The White Horse Inn, Act III

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas could not understand why the five men were not acting upon this brigand, but it was of no importance. The fact was, this man... this Rand... was here, and he was moving toward the ladies. Unacceptable, he thought, straightening to a height which, suprisingly to himself, matched that of his former attacker. The other man, however, weighed quite a bit more than the lanky youth.

Degas stepped forward, his face set. "Sir, you make demands for that which is no item that you may possess. I highly recommend rephrasing to ask the lady if she desires your company, and should that fail, which I have a strong suspicion it will, given your apparent sensitivity, I recommend even more putting your back to us and taking a long trip far from here."

The young man was almost amazed at his own audacity, but after his rocky past with the near stranger that had beaten him bloody, he was surprised to find that he didn't give a purple pea what anybody thought of his rudeness.