[Bêthberry]

The chant of adoration had had no lasting effect and the great, magnificent, stupendous not-Queen was mightily miffed about last night's Ball. Oh, the words had rung mighty enough, particularly those of the Lord of Grundor. Frankly, however, she hoped never to hear the shank end of Vogonwë's epic. And it wasn't the lamentable loss of the lovely-haired swordsmen to the undertable that she despaired of, however disappointingly deplorable that had been. No.

The not-Queen had received no bauble of the night sky with which to adorn her unsurpassed brow. And she quite jealously envied the gorgeous red and sultry blue gowns which Celery had heaped upon Pimpiowyn and Merisuwyniel--perpetual white at her age was such a frightful bore. At any age, in fact. Obviously, Saladriel was becoming frightfully bored of everything. This was more than a post-partium depression.

She stifled a yawn but still sighed with the ennui of ages. It was depressingly quiet in Topfloorien. Nothing seemed to be going on and nobody seemed to want it. Was this all that ruling a realm with her own will meant? Of course, she had thrown over Morget. It seemed hardly worth that little spot of resistance back in her salad days--not that she really did resist. Good thing she had been able to find that historical revisionist writer to set things straight.

Saladriel yawned again, not bothering to stifle it this time. She was beginning to regret her actions with the SnowWhite Council as well; maybe things would have been a spot more lively if she had liaised with SoAman rather than Dandruff the Fey. She shrugged. There was little to do in Topfloorien but eat and drink and walk among the tumtum trees and borogroves, and even still it was not all mimsy enough. They were simply vegetating. And to top it all off, Celery was being difficult again.

Celery himself was not amused. He had enjoyed stalking certain members during the Fellow/Galshop til they drop spree. They had sought commerce everywhere from Sûl of Firith Avenue to Far Harrod's to that lovely lunch at Forgoil and Mathoms. It had been gratifying to see the results at last night's splendid. Ball. Smashed a few pumpkins they did. But there was no beamish to be had with the old girl. He was in fact rather put out that Saladriel apparently had not appreciated his tireless efforts at hospitality. Speaking of put out, what could she expect after all these years? Still to carrot all for her? He saw her tossing around on the greenery and approached her.

"I say, Saladriel old girl, what say we have a spot more fun with our guests?"

"Even the very wise cannot see all ends, Celery, so why should you try? But you have a cunning plan?"

"Well, I had so much fun with that Baton Relay game for our Golden Jubilee that I thought we might hold other batons. Er, have another Baton Relay Run."

"We are we, Celery, not you."

"Aye."

"No, you not we. Me we."

"O. . . . U."

"Celery, you old fruit, we shall have to tighten your purse strings. We have devised a clever plan. Yes, we beleaf we have the very thing," the not-Queen intoned. "We shall peep into the Looking Glass of my Salad Bowl to see what is mirrored there."

At that point, Saladriel's gaze was oiled as some of the handbunnies came romping through the rabbit patch with the Fellow/Gal ship. Celery could sense the idea that tore into her ripe head. "O'live to see this game turned around," thought Celery to himself. He signaled to Aliciel to come forward for he had a plan to make Saladriel render up her page to him.

To the handmaiden he whispered, "There is a little Westron flower, before milk-white, now purple with love's wound, called 'Love in Elvenness.' Fetch that flower and prepare the Salad Bowl of Galadriel with it." With a wink the puckish Aliciel ran off to do his bidding.

Saladriel spoke no word but beckoned to the guests. She led them toward the southern slopes of the hill of Careless Gardenhon, and passing through the verdant bush they all hedged their bets as they entered the Bower of Elven Delights. No tumtum trees grew there and all lay open to the sky where the Light of the Evening Star pierced down. Down a flight of long fanciful steps into a deep green mossy hollow through which ran a murmuring stream that issued forth and tumbled into a silver fountain did the Lady of Topfloorien lead them. There, a low pedestal which spread like a branching tree held a wooden bowl, wide and shallow, the great Salad Bowl of Saladriel. The not-Queen kneeled reverently and took in her lovely hands a silver ewer which she dipped into the wonderous waters and then poured forth into the bowl itself after Aliciel had rubbed the burnished wood with garlic--or that other substance. Saladriel inhaled deeply before blowing over the bowl and then waited for the water to settle.

"Many things I can command the Bowl to reveal, and to some what they most desire. But the Bowl will also mirror things stranger (here she glanced at Merisuwyniel) and more profitable (here she glanced at Kuruharan the Dwarf, with a wink). Do you wish to take a peep? Look only but do not touch."

So saying, Saladriel herself looked deep into the bowl and therein came to dote madly upon the next live creature that she saw and she was forthwith smitten with one of the children of Aule, Kuruharan.

Then, indeed, long while all the Itship stood there, and one by one each assayed to gaze upon the Salad Bowl and many wonders there were seen, which they then did choose to tell, or spell or sell.

And once again the girl chorus in the background could be heard singing:

Come now a rondel and a fairy song,
Of wishes vain and love gone wrong.
What thou seest when thou dost peep
Take it for thy true-love's keep.
In thy eye what shall appear,
it is that thing shall you hold dear.

[ February 02, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]