The dining hall at Rivendell is a wondrous place of exotic food and fine music. You sit between your cousin and Sam and eat as much as you can, cheerily stuffing your mouth full. Frodo sits to the right of Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen sits to the left. Strider sits on her other side; they whisper to each other like your elder sisters do with their lad-friends.

You watch as Strider eats the fresh, hot bread, wondering when he will take a drink. You know that the others are watching, too, eyes seemingly on their food, and you fight to keep your laughter in. Finally, he reaches for his fine wine. Your ears perk up, and your expression becomes wholly innocent. A sip of the wine, a cough and a splutter. The ranger is doubled up coughing, eyes streaming from the hot pepper you slipped into his wine. He glares over at you; you gaze back at him. It wasn’t me, Strider, I swear! Your eyes say. Strider takes the milk that Lord Elrond resignedly hands him. Beside him, Lady Arwen looks over at you and winks.