His face has become as paper, but thereon nothing is writ.  No words can mask the bone and blood that wait behind.  I came here seeking succor, but what would I not now give to halt this seeping decrepitude?  I bow deeply, thankful this will hide him from my site.

Will my father appear as such when I am home again?  Will I?

Is this then the fate of us all?

 
 
 
 
 
 
Taur Ingem =   (sindarin)  Aged King