ataraxionlogs | From her earliest years she had a marvellous gift of insight into the minds of others

This was downright irritating. Granny didn't much care for anyone else in her brain. Her own, thank you very much.

And all these sparkly memories full of elves? Definitely something she could do without. Which is why she is currently looking for elves, which she normally avoids at all cost. "Ye."

If nothing else, Galadriel could now understand the cause of Granny's suspicion. Though, to be honest, being compared with the sort of beings she had seen in those memories really didn't do much to improve her mood. Consequently, her reaction to Granny's rather abrupt greeting is less than enthusiastic. Somehow, the normally respectful dip of her head comes off as a little sarcastic.

"I thought perhaps you would seek me out."

"Ain't given us a terrible lot of choice in the matter." There didn't seem to be any other ways of making all this go away. And she did not enjoy a head full of sparkly visions.

Never trust sparkles. Sparkles were a good way of hiding something.

To be fair, it's more of a glow than a sparkle, per se. Not that's much of an improvement, really.

"So it seems." It could be worse. For all the airs she puts on, Galadriel has no real objection to the woman before her. "Dare I ask what you have seen?"

"Some romantic nonsense." Which really was her opinion of just about anything romantic. Though woe to the person who failed to invite her to a wedding. "Stuff about rulin'. Some murderin' ye didn't much care fer." Which... some credit for not caring for it, for what it was worth.

Relatively harmless memories, then. Or at least ones that were no secrets. Inwardly, she breathes a sigh of relief.

"It must be difficult for you to believe, after what you have experienced, but I care little for killing of any sort." And it's rather sad how many events 'some murderin' ye didn't much care fer' could apply to in her life. But she's not about to ask who is doing the killing in said memories.

"Worse things than killin'. Guess ye didn't get those one." She doesn't care for anyone getting those memories. It took a certain temperament to survive them and very few people were Esmeralda Weatherwax.

Also, elf.

"I did not, though I assure you, I am perfectly aware that there are worse things than killing and worse fates than death." There are quite a few stories in the history of Arda illustrating the point- some of them involving people she knew, some of them not.

"One does not live as long as I without becoming aware of the ways of the world, both pleasant and unpleasant."

"It's amazin', what folk can miss if they're determined enough." People were foolish. That's why they needed witches around. Otherwise they just remembered that elves sang, never about what. And then, well, what a mess that led to. "Age ain't all there is to it."

"True enough." The old and foolish are not strangers to her either. "But if you have seen what you say you have, then you know well that I do not close my eyes to bitter truths."

He isn't quite certain what he's seeing. A bright place, something he's never seen even in all his time wandering from home to the ends of all light. Two familiar faces, and a few that are not. There's something about the memories that are achingly warm and familiar in a way that the two he recognized did not always appear.

What is it? It's a tug on his brain that draws him from sitting to standing, as if he must apologize for even seeing such a thing. Or perhaps he is imagining it, but he could not mistake the Lady Galadriel.

Quietly, he seeks her out, the shine that comprises her unmistakable as Frodo tentatively draws near.

He isn't quite certain what to say, or why he saw such things, but as he sees her again, there really is no misplacing the mother in that dream. Or how for a moment she seemed like any other who loved their child. It was unsettling as it was moving, and he can't decide which is more fitting.

"Master Baggins."

She wasn't surprised to see him. Not truly. The link goes both ways, after all, and there are some things about Frodo's life are, fortunately or unfortunately, distinct. This was one connection, however, that concerned her less than the others. Most of her most closely held secrets concern the Ring, after all, and that was his business as much as hers.

"I thought perhaps you might seek me out."

"I felt it would be wrong of me not to, " Frodo replied, watching her quietly. "I've seen things I shouldn't have, and could only think to ask your forgiveness in it. But..you already know this, don't you?"

And why should he be surprised?

"I did not know, but I have guessed." She offers him an understanding smile. "Come, let us find a place to sit and you might tell me what you have seen."

The hobbit nodded once, before walking towards her, meaning to follow her lead. "I'll go wherever you'd like, Lady Galadriel." He wondered if this was not unlike how they had spoke in Lorien.

The kitchen seems a natural enough destination- neutral, pleasant enough, and with plenty of seats. So she'll lead him there and gesture for him to sit, waiting until he does so before she sits herself. "You hardly need apologize for this; it was no more your choice than mine. Though I will admit to a certain curiosity as to what you've seen."

She leads him to a place where his cousin takes great joy in, where any hobbit would be delighted or flustered at the strange gadgets. But it seems safe, and the one who leads Frodo has shown from the beginning that he was under her protection. The ringbearer relaxes his guard and watches her with quiet eyes.

"..I saw a family. Two of which I knew well, yourself and your husband."

He feels ashamed to see something so personal.

"While I had no right to see it regardless, I admit it was an image of joy."
And it comforted him, in a sense.

"From it I have learned that you are many things, more than I could hope to ever unravel in my lifetime."

"You saw us with our daughter? Or our grandchildren, perhaps?" She smiles and her entire expression softens. "I am glad, if you were to see into my mind, that you saw something so dear to my heart. You have seen enough darkness in your own life; far better that you should witness what light has blessed mine."

Bethany had not expected to become the recipient of any of the memories that seemed to be shared communally between the other residents of the ship these days. Every last one of these people were strangers to her. She knew a few names, but only two faces.

Now, she knew a third. One so beautiful, that she was certain she'd dreamt it rather than simply witnessed someone else's memory. An elf, but not at all like any she knew. Not even the proud Dalish looked so tall, nor so regal.

It was almost surprised that the memories themselves, along with the emotions that came with them were so similar to some of her own. But unlike her own, they overwhelmed. She swung from an extreme, almost giddy sort of happiness to a paralyzing, all-consuming grief.

Bethany did not take long to decide to seek this woman out, whoever she may be. Her head swam with voice, feelings and faces--which she felt guilty for being able to see at all. The least she could do was apologize. So she wandered the ship, getting lost several times in places she hadn't been to yet, until she found her.

And when she did, Bethany did not know what to say or do. She tried to form a smile upon her face, and at least cover the guilt and the sorrow with the friendliness that now came as second nature.

"My lady," she said softly, and curtsied, her head bowed.

These exchanges of memory were wearing on Galadriel more than she cared to admit. It wasn't just that she felt vulnerable, exposed in a way that she seldom is. Frankly, this is an excellent demonstration of why she is so extremely careful in the use of her gifts. It is a risky thing, to see into another's mind, even at the best of times. Now she lacked even the most basic control of what she saw. And some of it- some of it struck far too close to home.

Like this woman. Galadriel knew her face- her voice. She knew more than that. Memories of a brother- of a family and a separation... There was a name that went with them, wasn't there? She struggles for a moment to find it.

"Bethany, is it not?" Her own smile is more sympathetic than anything else. This is inevitably going to be awkward and she's sorry for it. Truly.

"Counts fer somethin' I suppose." It was going to take a lot more than that to bring Granny around on elves, but it was something. "Hopin' ye've learned a thing or two 'bout why human worlds are best let be."

"Human worlds?" Almost unconsciously, she stands straighter and takes a step back, looking down at Granny. "Once again, you mistake us. I know what you have seen and of the creatures who call themselves Elven in your world. We are not they. My people awoke in the starlight before the first dawn and we have walked the lands of Arda since. We are bound to it and it to us; not until the unmaking of the world will we leave it. Do not speak to me of 'human worlds' and do not lecture me. It is not your place."

Edited (I'm done now, I swear) 2013-11-06 04:09 (UTC)

Bethany could tell from her regal bearing that this was a great lady. Yet her memories did not differ so much from her own at all. The grief and sorrow she had felt upon learning of her siblings' deaths was alive in her heart, as she could empathize all too well. Even now, she still missed and grieved for Carver.

There would never be a time when she would not. She blinked any evidence of tears away quickly, and stood. Now that she could look more directly at the woman, she could recall, as she sifted through the few memories of hers she'd seen, a name.

"Yes. Bethany Hawke." It was awkward, but not only for herself. She had no idea what this lady had seen. Her smile did not fade, but grew a little lopsided.

"And you are Lady Galadriel, aren't you? I think I've pronounced it right."

"I am." Galadriel's eyes lingered on Bethany's face, studying it as if she might discover what she has seen written there. "And I know why you have come." To apologize. To ask questions. To discover what Galadriel now knows. It was only natural.

Something in her expression softened then and she reached out to place a hand on Bethany's shoulder. "Come. Let us sit and speak of what we have learned."

Bethany was amazed that she had been able to string more than two words together while in the sight of this lady. Her presence was awesome, and she was most definitely in awe. She thought to herself that it might not be so different from how she might feel were she able to shake hands with Andraste.

It was simply on a whole other level. So she wasn't really surprised that she already knew why she had come. There had been a vague sense of extra awareness in the memories she had seen. Of thoughts and the inner workings of the minds of others. And since this lady potentially had already seen some of the worst of her experiences, she did not mind.

Instead, she smiled, and nodded. "All right." And she followed Galadriel without question. There was a calm sense of authority to her that made her feel comfortable allowing her to guide her.

Galadriel led her to the nearest common room on the floor and gestured to a chair. It's funny, really- even here she's still playing the hostess; it would be exceedingly rude to sit before a guest.

"Shall you begin or shall I? I daresay that you will have questions, whatever you have seen." Galadriel is an exception to many rules, after all, even in her own world, and much of her life would seem strange without context.

Galadriel's formal manners reminded her of her mother, Leandra's. She sat with a smile, and waited patiently for her to do the same. Once she had, Bethany settled back in her own seat. It was better to relax now, because they could be here a while.

"I do have questions," she admitted slowly. Quite a few. "But you must also have some, and since I'm not sure if I've interrupted anything, I think it's fair that you be able to ask yours first."

Bethany was incredibly curious about Galadriel and the things she could do.

In comparison, she herself might seem almost.. normal. Perhaps in any other world than her own, she might have been.

Treason of kin unto kin.

Had this been several centuries earlier, he might have felt as sick as she did in the memory that seeps into his mind. He does, in fact. Did. It's a passing sensation.

He does not rise to find her, however. Thranduil he had no quarrel with, and would not have the Elf see any more than need be. But Mairon holds an odd resentment for Celebrimbor's affections, and though it rings in his ears and pounds against his head to just find Galadriel and end this connection, he would rather not. She knows already the worst of him. Surely nothing she sees could do much to sway her opinion, either way.

It's a slow process, with the headaches and the occasional stream of blood coming from one orifice or another, but he stays in the forge and etches away at the hilt of a knife, warmed by an ongoing fire, until one of them decides to stop being stubborn and find the other.

It won't be him.

Galadriel wouldn't have thought it would be her, either.

That was before the headaches increased to the point where it was becoming difficult to function and she grew weary of being asked why she didn't just take care of the matter. Eventually, practicality won out over anger.

That doesn't mean that she has to be happy about it, however. She comes into forge like a storm cloud, bristling and full of unreleased power threatening to strike. The effect is, sadly, slightly diminished by the trickle of blood from her nose, which she has not yet noticed.

She doesn't say anything at first, just stands beside him and glowers.

Galadriel nods slowly, thoughtfully, mentally sorting through what she knew, what she guessed, and what was still strange to her.

"I hesitate to question you at all, for much of what I saw was painful to you and I would not reopen wounds." She is curious though and after a moment more of thought, she has a place to begin.

"Tell me, if you would, what is the Circle?" She frowns, her brow furrowing. She had been left with feelings, impressions, but no strict definitions. She knew she would not be pleased to hear the answer, but she did not know what it would be.

Telling Granny something isn't her place is not a concept she is familiar with. A witch's place is where she decides it is. "All that ancient wisdom and ye ain't figured out yet that maybe humans are better off left to themselves to work the way of things out."

"You will get your wish soon enough." A touch of regret seeps into her tone. "The world is changed. The time of the Elves is waning; we will sail West or we will fade and become but shadows of ourselves." And she's full of mixed feelings about that.

By then he's given up trying to do any sort of work. And since hardly anyone ever visits the forge, there's no harm in sprawling out over his own work table, pinching at his nose with an old cloth.

But he makes an effort to sit straighter when Galadriel approaches, if only to better seem like he's been expecting her arrival. He has. Still, it's an amusing sight to see-- the Lady of Light, livid and sporting a line of blood from her nose. He might almost laugh if he didn't dislike her so much.

He smiles, anyway. Or rather, he manages at least that much, in the face of the other memories that seep through.

"It seems, Lady," softly, more musing than anything, and just the slightest bit nasally, "that we must come to an accord for a time."

Edited 2013-11-12 10:03 (UTC)

"I can think of few things I should like less." Galadriel makes absolutely no attempt to smile- being here was enough of a concession. "Yet it seems that I have little choice in the matter."

Bethany's smile turned sad, and she shook her head. "It's all right."

After all, Galadriel's surely had a right to know more about the things she had seen. Especially if any of it had to do with that little trek she and Garrett took through a certain Warden tower. If they were not, well.

"A lot of my wounds are yet mending." She thought of Carver, and Leandra, and shut her eyes tightly for a moment before reopening them to regard the elf. "You can ask me anything."

The question was not exactly what she was expecting. Bethany released a quiet sigh, and steepled her fingers, carding them together.

"The place all mages must go. A prison. Mages aren't allowed to walk free in Thedas."

This entire concept is startling to her for a number of reasons, and it shows on her face.

"In Middle Earth, there are few who would dare tell a wizard what he may or may not do. Even I would not be so bold." She might make suggestions, perhaps, to a dear friend, but nothing more. It's not fear in her voice, though, when she speaks of wizards and magic, but rather an immense amount of respect.

"Yes, and they were fair to behold. An image for all my intrusions, I'll not soon forget, " He said quietly, hearing her words, the genuine good-will she offered him and Frodo felt his heart warmed. Felt all the weary bones in his body briefly offered a glimpse of the sun and it showed for a moment, just a bit, in his smile.

"I'm glad, that you have such memories. Ones of joy and happiness..and yet I wonder, what mine might have showed you. Surely they brought you no comfort like yours did."

"I can think of many things I should like less." Just as quietly as before. It isn't much of a lie, even if she is pretty high on the list of things he dislikes. He sets down the tools and turns to face her more, though he makes no move to stand. "I take it you are aware of what happens if we do not?"

"I would not be here otherwise." The blood coming from her nose runs a little further down her face. Without thinking, she reaches up and touches it, glancing at the blood on her finger tips before pulling out a handkerchief.

"No." She admitted quietly. "Yet, strange as it may sound to your ears, I am glad to have experienced them." Her smile faltered a little. "It is a terrible thing we ask of you; I have known that from the first. That I have now felt your burden for myself is only just."

"Well, then. Nothing good will come of standing around idly, Lady." He gestures to one of the stools nearby before pressing against his nose again to at least keep the blood from dripping out. Of course, he doesn't intend to pull up a seat for her.

Galadriel hesitates, hating to accept the invitation but knowing that there's little point in a refusal. She pulls up a stool and seats herself beside him, still frowning.

"Give me your hand."

They have to be touching, she knows, and continuing to avoid it will only prolong the amount of time she must spend in his presence. And there may be some small part of her that would prefer to be the one to issue the command, rather than the one to comply with it. Petty, true, but she has always been a creature of pride.

His pride is of a different nature, a different sort. Quieter, making its appearance only rarely and in subtle ways. Making Galadriel come here was one of those ways, and he has no qualms with holding his hand out towards her when prompted.

To see Galadriel simmering in agitation and seething is reward enough.

Reluctantly, and with a look a vague distaste, she takes his hand in her own. She almost hates the relief it instantly brings. It's incongruous; his touch should hurt her, as his presence always has.

It is a strange sensation, for the pain and ache to be so suddenly lessened by a simple touch. But he does not hate her as much as she hates him, not in the individual sense. That her touch might be a balm is ill-sitting, though, and his smile is thin with terse regard.

"And now, we wait." How droll.

From her earliest years she had a marvellous gift of insight into the minds of others

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11/6 YEARS LATER...

It's okay, we've got all the time in the world.......okay, immortality jokes are bad

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cackles sadly....

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