[ he smiles—or, his lips curl, and he looks haunted, though she cannot see. he is staring off into some other time, more there than here when he says: ] There has only ever been one war.

[ for the elves, at least. he catches himself and soothes his glamour back into calm amusement, lips tilting into a smile. ] Nearer to seven.

[ one thousand is nothing to him now, but beleth’s comment does cheer him some, and he’s merrier as he starts on the other side of her hair, trying to arrange it into something that both suits her and respects her position. it’s turning out quite well, in his opinion. ]

A …? [ he leads, having not quite caught the first half of what she said and supposing it just as interesting as the rest. ] How arranged are your betrothals? Are you offered a selection, or one only?