#** starter.

   “ Perfect timing ------ turn on that lamp would you. ”  He’s doing an ugly, wet sort of twist in that dining room chair.  “ I need you to dig this bullet out of my ass. ” 

   “ Stranger, you are much too far from home. ”  Lindalambë was not a language made expressly for peace, but the Teleri were not known for their wars. They were recognized for their song. As such, the words for what Thranduil smells on this one’s skin churn about in his mouth with a cadence much too summer - sent for the circumstances. Wilderness brings out his mothertongue, but he has a feeling he shall be understood.  “ The sea is west of here. ” 

   It has been some time since last he has seen an Asgardian —— but time was a fickle beast, and he knows their kind. See it done, is the advice of the past, and Thranduil listens to them, but looks forward.  “ … Welcome. What now can be done for the Realm Eternal ? ” 

   “ There is an artistry in you, ”  he says, unprovoked and unhurried as the seasons, arm bent and sweeping from the shoulder; every stroke of the brush against vellum taking on the shape of the map it was meant to become,  “ I cannot say with certainty that it was important that I understand it ------ but I imagine it may be useful to you, knowing it is seen. ”