The old elf is one of the owners of the inn

The serving wench returns with a damp cloth and wipes the sticky grime from the tabletop. She does not even look at you as she does it, but blushes furiously the whole time. As soon as she is finished, she gives you a little curtsey and practically scurries away. She seems to be too embarrassed to even look you in the eye.

Watching you observe the girl, and sensing your curiosity, the old elf leans toward you conspiratorially. "Our little Anika likes girls," he says with a wink. "I dare say you've completely turned her head."

You blush a little yourself, not being used to such conversation, and don't seem to be able to find the words to change the topic gracefully. The thought of the little human girl being attracted to you makes you feel unusual things that you don't quite understand yourself.

Realizing that he has made you uncomfortable, the old elf rubs the short white hairs on his balding head and puffs out his lips. Raising his eyebrows in thought, he absently pulls out a long pipe from a pocket on the inside of his tunic and decides to strike up a new topic of conversation.

"I'm sure you must be wondering who I am," he says with a wry smile. "By now you must think I'm a senile old fool with a dirty mind, but I assure you it's nothing of the sort. Or at least, not that I'm aware of. My name is Zefendel and I've been a part owner of this inn for over two hundred years."

He packs some dried leaves in his pipe and lights it with the candle that the older serving girl has just placed on the table.

"I did actually know your father, John Doe," he says, nodding. "And I've even met you before, though you wouldn't remember. You were just a little girl at the time. But I knew your grandfather better. Waedwyr and I were friends, though he was much my senior. He was a great mentor to me during my adventuring years."

The revelation comes as a complete shock to you. "How did you meet my grandfather?" you ask, unable to conceal the emotion in your voice. "Did you adventure with him? What did he teach you? Were you a student of his?" The questions pour out of you like water through a broken dam.

He raises his hands protectively, trying to hold back your questions with a gesture. "Stories for another time," he says, nodding in the direction of the kitchen. "It seems that your dinner has arrived."

You turn to look over your shoulder and see the elder serving girl walking toward you with a tray held high over the heads of the other patrons.