Skyhold had been a harsher clime, removed from the spheres of men and mortals of all creeds, but there had been something singular about it, something in the way the stars stretched around it like the open ocean. Kirkwall, to its credit, had the open ocean in abundance...but it was in constant motion. There is constant noise and chaos around her; on the best of days it is a cacophony, loud and just violent enough to disrupt thought, like ripples across still water that never cease.
She regards the courtyard in the dim morning light and already it is filled with people. The parties return from their latest excursion and, according to Thranduil, they bring a number of new Rifters with them. Galadriel almost pities the lot of them, just as she nearly pities all those who linger here, but it is not her place to question such designs, only to work to aid this world.
She considers running again, as she has for the last week, and rebuilding her strength. Her limbs ache still from the marathon of constant motion she inflicted upon them and she dismisses the thought. Her presence is known now, though with both Thranduil and Beleth in power, she is not currently under watch.
She wonders at how long that shall last before it is overturned.
The caravan of soldiers and forces agents come up the steps of the Gallows and Galadriel watches them from the shade of the colonnade. In truth, she does not expect to see anyone familiar among their number, nor among the approaching rifters--she begins to leave but, as she turns, a glimmer of white and silver catch her eye. The color is familiar enough that he spares a glance for it and all but freezes in place.
She sees him before he sees her and, for a moment, she is certain she is asleep and that someone has conjured this image to placate her. When his gaze finally lands on hers, her heart jumps painfully in her chest and, before she even realizes it, she is running across the courtyard. He will think her mad, surely--it has been hardly any time at all, they have been parted for longer on simple journeys, and yet it had felt so much longer without the promise of return.
But he is here--
"Celeborn," she says and throws her arms around him, clutching him desperately.
Faderift Setting PSL GO
Skyhold had been a harsher clime, removed from the spheres of men and mortals of all creeds, but there had been something singular about it, something in the way the stars stretched around it like the open ocean. Kirkwall, to its credit, had the open ocean in abundance...but it was in constant motion. There is constant noise and chaos around her; on the best of days it is a cacophony, loud and just violent enough to disrupt thought, like ripples across still water that never cease.
She regards the courtyard in the dim morning light and already it is filled with people. The parties return from their latest excursion and, according to Thranduil, they bring a number of new Rifters with them. Galadriel almost pities the lot of them, just as she nearly pities all those who linger here, but it is not her place to question such designs, only to work to aid this world.
She considers running again, as she has for the last week, and rebuilding her strength. Her limbs ache still from the marathon of constant motion she inflicted upon them and she dismisses the thought. Her presence is known now, though with both Thranduil and Beleth in power, she is not currently under watch.
She wonders at how long that shall last before it is overturned.
The caravan of soldiers and forces agents come up the steps of the Gallows and Galadriel watches them from the shade of the colonnade. In truth, she does not expect to see anyone familiar among their number, nor among the approaching rifters--she begins to leave but, as she turns, a glimmer of white and silver catch her eye. The color is familiar enough that he spares a glance for it and all but freezes in place.
She sees him before he sees her and, for a moment, she is certain she is asleep and that someone has conjured this image to placate her. When his gaze finally lands on hers, her heart jumps painfully in her chest and, before she even realizes it, she is running across the courtyard. He will think her mad, surely--it has been hardly any time at all, they have been parted for longer on simple journeys, and yet it had felt so much longer without the promise of return.
But he is here--
"Celeborn," she says and throws her arms around him, clutching him desperately.