The dwarves were eating, some content, others not. Ori was being picky, and Dori was scolding him as per usual. 

"This is Orcrist, the Goblin Cleaver. A famous blade, forged by the High Elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well." He handed the weapon back to Thorin, who accepted it with a nod. 
"And this is Glamdring, the Foe­hammer, sword of the King of Gondolin." Elrond was only too glad to identify these blades for them. Each had a story and a reason for being made. "These swords were made for the goblin wars of the First Age..."

Returning the sword to its rightful owner, Elrond looked to Gandalf. “How did you come by these?”

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs", the wizard answered his curious but proud Elven friend. "It was a shame to just leave them to lie there", Gandalf added to his point, before taking a split-second glance at Thorin to make sure he was at least a little proud of coming into possessing a great weapon such as Orcrist. 

Elrond set aside his own glass of wine before taking notice of Saeril in the distance. "Tell me, Gandalf...how is it that Saeril is accompanying you?". Gandalf looked at the she-elf. He didn't say anything, but did turn his gaze back to Elrond. He really didn't need the others to hear about this, so he stood up. "My lord, I think it's best if we talked about that somewhere else", the wizard requested. Now was not the place to talk about her. The whole time, alone, Gandalf told every bit of detail of her story to the Elven lord.