He is not getting all the information from her he needs. Not her fault—she has not been trained as a scout, and furthermore is not loyal to him. Nor does he wish to subject her to further prodding. He has a name—he has two names, though ‘Grymusseth’ is as far from Elvhen-sounding as anything could be. Montsimmard, Verchiel, Clan Neirysa. Thranduil has done more with less.

Now, he stands, and steps neatly around her map, not wishing to do her insult by ruining it. “I leave for Orlais within the week. I do not know how long I shall linger there, but once my business is done, I will call upon these elves, and ask for a reckoning.”

And receive one. He would not go alone, of course, he would need Galadriel’s help, and if he could not persuade another elf or two along—Merrill? Cyril?—he was a poor politician.

“I thank you for your help.” He inclines his head, a bow by degrees. “And later, if she will have it, give my thanks to Agathe. If the elflings need anything-- anything-- do not hesitate to ask.”