Redcliffe was, in the way of many human settlements, strangely named. It boasted a large but unimpressive looking fortress, off in the distance, but was neither red nor had any cliffs that she could see. The town was little more than an array of little buildings; each was tidily kept and well built, but made of terrible wood sheltered beneath questionable thatch. To walk through Redcliffe was to trudge through mud and watch as the architecture soaked up the snow and damp. The buildings would crumble within two decades; it was nearly enough to make Galadriel frown.

Fortunately, the fate of Redcliffe's simple cottages was driven from her mind fairly quickly. She stepped into the yard between the buildings she caught sight of Thranduil, his arm half extended in gesture. Before him stood a human, arrested in place, staring at him in the most peculiar way. His expression was some combination of offense and shock, as if one had tried to wipe the other away and both had gotten tangled together in the process.

It was a look Galadriel had received on more than one occasion and, ultimately, one that she felt exemplified how it was to be Eldar in Thedas.

"I would suggest speaking with elves whenever possible," Galadriel said as she strode toward them. The human's eyes darted between them, still caught in between both expressions, and he shifted away. Snow had already begun to pile atop his shoulders and head. A glimmer of panic danced in his gaze, as if he expected they would attack him, and Galadriel turned her attention to Thranduil instead.

"I have found the men of Thedas are rarely very helpful."