[Mithalwen]

"And I am Elin, this is Annie and the rabbit is Isildur", the woman smiled as she responded to Penny's introduction - not least because she had seen the third cup on the heavily laden tray. "I can't think what more we would want, you have brought us a feast! But thank you. "

They had only been in the place a few minutes, and the kindness of these strangers to Annie in particular was deeply touching, Elin reflected as she poured herself some tea. Not that the elves hadn't been kind - there were so few children among them now that they were liable to be too much indulged (which was Mithalwen's theory for her nephew and niece's waywardness), but a mortal child was to them so fleeting that they seemed to think that it could do no harm to give the child sweetmeats before supper and generally have her own way. Here they were treating Annie she guessed they would their own, and while a sick child was cosseted she would wager that a naughty one would be chastised. It was a taste of the normality she had craved for her, for them both.

Elin drizzled a generous serving of honey over a slice of buttered toast that and noted that Annie was making short work of her milk and "helping" the rabbit with his share. She bit in to the toast - perfection. The underside was still crisp while the top oozed melted butter and honey. Just then there was a crash. She turned to see that one of the hobbits had knocked over his mug of ale. A common enough occurrence in an Inn no doubt – though, perhaps, less so at this time of day. Clearly not all hobbits were as deft in their movement as Rowan and Penny. However the poor chap looked so mortified and forlorn that it was rather funny. Annie was giggling and even Elin had to bite her lower lip to stop herself, letting a trickle of honey run down her chin as a result.

“Stop it, don’t laugh, you’ll embarrass the poor man,” she hissed in Elvish to her daughter “you look a bit of a sight yourself “ . Annie’s upper lip was adorned with a moustache of milk and crumbs.
“So do you Ammë”, Annie gestured to the honey trail on Elin’s chin, and both had to stifle a fresh bout of giggles as they overheard Rowan speaking to the unfortunate hobbit. Clearly she was as feisty as she was friendly dependent on circumstance.

“It’s rude to point! Now Angharad, do you want jam or honey on your toast?” Elin asked trying to regain her composure and wiping her chn with her hankie.

“Djamb” said the girl happily despite her cold. Her mother usually smiled at her but her laugh was much rarer. Elin spooned the strawberry jam, jewel red and viscous over a piece and handed it over. It smelt delicious as if it had trapped the warmth and fragrance of summer. She would have jam on her next piece. But first there was the honeyed one to finish and the tea to drink. And they must try very hard not to gawp at the unfortunate hobbit’s attempts to repair the damage.

Annie’s energy was fading or the hot milk was proving sophorific as the child was curling herself up in the chair as she nibbled her toast, using her mother’s cloak as a pillow. If their room was ready, she would put her to bed for a bit. She wasn’t too worried about her now – her grandmother’s rule was that there wasn’t much wrong with a child that could eat. But sleep was the best cure for minor ailments. And she supposed she should apologise to that flustered hobbit lest he thought her rude.