[Open] you've held your head up

[arlathvhen]

WHO: Beleth and YOU
WHAT: A million terrible things have been happening to Beleth in quick succession, and it's finally caught up to her.
WHEN: The last two weeks of Haring, after Sina's funeral
WHERE: The Gallows
NOTES: cw for depression/grieving/vicious dragon attacks

She kept it together, up until the funeral. Kept busy between helping with the plans, and her actual job. She didn't talk much aside from getting everything together, but she had been present. She had always been good at repressing her emotions to do what must be done, and she had put it to use taking as much responsibility as she could from the others that weren't handling it has well.

1.) The days after

But the funeral and wake both pass, and Beleth calls in sick, then turns off her crystal. She's done her duty to her family, and without any other crisis looming, all the stress and grief that's been building up for well over a month comes crashing down. It's not even just Sina, nor is it seeing her brother nearly catatonic, nor the nightmares she was subjected to while fighting the terror demon. It's all of that and more, and Beleth is so, so tired.

She spends most of her time in bed, in a hazy mix of wakefulness and sleep. Sometimes, when she's feeling good enough to get out of bed, but not quite enough to leave the room, she reads in a chair next to an open window. The sunlight helps, as does the sharp, clear winter wind that drifts into the room.

Despite her self-isolation, she'll (somewhat reluctantly) answer the door for visitors--though those she has little care for may find her attempting to move them along with all due speed. Little effort is spent keeping up appearances for these visitors, with no makeup, nor any hair care--leaving her hair in its natural state of a mess of frizzy hair. More telling is the exhausted look on her face, and the way her eyes seem to be focused on something in the distance, even when speaking to someone.

2.) Back in the saddle

However much she wants to spend the next year in bed, life doesn't halt for her misery. Which means that work doesn't stop either, and she knows that there's only so long a division head can slack off. So after a few days of hiding away in her room, Beleth emerges and resumes her responsibilities.

Kind of.

She can be found in her office, usually bent over some paperwork, a glass of wine by her side, in constant flux of fullness as Beleth drinks and refills it. Her productivity is proportional to how full the glass is, and more often than not, she can be found with the pen hovering in the air, her eyes staring off into the distance. Once again, little effort is expended in her appearance, and it's one of the few times she's been in (semi) public without her hair being carefully styled. She doesn't seem to particularly care.

Nor does she seem to worry much about the sudden cold that's gripped Kirkwall. Snow is brushed off of her windowsill, and Kolgrim is kept about her constantly. A fire-breathing mini dragon is a wonderful heater, and other than runs outside for food, she seems content to wait out the cold inside the tower.

There will be no awards won for productivity, but at least she's out here, trying.

2.5) Mistletoe!!

In the breaks between making effort to actually do her job, Beleth stares at the strange creature that's somehow attached itself to her hand. Or is it a plant? It must be camouflage, like a stick insect. But stick insects don't bite your hand and refuse to let go.

She seems, surprisingly, relatively calm about this new predicament. It's so minor compared to everything else, and she hasn't the energy to expend fretting over it. Instead, every once in a while, she examines the mistletoe, and gives it a good shake. When it refuses to budge, she shrugs, and goes back to writing with her other hand.

3.) Winter wonderland

When she does venture out (usually for food), she's prepared. She's lived in the Free Marches her entire life, lived in the middle of the woods during those winters, so she knows how to dress to stay warm. Layered up with a scarf, hat, coat and gloves, the only part of Beleth that's visible is her freckles and purple eyes peeking over her scarf. The upside is that it's harder to see what a disorganized mess she is.

Just in case the layers aren't enough, she's got Kolgrim in her arms--one of the few times she's willing to openly carry the dragon around. Not that she's done very much to hide him, but usually she demurs from having him in public. But this is an exception, and she holds the dragon close as she hustles to and from whatever chore has pulled her from her warm tower room.

She's not eager to talk to people, but she isn't oblivious to others having to deal with the cold, and if anyone seems to be particularly suffering, she'll offer a fire-breathing dragon to their aid--and she'll probably stop him from nipping, even.

3.5) MORE mistletoe!!

This time, the attacking mistletoe has latched onto the only skin showing: Her nose. This is significantly more distressing than the one in her office had been, not least of all because Kolgrim has a serious issue with the strange plant. Either out of instinct or some desire to protect Beleth, he's trying his very best to attack the mistletoe--unfortunately, with it still attached to Beleth.

It's enough that Beleth has to stop her rushing around to try to fend off both the mistletoe and the mini dragon trying to attack it.

"Da'len, stop--I said stop!" She flaps her hand ineffectually at the dragon, who at least hasn't tried resorting to fire yet. "Kolgrim, that is my nose--You are Fen'Harel's own, you know that?"

Comments

[arlathvhen]

As it gets closer to the date of the funeral, Beleth feels heavier and heavier, burdened by her grief and the weight of everything that she must do--because if she can't, then Sorrel will have to, and he's in even worse shape than her.

When she arrives, she does so a little bit after sunrise, but there's a slowness in the way she moves, opening the door and slipping in--then stopping, staring in surprise to see that she already has a visitor, and one that she cares so much for. Quickly, pains are taken to try to look a little more put together; she straightens up, brushes wrinkles out of her clothes, tries to look like she doesn't want to just go make like her ancestors and sleep for a hundred years.

"Lady Galadriel," She quickly bows, lower than she does for nearly anyone else, then straightens and moves to lean against her desk. "I'm sorry, I would have come sooner if I'd known you were here." Has she been waiting long? Had she tried to contact Beleth, and Beleth had just slept through it? Ugh. "Can I make you tea or anything...?"

[laurenande]

Galadriel regards Beleth and her harried appearance and the weight on her is all too familiar. Galadriel doesn't rise, but it is a near thing. Instead, she looks down at her folded hands and answers.

"No. It is quite alright, but thank you," she demurs and gestures to the seat beside her, across the short table. Her cloak is draped over the back of it, but she sees no issue asking Beleth to sit.

"I came to ask a favor of you, Beleth," Galadriel says and the smile she levels at the Dalish woman is tinted just slightly with her grief.

[arlathvhen]

Beleth sees no issue with it either, and sits in the chair Galadriel has indicated, tilting her head as the other woman speaks. This, at least, requires little effort to decide what to say.

"Yes, of course, my Lady. Anything you wish within my ability, I'll do my best to grant." There's a small pause as she tries to puzzle out what in Thedas Galadriel could possibly need her for. Division leader things, perhaps, or--

"Is it Haldir?" Even through the tiredness and heaviness in her heart, she can feel a spike of indignation, irritation rising in her. It's almost a relief, to feel something other than the urge to lie down. "If he's been making trouble, I can take care of him for you. I'm not afraid of that jerk." Of course, she probably can't best him in combat, but she has her strengths. Including basic first aid. She could always just stab him and let gangrene do the rest.

[laurenande]

Galadriel smiles at that and a huff of a laugh, unvoiced but fond, escapes her with her next breath. Haldir and Beleth were both very strong personalities and, it seems, diametrically opposed to one another.

"Nay, it is not Haldir, but I thank you for your sincere offer," she says and her face gentles. She reaches across the distance between them and takes Beleth by the hand. It is best, always, to give such things direct and Galadriel makes no exception now, as she presses the small fabric bag into Beleth's palm.

"I was told once, that there is a Dalish tradition that, when one dies, a tree is to be planted upon the grave." She releases Beleth's hand and moves back, but not entirely. "I would not intrude on the grief of those who were her family, but I promised something dear to Siuona and the promises of the Eldar are enduring, they must be."

She drew a slow breath and looked down at the bag, a small, sad smile settling on her face.

"She has been welcomed to my House, to the evergreen country; it seems only fitting that her body be laid to rest beneath the boughs of the Mallorn, ere she sees them for herself."

[arlathvhen]

Beleth might have ducked her head sheepishly, looked embarrassed, apologized, if Galadriel hadn't kept talking. But she does, and Beleth's face only grows more sober as she goes on, giving Galadriel's hand a little squeeze.

It's a sad topic, of course, but Beleth can't help, as she slowly takes the small fabric bag from Galadriel, but to feel a wave of wonder at what laid in her hand. She turns the little bag over in her palm, nodding as Galadriel continues. "Yes, that's our tradition. I'd been trying to decide what tree would suit her best, but--this, without question, is the best tree I could ever think to grow above her. Ma serannas, I can't begin to describe how grateful I am."

There's a moment of thought, and then she tooks back up to Galadriel, reaching out to gently rest her hand upon the other woman's. "I don't think that it's presumptuous to say that you would be considered as much a part of Sina's family as I am. I know that it's not presumptuous to say that she would have been honored to have you come with us, if you desire to."

[laurenande]

At her touch, Galadriel turns her hand over and takes Beleth's hand in a gentle grip. It is uncommon for the people here to return her gestures, few as they are, and she appreciates it deeply. It is difficult to know her mind concerning the invite, however, and she is silent for some time as she debates how best to proceed. After some time, Galadriel releases a slow breath.

"If you will have me, I shall attend. I know little else of the Dalish customs for such things, but if song is involved, I would offer the same Lament I sang for Siuona before her passing." Her smile is a bit wan as she looks up from their hands at Beleth again. "It was not sung in lieu of healing, I assure you. The Elessar eased her as much as I was able and I left her in comfortable slumber.

"I fear, however, I am no grand and honeyed voice; song has never been a point of renown for me. If there are any great voices among her clan, I would happily teach them the song and play accompaniment."

[arlathvhen]

“...I can sing it.” Beleth offers quietly, eyes down. It feels odd to openly volunteer herself as someone skilled, but. She’s been getting better at that. “I’m a bard. There are others who are skilled singers in my clan, as well. If Merrick were here—” A sharp spike of loss for another love who has gone where she can’t. At least she may see him again, one day.

There’s Ellana, but. Beleth hasn’t spoken to her in at least a year, and she hadn’t come to see Sina at all throughout the entire slow, grueling decline, or afterwards. Maybe she found some new human man, so she can get a third tattoo she’s unable to commit to. But she puts her irritation aside, that’s not the point of this discussion.

“—Sorrel, maybe. A few others who remain with the clan. I can introduce you, before. Though I am sure that your singing would be fine. It’s the emotion that counts, more than any skill.” She looks up at Galadriel, a small, sad smile on her face. “Thank you, by the way. For being here, at the end. For giving her that comfort, and the invitation. I know she always admired you.”

[laurenande]

"I have known many who have not deserved their fate, she was not the chiefest among them, but neither was she terribly far from it," Galadriel answers and shakes her head a bit. "But I think you should sing it; I've been told often how I am not truly of the elves here. Whatever my belief, a funeral is not a stage upon which to project my voice.

"I sang it for Siuona in the original Quenya, but I can teach it to you in the trade tongue...or both, if you like."

There's a moment and Galadriel's hand grips Beleth's a bit more tightly.

"I showed it to her, the song, the language, the far-green country, much as I showed you my ring, but I lack the strength to do so with more than one. I would not have that promise dimmed by ill-understanding if I can help it."

[arlathvhen]

“Who told you that you weren’t one of us?” That’s Beleth’s first priority, a frown etched on her face. It’s not that it isn’t true, technically. But that’s still rude to say—Galadriel has already earned her place here, surely. “Lady Galadriel, you have done more for us than some of our own kin. Like—” Hadn’t she said she wasn’t going to be bitter? Oh well. “—Ellana hasn’t so much as asked after Sina since she started declining. I don’t know if she even knows Sina...has passed. You are more a part of us than that.”

Okay, seriously, moving on. “But I will respect your decision. I think...I would like both. I don’t know which one I should sing...maybe Trade, so Sina can understand. And the others.” She nods, as Galadriel continues. “Don’t push yourself, it’ll be fine if I’m the only one. Others will be able to sing In Uthenera. That is..the traditional funeral song. It was once sung by our ancestors, when the elders chose to go into eternal slumber.”

[laurenande]

"I will teach you whatever you wish of me, Beleth," Galadriel replies and her smile is just a touch misty at Beleth's insistence that she is included, even if she is apart. "Any song or lay I know is yours, if you wish it, and perhaps I should learn In Uthenera so that I might join in your songs."

The separation, even in casual conversation, digs at her. Galadriel has never been apart from any elves, not even the Avari who lingered in Arda, and to accept it here, in any fashion, is galling. She lets it pass, though, and withdraws her hands to her own lap once more.

"You once played an instrument, do you still have it?" It has been many years since Galadriel has played anything, but she learned them all well enough that she should recall the fingering and the notes.

[arlathvhen]

"I'd be honored to teach you, if you desire to learn." Beleth replies, nodding. She might take her up on learning more songs at some point, later on. Right now, Sina's funeral is her most pressing concern, and after that...She's not sure. Sleeping, maybe.

At the mention of her instrument, she nods and quickly stands, looking around. Her lute hasn't seen use in a while, not since Beleth had become more focused on her job as division leader than as her job as a bard--but she still kept it close, practiced occasionally--Oh! "Just a moment, my Lady."

And Beleth quickly ducks through the door that leads to her bedroom, and comes back a minute or two later, lute in hand. "I had these aspirations of learning more instruments, but...I barely have time to practice this one, as it stands. Maybe some other day." Maybe in the nebulous future after the Inquisition is gone, and Beleth is no longer a division leader. Maybe when she has to figure out what she will be doing with the rest of her life. But that's certainly not happening today, so she simply sits, cradling the lute.

[laurenande]

"May I?" She asks and extends a hand. Beleth passes her the instrument after a pause and she takes it into her lap, strumming it idly and trying to pick out which instrument it is most akin to. It doesn't take her long to find the chords and pluck a simple tune, it is close enough to what she knows to be familiar.

"I have learned a few in my time, though I excel at none of them, in truth," she says and finds the starting notes of the lay she sung to Siuona. She plucks them somberly and the lute does well translating the forlorn handful of notes. It takes a moment but the translation of the song flows easily enough.

"Lay down your sweet and weary head.
Night is falling; you have come to journey's end.
Sleep now and dream of the ones who came before;
They are calling from across the distant shore."

It is harder to sing it in Trade than she expects and she pauses as she considers the next portion. It is not a long span of time, barely a hiccup, but it is decidedly there. Her fingers linger before shifting back to the repetitive pull of the refrain.

"Why do you weep? What are these tears upon your face?
Soon you will see...all of your fears will pass away.
Safe in my arms...you're only sleeping.

What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gull calls?
Across the sea a pale moon rises;
The ships have come to carry you home.

And all will turn to silver glass.
A light on the water; All souls pass."

She has to pause, to look at the fingering on the neck of the lute, but the shift in sound is marked and she continues.

"Hope fades into the world of night,
Through shadows falling out of memory and time.
Don't say: 'We have come now to the end.'
White shores are calling; you and I will meet again,
And you'll be here in my arms, just sleeping--

What can you see on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea a pale moon rises;
The ships have come to carry you home.

And all will turn to silver glass.
A light on the water; grey ships pass
Into the West."

[arlathvhen]

As Galadriel begins to sing, Beleth closes her eyes, listening. It's unlikely that Galadrel will be transposing the lute notes into sheet music, which means that Beleth will have to remember it and replay it by ear. That's fine, though. That's how most Dalish music is passed on, mouth to ear.

And the song itself is...beautiful. Ethereal, like the Arda elves themselves. It fills her with a strange sense of longing, a twist in her stomach, like there's something waiting for her across the Waking Sea. Something that belongs to her--or that she belongs to, maybe. Emotions that she can't name.

She feels almost like she's come out of a trance when she opens her eyes again, and nods, slowly. "It's...lovely. It will be perfect for Sina's funeral, my Lady, and I'll be glad to play it for her."

[laurenande]

"Thank you," Galadriel says as she lowers the lute into her lap. It eases her conscience to know that someone shall sing this and she is ever grateful to Beleth for taking the mallorn nut to plant above Sina's grave.

She looks pensive and then a touch guilty before she returns her gaze to Beleth.

"I must ask of you another favor, Beleth, and I can only hope you will indulge me." She draws a long breath and lets it out. "There is a man here, kept under guard. He has offered his assistance in finding my ring.

"It is dangerous, Nenya, and should it be found I would...prefer if he suffered the brunt of any missteps. I do not think I could abide you being harmed by my power."

[arlathvhen]

Galadriel continues with another favor, though this one sounds more like a true favor, not something that is mutually beneficial to the two of them. Even so, she nods, leaning forward. A man under guard--Benedict or Atticus, then. Unless they have some other prisoners she doesn't know about.

"I will do what I can to help you, of course, including helping him. Who is he? I'll try to speak to him. And..." She frowns a little, worried. "What kind of missteps could either of us take? I'd rather avoid it if possible--or know how to keep myself safe, at least." She didn't realize just how dangerous Nenya was...what if she had found it in the field without this warning?

But Galadriel wouldn't intentionally let her come to harm. She trusts that.

[laurenande]

"Truly? I cannot say," Galadriel admits and considers her bare right hand.

"None but I have ever worn that ring, and I do not know how these three rings will bend to mortals, if they will at all, for none have ever held them."

The elven rings, for a great many reasons, had changed very few hands. They were different from the others but the extent of that was truly hard to say--the ringbearers of the three were all exceedingly powerful, with wills to match the dark lord's own...if a mortal picked it up...would the threads of Sauron's influence prove more insidious, more powerful than Celebrimbor's interference. Would their nature violate their construction and render the unknowing into...something else?

The possibilities were many and terrible and despite her wisdom Galadriel could not begin to predict which was most likely.

"Nenya is a weapon, Beleth, an extremely powerful one...and power has allure beyond comprehension. The other rings, those of men and dwarves, wrought catastrophy and strife, they granted poisonous boons and turned their bearers into wraiths."

She pauses a moment and regards Beleth. They are alone and still she visibly hesitates to speak the words aloud.

"The One controls them, it is threaded through them all, and the whispers of the Dark Lord are no trifle." She takes a breath and reaches across the distance to settle her hand on Beleth's. "Allow Benedict to grasp it first, should you come upon it. For if the power overwhelms him, if he is corrupted by the threads of old darkness that he cannot fight back...I will not mourn his passing so terribly as I would yours. He is not precious to me."

[arlathvhen]

The One, Galadriel says, like it pains her to speak the word and make it real. Beleth isn’t entirely ignorant of this Dark Lord, but she knows little more than the most basic facts. It is, really, all she cares to know, and she doesn’t push the issue further. There are enough demons in Thedas, without dragging them in from another world.

There’s a moment where she’s torn between the knowledge that it is probably cruel, to be willing to sacrifice Benedict over herself, and a selfish pleasure at knowing that Galadriel would rather do just that than risk her. There is, of course, a sneaking suspicion that Benedict wasn’t told about the dangers he was putting himself in, at least to the degree Beleth was. It’s an uncomfortable thought, and she moves from it.

Instead, Beleth grips Galadriel’s hand in turn, and gives a firm nod. “I understand. I’ll be careful, I promise. Do you...have any ideas where it might have gone? My only current idea is to check rifts that haven’t been sealed, or were sealed after you came here, and see if it passed through one of them, instead.”