[Elora]

Vanwe hastily tugged at any lingering wood shavings as Derufin guided her through the Inn's door and to a table. She was smiling, pleased that her work had met with such unprecedented and enthusiastic appreciation. She did wonder though, who the she that Derufin referred to was. There was no time to ask, another question filed away in her mind for a later time perhaps.

Vanwe found herself seated at a table, Beren joining them. She did not know his name, nor the manner of his character, but Derufin's acceptance of the man went far to ease her habitual wariness. Beren found himself presented with a smile rather than a pensive expression, and her eyes were warm. But before she could remedy the matter of their names, another joined their number. Meanwhile the mention of southron wine was added to her earlier unasked question.

Vanwe gazed at the newly arrived Falco, blinking at his warm and ready smile. She had never seen so many smiles in one place before, and was more accustomed to scowls and grim men who viewed her with a mix of suspicion, mistrust and speculation. Falco Boffin displayed none of these. Neither did Beren or Derufin or Aman or Lespheria. It was no wonder her guard was slowly melting away.

Beren sat back in his chair as Vanwe stood and dropped where she stood a small curtsy. Courtesy was ingrained in her, and her company was far above her station as well she knew.

"Good afternoon, Master Falco Boffin. Sitting before you is a man I have not yet had the pleasure to meet," Vanwe said as her cheeks lightly flushed with her admission of ignorance. "I am Vanwe," she finished. She deliberately ended there, adding no location that she hailed from. She was not of the Shire, just yet. Mention of the Haradwaithe would only be a disaster to that would ruin the pleasant air.

She smiled at Falco and then back to Beren who watched the display with his customary smile in place, at ease. It did not occur to Vanwe that her speech would be marked by the lilting cadence of the south, and her lack of homeland only draw emphasis to what she wished unmentioned. She gestured to a chair.

"Derfuin will shortly return with wine, and it is to be hoped that food will follow soon after," she said. "Please sit, Master Falco." Vanwe sat herself and turning her attention to the as yet unintroduced Beren. It was then she noticed small specks of white and green paint decorated her fingers. Her eyes widened, large, and slowly she began to withdraw them from the table to hide them in her lap. What must be thought of her, sitting paint daubed and in disarray at the table, she did not wish to know. Another thought occurred to her.

How long would it take to get the long wearing marine paint that she had used on the hitching post off her skin? Her thumb rubbed at one offending speck as she attempted to unobtrusively remove her hands from sight. Her cheeks retained their rosy flush against her pale skin as Beren saw to introducing himself to Falco and then her. With a flash of foresight, Vanwe realised that he may well ask for her hand in the introduction, as was sometimes the manner here in the north. She stilled in her chair, hands clasped in her lap with the stubborn paint upon them.

Beren's smile suggested more than good humour. His eyes were alert and had not missed her slow withdrawal of her hands. Vanwe braced herself for what would come, wishing for the floor to swallow her whole and for the wine to quickly arrive. Perhaps she could remove the paint with that. It sometimes worked, and if not she'd drink it. Perhaps then she would not see the offending paint.