We are kin. [ in a tone that makes it clear he will hear no disagreement. but yes, they are elves, and that means something beyond all the worlds crossed and the mistakes made. they are elves. that is all he needs. he turns from the snow to the courtyard. he thinks it is cyril near the tavern, speaking with another of the ashara clan. his sight is pitiful for an elf, but cyril's hair stands out from a distance, and thranduil watches the two of them go inside. ]

What would I do? I would have no elven child go hungry, or cold. [ he would have them all safe, and he will do what he needs to, short of kinslaying or any of the other forbidden things. now, he holds himself a little straighter, wearing his clothes as he would his far-fancier robes. ] What would you do? [ his hands, clasped before him, bear a great many rings. ]

Humility would have broken them. They are surviving, if little else.

[ he looks to abelas, to his clever little knife, his hand searching in his own pocket before he pulls out a small folding knife, inlaid with mother of pearl. this he offers, security against his question. ]

May I see that?