faderift | We come from the land of the ice and snow

We come from the land of the ice and snow

WHO: Open to all
WHAT: Thedas' strange new guests are delivered to Skyhold
WHEN: 25 Harvestmere (October)
WHERE: Skyhold main gate & courtyard
NOTES: This is Part I of a two-part intro event, Part II will be posted tomorrow.

A long uphill tromp through the snowy mountains ends at Skyhold, the distant fortress finally before them in all its tumble-down glory. There is time to admire the drop into the river gorge far below as they cross the only bridge into the castle; it is briefly backed up with traffic, several carts bearing supplies and visitors stalled as the portcullis is raised. Those coming to help catalog and unload the shipment and greet the guests, or otherwise present near the front courtyard, will find themselves witness to a far more interesting arrival.

Guards at the gate carry the word quickly, and more gather, though they make no move to imprison the strange people who fell out of a rift. They just line the perimeter and keep a close watch. Perhaps this adds a level of tension to this first encounter, but it also reassures the many who are unsettled by the uncertain turn of events and keeps in check those who might attack first and ask questions later. Others will no doubt soften the Inquisition's first impression, offering food, information, and other assistance.

Medical attention is available in the tented-encircled corner of the courtyard where the wounded from Haven are still treated. The quartermaster's assistant is called upon to provide spare odds and ends of clothing to those in need, and to issue blankets for all, though they are left to fend for themselves to find places to sleep.

Any mage willing to help is called in to do so and a cluster forms in one side of the courtyard to examine the rifters. They are objects of curiosity in general, but the marks on their hands are of particular interest, resembling smaller slivers of the Herald's famous mark. Despite their best efforts, no mage will be able to provide any real insight after this initial assessment. What the rifters and their marks are is a question they cannot answer today.

But one question is answered: in the midst of all the commotion, another Inquisition agent arrives from Haven, rushing in red-faced to announce that the Herald's body has finally been found.

OOC

It will be decided (partly for OOC reasons, admittedly) that the rifters will not be imprisoned at this point, but they will be watched carefully, and the guards are on alert for any strange behavior by people with glowing hands or strange attire. And of course, their freedom can be revoked at any time if they're deemed a danger. Though there are some OOC considerations at play here, you're welcome to ICly lobby for more or less freedom for the rifters, and things may change based on IC action/consensus.

Also: Part II, aka the log for the funeral/wake/etc. event, will go up tomorrow!

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Ellana nods, refocusing on Galadriel. It's easy to get lost looking into her eyes, but the questions keep her on task.

"When the elders grew weary of the world, they would go into Uthenera. Many who did eventually decided they didn't wish to come back to their bodies, so they withered and died. But others did return, sometimes after centuries of their souls wandering the paths of the Beyond -- the Fade."

"How strange," Galadriel said, both fascinated and slightly aghast at the idea. To separate her fëa from her body, to walk a land of demons and the dead, was a choice she could not begin to comprehend. Sadly, this woman had no knowledge of the practice, not beyond tales, and she would not hound her with questions of motivation.

"I cannot imagine such a thing," she admitted. "But, perhaps, that is not so shocking. I have never dreamed, nor slept, not as you mean it, so the desire for such things is beyond me."

"Never dreamed or slept?" Now it's Ellana's turn to be both fascinated and aghast. To never know the peaceful nature of sweet dreams, or the restfulness that comes from sleep? It's a hard concept to grasp.

"Do you never grow weary? We sleep because we grow tired. But the dwarves don't dream either."

"I weary, yes, but it is a passing thing. I take my ease among the trees or in my garden, rest for a time, and am renewed."

It was simply part of being an elf, though she did not say as much to the Dalish before her. Her horror was a perfect mirror of Galadriel's and she needed no dismay heaped upon sleep or dreaming, Galadriel would not have her think she'd lost something more.

"For three Ages I have walked the lands of Middle-earth and never have I slept, nor dreamed, as men and dwarves do. Though, honestly, I cannot say if the dwarves of Arda dream or not; I have never thought to ask." Her smile was amused and mild.

"Above all else, though, I enjoy the stars. I cannot imagine forsaking the light of them to sleep."

Ellana feels a bit of relief hearing that Galadriel weathers her weariness and can rest in some way. She assumes the woman can't miss what she's never known, but Ellana would hate to lose her dreams and the feeling of rest and renewal that comes from sleep.

"Three ages? Are your ages very long? Here in Thedas each lasts a hundred years." If it's the same for Galadriel, that would make her around three hundred! "The stars are beautiful," she agrees. "Yours must be different at home too, aren't they?"

"A hundred years?" Galadriel asked quickly, once more surprised. She had not heard so many unexpected things in quite some time, the shock of it all was thrilling, in its way. Ellana confirmed her question with a gesture and Galadriel nearly laughed.

"No! Ours are not one hundred years. If they were, I fear I would have lost count long ago." She didn't bother to hide her mirth. Though she disliked the passage of time, when it was discussed like this it was an abstract thing. To speak of years was far easier than watching the spread of darkness or the quick, crushing blows of decay.

"They are not all the same, for they mark great changes in the world, but each has been nearly three thousand long."

She had not paid much mind to the slip of years, indeed she ignored a great many of them, but mortal men were meticulous in their counting of days. If she thought on it, a number would not have been beyond her to give. Fortunately, she doubted the Dalish elf would care to know such details and, thus, she was spared providing them.

"I have stared at the stars for all those Ages and yours," Galadriel looked up and was, for a moment, transfixed and her eyes alight with wonder, "are not at all like them."

When she looked back down, she was still smiling.

"Truly, I was startled when first I looked up and found that they had moved. I stopped in place and was nearly knocked over as one of our company walked into me." This was beyond her question, a ridiculous answer, and it was given with energy and joy befitting a much younger elf than she. Even when she had been young, she had not been so girlish, but it was an easy state to enter, if the mood were right.

"I look forward to learning them, in time, but I know only one constellation of Thedas."

"Three thousand?" Ellana asks in awe, her green eyes widening as she realizes what this means. "Then you are--" She stops herself, a hand flying over her mouth. The elf before her is really old. Galadriel is like some figure out of legend. An image of the goddess Mythal comes to Ellana's mind, and she looks just like Galadriel: of regal bearing, wisdom and power seemingly radiating from her. How she didn't see it before is a mystery, but it seems clear now.

At yet, despite all that, Galadriel is smiling and it makes Ellana smile back, lowering her hand. Despite the great divide in years between them, she can sense some similarities. Galadriel seems eager to learn about this world, just as Ellana is eager to learn of hers. And that's in addition to learning more about Thedas herself.

"I would be happy to teach our constellations to you. Which is the one you already know?"

Despite the way her eyes lit and awe danced across her face, Ellana did not draw away from her, nor did she stifle herself in her delight. For that, Galadriel was infinitely grateful. After only a moment's pause, she found the constellation she'd been shown. It was partly eclipsed by the walls of the fortress, but the points of it were bright and shining.

"I was told the symbol upon the Inquisition banners was drawn from it but I know neither of its names," she explained and lowered her arm. "I should like to know the names the Dalish give them, even if they have been changed by mortal men."

Ellana was curious, though, and Galadriel doubted she'd be content without asking questions of her own. At the very least, some exchange of knowledge was only fair, and no elf should be so parted from the culture of their kin.

"If you like, I can return their names to you in the language of Aman. I do not understand the tongue the Dalish speak, nor have any of them understood me, but I would share such things if you desire to know them."

"Oh," she says, head craning to see. "I'm not sure of that one. The symbol has something to do with the Seekers, I think? And they haven't been around as long as the elves have." In other words, she doesn't know that one at all.

"But I can show you my favorite," she says, scooting around so she and Galadriel are facing the same direction. "Do you see that horizontal line of stars just there?" She points up, drawing a line with her finger. "And there are two vertical lines intersecting it? That forms Mythal, one of our goddesses. She holds the scales of justice, to judge matters brought to her. She's the All-Mother, the goddess of love, justice, and family in our pantheon. I pray to her the most, and I feel the closest connection to her out of all of them." As her vallaslin will attest to.

Galadriel leaned closer and followed the line of her arm. The constellation she described was easily spotted; the stars that shaped the form were bright and brilliant and, the longer she stared, the more points she could find between them. The shape was clear and beautiful, and Galadriel was gladdened as she listened to Ellana's account. There was love and awe in the Dalish elf's voice, but also delight as she was able to share her wonder.

The name was strange, the letters didn't align right for Galadriel's liking, but the idea was familiar. It was strange, perhaps, that Thedas had decided to dub the One a mother, but it was not so strange that Galadriel questioned it. The All-Mother was, perhaps, the easiest of all names to give her in the tongue of Aman.

"The word is different, but I think this one I know," Galadriel said and, on a whim, turned her eyes to the ground between them. It was not so soft that she could write with depth, but it was easy enough to scribe out the tengwar in the shallow earth as she said the words.

"Ilúvamillë." While there would be no part in the name, not spoken or written, she made the segments clear. Ilúv sat, three letters long for a moment before she added amillë to complete it. "The All-Mother."

Galadriel glanced back up at the sky and then to Ellana.

"The most beloved of the Valar, at least in my heart, is the Star-Kindler. It is she that we call upon in when we are in the deepest darkness, and she who comes to our aid. She radiates the light of creation, white and radiant, and is beautiful beyond words." When she paused to write this name, she was less gradual in it, for she only wrote the name the Valië held in Quenya.

"In the east she is called Elbereth Glithoniel, but I learned her name in the west. There, under trees of silver starlight and shining gold, she was called Varda Elentári."

Her attention drawn to the ground, Ellana stares in wonder as Galadriel writes out the word as she would know it.

"Such beautiful names," she breathes out. "Very little ancient elven writing survives since the fall. This Varda, she sounds a little like Mythal. Those who came to her with clear minds and open hearts asked her for justice if they were wronged, and Mythal answered. If any tried to trick her and claim they were the injured party when they weren't, Mythal knew, and would punish them for not being honest with her." Ellana pulls in her legs more, setting her chin on her knee. "I value honesty the most. That is why I hold her highest."

Lifting a hand, she draws a fingertip across her cheek. "That's why I chose to mark my face with her symbol. You'll see a few other elves here with the same, though they have the pattern on their foreheads too." Ellana hadn't wished for that. She wanted to honor Mythal, but not let that be all people saw when they looked at her. She wanted Ellana to shine through.

Galadriel sat back up and regarded the marks on her face. She hadn't understood them, nor why they appealed, but those who wore them did so for a reason. It was nice to know what that reason was, and that it was both reverence and love. Admittedly, the news that there was little writing was disheartening, but not entirely surprising.

"I have found that such things, such symbols and art, often endure far longer than the words to describe them." Galadriel settled her hands in her lap and, though her expression settled as she looked back up at the sky, she was no less happy. "The Valar are often moved by such devotion. If Mythal is similar, I've no doubt such reverence has not gone unnoticed."

"But it grows late and you value your dreams," Galadriel continued gently and glanced sidelong at Ellana. "What other questions I have can wait, at least, until dawn."

Ellana smiles sadly, about to tell Galadriel that Mythal and the others are locked away, but she does hope they all can hear the prayers of her people. Yet Galadriel then releases her to sleep, and she moves to stand.

"All right. Do your people say good night if you don't sleep?" She doesn't want to be rude by telling her to have a good one. "I will say what my people do when we part: Dareth shiral."

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We come from the land of the ice and snow

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