[Imladris]

Finian shook his head and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "She's a strange one. Ever since I tripped over it once she's gotten it into her head that he's a grumpy old chap."

The elf nodded.

Finian swallowed and glanced at him. He had never been this close to an elf before. Of course, he had seen them from afar but they were just people then....not elves. Here he could see the fair faice, the golden hair that barely glimmered, the grace that made them glide rather than walk. "This way, Sir Elf," he said, gesturing him to follow.

Finian galumphed up the stairs and, after debating whether the west room or the east room, he decided on the latter. He had rumours of the elves leaving for the west and that must be depressing. He supposed that even elves needed cheering up. "There you go, Sir Elf," he said, as he began to make a fire. "I'll send one of the serving maids up with your wine. But, tell me, what is your name and how did you become drenched, thus so obligingly quenching the floor's thirst."