faderift | Into the DANGER ZONE

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Into the DANGER ZONE

WHO: All Rifters + the 7 natives who signed up
WHAT: Searching the ruins of Haven for survivors, an Inquisition crew finds something strange. And demons. It's kind of scary that the demons aren't the strange thing.
WHEN: Third week of Harvestmere, 9:41
WHERE: Haven
NOTES: We've broken rifters and rescuers (or "rescuers") into two groups. This log has an arrival comment for each group--you can start smaller subthreads beneath those rather than try to have an eight- or nine-person log, just incorporate surrounding chaos/fighting--and a third top-level set for the whole group's journey back to Skyhold

You were asleep-- deeply or fitfully, for the last time or just resting your eyes for a moment-- and then you were not. And wherever you were was not, anymore, replaced by nothing but the sensation of falling, tumbling into endless, bottomless nothing. If this were still a dream, you would wake before you hit the ground. You can't die in a dream, they say. In some worlds.

But there's no waking here, just a flare of green-white light and a jarring impact, barely softened by snow that lies a foot deep with an icy crust that cracks beneath the force of your landing. The wind is biting cold, the sun is bright, and you are not alone. Others thud to the ground nearby, as bewildered as you, and others run up who look no less confused for having their feet beneath them.

You are also not as you were: in the palm of your left hand there glows a narrow splinter of light the same sickly green as whatever brought you here. It aches, a bone-deep pain that gnaws even through all the distractions. Like that you're being attacked by monsters, some tall, spindly stick-things with too many eyes, some hunched and hooded with no eyes at all.

Welcome to Thedas!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The second shade fell and, despite its hacking blows, the ice wall remained. Now, with her vision settled and a weapon, the wall was more of a hindrance than an aid. Precious as it had been, Galadriel didn't hesitate to sweep a hand out and collapse it. The ice shattered away from them, broke into uneven shards and scattered onto the snow as her power overwhelmed it.

Something in her dimmed as she used her power, it burned away with such speed and waste that she couldn't quite fathom it. She felt as if she were a flame caught in a gale, as though she could pull power and become a pillar of fire, but knew the wind would extinguish her, that whatever power it fanned would not prevent it from blowing her out. It was terrifying and, at once, the manner of her injuries began to truly worry her.

She cast a glance at those around them. The others fought against these creatures with blades and bows, they were skilled and the creatures fell quickly. They would not be overwhelmed without her aid. She lifted spear she'd been given and, as a few of the remaining shades advanced, she gave them no quarter. She was swift but disjointed, and her gown did not lend itself to her task, but she was still deadly enough that she needed no protection beyond her weapon.

At least not for these creatures.

(And Adelaide can be off and help someone else, or they can fight the rage demon, whichever you'd prefer.)

Actual combatant Adelaide was not. In the Spire she'd trained, certainly, but her focus for the last long while had been healing. Enhancing. Raising up her fellows in battle and making them more efficient, faster, stronger, better. The woman she'd saved seemed to have skill enough to mind them both but a weariness to her which Adelaide couldn't begrudge. She'd fallen through the fade, through shades of madness and dreams and magic and may very well be some manner of spirit herself with how Compassion sung in her presence.

But she could fight. Adelaide could ease that burden and make it simpler. The shades and Wraiths were cut down but the Rage demon? Would take more from them both.

Time and room enough was granted by the woman's skill with the spear to offer Adelaide space for another spell. Her eyes flashed, her hands glowed, and it would not be much but it would be something- a glowing aura flared into existence around her spear wielding partner, offering clarity, a strength and speed just above and beyond what she had been managing earlier. Perhaps with that and the woman's skill, the Rage demon would fall.

The spear she'd been gifted was strong but brittle. The edge was more than enough to cut through bone and flesh, but she was uncertain it would survive an arcing blow. The shades' claws had little effect on it, enchanted as it was, and for that Galadriel was thankful. Her last opponent, however, was not like the others.

It was a creature of flame and anger, without bone or flesh, and it rose up as Galadriel slew the last of the shades. It grew in size and intensity until it stood half her height above her, looming and livid. As she stared it down, searched for some way to cast such a creature out with the weapon she held, a wash of clarity came over her. The way her vision listed, the clumsiness in her limbs, even the haze that mired her focus, all were driven out.

She nearly felt like herself again.

The creature lifted a hand, molten and taloned, and brought it down above her. She had settled for simple movements with the shades, stabbing, thrusting, and narrow strikes, all as quick and easy as she could manage to make them. She'd been so addled she couldn't have attempted more. With this new clarity she was faster and stronger; she could finish this swiftly.

Galadriel moved in closer, ducked under its arm and brought the bottom of her spear up in a wide arc. The weapon struck with enough force that the base broke apart as it rent the creature's arm from its body. Without pause she shifted, leaned back and brought the blade up. It carved a deep furrow through the creature, split it open from its narrow waist, up through the mass of it, and broke apart one of its glowing eyes. The blow failed to cleave it in two, but only just.

If it also held a core, she would expose it, for arrow, ice, or her own spear to strike.

If Adelaide had found her companion competent and awe inspiring before, the sentiment doubled shortly after her spell was complete and the woman in white washed in a brighter light than even she had thought herself capable of conjuring. It was almost as though this was how she was meant to be, brightly burning, a point amidst chaos, beautiful and unyielding. At the very least, Adelaide was dazzled. At best distracted, but only for a moment.

Or five. Maker had she found and saved the reincarnation of Andraste?

The clash was fierce and the weapon seemed to hold long enough- the Rage demon doing what it would until much of it was cut away like so much rotted flesh from a wound. Nothing, not even bone beneath to slow the pass of the blade- only viscous hate given flesh. Demons were as much like spirits as they were not; they only had so much power, so much form, but in Haven where emotions ran high and death ran rampant it gave them more than they ought. They weren't supposed to grow or swarm, not in what she knew of them.

Swift and certain she called shards of ice to her hand, snapping it out to drive them into the core exposed by her companion's swift carving. Wounded, slowed and bleeding and yet to fall but soon- very soon they would be rid of it.

The creature howled, a sound that it somehow conjured out of the depths of itself, and reeled as glittering shards of ice were driven into the heart of it. It reeled and twisted, molten flesh darkening as it cooled, as the surface of it turned to ash and fell away.

It took dexterity to shift the spear as she did, dexterity she would not have had without the aura that consumed her. She moved quickly, with wholly elven speed, and brought the icy blade across the creature again. The second blow parted its remaining arm at the shoulder, what it had of one, and had a far more viscous depth than the first. The blade did not survive; it splintered before it reached the creature's core. Fortunately, the broken shaft in her hands was no less sharp for the lack of it. Galadriel lunged forward and ran the creature through.

The heat was severe but it faded quickly, it didn't have the time or strength to burn her as it died. Before long, the spirit had faded and its shell was cold. It crumbled as she drew the remnants of her spear back, leaving nothing but ash in its wake.

For that moment, the world was still.

The danger had passed and all was calm; she had yet to question where she was or how she arrived here, at least in earnest, but there would be time for that. After a pause, Galadriel turned and glanced back at Adelaide. If it weren't for the spear in her hands or the scattered ash before her, it would have been hard to tell that she'd been fighting at all.

"Will there be more?" Galadriel asked with...if not urgency, a reasonable firmness. These creatures were unknown to her, but Adelaide was familiar and her aid had been both timely and sound. Galadriel would trust her answer.

After the ice and the aura, there was not much for Adelaide to mind other than their flanks. The rest of the wraiths and shadows were handled by the remainder of the Inquisition- and those that fell through the rift. Tears in the veil, she'd heard them called but what that meant. What it meant for those that had fallen through? She could not say. Too little was understood of them to make even the vaguest of guess aside from a common enemy found in demons. Precious few found such creatures to be allies.

The Rage demon died and died spectacularly, falling to ash and naught else at the blow this woman- no- Lady struck. For as certain as Adelaide could recall anything of her youth and the nobility, it was that this woman had the regal bearing of one.

Grace and importance. Power and knowledge. And all of it so...quiet. Her mother would approve.

"They fell through the same rift that you did. It closed behind." She paused, turning her eyes to the empty air where it had been. "It may yet open but...I doubt it."

Galadriel let her gaze list to the space where that tear had split the air, but it did not linger there long. No, her interest was on the woman who had come to her aid. Already, without the rush of battle to bolster it, she could feel the power that engulfed her begin to ebb. While her focus was with her, she regarded Adelaide carefully.

She did not press her; looking into the hearts of others was often taxing for them and the strain of battle still rested on them both. Ultimately, though, the ability was unnecessary; this woman had already acted and proved her mettle. There was nothing she could read that would speak more clearly than Adelaide's actions already had.

With a slowness that, perhaps, betrayed her weariness, Galadriel drove the remains of her spear into the earth. As her hand was freed she smiled, earnestly and with much relief, at Adelaide.

"Mae l'ovannen," Galadriel said as she pressed her hand over her heart and bowed as deeply as she dared. "You have my thanks as well as my gratitude, le fael, Adelaide."

After a pause, she rose and lowered her hand from her heart.

"I am called Galadriel. Though the circumstances of our meeting were terrible, I am quite glad to have met you. I owe you my life."

Adelaide sincerely thought she was finished being dazzled by this woman- and then she smiled. At this stage in her life she was not without her dalliances or her attractions but they have, to a one, all been of the male persuasion. Women were lovely to be certain but they did not call to her.

Galadriel? Sang to her in a way that was more pure than anything she'd ever known. It was no mere desire that had her blinking and all but dazed. Something closer to awe. To a joyful reverence for her attention that she'd felt at the first moment she'd been able to understand Compassion. A stirring, certain warmth in the chest that put a flush to her cheeks and a slight stammer to her words ere she spoke- which she didn't just yet, knowing that she'd make something of a fool of herself.

Elven. She'd seen elves before but none quite like this. So clear, so bright, so- enthralling. There was no sign of blood magic so it was simply that. Galadriel was that dazzling. Right. Words. They were speaking. Adelaide cleared her throat and tore her eyes away, scanning the field for a moment to compose herself. It did not do much to keep her from being dazzled yet again when she looked to Galadriel.

"Ah- you do not need to- that is. We were sent here to make certain none came to harm if demons fell through the rift." It was her job. Nothing more. "I am...glad to have met you as well."

Even if she had no idea what to do with an apparent life debt. That'd- never happened before.

"Then you have done your duty well."

Men and mortal beings were often awed in the presence of elves; her reaction was hardly unusual and, while Galadriel often found it endearing, she would not take amusement in Adelaide's discomfort. She spared the woman the weight of her gaze and, for the first time, truly took stock of the glade that surrounded them.

It was a glade only because there were few other words to describe it--what beauty had been in this place was marred by rubble, by their recent battle, and by a strange sense of discomfort. The snow was thick, where it had not been trampled, and Galadriel regarded it as one might regard a peculiar animal. There was curiosity in her stare, but a wariness as well.

It had been summer in Lórien.

"Tell me," Galadriel began, as the last of the aura about her faded and she was left feeling distant and apart from herself. "What is the name of this place? And what of these rifts?"

Oddly enough, the term demon was not unknown to her, nor was it without context. She wouldn't have dubbed the creatures they'd fought demons, but it was not such a stretch that she refused to so now. How they came to be, what they truly were, and a thousand such questions required answers, but they could wait.

Elves were- slight and sharp. Certain in their power and uncertain in their place in the White Spire. They had been some of her greatest students, kindest friends, and most knowledgeable teachers and not a one had made her feel quite like this. Were it not for the language and the- now that she could look at them, ears- she'd have thought Galadriel a spirit.

Honestly it felt like the safer comparison to make. No elf she'd ever met held such grace or regal bearing. A spirit of what, then? Too calm to be of battle, too kind to be of justice. Faith? Wisdom? Those were rare spirits but-

Oh. Questions. Yes. She could answer. Would, even, now that she'd found her tongue again.

"Currently? Haven, or at least what is left of it. A small Village in Ferelden." Hopefully that is enough. "The rifts...no one knows much of them, save that they allow demons to pass through from the Fade- and apparently more than that."

There'd been the herald, strong and certain, able to close them. That was no longer the case.

Though the answers she'd been given were trustworthy and whole, but her expression fell as she considered them. While she was not so versed in the lands of mortal men that she could claim she knew of every one, no whole kingdom had passed her attention, save for the very distant east or the lands far south of Mordor. If she stood in either, now, her fate was no less grim than if she were not in Arda at all.

Unfortunately, any answer that would assist her required both time and care to locate. For now, she had neither the power nor the will to seek such things. There were simpler questions and more pressing answers that demanded her attention.

Galadriel lifted her left hand and regarded the mark that burned across it. The pain the mark carried, for she had to guess it was the mark that wounded her, was persistent. The green light that whispered across her palm was unfamiliar, strange in every sense, and against the gleaming white of Nenya it was difficult to look at. It was pervasive, it tried to consume...yet it did not have a will.

After several, long, silent moments, Galadriel regarded Adelaide again.

"And where is The Fade?"

If it were distant, some fortress or forgotten land, perhaps it would explain how she'd arrived here. Though she did not recognize the power in her hand, it was similar to the rift. They could not be entirely separate.

"That mark-" The Herald had one like that, or so she'd been told. Glimmering green like the rifts, the strangeness of it all is what had Adelaide finally uproot herself from where she'd stood, dazzled, and approach properly. It was what was meant to close the rifts, wasn't it? Like a cut through the hand but without showing through. Whisps of- something. Something other. Something strange.

Adelaide reached out and paused before making contact, eyes flicking from the mark to Galadriel's face. "Does it hurt?"

It seemed like it should. And what she might be able to do for that she could not say. Everything about the Herald to her was a rumor. Nothing concrete. No one had studied the mark long enough for anything to come of it that she knew of.

"Here and...not. This world and the Fade are separated by a veil, when the veil tears we have the rifts. Where it is thin spirits may cross over or great feats of magic cast." Explaining the Fade was difficult enough when she wasn't weary and trying to sort out what in the blazes this thing on Galadriel's hand was.

That answer made far less sense than the last, sadly, but Galadriel would remember it. Hopefully, when she was less unsteady, she would be able to make sense of it. But that required rest and she was not yet certain how falling here had wounded her. The idea that she might've simply fallen from the heights of Lothlorien, however ridiculous, was suddenly so much more appealing in its simplicity.

She did not disparage the answers she'd been given but, by that token, she was almost certain Adelaide could provide little else to expand them. The woman was bright and clever, but the situation was exceptional. No, rather than question her further, Galadriel offered her hand.

"Yes," she answered plainly, almost conversationally. Though the pain was considerable, it was not more than she could endure. When she continued her confusion was written on her face. "I attempted to close it and failed...I do not know why, it should not have been beyond me."

"You are a healer?" Some of what Galadrial had done looked familiar- the waves of force, the shattering of ice and demons. The school of Creation would suit her well, but if healing did not work on this wound...was it even a wound?

Delicate as anything Adelaide took Galadriel's hand between hers, frowning down at the glowing green cut. Not a wound, there was no blood but there was pain. "...Part of you is missing."

Not the best explanation but one that fit. "Instead of what ought to be here you've brought- the rift you fell through looked much like this. I do not know if this is a shard of the fade or a fragment of the rifts that are open across the country or- this is not my specialty. But I will try to do something for the pain." Her hands grew warm, glowed blue, the wisps of Compassion lighting in her eyes as she attempted not to close, but to soothe.

Galadriel watched her as she took her hand and examined it. Her assessment, vague thought it was, felt far too close to the truth for comfort. The explanation that followed, though disjointed, did provide some insight into this place. She would have to learn about The Fade, however she may, before she could truly understand any of this. It was not a heartening thought but it was brief, within moments Adelaide's hands lit blue and they had Galadriel's full attention.

Adelaide's skill, as she wove it into the warmth of her hands, was strange and overt; it was truly fascinating to watch as she worked. The pain that carved through her arm receded, though the mark remained unchanged. Her aim was true and the she'd bent to this task did not conflict as Nenya had. Whatever it was, Adelaide's ability to sooth was driven by kindness. Galadriel's concern ran deep, there was much about this situation that troubled her, but she couldn't help the smile that crossed her face.

"I can heal, though I am not a healer as you mean it," Galadriel answered. "My skills lie elsewhere."

She watched Adelaide's hands, a polite curiosity in the set of her brows. This discussion was little more than idle banter, though Adelaide's every answer shed some new light on this place. Questioning the woman about minutiae was hardly a reasonable use of either her time or Galadriel's energy. She could feel her focus drifting as she stood--and yet, it mattered not. She would be worn to exhaustion whether she questioned the human or stood in silence. The weariness that hounded her would catch her up the moment she moved from this place...but, if she asked, she would have another answer.

"I have never met a human who could fold compassion into their will as you do," Galadriel said, fascinated by the hands that held hers. "Nor have I seen such a skill. How do you do it?"

Her interest was academic as well as practical. The world was full of beautiful things but this, in her experience, was quite singular. It had been two ages since she had known anyone who could do such things and she had not been capable of learning it then.

There and not- perhaps whatever was missing remained as a fixed point in the realm from whence Galadriel came? There had been theories, essays on the particulars of conjuration and summoning that vaguely danced around such subjects. Skyhold's library was old and vast- perhaps she would be able to find something more concrete there. She would have better words for this, for the fade and what it was she did were she not so weary and the lyrium in her system not singing quite so faint.

Compassion didn't care for her use of Lyrium, and thus she attempted to make it a rare thing. It made hearing the spirit more difficult. Her other magics flourished, but the healing? Took more focus to pick apart the whispers, the songs.

"Perhaps they will be of use in better understanding what has been done to you." For this was no voluntary action. No one fell through the fade on purpose. No one embedded shards of rifts in their palms intentionally. No one was that mad. Mysterious as Galadriel was, mad wasn't something Adelaide thought she could be.

Pain soothed her attention turned instead to the weariness. The weight of whatever fall and what came after for her. Battle was exhausting enough, for this she had small measures. Scraps of rejuvenation, revival that she might offer. The light and warmth dim, turn golden and green, a cool balm against the ache of the day. It would not give Galadriel the clairty of the aura from before, but it may yet sooth the rest of her pains.

"It is less a 'folding of my will' and more tacit agreement. More than demons, spirits exist beyond the fade and- you are right. Compassion is the spirit I call upon for my healing. They help me help others. I suppose some Spirit Healers bend their spirits with their will but I've found a partnership to be far more beneficial to us both. I follow a few rules and in turn Compassion allows me to use their power to mend flesh or bone- to banish pain or weariness. If anything, Compassion bends me to their will to see these things done." The rules were simple and Compassion quite kind. Relatively undemanding, even outside of the Circle. A familiar companion, even.

Galadriel listened to her carefully but, as the light in her hands shifted and tried to soothe her aches, nearly all of Adelaide's words were beyond her. She was patient but, as the human finished speaking, Galadriel set her hand atop of hers. Her care was valuable, certainly, but there was a misunderstanding between them somewhere. Unfortunately, for all her wisdom, Galadriel could only identify that there was a gulf between them, she knew not where it rested, nor what it was.

Adelaide's talk of compassion as an entity, as a separate force, was difficult to parse. How mortals defined spirits, she couldn't say, but it seemed as broad as their definition for magic. The function of it, to use and be used by another force, was not entirely foreign to the elf, but the barest understanding didn't merit wastefulness.

"I would not weary you further," Galadriel said and gently withdrew her hands from Adelaide's. "I have spent too much of myself for you to soothe my aches, but do not worry, I shall endure."

She looked out past the glade and beyond the rubble. The combat had ceased and those who had appeared with her were gathering.

"Surely there are others who need your skills more than I. Else we both should find safety and rest."

"I'm not the one being made weary." She frowned, looking up to Galadriel proper. No, time focusing on the pain and the cut in her hand hadn't made her any less dazzling- but now she wasn't a mythical being that had fallen through the fade. Now? She was a foolish patient. That much made the frowning and the insistence come easier. "The rules I mentioned? Include this. If there is pain I might alleviate, if there is weariness I might uplift and it will not do me harm to do so? I am to see it done."

The spell spun out without a target when Galadriel pulled away, the glowing motes of golden light flickering out in almost a petulant manner. Adelaide was trying to keep her word. It was no fault of hers Compassion could not fulfill their desires.

"It's how Spirit Magic works. I am not using my power for this, but the Spirit's. The ice, the spear- that was me and my magic. My power. The healing? All comes from Compassion. It does not weary me to see you well, Galadriel."

Adelaide was firm in her objection, insistent in a way that only healers ever truly were. Galadriel had no desire to offend her, but the skill she used was not one the elf understood, even partially, and the drain on her own power had been severe. To replenish it, to make her well, was an offer that likely exceeded what the woman could bare.

Galadriel's frown was mild as she considered her offer. She worried and, as she thought on it, there was fear in her. If she was so ineffective here, in this place, her strength would fail her quickly. Even she could not endure the use of so much power indefinitely and Nenya had only caused conflict with the mark.

And what of Compassion? What of its will? There were none who could dominate her in Middle-earth, not without the very ring to bind her, but here? If she was so ineffective, if Nenya was rendered useless--

Galadriel drew a slow breath and regarded Adelaide.

"I fear the toll this will take, if not on you than on me, for I do not understand, not truly." The admission was calm but serious. "But you have earned my trust. If you wish it, I will abide. I have not the strength to argue, nor to stand and ponder anymore."

It was true; though her disorientation had subsided, the fog in her mind was cloying and the weakness in her limbs pronounced. Her exhaustion had caught her up and she desired little more than rest to recover herself.

"Why would there be a toll on you?" That wasn't how this worked. What was given was given freely, for that was how the spirit willed it to be so. Compassion was compassionate. They sought out aches in order to sooth them, wounds to mend them. Humans were so fragile, they whispered to Adelaide as a child, but so strong to continue despite the pain. Being able to alleviate that was their purpose and in turn had become Adelaide's as well. Explaining this would likely take more time than either of them had.

On the walk back to Skyhold? Perhaps then. But for now the ache in Galadriel seemed to increase and that twisted Compassion's considerable patience. Something in the elf called to it- something bright and clear.

Adelaide had never felt anything of it's like and whatever weariness there was to be had- she was not certain she could lift the burden entirely. But she would try, for that was their purpose. Sky torn asunder, demons roaming the land, mages and templars scrabbling for each other's throats, Orlais in the midst of a civil war- that she could not fix.

This? This she might.

"There will be no price, Galadriel. You have my word." Once again the gold and green motes swirled around Adelaide's hands, once again she extended them. Offered them palm up to Galadriel. Rejuvenation was more subjective than healing- what could be done and what needed to be done varied from person to person, from pain to pain. But Compassion poured through Adelaide's fingers none the less to stretch out and sink into Galadriel. To ease some of the burden, to take some of the weakness and supply instead warmth and a shade of mental clarity.

Adelaide was very earnest and once she offered her hand, Galadriel took it. Perhaps she was overcautious, but so rarely were such things truly free, she could not envision this being otherwise. Whatever end this would meet, Adelaide had no malice in her; that could not be said by many and, if this came to ruin, it would not be intentional.

Her Spirit Magic, for that was what she called it and Galadriel knew no more, settled the disquieting sensation that needled her, though it did not banish it. She could not say what the cause of that feeling was, nor why it persisted, but it was not so imminent to merit worry.

Galadriel had drawn her power from between her very bones and her body ached from the strain. It was slow to repair what she had worn away and, while her ring had stayed some of the damage, this place had cost more raw power than she was wont to spend. She had a great well of strength to draw from but it had emptied and whatever sped its replenishing in Arda was not here; she was apart from herself, well and truly, and the only connection she had to the Fade was in her hand.

Compassion was a worthy bulwark against her weariness but its will was not as she knew them to be. It did not compete as wraiths did, nor was it as unyielding as her ring. It did not try to dominate or destroy, it was not insidious or firm. It was a curious thing, fleeting and lively, almost delicate. Adelaide had been truthful, there was no risk in this...though knowing that clarified so little.

Ferelden was a strange land.

Delicate was the best descriptor for Compassion Adelaide could have offered, but so in tune with the Spirit had she become that putting it to words was difficult at best and impossible at worst. They simply were. Over the years they had worked with her to become precise, weaving in and out of torn flesh and wearied hearts to ease pain, to spread much like lace through a darkened heart and add the first scattering of light. To banish it entirely was not Compassion's way- that took the work of the patient and of Adelaide guiding them back to the sun. But the first few motes of relief? That was where they found their joy.

Spirit Healing was a serious, somber thing to most, done with great care and a full awareness of the risks, but the same joy at lifting pain, at renewing and refreshing a patient trickled through none the less. She took pride in her work; she was good at this and knew it well enough to make the most of every moment she held Compassion's power in her hands.

There was something to be said about a job well done.

It was not as much as she would have liked to do, but it was as much as they were able to do. With hope, Galadriel would not be quite so likely to collapse before they made camp this evening, even if the depths of her weariness were beyond Adelaide and Compassion's understanding.

The glow faded and Adelaide was simply herself again, her spirit taking a moment to rest from the work. "Did that help?"

Magic, indeed.

She required rest, but she was not so weak that she would stumble. She was not so weary that she felt weak at all. It was an impressive feat, if mystifying to her, and Galadriel inclined her head. She drew a deep breath and, with it, the soft light she exuded seemed brighter, rekindled.

"I am much improved," she said and paused briefly. "Your...partner is effective in a way I had not anticipated. Thank you again."

Oh Maker she actually glows. Adelaide had thought that a part of the haze of battle. Not- truth.

"You are welcome." There, that was the thing to say, yes? Yes. Well done her. She dropped her hands back to her staff that she'd tucked against her shoulder and looked past Galadirel to the rest of the field for a moment and-

Why was she blushing again she was a grown woman, this was ridiculous. "Explaining Spirit Healing is difficult- sometimes the simplest way to understand is to experience it."

"It is unusual, I do not doubt it is very hard to explain, and I suspect I must learn much before I will understand the skills you wield," Galadriel admitted and, in the calm, Adelaide's flush was so gentle and genuine that it drew a smile across her face.

"And though I am curious, I have met few mortal men who are as unmoved by cold as the Eldar." It was a poor excuse for her blush, but not entirely without warrant.

"Even if you are unbothered by the snow, I dislike this place. You have granted me the ability to walk alone, but I would that you walk with me, if it pleases you to do so."

Into the DANGER ZONE

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Mouse over Elvish for convenient translations. If you're on a phone, I am sorry.

On a laptop, it's all good!

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