Unfortunately they vary because the Chantry that declares them is full of fickle, superstitious individuals with a stronger grasp of theatrics than good sense.

[ Annoyed by trying to work through historical texts, Adelaide? Never.

Not that she has much chance to dwell on it for- that.

Those.













One moment. ]


Fifteen- fifteen thousand years.

[ Her voice didn't crack and she actually managed to be quite neutral. Compassion, on the other hand? Went dead silent.

Adelaide had never known a spirit to faint. Were such a thing possible? It just happened. For her she- she was-

Galadriel was akin to the elves of old. The ageless, godlike beings that crafted much of Theadas or so the few scraps of lore she knew went. She was attempting to hold a godlike being's hand.

She'd been kissed on the forehead by this Lady. Saved her life. Healed her twice. Counted her as a friend. How does one even begin to respond to such a thing?

When in doubt? Humor. ]

...I suddenly feel terribly unqualified to act as your teacher.