[open] concerning hobbits

[harthad_uluithiad]

WHO: Samwise Gamgee and EVERYONE HE CAN FIND
WHAT: Sam's arrived at Skyhold and is exploring! Also asking questions. All the questions.
WHEN: After arriving from the Fallow Mire
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Feel free to meet Sam in any part of Skyhold! He'll be all over.

He'd tried to stick close to who he'd already started privately thinking of as his new friends - the other Sam and the wizard Twisted Fate. He'd even glimpsed, once or twice, the Man who'd pulled him out of the Mire in the first place, and saved him from being drownded. But the road from the Fallow Mire had been long, and Sam had spent much of it on his own, tucked away in small corners of wagons or sitting astride horses alongside dwarves, being too short to walk and have a hope of keeping up.

And when they'd arrived at last, he'd found himself suddenly left completely to his own devices.

Skyhold. He rolls the word around in his mind, staring up, up at the battlements and the clouds beyond. It's a good enough name for the place, he supposes, being up in the mountains as it is. And there's something in it that appeals to him - it's not quite Elvish, not quite Rivendell or Lothlórien, but it's a bit more fanciful than Hobbiton or Bywater, he thinks. As for the place itself, he finds himself a bit overwhelmed - not only with the size (which is enormous in its own right, apart from everything in it being built proportionate to Big People), but with the ceaseless activity and the seemingly endless places to explore and get lost in.

He finds the kitchen first, hobbit-senses guiding him true, but after he's snacked his fill he finds himself wanting to explore more, and he steps carefully down the stairs into the yard. There are folk of all shapes and sizes everywhere (though nobody he recognizes), and he takes a deep breath before walking forward, not quite sure where he's going.

There are Elves here; he knows that much. If nothing else, perhaps the Elves will know more about what's happened and why he's come here. Perhaps they'll at least know Gandalf's name.

Comments

[serannas]

One such elf is Ellana, who is keeping busy making deliveries around Skyhold. If the workers need drinks from the tavern, she brings them; if the blacksmith in the undercroft needs instructions sent to the workers in the armory, she delivers them. She's just set down a couple of tools in the barn beside the stables and is wondering where to poke in her head next to see if she can be of use. The kitchen, perhaps? Turning that way, she spots someone shorter than a dwarf. A child? But no, his face looks more mature than that. Who can this be?

"Hello," she greets, trying not to look too puzzled by his appearance. She thinks that would be rude. "Are you looking for someone? Or something?"

[harthad_uluithiad]

Here he'd been thinking about elves, and look who the very first person he meets is! Sam gazes up at the elf with wide eyes, taking in her pointed ears and the strange markings on her face. Twisted Fate had had the same sort of markings, though not the same pattern, and he wonders, not for the first time, if there's any sort of deeper meaning to them.

For the moment, though, he doesn't ask, merely shakes his head sadly.

"Seeing as you're kind enough to ask, my lady, I am looking for someone - or a lot of someones," he admits. "Only I don't think I'm very likely to find any of them."

After scouring the Mire and looking hopefully for any sign of his companions throughout the whole journey to Skyhold, he's more or less accepted that he's the only one of the Fellowship to have come through. It doesn't help that no one he's talked to seems to have heard of any of them.

[serannas]

"Why do you think that?" she asks gently. He looks so sad and she doesn't want him to give up hope, but then again, she doesn't know how long he's been looking.

It's still impossible for her to work out just who he is, but now that she's taking a good look at him, she takes note of the shape of his ears and the size of his feet. He's unlike anyone she's ever seen before, and that's exciting.

"My name is Ellana. What's yours?"

[gatheringstorm]

Grateful to be back from the Fallow Mire, Korrin has a new appreciation for Skyhold and all it has to offer. It doesn't hurt that reconstruction has been progressing and as a result, the fortress looks less run-down than before. The Vashoth mage is walking along the battlements, enjoying the mountain view, when footsteps draw her attention to what has to be the world shortest dwarf...with hairy feet.

After a moment, though, it comes to her. Though she didn't talk to him then, she's seen him in passing. "Hey--you were in the mire, too, weren't you?" A few natives she knows have that mark, but there hasn't been one person emerging from the fade without one.

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam looks up, and up, and up. The person talking to him is tall, taller than any Man or even Elf, and has grey skin and horns like a Balrog's. For a moment he's unable to speak at all, freezing in sudden, unbridled fear. The creature isn't nearly ugly enough to be a troll, but there had been giants in Mr. Bilbo's stories too, and he finds himself suddenly unable to remember whether the giants had been good or bad or something in between.

It's - she's - speaking to him, and he decides it would be much better to answer at once, and keep from inciting her wrath.

"Y-yes," he stammers, and swallows hard. He thinks to add something else, but the words die on his lips, and he falls silent instead, still staring up at the giant with huge, terrified eyes.

[gatheringstorm]

Poor Sam. Korrin tends to forget how intimidating her appearance can be, especially for those who have never seen her race before. It comes back to her easily enough with those wide eyes and stammering, though. Her expression softens and she shakes her head, a small smile forming.

"You don't need to worry about me, I'm not going to harm you--or let anyone else do so, either. I'm a...well, the most common word is qunari. Go with that, for now. We're not as common as humans, elves or dwarves, but we're part of Thedas as much as they are. I'm Korrin Ataash. Welcome to the Inquisition."

[demonicbeauty]

Despite her delicate, bird-like appearance, Ariadne was a tough individual. She was a survivor, after all. She'd gotten through hunts and fires and scrapes and falling through the Rift. And she would get through staying in Thedas too. Somehow. But as it turned out, surviving wasn't her most immediate problem. No, her problem was sheer boredom.

She wasn't the type to sit still. She liked to make herself useful, but the suspicious looks that she get getting from the natives made it very clear that she wasn't about to be invited to join in any kind of crusade.

As best she could, she made herself useful, fetching firewood and helping the healers when they'd let her. But so far, the only real contribution she felt she'd made was in dealing with the children.

Like animals, they were drawn to her. And Ariadne quickly learned that they liked her best when she played her flute for them. Song and dance transcended worlds. So when she couldn't find any other task, she often sat in a low tree branch and started to play, watching as the children slowly crept out and started giggling and twirling.

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam hears the music first, and stops to watch the children who have gathered in slight bemusement for a moment before he manages to track the source of the tune. He edges closer to the tree, peering up into the branches until he catches sight of a young human sitting there, playing some kind of an instrument.

He doesn't want to interrupt her, and so he waits patiently until she seems to come to a stopping point in her song before he speaks.

"Hallo up there!" he calls, up into the tree. "Begging your pardon, Miss, but are you all right?"

[demonicbeauty]

Ariadne's gray eyes quickly tracked the source of the question. She thought it was a somewhat unusual thing to ask. After all, she didn't think she was giving off any visible sign of distress. But then again, she was far from home and surrounded by strangers. She really wasn't entirely all right.

The man who asked had a kind-looking face. Of course, Ariadne knew better than to judge anyone by their appearances. After all, she looked sweet enough, until someone tried to hurt her and learned, quickly, that she had an Alastrian's speed and claws. Still. When no one noticed you, you got very good at noticing other people. He seemed harmless enough.

And the glow in his hand matched hers.

"Just trying to raise people's spirits," she replied. Her voice was gentle and girl-like. A little bit younger than the rest of her, somehow.

[the_effect_she_has]

Somewhere, Airy was playing her flute and Katniss herself was humming along as she carried building materials here and back. For exchange with helping on the walls, the building crew had given her leftovers (with the quartermasters permission of course), to fix the shed in the courtyard, with the tree growing within.

She skirted around the children who were beginning to gather, smiling at them as she passed. Stepping to one side, she nearly ran right into one, and she stepped back, moving her planks so she wouldn't smack the small one in his ...

Rather older face.

"Oh! Ah, sorry. You all right there ... " Hrm. "Young ... man?"

[harthad_uluithiad]

Luckily, Sam's used to Big Folk stomping along without much care for anyone smaller they may be in danger of stepping on along the way. This one's not stomping, but she's not looking neither, and he steps back just before she does, putting himself out of harm's way.

"It's all right, miss," he replies cheerfully, with a short bow. "No harm done." He'd already noted the planks of wood she's carrying (a few seconds before when they'd threatened to smack him in the head) and now he nods to them, unable to disguise his curiosity. "Are you building something?"

[afilthwizard]

Skyhold's undercroft had undergone some small 'improvements' since Bernard had taken up residence as the local dwarven enchanter. An overly complicated wall of cloth and rigging blocked him from having to look at the horrible sky, his forge area effectively shielded while the rest of the room remained bathed in sunlight.

The dwarf himself could be clearly seen digging through one in the latest series of crates that had arrived, muttering to himself as this and that was examined and then cast aside. He didn't look up as he heard the door open, choosing to simply assume the worst.

"We're closed!"

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam freezes automatically at the call, and is half-turned to walk obediently straight back out the door again before his brain catches up to the rest of him and he stops, turning back. He peers into the large room, looking for the source of the voice, and finally spots a figure in the shadows, half-hidden behind a large pile of crates.

"If you're closed, then why is the door unlocked?" he calls back suspiciously. Another thought occurs to him. "And why are you here?"

[keeperofmagi]

Nerva is no elf. In fact, in her templar armour, she looks more like a soldier from Gondor, than anything else. A flaming sword in place of the tree. She's wearing her breastplate, still, catching the light from where she sits on the battlements, in a quiet corner that she's managed to find. The rest of her armour is laid out in front of her, and with a cloth and a wire brush she is carefully and dutifully cleaning the rest of the plate mail, frowning down at it until it reflects her face back at her, and then setting it aside. When an odd-looking dwarf appears, and looks as if he's about to pass her, she raises her head, frowning.

"There is nothing that way, Master Dwarf," she tells him. "Unless you are looking for rubble and a steep drop."

[harthad_uluithiad]

He'd given the soldier a curious glance as he approached before quickly deciding to leave her alone - she'd looked very busy, cleaning her armor, and he hadn't wanted to disturb her concentration.

But when she speaks, it's with enough authority that he stops immediately, even as he frowns. It's not the first time he's been called a dwarf since he's arrived here - it seems that hobbits are even less well-known in these parts than they are back - back home. Just when he'd started thinking of everywhere from Bree all the way down to Lothlórien as "home," he's not quite sure, but that's neither here nor there at the moment, and he pushes it aside.

"I'm looking for neither," he says, happy enough to heed her words and avoid any steep drops. He's going nowhere in particular, after all, merely exploring the fortress and its many mysterious doors as his fancy takes him. "But since you mention it, I'm not a dwarf, nor a master of anything at all."

[kremdelacreme]

And of course in the midst of all those other big folk, Krem is doing his utmost to assist when and where he can. So somewhere in the chaos of rebuilding one of the halls leading into the quarters where they intended to stash some of their more permanent residents, the Chargers' Lieutenant is helping to chuck broken stonework out of corners and haul furniture out to be repaired or scrapped or cannibalized for other projects. He's not armored as he normally would be, dressed in a rather loose-fitting tunic and his breeches.

With a couple of drawers perched on one of his shoulders, he makes his way back out into the yard on which the rest of the dresser had been chucked, only to pause upon nearly tripping over Sam in passing. He stumbles but steps back, looking down for whoever he might have nearly stepped on, then blinks before giving the hobbit a small smile.

"Morning. Good to see you made it back in one piece."

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam recognizes Krem immediately, and brightens at the sight of his original rescuer. He hadn't seen hide nor hair of the Man since he'd pulled him out of the Mire and run off to fight the corpses and demons all around, and Sam had never had the chance to properly thank him.

Only - him. The bright look is replaced by a vague, thoughtful frown. The soldier certainly looks like a Man, but his voice - now that Sam isn't half-drowned and can attend to his words properly - sounds higher than he would have expected.

"Good morning," he replies, and then realizes abruptly that he'd never learned his rescuer's name. "So I did, but I'd be in one very soggy piece indeed, still down at the bottom of that mire, if it hadn't been for you!" He shakes his head. "You saved my life, and that's a fact. Thank you!" He gives Krem a short bow.

[wontforgetyou]

Much like Sam, one of the first places Jamie had made it a point of finding on his arrival had been the kitchens. While not a hobbit himself, he's always been quite fond of food and more than willing to eat whenever he gets a chance to. Knowing where the kitchens are is very useful for those moments where he gets a wee bit peckish and wants to go see if he can get something small to nibble on - and after his first trip to the Mire, he's looking forward to getting a chance to do just that.

There's a problem there, however, and that problem happens to be the cook that's just gone on duty. It's someone he's had a bit of a run-in with before, and as he heads towards the kitchens and spots her heading in, he stops dead in his tracks, grimacing faintly.

"Och, no. Why'd it have to be her?"

It's said just a touch too loudly, and the cook starts to turn in his direction, which results in him quickly ducking off to one side and pressing himself against the wall so she doesn't happen to spot him. After a moment, she shrugs, mumbling something to herself and continuing on her way...and leaving Jamie to bring a hand to the back of his head and rub at it in frustration. The "Now what?" that follows is much quieter, muttered more to himself than anything, but when he happens to turn and see what he assumes is a young dwarf not too far away, the beginnings of an idea start to come together in his head. Lifting a hand, he waves, then gestures back over to to the wall where he's standing in an attempt to see if he can get Sam's attention - and hopefully get him to come over to where he is, as well.

"Here, listen, do you have a moment? I could use a bit of help."

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam had been heading back towards the kitchens himself, hoping for something else to nibble on before tea (it had been a long time since lunch), when he sees someone waving and gesturing a few yards away. He glances around, wondering if the Man might be signaling someone else, but there's no one else around that he can see.

Curious, he walks over, only to raise his eyebrows at the Man's request.

"I suppose I do," he allows, but he's a bit wary. No one he's met here so far had been downright mean or unfriendly, but there's no telling, not with strangers. "What were you needing help with, exactly?"

The Garden

[eolasemah]

Amidst the struggling greenery of the cloistered garden there sat another elf, whose diminutive figure and wide eyes marked her as young, sickly, or perhaps both. Like the other Dalish, there was a wildness about her that wouldn't quite mirror the grace of the elves Sam knew, but if nothing else, she was a person and she was here.
Cloaked in scarves and a jacket, Sina sat unceremoniously on the chilly ground with a list propped on a writing board, which she went down as she took methodical inventory of the garden.

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam had taken his time in exploring all - or at least a large part - of what Skyhold had to offer, but his finding the garden had always been inevitable. He breathes out in contentment and satisfaction as he looks around, as if this had been what he'd been looking for from the start, even if he didn't know it. He wanders among the greenery, peering at the various plants and flowers with interest, but stops suddenly when he notices a figure seated on the ground before him.

She's an elf, he can tell immediately (elves here have ears longer and pointier than those back home, but they're still, unmistakably, elves), and though he's met more elves in the past few months than he ever thought he'd meet, his breath catches slightly all the same at the sight of this one sitting so close.

Eventually, he gathers up enough courage to move again, approaching her shyly.

"Hello," he says quietly, hoping he isn't disturbing her.

[ombranera]

"So that is where the last wedge of soft cheese has gone." Says an elf quite unlike most that Sam is likely to have met back home, let alone in Skyhold. Zevran settles just across from where Sam has tucked himself, bronze fingers flicking to the wedge in question along with all the other little bits and bobs this tiny, barefoot creature seems to have knicked for himself. "I cannot fault you for your taste, but I had hoped to steal that for a friend."

Normally it'd be for himself, but Alistair does so love that cheese and he finds himself doting upon the warden a little more. Perhaps admitting what it is that he feels for him had done it. After all, is this not what one does for siblings? Spoil them?

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam looks up a bit guiltily upon being spotted. It's not that he'd been expressly forbidden from taking a spare bite or two (or perhaps a few more) from the kitchens, but then, he'd never actually gotten express permission, neither.

He stops moving upon seeing who exactly it is speaking to him. He's met quite a few elves here so far, yet even so, he hasn't yet quite gotten accustomed to elves - real elves! - coming up and speaking to him as though there were nothing out of the ordinary about it at all. The elves here are a bit more...earthy than the ones he'd met back home, a bit less like they'd stepped out of another world. Yet they're Elves all the same, and he just stares for a moment, mouth open and cheese forgotten in his hand, before he finds his voice again.

"I - I wasn't trying to steal nothing special," he stammers at last. "Just got a bit hungry, that's all."

Arrives half an Age late with Starbucks.

[laurenande]

Galadriel was glad to have put the Fallow Mire behind her; there was far too little she could do and, while she was willing to provide the aid they required, the time she spent in the starless, fetid marshland was exhausting. Skyhold was not Lórien, but it was a far cry better than the Mire. The ground was stable, the wind did not stink of decay and rot, and she could exchange her ill-fitted traveling garments for the gown she preferred.

Clad in white and with her hair unbound, she felt nearly unburdened by the memories of the Mire. There was, of course, much to do, even in Skyhold, but she savored the afternoon sun as it threw warm, golden light over the gardens and drew long, harmless shadows across the stone.

How delightful it was to simply linger in the sunlight.

YEAAAAH

[harthad_uluithiad]

Sam left the Herald's Rest just a bit worse for wear. Since Korrin had first introduced him to the tavern, he'd grown fond of the place and its wide array of ales and other drinks. There was always someone or something interesting to watch, too, even if he was too shy to approach most of the strange people he saw there.

Today, though, he'd gotten a bit carried away in telling stories of the Green Dragon back home, and then he'd started thinking of Hobbiton, and the Gaffer, and Mr. Frodo, and all the things and people he'd left behind, possibly never to see again. He'd drunk a bit more than was wise, trying to get his mind off things, but the ale had sunk his heart further rather than lifting it up, and when he finally staggered out into the sunlight, his head was bowed with the heavy weight of grief and fading hope. Perhaps he'd never find a way home. Perhaps he'd have to live out the rest of his days here, and never see any other hobbit ever again, nor find out what had become of Frodo and the Ring, nor even have a chance to talk to anyone from Middle-earth or see another familiar face as long as he lived.

He sniffled, wiping a stray tear away and smudging a bit of dirt across his cheek in the process (he'd been working in the garden before he'd made his way to the tavern for a bit of a break, and perhaps it would have been better if he'd just stayed where he'd started). A soft glow caught his attention as he lowered his hand, and he raised his head, searching for the source of the light.

He stopped. And stared.

And then he threw himself forward with a cry, running with such speed and recklessness in his desire to reach her before she turned a corner and disappeared from view, or perhaps simply vanished into the thin air, that he stumbled over the grass as he went and all but toppled into her. He caught himself on her dress, muddying it in the process, but he hardly noticed, so intently was he gazing up at her face.

"Lady Galadriel!" he cried, and again, rubbing his eyes as if still not quite convinced that she was real. "Lady Galadriel!"