He was blind, but not because he failed to see. Thangorodrim had broken him in ways so deep that his spirit had not recovered in the five centuries since. He saw only darkness where there should be light, he heard only discord when there should be sweet music. It was living with a veil over his senses. But she did not deserve to know that honesty or his doubt, so he said naught of it and merely laughed. It was a mirthless sound, one full of the bitterness inside him.
"Aye," he said, "as you will, lady." And stooped to recover cloak and travel sack. "I have no words left to share with you." He wouldn't abide by being patronized by a thing, though so obviously different, was still so woefully young.