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At the end, Skirvir had joined in with his cousins, bringing out his own flute to accompany the Elf’s song. It was an old song, just as the fellow had said. And Skirvir recalled his grandfather singing parts of it and telling of those lands long ago that had sunk below the sea. That was a time when Dwarves and Elves were not at such odds as they seemed now.
‘Well done, lads!’ he said to Bívor and Bávor. ‘Let’s have another round of ale here, miss!’ he called to the server as she passed by. He glanced up at the Elf, watching as he set his harp carefully on the floor near him. Skirvir looked him over closely, narrowing his eyes as if trying to make some sort of decision.
From their own seats, the cousins looked at Skirvir in surprise as he motioned to the Elf to catch his attention and then proceeded to invite him to the table to down a pint with them.
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