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.]
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branchandroot
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Date: 2018-05-14 07:04 pm (UTC)[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.]