The night was peaceful in Rivendell, and the moon bathed the hall in its silvery light. You were sitting next to Lindir, soft music echoing in the background as the dwarves of Thorin's Company ate dinner. The smell of freshly baked bread and fresh fruit hung in the air, and her white dress shone delicately in the soft glow of the torches.

Lindir watched the meal with attentive eyes, her fingers drumming lightly on the finely carved wooden table. He seemed immersed in his thoughts, but you felt the calm that always emanated from his presence.

"These dwarves... so different from us," he commented quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself. "But there is something noble about their stubbornness. Don't you think?"