Mr Growing Into His Paws heard the aborted beginning of his name; he lumbers up from where he's been sprawled in the grass not far from his mistress, ambling towards them with the placidity of an animal who has previously vetted the strange, small thing that sometimes appears making wild noises and found him tolerable, even a compatriot in minding their lady's door.

Gwenaëlle softens a little around the edges, the way sad things do, but she smiles.

"He sleeps with me, the same as ever. I have the master bedroom, and Morrigan's son will have a room beside me, and then Thranduil will have one as well. I thought I should have someone with a sword in the house, you understand."

(She isn't expecting this to be a contentious issue.)