[ thranduil exhales slowly, five years of planning and work set aside in the face of this promise. he compartmentalizes. he moves on. ]
This other Rifter you spoke of, how likely is he to present a problem? Has he swayed others to his side?
[ thranduil may know him, he may not. his interests have always been... narrow. and pointed. (elves. he likes elves.) either way, he needs to assess this threat and deal with it. not needing to do this, for things to be as they were five years past, it is tempting. too many have died.
he settles in for an explanation, taking up the figure out the outsider itself, setting it down on the box. the cloth and the bone and the wood he arranges before him. up comes the little carving. ]
We are made of the fëa and hröa. The hröa is flesh; impermanent. Failable. [ he knows the outsider can see his scars, he doubts he needs to say more. ] Flawed. The fëa is everything else. What moves the flesh. It is poorly bound to the flesh; an error of the Music. If elves do not sail to Valinor, the fëa will overwhelm the flesh, and burn it out. But the fëa is what allows me to do Craft, to hear the Song.
[ he sets the bone down. ] The Veil nearly severed us from our fëar when we came through the rifts. Whatever bond remains, it is weak. Galadriel, my Lord, and I spent two years making sure. A Templar's silence nearly killing us was a near confirmation, something I learned myself from Alistair, but how Galadriel and I felt whole once more when we fell into the Fade all those years ago was indication enough. Tear the Veil, and we will be able to heal the distance between fëa and hröa enough to call upon our full strength.
no subject
This other Rifter you spoke of, how likely is he to present a problem? Has he swayed others to his side?
[ thranduil may know him, he may not. his interests have always been... narrow. and pointed. (elves. he likes elves.) either way, he needs to assess this threat and deal with it. not needing to do this, for things to be as they were five years past, it is tempting. too many have died.
he settles in for an explanation, taking up the figure out the outsider itself, setting it down on the box. the cloth and the bone and the wood he arranges before him. up comes the little carving. ]
We are made of the fëa and hröa. The hröa is flesh; impermanent. Failable. [ he knows the outsider can see his scars, he doubts he needs to say more. ] Flawed. The fëa is everything else. What moves the flesh. It is poorly bound to the flesh; an error of the Music. If elves do not sail to Valinor, the fëa will overwhelm the flesh, and burn it out. But the fëa is what allows me to do Craft, to hear the Song.
[ he sets the bone down. ] The Veil nearly severed us from our fëar when we came through the rifts. Whatever bond remains, it is weak. Galadriel, my Lord, and I spent two years making sure. A Templar's silence nearly killing us was a near confirmation, something I learned myself from Alistair, but how Galadriel and I felt whole once more when we fell into the Fade all those years ago was indication enough. Tear the Veil, and we will be able to heal the distance between fëa and hröa enough to call upon our full strength.