Beren finished his small starter, one of the diminutive sandwiches with the addicting sauces. They were expensive as hell, he knew. Only three other times in his life had he been lucky enough to eat one of these with this sort of sauce, and all of them were parties his father had been invited to when he was a small lad. He was going to take full advantage of the food here and Jocasta would likely want to try some too. He started filling up their plates, balancing the two on a tray like a skilled waiter. 

As he did so, someone approached him. Beren glanced up, and then did a double take as he realized it was an elf. A brown haired elf, with squared shoulders and a noble air about him. He inclined his head to Beren in an uncharacteristically humble fashion, and Beren did the same as well. He might have been partially raised by dwarves, but he held no enmity to the fey folk. In fact, he had a few wood elven comrades he called friends back home. 

"Well met. I hope I'm not interrupting," The Elf said with a smile, his face perfectly proportioned and his eyes filled with wisdom. Beren wondered if elves thought most men looked alike as how men often saw all elves as handsome, with high-cheek bones that accentuated their fair faces. 

"No, of course not. What can I help you with?" Beren asked. 

"I heard tell a young human here that fit your description had lived with the stout folk as a child. I wondered if that was you," He asked. Beren's surprise was evident apparently, for the elf pressed the issue. "What was that like?" 

"Very fun," the monk remarked sincerely. He did not think of it as such at the time, but he found he increasingly looked back on the experience fondly. The work was hard and everyone was grumpy or grim, but there was a sense of loyalty and honor he had never known he could feel. No wonder the dwarves never had infighting. They had a singular purpose and a society that was as well built as their crafts. "It was tough on a teenage, especially a human one. But it taught me more than a few things. I wouldn't change it." 

"There must be a tale there. Ah, I did not introduce myself. I am Alberad of Abelorn. I am here studying runic script of giants." 

"Beren. It's nice to meet you, Alberad." He remarked, placing a plate down to shake the elf's hand. The silver elf glanced at the hand for a moment before something clicked and he reached for it, as if that wasn't a common greeting in his lands. Beren wouldn't know. Perhaps one day he would go there, if fate allowed. "May I ask you a question Alberad?" 

"I am an open book, my friend." He replied. 

"I've never asked an elf, and the dwarves I've spoken to never give me a good answer. What's it like living for centuries?" Beren inquired, and it sounded like a very innocent query whilst simultaneously being entirely morbid. The longing of wanting to know due to the short lives of the menfolk, and yet still presented as simple curiosity. Alberad took his hand back and took a moment to simply smile thoughtfully.

"Too long..." He said, and then added. "Too short, as well." 

"Much the same with us," Beren remarked, and inclined his head once more. "I suppose it's all relative." 

He saw Alberad's eyes flick to his right, and Beren heard the clearing of a throat that announced someone else wished to speak with him. He glanced to his right and saw a delectable redhead with big eyes looking at him, standing very close as if they were already familiar. Beren raised his brow's, not wanting to be impolite. "Hello, may I help you?" 

"Care to dance?" She asked, brushing his arm with her hand. 

"Eh, um, I don't know how. And I'm here with someone." He assured her, trying to let her down as gently as he could before looking past her to the table where he had left Jocasta. Instead, he saw her turned back as she made her way toward the drink table. That was sort of odd, he thought. "If you'll both excuse me." 

She took his arm, just firmly enough so as not to spill the food in his hands. "I'm a good teacher," she assured him. "Please, just a few dances! It looks like she's already decided to make an exit." 

"How do you know who she is?" Beren asked, suspicion forming in his face. "No, thank you. I appreciate it but I've made up my mind." 

As he attempted to walk past her, she stuck her foot out as if she were attempting to bar his way. To his view it seemed a bit more sinister than that, and he caught himself easily, hopping a step forward and re-balancing the plates in his hands. He looked back at her with an accusatory gaze, only to see she had fallen herself. There was no way that was possible, he decided. The woman lifted her head and pointed at Beren, calling out. "You fiend! Striking a woman at a party?" She followed the accusation by sobbing into her hands. 

The closest in the crowd looked over, some with curiosity and others with barely disguised disgust when they judged the situation. Beren felt this was going to get out of hand quick, and sure enough, four burly men in jerkins to show a veneer of civility to their rough faces waded from various designated points along the party to intercept him before he could go any further. Beren wondered if he should stop and talk his way out, fight, or simply allow himself to be escorted out. Where was Jocasta going? 

"Jocasta!" Beren called over the din of the festivities. His arms with grabbed, but he struggled, a sandwich hitting the floor. "Jo!" 

"He did not strike any woman!" Alberad called from across the table. "Unhand him!"