[piosenniel]

Cook thought back to the only Elf that she had ever known well. And that one had been a strong-minded woman and sure of her own decisions to the oft-times consternation of her friends and the continued amusement and exasperation at times of her husband.

She looked at Tindomion and shook her head in sympathy. And a wicked smile played on her lips, thinking how his sister’s mettle had perhaps not had the chance to shine forth until now . . . and that it would be most likely entirely hopeless for him to think she would step back and be the malleable little sister he’d always seen her as.

Cook said nothing to deflate his hopes, only laughed, and clapped him on the back, saying she knew an Elven lady much like Teluyaviel and perhaps it would be best if he could manage to adjust his expectations of her.

‘Looks to me as if your sister’s come into her own, don’t you know. Can’t always be standing in your shadow, now can she. Wouldn’t you think she’d know her own mind best, despite what you and even your mother might think she ought to do?’

She eyed him as he gave her a look of complete incredulity. ‘She is your sister, after all. Don’t be such a stuffed shirt that you drive her away from you.’