He watches her sit, temporarily consumed by something. Patience- and listening to the sounds of the camp about them- tides him over until she speaks again.
"It refers to one of the Half-Elven." He supposed it could apply to all of them- all except Dior, he of Threefold Race- but the technicalities of the political climate of Arda are not ones he wants to share with Herian.
He indicates her, all of her, head to toe. "The Peredhil usually have the Elven look, but the choice of immortality or the fate of Men is their own." That anyone would choose the fragile, impermanent nothing of Men is bizarre to him, choosing to be cut off from the Song.
Well. It is not a choice that Herian will have to make.
How he wished for a high backed chair to settle into. Nor would he walk. He's done enough insult to the cook. "Clan Neirsya," Thranduil clarifies, watching intently, hands neatly in his lap.
no subject
"It refers to one of the Half-Elven." He supposed it could apply to all of them- all except Dior, he of Threefold Race- but the technicalities of the political climate of Arda are not ones he wants to share with Herian.
He indicates her, all of her, head to toe. "The Peredhil usually have the Elven look, but the choice of immortality or the fate of Men is their own." That anyone would choose the fragile, impermanent nothing of Men is bizarre to him, choosing to be cut off from the Song.
Well. It is not a choice that Herian will have to make.
How he wished for a high backed chair to settle into. Nor would he walk. He's done enough insult to the cook. "Clan Neirsya," Thranduil clarifies, watching intently, hands neatly in his lap.
"Why do you suspect them? Where were you? When?"