[ For all of his rough edges and half-wrought anger, Roy is a singularly talented listener — he knows how to pick up cues, keep the ball running. It's easy enough to settle back into that.

It takes a bit of effort, but he forces himself not to fidget under the renewed cast of Thranduil's attention. ]

I know how that is. [ Maybe. He doesn't know anything about Elven princes, but --

He reaches for his own goblet, thumbing the obscenely large ruby - if that's what it really is - set into the base. ]

Your mind's always half on 'em, even when there's nothing to worry about. [ He doesn't want to elaborate; the sudden cut of his gaze askance is proof enough of that. ] —so, what's happening with him? Did he just miss Dad's curfew, or is it more serious than that?

[ What do Elven princes do? Fight dragons? Save damsels? ]