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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.)

Comments

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.