"So I see. I suppose it must be different--how long do your people generally live? I've gathered from context that it must be longer than mine, but that's not very specific."

"You resemble a Man, though a very unusual one, and they usually live fifty or sixty years, a hundred at the outset. We do not die in the same manner. If harm never comes to us, neither will death."

"Lucky. I'm--human, yes. We generally have longer life expectancies than that--I think the range for us is generally seventy to a hundred, and or course a mage can stave off the effects of aging for as long as they remain a mage. I'll probably live until something kills me, and so will my sister because I love her as life itself, but most people get less than a dozen decades. So you're not human? I noticed there was something strange about you, but once I realized this was a different world I attributed it to that. Humans are the only sentient species in my world."

"We are called the Eldar, the Firstborn, and we are very different from Men. I am not a typical specimen, though." A slightly frightening smile. "We usually, for instance, have two hands."

"Different how? I would really rather not offend someone because I assumed they were similar in some respect to my own species."

"We are spirits taking on physical forms, rather than whatever relationship prevails between the soul and body of Men - currently the topic of much debate, as I understand it. We have a great deal of control over our bodies. We are not destroyed when they die. We age more slowly - though, in these lands, only a little more slowly - and we are bound to Arda, to endure as long as it does."

"Noted. How close is it to nighttime? I should probably try to match this place's day/night cycle since I'll be here for the forseeable future."

"We're very far north, and have long days this time of the year. Another six hours. Would that be enough time for you to give me a hand, if that's within your capabilties at all?"

"Yes, I can do that."

There is a wave of anger towards the Enemy when he asks, but it doesn't show on her face at all.

"The Enemy technically didn't inflict that one," he says, amused. 

"Oh?" she asks, a little distracted.

"The Enemy shackled me by the relevant hand to a cliff to slowly starve or die of exposure. And then used magic to make it slower. A year later, a friend found me. He couldn't get the hand loose, so -"

Oh.

"Well, I can fix it regardless. Fair warning, this is going to be gross; I'll have to re-open the original wound and regenerate it from the skeleton out."

" I think I will manage."

"I expected as much, but some things make unpleasant surprises."

The first thing that happens is that the scar tissue dissolves. The wound doesn't bleed, however--presumably she's preventing that.

It takes three hours for the hand bones to finish growing back, another half an hour to replace the muscles, and less than five minutes after that to clothe the whole thing in skin.

He flexes it. "Thank you. We have a number of people disfigured or disabled by the war; how long until we attain your level of mastery of healing, do you think?"

"Well, I'm very good for my age, but that age is only twenty-one."

At that he looks slightly shocked. "I know Men are different, but - that's very young. Are you - all right? Do you need chaperones, or tutors?"

"Chaperones? Why would I--I do admit I was still in school, but I am an adult, as my people count things."

"When I was the equivalent of 21 I caused all kinds of trouble," he says. "Our resources are obviously at your disposal only insofar as you want them."

"I'm not offended, I'm confused. Why chaperones?"

"The nearest community of Men is in Estolad, and not native to there. I know that their customs cannot be the customs of Men in general, but I'd have to travel much farther afield to encounter any others, and they are very concerned with their young adults travelling in pairs, and would be distressed with me if I invited a woman your age into my office for an afternoon and evening and would decline to explain why." He shrugs. "I had concluded it was a cultural difference of some sort."

"I see. Well, if I spent my life pandering to the kind of person who thinks I've been having sex because I'm alone with someone of the opposite gender, I'd never get anything done. The offer is nonetheless appreciated."

He looks utterly horrified. "Is that what they think?"

"That's...what chaperones are for, is to make sure people aren't having sex."