[ Having only just taken to standing half-in, half-out of the stream at the arrival of the direwolf, the footsteps of the man following in its wake are heavier and Nuada is already checking in the human's general direction when the foliage gives way. With his lance on the grass nearby, it takes no great effort to surmise this man is one of the Starks and to place his sword next to it; everyone who seems to keep a direwolf aboard is not so unalike, after all. If there is one clan of mortals he has built up any tolerance for, it is theirs.

The elf takes up his shirt, wiping off his wet hands as he replies. ]

I would imagine so in the gardens, where there is room enough for six legs to run. [ No, he doesn't mind being disturbed. It's impossible to avoid everyone at length, anyway. ] In truth, I was idly passing the time myself.

[ Grey Wind doesn't bother him in the slightest, a fondness for wolves and dogs, and trusting their judgement to usually be sound, allows for Nuada to give the Starks more leeway than most; or any. ]

Prince Nuada. Silverlance. Son of King Balor. [ Less a prince and more a king these days, though he doesn't share that lightly; Balor's demise is not relevant here. Finding his jerkin, he shrugs it on. ] I feel as though I know more of your family on this ship than you do of mine, Robb Stark.

[ He has heard that she would be here today, working on ... something. Arya is a secretive little proud thing and Nuada doesn't feel the need to pry, a creature cut from the same cloth. So, he returns from the kitchens with a bowl of water for Nymeria, set down outside — the entire ship seems to be overrun with wolves — and as he comes to the main table a plate of cooked meats is slid next to Arya's elbow, enough on it for a growing child; he really doesn't care enough about the other humans to take them into consideration. ]

Now you need not leave your work to eat.

[ Nuada, for his part, moves over to the sword he's prepared for Loki and sits down on a bench, returning to etching Elvish Gaeilge along the blade. ]

[ Glancing up when she speaks, he turns the slender, curved blade into the light. The carvings that run down it are more reminiscent of painted designs than scored filigree. ]

Elvish Gaeilge. A blessing in the language of my people to let the sword know forevermore that it was I who forged and crafted it.

[ That he does not specify anything in particular ought to imply that much isn't for the telling. ]

When Elven blades are made, their steel bears the imprint of their creator just as a baby holds the blood of its parents in its veins. [ A fingertip taps the half-finished words. ] It is more of a map than anything else, leading back to me.

[ He hears the commotion as would any elf, perhaps more keenly for all his experience inside as many years as Thranduil himself. That is not the occasional rustle of an enemy, it is fleet and fast; it makes him wonder if Legolas is coming over to bother talk to him, but no. It must be the redhead he has glimpsed now and then, too wrapped up in forging Loki's new sword, getting shot at by Sheppard and and Nuala's arrival to go in for courtly introductions.

He clears his throat as if not having picked up on the she-elf's presence and leans against the bole of a tree with his arms folded, seeping out of the foliage as easily as sap from a bole; one moment he is not there, then he is, his specialities lying in shadows and subterfuge.

Nuada raises his brows at her and calmly asks, ] Are we under attack? You run as if hounds were snapping at your heels in the very canopy, lady.

[ His voice is firm and strong, rich in timbre and actually pleasing to hear when he isn't snarling at humans. ]

[ Her hair is a beautiful addition, all the more credit going to her for managing to veil it so well when abroad doing her duty. He gives her a short bow, polite and to the point. ]

I have sworn to serve him here, master of the woods as he is. I've no desire to command, so it falls to me to obey; we are better suited for each respectively, that is no lie.

[ They meet in a glade both peaceful and airy, allowing them to size one another up. ]

You are Tauriel, yes? Even your name travels swiftly.