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[ofdoriath]

Outside on the front porch, in the snow, is a man, dressed startlingly light for the weather and sitting leaning back, muttering irritably about cold and its impact on his instruments. However, should one come out a little later, he's playing a flutelike instrument, every note with the same nuance as a voice and just as beautiful, almost unearthly, the sound of a world long past. And, of course, as per his usual, melancholy. We wonder if he can play anything else.

He figures 'on the porch' doesn't quite count as 'in the Mansion.' And is just really, really hoping he doesn't run into any unfortunate Feanorians. One in particular.