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[laurenande]

(Galadriel is fairly used to getting mail but she'll be a bit shocked to receive any in Thedas. For any notes, missives, letters, or other communications.)

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[laurenande]

Thank you, melda nin, your words gladden my heart. [And they do, despite how they may change in time. Galadriel has lived long enough to recognize the good times when she sees them.]

Fortunately for you, the only familial sin you must be wary of on your husband's behalf involves crimes of fashion. What I carry cannot become yours.

[elegiaque]

Oh, I—

( a quiet exhale. )

You know something of how it is, for elves in Thedas. My mother by birth wasn't my mother by law. She was the elven chatelaine of the Vauquelin estate. My lord's housekeeper.

( she did not think of thranduil, when she spoke of familial sin. )

It still can't be spoken of. And there's so many questions that won't ever be answered. I know it's only a small thing, but—I understand. How family can be.

[castintoflames]

I am not leaving. (He is quiet and still in his resolve; the chaotic, fiery anger he had shown her before has fled, leaving only ashes in its wake. His treatment of her is one of a long list of grievances and he cannot leave her, knowing she is upset; that she hurts.)

Before you stands a fool, cousin; a fool for love, for duty, for pride. My temper is abominable - there is no excuse for it - but I tell you plainly that the words I spoke on that day are not how I perceive you.

(He bows his head, posture nothing but contrite.)

Hate me as you wish, but I would not question you if I were in my right mind.

[laurenande]

[Anger and sorrow are, in the end, so similar that only a fine line ever separates one from the other. She tries to hold on to the former as he bends in contrition, but it bleeds out into the latter. Once again she is left with sadness alone, even her bitterness cannot seem to temper it this time.]

You presume I am capable of hating you.

[She folds her arms about her waist, a posture she has not struck in ten thousand years or more, and steps back again. She considers him for a moment longer and turns, ready to abandon her books, her notes and all, and leave this place.]

You truly are a fool and you know me not at all.

Stay or return to your family, as you like, but follow me again and I shall disabuse you of your perceptions, whatever they may be. As desperately as I miss my cousin, you are not him, just as I am not a child climbing trees.

Namárië, Russandol.

[castintoflames]

...who am I, then? (Maedhros's voice shakes and he sounds young. Speaking of children climbing trees! She makes him feel...small. But that is one of her gifts, is it not?)

I am Maedhros whether you accept me - as I am - or not. (His jaw is tight as he lifts his head and his eyes are filled with the heavy weight of sorrow.)

Tenn' enta lúme... (When she can accept who he is outside of the influence of foul magic or fouler oaths.) ...mauya nin avánie.

(He pulls a delicate necklace from his pocket - one forged from bright silver - complete with a delicate flower pendant and sets it her notes. Then he turns to leave.)

in a dream;

[minrathousian]

The Inquisition will never deign him worthy of receiving a sending crystal, but that is no small matter. In dreams, Atticus slips into the Fade and allows his feet to guide him across vast distances; to explore, indeed to visit torment, and on occasion, to touch minds with a friend.

He can use that word to describe her, can't he?

However she dreams, he steps into it from the periphery clad as he might have been in Minrathous. "I feel I ought to apologize for not calling on you sooner, in this fashion," he tells her, his thin smile wry.

I know you, I walked with you once

[laurenande]

"I cannot say you have ever called upon me in such fashion," Galadriel answers gradually as her mind assesses him and begins to adjust to his presence. It is a quicker shift than before, but it is still much slower than waking.

Her dream is neither pleasant nor unpleasant, now. She stands in a courtyard overgrown on all sides by trees. The branches and trunks curve, grow against the stones and frame the alcoves, the windows and the columns. The whole of it is shady because the trees blot out all but the barest hints of the sky above. It would be a pleasant dream save for the fact that the courtyard is empty and silent. Galadriel regards the walls quietly. Her gown is ill-imagined, an amorphous shape of shifting colors, and lucidity does little to correct that.

"It is certainly more sitting than what you wore in Kirkwall," she says and her lips quirk up in a familiar sort of ease--not quite a smile, not quite anything else.

[minrathousian]

At her observation, Atticus' eyebrows lift as though in some mild confusion, before he looks down to examine his attire. His sleeping mind seems to have chosen his clothes for him; hardly ostentatious, but the cut and fit and quality of the black and burgundy fabrics speak of wealth and privilege.

"Yes," he agrees, "though not something I am permitted in Skyhold. It is," a pause, considering, "remote." That is an understatement.

He turns his attention to her dream and takes a few steps towards one of the courtyard walls. "Is this place of your world?" he asks.

(Letter - Brought and Left In Person.)

[castintoflames]

(He can move like a shadow and he utilizes that skill now. Galadriel will find a letter tucked neatly under her door. It is sealed with wax featuring a simple "M".)

Cousin,

My brother and foster-son have made their way to the fates that await them on Arda. I am reminded, by their absence, how little time we are given. We should take naught for granted. This is not a comment on your feelings or actions - I think they are just - but I have reexamined mine.

Not many know that I and Kano fostered Elrond and Elros. Of course we did it after we frightened their poor mother and razed their city to the ground. However the effect those children had on us was good. We love them truly and I imagined, for a time, that we could forget the Oath and raise them.

Yet that was foolish. They belong with their kin and their people. We let them go, safe and sound, so that they could become the leaders they were always meant to be. I should have dedicated the rest of my life to watching over them; I would not have minded the duty in the least. But the Oath howled and clawed at us, demanding us to press on and do the impossible.

I perished a fool, Artanis, and apparently that is not an attribute that has improved over time. But I want to be less foolish; less rash and pig-headed. I can easily imagine the scorn you have earned for being kin to me. For that, I am sorry. Let my future actions speak for me, dear one, and know that I did not lie. I have and will always love you.

Sincerely,
Maedhros

[laurenande]

"I recall Skyhold...I would nearly say I miss it, insofar as one can miss a prison at the edge of the world," Galadriel replies and watches him as he approaches the walls.

Despite herself, despite all that happened to this place, she cannot filter the memories that spring up around her. In the dappled patches of sunlight the sounds of the world burst forth. Laughter rises up alongside the distant indistinct shouts of children; the whispering shuffle of crowds resounds over stone and always there is the constant shifting drone of Elvish song. In the shade it is once more silent, empty in a way only tombs can be.

"It was," she answers after a pause and moves after him, idly directing him toward the largest alcove. "Doraith, the greatest kingdom of the First Age. It was my home for a time."

A Note

[coiledscales]

[ Alacruun does a bit of poking around and manages to ensure a note finds it's way to Galadriel's door. ]

Lady Galadriel,

We have not yet spoken, but I felt it would be best to allow myself a letter of introduction. My name is Alacruun and, like yourself, am one of the "rifters". I have been watching, listening, and interjecting into the debate regarding phylacteries and I find that you and I share a point of view on the matter. Further, you seem to be someone of experience and one unwilling to suffer foolishness. If you're amenable, I would enjoy having a discussion regarding the potential proposal and efforts that might be made to counter it.

Force of arms may not avail us, although at the end it may be needed. Still, there are other methods, are there not?

Regardless, you'll find my address attached; if you feel the need to reply, you may leave a letter there for me or you may come in person. If you have great need of me, contact Adalia; she's one of my own, from home.

I look forward to your reply.

Sincerely,

Alacruun

Action

[laurenande]

Despite her ease speaking out on the network, Galadriel was hesitant to send runners with her transcribed thoughts. It would have been a simple matter to return the note with a letter of her own but, instead, she had elected to come to his door in person.

She arrives after dusk, shrouded in a cloak of her own making, hidden in plain sight. She lowers the hood as she knocks but refrains from drawing back the whole of the fabric as she awaits an answer.

action;

[aenseidhe]

[[ from here ]]

[ As promised, Iorveth arrives at the courtyard just before dawn, leather boots a soft padding against the cool stone as he approaches, awake and aware as promise, and looking a rough mess next to someone as elegant and graceful as Galadriel as he makes it to her side, eyes on the sunrise. ]

Galadriel, I take it?

[ Tall, elven, beautiful in the kind of way that seems to have a natural glow to her, like an aura too strong for her skin to hold in, much like Thranduil. It's a trait that will never cease to amaze him, and leave Iorveth in a mild state of awe. They look so much like a dream in physical form, memories of a time long, long past, only kept alive in stories and art in his world. Their presence alone is a refreshing, hopeful thing. ]

You've chosen a fine spot to watch the day begin. I hadn't thought Kirkwall capable of looking so beautiful.

[ because he hates this city, for the most part. ]

Action forever.

[laurenande]

[The courtyard is silent in these hours and Galadriel relishes it. The grey sky before the sun has risen over the ocean, the way the water still clings to the air. If there were but a few more trees, a few flowers, to hold the dew, it would be ideal. Instead, they have Kirkwall.]

It is a rare thing...but there are few sights that are not improved by the dawn of a new day.

[She regards the horizon for a moment longer before turning to look at him. Her expression is placid as she regards his face, swathed in a length of fabric, but her brows shit as she spies his ears.]

Strange. No one saw fit to tell me that you are our kin...assuming elf is what your people are called?

[aenseidhe]

[ It doesn't beat out the sunrises in Dol Blathanna, the Valley of the Flowers, where you could sit in a field of color and sweet scents as the light washed over and illuminated it all like life itself touching the earth each morning. But the ocean gives a lovely reflection and show of the world waking around them.

Looking away from the light beginning to lilt across the waters, he meets her eyes and a small smile pulls the corner of his scarred lips. No one had told her? ]

Strange indeed. I'd imagine it would be the first thing Thranduil would've brought up. [ with how much of that simple fact played into their connection with one another. ]

My people are called Aen Seidhe in our own tongue, but to all others, yes, we're called elves. For simplicity's sake, I answer to it here.

[ it would be an insult on the Continent, for all the history behind it, but in Thedas it's simply the name of their people, and they're clearly kin enough for him to count himself under it. ] I can't claim to be so long-lived as Thranduil, but certainly more than the Elvhen children of Thedas.

[laurenande]

They are young, aren't they?

Then again, at a certain point, everyone is...even Thranduil.

[It has a note of sadness, not quite pity, as she says it. She draws a short breath as she finishes and shakes her head.]

I do not suppose the semantics of the Eldar would interest you, so I shall spare you the names we have generated over the Ages; it is good to meet one of the Aen Seidhe.

[There had been a reason for them to meet, apart from that they might become friends. This whole disastrous idea with the phylacteries was what prompted this conversation and, as such, she feels she should address it.]

These phylacteries they wish to impose on us are such strange things. I fear they do not realize the danger they court.

[coiledscales]

Alacruun isn't quite expecting a guest to come knocking at the door. He keeps to himself mostly and does not entertain guests. He thinks it's one of Adalia's friends, which is probably why there's a slight look of surprise on his face when he swings open the door.

"Good evening. You would be...?"

He hasn't seen her in person, but he will likely recognize her voice.

[laurenande]

Oddly, she had not expected a Qunari, but her surprise is short lived. The race he appears is far less important than the mark on his hand. It is that which binds them.

"I am called Galadriel," she replies and, as she pushes back her cloak, produces the note he had delivered to her. "If this is not an opportune time, I can return again."

[coiledscales]

"Ah-" Alacruun's eyebrows shoot straight up for a moment. He really is surprised - he'd expected a note in reply, not a visit. But still, Adalia is out for the moment, so now is as good a time as any. He steps back and clears his (large) bulk from the doorway.

"Please, come in. I'm afraid I wasn't expecting... guests."

His side of the room is strewn with notes and papers and borrowed books. Someone has been burning the midnight oil.

"I am Alacruun, but I think you know that..."

[aenseidhe]

Even older than the native elves, I'm hardly more than an infant in Thranduil's eyes.

[ Seven thousand, he'd said, and Iorveth can hardly wrap his mind around so long a life. ] There'd been a time my people lived into the thousands, though foreign disease, the changing of the land and the poor conditions my people are made to survive in now... the eldest I know of currently only reaches around 650, most common Aen Seidhe not making it much past four centuries.

[ And Iorveth, only counting 127 years, is still young for his people, but old enough to have seen generations of men come and go. He can't imagine how the world must look to ones so static as Thranduil's people. Small upsets must seem so trivial and secondary. ]

Anything to be known of my people, distant cousins or direct blood, is of interest to me. [ and being from a race that considers themselves a single tribe of a kin spread out across dimensions and time, he does consider them that - distant cousins. ] But I'll not ask a lecture of you've other matters to discuss.

[ there's plenty enough time for them all to share stories, but more present dangers to concern themselves with. ]

Likely they don't. The Templars seem most concerned about their slipping control - a sect created solely to monitor the mages, and once those are free from them, what relevance are they without another people to police? The Chantry clings to the Templars as their protectors and enforces, thus they ally with the need to keep that hold over the people. [ Iorveth breathes out a slow sigh, watching the waters across the docks. ] They panic with so much new to their world, and like every nation of Men I've known, their answer to that is to impose a strangle hold of control. Decimate anything that defies it, until it's only them at the top of their mountain.

[laurenande]

[He speaks of his people, of their plight, and Galadriel listens. Her expression falls slowly, wearing down like limestone assailed by a strong current--it is so similar a fate to the one she fears. The elves here...they have fallen all the way, as far as they can, but his people, the Aen Seidhe are still waning. There is still enough of the light in them that she can see a reflection of the elves that dwell within Lorien.]

Of course. I would tell you anything you wish to know; I cannot tell you of the first days of the Eldar, but I can get nearer to them than any who yet live.

[She cannot restrain herself from asking, even though it was not the point of their conversation. Even though he had spoken about the phylacteries and the templars and, oh, how she could speak about the templars and their hubris--she cannot resist:]

If I may ask, how old are you?

[aenseidhe]

[ Iorveth would frame it the other way around. The elves in Thedas have something vital that those on the Continent do not - a possible future. There's still many of them, the Dalish are a whole community with families and children and a way of life. The Aen Seidhe, however, while long-lived, are fertile only in the beginnings of their lives. The largest part that brought them so low, dancing now on the edge of extinction. They live, now, only in cities, and those in the forests are the Scoia'tael alone, hunted falsely as war criminals after Nilfgaard and Dol Blathanna's betrayal of them, so many sacrificed for a sanctuary of the elderly and sterile.

His race is in their death throes, despite what years they retain. It will take a miracle to raise them back from their endangered numbers. One blessing they have that those of Thedas lack, though, is the memory in those longer lives. They haven't lost near so much of their history, even if much of it has faded in the 1,500 years since their civilization's destruction. They'll at least fade with the pride and identity of their people intact, for the most part. If it's come to that, Iorveth will see to it they go in with battle cry, rather than a whimper. ]

One-hundred twenty-seven. Adult, but still considered young for my people. [ Iorveth admits, feeling small in the face of Thranduil's people, and given Galadriel had just mentioned knowing more of their history than any other, she must be beyond even his years. ]

And you? I take it you're one who even Thranduil seems young in the eyes of? [ as she'd mentioned when the thought of ages first came up. ]

[laurenande]

One hundred and twenty seven? [There is something tender in the amazement in her voice. She doesn't intend it, but it is there nonetheless.]

You are an adult by our standards as well, though only just I'm afraid. Majority is one hundred years of age; I do not think my grandsons were freed from my daughter's gaze until they reached one hundred and fifty, however.

As for Thranduil, well, yes...I knew him when he was very young. Much, much younger than you. He was but a babe when I met him and he has...retained quite a lot of his stubbornness.

[She shakes her head and pauses a moment to think. The eddies of time are many and tracing it back is complex. Each time she must give this answer she ponders it, in case she recalls something she once did not; it is best to give the truth, even if it is faded by the passing of ages.]

I fear I cannot truly say how old I am, time was strange ere the days of dawn. Hours and years moved in much the same way before the sun existed to mark them. But, if I must, I would guess it is near to fifteen thousand years?

I am not the eldest of the Eldar...but I am the eldest still living, insofar as I know.

[aenseidhe]

[ her reaction brings a sharp, jovial laugh from Iorveth, which is perhaps a strange thing to see on features so scared and severe, but it's been so very long since he's felt like a child in anyone's presence. Even Thranduil had somehow seemed more equal despite his years. Galadriel has an aura to her that's warm and enduring, the way the elders in Dol Blathanna always were. ]

I believe I'd been... Fourteen at the time I started wandering the streets on my own, though my mother had been cross about that by the evening when I returned. [ He was a rebellious child, as he is a rebellious adult. Always strong willed and curious, ever unsatisfied to just be still, where there was so much else out there. ] Twenty-three when I'd been on my own completely.

[ not by his mother's choice, but disease took her, and there was no argument she could have made with death to see herself at his side any longer. Regardless, she'd likely have spent the rest of her days in anxiety for him had she been around much longer. It wasn't but a couple months later that he left the heads of human criminals on pikes and a fire in the guard barracks before going out to the scoia'tael, to war. ]

But fifteen thousand... It's longer than the Aen Seidhe have been walked the Continent, I'd think. [ History that far back gets very blurred, especially with the loss of most things that marked events for them - the art, murals, songs they recorded history in rather than books. ] Our people tell that we came to the Continent through a Conjunction of Spheres, akin to Thedas's rifts though on a much larger scale, once a tribe of a much large clan of elves that split to travel the varying realms.

[ Perhaps they'd been a single people, back then. Perhaps they'd even been true kin to Galadriel's, who knows. Certainly not the Aen Seidhe any longer. ] None of ours could ever hope to remember a time before the sun. Your people are truly blessed to have you, my lady.

[laurenande]

Am I your lady so quickly? Be still my heart; such devotion is unusual.

[It is Galadriel's turn to chuckle then; her laugh is light and bemused and it trails quickly. The light around them is already turning rosy as the sun crests over the water. Kirkwall is dreary but the ocean, that at least looks as it always should. It glitters gold and white against the sky.]

It was lovely...but, I admit, nostalgia may color my memory. I cannot even say if I recall it as it truly was. I have forgotten much from when I was your age.

If you ever wished to know it, to see the world ere the rising of the sun, I would be glad to show you...it is...not something I have been able to share with the elves here. None who yet live, at least.

If not, well, I shall not take refusal as a slight, but forgive me if I ask after your people. I do so love learning history that I have not lived.