Celegorm had been among the first to be pulled through; the first to be acquainted with the strange plight of the shard-bearers, the different worlds. So there's no longer any surprise at the question, no more wounded ego to work out upon his servants. He neatly sipped his drink before setting the glass soundlessly back atop the table, the line of his mouth curving cattishly.

"Celegorm, son of Fëanor, Lord of Himring, and a dozen other titles that I see by your gaze will mean as little to you as the first. Hopefully you're willing to reciprocate the effort, however...?"

He sipped at his glass again, watching Eiridan over its rim.