An eyebrow goes up at that, a clear indication as to what Thranduil thinks of Bard's teasing. And yet, there was still a softness to the action, something less harsh and judgemental than what might usually cross his features if someone annoyed him with such taunts. "As it should, you are a menace, Bard. A menace." There is a glower at the mention of Thorin again, the disdain that the blond held for the other something he could not always express in words. "You mention him too often and I might just start associating this burning hatred with you."

It is not a truth by any means; the differences between the two pilots was staggering and, for a moment, Thranduil nearly feels something like remorse for making the comparison. But he says nothing, and finds his ire diminishing in the face of Bard's grin. He reaches out to swat at the other, the sad attempt at violence a bridge almost.

"I am not sure of that, I doubt that I could strangle you. Though the whole kaiju in your hair idea could be an entertaining way to plot your demise if I so wished." Not that he would. There were few he wished such things upon and Bard-- Bard was not one of them.

This exchange, as strange as it was, was also liberating. He had not felt so connected outside of the drift in a very long time to anyone aside his own son. The blond side eyes Bard, mouth twitching slightly. "So what of yourself, shall I be serenaded if I ply you with the correct drink? Or shall my ears bleed?"