[ Maglor nibbles on his lip slightly, looking for the right words to explain ]
It... We do not age as Men, physically - not unless our souls are wearied and deeply scarred. But for us, injuries to fea - soul, I suppose, or spirit - do not heal as easily as those to hroa - flesh, certainly not as easily as Men seem to. We... it is possible for us to die of grief, if the wound to the spirit is deep enough. And in the lands of Middle-earth, grief is inevitable. War and killing, the loss of friends, the change of time... we cannot forget, and all such griefs mark us. Eventually, the wear of years will tell on our hearts and souls, even, they say, in time our bodies also. The only cure for that is Elvenhome.
[ He shrugs - he is weary, himself, but he is Feanorion, he will not Fade. They are all notoriously stubborn ]
They sound lovely, your cities - grand ladies. I would like to see them, one day. Venezia in particular! A city on the water, how lovely! Which is your home?
... he would probably love the workshop, it'd remind him of home ;A;
It... We do not age as Men, physically - not unless our souls are wearied and deeply scarred. But for us, injuries to fea - soul, I suppose, or spirit - do not heal as easily as those to hroa - flesh, certainly not as easily as Men seem to. We... it is possible for us to die of grief, if the wound to the spirit is deep enough. And in the lands of Middle-earth, grief is inevitable. War and killing, the loss of friends, the change of time... we cannot forget, and all such griefs mark us. Eventually, the wear of years will tell on our hearts and souls, even, they say, in time our bodies also. The only cure for that is Elvenhome.
[ He shrugs - he is weary, himself, but he is Feanorion, he will not Fade. They are all notoriously stubborn ]
They sound lovely, your cities - grand ladies. I would like to see them, one day. Venezia in particular! A city on the water, how lovely! Which is your home?