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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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[minrathousian]

What an inconsequential bit of gold finery; it should not, in this place, exude such a draw upon anyone, least of all a magister whose interest in wealth and finery has never extended beyond sporting enough of it to denote his position in Tevinter society. Atticus' eyes glance off of it at first, the immediate threat posed by the demons and the murmur of indistinct whispering around them occupying the vast majority of his attention. Yet as Galadriel lifts her hand, he looks back again, and fixates.

"I am bound to it."

Around them, the dreamscape shivers, the scope of it narrowing upon the ring; what else matters beyond its potential, whispered into his ear with promises of the wonders he could create, if only he could touch the band one time? Wear it, and what obstacle would the Veil be to his vision? Rend it like shorn metal or part it gently like silk curtains, he could coax the visions of his sleeping mind into the waking world and weave together earth and sky and water with magic that could outlive the limitations of his own feeble body.

(Yet why limit himself in such a way? Why not weave together magic with flesh? A body is just another distant horizon waiting to be crossed--)

The helm that masks his face seems to disintegrate like ash caught on the wind, revealing his identity, his expression more tabula rasa than covetous. Atticus turns his pale eyes, wondering and wide, towards Galadriel... and witnesses the curl of elongated, bony fingers that rest against her cheeks. There, beside her face, a demon--and upon his own shoulder, slipping through his hair, cold talons and the near press of teeth. Venhedis--

His draw upon the Fade mutes and muffles the grinding groan of the frozen sea as it shifts under their feet. The protective barrier that suddenly envelops and encompasses Galadriel hums with energy, and absorbs the brunt of the impact from the spell that rips apart the demons that had been curling and crawling around them.

(A near-miss for the Inquisition, who nearly had two powerful abominations to contend with.)

[laurenande]

The promises of the ring are familiar, the whispers of Sauron eke their way out of the cracks in the ice, the shadows at her feet, and she is transfixed. When the world around her bursts with light and power the whole of the world shivers and jumps to the left. Galadriel is thrown off balance by it and stumbles as the Fade ignites around her.

Fade?

The word is strange and it pulls at a thread in her mind causing the whole of this place to begin slowly unraveling. It begins with her hand, with the glimmering gold that rests on her finger, and she stares down at it as it crumbles to ash. The thread pulls again and it begins to take the blistering cold. She twists to watch it, watch as crystals form through the snag in the air and fade away, and this time her eyes catch on the human in her dream.

Dream?

She says nothing, skill with words has not returned to her, but she stares as her mind attempts to wake itself to the reality of this place.

[minrathousian]

Like pulling the threads of a tapestry loose until the weight of the loose fibre hangs heavy enough to case the rest to collapse; like a ship's captain might read the clouds on the horizon or spy through a sextant to chart a course, Atticus reads the dream around him, and knows it is time to depart. Leave, awaken, before the power of this imagining draws more demons and spirits to this place than he can conceivably fend off without the aid of another mage equally confident in their abilities in this place.

The pale, smokey haze that lingers in the aftermath of his spellcasting is blown away as though at merely a gesture, Atticus can control the wind--and he can, in this place. His pupils blown wide, he turns to find Galadriel's eyes on his, and knows a moment's trepidation. Reckless, careless, he should not be making these mistakes.

"My apologies," he bids her once, countenance closed off. Then he reaches out a hand towards her temple.

"Wake up."

[laurenande]

The air is collapsing inward as the horizon draws close and a Mage stands before her here. Where is here? There is a moment of confusion and then he speaks, his apology ringing across the space between them, and reaches for her head.

Wake up.

Galadriel's eyes open with a start and the world appears before her in startling clarity. Her dream passes, as they all do, but too quickly for her preference. She grasps, past the whispers of the One, the cold and darkness of the grinding ice, and pulls the stray thread. The face is no guarantee, dreams work strangely, but she knows that voice.

Unfortunately, she knew not what to make of this.