IC Inbox

[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.)

Comments

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.

[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."