The fortress, for that was certainly what it was, was very old and impressively built. While it lacked elegance, its walls had been built for strength and endurance, but without a care for artistry, it was no small thing to place a stronghold in so precarious a location. It stood, firm and strong, in the cradle of towering mountains, surrounded by a basin of staggering depth. The distance yawned beneath them as they crossed the causeway toward the open gates.
This fortress could be taken, but only at great cost. Its walls were far too tall and strong to strike from afar, and no ladder would reach the battlements from such a dizzying drop. There were two paths to conquer this place, either by this narrow bridge or by air, and nothing else. It could not be stormed with anything less than a convocation of Great Eagles or a winged dragon. As a foothold it was, truly, very impressive.
There was danger in Skyhold's security, however, for there could be no retreat from this place. Should the causeway collapse, it would be nearly impossible to repair from the fortress's side. To scale the cliffs it stood upon was madness. It could be held, but it could easily become a tomb as well.
As wary as she should have been, Galadriel was at ease as they entered the fortress.
Walking beneath the archway and into the stone walls of Skyhold was familiar to her. The sun was high and, surrounded by the peaks of unfamiliar mountains and the chill bite of high winter cold, Galadriel felt as if time had turned back. Their group was given a wide, suspicious berth and Galadriel exploited it. She moved to the center of the lower courtyard as their company trickled through the gates. The guards moved to surround them and, as she heard their armor resound off the stone, she knew there were many.
A cold breeze whistled through the fortress. It stirred the tents in the courtyard and heavy cloak she'd been gifted. It was impossible, but she imagined it carried the scent of cold stone and new dawn, that it was chased by the lingering vestiges of starlight and untainted night. Galadriel pulled back her hood and looked to the sky as she drew a deep breath. She smiled at the feel of sunlight on her face and imagined the fondest moments of distant, darker days.
She was not alone for long, little more than a few a few moments, before need and urgency cluttered the courtyard. The others gathered there as well and, at once, the group became a spectacle. The people of Skyhold were many and varied, as were their reactions to the company that had arrived. The ones who sought to study their marks were polite, if insistent. They left Galadriel to herself as she savored the sun. It was not until the announcement that she stirred; the Herald's body had been found?
She knew not who the Herald had been, but she had no doubt that their passing was at the heart of the grief in Haven. She felt for these people, truly, but this fortress provided the barest reminders of home; this place was familiar, in a distant way, and she was deeply reluctant to relinquish the comfort it provided. She would not grieve with them, but she would not hinder them either.
For now, she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and simply basked in memory and mountain air.
2 - The Library
The courtyard could not remain peaceful forever, there was far too much work being done within the walls of Skyhold to allow for so central a location to remain undisturbed. They were not to be jailed, they had committed no crimes, but still the people of Skyhold remained wary. Galadriel had, long ago, ceased to suffer under the weight of mortal eyes, but she was not entirely without purpose. As long as she was, if only by implication, a captive guest, she saw no need to assist in either their works or progress. She would not strengthen the walls that, ostensibly, held her, but she would not be a hindrance either.
If she could not enjoy the peace of old memory, there was much she needed to learn, and there were few fortresses that lacked a storehouse of knowledge.
She found the library with little assistance and, to her mixed amusement, found it full of carefully bound tomes. The artistry that went into binding them was fine, particularly for human hands, but a problem arose as she opened the first book that caught her eye. Beneath its neat stitching and delicate artistry were hundreds of pages, each of which was scribed in letters she did not know. She flipped through the book, replaced it, and searched for another. The second was much the same and, as she examined the script, resignation settled in her chest.
It was not the first language she had ever been obliged to learn, but it was a difficulty she had not foreseen. The spoken tongue was so similar to Westron, she had not imagined that the written word would be so different.
True, it was conceivable that an elven work lived within the shelves, but she did not harbor much hope. She had yet to meet an elf who spoke even the barest Sindarin; the likelihood that the elves of Ferelden used the tengwar was beyond remote.
3 - Other
(Galadriel will be moving through Skyhold, going anywhere that is not immediately restricted. If you want your character to watch her swan through somewhere, or literally walk into her in a corridor, or what have you, go for it.)
Galadriel | OTA (Brackets or Prose are both fine)
Skyhold
The fortress, for that was certainly what it was, was very old and impressively built. While it lacked elegance, its walls had been built for strength and endurance, but without a care for artistry, it was no small thing to place a stronghold in so precarious a location. It stood, firm and strong, in the cradle of towering mountains, surrounded by a basin of staggering depth. The distance yawned beneath them as they crossed the causeway toward the open gates.
This fortress could be taken, but only at great cost. Its walls were far too tall and strong to strike from afar, and no ladder would reach the battlements from such a dizzying drop. There were two paths to conquer this place, either by this narrow bridge or by air, and nothing else. It could not be stormed with anything less than a convocation of Great Eagles or a winged dragon. As a foothold it was, truly, very impressive.
There was danger in Skyhold's security, however, for there could be no retreat from this place. Should the causeway collapse, it would be nearly impossible to repair from the fortress's side. To scale the cliffs it stood upon was madness. It could be held, but it could easily become a tomb as well.
As wary as she should have been, Galadriel was at ease as they entered the fortress.
Walking beneath the archway and into the stone walls of Skyhold was familiar to her. The sun was high and, surrounded by the peaks of unfamiliar mountains and the chill bite of high winter cold, Galadriel felt as if time had turned back. Their group was given a wide, suspicious berth and Galadriel exploited it. She moved to the center of the lower courtyard as their company trickled through the gates. The guards moved to surround them and, as she heard their armor resound off the stone, she knew there were many.
A cold breeze whistled through the fortress. It stirred the tents in the courtyard and heavy cloak she'd been gifted. It was impossible, but she imagined it carried the scent of cold stone and new dawn, that it was chased by the lingering vestiges of starlight and untainted night. Galadriel pulled back her hood and looked to the sky as she drew a deep breath. She smiled at the feel of sunlight on her face and imagined the fondest moments of distant, darker days.
She was not alone for long, little more than a few a few moments, before need and urgency cluttered the courtyard. The others gathered there as well and, at once, the group became a spectacle. The people of Skyhold were many and varied, as were their reactions to the company that had arrived. The ones who sought to study their marks were polite, if insistent. They left Galadriel to herself as she savored the sun. It was not until the announcement that she stirred; the Herald's body had been found?
She knew not who the Herald had been, but she had no doubt that their passing was at the heart of the grief in Haven. She felt for these people, truly, but this fortress provided the barest reminders of home; this place was familiar, in a distant way, and she was deeply reluctant to relinquish the comfort it provided. She would not grieve with them, but she would not hinder them either.
For now, she drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and simply basked in memory and mountain air.
2 - The Library
The courtyard could not remain peaceful forever, there was far too much work being done within the walls of Skyhold to allow for so central a location to remain undisturbed. They were not to be jailed, they had committed no crimes, but still the people of Skyhold remained wary. Galadriel had, long ago, ceased to suffer under the weight of mortal eyes, but she was not entirely without purpose. As long as she was, if only by implication, a captive guest, she saw no need to assist in either their works or progress. She would not strengthen the walls that, ostensibly, held her, but she would not be a hindrance either.
If she could not enjoy the peace of old memory, there was much she needed to learn, and there were few fortresses that lacked a storehouse of knowledge.
She found the library with little assistance and, to her mixed amusement, found it full of carefully bound tomes. The artistry that went into binding them was fine, particularly for human hands, but a problem arose as she opened the first book that caught her eye. Beneath its neat stitching and delicate artistry were hundreds of pages, each of which was scribed in letters she did not know. She flipped through the book, replaced it, and searched for another. The second was much the same and, as she examined the script, resignation settled in her chest.
It was not the first language she had ever been obliged to learn, but it was a difficulty she had not foreseen. The spoken tongue was so similar to Westron, she had not imagined that the written word would be so different.
True, it was conceivable that an elven work lived within the shelves, but she did not harbor much hope. She had yet to meet an elf who spoke even the barest Sindarin; the likelihood that the elves of Ferelden used the tengwar was beyond remote.
3 - Other
(Galadriel will be moving through Skyhold, going anywhere that is not immediately restricted. If you want your character to watch her swan through somewhere, or literally walk into her in a corridor, or what have you, go for it.)