The Hall was so crowded that they could not sit together; Aris found a space for the two of them, and the other three wandered away. Paks was hungry and began eating at once. When she slowed down enough to look around, the crowd was thinning out a little. Aris was chatting with another fairly young boy across the table—he was straw-blond, with gray eyes, and slightly crooked teeth. The person next to Paks had left without her noticing. She mopped up the rest of her gravy with the bread, and looked around the table. Next to Aris was a heavy-set redheaded man in a blue tunic, munching away steadily. Next to him, on the end, was a tall, slender—Paks stopped, and stared.

The elf looked up, and smiled at her. "I did not hear your name, lady—will you share it?" The voice held that strange music that all elves' voices shared, a hint of harpstrings or bells.

Paks choked down the last bit of bread. "Paksenarrion Dorthansdotter, sir."

The cool gray eyes sharpened. "Would you be that Paksenarrion who traveled with one Macenion?"

"Yes, sir."

"Indeed. It is my pleasure, then, to welcome you—you are welcome to us, as to the Girdsmen. I am one of the embassy from the Westforest elves to Fin Panir; my elven name would be difficult for you to say, but you can call me Ardhiel."

Paks realized that Aris was staring at her, open-mouthed. He hissed at her. "Paksenarrion! The elf spoke to you? He's never said anything to me!"

Silvery laughter fell around them; the elf's eyes sparkled. "I do not know your name, young sir—and what would I speak with you about?"

Now the man beside Aris was also alert, listening.

Aris changed color. "I—sir, I—I only meant that—that I thought elves didn't talk to—"

"To students, rarely. We fear it might distract you from your own affairs—and your affairs, young sir, are not mine."

"But I—but she—but my father is Duke Marrakai!"

"Oh—you are the Kirgan?"

"No, sir. I'm the fourth son; the Kirgan is my brother Juris." The elf waved his hand, dismissing.

"Whatever, young Marrakai—your father's affairs might march with mine, but yours—no. I mean you no discourtesy, but—"

"I'm not a child!" insisted the boy. Paks had to admit he seemed childish even to her; the elf's face expressed nothing, but she could feel his withdrawal.

"No? For me, young Marrakai, all in this room are but a summer's memory. If you would be comfortable with elves, you must admit this. I have known your family for more generations than you have lived in your House." Aris flushed, and set his jaw stubbornly. When his friend across the table whispered, he rose to go, looking pointedly at Paks.

"The Training Master said I was to show you where to go."

"Yes—thank you, Aris, I'll be right there." She looked back at the elf, whose eyes seemed for a moment sad. "Sir, I thank you."