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WHO: Alejandro Borges
WHAT: Alejandro is in the Undercroft making shit, you can come bother him.
WHEN: Catch-all for Bloomingtide
WHERE: Skyhold Undercroft
NOTES: Alejandro.

OPEN

It's been an eventful time in the Inquisition, and even though he's not been in any field missions -- nor does he really intend to be anytime soon -- there's enough that goes on in Skyhold for anyone to be preoccupied. Whether it's damned mage terrorists hanging around being smug dicks, or a random bizarre illness sweeping over the residents because of weird-as-fuck armor, nothing stays quiet for long.

One day, shit will stop being weird and he'll go back to Antiva or something.

That'll be the day.

But today, specifically, Alejandro is working away, focused on a crafting what seems to be a little soldier figurine of sorts. The figurine is clamped in his prosthetic arm while his real hand is working on the finer details.

ZEVRAN

A simple note had been left for his old friend.

Zev,

Your shit's finished. Come say hello and I'll show you the details.

- Alejandro

Which is true enough. After working on Zevran's request and several bumps in the road, he's developed some things he feels fairly proud of to share. That, and a little something for Zevran himself, if he wants it.

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If there's something that Alejandro can catch, it's definitely the hands of a skilled craftsmen; it doesn't matter if it's weaving, smithing, architecture, carpeting, or whatever-the-fuck, he can see how smoothly her hands are working. It's downright damned distracting. It's been a long time since he let himself feel it, but there's a wash of envy over Alejandro, and he wishes he had his other arm back.

The kind of things he could make if he had both arms -- fuck, it'd be incredible, but as it is, the best he can do is adjust his arm's ability to clamp down on the item he's focusing on before proceeding.

The figurine is settled aside and he's approaching her. For all that she is tall, beautiful, and incredibly elegant, he's more interested in what she's doing than her appearance.

"How the fuck are you doing that?" he asks, genuinely fascinated. "I've watched Tranquils enchant shit, but I've never seen anything like that."

Galadriel, distracted as she was, answered his question in Sindarin. The quick burst of lilting language fell between them as she drew the thread between and through, as she pulled it into careful place. After a moment, when he did not respond, she hazarded a glance back and, at once, remembered herself.

She let out a small sound of surprise, little more than an 'ai' and drew her hands from the fabric on the loom.

"Ah, my apologies, I forgot where I was," Galadriel said and, for just a moment, she seemed undecided on whether she should continue working or rise to greet him. She glanced out, measured how far the sun had shifted, and decided the former would be best.

"It is the culmination of all its pieces," Galadriel explained as she began again. "My fëa rests in every stage of its creation. I wound the wool to yarn, worsted the yarn to thread, and now weave it into a whole. It is greater than its parts, when all has been combined. When I finish, it will carry both power and will of its own."

She worked quickly but, if the bag at her side was any indication, this was going to be a substantial garment.

"How do your Tranquils enchant, if not in this manner?"

For a moment, all Alejandro can do is stare at her when she answers in a tongue he has zero familiarity with. He's almost stunned into silence, which is pretty impressive considering his usual mannerisms. It's a bit hard to be irritated with an honest mistake, though, especially when the language sounded... well, pretty.

It's telling. The weaving probably gives her some semblance of comfort. Maybe it takes her home, in a way. It's in part why Alejandro just works most of the time when he can help it; it's distracting, and makes him think of better days in Kirkwall and Antiva before some asshole blew shit up and Corypheus happened.

Fuck those guys.

"Tranquils don't really enchant yarn like-- that. I'm probably not the best guy to ask, I don't know the how-to when it comes to enchanting runes and shit. But this? This is different. It's-- I dunno." He wants to say beautiful rather than unnerving. The Tranquil always bothered him.

"What do you mean by a will of its own? What kind of power?"

Galadriel made a sound, not unlike a hum, as she considered how best to answer him. It was a distracted sort of noise and very soft; had she not been so focused on weaving, she would never have made it.

"It is hard to explain; the languages of men lack the words," she prefaced. "Power rests in fëa, in...spirits? Spirit. But fëa is also will, purpose, direction, the two cannot be separate."

She shifted the rack as she worked and the grey, enchanted fabric seemed, momentarily, very plain and unremarkable. When she began weaving it together again, it shifted, like dark clouds clearing to reveal the sky.

"It is my will that enchants this, that grants it purpose, but once it is complete my will is spent. It contains it, the power that rests in it becomes its own, and while it is a reflection of me it will no longer require me. It will simply...be."

She paused briefly and glanced back at the human behind her.

"Smiths I've found, often understand this best. It is an extension of me, it is mine, but neither of us are tied to the other." She looked back at her work. "At least, that is the way of simple enchantments."

Unfortunately, his knowledge on magic, spirits, and anything else to go with it is incredibly small and Alejandro hadn't been certain he wanted to educate himself much beyond what he'd endured on the O'Bannon. Still, this seemed different, and he looks thoughtful as he listens to Galadriel.

It still kind of sounds like nonsense, but if it's magic of another world, he's not going to really question it.

"Enchantments work a little differently for us." By which he means, a shit ton. "They're usually attached to weapons, making them more effective against-- I dunno, shit like darkspawn, or demons. Or I guess if you want a frost rune or fire rune, those work too. But this is new.

"How does the enchantment work? What does it do?"

"This cloak will--"

Galadriel began her explanation in the same, easy cadence that she'd told him of enchanting. The knowledge hadn't struck her as particularly sensitive and, as such, it had not occurred to her to withhold it. This, however, was something of a secret and she halted mid-sentence as she turned to look at him again.

She did not even know this smith's name.

"I am...uncertain if it is wise to tell you," Galadriel said after a moment of pause. The idea that he might not know who she was, or have heard of her arrest, was so outlandish to the elf that she hadn't even considered it. There had never been a time, not once in her long life, where she had been unknown to the world. Her deeds were forgotten, on occasion, but rarely passed without note.

"Truly, if you desire to know, I will explain...but surely you see the risk in such knowledge? I would not burden you with it unduly."

That gives him pause, his initial reaction being why the fuck not, but she seems cautious. Maybe for good reason, but he has the urge to know what she's describing. Briefly, in the back of his mind, that was the recklessness of the job on the O'Bannon; the desire to understand the red lyrium, and those too prideful and eager fell into a hole so fucking deep that it ruined them all.

This is different, he argues with himself. Because he's not a fucking moron, and anything can be studied safely.

"I want to know," he says, confirming. "Alejandro. I'm-- well, you already know what I do here."

Do they shake hands? He almost goes for one, then thinks better of it. She's an elf, and a rifter at that, but he almost feels like he should bow or some shit.

His introduction was just slightly awkward. There was something in that brief moment of hesitation, where he reached to take her hand, before he thought better of it, that disarms her. Perhaps she is at ease because he is a smith, perhaps it is the smithy itself that calms her, but she decided to trade freely in this knowledge, here and now.

In truth, there are many reasons why she should not speak about the enchantment on this cloak, but Alejandro's open curiosity is so obvious that she finds each of them somewhat lacking.

"I am called Galadriel," she answers in kind and, after inclining her head, returns her attention to weaving.

"This cloth will become a cloak. It is a gift for someone who has dearly earned it," she explained, not because he had asked, but because it set the context for the enchantment. "When it is worn, this cloak will hide the wearer from unfriendly eyes; it will conceal them from those they wish to evade, or those who would do them harm."

She wove as she spoke and the nature of the enchantment became more and more obvious as she worked. The cloak was just a cloak, but when the light struck it, it would shift and appear to be something else altogether, some surface nearby or hazy and indistinct.

"It may also detect that which is corrupted--crafts that I have made often do. It cannot summon flame, but I expect it will burn corrupted flesh all the same."

Galadriel. It's hard to not know that name, not when there'd been such a fuss about her imprisonment sometime ago. He didn't know why she was placed in a cell, but it seemed stupid to him when someone like Anders, who is a very real threat and ruined so many lives, is allowed to walk freely with his fellow Wardens while Galadriel was put away into a cell for reasons that weren't ever really explicitly stated.

Suffice it to say, he has little respect for the advisers and their choices by this point. As far as he's concerned, Galadriel's presence is abruptly more than welcome at just knowing her name.

"All right. I've heard about enchantments similar to that -- but they were rumors at best." The infamous Ring of Doubt comes to mind, but Alejandro had never been under any impression to believe it existed. But he has no inclination to really doubt Galadriel, not when he just watched how she was working on the cloak.

He finally pulls up a stool and sits down, invested now, observing how the cloak worked. Now that he understood, truly, it makes sense. When it'll be done, it'll be an incredible piece of work.

"That's gonna be real damned useful against anything to do with red lyrium." He hesitates, then asks, "Is this a skill only your, uh, people know how to do? Or can it be taught?"

"Anyone can learn how," Galadriel explains as she works, her attention shifting back as Alejandro takes her introduction well. "Though it requires both skill and the will to imbue such things with one's own power; I have met few mortals who would not balk at the time required to learn such things."

She works until she has reached the bottom of the rack and then it is a careful process to darn the edges closed and shift the fabric to add more. As she is restringing the loom, she continues.

"I have not tested it against the old song, but it would certainly be a barrier against that cursed rock," she adds. "It wears all things down, in the end, so I cannot say how long such a barrier might hold...but it would grant time enough to flee, if nothing else."

Anyone can learn. Hell, if he could make things to protect against the red lyrium, that would be incredibly useful. His heart beat increases a little and he considers a moment, watching her work.

"Galadriel-- uh, ma'am?" It's so bizarre. She's a (very tall) elf from the Fade, but he feels like she should be treated like nobility. "Would you teach me? I ain't much in the fight these days, but I'm really fu-- frickin' good at making things. I'd learn, if you'd show me."

He hardly knows her, and she has every right to say no, but he figures there's no harm in asking. The worst she'll do, he figures, is turn him down.

The address is uncommon enough that Galadriel pauses, again, at his question. Rarely has she ever met a mortal, or even an elf, who so eagerly pursued her craft. Whether that was because she was so well known in Arda, or because the crafts were difficult, she could not say, but this man wished to learn.

"I have never trained a smith in these arts," Galadriel prefaces gradually, a shade of hesitance in her own tone, then, "though it is a skill that has its origins in their ways...."

Was it wise to instruct him in this? She was a master of such enchantments but a smith could learn, could exercise skills that would, in the end, far outstrip her own. She didn't know if he had the will, or the proficiency, and without reading his heart it was difficult to determine his disposition. He did not seem...dangerous, though she could hardly claim that she had leveled her full focus upon him.

She regards him silently for a moment, considers the quiet eagerness in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders, and wise or not, comes to her decision.

"Very well. If you wish to know it, I will teach you," she agrees. "Though I suspect this particular example is too far along to serve as a lesson. Once it is finished, we can begin anew."

A slight crease settles between her brows as she stares at him, but still she is reluctant to break her vow to Adelaide. She will not read his heart, not lightly.

"Is it concealment you wish to grant, or something else? It will be difficult to imbue power into your first works, moreso if you are undecided in your course."

In Antiva, it takes careful consideration in reading a person when exchanging business. While Orlesians pride themselves in their fucking Game, Antivans are just full of scoundrels and thieves of all kinds. He's been swindled and lied to often in his life; reading a person is a skill that others are better at than him, but he'd like to think that by watching Galadriel, he gets the impression that she is being sincere with him.

When she agrees to teach him, Alejandro smiles faintly. It looks tired, but he nods his head once gratefully.

"It's..." Alejandro lets out an uneasy sigh. "Red lyrium's taken ... things away from people. And it's going to keep growing in Thedas, if Corypheus has his way. If the Red Templars have their way. Concealment's nice, but I want to protect people from its affects, if I can."

His real hand curls into a fist. "I don't want to make a weapon, necessarily. I just don't want this shit to keep on going."

"I see," she answers, at length, and her hands slow on the loom. She knew something of Corypheus, of his link to all of the chaos and the shadow that spread through Thedas, but she hadn't considered him to be the face of the enemy. It was a strange thing, that she hadn't made that connection, and her focus suffers as she does.

"There was a time, before the ancient smiths wound their power into weapons, when all they made was meant to bring light into the world," she explains and smooths her hands over the strands of wool as one might slide fingers over harp strings. He cannot see Nenya on her hand, but she stares at it as she speaks. "Their arts were meant to grant peace and joy to those who looked upon them, to preserve power, or beauty, or sentiment.

"The weapons they fashioned were beyond compare, truly, but I cannot instruct you in their creation. Those are skills I do not know. Fortunately...for what you wish to accomplish, you will require no weapons. In this, there are no who still live who can surpass me."

She lowers her hands, despite the haste with which she'd worked, and turns a curious eye on Alejandro. She stares for some long time before she speaks again and, when she does, it almost doesn't make sense.

"Do you care for music? Or for sculpture? Have you a love of gems and faceted stone? Of gardens or building?"

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