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!

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"You are worried that we too are demons?"

It was a novel concept and certainly something Galadriel had not been accused of before, even in passing. Whatever implication hid between in his words, Galadriel took no offense; the creatures that had appeared from that rift had been vile and terrible, his wariness was not without reason.

Of course, having reason for wariness did not excuse misguided belief.

"If we are, I would not be concerned. Our destination is a stronghold, is it not? If we are truly creatures of shadow, to travel there willingly would be most unwise."

"Unless you're playing on our Pride. Like you know we think we're too strong for you to survive Skyhold if you are demons."

He can't help it, it's the thoughts going around in his head. Which, sadly, left little room for the new arrivals to prove their innocence. Which was why people far wise than him would be making the choice.

"That isn't- I can't say what you are. It's only demons are known to be more clever. To feed on desires. Like, here...for more recruits? But demons and abominations...they aren't supposed to look like you."

Of all the things she'd heard and seen so far, his answer was the first to startle a laugh out of her. The sound was light a melodic, beautiful and bright. His concern was quite all-encompassing and, had she a mind to admit it, she often considered weighty decisions in a similar way.

"In all my long years I have never, even once, been confused for an abomination," Galadriel told him, quite merrily. "The depth of your caution is truly impressive."

She paused and something almost dangerous crept into the curve of her smile. It was unfortunate that the graveness of ages and the joy of levity clashed so terribly; mischief was quite worrisome on the faces of the very ancient.

"But that was a transparent compliment, was it not? Are you so prideful that I might sway you with sweet words? Tis' a dreadful risk if you are truly uncertain."

"But would a demon point out the weakness? Or is it pride that makes me think I wouldn't be tricked by a demon pointing it out or-"

Maker, his head was starting to hurt. He shook he head with a heavy sigh, trying to push it all from his mind.

"But I'm not important enough for my opinion to matter. So. It doesn't much count what I think you are, Ma'am."

"Oh?" Galadriel asked lightly, one of her brows arching as she regarded him. She was tempted to needle him further but, as fun as teasing could be, she was not cruel.

"I would not have known," she told him plainly. "You would be surprised how often the small and unimportant can turn the tides of fate. Do not discount yourself so quickly."

Her smile was kinder, but the mischief in it did not fade as she turned to look at the path ahead.

_{You know not who walks with you, your caution is not unwise.}

The voice was a whisper, clear in the back of his head, but it held no threat only a vague sense of amusement.

This time it is Peter that stops dead in his tracks, looking ahead at nothing at all as he confirms- and checks again- that he hadn't been the one to think that. Maybe- no. He didn't think that eloquently. That had to be...

He kicked his pace to double to fall back into step with her, now looking with some wonder.

"What are you? You're not- demons aren't supposed to look like elves."

Unless they wanted to. But he wanted to believe otherwise.

"I have met only one who wore the face of an elf. Fair though he was, he still required sweet words and promises of power," Galadriel said. She did not mirror his urgency. "His need was great and actions desperate; his success depended on trickery alone."

That he achieved his goal was not something Galadriel intended to share in this conversation. It would do the human no good to hear it and would serve her not at all. Sauron's victory was a testament to the innocence of the world; his own cunning was incidental.

"Though I have need, I am neither desperate nor prone to offer power," she added conversationally. "As appealing as they are, sweet words are a poor temptation. I am not deceiving you and I know of no reason to try."

Wore the face of an elf. This was all a bit like when the Commander or, before, the Herald would speak of great missions and quests before the crowd. Grand things, all so very much larger than him. And Peter had always figured it was better to let them have that and focus on the small pieces of the world he can actually touch.

"...not much there I can argue with, I suppose."

There was, there really probably was. But while everyone had said he was doomed to fall to demons one day, it was hard to believe it could be this day. From her.

"But where are you from?"

Galadriel was surprised by his question, thusfar no one had thought to ask. She considered an answer and, with far less teasing and vagueness, supplied a gentle warning instead.

"That is a very long answer," she said. "Are you certain you wish to know?"

Perhaps he did, perhaps not. It had been asked politely and, in truth, there were no secrets in the answer itself. She had lived so long among so many that, even were it a secret, it would have been impossible to keep. His meaning, however, was probably far less grand than his question.

"My heart lives in the forest of Lothlorien, I am...steward of the city Caras Galadhon, heart of Elvendom in the east," she said, providing the very simplest of answers to his query. The words would mean little to him, though. Even to those in Middle-earth, the simple titles of Lothlorien rarely conjured more than a vague recollection of maps and markers. "Mortals are often fascinated by Lórien, for the city is built between the great trees that grow there. They bloom in green and silver and rise taller than the towers of men, wider around than our whole company could stretch if we stood with arms outstretched. In the summertime they flower and all the world glimmers with gold and sunshine, in the winter they sing in silver and shimmering moonlight."

So little of that made any sense, but he caught the mortal line. That he caught very well. The rest was so very...nature filled, and Peter still wasn't sure how he felt about the whole trees and flowers thing after so long in the tower. But mortal. That...

Had she come from the past?

"How old are you?"

Galadriel merely smiled at the question, silent but amused that he'd fixated on that aspect of her description. No one else had been so bold as to ask her for her age and few had asked from whence she came. It was not a question she often answered, but she decided to try, if only this once.

"It is hard to say," she prefaced slowly. "I have walked the lands of the east for Three Ages of the earth, but before the days of Dawn the reckoning was different. It is impossible to be certain, but by the count of men?"

She paused and considered the answer carefully.

"Perhaps...fifteen thousand years? It would not surprise me were it more or less, if only by a matter of centuries."

He had stopped walking again. She was...surely she was lying. Or joking- with some people it was a thin line. But she could talk in his mind...

He has to jog for a second to not let the people just behind them catch up.

"Y-you're having me on...right?"

Galadriel frowned slightly as he ran back to match her pace. His tone implied disbelief but the question he asked made no sense to her. She had no idea whether to answer in the positive or negative.

"I am...not certain if I am having you at all," she replied delicately. "But I am not lying, though I cannot prove it to you."

She turned her gaze ahead and very nearly shrugged.

"In truth, it is not so long, though men cannot fathom it. I am not nearly the eldest of the Eldar, though I was perhaps the eldest in the East."

"Elves haven't lived that long in...ever, maybe. But a long, long time, at least. I..."

He was going to sound foolish. It was one of those moments when he knew he was going to sound foolish, but he couldn't help it. He didn't have the strength of will needed to keep the urge down and protect his poor, pathetic pride.

"Are you from- haven't you heard of the Imperium?"

Galadriel stared at him blankly. There was no recognition on her face whatsoever.

"I can say, honestly, that I have not," Galadriel replied. "Have they the means to disprove me? If so, that is a feat I should like to see."

"No, no they- to the elves...?"

Oh. Oh. It was one thing to chat with the forest elves- the Dalish, or the Circle elves. Ones that knew the history to the point it was part of their very blood and flesh. But to bring up the mass enslavement and loss of immortality of an entire race- a race he was most certainly not part of- to an elf that didn't know about it? Peter went a little pale.

"You...should talk to the elves. From here, I mean. Or from now? I'm not- I'm not really sure which the difference is for you."

"In that, we are alike."

Still, she marked his advice, eager and disjointed as it was. She had already met one elf, and she had no issue speaking with kin, even if they were distant.

"I do hope it is the former, it would sadden me greatly to think I had missed so much time that the stars overhead were drawn anew.

"But I shall ask as you suggest, once we have come to our destination."

He's visibly relieved as she just lets the point go. Old and mysterious she was, but also apparently merciful. If all the people from the rift were like this, the Inquisition would be fine. Better, even, than before.

"There was some sort of time...thing, before. People doing mad things with magic. Maybe someone did it again. Or...maybe this is all a whole new madness. You never know with the fade."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Into the DANGER ZONE

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Galadriel is screwing with him. I am so sorry.

She is a perfect person for doing it

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She really likes Lothlorien, okay.

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