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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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[aenseidhe]

[ Galadriel's charm and lightness inspires a kind of simple joy, and Iorveth smiles, soft laughter following it, that might have been embarrassed for being so serious if he were the kind to easily feel shame. Which he isn't. From the way the others have spoken of her, for what he knows of Galadriel now, and for the kind of grandeur she seems to hold in her just by being, the reverence doesn't feel misplaced for him. ]

If any here are to deserve it, one who's seen the first dawn ought to. [ What sights and memories and stories she must hold in her soul, to have seen so much. What she speaks of knowing and having lived through sounds close to the spirits the Aen Seidhe worship in their land, entities that have walked the world since time began. Yet, here she is, someone real and present, one with the rest of them. ] Your existence alone is like a dream to someone from my world. Even if the Aen Seidhe fade, and the elves of Thedas follow them, there's something that brings a sense of peace in knowing you and your people have been here since the beginning, and continue on.

[ somewhere in the multiverse, anyway. there's a sadness to it, but it's nearly soothing enough. He'd thought something similar of Thranduil when he'd first seen him, and held the beautiful crafted elven swords in his hands, like looking into a long lost, ancient past. It's surreal, to have such people right in front of him. ]

I'd be honored to share the vision of it with you, if there's a way you're able to. [ Iorveth has no sense of magic in him whatsoever, aside from the spirituality the elves have always seemed to feel deeper than the rest of living creatures on the Continent. Had he been told back home that someone could show him the first sunrise, he'd have thought they were crazy. ]

And I'll gladly trade you stories of my own people, though I doubt they'll be as riveting. [ or pretty. their history is a sad one. at least, the parts he knows of it. ]

[laurenande]

You would be terribly surprised what I find riveting; tales of calm and quiet are among my favorites.

[But he has asked for a boon, even if indirectly, and the sunrise before them is a perfect alignment. To show him what she offered would be so simple a thing, so she does. She reached forward and her fingers brush his hand--touch is not necessary, not truly, but it helps. As all things seem to be, this skill is harder in Thedas, and any aid is for the best. The touch is grounding, even when it is but a light graze, and abruptly they are elsewhere. Within another time and place.

The water changes not at all, but the sky above them loses its clouds, the haze of the marina, and deepens near to black. Distant stars gleam in the darkness, millions of them lighting a band across the sky. The rosy fingers of dawn are a halo of white and blue and they glitter over peaks of ice and snow that jut from the water. In the distance, there is a stretch of green-laden land.

It is a lovely sunrise, but just a sunrise, until Galadriel can conjure the sounds of awe and terror in those around her. Until she can conjure the host of elves she remembers. At first they are voices, thousands strong, but then there are the faces of the Noldor--tall and glimmering with their own light, harrowed and haggard but still at the height of their glory. Each of them is staring at the rising sun, baffled and amazed.

She can hold the whole of them in her mind for a few moments, but no more. She only hopes he will see his fill before the sun moves and destroys the illusion she has woven in their minds.]

[aenseidhe]

[ ‘We don’t have many of those either’, Iorveth wants to tell her, gets as far as speaking it in his mind, but it doesn’t make it past his lips. Their history, now, is mostly misery on top of misery.

That, however, is dashed from his mind the moment she weaves an illusion into the world around them, both beautiful and somewhat terrifying, all of it grand and magnificent. The calamity of fear and awe, the people approaching a brave new world, with all the mixture and chaos it should entail. Much like the rising hum of an orchestra practicing keys and tuning up before the start of a symphony. A surging of something incredible.

It’s gone so fast, and Iorveth feels like it’d been both so long in that world, and all to quick, all at once. So many people, and so much hope still there for the world. He misses it immediately, and turns back to Galadriel with a sad smile on his lips. ]

I couldn’t have possibly imagined something so incredible. Thank you, for sharing it. I only wish I’d been able to live it as well.

[laurenande]

Do not wish such woes upon yourself, mellon nin. That Age was fraught with terrors the world has long forgotten; the horrors that plagued the beginning were beyond measure by the modern scale and they shall not be missed.

It was beautiful, yes, and there were sights of unfathomable glory, both golden and perfect, but the cost of living those years is far too great to desire them for yourself.

[The First Age was the Worst Age and nobody will ever convince her otherwise. Still, she is gladdened that he enjoyed her show and withdraws her hand to her side.]

Still, it was a lovely sight. After months of travel in the dark, it was certainly a change.

[aenseidhe]

I see. It seems apt, as well. Things in balance.

[ Nothing comes without a cost, for everything wonderful there's likely something equally horrible. iorveth takes her word for it, that he'd not want to be present in an age like that. though he is a warrior, he fights men, not terrors. and even still, he'd rather he didn't have to. perhaps its simply the envy of wishing for a time when his people were still proud and free. ]

How old were you, when this happened?

[ What was the world like when she was just a child? How long had it been swallowed in darkness? He's so full of questions, as is his nature. it isn't solely iorveth's paranoia that keeps him wanting to know everything about everyone. ]

[laurenande]

Ere the rising of the sun it is hard to say how old I was. We called those years Valian, for they were of Valinor and governed by the blooming of the Two Trees. Time moved strangely then.

[Galadriel considers him and her past. It takes a moment and, finally, she grants him an answer.]

I expect I was much older than you...in some ways. Younger, perhaps, in others.

[She quirks a brow at him and asks, not indelicately, if he wishes to know what he is asking. It is not a short tale but...then he had admitted to wishing to know of the minutiae of the Eldar.]

Do you truly wish to know of the earliest years of Arda and Aman?

crystal, transports us back to "when the templars were captured";

[faithlikeaseed]

[Myr has no tears to shed any longer, but for all that, there's something tight in his voice for the want of them.]

Lady Galadriel? Do you--have a moment to speak?

Lets do it.

[laurenande]

[It takes a moment for her to respond, but she does and sounds polite if not a touch concerned.]

I do. What troubles you?

[faithlikeaseed]

[He would, ordinarily, hedge around things more. He's often indirect about his troubles. But right now-- He can't find the words for that.]

You'd said before you could find people who've gone missing. I've someone who has. Several someones.

[laurenande]

How dreadful. Come to speak with me in person, I can meet you in the courtyard and perhaps something can be done.

[She will not promise she can find them but, at the very least, she offers this:]

Fret not, I shall do all that is within my power to aid you.

to action!! and sorry for a laggard reply!

[faithlikeaseed]

Thank you, lady. [A spark of hope, maybe, a fragment of relief in his tone.] I'll be there.

[And suiting action to words, he is there but minutes after the crystal conversation ends, having somehow managed to keep the turmoil and anxious fear in his heart from his face.

Simon hadn't replied. Nari had said he was in good company, that Wren hadn't chosen fools for the mission, but--

So much could happen on the road. So much could happen in Tevinter.]

[laurenande]

[Galadriel meets him, as promised, though he arrives in the courtyard before she does. She recognizes him, despite the brevity of their encounters, and moves to meet him.]

Tell me what has happened. Who have you lost that you might need me to seek them?

[faithlikeaseed]

[Half my heart, he doesn't say; though anxious worry has made him incautious this far it hasn't robbed him entirely of his senses.]

Some of our templars went out on a mission--an escort to Tevinter; I've a good friend among them--we keep in touch. They didn't expect any trouble, but--I've not heard back from him for days, now. [Too long.] Anything might have come up, I know--it may not be anything--

[But a fear he can't shake, rooted in childhood terrors of what lurked across the Silent Plains to Hasmal's north, of the danger that rode out of Tevinter to snatch up unwary elves to carry them off to their doom--that screams otherwise.]

[laurenande]

[It is, perhaps, unkind of her to listen to the whisperings of his heart, but his worry holds a familiar edge and she cannot resist. She should be more cautious, without her ring this skill will cost her dearly, but she knows this sort of fear.]

And yet...you worry they might be lost.

[She regards the courtyard around them and finds it wanting. Without much pause she reaches a hand forward and rests it lightly against his shoulder.]

Come, I shall do what I can. I require something from my rooms and, perhaps, it would be best to avoid open scrutiny while employing the old arts.

[She nudges him as she begins walking. She is certain he would not need her to guide him but, just as she is certain of that, she suspects a calm touch might help reassure him.]

[faithlikeaseed]

I do.

[He'd put more into words but that-- To do so would make the loss loom large and real in his mind, make it harder to maintain what composure he's got and act, beyond this moment, as if things will be fine.

You call the things you name; you make them real, bring them closer to this worldline and the true shape of things. A mage knows that from the inside, and so Myr doesn't speak those things he can't bear the responsibility for realizing.]

--Oh, thank you, lady, [in nearly one breath. He doesn't quite lean into the touch and--as she surmises--doesn't need it to find his way beside her, but he's leaning on it all the same.] Thank you, I--

[a breath out; were things otherwise a part of him would cavil at the idea of arts that might require secrecy but then she'd ever been private and had her reasons to not trust the Inquisition, only hinted at.] --whatever I might do to help. You've that.

[laurenande]

[Galadriel notes his offer but says nothing as they walk. It is not a quick trip to her rooms, but they make it there before too much time has passed. It is fortunate they are largely empty, but by that same token they are rather ill equipped for company. She leads him to the only chair in the room, insofar as she has lead him at all, and then moves away to retrieve her basin from beneath her bed.

It is one of very few items she keeps with her...and while it is not enchanted in any way, not on its own, its value is immeasurable. She sets it on the table before the chair and Myr, and moves to retrieve her pitcher--half full of water but more than enough for their purposes.]

I may need your eyes, if you are comfortable enough to lend them--no, that idiom is a poor one. The speech of Men is narrow, I apologize.

[They are not in her gardens, and there is no need to make a show of it, but she still pours on high as she speaks and water fills the basin on the table.]

I will need you to see with me, if you are willing? And if I can manage this art well enough to find those you miss.

[faithlikeaseed]

[For one moment--after she's said your eyes--his heart contracts with despair and self-recrimination. (With a demon in a friend's shape tempting him with an offer of sight; he couldn't watch anyone's back now or ever again and what kind of knight-enchanter was he?) --And then it's gone, dismissed as the childish foolishness it is even before she's explained in full.]

Gladly, lady. And all's forgiven.

[He listens to the sound of water, oddly comforted by this point of similarity between magical rituals. A font and water were often for summoning--or stepping into the Fade--and one could gain knowledge thereby. He leans forward in the chair, linking his hands before him, and tries to focus on that sound--and calm so necessary to a disciplined mage--instead of his yammering fears.]

[laurenande]

[Once the basin is filled she sets the pitcher aside. The water calms, in time, and there is a silence to them. Galadriel bend over the table, looming as only she can truly manage, and the fall of her hair is like a curtain around them. Myr cannot see this, nor can he see the way she stares into the shining reflection of the silver surface below the water.

It is not a simple spell, summoning the Mirror, connecting to the threads of the world. Galadriel has walked though Eluvians and they feel similarly to the Mirror, but only in that two fabrics might behave similarly when sewn into clothing. Walking through the threads of time and fate and peering across the length of them are very different acts and feel very different in practice--and her arts, the magic native to Arda, has a very different feel than that of Thedas. The spell almost pours out from her, from the basin, permeating the space, and at once she feels how her time is limited.

This will tax her greatly.]

Whom do I seek, Myrobalan? Name them and the Mirror shall show us.

action. pre-tevinter, post-adalia. night.

[dirth]

The revelation from Adalia shakes him, more than he is able to admit.

He had known that she had learned much from the Temple - many people had, with the spirits that had come to them, the journal from the priest, the whispers and the secrets of the People long dead and taken from this world. He had known they had escaped with knowledge that was beyond their imagining but familiar to him, and she had found the pieces of the world, tied in with the whispers he had given her, and learned more than he had estimated that she might.

He had given her too little credit, he thinks, underestimated her intelligence, what coming from another world might do to her, and now...

Now, for the first time in some time, he was something like afraid.

It's easy to slip through the city in the darkness, few people paying attention to an idle elf moving here and there. Even being who he is, a familiar face to most of the Inquisition itself, Solas does not stand out - no robes to identify him, nothing gaudy or bright, nothing that demanded attention. He moves through the night with speed at his heels, finding his way to Galadriel's door without hesitation, pausing outside of it. The night is at its peak, he thinks, and if anyone did see him sneaking his way to her room... Well, the rumours would start.

He doesn't care. He knocks.

[laurenande]

Galadriel sleeps only when the world demands it of her; it is not a consideration she is accustomed to and not one she is likely to embrace. When the knock comes on her door, she is at work, bent over her loom, and she only finishes the line before she rises. She is tired, enough to warrant lying down and resting, but the slowness in her limbs doesn't strike her as odd until she is at her door.

What hour is it?

She opens it and, despite the oddness of his arrival, she cannot muster confusion for him, only happiness.

"Solas," she greets, warmly and quietly and steps aside so that he may enter.

[dirth]

The moments before she comes to her door feel like an eternity to a man who has lived it, standing and staring at the door with an anxiety and uncertainty he has not felt since he had first seen Corypheus take his orb and survive the process of unlocking it, since he had first seen the sky open into the Breach and demons begin to pour out. It's the anxiety of a secret ready to be told and spread, of a life that might be over, and it would overtake him were he not so in control.

It opens, and he sees her, and some of the poison in him fades, for a moment.

"Galadriel." He slips inside, eyes flicking around to the outside world, aware of what it might suggest should he be spotted sneaking into her space, but goes anyway, heedless of the consequences. When he's there, the door closing behind him, he closes his eyes and breathes.

His hand, without thought, reaches for her.

[laurenande]

His hand settles on her arm, the nearest point of contact, and Galadriel does nothing to discourage it. Once the door is closed, she moves closer to him, far closer than they would stand in public, and returns the gesture, settling her hands at his elbows and drawing him near. Her expression is easy, but his is not.

He is troubled, hounded by something, and it draws a well of concern within her.

"You have come to visit me," she says, a kinder observation than the state of him. "How unusual, but nowhere near unwelcome.

"Do you have need of me, melda nin?"

[dirth]

It's a comfort, he thinks, that she reaches for him so easily. Solas would carry this burden alone, would handle it himself as surely as he had done everything else, but he knows that this truth might become a burden for Galadriel and Thranduil both should more secrets be told. They carry the weight of knowledge just as he does, and it shames him to think that he would have kept them in the dark on this, too. That he would hide what others learn of him, deception dancing on his tongue, to make sure that he protects his own interests.

He does not know what to do, no plans forming in his mind, however. So he seeks her comfort, her wisdom, her beauty in the depth of night where, normally, he would find peace in the Fade.

At least her words sooth his rattled nerves, even as his eyes close and his head bows, just so.

"My secret has been learned."

[laurenande]

It is an ominous statement and one that draws her focus like a blow. She stares at him and concern darts across her face. He has a hunted look about him and his head is bowed. She draws him forward and sets his head upon her shoulder.

"How dire is the circumstance?"

It is a polite way to ask--do they need to leave? Has he been found out and will he be treated poorly. He has come to her in the middle of the night, it would make sense that flight was his goal. She will leave, without pause, if he needs her to.

"Are you safe?"

He would not be popular if his deeds were found out, it is a feeling she knows well.

[dirth]

It is not as bad as it could have been and Solas is well aware of that fact; it could have been one of the Templars that had learned of him, or the elves other than Adalia that were part of his party. The fact that it was her, who has his trust on some far, distant level, who trusts him in return, is a gift, truly. It does not change the discomfort he feels, however, or the tension that coils around him, wishing that he could make her unlearn it.

"It is no Templar, nor anyone that might truly be a threat to me."

It's a weight to admit all the same; it might not be dangerous for him currently, but in the future? The fact that she had learned it from his company, from knowledge of elven? It means he will have to be more careful, trust Rifters less, show them less of himself. He leans into her embrace, lets his forehead rest on her shoulder, letting himself draw on her strength even as his mind attempts to make plans.

"Adalia learned much in the Temple of Falon'Din. There, she saw me speak with the spirit of Mythal. There, she learned the truth of me."