[Open] Come and Walk With Me

[laurenande]

WHO: Galadriel and Solas, Merrill, and Fingon respectively.
WHAT: Two different trips outside Kirkwall to discuss a variety of totally unimportant things.
WHEN: Currentish.
WHERE: Various.
NOTES: None

For Merrill:

She had put off this conversation for some time, had dreaded it and evaded as was her gift. Merrill had trusted her and waited in silence and, for all her bright patience, Galadriel had offered her so little. It was a regret, sharp and bitter in the back of her throat and she disliked it.

When Merrill asked for her accompaniment, to travel alongside her outside the city, to the mountains, and Galadriel had agreed without question. Perhaps, she wondered, freedom from the oppressive nature of Kirkwall, of the walls and bars of men, would help her speak more readily. Perhaps, if Merrill's errand was not so terrible, they could speak and be at peace.


For Solas:

Her sleep comes easier now, freed from the longing and the worry that had long consumed her. She sleeps steadily and without fear, falling into it as though she were born to it, as though it had not been thrust upon her.

Her dreams, once haunted by the unfurling tapestry of her long years, mired and marred by memories of time immemorial, have calmed at last. There is a reprieve as the sounds of birds and the gentle flow of a glittering stream beckon her deep into the dreaming. Before long she finds herself standing in her garden, before her mirror, and the rustling of the mellyrn above her is a whispering welcome.

For Fingon/Open:

It has been some time since last Galadriel trained, at least by the reckoning of men. That she had done more than lift a staff twice in a year was a fairly short span by her reckoning, but still not terribly impressive. She travels to the training yard before dawn, early enough that the chill of night is on the air and it is cold, despite the spring having long broken over Kirkwall.

The yard is empty, as it should be at this hour, and she takes to stretching, staff in hand, as she warms up. She is slow, still, the weapon is too heavy, and the motions are old memories, but she knows them well enough. This was a sport, once, and she had desperately loved the game of it, the contest. It is more useful as a skill, here, and relearning is worth the effort.

Alt Fingon/Open:

She has always been fond of horses. They are graceful, if panicky things, and it would behoove her to remember riding again. She does it so infrequently here that she is not entirely certain the temperament of Thedas's horses. The rarer mounts elude her even more.

She visits the stables mid-morning, clad in plain brown pants and a plain shirt, tailored finely and of fine weave but without adornment. She has forgone her cloak, of late, but wears it today. The grey fabric falls back over her shoulders, tucked out of the way but ready to block cool breezes should she actually befriend a beast and take it out to ride.

Comments

[laurenande]

She regards him silently for a moment and inclines her head. It takes more effort than she would like, enough to show on her face as she tosses the heavy staff to him. He will catch it, he is not so far off, nor so slow to react that he would not.

"I will find another," she replies. "Though I expect I am further out of practice than you are, cousin."

There are training weapons available, more than in Skyhold, and there are a few staves. She plucks another from the overhang where the field is sheltered by the walls of the Gallows. There are blunted blades there, axes, shields, but she has never had a deft hand at those and they both know Fingon will best her in moments if she picks them.

He may best her in this, truth be told, but she had been very, very good in her distant youth before she had acquired the skill and power to render such things moot.

"Though it might be wise to train staff against sword, once we have warmed up. There are few in these lands who prefer staves and pikes to swords and knives." She looks back as she speaks, testing the staff she has retrieved by tossing it hand to hand. "That is, if you would humor me?"

[utulien_aure]

He reaches out and snatches the staff from the air- so no, Galadriel isn't wrong about their comparative recent experience.

"Will that matter, once your hands remember their old skill?" And hers have never been slow, at that. Fingon may have the advantage now, but he has a strong suspicion just how long it will last.

Experimentally, he twirls the staff between his hands. It brings back memories- not just of the young Artanis, but of their aunts and grandmother and the staff-dances the Vanyar had favored since they put aside the spears of the Great Journey.

"I had noticed- an odd thing, is it not? To see such a simple weapon so neglected?" But he nods at her request. "Of course I would. And it might do me some good as well."

And then he bows, and settles into a fighter's stance.

[laurenande]

"It is, though I can hardly scold anyone for their negligence of traditional arms," she admits and returns to a reasonable distance. Once she is in place, she too bows and then draws herself up into her old stance. It is strange, to face Fingon in this way, to stand opposite him in training in the springtime sun. It feels like a more distant time. Even the terrible walls of the Gallows cannot break the illusion.

She was bolder then and some of that boldness returns, she moves first, stepping in and striking forward, a sharp thrust of the staff with both hands. She warmed up, she stretched, but she is not so comfortable that she is unaware that his strength will trump hers if they are in direct contest.

"Did you enjoy the histories I gave you. The records translated to the tengwar and the old speech?"

[utulien_aure]

"I certainly did. It was strange to see a taste of home here, for all that what it contained was new. Strange, but not unwelcome. I imagine some of your brother's records of Men must have resembled it."

Fingon grins at the daring opening, and moves to parry and step inward.

"And it was thorough. Old Rumil could not have done better. You must have had taken some time over the work."

[laurenande]

"A good few months," she admits and his parry pushes her to one side. She has no trouble shifting, turning quickly to transfer the force of his parry into the arch of a swing.

"Once I learned to read this language it became a pastime of mine." He blocks the second, the wide arc of her staff, but the quick shift of the lower half, swinging up from the floor, she expects will surprise him.

"I offered to teach them the tongue that accompanied the letters," she says in Quenya and, for all her years speaking Sindarin, her accent has come to reflect it. "Or the letters themselves, but few were interested."