[piosenniel]

Gondor - 2 weeks prior to the dinner at Korpulfr's

A number of days after the trip to the library with Baran, the invitation had arrived. There was a knock at the door in the late afternoon, and a polite exchange between Cook’s country bred voice and some soft, undistinguishable male voice, followed by an excited ‘Oh my!’ on the part of Cook. A coda followed the closing of the door, in more restrained tones. ‘I’ll wait right here if you don’t mind, goodmistress.’

Pio, and the children were in the kitchen and had heard the knock through the opened doorway to the short hall that led to the entryway. The words of the man’s last sentence had but left his lips as Pio rose to see whom Cook had let into the house. The children of course bustled after her, not wanting to miss out on the unexpected visitor. Before they had passed through the kitchen’s door Cook had come puffing in at top speed, one hand holding up her skirts as she sped along, the other brandishing a large, square white envelope, black and silver ribbons fluttering from the wax seal on the flap.

‘Mistress Piosenniel!’ Cook wheezed out, nearly colliding with the little group. ‘From the city . . . the King . . . and an answer is expected . . .’

Cook and the children crowding about her, Pio slipped her finger beneath the seal and prised out the folded, black vellum card from the envelope. ‘Ooh! Pretty!’ came the excited cry from Cami, as she spied the front of the invitation. The silver tracing of the White Tree and Stars against the dark background twinkled in the lamplight.

Pio scanned the invitation quickly, a mildly exasperated look passing over her features as she read it through. Tossing it on the table, she hurried out to speak to the messenger. Isilmir followed after her, leaving the remaining three to discuss in excited whispers, the invitation from the King.

The messenger said he would return in three days for her answer. This was to be a reception honoring several new trading groups that had been brought into the fold since the spread of the King’s Peace. A number of the prominent merchants and their wives had been invited to meet the representatives from Rhûn, Khand, and Near Harad in two weeks time from today. It was the sort of gathering in which personal connections could be made, the way eased toward forging links in Gondor’s widening network of trade.

It was also the sort of gathering that Pio did not relish attending. And even as she closed the door behind the King’s messenger, she was already composing her reply as to why she would be unable to make an appearance.

~*~

Isilmir had read her intention in the posture of relief as she leaned her back against the now closed door. His quiet voice startled her as he admonished her on her reluctance to go. ‘Father’s gone away. You’ll have to be the one to show up for our family. He’d want you to go and greet the King and the new traders.’ He stepped closer for a critical look at her saying, ‘And you’ll need to have a suitable dress, I think.

Gilwen had come up to by then to add her opinion. ‘It’s the King’s party, ammë! You have to have a pretty new dress.’ Little Cami nodded her head solemnly, wondering all the while if there would be cakes and other sweets. Eyes sparkling in anticipation, she piped up with a suggestion for a new bag to go with the outfit. ‘A pretty one . . . and big, too,’ she murmured at the end, thinking of the treats that might be brought home in it.

The Elf had opened her mouth to protest, when Cook shook her head, saying it was no use to try to get out of this. ‘Mistress Rilwen is coming tomorrow, early. You know she will hound you about the propriety of making sure the family is represented. You might as well give in now, don’t you think?’

Pio had shaken her head and burst out in laughter at their concerted effort. ‘Alright, then,’ she had said. ‘Promise me there will be no more talk of pretty this and pretty that, and no word of my reticence to Auntie Rilwen. Tomorrow we will all go into the city to see about making me suitably acceptable!’

~*~

It had been a long, hot, disgruntling day spent at the dressmaker’s shop. Were it up to Piosenniel alone she would simply have pointed to a bolt of some acceptable material of an unobtrusive hue; given some vague instructions to the seamstress about not making it too tight or too long. And no, she would not be needing a cloak, slippers dyed, scarves, or any fussy items for the hair. Her patience had grown thin as the measurings and discussions had gone on.

She was almost at the point where she would rather have pulled some gown from her wooden chest, shaken it out, and called it ‘good’. Raised eyebrows from Rilwen and a restraining hand on her arm had caused her to bite back her words as her well meaning sister-in-law took over the orchestration of ‘the outfit’.

~*~

Now the group found themselves at the Seventh Star Inn. The discussions about material, the cajolings about ‘fashion’ and the innumerable measurings were done for the day. The seamstress had promised to have it ready for a fitting in two day’s time, further promising that it would be the final fitting. The Elf had an exasperated look in her eye by the end of this tedious process. The dressmaker wisely chose not to discuss accessories, simply tucking away in the back of her mind what would be appropriate. She would present the entire outfit when Pio returned.

‘Look, ammë!’ Gilwen’s voice broke in on her thoughts as she sipped her cup of wine. Pio turned to see her daughter standing beside her chair and pointing at the figure coming down the stairs into the Common Room. ‘It’s Baran!’