(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.)
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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“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?”
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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."
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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.”