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[Sorrel doesn't know what to say to that; his first impulse is another apology, but he can tell that that isn't the right answer. So he just hums a wordless, directionless sound of agreement. He does as he's told, and with unexpected enthusiasm. The pie itself seems as if nothing could be less desirable, until Sorrel breaks the crust and the smell rises up to strike him like a physical blow. The first bite is dignified enough, but the second is larger, and soon the tray is empty and even the tea is missing an inch or two.

The body knows what the heart sometimes forgets; death is for the dead, and no amount of love for those left behind can stop life from continuing on.]

Thank you.

[He says it softly, when he's down to the last of his tea, almost sheepish. Finally, he looks up from the cup in his hands, still warm, as if to say Now what?]

[ thranduil lets him eat without interruption, doubtless using the time to think of all he would like settled before he retires for the evening. he has a good handle on the work he does, the papers are all in order, casimir a cornerstone of the system he's developed. in other words, he's steady and confident and this is not in the least a bad time for him.

sorrel speaks his thanks, and he nods once, easy in his own space, ready to approach the matter without fear or reluctance. ]

Her name is Calenmirel. I met her when we were young, although we did not wed until later. I struggled with it at first, the loving her, for I wanted nothing more than to best her, to prove my sword-arm stronger, my arrows more steady. It is often that way for Sindar, for Silvans, that love should start as a competition, counting enemies felled in battle or who has brought home the bigger hind for the table.

[He speaks, and Sorrel says nothing, growing only more confused until understanding finally comes to him. The story started in the middle, and the beginning, but he can see the end-- though not clearly. Her name is Calenmirel? Is, not was.]

You must miss her, stuck here.

She is no further from me than she was before. I have acclimated myself, though it took years.

[ he smiles into his cup, gaze somewhere past the liquid. ]

Time will help.

[He stares for a moment, then winces, realizing-- she died. Thranduil's wife... she died. And wherever she is, wherever Falon'din's path takes the beautiful people of Thranduil's faith, she's walked that road and gone away, just like Sina had. That was what all this was about.]

I... [He stops, stricken, shaken out of his protective apathy] ...When Sina... [Her name bring shim to a halt again. He swallows, inhales deeply, and continues.] I don't even know that we counted as bonded, by your people's standards.

[It's a miserable admission. He doesn't make it in hope of any redemption, merely expressing the truth like pus; drain the guilty wound, and be disgusted by the truth of what lives inside you.]

She told me to be happy. To love whoever I loved. I loved her, though. It wasn't enough.

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