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[rowancrowned]

 

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[limier]

Different, entire. It is as to be — displaced, within memory. Within dream. Details fade. Events cloud. If there is violence, it is often for confusion, fear.

[ a pause. ]

There is something else to the red. [ the notes are all wrong, and there's no way to say that without sounding a madwoman. she won't allow herself to be seen for that, can't. not yet. ] Your arrival, I presume; he has spoken poorly to de Cedoux.

[ galadriel who, that's something to file away. that they all apparently get spooky vibes off of lyrium — ]

What do you sense of it? Between the two?

[rowancrowned]

I have seen elderly Men grow foggy, think themselves younger. This is seems the same, but brought on sooner. Are they healthy besides? Does the Chantry mind them, or are they often lost?

[ well, that's something to work with, but he has no reason to interact with that one, and will use intermediaries if needed. but that he was misplaced with de cedoux-- she is as mild-mannered as cream and a lady to her bones. the most inoffensive rifter of them all.

he inhales, prepares to indulge. she cannot fear him more than she does. ]

You must understand some things about us to understand why. Our history is more real than yours; we are old, we are born knowing. There are no half-remembered things, no differing recollections. We know how everything came to be because we speak with those who were there, those who served the One who sang the Music that made all things, those who sang alongside Him.

One of those who sang desired to change the Music, to gain control, to create and to corrupt. He sang in discord, and from this, all awful things were made, and all wretched things carry the echo of that discord. The Quendi were made pure, uncorrupted, unending and eternal. We are the Song, we know the Song, hear it, and through knowing it are able to-- move within in. To sculpt creation on our own.

[ a pause. ]

It is too complicated. You could not understand. But because we know what the harmony ought to be, we know when it is disturbed. When something moves with malice, with evil, with impurity. Something about lyrium itself is distasteful. It-- sings a tune all its own, but it is not wrong, merely unnerving. The red is-- it festers. It is discord.

[limier]

Healthy as any soldier in age. [ her knees, thranduil. it should be dry, it isn’t. ] There are provisions made, but with the war —

[ it trails off. uncertainty has governed the chantry near four years; those who remain can count upon little. privately, that's something of a relief.

because she holds some regard for him, she listens (arrogant needn't mean incorrect). she listens, and hears only what she ever does, of late: ]

Has else here similarly disturbed you?

[ what the harmony ought to be, no. hold your bloody focus, coupe. ]

[rowancrowned]

So only their minds are ruined. I see. I will have to think on this.

[ reluctantly: ]

The Wardens. Like corpses even the vultures would refuse. My cousin feels these things clearer than I, and the revulsion is-- physical.

[limier]

They are so frequent among Darkspawn, it may perhaps leave stain. Lyrium, too, comes from the depths — perhaps it is this which carries. Have you spoken with Gandir? The dwarf, once of Orzammar.

[rowancrowned]

No. [ and why should he? if this whole thing is the fault of the damned dwarves, his opinion of them will fall even further. ]

It is no wonder the dwarves conspire with the source of all the filth in this world.

[limier]

A terrible conspiracy, to be born.

[ her eyes slip shut, hands spread. what the fuck, buddy,

dryly: ]

If the sense lingers, it would tell us something of its nature. I've not particular faith of Gandir, but I much doubt he would balk for the meeting.

[rowancrowned]

I will speak with him, if you make the introductions. I would provide what aid I can.