[OPEN] - Ain't seen the sunshine since I don't know when.

[laurenande]

WHO: Galadriel and Various
WHAT: Galadriel before her arrest, for those who would like CR before this Civil War plot is underway, her being arrested, and Galadriel in the cells for anyone who wants to come visit her or attempt to break her out. This post is super, duper open to anyone who wants to tag in. Please, have at.
WHEN: Late Guardian to early Drakonis.
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: No warnings yet, but have a link to the IC thread that happens amid all this: Cassandra interrogates Galadriel.

Pre-Interrogation/Arrest Prompts.

The Emprise du Lion was a dreadful place, and spending more than a fortnight within its borders had taken a toll on Galadriel. She arrived back in Skyhold only a few days before her conversation with Seeker Pentaghast, and she spent them taking what rest she could find. Sleep did not come easily to her, even at the best of times, so it was hardly a surprise that she spent long hours in the peace of the garden, watching the horizon on the battlements, or embroidering in the Rotunda.

(OOC: The above is the State of Galadriel, it's mostly for those who want to do something I haven't included, but it applies to the below as well. If you'd like to use a prompt for a specific scene, there are several options below to choose from. If the prompts don't appeal, please feel free (and encouraged) to write up any scenario you'd like, anywhere around Skyhold.)



Garden -

The winter chill that crept through the fortress was not as biting nor as pervasive as the wind outside the walls. There was something dull about the cold in Skyhold, something muted and gentle, but it was a feeling too fleeting for her to place. The sun chased the cold away just after dawn. Though the air was not warmed by the sun, the plants in the garden stretched toward it, green and vibrant as spring itself.

She adored spring and lingered for long hours in the gardens, relishing the sunlight that crested over the mountains. She spent each morning in the garden, watching the distant rise of the sun before tending to the plants. There were others who trickled in, as dawn passed and the fortress awoke, and she would leave the plants to them as they began their tasks, but she enjoyed the peace and stillness while she could.

The Emprise had been a grating, awful place but new growth and tender green leaves made her glad. More than once she found herself singing as she worked, and the plants grew quickly under her care. In only a few days, the grass would be renewed and the first small buds would open. She was thousands of years old and yet, despite that, she could hardly wait.



Courtyard -

Galadriel had not taken stock of the yard after the rift had closed. At the time, there had been more pressing matters to attend to, and she hadn't the patience to wait and search for subtle things. Now, without anything to pull her attention elsewhere, she devoted time to examining where the rift had split the veil.

Skyhold was a place with many curious sights to behold. The Orlesian nobility who visited the fortress were bedecked in feathers and quills atop gilded silk and stiff, polished leather. There were dwarves who quietly skirted the sunlight whenever they darted out of the fortress to their carts; their relief as they dove back to the keep was palpable. There were even a few humans clad in mud and fur who insisted on carrying goats. Truly, she was not so strange a sight that she merited recognition, standing in the courtyard with her staff in hand, simply peering at a space in the air. That she stood in place for hours on end, without moving a hair, was barely worthy of note.

The crowd moved and bustled around her readily enough, as though she were simply a fixture of the fortress, and she was glad for their disregard. A few mages slowed as they passed her, but they did not stop to speak. They would regard her oddly (a few of them frowned) and then they hurried away to see to their tasks. They were gifted mages, Galadriel noted silently; the majority of people who walked past her could not sense the slow current of power that rose against the veil. Those who could feel the pull of magic seemed disoriented by it, particularly when she shifted it or allowed it to ebb, but her study did them no harm.

If it had, she would have refrained from such tests in Skyhold.


Rotunda -

Galadriel's notes were artful and fluid things; they were not terribly numerous, but her time in Thedas had generated a few dozen pages of them. She hid none of them when she left the fortress, though she tidied them and tucked them out of the way when they were not in use. When she was using her notes, as she was now, she spread them out over the table as one would spread a map.

The unfamiliar letters of the tengwar curled over the sheets of cast-off vellum and pages of pressed pulp; when they were set side by side they were more drawing than words. She added to them as she read, writing between the older lines of text with habitual ease. Occasionally, amid the layers of tengwar, a word in the trade tongue appeared, but they rarely gave much clarity to the text around them.

It was early afternoon when she took over the space in the rotunda again. She had gathered a few clean pages and carefully written out the whole of the tengwar. She had promised to teach Sina these letters, and she intended to extend that invitation to all the elves of Thedas, but teaching required patience and materials. It had been centuries since she had last instructed anyone in their letters, but the memories were so fond, so filled with delight, that she couldn't repress her smile as she sat and carefully created a chart.

She could have stopped after writing them out, she supposed, but drawing the pictures that accompanied the letters was half of the entertainment of it. Sina was too old to need tales of lamps and ships and golden treasure to learn letters, and Galadriel did not need them to teach this lesson, but needing and wanting were very different things. In this instance, she wanted them and there was no reason to refrain.





Galadriel being escorted to the cells.


Courtyard - Under Arrest.

Galadriel rarely used her height to intimidate - it was cruel and largely ineffective - but she had drawn herself to her full height as she stared down Cassandra. The guards had not offended her so direly, but as they took her by her arms and lead her down the stairs and into the courtyard, she gave them no quarter. They were wary of her, as well they should have been, and she towered over them like a great looming shadow.

Her expression was rigid and thunderous, filled to the brim with deep, consuming fury masked only by the cold veneer of disdain. She walked with sweeping grace, despite the indignity of her situation, and the guards that led her avoided her gaze as they opened the door to the cells. They had made a spectacle of her and it was another slight she would not forget.





In the cells.


Day -

The cells were barred, with heavy iron gates and thick, artless locks. The stone of the chamber was crumbling, despite the efforts to reinforce the mortar and the floor. Half of the cells were unusable, collapsed or filled with rubble, and the other half were bare things, small and littered with chunks of rock and dried hay. The only objects that had been placed intentionally within the cells were a threadbare, unclean bedroll and a wooden bucket.

The chill that moved through the fortress was keenest here. Wind cut beneath the far door and the torchlight twisted wildly in the drafts. The single fire that burned in the middle of the room was barely sufficient to heat it; the brazier that held the fire was large, but it was unshielded and not well fitted to its current use. The two guards who had accompanied her devoted the majority of their attention to keeping the brazier lit. Between the bare nature of her cell and the build of the room, it became very clear how the people of Thedas dealt with captives.

Galadriel rarely lauded Mirkwood for its splendor, but her current trappings made even Thranduil's deepest, darkest cells seem kingly.


Night -

Twilight was an ordeal in these cells, one that dragged on for far longer than it had any right to. The cells that had collapsed and were open to the sky leaked grey light for hours; when they finally darkened, the far door lit the room in much the same way. Eventually, when the sun finally dropped away, a deep darkness settled over the room. The guards were attentive, but the night was cold and she unnerved them in the dark. They stood farther from her, behind the pillars that lined the walkway, and spoke only in hushed tones.

The fire required less attention at night, but without the wind threatening to extinguish it, the guards stoked it far less frequently. It burned low, dancing red and orange in the darkness, and Galadriel was left with the option to watch it or sleep. She chose to watch.

Comments

Cells, Night

[fleurdesel]

She hadn't quite believed it when she heard- it wasn't until she couldn't find Galadriel in her usual haunts and could not reach her on her sending crystal that Adelaide truly began to fear. With no other options left to consider she sought out the dungeon. There, in the dark, was Galadriel. "Andraste's ass, what-"

She skirts around the guards, cloak pulled tight around her shoulders. A flicker of a thought shields the fire from the worst of the wind. It does little to help with the cold- but it should be enough for a short while. "What happened?"

[laurenande]

Galadriel was, above all things, fundamentally unamused by this situation. Adelaide was a welcome sight, as welcome as anyone might be, but Galadriel could not quite wipe the steely expression from her face. She did allow her posture to falter slightly, she had no desire to tower over Adelaide, but it was only a small change.

"I was jailed," she answered in a tone that was...perhaps...more unkind than it needed to be. After a pause, Galadriel relented and began to elaborate, her voice gentled as much as she could manage.

"I was escorted under guard to be needlessly questioned; they found my answers wanting, apparently. When the woman who questioned me demanded I swear an oath, I refused. My refusal prompted this."

Before capture; garden, before dawn

[dalishious]

Whenever Merrick has a rough time sleeping he immediately heads outside. His and Cyril's room has those holes in the walls, certainly, but having any walls around him can get stifling quickly-- especially when he's gripped with anxiety, like he is now.

So just before dawn he can be found in the garden, tucked within the colonnade, pipe smoking between his teeth as he watches the sunrise. His ears twitch as he hears a nearby song, and glances over to see a woman sweeping over the grounds. She seems almost wraithlike in the dark, but her voice is achingly beautiful to hear, and Merrick feels no unease as he watches her curiously from his perch.

[laurenande]

As with most songs sung thoughtlessly, Galadriel's singing is largely a lilting tune, periodically broken up by drifting pieces of verse. When she does sing words, they're little more than brief snatches of sindarin, but the plants do not seem to mind much.

She pauses her singing as she regards the sky above, but sunrise is a few minutes off. As she turns back to the plants, it is the smell of smoke that catches her attention. It is not quite the same as pipeweed but the smell of this thin smoke is similar enough that it gives her pause. She glances at the covered walkway beyond the garden but, unfortunately, she spies neither the figure she's looking for, nor Merrick.

Courtyard - Under Arrest

[thelastking]

Aragorn's arrival to Skyhold was indeed late. After volunteering his services at Emprise du Lion, the ranger finally left the bitter cold in favor of slightly less chilly weather. The cold that claimed the Frostback Mountains differ from the frigid hell he expreniced in Orlais. Aragorn was certainly glad to be freed of it even if Skyhold wasn't so much better. Nevertheless, Aragorn took a moment to explore this timeless fortress until suddenly stumbling upon the courtyard.

A faint glimmer of light caught his attention once he turned towards the right. There he saw a cluster of guards along with some woman with fiery red hair dragging away the celestial glow that caught his eye. Once he seen the familiar gold tresses and the gentle curve of Elven ears, Aragorn's gaze widened.

"Lady Galadriel?" His shoulders stiffen once the guards look to him. The ranger's hand slowly fell to the hilt of his sword. While he made no movement to attack just yet, the thought certainly lingered there for all to see.

(ooc: others can threadjack this btw.)

[laurenande]

She was so consumed by her need to be rigid, to stand above these humans who slighted her so, that she hadn't seen him standing in the crowd. Even as she heard his voice, as she halted her step and turned to spy him, the very idea that Aragorn could be in this place was so strange that she hadn't truly entertained it. When she was confronted with him, she spoke without considering the ramifications of such things.

"Aragorn? Lle sí telin?"

The language was strange enough that the guards took note of it. They looked to the crowd but, fortunately, there were enough confused faces that Aragorn's was not immediately obvious. That they searched for elves, first and foremost, gave her a chance to speak before they would be caught out.

"I barad dammen beriannen, delio lîn." she said quickly and clearly. It was an ominous warning, made quickly and severely, but she could not risk Aragorn's safety should he charge forward. She did not have the strength to lay this place low should they be set upon, and she would not see him struck down.

The guards started at her announcement and, when they could not find the face of the person who received it, they ushered her forward again. They used more force than they'd dared apply before, but still they were leery of her.

Courtyard, pre-arrest

[wontforgetyou]

While it's true that back in his world there's been a time or two where Jamie has seemed to pick up on there being some sort of danger around him, that sort of thing could easily be attributed to 'Highland senses', his experience giving him a bit of an ability to know when there's something wrong. In a case like this? Well, Jamie is no mage, and he's completely unaware of the fine manipulation of magic going on around him.

What he is aware of, on the other hand, are some of the more unusual things around him. While Galadriel standing in the middle of the courtyard staring at seemingly nothing at all might not be noticed by many, it stands out just enough for him that after a bit of quiet observation of his own - long enough to figure out she's not moving - he frowns faintly. He's not sure if it's something unique to her or if there's something wrong, but she's a friend, and the fact that she's standing like that has him just worried enough that he stops what he's doing and heads over her way, reaching up a hand to touch her gently on her arm if she lets him, a look of concern on his face.

"Galadriel? Hey, are you alright?"

[laurenande]

Galadriel's focus is so thoroughly engaged that, as Jamie settles a hand on her arm, she starts. The pull of her power on the veil abates, all at once, as her concentration is broken. A nameless, intangible weight seems to lift from both her and the courtyard as her attention is returned to the world around her.

She doesn't brush his hand aside, but as she turns to regard him, she seems a little surprised to find it resting on her arm, almost as though she hadn't realized it could occupy that space. She looks from it to him and, after a brief pause, recognizes him.

"Jamie?" she asks, just slightly disoriented by the sudden shift of her power. "Is there something you need, my friend?"

cells, day

[serannas]

Ellana left her conversation with Cyril hopeful that something could be done on their end to free Galadriel. Seeker Pentaghast had obviously overreacted and had set herself up as a leader when the Inquisition had no leader. Did Ellana make decisions about mages based on her own wants only? No, she belonged to a council, and they only spoke for those mages who wished to be under the council's guidance. Cassandra had spoken for all the advisers when she had arrested Galadriel. It wasn't right.

When she entered the dungeons, she was shocked to see it was one of the areas that hadn't really been repaired yet. It was cold and stark, and a flash of anger coursed through her. Still, she tried her best to remain outwardly calm. It wouldn't help their case to get Galadriel free if she starting yelling about the conditions.

Once the guards looked her over to make sure she wasn't smuggling anything in to the prisoner, they took her to Galadriel's cell to let her speak to her through the bars.

"Aneth ara, mellon nin," she greeted, using both of their languages.

[laurenande]

After a few days spent within the confines of these cells, Galadriel's anger burned low. She had not forgotten the slights that had been paid to her, nor had her temper truly cooled, but the emotion had settled into something stable and silent. The anger that had colored her conversations was mostly absent by the time Ellana came to greet her and, for that, Galadriel was glad.

She had been unfairly terse with many who visited her; she had no desire to place any of that upon Ellana.

"Andaran atish'an," she greeted politely. The guards, who had become more bold as her rage settled below the surface, stepped back but lingered within hearing of the cell.

Gardens, pre-arrest

[kallian_endris]

The gardens are a nice, quiet place, and Kallian has come to see if there are yet herbs she can find for the tents. But she hesitates upon seeing the elegant figure there. She's never seen anyone like her. Taller than any elf, but her ears aren't rounded. Maybe a spirit of some kind? But she didn't feel the Fade prickles of the presence of one...

Very carefully and shyly does she come nearer so that she might examine the plants.

[laurenande]

The morning warmth was a gift, but Galadriel knew that the later the morning became, the nearer the hour of her departure drew. Before long, she would have to relinquish the gardens to those who didn't linger idly. It was something she accepted, an inevitability of the day, but it was worth a sigh of passing lamentation.

The first of the morning's visitors arrived quietly, just as the sunlight finally fell onto the ground. She was unobtrusive and careful as she neared and Galadriel did her the service of ignoring her. She let her move without scrutiny or comment, but she didn't retreat as the woman approached the beds and examined the clusters of growing herbs.

The plants still wore a sheen of dew and the dirt, in places, was crisp with the passing frost of winter. Galadriel knelt and, with great patience and care, helped the tendrils of new elfroot sprouts unwind toward the sun. The larger plants served well enough to hold the new growth upright, but intertwining them would create complications for those who collected them.

She was not especially fond of stabbing anything into the ground, particularly when the soil had so many delicate, new roots wound through it, but doing so was still superior to inaction. She glanced sidelong at the woman who had all but joined her.

"At your far side," Galadriel began. She spoke softly but, in the silence of dawn, everything sounded loud. "There are stakes that I might use. If you would be so kind as to pass them to me?"

cells; night;

[foxsays]

If she had tried, she could have come up the other way to the cells instead of down the steps but after being hauled down from a wall by guards before being questioned, she chooses the stairs. She has nothing to hide, like she told Seeker Pentaghast, but appearing into the prison after what she witnessed from the walls might send the wrong impression.

There is more than just her to consider after all, and that's the thought that has her face pinching.

Her murmurs are soft when she speaks to the guards; she has no designs on the prisoner, she will surrender her weapons if that will set them at ease, her name is given so they will know. Still, it takes a while for her to approach, and when she does her hair is pinched, the cold night wind tugging at her curls.

"What have you done?" Her accent is thicker even though her voice is still pitched low, an ugly note of suspicion mixed in after everything that seems to have caught up with her.

[laurenande]

Araceli's voice was familiar, it had not been long since their last conversation, but hers was not a voice Galadriel expected to hear. They did not know each other so well that she would have expected, or even imagined a visit from her. It was curious and that curiosity granted Araceli all of Galadriel's attention when she finally approached the bars.

It was unfortunate that curiosity came with an expression so open and earnest. The shift in Galadriel's mood, as Araceli cast nameless blame on her, was exceedingly obvious. The politesse and calm in Galadriel's face ebbed away, receding like waves on the sand. Beneath her serenity laid a stony, unforgiving hardness; as diaphonous as her gown and her hair were, even they became severe and steely. The change in Galadriel was subtle, none of her features moved, save perhaps for a narrowing of her eyes, but the shadows around the two women grew darker, deeper, and the bland cold of the cells became a biting chill.

Araceli had been kind, she was generous and conversational. It was only by dint of those facts that Galadriel restrained herself.

"Tread lightly," Galadriel warned icily. "The extent of my patience has already been tested. When it is finally depleted, what I may have done will be the least of your concerns. I do not easily forget those who disparage my name and my honor."

cell, day

[samahl]

Cyril comes to see her as often as he can. After the first time, which prompted him to reach out to the other elves, he comes to see her to make sure she's all right.

"Hello," he says, eyeing the guard before focusing on her. "How are you? Warm enough?" he knows she can handle herself but pretending to fuss is a good excuse to get close to the cell without the guards thinking he's trying anything.

[laurenande]

"I find it trying, but I shall endure," Galadriel assures him as he moves closer to the cell. The guards, though keen on their task and distrustful of everyone who had visited her, quickly tire of listening to her conversations. Their suspicion lasts only a few moments and, as they were wont, their attention drifted and their own conversation began again.

"And what of your efforts, mellon nin?" Galadriel asks, quietly. "You were quite determined to see me freed, when last we spoke. I hope you have not caused yourself much trouble."

Cells, day

[harthad_uluithiad]

He didn't believe the rumors at first. He couldn't believe that the Lady Galadriel, of all people, of all Elves, could have possibly been arrested. Arrested! The idea itself was impossible.

But she was not to be found in the courtyard, nor in what he had come to consider her room in the fortress itself. Her notes and papers were neatly tidied and bundled away, but there was no sign of her staff, nor of the Lady of Light herself, no matter how desperately he searched and called for her.

Still hoping against hope that there had been some mistake, Sam made his way down the long, long stairs to the cells. He'd never been down so deep into Skyhold, nor known that such a horrid place existed, and his fear and trepidation grew with every step. But he carried on, staunchly, until he reached the bottom at last and pushed open the heavy door to the dungeon itself.

Galadriel was not hard to find. Hers was the only cell occupied, and it was easy enough to slip silently past the guards and place himself directly in front of the bars.

The hobbit looked up at her, and promptly burst into tears.

"So it is true," he sobbed. "I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe such a horrid, awful thing."

[laurenande]

It was a testament to the quality of her cloaks, that she had not noticed the young hobbit until he stood before her cell and broke into tears at the sight of her. It took some effort to conceal the both of them but, as she realized while she stared down at Samwise Gamgee, she had no choice. He would not bear the weight of imprisonment well, and if he carried anything of note, she would not see it taken from him and placed in less innocent hands.

"It is a dreadful offense," Galadriel agreed, after a fashion, and attempted to sound less bothered by events than she was. She had no idea what he had been told of her imprisonment or, indeed, what had been said at large. Her pride bristled under the weight of her ignorance, but her mild expression maintained.

"But do not despair young Master Gamgee, I have done no wrong."

cells; day;

[arcaneadvisor]

To be a bird is to be able to come and go as one pleases, something Morrigan does now. A raven is an easily overlooked creature in Skyhold at the best of times; ravens fly to and from the rookery, carrying Leliana's words and commands, the information that decides the next step.

For a raven to turn into a woman, that is less easily overlooked though Morrigan is careful to tuck herself where she might not be seen, her voice low. She can be gone before a guard looks her way. Orlesian guards had been missed her as she came and went, all the way from Celene's private rooms, two of whatever the Inquisition had cobbled together were little challenge. Adelaide had mentioned the name Galadriel, and a distraction is welcome, is need rather as she pauses, head tipped to the side slightly. Her mouth pulls up in a smirk at one corner, the natural expression of someone who has spent a life flouting the rules and laws of normal men, gold eyes keen and bright.

"I had wondered how long it might take for it to come to this. Though they shackled and bound even their Herald at first, so I have been told."

[laurenande]

"I have found that men often relish in repeating their mistakes," Galadriel replied, her own words calm and quiet enough that they would not draw the attention of the guards.

The woman who approaches her cell is unfamiliar, but she moves with a marked and unusual sort of grace. There is an ease to her step that few in Skyhold possess. That she had found her way to the cells so quietly was noteworthy, as well.

Galadriel levels an even look at the woman and, after a moment, arches a brow. "I am less enchanted by their fumbling, but you may have guessed as much."

Cells, Day

[madame_de_fer]

To be honest, Vivienne had not believed the gossip at first. So much of the chatter around Skyhold was sheer nonsense or speculative jabber, utterly useless. She had overheard someone saying that Galadriel had been jailed, but dismissed it out of hand. There was simply no reason she could think of, and it sounded like the gossip was drunk at the time anyway. When Galadriel was not available for tea, then her suspicions grew. All it took was a few queries and there was a wild story about Cassandra taking the elven woman into custody.

And indeed, behind bars, is one of the most regal women that Vivienne has ever known. Cassandra needs to be talked to. Firmly.

"I did not think she could possibly be this brash." There is a deep frown on the Iron Lady's face, coupled with a displeased shake of her head. The Seeker sometimes acts in too much haste and Vivienne has no doubts this is what has happened again. "My dear, how are you faring?"

[laurenande]

It was a strange comfort, hearing the stern, familiar tones of Vivienne de Fer, and Galadriel's mild smile was nearly reflexive. She regarded the human through the bars and inclined her head in mild greeting. Though her current trappings galled her, she had calmed her anger into something quieter and far more deadly. It was a simple matter to cover the sharp edge of her rage with politesse, and she did so with haste.

"I was confident that I would outlast any cell I could be cast into, but I did not realize just how near these cells would be to crumbling before I was placed within them," Galadriel informed her with a bland sort of distaste.

Cells, night

[slipshot]

He comes in the dead of night, with a stolen handkerchief full of cookies stuffed in his pocket. (Bribes, for the guards, just in case.) But they don't seem to be bothered by his visit, so he goes straight for her cell instead, listening to their whispers across the room.

It's far too cold, and he's far too angry to be able to greet her with a smile.

"Lady Galadriel," he murmurs as he approaches. "You... you should not be in here. Are you alright?"

[laurenande]

Gavin was, of all the people who came to her cell, the first who had seen her seated. She had spent long hours standing, days without taking so much as a step, consumed by prideful anger that was difficult to fathom. When that anger had been stripped from her, she'd been left empty and unsettled. Without that rage to drive her through the weary hours of the night, she couldn't maintain her posture...nor, it seemed, her feet.

Samwise Gamgee had done a fine job of stripping her strength from her. It had not been his intent, but the shock of grief he had provided brought her low. It had been some time ago, when he told her of Gandalf's death and she dropped to her knees, but she not found the energy to stand again.

Her gaze, as it fixed on Gavin, was distant and despairing; her face was blank.

"No," Galadriel replied gradually and glanced aside at the roof beyond him, where the rubble gave way to the sky. "...I should not be in here."

Whether she had answered one or both of his questions, it was impossible to say.

Cells, Day

[dreadinquisitor]

He purposely came during the day. Gavin, he knew, would want to be there when he was needed most, during the darkest and coldest of times. So he visited the cells when the dark was warm and bright and Skyhold was a flurry of activity, preparing for the grand soiree.

He came both for it had already cost him, and for what it might still.

He needed to know the truth.

The guards seemed surprised, and then suspicious (apparently his name was not one they expected among those likely to visit), but other than minding him a long eye as he moved down the line of cells they didn't stop him.

"Lady Galadriel?"

[laurenande]

Gavin had come upon Galadriel seated but, as if in deference to his desire for all things to be opposite of Gavin's experience, Maxwell came upon her standing. She had stood at the bars before, defiant and angry, but this was not that. What defiance and anger had previously fueled her was gone and, in the dreary, reflected light of day, she seemed only weary.

Galadriel stood at the far end of her cell, head bowed toward the corner and hand resting on the stone wall. Was her presence here less well known, it would not have been hard to mistake her for a spirit. She didn't stir when he called her name but, after a pause, her hand dropped back to her side.

"You are the first to greet me with my title." She did not turn immediately but, when she did, her expression was blank. "No...the second, I think...it has become an uncommon thing in these...dismal lands.

"Do you have some need of me, or have you come to rebuke me about matters beyond your ken?"

strolls in three thousand years later with cold starbucks (Cells, Day)

[eolasemah]

Sina shouldn't be out of bed, and she definitely shouldn't be traveling from their tent in the gardens to the dungeons, but she is anyway. Leaning a lot of her weight on Nari's arm, they make their painstaking way down the stairs, and then, weak and breathless, Sina drops to her knees in front of Galadriel's cell. She grips the bars with her bony hands, already in tears; it's likely she was even before they reached the dungeon.
"Asha'dhea," she breathes, "this is my fault."

She heard of Galadriel's incarceration long after the majority of Skyhold, having been unconscious and too weak to move at the time. She's even still dressed in her nightshift, barefoot and with a blanket over her shoulders to ward off the chill.

[laurenande]

Galadriel had grown increasingly cold and furious as she waited in the cells, but her temper had shattered when Samwise Gamgee told her of Gandalf's fate. She'd been consumed by her grief, she had lashed out in anger and concern, and still she suffered the weight of his passing. The sight of Sina, weak and weary, gripping at the bars was a dreadful one and she watched as the elf dropped to her knees, tears already tracking over her pale cheeks.

Galadriel, herself, was more wraith-like than elven. Her expressions were drawn and tainted with sorrow, her limbs moved listlessly as she turned, even her gown had dulled as it gathered dust and dirt. The wind cut through the dungeon as she regarded Sina, it was biting cold and shuffled her hair and skirts like dried leaves across the Naith.

"It is," Galadriel confirmed, her voice rough with the remnants of her sadness. "You are not alone in your fault; great cataclysms are often set in motion by the very small."

She crossed her cell with heavy steps, pausing only once she'd come to the bars. There was a hollowness in her eyes that was unsettling and malleable, as if her will had not settled into shape and she was but a husk that contained it.

"You are too weak to suffer this place, my child, you should not risk yourself."

Cells, evening

[slaveking]

The man who arrives is not one that Galadriel has met before. They've never spoken. Marcel wouldn't know her, except by the reputation that has spread out of her like a climatically improbable wildfire, racing across Skyhold, impossible to ignore. Least of all for Marcel Gerard, who is predisposed to think about political groups even without the onslaught of questions and following-around from Big Brother there.

It hadn't been very difficult at all, to trace back the new protocols to their origin.

Who's willowy and pale, bright in the deep shadows of the prison. Marcel stops in front of the bars, studying the woman behind it. She might already sense the dirty magic emanating from him, the legacy of vampire-kind in his world, but ostensibly-- he produces a pleasant smile. He's dressed like anybody else who might have come by, roughspun shirt and trousers. "I hear you have opinions," he said. "I'm Marcel."

Day - early morning

[the_effect_she_has]

It is a wonder what politeness can do, when you are dealing with two Fereldan soldiers who know you. Katniss usually isn't one for nice manners and small talk, but just a 'how do you do' and some conversation let her know that Galadriel was awake and could receive visitors.

"My lady? I have some things for you - I ... have heard these cells are unforgiving." An embarrassed pause, before she adds quietly, "I came to find out, for everyone out there, why you were imprisoned. I hear rumors only, and I have come to find truth, if you would share it."

Cells, day

[arlathvhen]

Beleth was aghast when Cyril had told her what had happened to Galadriel. Not that she had ever spoken to the other woman, but she had done plenty of watching, which might be kind of creepy, but whatever. What would Beleth even say to someone so radiant, pure and lovely, like a beam of light that had been cast into a world of filth. But her imprisonment gives a topic of conversation, at least. And so, Beleth makes the trip down to the dungeons, frowning as she saw the conditions given to the prisoners here. This wasn't right. Galadriel was more suited to that empty throne in the great hall then this dungeon.

When she arrives to Galadriel's cell, she bows down. Dalish do not, as a general rule, bow before people, but if there were an exception, surely it would be the queenly figure before her. "My lady," She greets the other. "My name is Beleth, of Clan Ashara. My clansmate Cyril told me what happened to you. I am--so sorry." Hands grit into fists, eyes focused on the ground, rather than Galadriel herself. "We're doing everything we can to help, I promise you, but--We only have so much power. As you well know by now."

She hesitates, eyes on the guards, and she waits until it seems like they aren't paying attention, to whisper in a hushed tone. "If all else fails, my lady, I swear to you, we will get you out--though it might not be, ah. Strictly...with. Permission." They will bust you out Galadriel. Jail Break but with Dalish.

[laurenande]

She did not recognize the elf who came to visit her, but she bowed low and courteous. Despite the low burn of her rage, Galadriel responded in kind, as was the way of the Eldar. The elf was kin to Cyril, something which earned her considerable regard in and or itself, and her frustration did her credit.

Her assurances were unexpected and, above all else, very candid. She had been careful exercising her power, particularly while she lingered in so restless a place, but she lifted her ring hand just so and drew the light and sounds of the cells around them. It was not silence, but she could risk some measure of concealment for her Dalish kin.

"Beleth? A mighty name," Galadriel greeted her and lowered her hand. "Your efforts are appreciated, gwanur'nin, but I urge you to be cautious. I would not see your power dwindled on my behalf."

It said much of her frustration that she hadn't dismissed the idea of the Dalish breaking her out altogether.

"I can endure this slight, but it lightens my heart to know my kin rally around me, even in my absence."

Backdated to shortly after Sam thread, night

[colecomfort]

There was a storm underneath Skyhold, thunder rolling through the foundations. If it had been a storm made of clouds and rain and winds, it might have brought down the still-crumbling parts of the castle. As it was, Cole only felt it pushing at the walls, swelling the air with sorrow, making it harder to hear anything else. This was the sort of sorrow that bubbled up and overflowed a deep well.

He followed it to the dungeons, in the dark, when the storm had subsided enough that he would be able to make himself heard over it. He appeared seated on the other side of the bars.

"So many names," he murmured, trying to make sense of the swirl of thoughts surrounding him, "slipping, sundered, never to sail. Like smoke, fading to grey. Falling so they could fly, unfollowed by fire."

He reached out to grip the bars in front of him. Something solid to hold to.

[laurenande]

Cole's voice cut through the silence of the cells like a blade; dreamy and bright, his words slotted between her ribs and twisted. Her whole chest tightened as he spoke.

Firnen. Olórin ná firnen.

Fell...to the fire.

The sensation of falling was persistent and all-consuming; it swallowed her whole, in her shock and left her with no tether to this place. Had she the presence of mind to strain against the feeling, it would have thrown her balance completely and rendered her incapable of standing. For better or worse, she lacked the focus to confront the sensation--her limbs were hollow, wooden and overflowing with such bitter sorrow that, had it borne down upon her, it would have broken her upon the stones of Skyhold.

Gwannen. Dannen.

The bars creaked as Cole gripped them and Galadriel's eyes tracked to the sound--wild and wide, her expression was bewildered and fearful, like a child awoken from a nightmare. She stared at him, unseeing, for some time.

Of all the eventualities she had accounted for, of all the things the mirror had shown her, she had not imagined that such darkness would take Gandalf the Grey. He was dead...Gandalf was dead....taken by the flame, by the old song.

Could it take him?

At once a desperate panic raced through her--he might not have perished. If she could find him--but the ring. The Ring. The Ring. The quest would fail--it had failed, it must have--Sauron would have it. She stared at the fall of Cole's hat, at his pale hands on the iron bars, and realized it didn't matter. Without Gandalf, without her, Lórien would fall. Sauron didn't require the ring, time would see to it.

It didn't matter.

"It's...all lost...all of it," she said, distantly, as the sensation of falling caught in her throat. Her hands were shaking, trembling with frustration, with terror, and grief.

"--lost--"

The word was slight and strangled, distant and drowning, bereft of all hope. There was a rising panic in her and it stretched to her very core; it was the same fear that drove her to seek the ring and now...now it had been realized.

All she had ever loved was lost and she was...she was...Here.