Put on your sunday cloak, we're gonna get lost in town.

[laurenande]

WHO: Galadriel and You
WHAT: Catchall for December
WHEN: After the return from Nevarra
WHERE: Kirkwall
NOTES: Galadriel around Kirkwall and the Gallows, not generally obeying curfew because clearly that is for other people without magic cloaks. This can't possibly go awry.

Gallows - Early Morning

Galadriel rose with the sun.

She was given to watching the dawn and, despite her latent need for sleep, her body had become far too accustomed to the early hours to permit her excessive rest. When she ventured forth into the halls and through the courtyard of the Gallows, she found that Kirkwall could be a peaceful place, after a fashion. The sky was grey and dreary, the air was thick with the cold fog that only the ocean could provide, and everything was deathly still. The world was supressed by the night stillness and, all too gradually, the sun would burn the fog away and the day would be renewed.

She savored what she could of the early morning, but did not linger long in the open. This place made her uneasy and while she was not evasive, not truly, she did not tarry between tasks. Her first task was breakfast and she made her way to the silent kitchens that were free of staff. She expected they would also be free of any other occupants at this hour as well.

(If you want to catch Galadriel kicking around the Gallows at freaking-early-o-clock, please have at. She will be baking in the Mage Tower kitchen area, and then probably learning the layout of the building before she scrams. She will be leaving before nine a.m..)

Lowtown - Day

It was hard for Galadriel to truly gague the wealth and prosperity of mortal cities. They functioned so strangely and with such inconcistancy that identifying affluence was often a gamble. Halamshiral had been no challenge for her--the poor lived in startling poverty and the wealthy lived in opulence that was equal to the highest courts she had ever known. Here, the lines were not so exaggerated, but they were decidedly present.

Lowtown, then, between its name and the dilapidated state of it, must have been where the poorest lived. The streets and alleys were in disrepair, the buildings loomed with presence rather than height, and there was something--not desperate but not entirely unlike desperation--that wove its way through this section of the city.

Galadriel disliked this place, it was a stark reminder of the ways of Men, of how they worked the world in their short time, and is distressed her. Unfortunately, when compared to The Gallows, or even to Halamshiral, it was far preferrable. It was brown, void of most growing things, and filled with noise and chaos, but it was no darker than it pretended to be. There was no pretense here and, if only for that, she was thankful.

Hooded and cloaked, Galadriel traveled the maze of alleys and storefronts, past hovels and dark, silent windows that stared down like the eyes of a dreadful beast. She was ignored, by in large, and found few things of note until she stumbled upon the Alienage. There she found a painted tree, the Vhendahl, and she was so glad to see it she embraced it.

(Run into Galadriel shopping around, being suspicious in her full cloak and hood, getting hopelessly lost in alleys, or hugging a tree. Or maybe you could try to mug her, your call.)

Hightown - Afternoon

The climb up the steps was a telling journey. Galadriel had seen few cities with a feature so dramatic and each of those had been made to defend against a siege. Kirkwall had never been designed to withstand siege and, at first, the point of these stairs confused her. Then she recalled the statues that stood in the harbor, the chains they towed and the way they bent toward the waves, and she was far less confused.

Hightown was, by comparison, a beautiful city. The buildings rose above the streets and into the sunlight. The roads were clean and the stonework in good repair. Green things and decorations grew in small, decorative plots along the roadside and where the stairs plateaued. It was a place of ease and beauty, but it was still very much the same city as the one below.

Galadriel wandered a while and avoided the stationed guards as only someone with a gift for concealment could. She walked through the streets and the crisp air, and tried to decide if Kirkwall was tolerable. It was, perhaps, a bit much to ask from a stroll beneath decorative features, but it was one she asked all the same. Eventually she stumbled upon a plaza with a fountain and took a moment to wonder at it. In Orlais she could not enjoy them, too great was her disgust, but here she seated herself and watched the water a while.

(Hello, City Watch, there's a woman in a grey cloak outside staring intensely at my water feature and petting my roses. Please come take care of this.--Uh I mean run into Galadriel in High Town as she Judges It(tm).)

Docks - Dusk

In the end it was not surprising that she found her way to the docks. The sounds of the sea drift all across the city, but the sight of the water was another matter altogether. From Hightown it was too distant to truly enjoy, just a glimmer below, but Kirkwall has a number of docks and she managed to find her way to one of them. She was conflicted about the ocean, true, but standing on the waterside was something to be relished.

The setting sun was beautiful and, while the sounds of the docks were not exceptionally familiar, the overall din was nearly universal.

(Hey look a dock. Is she gonna get stabbed? Sing a lay to the ocean? Flip off the Valar? who knows?)

Gallows - Night

Returning to the Gallows was both a chore and a relief; the silence and relative quiet of them fell in sharp contrast to the rest of Kirkwall. Galadriel was unaccustomed to such constant dissonant noise and while the stones in the Gallows still sang, whispered the Old Song, that was faded and familiar. She lingered a time in the courtyard, beneath the stars and open sky, before finally traveling in.

(Run into Galadriel at night, or spy her glowing self when she ditches the hood to look at the sky. She's really terrible at hiding in the dark, just awful at it. Alternately, run into her in the halls, or getting dinner, or, if you're feeling saucy, in the baths late at night. She gotta scrub that Kirkwall off of her, afterall.)

Comments

Gallows at Night

[doneisdone]

Though far less luminescent and graceful, Teren is known to prowl the halls of the former mage and templar towers after dark, owing to her insomnia and a holdover from when she and the Wardens would camp out in the wilderness. It's an ingrained watchfulness and the mark of a nervous busybody; why lay awake and waste time when you could be preventing dramatics?
It's some surprise to Teren that she comes upon a woman who's glowing, but she carries the vague memory of such a person being about at Skyhold. Still, these Rifters can be alarming. Slowing her step, Teren ventures closer with narrowed eyes, trying to determine whether the elf is just standing in front of a light or if this is actually some kind of magic.

[laurenande]

Galadriel, unfortunately, has spent the whole of her day tuning out the cacophonous riot that is Kirkwall. The sounds of a few soft footsteps are not worth noting, not in the moment, and she regards the stars with a longing expression and a sigh of relief. With her hood down, she looks rather more like a wraith than usual--as her cloak has managed to block the rest of her into inky darkness--but the light she exudes simply pours from her skin and hair like a beacon.

The sky only holds her attention for a minute or so, unfortunately, before she reluctantly draws her hood back up and glances across the Gallows grounds, debating her path through the fortress before she rests.

[doneisdone]

Though she can't for the life of her say why, Teren feels compelled to step back, out of view, when Galadriel turns to look in the direction of the fortress from which Teren just came. She has a good instinct for danger, and abruptly finds that she would prefer not to be seen, if only because the formerly-glowing woman is so strange in ways she doesn't understand.
Stepping softly, she backs toward the nearest pillar, allowing Galadriel to go her way both unimpeded and carefully witnessed.

Lowtown - Day

[outil]

For his own part, Thane has had tasks to tend to in Lowtown, simple as they are. Despite the years that have gone by, in many ways Kirkwall really just isn't that much different than the last time he'd been here. Truly, the city will not change.

People don't so easily themselves.

Thus, it was easy enough to pick Galadriel out from the crowd, cloak or no. He'd taken to following her, no more difficult than anyone else he'd tracked. He knows little of her, only what he'd read and observed; the few glimpses he's had of her face seems to match the descriptions he's reviewed.

The way she embraces the Vhenadahl is enough to confirm it for him.

Slowly, he allows himself to be visible as he steps out from behind one of the alienage homes, approaching her while keeping a respectable distance. He turns his head to gaze at the tree.

"It soothes my heart to know it still stands, despite everything that's happened in this city."

[laurenande]

"The life in it gladdens me more than I can say," she replies before she even turns to look at who had spoken. When she does, and she spies the elf at her back, she is confused about his presence but not overtly alarmed. Either she sees no danger in him, or she expects no danger in this place.

Her hand rests on the trunk of the tree even as she speaks to him. Her light is dimmer in that hand, but there is some quality of her that seems to trickle into the tree at her side. It is more alive for having touched her and she it.

"Has it suffered terribly? This city," and this word falls from her lips with some reluctance and a touch of distaste, "wears the scars of its creation, of its years, but I cannot pick them apart. I have not lingered her long enough to even begin."

[outil]

Truthfully, he isn't totally sure what he witnesses in Galadriel. There is something decidedly ancient in her, but also bright and magical. Is it her age, or beyond? The tree feels more lively than he ever remembers it being, for all that the elves here have suffered.

But she asked him a question; he will answer.

"For many years, my lady. It began as a city of slave trade for Tevinter. After their nation crumbled and confined to the north, Kirkwall became a city of trade. Most alienages like this one are in shambles. Some do not have the Vhenadahl as they do here. It was also only a few years ago that the Chantry was destroyed, spurring the war between mage and Templar. Kirkwall is a place of unfortunate history indeed."

docks, always, because elros and boats

[tar_minyatur]

There's a voice singing Falathrim fishing songs cheerfully where the fishermen bring in their catch for the day, and a peredhel who has managed to get one of them to take him out with them.

"You got a wiggly worm and then you watch him squirm
While you put him on a hook and you drop him in a brook
If everything’s gonna turn out right, you’re gonna fry fish tonight!"

Naturally.

[laurenande]

The disconnect at seeing Elros again is mitigated, somewhat, as she watches him in the distance, singing and hauling nets. His brow is sweaty, his shirtsleeves rolled up and, despite that, soaked entirely, and he seems utterly delighted with everything around him. It brings a smile to her face, despite the state of the city around her.

Once the ship has moored at the docks, and the men of Kirkwall are hauling and tying up their sails, she calls out to Elros.

"Hail, nephew!"

[tar_minyatur]

He looks up and breaks into a smile, waving to her before turning, and after shaking hands with the crew, who still look a little shellshocked at the force of nature that is Elros at his most charming, he leaps over the side and jogs across the dock to her.

"Well met, au... I mean, Galadriel! I'd shake your hand but I'm a bit fishy at the moment."

Gallows - Early Morning

[fistcrash]

When Galadriel comes into the kitchens so early in the day, she is not alone; already inside is Notas, having reached the topmost shelving with little issue, cradling a porcelain contain in the crook of her arm while shoving her other hand within. It seems, quite literally, Galadriel has walked in upon the giant woman with her hand in the cookie jar.

Notas shoves two cookies in her mouth, chewing, then stops when she notices the tall, beautiful elven woman. Slowly, Notas chews, as if attempting to determine how to best back out of this situation. She's been in the Inquisition quite a short time, but already has the reputation of a brutal warrior. Obtaining a pot full of cookies is not, perhaps, the most impressive thing.

Upon swallowing, Notas stares a moment more.

[fistcrash]

[fistcrash]

[fistcrash]

"YOU WILL TELL NO ONE OF THIS!" Notas howls, backflipping out of the closest window to escape with her goods.

[laurenande]

Galadriel stares into the room, her step paused upon the very threshold of the door, and regards the (now abandoned) scene before her.

morning round 2: morn again

[aestivation]

He most often eats alone. A matter of preference, if not his.

It’s best to eat regularly. Schedules are a more reliable standard than the distant nag of hunger, seldom plain until he’s already slowed for it. There’s no reason to skip meals here, as there’d been of Hasmal, but Hasmal had six years to grow used to him; to fade his presence into the background pace of life.

The Inquisition owns no such preparation. Casimir discomforts people, and knows it well enough to know that it’s attention sooner avoided. He’s halfway through a cold bowl of the past night’s stew (one of the cooks sets it out for him — he’s never thought to ask who arranged that) when Galadriel enters, sends a gleam through the early shadows. His eyes linger, dull and steady, to take in the mark.

"Would you care for breakfast?"

It carries the peculiar, lilting tones of practice. Something rehearsed. He’s already standing to clear away his own dish, as he hovers in uncertain place.

She looks a great deal like Thranduil. She looks like no one except herself.

Aw yeee

[laurenande]

She had grown used to people not addressing her; humans were rarely wont to, even in Skyhold, but it seems that attempting to evade notice in Kirkwall is to invite it explicitly. The man who greets her as she enters is unremarkable save, perhaps, for the fact that he wakes at this hour, and also for the marking on his forehead. She regards him carefully for a moment but, to her confusion, she can sense little from him.

It is a curiosity she attributes to her lack of Nenya and the strangely taxing nature of her journey to this place. After a moment's pause she pushes back her hood and inclines her head.

"Yes, it was my purpose here, but I had not thought to encounter another at so early an hour," she admits and gestures to his dish. "It seems, however, that you have finished. Do not let me keep you from any pressing tasks."

[aestivation]

"I've the time."

Myrobalan's waking nights again (and days, and most hours Cas finds him), which gives perhaps an hour before anyone else might wish to speak. Utility, assistance, they're second nature yet; there'd been too few bodies to keep the Circle after the rebellion, and too little in the way of commissions to busy his hands elsewhere.

He might have been surprised once to find how easy cooking was. Now it's as anything: Only steps and instructions to follow. He moves mechanically to search, first for flour, eggs — realizes only upon the third cupboard of pans that this kitchen isn't arranged as the last.

His hands find the counter, palms set flat.

"Where would you keep them?"

Breakfast, ingredients. After a minute he remembers to look back to her.

early morning - i can edit this up if this doesn't work for you :]b

[dashing]

It is an early hour, sun still low in the sky and the air with a biting chill as Herian moves through the halls of what was once the mage tower. Despite the cold air, Herian's skin is flushed and sweaty. The sword hanging at her hip and the wrappings she is unfastening from about her wrists and hands might give away that she was training.

She stops, hesitates, at the turning that would lead her to the hallways of the shared rooms. She lingers there for a long moment, looking down the hallway with a sort of longing, before she shakes her head, squares her shoulders and turns to resume her path towards the dining area— oh.

And there is a face she has not seen in some time. "Lady Galadriel." She's back. Okay. That's news that she probably should have been aware of, were she not so absorbed in her own matters. "Forgive my rudeness, I—"

But she can't grasp at the word she wants. She is not the same as last she saw the Queen from beyond the Fade, for all that her manner is still a little rigid, but she still dips into a respectful bow.

Ah whoops I thought I had tagged this! I'm sorry!

[laurenande]

Galadriel is headed from the halls where she has eaten and, surprisingly, she comes across a familiar face. She pauses as Heiran greets her and, as the woman dips into a stilted bow, Galadriel moves closer and urges her up with a motion of both arms. Her gown is no longer purest white, as it had been in Skyhold, but is a mix of dark brown silks with gold embroidery along the edges--it has the effect of making her skin look even more luminous by contrast.

"Ah, mellon nin," Galadriel greets and her touch lights along Heiran's arm. Any soreness she may have felt from her training is washed away with the gentleness of that touch and the emerald light of the Elessar pinned to her breast.

"How good it is to see you, how have you fared?"

that's totally okay!!! I've been injured and then at a wedding lmao :')))

[dashing]

How have you fared? A complex question, and one she would sooner not have to answer truthfully, for all that her oaths and duties bind her. Her right ear, partly concealed by her hair, is mutilated, two severe cuts inflicted to carve it in a mockery of an elven point. The injury is a year old now, but still she'd sooner not consider its infliction. Her heart is heavy, with recent news of losses that were, themselves, not recent. Finding out the news of her mother being so long dead a scant couple of weeks before the the Inquisition disrespected the revered dead within the Necropolis...

The hesitation before she speaks is, perhaps, more telling than she'd care to admit. An intake of breath, and a slight nod. The eased ache of muscles is a relief, even if not all hurts can be soothed so readily.

"The better for the sight of you." It is not a lie; it simply glosses over a great many things. "I was very sorry to hear news of your departure, though... I realise to be so parted from your homeland cannot be so joyous for you as it might be for those of us gifted with your presence."

It might sound dramatic or disingenuous from others, but Herian speaks with her usual quiet, controlled seriousness. She's sure, so sure that she asked Galadriel what the most proper title for addressing her was, but whether or not she can remember it is another matter.

Lowtown

[universal_charm]

Being ignored wasn't, in and of itself, a good thing in Lowtown. Not always. And Galadriel stuck out like a sore thumb. A pretty thumb, to be sure, but a sore one nonetheless. It made her easy to spot when she drifted down an alley at one point, the flash of her cloak catching Kirk's attention as he made his way back from teaching a lesson to some of the children of the town.

Curious, he made to follow her - though he made no secret of the fact he was, his steps loud across the muck of Lowtown. "Galadirel?" he called, wondering if he had mistaken her. It had been awhile, after all.

Aaaaay!

[laurenande]

The voice was familiar and Galadriel paused her step as she twisted to spy who called at her. She had already met several of her old friends but, for some reason, she had not thought to meet any Rifters she knew. It was a strange disconnect and, upon seeing James Tiberius Kirk, a bright smile broke out across her face.

She looked harried, moreso than he had ever seen her, but she shone almost twice as brightly as she had when he had known her first. She turned to face him and, without much pause, stepped toward him with her arms extended and open, as if she meant to embrace him.

"Ah! Mellon nin, mae g'ovannen!"

Re: Aaaaay!

[universal_charm]

Well, all right then.

The warmth with which she greeted him was a surprise. If he was honest, he still felt a slight twinge of discomfort around her, though hardly enough to keep him from engaging. Besides, he wanted to reason what had happened those many moons ago was a matter of necessity rather than cruelty. Best to let it lie now, especially with the state she seemed in - at once brilliant and tarnished.

While he did not understand a word she said, he believed he got the gist of it, holding his arms out in a mirroring gesture. "It is good to see you again too, Galadriel."

Ellana - Catching up

[laurenande]

The Mage Tower. It was little wonder why they were called Mage and Templar respectively and Galadriel disliked the differences as she found them. The Mage Tower had fewer amenities, fewer kindnesses, but contained the marks of true living. People had spent lives here, however harried and short, and she could feel it in the stones. She had not wandered the Templar Tower, for a great many reasons, but she expected it would not be quite the same.

There was little to be said for the Gallows that the name did not already imply, but the view from the windows of the tower was fair. She paused in her wandering and peered out one of the hall windows. The shine of the sunlight off the ocean was lovely, regardless of the surroundings she found herself in.

[serannas]

It may not be Skyhold, but Kirkwall has its own advantages, like plenty of rooftops to run across. Ellana has just come in from her parkour training when she spots the unmistakable figure of Galadriel standing at the window, though the light that streams in pales to the light Galadriel herself produces. Smiling to herself, Ellana hurries over.

"Mae govannen, mellon nin," she greets. "Have you taken a room in the tower?"