Seven Thousand Steps

[laurenande]

WHO: Galadriel and You
WHAT: Galadriel is getting bit stir crazy with all this winter and has decided to work in the library when she's not getting pumped. Open Wintermarch post/catch all.
WHEN: Throughout Wintermarch
WHERE: Kirkwall, The Gallows
NOTES: There will be a gunshow.

I Library

The Library at the Gallows was considerably larger than Skyhold's; it is not a feat to be overly proud of, considering the remote nature of the other fortress, but it is worthy of note. She crosses into the room and spares a moment of wonder for the rows of books, the tall shelves and the tables that litter the place, and then sets about her work.

Today she is not cloaked, not as she has been wont during the rest of her time in Kirkwall, and wears a dark brown dress of Orlesian brocade. Her brooch with its shining emerald is pinned at the lowest point of the modest neckline and it glitters as she passes through the shafts of light that the windows provide. She carries a stack of parchment and a small box, all of which she abandons on a table before she moves toward the stacks.

Galadriel spends some time wandering the books, plucking familiar tomes from the heavy laden shelves. None of them are exceptionally rare, nor are they of any real interest--histories, Chantry tomes, books on the places and peoples of Thedas. She stacks them on her table and moves out to locate more. Once she has amassed nearly a dozen, she finally takes her seat and begins her translations anew.

II Training (Stairs)

The stairs of Kirkwall are a remarkable feature, if somewhat depressing by their nature, and Galadriel is drawn to them. For so many thousands of years she has had ready, constant access to stairs and the steep climbs to lofty heights--without the trees of Lorien to demand it of her, she is beginning to grow soft. It is a luxury she cannot abide, not while she rests powerless in this human city, so she has decided to train.

She has not trained, not truly, since the days of dawn and the sudden rigor of her old routines catches her up quickly. Still, she is not a woman of idle resolve and she takes the stairs with speed and determination. It does gall her to be seen, to stand in the open so very plainly and without concealment, but she will tolerate it, if it will return to her some semblance of power.

Galadriel begins ere the sun has risen, in the frigid cold of the early morning, and starts down the steps. Icy and snow-laden, they are a struggle and one that mounts quickly and with great satisfaction. Then, once she has reached the foot of them, she takes them again, and again, and again. Six full trips is her goal so she runs.

Her acquired clothes are similar to what she wore when she first arrived in Thedas, in a winter years ago, and they fit her in the loosest sense of the term. The pants are short, the shirt is long in the body and the shoulder but short in the sleeve and tight across her chest. She looks very odd, with her hair bound back dressed in such a fashion, running up and down stairs, but no one has halted her progress yet and she can spare little thought for appearances.

III Training (Courtyard, yes, on the ice.)

a. Tai chi
It is mid-afternoon by the time she finishes taking the stairs and, to ease her heart back down from the stress of that, she falls into an ancient rhythm. The forms are familiar to her, but they lack something without a weapon in hand. They are worth the effort, even bare handed, and she does them as she was taught. She moves slowly, almost excruciatingly so, and loses both herself and the time to the meditative nature of the activity.

b. Pushups and strength training

After running, Galadriel finds a corner of the courtyard, a place where the sky still hangs above but that is outside the area where ice-skating still occupies the time of those that live in the Gallows. The cold is bracing but she is not hesitant to drop to her hands and toes and push herself up from the ground. She does this with an almost worrying dedication before shifting to her back and curling up over her bent knees.

When her skin is cold enough that it has begun to pink from the bite of ice, she rises and gathers up bundles of the firewood that are kept outside the quartermaster's office. She hoists them over her shoulders and holds them just above them. Her arms strain at the strangeness of the angle, but hold fast as she moves them from one side of the yard to the other and then back again.

Wildcard~!

Anything else. :D

Comments

[seawanderer]

They all seem to be. Unable to stay still for long. Needing to do something. Maglor and Elros have taken to building boats, but really they need more stuff. So he goes hunting, and comes across the sound of wood being chopped and the familiar song of a cousin.

"Hail!" He calls brightly, eyes fever-bright and mood fairly light. "Do you have a need of the wood which you are bringing so skillfully down? Or might I and Elros whisk some away? I offer song as payment, if you accept it?"

[laurenande]

Galadriel looks askance, over her shoulder, as Maglor approaches behind her. She does not pause her swinging, nor the splitting of the wood before her, even as she conjures her response. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is askew, but there is no tiredness in her.

"I do not, save perhaps as a weight," she answers and lifts her ax to swing again. The wood splits before her into halves and she bends to orient them better for the next swing. "I would offer some to you, but all of them have been quartered. None are long enough to serve as planks, nor of a quality to float for overlong."

She has seen Elros working and can guess what it is he needs wood for. She could be wrong, however and once she has split the log before her she turns to face Maglor.

"Unless you require firewood?"

[seawanderer]

He's heard about the argument she and Maedhros had had, but he's not his brother right? And they've seen things Maedhros and Fingon haven't.

He stands out of her way, shifting his weight with the strange restlessness that rarely lets him stay still around most. "We could always use firewood! Would you be willing to leave some trees whole and bring them to the docks? The distance alone could offer a slim challenge."

Firewood for his mortal child because he's a worrywart.

[laurenande]

The opportunity to haul whole trees, or halves of them, to the docks of Kirkwall is--well, it should be a daunting request, but she has gone through each avenue of exercise available to her. There is little else to do and that holds more than a bit of appeal.

She is uncertain if she can lift half of one of these trees, but she is willing to attempt it and accept the consequences if she cannot. She twists and swings the ax hard, burying it in the block behind her, and then dusts the dirt from her hands. Already they begin to blister and callous but she pays them little mind.

"I can, they shall have to be brought over from where the raw wood is kept, but it is not overly far. Would you care to play a song as I carry them, or will you haul your firewood as I work?"

Galadriel doesn't sound as though she would mind either eventuality, frankly. Her animosity toward Maedhros is nearly forgotten in the wake of all her exercise. It will not be, once she has time to think, but until then she is blessedly free of considerations and worry.

[seawanderer]

Has the mighty Artanis met her match? Maglor thinks not! Challenge has ever run through the blood of Finwe.

He'll fuss over her hands later and encourage her to go to the healers when they're less...restless. And when she might be more agreeable to being fussed over.

"I will accompany you, I can haul firewood later. Do you have a song request?"

He trusts his brother will apologize as he's said he would, but that will be later.

[laurenande]

"Something lively," she calls and starts walking toward where the lumber is kept. They will be moving for some time, it is on the other side of the Gallows near the merchant stalls, and something upbeat will keep her blood flowing fast and her heart from falling into a calm again.

"I cannot dance and haul at once, or at least I should not," she says and ushers him along with her. "But my heart can and wants to."

Once they reach the stores of trees, bare logs all with branches shorn and cast away, Galadriel chooses one and and walks the length of it to inspect. It is as tall as she is and nearly twice her size around; it is only half a tree then, the trunk cut in two at its middle, but it will suffice. She can lift it, though it will be ungainly and heavier than she has towed in some very, very long time.

It is a promising challenge.

"Do you need a saw to cut it apart? Should we gather one before we go?"

[seawanderer]

Maglor tucks his harp into place and skillfully starts up a tune, cheerful and light-hearted as requested- along with nice and swift in pace. He'll help keep her spirits up and blood pumping!

He follows every step of the way, humming and singing as the tune needs, and there's certainly admiration for her strength. She's always been strong and he's glad that hasn't changed!

"Nay, Elros has one already."

[laurenande]

"Fortunate then," she says and lets out a long breath before bending to wrap an arm around the wood. It takes a long, tenuous moment for her to lift the log whole, but with some strain she manages it. She manages to brace it across her shoulder and her arms strain delightfully keeping it there.

"Let us be off. I am ambitious but I cannot manage two just yet."

Maglor plays his songs, lovely and lively as they are. The sun is bright, even through the bite of winter cold that swirls through the air, and Galadriel savors it, even as she hauls half a tree down a great number of steps toward the docks.