"The technicalities remove the poetry, no? I hope, at least, I was not named for wings and feathers."

Each word is carefully committed to memory. Merilin, tinuviel, Eldar, Arda. The language is quite beautiful, though she doubts it would sound so spoken from her own lips.

"I can claim no close ties," she responds, gazing into the fire, elbows resting on her thighs and her hands clasp together in thought. "But they have suffered for generations, at the hands of humanity. They have been enslaved and abused. And for what?" Her voice has dropped now, a little hoarser, harsher, just barely audible over the crack of embers and bursts of sound from the fire.

"They are innocents, punished for their very existence, and given little chance to thrive, much the same as mages. I know a good many people who have done far worse things than so many of either group, and yet they go free by virtue of being human, or not being a mage." Leliana's lip has caught into a faint snarl, even if it does not make it into her voice. "It is abhorrent. If the Maker made all things, should not all be treasured?"

She straightens, at that, and looks to Galadriel. "Forgive me." For speaking too much, for being so forward. This is not the time.