(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.)
“I am sure one will come, in time. Betrayals are not easy to forget.” But he has her to soften the edge of himself, to calm the more rattled side of him. There might be an edge of something darker and more dangerous, had he not been encouraged towards forgiveness, but he is a touch kinder - especially around her.
Galadriel brings him more comfort than he could have ever imagined. It is almost frightening.
“It will remain for some time. It would not do for him to forget.” He does not lean away from her touch. His heart lies surely in her hands, no hesitation as he leans to steal another kiss, pressing their mouths together. Whatever affection he might have held - or might still hold - is second to the depth of his love for her.
There’s a small smile on his face.
“How might you compete with him, ma vhenan? What would you have me do for you, to show you my heart?”
"How?" she repeats as he stands near, as the lingering warmth of his lips lingers on hers, and she cannot help but smile a bit in response to him. She lets the necklace fall back against his chest and settles her hand, instead, in the fall of her hair over her shoulder, drawing her fingers through the strands.
"I would first be inclined to grant you a gift, in melda," she says and loops one strand around her finger as she speaks. "One hair, a boon I have granted to few others--and for proof, for evidence of your heart, I would ask you weave and wear it, if you are inclined?"
There is no hesitation in him, not when it comes to this. There is a weight of a world on his shoulders, but Galadriel eases it for him - why would he not want to give her something in return? To show his affection to her however she might demand or ask, to prove that he is true to her... It is not so great a burden to bear, not when his thoughts are a myriad of things. When he considers what she might mean to him, what her existence means to the fate of Thedas...
She smiles as she tugs on the hair wrapped around her finger and plucks it free. Individually, her hair is long and jut slightly waved, the strand shines like gold in a cold light, and she winds it between her fingers until its length is turned several times over.
"If your situation is truly dire, I have used strands like this to string bows and line fishing rods." She tells him, softly, and presses the strand into his hand. "It shall not break, not so long as it shares my will."
It’s a similar ilk to Thranduil’s, there’s no denying that, but it means something more to be given it by her own hand. Solas is not fool enough to mistake the gesture; he’s warmed by it, fingers curling around the single strand. There’s a distinct urge to kiss it, as thin as it is, but he resists. Instead, he smiles.
“I am no archer,” he admits. “But I will remember it, should it be necessary. Thank you, Galadriel.” He steals another kiss, soft, gentle. “What shall I fashion it into? How best would you like me to wear your affection?”
"How you fashion it is yours to choose, my love," Galadriel tells him and shakes her head a bit. "I would weave it, but I weave many things."
She leans her head forward as he kisses her again, her smile curling against his mouth, and rests her forehead against his. She is too close, staring at such a distance that she can only see his eyes and the fine freckles across his cheeks, but not his face on whole.
"I would ask you not wind it alongside his...that I would find intolerable."
“Perhaps I shall fashion a ring, so that I might always have it close. I can think of little else that would please me as much.” It’s impossible to keep himself too far from her now, in this moment, soft and careful as he embraces everything that she gives him. This is the kind of moment he will not forget, that will soothe him in his dreams.
He would kiss her again and again, their noses nudging as he shakes his head, offering a new promise.
“Yours I shall wear with pride and joy. Many will mistake his for yours,” because people are foolish and would never suspect the truth, “but I shall wear your gift close to my heart. It has great meaning to me, my love.”
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no subject
Galadriel brings him more comfort than he could have ever imagined. It is almost frightening.
“It will remain for some time. It would not do for him to forget.” He does not lean away from her touch. His heart lies surely in her hands, no hesitation as he leans to steal another kiss, pressing their mouths together. Whatever affection he might have held - or might still hold - is second to the depth of his love for her.
There’s a small smile on his face.
“How might you compete with him, ma vhenan? What would you have me do for you, to show you my heart?”
no subject
"I would first be inclined to grant you a gift, in melda," she says and loops one strand around her finger as she speaks. "One hair, a boon I have granted to few others--and for proof, for evidence of your heart, I would ask you weave and wear it, if you are inclined?"
no subject
Solas bows his head, voice soft as he speaks.
"I would wear it with honour, vhenan."
no subject
"If your situation is truly dire, I have used strands like this to string bows and line fishing rods." She tells him, softly, and presses the strand into his hand. "It shall not break, not so long as it shares my will."
no subject
“I am no archer,” he admits. “But I will remember it, should it be necessary. Thank you, Galadriel.” He steals another kiss, soft, gentle. “What shall I fashion it into? How best would you like me to wear your affection?”
no subject
She leans her head forward as he kisses her again, her smile curling against his mouth, and rests her forehead against his. She is too close, staring at such a distance that she can only see his eyes and the fine freckles across his cheeks, but not his face on whole.
"I would ask you not wind it alongside his...that I would find intolerable."
no subject
He would kiss her again and again, their noses nudging as he shakes his head, offering a new promise.
“Yours I shall wear with pride and joy. Many will mistake his for yours,” because people are foolish and would never suspect the truth, “but I shall wear your gift close to my heart. It has great meaning to me, my love.”