Everyone has stopped practicing to listen.

She's only twenty-one, she hasn't even graduated yet, and people centuries old are stopping in their tracks to listen to what she has to say, because she's the only mage in the world right now--unless she dragged her sister with her and she just managed to end up somewhere geographically completely different, what're the odds and anyway it wouldn't really change the issue--and she's so young and inexperienced and, right now, incredibly important.

She very carefully doesn't broadcast any of that, but instead dredges her thankfully excellent memory for the relevant information because she is not looking like an incompetent in front of these people, not if she can help it.

Maedhros encourages the next thrown object to soar back towards the thrower and bop him lightly on the nose. "What sort of workings are painful?"

"...All of them."

"Oh."

"I mean, little things like this, it should only sting a little bit, but there should definitely be something.You're not feeling anything at all?"

"I may not have noticed."

"I'm going to assume it would be hilariously optimistic to guess that you didn't notice because you were distracted by how nifty magic is."

"Do you not grow desensitized to the pain after enough time?"

"I do, but I still notice when I'm in pain."

"You are twenty-one."

"Do you just stop noticing things about your body after enough time? I mean, pain stops bothering you when you've been in worse pain before, but it's still a sensation."

"When I raise my arm, I feel at least thirty sensations that could be characterized as pain. Old wounds. None of them particularly register as painful anymore, unless there's cause to be on guard for it. These injuries are more than four hundred years old."

"...Do you want me to try and fix that? I'm pretty sure I can fix that."

"Perhaps when you're done teaching this? It is not a personal priority."

"Alright." Back to teaching, then.

It is one thing to know that war is terrible, she privately reflects, and another to meet someone who is so damaged by it that repair is no longer important to them. One is enough to raise a flashpaper-bright fury, but the other--

The other will break your heart.

(Something warm and heavy and tight lodges at the bottom of her heart, and this is terrible, but at least she has the opportunity to do something about it.)

The lessons consume most of the rest of the day. In the evening he invites her back to the conference room, more hesitantly because apparently mortals have absolutely ridiculous customs about this.

If she notices his hesitation she doesn't remark on it.

"You want to try to cure various old injuries of mine?"

"It's probably petty," she admits. "I know that a war means that people get hurt, badly, and die, and that those who survive are often never the same, after. But I'm still young and naive and it bothers me that you've been hurting so long you don't notice anymore."

"You are very young," he agrees, amused. "Are there no wars where you're from? In any event you are welcome to try."

"There have been no wars in my lifetime, and my country is very young as countries go and has never been to war. I have never seen the aftermath of one." Pain has a purpose but this pain is clearly no longer fulfilling its purpose it has lingered too long it should just leave now its work is done--There.

He raises an arm, raises an eyebrow. "Interesting. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"If you haven't seen war, are you confident you'll handle it well? Some people find themselves unwilling to kill an enemy."