Wherever Ferelden was, the lands within it were beautiful.
This place, Haven, had suffered great loss. Rubble and the aftermath of terrible rock-slides overwhelmed the landscape, half-sunken in the snow. There had been battle here quite recently, though the battlefield was not so fresh that blood remained, nor so old that the crows had found the dead in the winter cold. It was a sad sight, one Galadriel lamented even as they gathered at the camp above the road. It was little more than tents and tables, a station for a company of scouts or warriors, but it did not want for people.
The symbol on the banners was chilling, in its way, and each of the agents who wore armor were clad in its likeness. She had never seen a banner that used an eye so boldly, save one, but this was not Middle-earth. In Ferelden an eye wreathed in light did not conjure memories of ancient alliances or shadows on the east horizon. Here, the people who wandered through the wild were gladdened by the sight of that golden eye, but there was a reservation in their joy.
The cause of their dismay, however brief, she did not know. She thought to ask but it seemed unwise; none were eager to speak to any of those who had fallen from The Fade.
The agents urged them to the far side of the camp as they spoke, away from pilgrims and the harried travelers. The group was two dozen or so and not all of them strangers to this place. She moved willingly, had joined them and waited for their decision because, in truth, there was little else she could do. It was not unpleasant, the waiting; the mountains were bright and flawless with new snow. Each distant peak held her attention as she learned their shapes, and every break of dark trees and pale green caught her eye. She had not felt such deep curiosity since she had first come to Middle-earth and, grave as the situation appeared, it was not so terrible that she would refrain from indulging in the sights around her.
The land was not bountiful here, it had suffered and it bore deep scars, but it was not entirely barren. If the Inquisition turned them out, she would need to seek out her answers, but she would not be lost.
A cold wind whipped past her and stirred the gossamer fabric of her gown. Such wind rarely cut through Lothlorien; Galadriel relished the newness of it.
2 - Travelling.
Skyhold was their destination.
The name meant little, as names in mortal tongues often did. It was not an ominous title, not in her mind, but the sky was a source of comfort for the Eldar. She did not know if the people here shared in that same sense of security. Whether they did or not, it was hard to imagine they were being taken to a truly terrible a place. The mountains that housed Skyhold were unspoiled and had been for centuries; the creatures that darted through the snow were untainted and innocent, barely aware enough of travelers to scatter as the company approached.
She did not recognize them, the beasts that wandered these wilds, but she did not idle to study them. For the moment, the Inquisition was her host and the rest of her company found the trek more troublesome than she did. Curious as she was, and tempted as she had been to pause and beckon the creatures closer, she would not burden those beside her with waiting. No, she simply watched the creatures and the world about them with young eyes, younger perhaps than she should, and moved as they wished.
She remained within the bounds of their caravan, as the native agents had defined it, and matched the speed of those around her. Truly, the way the snow and terrain hindered them was a blessing, cruel as that thought may have been. Were the travel any more arduous or their speed any greater, she would have struggled to maintain pace without tiring. As it was, she merely walked alongside them, atop the pristine snow, and followed a road she did not know.
OTA c:
Wherever Ferelden was, the lands within it were beautiful.
This place, Haven, had suffered great loss. Rubble and the aftermath of terrible rock-slides overwhelmed the landscape, half-sunken in the snow. There had been battle here quite recently, though the battlefield was not so fresh that blood remained, nor so old that the crows had found the dead in the winter cold. It was a sad sight, one Galadriel lamented even as they gathered at the camp above the road. It was little more than tents and tables, a station for a company of scouts or warriors, but it did not want for people.
The symbol on the banners was chilling, in its way, and each of the agents who wore armor were clad in its likeness. She had never seen a banner that used an eye so boldly, save one, but this was not Middle-earth. In Ferelden an eye wreathed in light did not conjure memories of ancient alliances or shadows on the east horizon. Here, the people who wandered through the wild were gladdened by the sight of that golden eye, but there was a reservation in their joy.
The cause of their dismay, however brief, she did not know. She thought to ask but it seemed unwise; none were eager to speak to any of those who had fallen from The Fade.
The agents urged them to the far side of the camp as they spoke, away from pilgrims and the harried travelers. The group was two dozen or so and not all of them strangers to this place. She moved willingly, had joined them and waited for their decision because, in truth, there was little else she could do. It was not unpleasant, the waiting; the mountains were bright and flawless with new snow. Each distant peak held her attention as she learned their shapes, and every break of dark trees and pale green caught her eye. She had not felt such deep curiosity since she had first come to Middle-earth and, grave as the situation appeared, it was not so terrible that she would refrain from indulging in the sights around her.
The land was not bountiful here, it had suffered and it bore deep scars, but it was not entirely barren. If the Inquisition turned them out, she would need to seek out her answers, but she would not be lost.
A cold wind whipped past her and stirred the gossamer fabric of her gown. Such wind rarely cut through Lothlorien; Galadriel relished the newness of it.
2 - Travelling.
Skyhold was their destination.
The name meant little, as names in mortal tongues often did. It was not an ominous title, not in her mind, but the sky was a source of comfort for the Eldar. She did not know if the people here shared in that same sense of security. Whether they did or not, it was hard to imagine they were being taken to a truly terrible a place. The mountains that housed Skyhold were unspoiled and had been for centuries; the creatures that darted through the snow were untainted and innocent, barely aware enough of travelers to scatter as the company approached.
She did not recognize them, the beasts that wandered these wilds, but she did not idle to study them. For the moment, the Inquisition was her host and the rest of her company found the trek more troublesome than she did. Curious as she was, and tempted as she had been to pause and beckon the creatures closer, she would not burden those beside her with waiting. No, she simply watched the creatures and the world about them with young eyes, younger perhaps than she should, and moved as they wished.
She remained within the bounds of their caravan, as the native agents had defined it, and matched the speed of those around her. Truly, the way the snow and terrain hindered them was a blessing, cruel as that thought may have been. Were the travel any more arduous or their speed any greater, she would have struggled to maintain pace without tiring. As it was, she merely walked alongside them, atop the pristine snow, and followed a road she did not know.