"It is not my choice if they come north. Were a- herd? I suppose a herd- to wander north, I would do my best to accommodate them, assuming they wished to have such an arrangement with my elves, as the elk and birds do, but otherwise- I would not move them from where they are happy." It's nearly incomprehensible. If he wishes to see an oliphaunt, he will go to them, or read his books. But he could not leave his people- he is the Elvenking, and there is a distinction there that the Outsider might appreciate.

The seamstress makes a few more marks in chalk, then begins to unbutton all the little buttons up the front, ducking under the Outsider's arm to do so, single minded in her task as she starts to undress him. Thranduil uncrosses his leg and drums his fingers on his thigh for a moment, the sensation of pins and needles odd and wholly unwelcome.

"My goodness, my friend. Your fingers are in every pie." He's all tangled up in the mortal world, but won't help the whales. "You have not considered offering her advice? Though perhaps, considering the murder of her mother, she might be less inclined."