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Oct. 21st, 2015 01:34 pm
laurenande: (Default)
[personal profile] laurenande
(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.)

Date: 2016-08-14 03:29 am (UTC)
rowancrowned: (020)
From: [personal profile] rowancrowned
It is an abstract comfort to know she can continue to hold the Templars even though there is no urgent need for it. They are not as poorly off as he thought. He considers her. He has thought of Galadriel in so many different tones over his life, but she is uniquely gifted for the exact situation they have found themselves in.

"A blend, perhaps?" Has he seen her in anything but ill-fitting Mannish clothes and her dress? How they approach the same problem is startling. But she is of a different Age, a different family. It is understandable.

"Do they pose any real threat, cousin?" He has little concern for swords, unless there are a great deal of them against him- partially arrogance. "I have met very few."

Date: 2016-08-15 12:17 pm (UTC)
rowancrowned: (027)
From: [personal profile] rowancrowned
"How simple?" is his first question. They all have their talents, and if his rests in a realm that the Templars have some immunity to, he'd rather not find out in the middle of needing it.

(He longs mournfully for but twenty of his guard. What they could do if they had so many!)

He wishes he had a glass of wine, but as far as he can see, she keeps none close at hand.

"If it is suitable for my guard, it is suitable for me." He's certainly not shied away from exploring a bit here. (Excepting purple. He looks hideous in purple.)

"The Dalish favor a pattern of crossing bars- I have seen in on the wraps Solas wears in place of shoes. It would suit as a subtle nod to them." As well as the not so subtle nod of being seen around the Dalish. If they are fĂȘted, they will need to make sure to dance with city elf and Dalish both.

He scoffs a little at her pronouncement, but all in good humor. "I wore red to your granddaughter's begetting-day feast. Surely you recall that?"

It had been centuries before, one of the last excursions made before the spiders had descended. Thranduil, still wed, had been far more cheerful. He supposed he still owned that robe, somewhere.

"If you can be persuaded from your white, I can be parted from my silver. Brown and blue, perhaps?" Though, really, the idea of Galadriel being forced from her usual raiment by necessity. He's struck by curiosity, suddenly. "I do not suppose," he says, slowly. "- that you have the sense to wear something else whilst you launder your dress and smallclothes?"

He wants to suppose that the answer is yes, but after hearing what the Outsider had done, well. Safer to ask.

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Galadriel

October 2015

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