[ Elvenking. Guinevere grew up with tales of fae folk - the likes of which tricked her into their warring kingdom - but the Elves of her grandfather's stories couldn't begin to compare to Thranduil. She isn't entirely certain she believes him ... but then why shouldn't she? Her very presence is proof enough that stranger things have indeed happened. ]

I've never had a king beg anything of me before.

[ The tension in her stance falls away as her hand moves from the bow, her expression one of guarded curiosity. ]

Although I dare say I could grow accustomed to it.

[ Her lips quirk into a wry smile. ]

My name is Guinevere. Your Mirkwood - it isn't part of these lands?