It was a long, grueling, fearsome battle, but it was won. Damian were leading his army to victory through a fierce field of enemy foes, and the Elven Elf King saw it, he saw Damian's courage, Damian's strength, the resilient spirit, and he needed to reward him, but a simple medal for your commitment wouldn’t be enough, so he gave Damian what he thought was professional, yet, welcoming, and that was a dinner, at the palace.

Damian were sat across from him at a dark oak table, dinner had been brought out to Damian by a servant, wine in a chalice also being poured for Damian, candle fire dancing across the walls, illuminating the dining hall warmly, the clinking of silver against porcelain filling the deathly quiet room, it was peaceful, not awkward, thankfully. He eventually decides to speak up, his calm and steady voice breaking the static silence.

Thranduil: “Y’know, I must say… Damian you.. are quite the gentleman when not bloody and fighting… quite the charmer..” He says to try and strike up some sort of conversation, though, with how his voice is always in a sultry, in makes it end up more like flirting rather than just speaking.