Not so simple a question. This Thranduil cuts to the very meat of matters, it seems. She accepts the place at his side, but does not start on her soup right away, resting her spoon in the bowl and cupping her hands so that they are warmed by it. Her hands, like the rest of her, are pale, but with visible calluses along parts of her palms and fingers from physical work and the wielding of swords and staves and shovels.

"Oaths are not to be made so lightly," she replies, looking across the camp. "I am a Knight Enchanter of the White Spire. My duty is to the Chantry and the Divine, when next one ascends the Sunburst Throne. Chantry law guides our spirit blades." And yet, there is something more to be said, something that makes her jaw flex a moment, gaze narrowing slightly. "Even as I stand by the Chantry, they have condemned the elves with words and actions that I cannot ignore— that no person of honour could dismiss. My duty and my responsibilities are to the Chantry, but my oaths and my heart belong to the elves."

The Inquisition is another cause, its own agenda, and the rumours that circulate it are vicious. The elves she brought here because it was their wish and because it would ensure their safety better than other options. She shakes her head, and looks to Thranduil. "I have heard whispers of elves from the Rifts, Thranduil, and that the Inquisition did not treat them as they ought. What say you of it?"

It seems the more logical conclusion, that he is of a Rift than he is of Thedas.