faderift | open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

WHO: Inquisition Forces
WHAT: Inquisition forces cross the mountains into Orlais to deal with Emprise du Lion
WHEN: Wintermarch 25 onward
WHERE: EMPRISE DU LION
NOTES: This is a mingle-style log for the Inquisition camps, local tavern, and general/open Inquisition work, etc.

This time they hike down to the west, but the trip through the mountains is no easier. The snow is heaped up about the road where wagons have pushed it aside, stomped into slippery pack beneath the feet and hooves that have gone before. Of the main track it is ankle deep at best and in places it drifts, waist-deep on a tall man and enough to bury a dwarf who hasn't come prepared with snowshoes. Everywhere the wind howls, biting cold, and the sky hangs low, a pale flat grey that makes it difficult to judge distances. Those who know winter weather call it a snow sky, and near-daily squalls prove them right.

They set up camp in Sahrnia, across the broad expanse of frozen river that has trapped the villagers here upstream. Tents pop up in rows and in the shells of tumbled-down buildings, fires blazing and thawing the ground to mud. When the supply wagons roll in they re-open the local tavern, brightly lit with flaking paint on the walls that might once have been colorful and patterned tiles on the floor that seems to swim like an optical illusion after too many glasses of the cheap red wine that fills the cellars.

Even deadlier reds hold the hills: Red Templar sightings have been frequent and it is said they are operating in several locations in the region in significant force. Some of these men and women have become hulking, crystalline beasts. Many others are in the earlier stages of corruption: red-veined and -eyed, aggressive and superhumanly strong, but still visibly human and coherent if spoken to. Red lyrium is even easier to find, jutting out of the ground or cliffsides, filling caves-- the Tower of Bone, a fortress that has stood for centuries, now threatens to split from the inside out. The area's wildlife was none too friendly before, but now the wolves and bears have begun to be corrupted by the lyrium and many will attack on sight, without provocation. (The snofleurs that bumble harmlessly around the river seem unaffected.)

Everywhere there are ruins: broken bridges, crumbling colosseums, and the great hulking mass of Suledin's Keep tucked between the distant hills. Scouts reported that Red Templars hold it as well.

RIFTER ARRIVAL - SAHRNIA - THE HILLS - TOWER CAMP - A HANDY MAP

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The sound of the ice cracking shouldn't have been surprising to Ellana, but it was. The locals had sworn to the Inquisition that the ice was so thick, they couldn't break through at all. She also knew that others had used the river as a shortcut, walking to and fro on it without it cracking. She even heard that rams and snoufleurs when traipsing across the slick surface.

But the cracking sound worried her and she hurried to investigate. By the time she arrived, she could see Galadriel setting herself up beside the hole, and Ellana slowly made her way across the ice. Her boots had a little grip, but it was still slippery. Holding out her arms for balance, she continued working her way out.

"Galadriel! Are you sure it's safe? I didn't know there were thin spots out here." Because surely the ice cracked from a little pressure and not weird Rifter demon magic, right?

Strangely, between the wind and the sound of water beneath gently shifting ice, she hadn't heard Ellana's approach. She twisted as Ellana called out to her and stared, almost blankly, as she parsed out both the Dalish elf's presence and her words. It was only a momentary pause, and Galadriel glanced back at the hole in the ice as she considered the logistics of their surroundings.

"It is safe," Galadriel said and reached behind her for her staff. She held it by the end, gripped firmly before the blade, and stretched the length of it toward Ellana. The ice was as likely to shatter as it was to suddenly melt, but if Ellana stumbled she could fall into the water--a handhold, for balance, would spare them the possibility of such a dreadful accident.

"Take care as you step but you needn't worry about it breaking. At its thinnest I suspect it runs deeper than both our heights combined."

Grateful for the aid, Ellana used the offered staff to make her way close and sit down beside Galadriel.

"Ma serannas. Did you make this hole? How did you accomplish it?" She can't imagine how. Even her fire spells would hardly make a dent.

Once Ellana had recovered and seated herself, Galadriel lowered her staff and set it on the ice behind them. Her question was odd, in a way, but she was Dalish. Of all the trials the Dalish had faced, Ellana had never spoken of one that would lend itself to the frozen nature of the Emprise.

"It is an old trick, one I learned when I was very young," Galadriel began and looked back at the hole in the ice. "Or rather like it, at least."

The original method was less swift and less effective than what she'd done. Digging undercut hollows in ice this thick would be a staggering undertaking and, fortunately, she lacked all the tools to demonstrate it. She supposed it didn't matter much, the old way had depended on the ocean to do the majority of the work and the river was far too still to help wear the ice down.

And yet...Galadriel had no doubt that Ellana could manage it, if she needed to. Thedas's sort of magic was well suited to this kind of task.

"If there is no thin spot, you must make one, and it goes fastest from below. Cutting is safer but drawing the water upward works well enough."

It was hard to make out where the ice stopped beneath the well of water. She began to explain, or intended to, but her line pulled and Galadriel's attention shifted. With a sharp heft she drew the line out of the water and, struggling on the end of it, there was a long silvery fish.

"They survive!" Galadriel announced brightly and eyed the animal.

Where Ellana had lived, they never had need for lessons such as these, but now that she has gone out into the world, it's valuable to know all kinds of survival techniques for different climates. It will come in handy someday.

But when Galadriel pulls the fish out of the water, Ellana forgets about it to laugh and clap her hands.

"You have good luck! That will make a good supper, won't it?" She doesn't know what kind of fish it is, but even if it's not one of the tasty ones, it's still food.

"Do you have a basket or anything to keep it in?"

The animal struggled at the end of the line. It was not a large fish, but it did not lack for strength. After a moment it went still and, as it did, she looked sidelong at Ellana once more.

In truth she had expected everything below the ice would have starved ere the Inquisition arrived; to discover she had been wrong was truly a pleasant surprise. It had not occurred to her that she would have caught more than one fish, if that, and so she hadn't wondered how to carry them. If she'd caught one so quickly, it was a grand sign and she might be forced to suffer some inconvenience for not thinking more wishfully.

"I do not," Galadriel answered, pleasantly baffled, "I suppose I shall need to retrieve one, should we catch too many more."

She unhooked the fish from the end of her line and weighed it idly in her hand. It was heavy and seemed far healthier than it ought. Perhaps the river basin was not as sealed as she believed? If that was the case, fishing might be plentiful. She could thread the creatures together on the line, or sacrifice her bow to skewer them if it came to it. If they were so successful, she would hardly mourn the loss of one poorly wrought weapon.

"Please, take this and I shall fashion another," Galadriel said absently as she passed the makeshift fishing pole to Ellana. She still carried a few arrows, in case she happened upon larger prey, and she immediately set about dismantling one for its parts.

"Tis such a grim memory, I hardly expected it to yield any bounty at all," she added as she stripped off the arrowhead and the fletching. "If we are lucky, I may be proved more foolish before we've finished."

Ellana took the pole, looking it over before dropping the line back into the water. She'd never gone fishing before, but she suspected the fish did all the work and she just had to sit there holding the pole without shaking it too much. It occurred to her that there was so much she hadn't experienced that she should have, but even in the clan, she was isolated. She had friends and did tasks around the camp, but so many opportunities slipped through her fingers. Now it was time to change all that.

"If I was better at ice spells, I could fashion a bowl out of ice to carry them in, but I'm afraid I'm still learning." Learning from Adelaide, who appeared to be an expert in the cold tree of spells. The woman could fashion tiny sculptures or create huge castles of ice. Ellana would settle for learning to make an ice bowl.

"You're so resourceful," she continued, watching Galadriel work. "I wouldn't be able to do something like this." She'd never tried her hand at crafting arrows before. Hers would probably come out bowed and be useless.

"You certainly would," Galadriel responded. It wasn't an encouragement, not precisely, but more a statement of fact. She was certain Ellana would manage something, regardless of her claiming a lack of skill.

She reached to the crown of her head and pulled a strand of hair free. As she tied the arrowhead onto it, she glanced sidelong at Ellana. She was so young and, between her wonder and the way she watched Galadriel's hands, Galadriel found it impossible to ignore that fact.

"I learned because I was given no choice," Galadriel told her, calmly, with the weight of someone who had learned much in this way. "My power was something that had to be gathered and seized, it is--was no trifle, and such as this?" She shifted and tied the end of the golden strand to her staff. Once it was secure she tossed the glittering arrowhead into the dark water.

"This was learned during difficult times in ages long forgotten; the trials of the early days, of the kinslayings and the Lord of Night were many and cruel. I would not wish them on you, but were you forced through them, you would have found your way.

"Just as I did."

It almost seemed a shame for even one strand of Galadriel's golden hair to be separated from her head. But even on its own, it was quite the sight. Strong as could be, she noted, as it was tied to the arrowhead and dropped into the icy water.

And then she refocused, hearing Galadriel's words, but frowning as if she didn't understand then.

"Kinslayings?" she asked. "You mean... family killing family?" It sounded awful. The Lord of Night meant nothing to her, though she supposed night was meant to suggest the unknown things that creep about at night. Dangerous things. Ellana knew that, but she always enjoyed the quiet of nighttime, when she could be alone with her thoughts and just look up at the stars.

"Not exactly, but it was just as shocking to us as that might've been," Galadriel ceded. The dark water swirled and bobbed around the golden lines that held their make-shift hooks. Galadriel watched it for a moment before looking at Ellana properly.

"There was an elf, in the earliest of days, who was perhaps the greatest smith who ever lived. He forged great treasures and lost them to a thief. Those of his house swore a dreadful oath; they vowed to regain them, at any and all cost...much of the tragedy in Arda has its roots in Fëanor's folly."

It was strangely satisfying to see two strands of her hair glittering at so mundane a task, one handed freely to a Dalish elf who couldn't be even half a century, while talking of Fëanor. She had denied him what she shared easily with Ellana and, if nothing else, that was a cheerful thought.

"Each of the Kinslayings were brought to bear by Fëanor or his sons; they were bloody, terrible battles where elves slew elves and left only flame and sorrow in their wake."

"The treasures were worth more to him than people?" Ellana frowns, gaze lowering for a moment. "Folly is a good word. In the tongue of the People, we would say Fen'Harel ma ghilana: The Dread Wolf guides you. It's what we say when we think someone has made a terrible choice. The Dread Wolf made a terrible choice that lost us our gods. This Fëanor made an oath over treasure, when he would have been better off swearing to protect his people."

Ellana lifts her gaze once more, wearing a worried expression. Galadriel has spoken candidly thus far, but Ellana doesn't want to cause her pain. "Were you in any of those battles?"

"Yes," Galadriel confirmed and the word fell like a heavy weight between them.

Once, when the history was new, before all involved had passed into legend and been forgotten, she had held views that almost opposed Ellana's. Traveling to Middle Earth had done much to change how she viewed the world, to mature her opinions, but she had never taken the time to weigh the value of the silmarils against lives--they had been incidental, a beautiful craft made important by tragedy alone, and only their theft had made them the lynchpin of war.

To hear them dismissed so easily was...refreshing but unsettling.

Like a fresh breeze stirring through a long forgotten crypt.

Fen'Harel ma ghilana.

It was a very apt sentiment, in many ways, and one that Galadriel would remember from this point on.

"I fought in only one of the great battles of the First Age," Galadriel continued. "The very first kinslaying, where the Fëanorians attacked and slew my mother's kin to take control of their ships. I came upon them with my cousin's force, but we arrived too late to prevent either the bloodshed or the theft."

It was, perhaps, the shortest account of the Kinslaying of Aqualondë that she'd ever given. The story was far too long to burden Ellana with, not all at once, and she wasn't eager to recall it in great detail. Though the memory was older than the rising of the sun, it was still quite sharp in her mind, there was little that she'd forgotten. It had been the first hard lesson of so many.

"After that, I did not participate in the battles of that Age. Our foe was too great for any elf to slay, to attempt it was madness."

The idea of elf slaying elf feels so unnatural to her. She's sure that somewhere, elves have argued and took things too far, but a battle? The People were scattered and the world was against them. It made no sense to turn on each other. But Galadriel's world must be much different for elves to turn on each other over jewels. Or perhaps not jewels, but what they represented. The elves of Thedas have had so much taken from them, and they cling so desperately to what remains. In that way, Ellana supposes she can understand the need to regain what was lost. But the elves of Arda seem far more blessed than Thedosian elves. While the theft may have been terrible, at least they weren't slaughtered, their empire destroyed, and the survivors taken as slaves who saw their culture chipped away from them.

"The foe was the one who took Fëanor's treasure? How was he defeated, then? He must have been."

"Yes, he was the thief," Galadriel confirmed but hesitated.

There was a great wealth of information she had not shared and where to being that account, or if she even should, was an important consideration. Ellana seemed baffled by the very idea of the Kinslaying; Galadriel imagined she had looked much the same when Ellana had explained the enslaving of the elves. Unfortunately, here was where the tale of Arda took a much darker road than that of Thedas and Galadriel was reluctant to burden one so young with tales so old.

The Emprise was grim and cold around them, though, and the stillness almost begged to be filled. This place could not be further despoiled; there was no better place to speak of such things.

"I have spoken to you on Aman, of the Valar," Galadriel recalled slowly. Her line caught and she turned her attention back to the water. There was no weight on the end so, after a pause, she continued. "It was through their song that my world was forged, but one of them sang in discord, and his song ever tainted the world with shadow.

"In Aman the Valar lived with the Eldar and the beauty of their song was all about us. It was then that Fëanor wrought his treasures. He captured the light of the song within them, and they were both beautiful and masterful creations, but they were not truly valuable until discord came to Aman.

"Morgoth, the Lord of Night, brought a great and terrible beast to Aman. Together they destroyed the light that lit the world and threw all into darkness and chaos. The light could have been restored, had Fëanor surrendered his treasures to the Valar, but they would have been destroyed. He refused.

"It was Morgoth that stole them away, not to restore light but to adorn his helm, and his host left Aman. Fëanor pursued him, as did many others, but the warring of the Valar is neither the providence of men nor elves. Morgoth's might was unequaled, he could not be slain, but he could be imprisoned; the Valar chained him and cast him into the Void, where he waits still, and the world was forever marred by his evils and Fëanor's folly."

Galadriel's expression was grim as she regarded the water. The desire to cast her will upon it, to look afar and try to see the state of Lorien, was great. The Old song was in her ears and she feared, for Arda and Thedas, but could do nothing for either. Not yet.

"Many horrors were brought to the world in those days; I can only hope Thedas does not share any of them. I am uncertain if I could drive them from this world."

Though she was young, Ellana needed to absorb knowledge like a sea sponge. People thought her naive, and though she didn't wholly agree, she was still rather unspoiled by the world. But instead of always hiding from the dark and dangerous things, she wanted to know. She had to know, and experience, and grow, so she could be a survivor in this world. Ellana wasn't one to want to have to depend on others, and she was willing to learn the hard lessons. Her heart might be soft, and her view optimistic, but she wasn't stupid. Horrible things happened, and though she might not understand why, that didn't make them any less real.

She was so absorbed in the conversation that when Galadriel turned her head to check her line, Ellana blinked as if coming out of a dream and registered that her line felt the same as before. It hadn't caught a fish's attention yet. So she turned her eyes back to Galadriel for more of her story.

The more she learned, the more she came to dislike Fëanor. Hate would have been too strong a word for a person she never knew and who hadn't affected her life at all, but he was so selfish and short-sighted as to come across as the second villain of this piece of history.

"There is much a person would do to restore what was," Ellana finally said. "It's something my people would attempt. If something of Elvhenan could be found that would make our lives better, there are many elves who would go to war for it. Even though this Morgoth was too great an enemy for elves and men, I could see how they would try to get the jewels from his helm to restore the light. But Fëanor just wanted them back to hoard them. So he could stare at what he'd created but not share them with those who would dearly love to see things back the way they were." She smiled sadly. "But we always have to move forward, don't we? I wish I could find an ancient elven artifact to share with the People, but that wouldn't suddenly give us back our lost years in exile, living as slaves, servants, nomads, or whatever else we've been reduced to. It would just be a reminder of who we were, and that would be good enough for me. Not for others, though."

Galadriel listened to Ellana as she reprimanded Fëanor, as she championed the need for restoration, for moving forward without despair, and she was silent for a long while. Ellana knew more of Middle-earth than most who dwelt in Thedas, and now she knew a great deal more of the Noldor than any mortal in Middle-earth. For all she represented, for all that the Dalish mirrored the inevitable fate of the elves Galadriel had left in Arda, she was bright and keen and full of hope. Hope for herself and, somehow, hope for Galadriel as well.

Though she had fallen into this world unexpectedly, Galadriel had not come unarmed. Nenya was too grand a secret for this place, her need of it was too desperate to share, and the tale that accompanied the rings was unfinished and filled with woe. Fortunately, Nenya was not the only object that she had kept as she passed through the Fade and, in this moment, the star-glass would serve her far better than her ring.

"The light that Fëanor captured was hallowed by Varda herself. It was the light of the two trees that lit the world, and though they were destroyed, the treasures that held their light were not. One of them rises with the evening, adorning the twilight sky, and it is our most beloved star."

She set aside her staff and it settled heavily on the ice. The waters that rose from the river, dark and foreboding, lapped quietly at the jagged edges of the hole in the ice. Apart from the water and the distant crackle of mountain cold, the Emprise was silent and still. Galadriel reached into her leather armor and withdrew from it a crystal phial bound in lines of gleaming, white silver.

"This is the Light of Eärendil, and it carries within it some of that hallowed starlight," she explained and, very delicately, held the glass out to Ellana. "I crafted it, so that it might light a very dark path for a very unfortunate soul. I keep it with the hope that I might still give it to them, though I am becoming uncertain I will have the chance."

She looked up from the glass and stared at the Dalish elf at her side. The smile that glanced across her face was slight but honest.

"You do not need this light, not truly, and I cannot give it to you while it is still needed elsewhere. It is not of your empire, but it is a piece of the very heart of the Eldar. If it can grant you some reminder of elvendom, some hope, I would see that hope kindled."

Two trees lit the world? How beautiful! Trees were important in elven lore here in Thedas too. All elves on their death had a tree planted over their grave, so that their body might provide the means for the seedling to grow into a healthy, strong tree that would withstand the ages. In that way, the elves could live on.

Ellana watched as Galadriel retrieved the phial, and her breath caught in her throart. She gingerly set her makeshift pole down as well, and glanced up at Galadriel for permission before she gently took the phial in both hands, cradling it in her palms. Even though she wasn't up close to the hole in the ice, she still felt paranoid that the phial would somehow slip out of her grasp and fall into the water, so she shifted a little away from the fishing hole to shield the precious item with her body.

She had no words to describe it as it glowed in her hands. As a mage, she had used as sorts of magic that lit up an area: fire, lightning, veilfire. But nothing could compare to this. Amazingly, she was able to focus enough to hear Galadriel's words even as she gazed into the wondrous light, and when she looked up at her friend, tears were flooding her eyes. She blinked and they fell, but she didn't dare raise a hand to wipe them away and risk dropping the phial.

"Starlight," she whispered. It was all she could say. That evening in the courtyard pointing out the constellations to Galadriel returned to her and she sniffled, looking back down at the light. What if something like this was here in an elven ruin, waiting to be discovered? Galadriel was right that the Light of Eärendil wasn't of this world, but that didn't mean something similar couldn't exist. If they had something that could invoke these emotions in her, then the People would be truly blessed and rewarded for all the trials they had endured.

"You have." Carefully, she handed the phial back, loathe to let it go but knowing that this was a symbol of what could be here in Thedas, waiting to be discovered. "I look at this and it fills me with hope that there are precious parts of our past waiting to be uncovered." It didn't matter who found them, as long as they were given to the People to cherish. But she would someday search. Nothing would be found if no one ever looked.

Ellana wiped at her wet face and giggled. "Ma serannas. Just letting me look on it is a gift."

Ellana returned the star glass and it rested, light and ethereal, in Galadriel's hand. She did not share Ellana's fear that it might be lost to the waters, but she was still careful and meticulous as she settled it back beneath the leather of her armor. She had lost one relic to Thedas already. In truth, the brooch had been lost under very singular circumstances, but she was not willing to risk repeating such a blunder.

It was a shame she no longer carried the Ellessar; she could only imagine how Ellana would have cherished its power.

"I hope its light will not be needed in Thedas, but if it is, I will share it." Ellana wiped at her face and Galadriel could not help but smile at her. Her cheeks were already pink from the cold; this place was not comfortable.

"But that is enough talk of dark times, there is too much sadness in the Emprise du Lion for me to compound it so," Galadriel announced and glanced to the fish that rested on the ice between them. "What say you, mellon nin, shall we continue to fish or find our way back and search for a basket?"

It was a sentiment Ellana could agree with. Emprise was depressing enough as it was.

"Let's head back. We can find a basket and rest by a fire pit for a few minutes. Maybe have hot drinks to warm us through before we return?"

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open: something grabs ahold of me tightly

ice fishing

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