(Untitled)

[milkbonesoldier]

Wells, being busy with other things, couldn't take Arithon to his daughter's house for the warding thereof. He could, however, set the fellow on the right course without disrupting his day's activities too much. It's not far to Philippa's house, after all, and the route is fairly straightforward.

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[prince_arithon]

"Yes."

He says quietly, and cheerfully, as he snags the next carefully marked bundle and starts toward the next room,

"I was born of the splinter world Dascen Elur, mostly islands and water. More water than islands. Due to an unfortunate series of events I was exiled to the desert world of Mearth. Through one rather unfortunate event and some rather good timing on the part of Asandir of the Fellowship of Seven, my brother and I were rescued from there."

He takes in the layout of the next room, sighs just a little and rolls his sleeves back;

"I would rather get no wax on the carpets. There is not much, but still. Carpeting is expensive."

Is all the explaining that he does. Which means that the thick, heavy, and really rather gruesome scars decorating both wrists are not explained. Summed up, they look like his wrists were bound in rope wrapped with a thin wire, then he had heavy manacles fastened over those for several weeks while he struggled, and at some point years later he had red-hot chains wrapped around the old scars. This is actually an accurate summary.

"My version of humanity lost its home Ages ago...I am from about 5650 of the Third Age or so, humanity's original world was lost some time in the first. I think. History breaks down prior to Year One, Third Age. Someday I shall ask Sethvir, I hope. We were lost for...again, I do not know exactly. Some time. Year One of the Second Age was when the Fellowship found Athera and agreed to fight the Seardluin for a chance to share Athera with the Paravians, those native to the world."

[milkbonesoldier]

"I see. That sounds like a bit of luck for you, then," Mr. Wells says of the rescue. The scars get no comment, though. A raising of the eyebrows, perhaps, but no comment. He'd seen the look in Harry's eyes after Bosnia; he knows there are some things you don't ask about until you've genuinely got to.

Instead he turns his attention to the historical construct that's the best Arithon can offer. "Ages, is it?" he says. "Sounds a bit like something you'd see in Tolkien, if you don't mind my saying so."

Professions aside, he's more well-read than his son.

[prince_arithon]

"In which?"

He asks with a slightly confused look,

"I do not know that word. Ages are a way of measuring things. The First Age was the age of dragons, the Second was the age of Paravians and Seardluin and the Third is the age of humanity."

The look in Arithon's eyes after each set of scars is probably a lot like the one Harry had. He is grateful for the non-reaction.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Tolkien. An author whose work was very popular when Harry was a lad. They measured time in Ages in the world he wrote about. I believe he said it was the end of the Third Age and the dawn of the Fourth at the time of his book." He shrugs. "It's been a long time since I read The Lord of the Rings. Not a bad way to pass the time, if you've got that much time on your hands."

He reaches up with one hand to touch the wall, considering. "I don't know if it'll make any sort of difference to you, but I've been repairing some cracks in the basement walls. Is there anything I ought to arrange down there? Or get out of your way entirely, before you go that far?"

[prince_arithon]

"Ah. Perhaps, some day, I shall read it. My reading English is...rusty. At best. I certainly have the time."

He manages to not sound bitter. Its probably the baby. Then he considers for a while, and shakes his head,

"No, I think it shall be fine. Intent has as much, or more, to do than actual physical things. Unless you seal away an entire room, it should be quite fine."

[milkbonesoldier]

"The only thing I intend to seal is the cracks that let the groundwater in," says Mr. Wells with some asperity. "Whoever laid the foundations on this house wasn't planning for the long term, I don't think. As far as I'm concerned, you have full run of the place."

[prince_arithon]

He looks up at the other man and laughs, quietly,

"Your world is amazing. Running water and heat, but they forget such simple things...I shall never understand the technological mind."

And another room is sealed off, he has to admit that when he's not expounding on theory it goes faster. Not a lot faster, but a little bit.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Oh, they sealed it up all right, but they used the cheap stuff. Honestly, you'd think they thought human beings only lived a few years, the way they put this place together..." He shakes his head, making a small 'tch' noise. "At any rate, I shall get out of your way, I think. Want me to put the kettle on? It'd be no bother."

[prince_arithon]

"Tea would be very nice."

He says with another bright smile,

"And, in the scheme of things, humans do live a very short time. It is, I think, one of our saving graces."

He really resents an extra five hundred years.

[milkbonesoldier]

"Well, yes, but that's no excuse not to build a house to last," Mr. Wells says firmly. "You never know who's going to need it eventually- at any rate, I shall leave you to your work and go and get the kitchen ready. Conversation later, I think?"

[prince_arithon]

"Conversation later would be nice."

He says formally, with a tiny bow.