LinGalad sipped carefully at his drink. He was much more relaxed and comfortable in the presence of Mattius, Calentoliel, and Endereth than he had been since he left Lasgalen. They were strangers to him, but still, they were elven strangers, who would correct him and guide him, and he feared his social clumsiness far less with such guidance surrounding him.
He had studied most of his newfound companions as the evening wore on, and now he studied Kalir. When a lull came in the conversation, Kalir could no longer ignore LinGalad's stare, and raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"Kalir, there is much that I don't understand about the world of men," LinGalad began. "I know many songs about sad partings when an elf sails west. And I have learned songs about death in battle. But since I was born, no one has left Lasgalen to sail west; neither has anyone died in battle. So I truly do not know what parting or death is like."
Kalir waited, his stomach sinking.
"Can you please tell me?" LinGalad asked.
Radagast's face remained carefully neutral, and he watched the mortals around the table. Some of the mortals were tempted to get angry; some looked defensive; but all of them expected Endereth to rebuke LinGalad.
They were all surprised when neither Calentoliel, Endereth, nor Mattius rebuked him. Mattius laid a hand on Kalir's shoulder, and Endereth sighed a little; but after several moments, all four elves were turned to face Kalir.
"Kalir, if you could tell us about your loss, we would be grateful," said Endereth gently and carefully.
Kalir studied their faces, and wondered whether he was willing, and where to begin.
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...down to the water to see the elves dance and sing upon the midsummer's eve.
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