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[laurenande]

(Galadriel is fairly used to getting mail but she'll be a bit shocked to receive any in Thedas. For any notes, missives, letters, or other communications.)

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[laurenande]

Ah, so generous of you.

[Her deadpan is more lilting than most but no less dry.]

Has he at least been restrained and shuffled off to some cell, or has she begged to spare him that fate as well?

[rowancrowned]

I hit him [ primly. ] with a sword.

[ when the arts of mirkwood would have allowed thranduil to drag him into unwilling sleep. ]

I am returning him to her lord father in Halamshiral.

[laurenande]

[At this some amusement does creep into Galadriel's voice. Thranduil has his elk once more and, off all creatures, its gait was not the most forgiving. There was an ideal place to ride upon it and several that would bruise even an elf if they were forced to suffer perching there.]

You have him draped over your mount, concussed, and traveling toward the employer he failed?

I daresay I can think of few fates more apropos than that.

I shall attend your wife and to your burning chambers. Be well, cousin, and do not perish in Halamshiral. It would be a terrible fate to leave this world in so garish a place.