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