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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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[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.