â€œYouâ€™reâ€¦ the daughter of an elven king?â€  Tryn repeated weakly.  The illogical assumptions he had only just managed to stifle were reignited with a vengeance, and his mind spun with possibilities.<br/><br/>â€œEr, Iâ€™m Tryn.â€  He managed to stammer out, before realizing that he should probably give the only proper name he had.  â€œTrynidad Arkwing, properly, but no-one really calls me that.â€  He was painfully aware that he had no title to add on, no proud lineage or stately home to claim.  He grasped awkwardly at the iron bar he still held, feeling the sudden need to keep his hands occupied.<br/><br/>â€œIâ€™ve lived hereâ€¦.for a while.â€  He admitted, suddenly feeling like maybe he didnâ€™t want to be sharing his entire life story with a stranger, and a stranger whose life was obviously a far more exciting and adventurous than his own at that.  He wondered if his common lineage, his street-thug occupation were as obvious to her as he supposed.  Most of the travelers he came into contact with on a daily basis made their disdain for his lifestyle clear.  Normally, that didnâ€™t bother him, but he was actually enjoying their conversation, as unusual as the circumstances were, and he didnâ€™t really want to alienate his new friend just yet.  He might be able to learn something from her, and heâ€™d never met an elf from the forest of Wisdom.<br/><br/>Trying not to sound as curious as he felt, Tryn asked, â€œwhat manner of errands are you running?  They must be pretty important if the king would send his own daughter into the heart of the North.â€