When the woman blurs and rises away, Beleth jerks her hand back, looking startled, as if she had caused some kind of actual damage to that beautiful vision. Then she all but jumps out of her seat when the crows startle, despite that Beleth knows them well enough she should be used to them and their noises. There's a strange air in the room, and she casts an apprehensive look at Galadriel. The elf seemed--uneasy. Should Beleth fetch another blanket? Wake her?

But Beleth finds herself too caught up in the dream, the memory, to be able to do much of anything but sit and watch. More women, more elves that were undoubtedly of Galadriel's world. More who looked like everything the elves had once had and lost, so long ago. No, she can't bring herself to wake Galadriel up just yet, not when she has this chance to see the kinds of things that her people hoped to restore.

But then it gets dark, and it gets--what was the word for it? Foreboding. Beleth scoots her chair closer to Galadriel's, as if the sleeping woman would protect her, huddling in her chair and drawing her legs up. Still, she watches quietly, a hand once again reaching out to touch the darkness, remind herself that they haven't moved, that they couldn't possibly be anywhere but still within Skyhold.

"And what is this...?"