Rivendell

Why...

Her hands were stiff and numb with coldness. Snowflakes swarmed the landscape like pesky insects. Boots pushing through the towering inches of snow, she shivered as she held the warm wine bottle in her hands. 

Why... in tarnation...

... had she stayed in Eriador this winter?

That stupid elven ball was one thing. Her pesky family begging her to stay in Imladris for once was another reason. Desperately working her uncooperative hands to open the bottle of her glorious warm wine, she continued to march in the snow.

The Hall of Fire, some time last month.

Her heart had leapt when he returned. She had shamelessly smiled and dropped whatever one-sided conversation had been targeted at her, the moment he appeared in the great Hall. Now, some hours later, the gathering has come to an end. The Hall is emptied, save for him and her: two figures seated on the ground, at the marble-carved feet of an Elfmaiden who dances her stationary dance.

Imladris, some time last month.

"When have I last stayed in one place this long?"

She descends the steep slope down to the rushing waters with a well-practiced jump. 

"Was it when the Elvenking kept me in his halls, after his wardens dredged me from the accursed river? How many years ago now..."

After departing the Hall of Fire in somewhat of a rush, Calanis had retreated to her usual destination for silence, contemplation and healing of woes of the fëa. There where the Bruinen descends from the Hithaeglir, it clashes down into the Hidden Valley with great force and a roaring noise of the water upon the rocks. At the bottom of that waterfall, on a damp, mossy ledge, she sat down.