He returns the gesture, and wonder upon wonders, makes room for her on his perch. He is rarely so easily gracious to a human, but her sex and the high recommendation from the elves makes him more-- interested.

"Thranduil." He uses his spoon to neatly section the sodden crust under the stew into bite-sized pieces. He was well-trained as an elfling. His manners are as much a part of him now as they were they, even if he wields them as he uses everything else about himself, his looks, his words- as weapon or shield. As needed.

"Have you sworn yourself to the Inquisition?"