"Even the wisest cannot say," she warns him and it has the echo of words she has spoken...and has not. It is a strange feeling, one that she is accustomed to when waking but cannot tolerate so well in sleep. She is distracted, then, for a moment and the surface of the mirror before them falters. The perfect surface of the water is broken and, when it resettles, the reflection it shows is not of the silvered green leaves above them.

The mountains it shows are in Thedas, the frostbacks, and while the scene has covered over in snow, and snow gently falls from the grey sky, the location is no mystery. It is Haven. The treeline is torn and ragged, the terrain is uneven with rocks and debris, the mountainside has a few great holes punched into it and a wide hollow trench carved along the length of it.

Galadriel stands on a hill looking out at it, speaking with a Qunari woman in Inquisition gear. What they say is lost, largely, to the sound of winter wind whipping through the bare mountain pass. It is a lonely place and some of that cold creeps its way into the world around them for that place and this place are not so different--memories and dreams are more alike than not, after all.

"When first I arrived, I thought I had taken a blow to the head. This world was so strange and that place so desolate."