Zevran's apology was quick and appropriate, insofar as apologies were ever truly appropriate, but sincere? That, she could not say. He was clever. If anyone could draw up a mask sufficient to hide before her, she had no doubt he could. For several seconds she merely regarded him, her expression unchanging.

For the first time since she had sworn that oath to Adelaide, she was tempted to break it--to know how his heart wound through his words would grant her much ease. Though if she did read his heart, any trust she found would likely be lost.

It was fortunate, she supposed, that she did not readily break oaths.

"I would not look upon them with such disdain, mellon nin," Galadriel replied. Her tone was too calm to be called chiding, but held just enough reproach that it couldn't be deemed anything else. "Bloodshed and suffering have poisoned us both; that we readily agree to call the world cruel marks us more clearly than any scar.

"No, I dearly envy them, for they see much beauty that we do not, and feel the shadow more keenly when it falls across them," she said and, after a beat, cast an almost wry smile at him. "I envy you as well, but that is no surprise."

She had always been bold, in word and deed, but the few times she had spoken with as much candor and pride as he? She did not regret the occasions, not precisely, but she had spent thousands upon thousands of years paying the price for them. Ah, to be headstrong with youth and conviction.

"But this is a conversation where we both have faltered, is it not? I would forgive you if you would do me the same."