That expression softened into some odd mixture of pride and resignation. The regret, almost pain, was still buried behind it, but it was far behind by then. He bowed his head, slightly, in very nearly deference. Respect.

"Beyond the control of the Valar, perhaps, though beyond that I should not say," he said. "I will not demean that which you have suffered by saying it matters not, but it is done," his hand hovered near to his neck, where the collar of metal had been almost replaced by one of cloth, a crude bandage to bind his wounds, "and the sun is fair, and the air is sweet. And even if it is not what I would wish for my home, if I am truly to be forced once again into a new one, it is... lovely in its own way." His voice turned slightly dry - the city was entirely too developed for his taste, he'd prefer a forest, or wide-open fields if none could be found. But, loathe as he was to be pulled from Mirkwood for any great length of time when he was still so needed there, it would do. The technology (it still seemed faintly unnatural, almost vulgar) was at least fairly unobtrusive.