I would like to hear of it. [ he says, hand still on solas', though he's stepped to the side to offer him an unobscured view of the little scene playing out before them. ] I am unbiased, [ he notes. at least in this. he will always favor elves, always loathe kinslaying, always see the hand of melkor in dragons, in the darkspawn. in the matter of the history of thedas, though. ] though I must wonder about your truth if it so enraged so many.

[ it is not a complicated glamour. solas is not moving, which helps, and the memory makes it easier. paths already worn well in his mind, easier to call up, to replace details. but as with all things here, it is an exertion, and he is keen not to show the full extent of what he could do. a few minutes more, and he will draw it to a close. ]

It is. [ the fondness could not be kept from his voice if he tried. another elf steps into view, through thranduil and solas as if they were not there at all, making his way down the miniature amphitheater's steps. it is thranduil, naturally, in far finer robes than the ones he's wearing, but otherwise unadorned. one of the elflings breaks from his seat and hurries over, slate in hand, displaying it, chattering away in a language thranduil does not translate. ]

My son, [ he offers, and more elves come down the steps, more elflings running over to them, the teacher moving from group to group, discussing. ] When he was perhaps twenty. Do you have children?