Thranduil has a brief, wondrous hope. It is potential in a bottle, possibility beyond what he has been constrained to by the machinations and faults of Thedas. He covets it. He lusts for what he might do with such a thing, the taste of everything he might restore on his tongue.
Placidly, he says, "Time is a burden on those unsuited for it, in nature and in circumstance."
The fable of the orb itself weighs on him in eventual counterpoint to his considerations, and he gestures to the bottle.
"How often do you need to drink from it to keep your youth and vitality?"
He's heard the rumor of Xenon, of age without youth, and any discussion considering destroying the thing must also consider the rate at which Lakshmi might decay. How much water can one flask contain?
no subject
Placidly, he says, "Time is a burden on those unsuited for it, in nature and in circumstance."
The fable of the orb itself weighs on him in eventual counterpoint to his considerations, and he gestures to the bottle.
"How often do you need to drink from it to keep your youth and vitality?"
He's heard the rumor of Xenon, of age without youth, and any discussion considering destroying the thing must also consider the rate at which Lakshmi might decay. How much water can one flask contain?