[ he knows that expression, at least, the feeling out of a word and the shuffle through the list of equivalents until you can pull something approaching correct out and offer it. thranduil's stumbled more than once, thinking in sindarin and speaking in common, his sentences disjointed in tense and his nouns nearly comical in literal translation. abelas, at least, was tutored-- must have been? he's not sure, beyond common not being his mother-tongue. ]
They know. [ and isn't that a weight all its own? he follows abelas' gaze, tracks the dalish he knows by name-- and he's made sure to know their names. his eyes flick back to abelas, and he presses a closed fist to his heart, inclines his head in the barest of bows. ]
Thranduil, and perhaps ally as well. [ a quirk of a smile. ] It is a pleasure, Abelas.
[ manners are manners. at least the ceremony of his gestures will be recognized. he thinks back to the original name (it's the elven name, of course it's the original) and then to abelas' clothes, the spread of his vallaslin. ]
no subject
They know. [ and isn't that a weight all its own? he follows abelas' gaze, tracks the dalish he knows by name-- and he's made sure to know their names. his eyes flick back to abelas, and he presses a closed fist to his heart, inclines his head in the barest of bows. ]
Thranduil, and perhaps ally as well. [ a quirk of a smile. ] It is a pleasure, Abelas.
[ manners are manners. at least the ceremony of his gestures will be recognized. he thinks back to the original name (it's the elven name, of course it's the original) and then to abelas' clothes, the spread of his vallaslin. ]
From where do you come?