It was a pleasant thing, a small thing - the quiet. Though his thoughts were lulled to a dimminuendo as his dark sapphire gaze searched the now vibrantly green leaves of the trees around his keep, Deleaduindill was still aware of circumstances outside of the moment of simple release he allowed himself that caused dis-harmony within the realms he existed in, though they did not bear upon him as they would normally.

The feeling he felt instead was change itself, with its own pallett of comfort and discomfort. He had warred with himself and others in many avenues - and encompassing a goodly many individual things - over one, and singularly one aim - to be with his son. Now, he could admit to himself the single reason why he was so passionate in his dealings. Calista was whom had stirred the fires of his jealousy, though at length and as always - with time - the ancient Sylvanesti was able to disarm his reasoning beyond the shield of whom had acted justly, and whom had acted unjustly. In his mind, Calista had still wronged him, but her use of his son to control what he did and did not do was what had cut him most deeply; it was what cued his most personal rage and unwholesome desires - it was what let him justify destroying both of them - it offended him so.

Deleaduindill admitted to himself that he was blinded by his own passion, then. Fingolfin was the only prodgeny the Dread Lord desired of the scores he was forced to sire when he was young. That Calista knew this before she used his only offspring in his eleven-hundred and seventy-two years of life as a proverbail bait on a string did not help him to act in forgiveness or in temperence - it only spurred his loathing all the more.

Yet, scarcely a month ago, he had met Calista in the Silver Arrow, alone. Their words were short, together, but voluntary - civil. She had allowed him to accompany her back to her home, and he had seen his son form a distance. Deleaduindill did not feel himself in their exchange - his desire to see the babe elf was genuine, perhaps too much so. He knew the pain of being forced away from the one thing that he loved, and he would not let anyone cause him to give up his dignity or pride, no matter the cause. Calista's dragon-friend acted as liason on several occasions between them - which was insulting to a degree. If he had wished, the ancient Silvanesti elf would have carved his way through the White Wyrm with the massive black greatsword that he kept near, without reservation concerning how difficult it might be - if it were his wish, he would have the dragon's blood. Yet, Calista kept the dragon between them at pivotal times as if it were the bulwark that she needed to make his desires impotent concerning her and his son. Inly, the Dread Lord respected the sagely dragoness, and would not allow his hand to be forced into harming the beautiful creature in matters that the dragoness was not a part of.

The Dread Lord blinked softly, his midnight blue eyes holding their usual calm nature as they opened to look over the forest once more. His long white hair stood out sharply from the shadowstuff cloak he wore, and always, the heavy black armor that flowed over his olympian frame in fine curves and dark creases. 'Joylah.' The ancient Sylvanesti elf allowed the still, quiet name to surface in the still pool of his reflections - she had spoken to him nearly a year ago. As Deleaduindill's gaze went to the cold, hard granite of the parapets he stood by, he conceeded that he was more guarded than he should have been when he had spoken with her. Though, graciously, she had left th invitation to speak again about the same things, when certain attitudes had changed, albeit. Blinking lightly once more, Deleaduindill's gaze fell to the flagstones before him, feeling that certain attitudes had changed.

Before the sun arose, Deleaduindill committed himself to going to the witch's house by way of the Second World to either wait for her there, or find her upon his arrival. Time was the ancient Sylvanesti's ally, though even so, his heart quickened at the promise of an exchange with the half-elf. She was wise, and few he knew had the aptitude for council that she posessed.