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Titles carried so much power. It was sort of funny that a word, a simple string of letters, a sound, could identify a person to the masses. That someone could identify another's social status or importance with half a breath.
Titles could be very formal like Lord and Lady, Grand Mistress, Ambassador, Master, or Grand Poobah, and casual like writer, bard, inventor, baker, or friend,
But Keyleth held two titles very close to her heart. One belonged to her and one belonged to the love of her life.
Perhaps it had been silly, pursuing love. Not that it had been on purpose of course, they just kind of stumbled into it (or well, she did. He was very vocal about it). Some days it was hard to know she had loved him so much and so openly only to lose him in the end. Some times, even years later, much longer spent without him than with him, she could hardly get out of bed.
But their love, though short, had burned brightly. It had meant something. It made them happy. And she carried the memories in her heart, using them when she needed to find joy. Her life, she decided, was fundamentally better for having loved him, even briefly. Even though they never got the forever they had wanted so badly.
She couldn't ever see herself with another. When he left, it felt as though her capacity for love in that manner had gone with him. He was special, he was everything. And he was gone.
Somewhere, deep in her heart, she held a tiny, ridiculous sliver of hope that the Tempest and the Champion might be reunited someday. That she would find him, like she had promised.
Because First Love was perhaps the most important title one could have.