Kin. [ he turns the word over on his tongue, mouth twisting into a thoughtful, distant frown. it's a strange world that thranduil comes from, he thinks, if he considers the elves of thedas--and presumably abelas himself--his kin. is that how it is in his home? .. are they kind to one another, he wonders? he wants to ask, but he also fears to. he's not certain he wants to know. he doesn't want to be reminded any more strongly of how things were before the veil, or how things might have been.

the question makes him lift a hand, tapping the elegant markings on his face. ] I have my duties. They have always been enough for me. [ he's mythal's-- and to a lesser degree, solas's. not because he was bought, not because he's a slave bound to their service, but because he'd offered it to mythal and been accepted. because he's offered it in turn to the wolf, because solas needs him.

he watches as thranduil pulls the small knife from his pocket and sets it down, amber glance lifting. he swipes the cloth over the blade one last time, then flips it around, offering it out handle-first. ] It was a gift, [ he admits a little grudgingly, still hesitant to talk about himself. ] One of the first I ever received.