faderift | [open] concerning hobbits

Entry tags:

[open] concerning hobbits

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.

Threaded | Flat

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?"

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.

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.

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?"

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!"

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."

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."

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."

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.

"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?

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.

Threaded | Flat

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

The Garden