Lena’s focus swung from one to the next, paying heed first to the Lord, nearly arching a brow at his request, but betraying none of the queries flooding her mind. Instead, they were inward, pulsing, ringing bells of confusion and befuddlement, for Thranduil was certainly one of the last creatures she’d presumed to yearn for any healing knowledge. Perhaps she’d been mistaken in her claim of his nature? Truly, she didn’t know him well – saw his structure at meetings, off in the distance as he recruited newcomers, keeping herself at a distance from his sharp-witted ways and uncanny stare. He’d always appeared shrewd, astute, catching duplicitous desires, matching them to his own will, embarking on deceptive charades – she’d never forget the moment she’d first met him, peeling the pelt away from a wolf’s carcass. The sylph didn’t know what to make of his smile, of his outreach, of his attempts at kindness, pondering over what he hid behind his veil, how far he intended to take on the world, or if she had merely delved far too deep into rudeness and presumptions. Imogen snorted, and Lena shot her one emboldened look, before glancing back towards the gilded sovereign, presenting him with more smiles, reassurances, and token beneficence. “Of course. I'd be happy to oblige!” Sweet, chipper, she threaded along their frames, coasting back into the sun-dried cave, where some of the herbs still lurked from their long winter. Grabbing hold of a few, the Songbird nestled them within her maw and returned swiftly to their sides, laying them neatly at Thranduil’s feet as if they were reverential items, gifts from the Magi. In a way, each of them held their own stature, strength, and generosity; whether or not Thranduil longed for their secrets, or held another ambition for them was left to be seen. “I’m sure Tiamat would like to assist?” Here, her smile shifted to an overwhelming grin and the sylph bestowed a generous wink, casting her benevolence through the uncertainty, the clamor, of uneasy ties and intriguing appeals. “In fact…,” her voice grew a bit more wily, harboring a touch of Imogen’s foxy inclinations, emboldening her melody into a more audacious fervor, a glimmer of pride, a luminescent beam of convictions and covenants. “Tiamat has grown and learned so much, with your permission my lord, I’d like to promote her to one of our Medics.” The glimpse of her eyes arced complete faith and confidence in the sea-mare, with her shelled adherence, with her gull fixations, with her powerful, potent, buoyed hope, as strong as the tides, as wonderful as the waves.