faderift | [OPEN] - Conversations and Company

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[OPEN] - Conversations and Company

WHO: Galadriel and anyone!
WHAT: Galadriel has finally been released from jail and is (relatively) free to go about her business.
WHEN: Just slightly backdated. Set before the Illness event (so before 4/16-18), late Drakonis to early Cloudreach?
WHERE: Various - Skyhold
NOTES: No warnings just yet, but I will update accordingly.
(Relevant links, mostly for my personal reference, but hey, why not share? In loose chronological order...and probably only about half of the total relevant threads: Cassandra and Galadriel's Interrogation Fiasco, Galadriel in Jail, Gavin Fails To Save The Day But We Still Love Him, Obi-Wan Kenobi's 'This Is Not How You Do Law Enforcement' Network Post, and Thranduil and Legolas Arrive To Actually Save The Day. And Also: Faderift Civil War OOC Planning Post. )

1. Indoors, Open
Once she had been released, (for that was what it had been; she was not so naive that she would mistake it for being freed, not while the eyes of the Inquisition watched her so keenly,) Galadriel found the fortress far less hospitable than it had been. The stones themselves were not aware enough to influence the world about them, but the rumors that had spread while she was indisposed were, apparently, many and malicious. Where the men that worked and bustled through the keep had, previously, been content to stare at her and shuffle on, now they lingered in her periphery and, rather than pass her by, expended great effort to grant her a wide berth.

Galadriel was less troubled by this behavior than one might expect, she had considerable practice ignoring the slights and follies of mortal men. No, what truly taxed her patience were the guard who trailed after her every step. They were unsubtle in their duty, clad in full branded plate as they were, and their every rattle and footfall was a reminder of the slight Cassandra had paid her. The templars kept some distance from her, lingering in the threshold of rooms or the landing of stairs, but they were ever in sight.

She could not say what purpose they were meant to serve, stalking about in her wake, but whatever it was, they did so clumsily and without foresight. So, as she went to locate her belongings, she attempted to ignore the templars that watched her.

Her possessions, few as they were, had been disturbed from their resting place in the rotunda. Her notes, pages upon pages of tight tengwar script and scattered Theodosian letters, were missing from the table in the corner. Her cloak remained, as did the crimson jerkin and the thread she'd spun to embroider it, but the phial and her staff had yet to reappear alongside them. The books she had borrowed, somehow, had not been moved and beneath them, the most current page of her notes still rested. She had been interrupted from this task and, as she looked at the page, the boldfaced clatter of plate armor disturbed the stillness of the tower.

Had she any less restraint she might've sighed. As it was, she simply cast the human guard a long look and then took a seat at the table in the corner. Resuming her work was a simple thing and, if she refrained from wandering about she would not be forced to endure the noisy gait of her attendants.

(Feel free to have your character run into Galadriel (and company) as she transcribes historical texts into tengwar, as she returns her borrowed (and long overdue) books to the library, or as she sits at a desk and stares, dispassionately, at the awkward pair of templars in the corner.)

2. Outdoors, Open
It was early spring in Thedas and, while she had only been kept from the sunlight for a short time, she had longed to breath the bright spring air and stand beneath the vast blue sky. Galadriel relished the spring and, as she lingered in the garden she could nearly forget where she was. There was a certain ease that came over her in the crisp air of spring, some joy that made her lighter and, indeed, brighter for know it; it alarmed her minders but she paid them little attention as she strolled through the beds of the garden.

She supposed the scene might've been amusing, were it not so grievously offensive to her.

Galadriel seated herself on a bench in the sunshine, confident that she was removed from the comings and goings of those who worked in the gardens, and the pair of templars crowded behind her. They scowled into the sunshine and their expressions maintained as she settled the crimson jerkin in her lap and began embroidering. They regarded her work as one might regard a knife being sharpened and, to her intense amusement, were either unable to detect or too distracted to note the quiet enchantment she stitched into the swath of crimson silk.

(It's spring! It's also probably sometime close to the literal crack of dawn. Please join Galadriel as she embroiders while being closely watched.)

3. Shopping, Open
The merchants that frequented Skyhold had been, until recently, an understanding and agreeable sort. She had never had conflict with any one of them. They had always been gracious helpful in all her dealings, scattered as they were, but it seemed the rumors regarding her arrest had found their way to all corners of the Keep.

She was polite as she spoke to them but, one by one, they declined to trade with her. While nothing she offered or sought was particularly suspect, none of them, it seemed, wished to risk the conflict.

(What does an elf have to do to buy some wool around here? Apparently they have to manifest a friend to help them buy it. Or someone to tell her to move along. Feel free to join Galadriel as she attempts/fails to shop!)

4. Wildcard
(If none of the above appeal and you would still like to do something, please have at! Galadriel will be in Skyhold, here and there. If you have any questions, please hit me up

hikuswing or PM this account.)

Individual Starters:
(Proofreading the lot of them at the moment, I will ping relevant parties as I update!.)

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A chuckle escapes him once Galadriel makes her suspicion known. "Scribing, hm?" Alayre questions as he glances towards the opened journal nearby. He could see the writing clear enough but couldn't exactly make out the words from this distance. Not that he should care. Surely the Seeker would be quick to snatch that quill from the elf had Galadriel proved to be writing something of an antagonistic letter to her but ultimately, Alayre has no interest in partaking further in such nonsense.

"No, I'm not here to instigate this quarrel any further." He admits once his eyes rest upon Galadriel again. "You are not the first to disapprove of Seeker Pentaghast and you certainly won't be the last she'll slight." Alayre states honestly with a touch of humor in his tone to offset Galadriel's venom.

"Indeed, I much rather not have those poor men stuck on guard duty when they could be training." The Templar admits once Galadriel returns to her desk.

"Though, I will admit that my curiosity lead me here." He smiles somewhat.

"Did it, then?" Galadriel asked, offhandedly, as she retook her seat. She cast a glance back at Alayre and then returned her attention to her work, writing out the contents of one book onto pages of vellum before her. The tengwar stood in stark contrast to Thedas' native letters.

"'Tis a dangerous thing, permitting your curiosity to lead you. Tell me, what do you seek if not to relieve my guard from their boring, nigh perpetual torment?"

His gaze lingers briefly upon the pages again as he dared to come nearer. He briefly laid eyes on elven script before but never had seen anything quite like this. So say the least, he's mildly intrigued but not enough to inquire more about it.

At least not yet.

"I've been told that before." He replies somewhat flippantly with a slight shrug. "A little bit of danger is a good thing if you ask me. Keeps you on your toes."

Alayre falls silent for a time before finally answering her. "Out of all those hailing from beyond the Rift, you are the only elf." He knows nothing of the other inhabitants of her realm. "The differences between you and the elves of this realm is startling and yet, oddly fitting of their proud ancestors who once built this fortress." He speaks of Skyhold itself.

"It is almost as if you're a remenant of the past that many forgotten."

He was thoughtful as he constructed his question, though, in truth, it was hardly a question at all. She smiled as he supposed and guessed, but his last statement drew a laugh out of her, earnest and bright. Her shoulders shook as she glanced sidelong at the human. There was a glint of amusement in her eyes as she considered him.

"Yes, I admit that I often feel like a relic from the long-forgotten past," Galadriel replied, her tone bordering between teasing and rebuke. "How bold of you to confirm it for me, Knight-Commander.

"But still you have no answered my question. What do you seek from me? My age, perhaps? Or from whence I hail? I think you may be disappointed, none in Thedas have recognized the names I give them."

Alayre's words were more of an observation at best rather than a question. However, Galadriel certainly seemed to understand him well enough. The Knight-Commander is an observant man, almost too observant for his own good. While others walk through life with metaphorical blinders on, he's quite the opposite.

"Ah?" He hadn't expected his comment to win such a chuckle from her. Galadriel's laughter completely caught him off-guard. "It wasn't in my intention to offend---" He quickly trails off once he realizes that she's teasing him. Honestly, Alayre certainly oblivious at times.

"But would you still be willing to give them?" The Templar asks with a hint of interest in his tone. Alayre hadn't come all this way not to learn anything about her.

"If so...where is it that you hail from?"

"I come from the isle of Aman," Galadriel answered and returned her attention to the book she was transcribing. "I traveled to Middle-earth when I was young and, after many long years, came to live in the golden wood of Lothlorien."

She had given this answer a great number of times and, without exception, no one had gleaned anything of value from it. But...he had asked and it was not a secret, she saw no harm in answering him.

"There I served as steward and Lady of the lands of Lórien for some time. At least, until I found myself abruptly in Thedas."

"Lady of the lands of Lórien?" Despite everything she said sounding nothing short of gibberish, that particular part regarding Lóthlorien stuck out to him. "You're a sovereign?" He questions with a faint hint of surprise in his tone. It goes without saying that the city-elves hold no rank or purpose beside servitude in his culture, especially in Orlais. However, the Tevinter are known to house elves as mere slaves rather than as indentured servants.

"You're something of a 'queen' then?" Alayre questions curiously as he regards Galadriel. "I certainly can see it." Galadriel's regal stature gives her away. Perhaps this is why so many of the Dalish seem quite fond of her. Maybe they think of her as some kind of leader. If that's the case, then Alayre could see why the Seeker is a tad put-off by this golden elf. So many came to rally in support of Galadriel, many of which were elves. Despite Galadriel being an Rifter, she certainly held enough support here to cause a bit of trouble for the Advisors.

"What sort of realm is this Middle-Earth?" He asks next.

She was uncertain what inspired her reply, whether it was the incredulity in his tone or the title he had conjured, the dismissive note with which he said queen, but Galadriel paused in her writing to respond.

"I am the only daughter of the House of Finarfin, son of Finwë, kin to the High Kings of the Noldor," Galadriel corrected in a tone that was far sharper than her previous banter, her voice suddenly less light and less welcoming. "If you must suppose what titles I could hold, do not do so in my presence.

"I have quite enough titles already and the Stewardship of Lórien is among those I favor best."

She continued her writing for a moment before she answered his final question. There was something calming to the ease with which she wrote, something rhythmic, and it seemed to settle the air around her.

"Middle-earth is not unlike Thedas, though our darkness runs deeper, and we've no Mages nor Templars nor the need of them. It was a fine home, despite how it was plagued by shadow, and I caution you not to guess ill of it.

"I am not the only one within this fortress who hails from those lands, but I will prove the kindest to those who slander them."

Touché. He certainly earned that slight jab. While Alayre might be more understanding than most of his kind, he's undoubtedly deeply entrenched in a culture that demeans and devalues the culture of elvenkind. That much is certain given that he's a man hailing from Orlais. Nevertheless, Alayre takes this as his cue to ease back on his poking and prodding.

"So even in your realm there's an encroaching darkness lingering about." He couldn't help but sigh at that. "A common malady it seems." Alayre grows oddly quiet for a time, his mind drifting to more unsavory topics as he watches her write.

Does Middle-earth also face a similar menace such as the Darkspawns there? That's an awful thought since the Darkspawns are nothing more than craven beasts who devour any and all with their evil. He couldn't imagine beings as fair as Galadriel having to deal with such nightmares. It would be rather unjust in his opinion.

"Are they anything like you?" He suddenly questions after a spell. "The others, I mean."

"Like me?" Galadriel asked, her brow arching as she did. "I daresay you must be more specific, Knight-Commander."

She continued writing but, as she came to the end of each line she spared a moment to answer him. The conversation had a strange pace, then, but the questions were strange and stilting enough that she felt no remorse over it.

"Three are my kin, yet only two are Elven. One knows me well, while I know him not at all, and none of them share my disposition, nor my expertise."

Expertise in what? That would've been Alayre's next question if he hadn't feared of turning this conversation into a interrogation. He's certain that the Seeker has interrogated Galadriel enough since tossing her into the dungeons. Therefore, he'll refrain for now and silence those nagging questions before he dares to utter them. It's the least he could do considering that Skyhold hasn't been particularly welcoming to Galadriel or other Rifters like her.

"I see." He replies tersely. The Knight-Commander eyed over Galadriel's notes briefly before turning his gaze elsewhere. He doesn't want to pry too much into her affairs. She's not exactly a prisoner here but merely someone to be carefully watched or so Pentaghast claims. So far, he honestly doesn't think of the golden elf to be much a threat.

Silence stretched between them following the Templar's confirmation. Galadriel was patient but, truly, his derision had been coincidental. Once she completed the next few lines on her page, she was forced to turn a page in the book at her elbow. The sound of paper shuffling broke the silence and, in the wake of it, she spoke again.

"Pride is something I have always had in abundance, Knight-Commander," Galadriel explained evenly. "Despite my long years, and for all that I am counted among the very Wise, I still refuse to suffer slights upon my pride.

"Perhaps it is foolish of me, perhaps not, but I have found that pride is often what sustains us in the darkest times. When hope is beyond reach and darkness draws near, it is all that remains. The strength it grants is both dreadful and lasting."

She set down her quill and regarded him again.

"Do not behave as though I am a liar, or some ancient oddity, and you shall find me quite courteous," she said, "But treat me as though I have done you ill, question me as though I am a thief or a brigand, as your Seeker did, and you shall make a fast enemy."

Pride, huh? A slight smirk settled on his lips as he glanced out the window. Will pride save you once the Darkspawns come crashing through those gates? Will pride truly sustain you when the long night comes? Alayre knows something about pride and often it lingers in-between arrogance and contempt.

He gives Galadriel another glance as he listened to her. It's obvious enough that she's ready to throw-down, verbally, at moments notice. It's mildly amusing at best but in a dry humor sort of way. There is this elf hailing from Maker forsaken realm mouthing off to a Knight-Commander of the Order. Had he been anything like the arrogant Cassandra, then perhaps Galadriel would've suffered another slight. Instead, Alayre merely listens as Galadriel makes her point loud and clear.

"I have more than enemies as it is." He mentions with a humorless chuckle. "And that's before we even speak of the Darkspawns or the Blood Mages lurking about." Though, admittedly, he has all but left anything task regarding Blood Mages to Norrington. That man has an amazing track record of hunting them down and gutting them.

He hangs them high, so he would say.

"You certainly couldn't fit the role of a brigand or thief even if you tried. You're far too honest for that kind of nonsense." Alayre says with a tentative smile. "Fear not. My assessment of you is done. I cannot see why the Seeker chosen to harass you as she did. It's quite unbecoming of a woman of her stature considering the power she wields over Skyhold. If anything, Pentaghast shall have to work doubly hard to regain the trust she's broken." Much like he has to do himself.

He rolls his shoulders into a shrug. "Nevertheless, you are welcomed here in Skyhold by at least one knight-commander."

"A bold decision, but one I can find little fault with," Galadriel replied evenly. The hostility that had crept into her tone ebbed, however quietly, but Alayre was granted little more than her most patient countenance.

"Though you are quite optimistic, I fear," she added as she returned her attention to her work. The scratching of her quill was a quiet sort of accompaniment. "I expect the Seeker will die ere I deign to place trust in her, but to be proven wrong in such things would not be unpleasant."

Optimist? Really? Alayre couldn't help but chuckle at that.

"I never really thought of myself as an optimist." He whispers out of earshot. Is he really so optimistic? Perhaps that's one of his endearingly annoying traits. "Though, I can't pretend it's not somewhat true." Alayre shrugs off the comment.

"Who knows?" The Knight-Commander let out a tense sigh. "Maybe you're right or maybe I'm wrong. Nevertheless, I'm certain she'll let us know whether or not there's still some good within her." Alayre averts his gaze for a moment in favor for the window when he suddenly tosses this question at Galadriel.

"What do you think of Inquisition thus far?"

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[OPEN] - Conversations and Company

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