[open]

[altusimperius]

WHO: Bene and you
WHAT: He's free! ...ish.
WHEN: Haring
WHERE: A room in the former Templar tower, always guarded.
NOTES: anyone who wants to see him will need clearance, and there will always be a Templar present!

Though technically Benedict is able to leave his newly-assigned room in the Gallows, he doesn't. Won't, rather, which is a strange decision considering that his formal incarceration has ended, and there's no reason he should have to stay hidden away in one small space indefinitely.

But he does. For reasons that are his own, Bene seems reluctant to go anywhere or be seen by anyone, preferring instead to sit by his window for hours, book on his lap, and watch the courtyard below.
Receiving all meals at his chambers, the opportunity to bathe is the only way to get him out the door. It's one he takes often, as often as he can, perhaps in an effort to make up for lost time. He even gets to shave, once a week, with supervision.

Benedict may not be in the dungeon anymore, but he cannot and will not forget that he is still a prisoner. A prisoner whose life has been threatened more than once, from both without and within the Inquisition. It's a step up, but a step up from a cesspit is still mud.

Comments

[altusimperius]

When she laughs, Bene's confidence grows, and his smile with it. "It sounds like we have a common interest," he replies, eyebrows innocently raised, "maybe we could help each other."
If she can distract a Templar on a psychic level, she can do it again. Possibly enough times to allow him to leave, with supplies if he's lucky.
And he'd be out of here without a look back, but no doubt the woman would want something in return. But what does she want? Money? His family will provide.

[laurenande]

Help each other?

Now there is a curious thought and Galadriel considers it. She leans back in the water again but her eyes drift over the surface of it as she ponders. He could, perhaps, be of assistance in her tracking Nenya...but she could not abide explaining Nenya to him. He could be tricked but it might not be worth the risk.

This all did beg a question, however:

"And what help do you desire from me?"

[altusimperius]

His smile fades slightly as he grows more serious, a desperation slipping into Benedict's gaze. "I want out," he whispers, "I don't want to spend my life a prisoner, researching Maker-knows-what and running stupid little errands for the Inquisition. I'm to be a magister, after my mother. I have to return to Minrathous." This is the first time he's been able to have such a conversation with someone, at least someone who could feasibly do anything and shows even a modicum of interest.

[laurenande]

The sudden thread of earnest desperation that creeps into his tone is not quite alarming, but only just. Her expression remains mild as she listens to his plea and, after a pause, she very nearly laughs again. This poor man, how unfortunate his lot that he should meet her here and now!

"You asked what other talents I possessed and it seems you have need of my finest skills," Galadriel says slowly. "I am unrivaled in my ability for concealment, unfriendly eyes do not light upon those I shroud, not even in the darkest depths of shadow and danger. But it is a risk, aiding someone unknown to me.

"I cannot say I trust you just yet, not enough that I would give you the ability to pass without trace, but it can be done...if you aid me in another matter."

[altusimperius]

He tries to be a charmer, like his mother, but all too easily Benedict is revealed to be the frightened child in need of constant reassurance. He can't decide whether to be hopeful or not, but the woman seems somewhat endeared to him, so he maintains a pleasant bearing just in case.
There's a chance. There is.
"What matter?" he asks, almost too quickly. There are few matters with which he wouldn't aid, as it stands.

[laurenande]

"I have lost something of great personal value," Galadriel answers with a tone that isn't entirely as dissaffected as she would like. "Unfortunately, it is very small and, by its very nature, it prefers to remain hidden.

"I am not well versed in the Magic of Thedas, so perhaps there is a way to find such things here...small baubles that defy far sight and linger in unexpected places. Aid me and you will be able to walk from these gallows, past every Templar in all of Thedas, and none shall be the wiser."

She pauses then and her expression seems harder, a little more dangerous. The promise of her ring, the deal, has struck something dark in her soul and it resonates like a bell.

"Return it to my hand, yourself, and I will give you such gifts--gifts no mortal nor immortal has borne in o'er ten thousand years. I will clad you in ramient that would make the old gods weep."

[altusimperius]

...gee.

This is not even slightly what Benedict had predicted: influence in Tevinter, reward money maybe, that sort of thing, but instead something very small that was lost. He tilts his head uncertainly, trying to imagine what piece of jewelry could possibly be important enough to reward someone with old-god-upsetting clothes, but there's no reason not to take her word for it.
"What is it?" he asks, guileless in his negotiation, so unlike his mother (and so like his father). "If it's outside Kirkwall, I'll have to be able to leave."

[laurenande]

There is a moment where Galadriel's sense, her ageless wisdom, wars inside her against the desire for her ring. She must keep it secret, if the Dark Lord heard of it all would be lost...but Thedas knew no Dark Lords, Sauron and his wraiths were not here...and Morgoth was but a a distant, dreadful memory. She could tell him and possibly have it back--the emptiness inside her, the space where the ring's power fitted against her own, gnaws at her. She is not ready to fade into obscurity like her cousins, nor to give up all ambition--it is hers and she will have it back.

"A ring," she answers simply and the words feel like lead in the air between them. They seem to hush the room, or perhaps it is her power that makes the shadows grow long and the lights seem distant.

Or she is imagining it, for the sense of it is gone in an instant.

"My ring, and I know not where it is. If I did, I would not require aid, would I?"

She closes her eyes again and dips her head below the water. When she draws back up the world seems to have new purpose to it.

"It is in Thedas, somewhere, of that I am certain."

[altusimperius]

Benedict smirks, he can't help himself. His mother has rings that she favors, but there are none that affect her this intensely; he doesn't know why he feels that it does, but in the corners of his vision, things shift subtly, and he wonders if he imagined it.

"It's a deal, then," he says, his smile becoming something more genuine. "Help me get back to Tevinter, and we'll find your ring." It'll be easy enough to hire people to comb the countryside wherever she's been, and they can even use the money that would otherwise have been put toward a ransom.
If he doesn't forget, that is. That would be inconvenient, but perhaps not the end of the world.

[laurenande]

The laugh that snaps out of her, then, is not the same as her startled laugh before. It is markedly less kind.

"Hardly," Galadriel corrects. "I do not wager such things lightly. Once my ring is returned to me then, and only then, shall you have my aid."

That she was barely capable of sneaking around, herself, without Nenya was something she refrained from mentioning. She drew her fingers through her long hair and, for just a moment, it looked dark where it hit the water.

"If you need your freedom to search, I can find a way to grant you temporary reprieve, but I do not preform high arts for the potential of future recompense."

[altusimperius]

Sure. All right.
Temporary reprieve can mean a lot to someone resourceful, and though Benedict's priority isn't to cut and run, it's possible things will turn out that way. There's something off-putting about the woman's laugh, the way she looks, but it's really nothing he hasn't seen before in his own mother. That's just how women are.
"Then give me freedom to search," he concludes, eyebrows arched, smile charming. He won't... not do it.

[laurenande]

"I shall grant you reprieve in the morn, I must speak with my kin," Galadriel answers and his calm agreement has, despite everything, endeared him to her somewhat. If he is half as intelligent as his mentor had seemed, he is a sound investment. If he is a fool, then nothing is lost by enlisting him.

He cannot possibly be foolish enough to tell anyone they have met, after all.

"Retrieve my ring, Benedict Quintus of House Artemaeus and know what it is to befriend the Caliquendi."

But she has soaked long enough and now, with planning to do, her limbs itch to move. She stands from the water gradual grace and the water sheets off her. By the time she steps out she is only damp, once she reclaims her gown, the light that picks up in her skin seems to dry it.

"Now give me your hands or suffer your scarring until we meet once more."

[altusimperius]

Atticus might argue that Benedict is perhaps only half as intelligent, or less so; but the boy isn't stupid so much as he is ignorant, arrogant, and slow to learn when the lesson isn't taught harshly. He's the product of circumstance, and this circumstance is being of one of the wealthiest families in the Tevinter Imperium.
When Galadriel exits the bath, he casts a glance at her this time; really, that old? His gaze is more appraising than lecherous for the short amount of time he sees her, never having found the female form all that interesting despite it being thrown at him on various desperate lowborn-begging occasions.
He's snapped from his thoughts when the elf speaks, however, and he comes forward to extend his wrists upward from where he remains in the water. He'll stay a while after she's gone, appreciating the time away from the Templar, doing some thinking. He's always done his best thinking in the bath.

[laurenande]

When she bends to take his wrists this time, the effect is far more dramatic. She smooths her thumbs across his scars and they fade to light-lined echoes of what they once were. His hands are unblemished when she releases them and draws herself back up to her full height.

"Until we meet again."

With little ceremony, she dons her cloak, draws the hood, and slides out the door. The hall is empty, save for the addled templar, and she ignores them as she walks. They will awaken once she has passed far enough from them and then they will resume their duties.