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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]

The healing had helped, had closed the wound, but the sting of the cold and the strange sick pull of time had left her terribly disoriented. She was glad to have Solas with her, is glad that he has remained, and takes his fingers with her own as quickly as she can.

With the poison in her system that is not terribly swift and she is glad he indulges her.

"As though I am removed from everyone through a thick fog, and by several days...but I am awake and aware now. I am no longer halted in a terrible moment."

She does something then that she has very rarely done. She uses his hold on her hand to pull him toward her. She has been resting, lying in bed, and his standing beside her is too distant for her taste. Sit, or join her, her weak tug says.

[dirth]

Solas can trust Anders a little, at least; he had seen the man at work and he knows that it's something that he can put a little of his hard to earn faith in. He wishes that he had been able to do it more, that he had been adept enough, but with the issues with spirit magic at the time and his own worry... He sighs.

At least she is healing. At least he knows that she is getting safer. At least, he thinks, at least -

"You will be better, given time," he says, nodding his head. It feels good to have her fingers in his once more, to be able to stroke his own against her knuckles. He feels like he might actually be able to breathe properly again. It's not a concern he could share with anyone else, but he imagines she might understand all the same.

The tug makes him pause, turning to look at her, but his expression softens into a smile and he moves, sitting down at her side on the bed, drawing her fingers to his lips, gentle and tender.

[laurenande]

He moves alongside her and she is grateful, a small smile settling on her face. She has to close her eyes a moment, but her expression is peaceful as she does it. She does not sleep, though, she can't. Not here.

"You called me something today, melda" she says after a pause, enjoying the swipe of his thumb across her knuckles, the repetition of it calming. "I had not the mind to ask, but now, in the quiet, it seems strange."

"You are not given to such things--were you so worried?"

[dirth]

It's easy to be in her space and her company, at least. Solas settles down at her side and has to physically resist the urge to draw her close, to wrap himself around her and hold onto her, to remind himself that she is real and alive and not still trapped in the underwater prison. If they had been longer, he thinks, perhaps the water would have been too high, perhaps there would have been no saving her, but...

But they were not too late, and he can be thankful for that.

Her words bring him back and Solas pauses, hesitating for a moment. What he had said had been true enough, but he knows it was the heat of the moment. It had not been something he had planned to say in the least.

"I was concerned," he admits, dancing around the question even now. "I could not find you in dreams, so you were lost to me."

[laurenande]

"I was not sleeping," she says and draws a deep breath. It stutters a bit in her chest and she has to draw herself upright to abate the cough that wants to form. Once she has she opens her eyes and leans against him, just so.

"It is unfortunate that you could not find me, but that you sought me out is no small comfort. Dreams in this place must be...fraught."

[dirth]

"I think I realised that, after a time. I would have been able to find you otherwise." There's no doubt that he would have been able to walk the Fade and find her in her dreams if she had slept even for a moment. Solas has been a Dreamer for long enough that finding someone he wants or bringing them into his dream is not a difficult feat.

Carefully, he shifts, making it more comfortable for her to settle against him, to relax. He breathes with her, fingers still touching hers.

"I am sure there are many who will tell you about the searching," he admits. Thranduil, for one. Perhaps Myr and Anders as well. He had not hidden it as well as he had hoped. "I am just glad that you are here, safe now."

[laurenande]

"We are not safe," she says and at once sounds sad and angry, but she lacks the energy for either at current. Her hand stills in his and her grip tenses, mostly of its own accord.

"These people are fools," she whispers and there is a bite to it that Solas would not have heard in her before this moment. "What they have done here--what they continue to do--it must be ceased. We cannot permit--"

She is speaking too quickly and still has too much poison in her system. She coughs and pulls away from him as another follows and another. Her fit is short, but uncomfortable, and she is exhausted again at the end of it. Her exhaustion has a veneer of anger but, all too quickly, it turns to despair and she levels a look at him that is upon the very edge of grief.

"It--this--" she starts and pauses, looking at him almost desperately. It goes against everything she does to share this with him...with anyone...and yet she does. She trusts him.

"They have my ring."

[dirth]

"You are safer here than you were before," Solas tells her, and there's an edge to his voice. He might not be fond of these people, but he will not let Galadriel be at risk again. He would put himself forward before he does that - and he reaches for her, taking her hand, hoping to soothe her with a gentle press of finger to finger.

"I knew that there was something... Wrong. The celebration of miracles, knowing that it would come with death, the suffering of the people in the Infirmary... I found their dead. This place screamed of ill thoughts and mistakes long before I discovered the Rift, long before I entertained the idea of something shaping their world. We should have intervened long before we did."

When she coughs Solas turns to her, reaching, comforting her as much as he can. He's further on the bed now, practically climbed on beside her, and he has no sense of decorum or propriety when it comes to her - if Galadriel requires his support then he will give it. When she is done his hands lift, pushing hair from her face, thumb gentle against the soft curve of her cheek as he checks her for fever.

A pause. A tilt of his head, and then -

"Explain."

[laurenande]

It is a simple demand with an exceedingly complex answer, one that requires a number of tales and an attention to detail that she simply cannot muster. She considers him, with his hand on her face, his expression still so careful; how much he has told her of himself, how much he has shared, he deserves to know everything. She should reveal to him the whole of it but, even if she were strong enough to do so, Galadriel doubts she could bring herself to. It is too much and to speak it all aloud is to look far too deeply into her own soul.

She will not, however, withhold information that may keep him safe.

"I am...I was...a ringbearer. I bore a ring of power. Nenya, the ring of water, one of three gifted to all the Eldar," she explains and realizes the terms mean little here. "Ere I came to Thedas it was my greatest burden and my greatest gift...when I returned here again and found myself in Nevarra I was without it. I had not been without it for many thousands of years.

"It is difficult to explain what a ring of power truly is, especially as magic here flows so strangely compared to where it was forged. Above all else, however, it is a font; the power it can wield through the bearer is very great...and very costly."

[dirth]

Solas is well aware of how complex a simple answer can be and he does his best not to push. She had been more than understanding when the truth of his past had come between the two of them and he thinks that it is only just that he offers her the same in return. It might be something that he has not experienced before, true enough, but it will, at least, be something he can attempt to understand.

Having power that has gone awry? He can understand that, easily enough.

"I see." Rings of power, entrusted to others. It's something to think about, he thinks, especially if this is where these foolish people are getting their strength from. It makes him question what they can do to fix the situation, especially when he already feeling as though his own strength is not enough, his frown marring his face.

"Perhaps enough to return eyes, at the cost of a life?"

[laurenande]

There are no words, truly, for how she appreciates his patience. His question, however, brings up a more sensitive topic. The extent of what a ring may do, what her ring may do, is very great and these people use it like it is a toy.

"Yes, it can do this, but it would not have cost so much," Galadriel answers and her brow dips. "Have you seen it weilded?"

It doesn't matter if he has and she shakes her head.

"I attempted to take it back. It calls me, it wishes to return--I failed and they are..." She pauses as a bit of darkness slips into her tone. She swallows around it but it lingers.

"They are addicted to it, but they have not the will to use it. It can be reclaimed, it must be, before more of them fall to it. Before someone with the will to use it gains possession of it."

[dirth]

It’s empathy as much as patience. The loss of her ring might not have caused an incident as large as the loss of his Foci, but it is still causing issues for both her and Thedas. He does not know enough about her ring nor her magic to make a guess as to what it might do in her hands, but if this is what it can do with someone who is new to it... It’s startling and concerning in equal measure.

“It was promised to the elf, Myr.” He’s froening again, deep and settled on his face. “He was blinded and has been given word that the miracle will be given to him next.”

Solas has been judging these people since he first heard of their miracles and hearing that the source of their power is Galadriel herself makes him loathe this place all the more. They are liars, twisting their strength to make others listen and follow them... It is unjust and he can not tolerate it.

“Will you grant me the chance to retrieve it for you?” It’s an obvious concern for her, but Solas isn’t sure how he will react to gaining a ring of power. He’s already desperate for his Foci and if a ring can do this much... But if is not his to take and he has no reason to betray Galadriel of all people.

Sighing, he rests his head on hers, drawing her hand to his lips.

“We will have it returned to you,” vhenan sits on his tongue. “I will go, when you are better.”

[laurenande]

She nearly interrupts him, pales just so as she imagines him with the ring, imagines anyone with it. He kisses her hand and it is a struggle to keep her grip from tensing again. This must be said delicately.

"The rings of power are very dangerous, Solas, even mine," she begins and sounds a bit faint in her open worry. "None should be used lightly--this place is changed for it, and Thedas has power more overt than Arda."

She takes a breath, frustrated with how hard it is to warn him in any sensible way. There is too much she has not shared and it is a terrible hindrance now.

"I would beg you not to be the one who takes it back...but I cannot. Do not touch it, do not take it unless you must," she says, her voice urgent but quiet. "Unless there is no other path.

"Once you have worn a ring of power, you can never be free of it, not truly."

She leans more heavily upon him then, lets her eyes close and all of the tension starts to leave her. She cannot maintain it for too much longer.

"If you wear it, if you must use it, be cautious. It will consume you. They consume all those who wear them, regardless of their intent."

[dirth]

Solas is well aware of what can happen when items of power fall into hands they do not belong in; he had been the one to give Corypheus the orb, as inadvertent as that mistake had been, and he is paying the price of it for now. He has been the price of it for many years now, and the weight of it settles on his shoulders with a heaviness that he can barely shrug off now. He knows the price that comes with power and he knows the dangers it can leave you with - he has simply learned to live with the consequences of his choice.

"I do not intend to use it," even if the temptation is there. If this ring is as powerful as she says it is then it might be enough, but - no. His strength is returning, slowly, and he will have the power to regain what he lost in time. He does not need a ring from a Rift in order to take back what was lost.

"Would you risk another being the one to have it? Would you trust Anders, or Myrobalan?" Solas thinks that, maybe, in this, even Thranduil would not be so wise a choice. "I would take it, but I would not use it. I have no reason to make use of such a power, not when the risks are so clear, so obvious. I do not want that to be a price to be paid."

Leaning forward, his hand lifts, brushing her hair again, stroking gently, drawing her close. He lets her rest against him, lets her drink from her strength, from what he has left to give her, and he draws her closer. When he leans down it's so he can tilt her head, gently enough, and leave a kiss against her mouth. It's a soft, sweet, tender thing, borne of his affection, and the softness to him is more than obvious.

"I will not have myself consumed. I will return to you."

[laurenande]

Galadriel looks to him again, her lips still holding to the ghost of that tender kiss, and some of the edge to her, that desperate uncomfortable distance that took hold when they arrived, breaks away. She seems younger in that moment then she has any right to seem; there is a thread of honest hope in her expression.

She lifts a hand and it finds his--Solas, the elf that she has come to care for so deeply--and she does not worry for him. He is not lying, he will not be tempted by the ring. Perhaps, and this is so strange a thought it barely manages to form: perhaps she need not worry anout Nenya. Perhaps it shall be resolved without her efforts.

Her fingers wind between his and bring them to rest against her collarbone, idly using her shoulder to prop their limbs up.

"No, I would trust no others, in this world or the last. Only you." She says that with such certainty and softness that it is almost surprising to hear aloud. "Thank you, Solas. I cannot tell you how dear you are to me, I lack the words."

[dirth]

At least she is comforted, he thinks. Seeing the edge fall away from her, seeing the softness return to her features. It's what she deserves, he thinks - softness, tenderness, especially after the ordeal she has been through. Suspended as she was with the dagger embedded deep, poison in her veins, through her system... She deserves a moment of respite, he thinks. She deserves a time to forget these worries that plague her so desperately.

His fingers slip through hers gently, letting her move and guide him. He knows that this mission of theirs is something dangerous and desperate, but he knows that they might succeed. He knows that, together, they will find the ring and bring Nenya back to its rightful owner. Galadriel will have her ring of power returned, even if Solas has some concerns about what it might do to her.

Drawing her closer is easy. Holding her is easy. The softness comes naturally when his feelings have grown to such depth, and he relaxes as he embraces her.

"I will make sure your trust is not misplaced," he whispers, voice soft. There is a moment between them, he thinks, something that he's not entirely sure he can trust, his voice thick with the emotion, but he nods his head, turning to leave a kiss on her hair. "You are dear to me as well, ma vhenan."

post hair cutting.

[dirth]

Solas comes to her more evenings than he doesn't now, even if it is not to stay for longer than a few hours: he enjoys her company, enjoys the warmth, the understanding that the two of them together, as a pair, is something that he clings to amidst everything else seeming to go wrong. He is losing much and it pains him to think that, in the end, he might lose her as well, but he is selfish enough to cling to whatever she might be able to offer him, anything that she will give until the world ceases to be.

Slipping into her room is easy and be brings with him some more notes on the nature of Thedas for her to read. Around his neck is his usual jawbone necklace, but twisted around it and the string holding it together are strands of golden hair - likely familiar to her, if no one else. Solas expects many people to imagine that it is her hair and not someone else's, give their relationship and standing with one another.

"Feamarnya." His voice is soft as he leans to kiss her cheek in greeting. "Good evening."

[laurenande]

"Rafarion, in Melda," she greets and her attention drifts from her weaving.

She is glad to see him, as she always is, but her smile falters as her eyes drift across him and catch the dull glimmer of blonde hair. There are some, perhaps, in Thedas who might mistake her and Thranduil at a distance, but up close their hair is hardly similar. Her movement to welcome him is halted as he eyes fall on that lock, twisted around his necklace.

"A strange new accessory," she comments, her tone painfully blank and diplomatic. She will not guess how he came by them, nor allow herself to begin guessing. She has already had one of her great loves choose Sylvan elves before her, to suffer it again and with Thranduil as the very face of it would be truly devastating.

[dirth]

Solas recognises the blankness, the diplomacy - how many times has he entertained and engineered it himself, to protect himself, to learn from others? Lifting a hand, he brushes hair from her face, fingers touching her cheek gently, thumb along her cheekbone.

"Not given willingly." His voice is soft, low. He does not reach to touch the hair twined along the jawbone, does not look at it or do anything that might draw more attention to it. There's a reason he chose to take hair rather than blood: he knows well enough the damage it might do, the hurt, to have one curl of hair taken without consent, without allowance from the Elvenking himself. Solas knows better.

"Thranduil offered his blood in return for my forgiveness. I did not feel as though it was an appropriate trade." He has nothing to hide from her, after all, the woman who has truly seen into the depth of his heart and not turned away. She knows all he has to offer, the memories that burden him even now. "His hair was taken instead, by his own knife."

[laurenande]

The gentle brush of his fingers stays her panic for a moment, his answer banishes it--but it does give rise to another question. He had taken it. Did he understand the significance of that, especially given that it was she he was with? Perhaps...but likely not.

"A bold choice," she replies and sounds neither enthused nor particularly reproachful about it. Thranduil is her kin here, just as he was in Arda, and while they have become closer than they were, that is not a grand and impressive claim. Here they are two immortals amid a sea of mortality, they are close by necessity and inevitability.

His disputes and the punishments he endures for transgressions? Those she has no stake in...at least, to a point. This? This is not that point.

"And have you granted the boon he sought?"

[dirth]

Solas knows enough to recognise the kind of punishment he had thrust upon Thranduil's shoulders, and that is enough for now. He cannot demand anything else when the theft of blood was too dangerous to take. Thranduil is no agent, no creature under his control - he is a Provost, a leader, an Elvenking. Solas cannot bend him to his will completely, but he can ward and warn him, can punish him for broken trust.

"One that was necessary," he admits, voice low and quite. He does not know if his vhenan will judge him for what he had done, if he will inspire his ire, but he hopes that she does not. He reaches for her, palm flat against her cheek, drawing her close and leaning up to meet her lips with his own. There's is always that slight thrill at the reminder of her height, the glory of the elven people, what she mirrors.

Careful fingers rest on her hip, gentle, and his smile is just for her.

"I have promised I will attend his wedding. My heart will have to decide the rest another time."

[laurenande]

"Then I wish you a clear mind," Galadriel replies and makes no move to draw away from him. In fact, she nearly leans into him, into the hand at her hip or the one on her cheek.

"It shall be a very interesting wedding, I expect. Will that token be permanent?" She reaches here and lifts just the edge of his necklace's cord, plucking it up a bare inch from his chest. She does not look down at it, nor at the hair wound with it.

"If it is, I fear I may be driven to compete."

[dirth]

“I am sure one will come, in time. Betrayals are not easy to forget.” But he has her to soften the edge of himself, to calm the more rattled side of him. There might be an edge of something darker and more dangerous, had he not been encouraged towards forgiveness, but he is a touch kinder - especially around her.

Galadriel brings him more comfort than he could have ever imagined. It is almost frightening.

“It will remain for some time. It would not do for him to forget.” He does not lean away from her touch. His heart lies surely in her hands, no hesitation as he leans to steal another kiss, pressing their mouths together. Whatever affection he might have held - or might still hold - is second to the depth of his love for her.

There’s a small smile on his face.

“How might you compete with him, ma vhenan? What would you have me do for you, to show you my heart?”

[laurenande]

"How?" she repeats as he stands near, as the lingering warmth of his lips lingers on hers, and she cannot help but smile a bit in response to him. She lets the necklace fall back against his chest and settles her hand, instead, in the fall of her hair over her shoulder, drawing her fingers through the strands.

"I would first be inclined to grant you a gift, in melda," she says and loops one strand around her finger as she speaks. "One hair, a boon I have granted to few others--and for proof, for evidence of your heart, I would ask you weave and wear it, if you are inclined?"

[dirth]

There is no hesitation in him, not when it comes to this. There is a weight of a world on his shoulders, but Galadriel eases it for him - why would he not want to give her something in return? To show his affection to her however she might demand or ask, to prove that he is true to her... It is not so great a burden to bear, not when his thoughts are a myriad of things. When he considers what she might mean to him, what her existence means to the fate of Thedas...

Solas bows his head, voice soft as he speaks.

"I would wear it with honour, vhenan."