[ His father would say that Legolas simply likes the sound of his own voice, to tease him for all the chatter he does, and Legolas does quite enjoy talking! Conversing! Whether it be other folk or trees or beasts, in truth. Little encouragement he needs to continue, really. It's curious that she merely nods or shrugs. Perhaps it's shyness? Or perhaps it is fright. How could anyone blame her truly (though he knows better than to allow appearances deceive, yet he senses no ill will from her, none whatsoever), to be thrust into a world of war, entirely foreign, with a great many creatures and wonders even stranger and more unfamiliar.

With a slow gesture Legolas beckons her towards the tables laid out with various treats and foods. ]

Politics of Drabwurld I have found to be terribly convoluted, two courts surrounded by allies and enemies, ever fluid all of those, changing allegiances to who they see fit at any given moment. Few neutral parties there are, but for us, shardbearers... neutrality is not an option at all.

[ A beat and he chuckles, noticing two things: how his little speech goes into subjects perhaps a little too heavy for the very first conversation, and two: how he had not yet even introduced himself. ]

Time and again my manners leave plenty to be desired, [ He gives a small bow, yet even in its scantness, it's ever so playfully exaggerated. ] I am Legolas, son of Thranduil the Elvenking.