An eyebrow crooks up and he sweeps her a bow, courtly and correct.

"Your majesty! Well met, indeed."

Relaxing again he crooks a wry smile at her. "Titles mean little here, I suppose, but I grieve that this place would sunder you from your land, although, your pardon, but you seem passing young for a mortal ruler?"

Aslan, Aslan - to a bard who hears the Music, the Name whispers of something greater.

"And who is Aslan, majesty?"