faderift | (no subject)

The sensation of being watched is one to which Galadriel has become accustomed. Normally, she is unbothered by the gaze of others, but it is distracting now and her focus is already drawn thin. She doesn't glance up from the water, or the reflection of the night sky on the surface, as she speaks.

"You either linger late or wander early, Siuona," she says, her tone husky from hours of silence and disuse. Her brow is furrowed but, apart from the tension in her expression, her tone belies no irritation, no impatience. "Do you require something of me, or is the night simply to your liking?"

Sina's gaze has drifted to the water as well, so she's actually startled when Galadriel speaks. She flinches, betraying how much more skittish she is since returning from their wayward mission-- afraid of her own kind now, even if the woman isn't Dalish. Perhaps Sina is afraid of everything, right now.
"Ir abelas," she whispers quaveringly, and flinches again before shaking her head. "No, I'm just wandering."

Galadriel is familiar enough with the language of the Dalish to recognize that phrase and, despite her efforts, she draws her gaze upward to Sina. Her expression transforms, shifting from the grimness of her intense focus to something bordering weariness, the smile that settles on her face is less a turning of the lips than an ease to her posture.

"You need not apologize," Galadriel says and lowers the dish to her lap. The water ripples and shifts as she does, breaking the illusion. The perfect mirror of the night sky is disrupted and, with it, her efforts.

"You may join me if you like, my efforts have been in vain this evening."

Sina's weary gaze meets Galadriel's, and for a moment she sees something she hasn't before: weakness, fatigue, perhaps doubt. She's come to see the woman as so infallible, a perfect construction of what it means to be elvhen, that it never even occurred to her she might just be a person.
And perhaps she isn't, but Sina feels a connection to her now of which she never could have conceived.

Tentatively, she steps forward to sit beside Galadriel, her eyes roving over the shimmering object. "What are you doing?" she asks, her voice low and soft, as though it's a frightened animal they're discussing and not a bowl.

Galadriel considers Sina for a long moment and then turns her attention back to the water. Their reflections are still distorted by the slight shifting on the surface.

"I am attempting to see," Galadriel answers cryptically and, after a pause, decides to continue. "It is a mirror. It can show many things if one has the will and strength to conjure it, but the art is difficult here.

"I am uncertain if I can accomplish what I seek. I am weaker in these lands than I am wont to be." She sounds just slightly dejected at that; it bothers her more than she can articulate. "I may simply exhaust myself in the attempt and discover the true limit of my power in Thedas. It is a prospect I do not relish much."

Sina follows her gaze into it, watching their reflections. After Galadriel has explained, she considers for a moment before asking, "what are you trying to see?"
It reminds her a bit of an eluvian, even if those are doorways and not mirrors. She's never encountered such magic, and the sight of something that holds such power is almost enough to make her forget her fear, even if just for the moment.

"I wish to see what was."

Sina is enraptured by the idea of the mirror and, like this, the art seems so very innocuous. There is no dark presence to stare back upon them, there is little need for concealment, but there is still some risk in this. Galadriel debates showing her but, in the end, is that not her purpose this evening? To see what may be done?

They are alone in the garden, after all, and seeing through Sina's eyes would barely differ from seeing through anyone else's.

"Hold the basin," Galadriel commands wearily and settles the bowl in Sina's hands. The water ripples for a moment until Galadriel passes her hand over it and it goes perfectly still. "Look into the distance between the surface and the bottom and, perhaps, the mirror will show you something."

It was a poor replica of her mirror. The bowl reflected little, the image would be muddled and faint if it appeared at all, and the gardens were hazy with influences and sound. This would be no grand revelation, nor even as solid as a daydream, but even a flicker of a distant thought would be something. It would be more than she had drawn from it thusfar.

Edited 2016-11-10 08:02 (UTC)

That makes as much sense as anything else lately, and because Sina gets the sense she's being trusted with something very important, she doesn't ask further. She carefully takes the basin and does as instructed, relaxing her eyes and finding a strange calm in looking into the starry water.
She's begun to let her mind wander when the briefest flicker of an image appears: a frantic young sandy-haired elf, twisting on the ground in a wild panic as several larger, armored elves close in on her like cats on a dying rabbit.
It's not even there for a full second, but Sina feels it with the intensity of a burning-hot needle. She gasps gracelessly and nearly drops the dish, instead just sloshing some of the water out with the reactive jerk of her hands.

Just as quickly, she sets it back in front of Galadriel and hunches over with her face in her hands, trying to block out the treacherous memory.

Galadriel feels the pull of the mirror as keenly as anything; it is a familiar embrace, however numb it seems here. Sina has helped her find where that power resides, where the veil pools around it, and she is overjoyed at the discovery. She takes the basin as it is pressed back into her hands and silence settles as Sina recovers. Galadriel feels a distinct sense of triumph but, as it fades, a hollowness settles against her heart.

Guilt overtakes triumph quite easily, it seems.

"You have my apologies, Siuona," she says softly. "I expected failure and did not warn you: not all the mirror shows is pleasant. Often it is the hardest sights that it forces us to witness, but always for a purpose."

Sina's vision had been brief, too brief to truly share, but Galadriel has a mild sense of it.

"Are you haunted by the sight that was reflected, mellon nin?"

Sina has fallen into quiet tears behind her hands, trying to keep her quick, hitching breaths quiet and her presence unobtrusive as the memory ravages her mind. She feels helpless and small, shameful, afraid. How could other people have made her feel this way? She must have failed somehow.

She nods silently to Galadriel's question, using the back of her hand to wipe her face. "Ir abelas," she says again, "I didn't mean to spill it."