He had patience, a virtue tended and nurtured through his life. Utterly necessary, especially when dealing with mortals. Compartmentalize, organize, address the worst problem first and then work backwards.

“That,” he said, gesturing with a nod of his head. “That is the breach? What I have in my hand is able to affect that rend?”

It was a rip in being, it sang with a horrible song—yet Thranduil had fallen from Arda here. “Why do you call it ‘magic’, kinsmen? We are elves—that word is for superstitious Men who do not understand how Arts work.”