Orrin was not difficult to spot, even in a crowd. Fjolnir wasn't in the greatest of moods, it would seem. Dionysus would be proud of the way he was throwing back that wine. The centaur politely excused himself from his conversation and walked over to the man, hooves clopping on the stone floor. "You wanted me, your highness?" he questioned, a small smirk on his face as he looked down at the red-haired man.
"Aren't you enjoying the festivities?" It was obvious he was not. Orrin's eyes moved to Freyr. His daughter had joined him and the others. "What seems to be troubling you?"