Solas regards Maedhros with due consideration. His is a proud bearing, back straight, head held high, one hand folded behind his back and the other graceful on the drink he's been pretending to drink.

"Andaran atish’an," He replies, watching for recognition of the phrase in this stranger. Elf he may clearly be, but Kinsman, was it? Well, we shall hope not, "Banal nadas, elvhen emma him. Ir abelas."

The test thusly furnished, he returns the nod with a companionable tip of his cup, a toast to the fundamental futility of such an attempt at camaraderie, in the here and now. He does not drink.

"I do well, under the circumstances. It is unsettling, to say the least. But I will adapt. Will you not offer an introduction?"