He could not argue if Gwenaëlle brought up that he has never come here for her-- he can admit when he is in the wrong, and this is one of them. This place puts a fear into him, and so when he holds her, wraps his arms around her and holds her close, eyes falling shut as he breathes in the smell of her hair and focuses on having her here. He loathes being apart, but he must—

There are things greater than him. This must remain an asset, and not another thing for him to lose his head over.

Slowly, he leans back, lets her come into view, catches one of her hands in his own and brings it to his lips. “Good afternoon, my lady.” He is not sure, exactly, what time it is, if the stars are out or veiled still, but he’ll wager a guess. Hardie gets his attention next as Thranduil shifts to reach out a hand, allow himself to be inspected, and then pat the hound. As his hand passes over Hardie’s head, he leans in again, lips brushing over the curve of her neck; a slow exhale. “I missed you very much.”