[Elora]

Vanwe's shoulders slowly unknitted as she found the friendly welcome of Aman given to her as freely as the wine. Truly, the young woman was astonished. Never had such a thing, free refreshments for whomever asked, she encountered. She held her glass of white wine, unwatered being a further marvel, and examined it as though she was half expecting it to all vanish in a puff of smoke. When it proved amenable to remaining solid in her grip, Vanwe sipped at it and ventured her question of Aman.

Her surprise at her own boldness was in the slight widening of her eyes as the words tumbled out. Only one sip of unwatered wine and such a question! Vanwe studied Aman and saw no reproach in her face. She easily replied, the musical name of Rohan falling easily into the conversation. Again, Vanwe's eyes widened, but it was not surprise at her forwardness. She fingered the stem of her glass in a brief and fleeting habit that led her to drum her fingers when thinking quickly.

A simple question, she reasoned, with no harm meant by it. Yet Aman was from Rohan and in Rohan Vanwe knew her mother remained wanted for crimes too henious to be credited. Indeed, most had passed into legend and been attributed to some demon rather the woman who had abandoned Vanwe at the age of 4. Aman's brow lightly furrowed at the slight delay in Vanwe's response, and she rushed to fill the breach.

"I come from Khand, A- Aman," Vanwe stumbled, unsure of the proper title and not wishing to make herself more unusual in doing so. "Surely it is different to Rohan, but such is my home." Aman absorbed the clumsy reply. Vanwe raised her glass. "And neither in Khand, nor Rohan, nor at any place upon the road I have travelled along have I encountered such generosity! My thanks, Aman!" Youthful exuberance lit her face as she smiled disarmingly.

Again she sipped at the wine, more moderately so as not to completely befuddle her wits. But Vanwe's thoughts were filled with a voice that sounded a lot like the Village Elder from her erstwhile home in Khand. The voice was not a happy one. Khand and Rohan had never been easy allies. She may have soured any chance of a roof or a meal with blurting out that. Worse, the puzzle of an obviously elven woman hailing from a village in Khand was bound to be curious at the least for anyone that may see fit to listen.

"Khand? A long journey to make no mistake, Vanwe!" came Aman's reply. Vanwe could not be sure if it was surprise, doubt or something else that she heard in Aman's voice. She had always found it a little difficult to properly understand the Edain, and the fact that the people she tried to understand were foreign to her experience did not make it any easier. Vanwe bobbed a curtsy, a habit she had learnt when something or another she had or had neglected to do earnt the displeasure of the Elders. The movement, smooth and elven in character by her very heritage, emphasised further the oddity of an elf, from Khand.

Whilst Vanwe made awkwardness seem like an art form, a hobbit passed her by in search of a table. Hobbits, where Vanwe hailed from, were rarities and she was still trying to school herself from fascinated and delighted study of hobbits when she encountered them now. Hobbits were none to fond of strange elves staring at them as a general rule. She smiled at Iris as the hobbit passed her by and looked back to Aman.

"Yes, a very long way, but I am glad to come to this place. Perhaps, when it is a little quieter and I would be delaying you, I could speak further with you?" Two sips of wine and the easy manner of Aman had thoroughly disarmed Vanwe. She had the presence of mind to gawk inwardly at her boldness. Aman gracefully smiled, "Of course you may, Vanwe." Vanwe, having pressed her luck far harder than it had ever proved wise to do so since leaving Khand, gratefully bobbed again and turned back to the crowd with her glass in hand.

The bright music had ended, a marvel in sound most unlike the music she was accustomed to. In fact, everything was not like what she was accustomed to. Vanwe carefully made her way to a vacant chair and folded herself into it. Setting her glass of precious free wine on the table, she withdrew from the small pouch at her belt a piece of folded paper and a pencil, another new thing she had discovered.

As ever, she guiltily glanced around as she brought the pencil out. She had "found" it after a particularly noisy barroom melee and was waiting for it's owner to pop up again. Such things a pencils were surely not common. When noone shouted a challenge to her ownership, Vanwe the pencil thief, review what she had written on the now unfolded paper. When she spoke again to Aman, she wanted to be sure to use her opportunity well.

In the congenial blur of noise, Vanwe was soon marking down additional notes to the ones made along the road. Relaxing, she no longer heeded protecting the top of the page where she had made a heading. The name of Naiore Dannan, Lady of the Swan and Terror of Mordor, was clearly marked in her flowing handwriting. No matter what, at least she owned her mother's name. Now she could perhaps learn more of the woman. Maybe she could even learn enough to find her, or her father.

Slowly, Vanwe drained her glass as she wrote and read and amended. She had a list, of what she knew, what she needed to know, and it looked possible that she might be able to add to the former and cross something out of the latter. Her face relaxed into a smile that had been all too rare in recent days as she warmed in her chair.