick and heavy over the world and, as she forced her will through the staff, it shifted around them. The veil was invisible but, as her power welled against it, as she tried to lift it and reach behind, the weight of it became more and more obvious. Trying to reach through it was like lifting a great mass of tar; it sloughed and pooled around her, the shadows stretched and faded, and for all she pushed against the veil, it pushed back.

She had never encountered something that behaved as the veil did, nor had she encountered a barrier so bold that could thoroughly repel the force of her will. It was habit, when she strained to conjure what she required, to reach for Nenya's power. The ring assisted her but it did not struggle as she did, it cleaved into the barrier and the results were both immediate and catastrophic. Raw power, power that was not her own, flooded the wooden weapon and broke apart on her ring. The staff didn't light aflame, as she feared it might, but fractured and burst apart with a thunderous crack as it was overwhelmed.

Anders listened patiently. They came from two different worlds, two entirely different ways of dealing with magic, and there's no guarantee what makes sense to him will make sense to her. They may well be speaking two different languages. The test will be when she casts, when he feels what she does with her knowledge.

As she starts to cast the feeling is entirely unfamiliar. It's not the tapping into the Fade and shaping it that he's used to feeling, it's... Grabbing. Pulling. Forcing? The pure strength she had to be using... But before he can say anything, before he can suggest letting the power flow, not shoving it along, she's casting.

There's the noise of splintering and breaking, and the momentarily overwhelming sense of far too much power everywhere before it's gone and Anders is trying to get his senses back while fighting Justice for control because the spirit is suddenly so very curious. Anders wins, just barely, staggering back to lean against a tree before looking over at Galadriel.

"Are you hurt? The wood... I can heal..." He's breathless, feeling like he's run up a mountain until suddenly awareness of where they are sinks in. They're near Skyhold. Other mages could have felt that. Tie the blast of power and who he is together, and he dies here, today. "If you're not hurt, we should move. Fast."

They're not too close. That might have been missed. He can hope.

The staff split into long pieces along the grain of the wood; had it not been bound together by a leather strap it would have crumbled into tinder. The head of the staff fared no better than the body, it burst into pulp and splinters and they were cast over the snow like ash in a strong wind. The power she had drawn into the staff abated quickly, but the rush of it and the shock of the explosion that had followed, had stunned her and staggered the human at her side. She found him braced against a tree, dazed and overwhelmed, and a flash of guilt crossed her face.

She could feel a sense of power that pressed against him, but he fought it back. Had she unsettled him so deeply he might've lashed out? She had done him a dreadful disservice.

"Why? What approaches?" Galadriel asked, as confused by his abrupt urgency as she was the reaction of her staff. She cast a glance at the woods that surrounded them, then over her shoulder, at the rise of Skyhold where it lifted above the treeline, but saw no danger. Her eyes were keen, she could see far, but she did not know what to look for. Even as she questioned him, she did not doubt the legitimacy of his panic--he was of these lands and she was not.

With as much haste as he had invoked, Galadriel dropped her ruined staff and lifted her ring hand. This was not an art to be enacted hastily and, at once, she felt the way the power carved into her bones. This would be a poor enchantment, not half so elegant as she would like, and the end cost of this spell would be terrible.

The veil seized as the power of the ring swept through it, the air around them stilled, the breeze dropped away and the trees that surrounded the glade gradually fell motionless. A nameless feeling of distance wrapped around the clearing and, though they had not moved, there was a distinct sense of a threshold and being drawn over it. Within the span of a breath there was only silence around them; they were removed, ensconced in safety, concealed from Thedas around them. Whatever danger he had felt, whatever threatened to corner them ere they could escape, it would not be able to pass the girdle she had drawn around this place.

By the end of it, invisible and subtle as the casting had been, Galadriel had both of her hands extended. Her breath came in deep, desperate pulls, her heart raced, but it was the casting that cost her dearly. Ideally, it would not take so much to maintain--if it did, she will have done him another disservice and she knew not what end they would meet.

"Do not run, I do not know if I can conceal us if you pass beyond the bounds of this spell."

Before he can answer, before he can craft together any sort of explanation, she's casting again and this time it's heavy, bearing down almost physically on the Fade, on everything magical in the area, and for a moment he's not sure he can breathe. A moment later the insane pressure is gone and there's air in his lungs again, but all else is silent. Silenced, even. He can't feel the Fade, and Justice is deathly still. Silencing doesn't tend to work on Justice that well, being a part of the Fade, and Anders has to work to keep himself calm. She hasn't just cut him off from the Fade and Justice altogether. He wouldn't be feeling fear if she had. The magic simply works entirely different from what he's used to.

Anders leans against a tree for support, not quite trusting his legs entirely as it is.

"If... If some of the people back in Skyhold, Templars in particular, felt the strength of what you were doing, they might investigate. They might ask more questions than anyone would ever want to answer. I am an apostate. I have killed Templars to remain free. I don't want questions."

It's true. Not the whole of the truth as he's done much worse, but enough of it.

"Have you... I don't even know how to ask what you've done. I don't feel the Fade. I don't feel magic at all. Have you muted the sense of it in the area for everyone? Or... What does the spell you've cast do? It doesn't feel like anything I've known. Ours is guiding energy, letting it flow, and you're... pulling, forcing... Maker, I think if I tried anything like that I'd be torn apart." He doesn't think Justice could handle those forces either.

It took him a moment to gather himself and she granted it without reservation; she could not predict how this sorcery would effect mortals, as she wove it or once it had been drawn about them. He was disquieted and uneasy but, even with her power bent and diminished, he was unharmed; for that she was glad. He explained about Templars, about those who remained in Skyhold and the fate they would level upon apostates. Galadriel had heard fragments of these things, facets of this story, but they had shifted as she tried to learn it. Now, she found that she could assemble them in some sensible way, but she lacked the focus to pull meaning from them.

Her brow's dipped as she tried to focus on what he was saying but already there was a persistent whispering in against the edges of her spell. Fate and the old song murmured in the distance, whispered against her will and her mind. Listening to the human a challenge but answering him was even harder. The strain of the spell persisted.

"I cannot say for certain, but I expect you are right," she said, at length, "To raise such borders without the will to hold them is beg your own destruction."

She was silent for a time and, very slowly, lowered her hands. The glade was still but the barrier had been drawn far closer than she liked. There was distortion to it; where only shadows should have rested between the trees, there was a strange, watery wavering, like the surface of a deep lake disturbed by a glancing breeze. The shapes of the trees danced slightly in the stillness, they cast strange shadows and reflected on the snow, but the concealment calmed as she tried to look upon it directly.

Her eyes trailed across the trees and, eventually, landed on him. She started when she saw him, as though she'd forgotten he was present and had only just recalled that they'd been talking. Her answer came quickly after that, though it was obvious that answering him posed her some difficulty.

"Ah, yes, I have..." she paused and frowned slightly. "Hidden us. None may cross the bounds of the fence, not in spell or form, without my leave."

That was a poor description and, at once, she recognized its failings. Her frown deepened and she attempted, once more, to explain it in the language of men.

"We are concealed...removed to a place of...formed spirit?" she hesitated as she considered the words. "My spirit shapes this place; we are safe, so long as the barrier remains. You needn't fear, we will not be found."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Open]

Just outside Skyhold.

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