[piosenniel]

Gondor - the party is over/the night passing

Standing at the edge of the great hall, Pio took advantage of the heavy dark draperies swagged back with thick silvered cording along the pillared alcoves. A moment before, a liveried serving man had come round with flutes of wine, chilled whites and the warmer reds; the glasses winked at her in the brilliance of the of the numerous many-branched candelabrum that stood on stone ledges along the walls.

The elf had smiled graciously at the man as she removed two goblets, one red, one white. ‘Non-partisan,’ she said as the man quickly covered a look of surprise. His face composed itself into a perfect non-committal mask as she downed the white and sat it on the stone bench near her, next to a small line of other emptied goblets, all queued up quite neatly. He moved on as she sipped the red, pausing ever so quickly to whisper to another server that the lady needed her empty goblets removed.

Pio moved further into the shadows and watched as the King spoke at length with Baran. She could see the clusters of other invitees from the merchant community in Gondor clump together in whispery groups, their eyes straying often to the King and the Beorning, their faces expressing mistrust of the giant of a man and ill-hidden repudiation of his right to be here at the party, or in Gondor at all if she read their demeanors correctly. They were disposed to cover their sneering looks quickly whenever the King looked round; he had made it clear that he welcomed the Beorning to this party as an emissary from north western Rhovanion, and that he was eager that Gondor and the Beornings be in good standing with one another.

Derylin had come up quietly behind the Elf, chuckling softly at her quiet assessment of the party. ‘I thought you would not be here,’ he said quietly as he sipped his own wine. ‘And I would not have been so,’ she said not taking her gaze from the clutch of Master merchants who now stood together, their mouths gawping in some exchange of conversation, like a school of hungry carp. ‘Not at all, but that my hand was forced by the concerted efforts of my children, their aunt, and not the least, Cook.’ Pio sighed, turning toward her dueling partner and raised her wine to him. ‘To be sure, I would rather be crossing blades with you at the moment, than feinting at words with the members of this party.’

They stood in companionable silence for a while, Derylin growing skeptical as a look of deviousness pulled up the corners of Pio’s mouth. ‘Now what?’ he asked himself as she turned toward him with a considering expression. ‘I propose we give the good folk something else to chew over for a while,’ she said placing her hand lightly on his arm and prompting him out to the dance floor. The small ensemble on the raised stone dais at the other end of the room had just begun the lead in for one of the dances popular in Gondor.

Soon eyes and tongues had turned to the couple on the floor . . . the married woman . . . what was she thinking! . . . her husband gone away on a mission for the King himself . . . and here she is dancing with the very single, deliberately uncommitted handsome man . . . make that heartbreaker, snickered some . . . has she no sense at all . . . and her with three small children at home . . . and wasn’t she the one who came with the Skinchanger to start with . . . Tongues wagged on, their unsought comments rising and falling with the notes of the music, as the couples on the dance floor swirled past.

It was later that night, as the party wound down to its conclusion that Pio gathered up Baran along with her cloak, and saying her good-byes to the host and hostess maneuvered them through the remaining throng to the coach portico. A tired man brought round her cart, holding the horses steady as the Elf and Beorning clambered aboard and took their seats. Pio took a deep breath of the cool night air and laughed as she flicked the reins lightly along the horses’ flanks.

‘I hope you had a passably pleasant time this evening, my dear Baran,’ she said, grinning impishly at him. ‘I did, for the most part.’ She glanced up at him, letting the horses take their lead down the pathway to the bottom level of the city. ‘I do regret we did not have the chance to dance.’ She maneuvered the team round a stack of barrels just delivered to one of the upper level inns. ‘And you . . . how was your night? I saw you long in conversation with the King. How did you find him?’

She eased herself into a position of comfort and watched the withers of the horses move up and down in a slow rhythm. He shifted his bulk on the cart seat and she turned her gaze toward him for a moment, one brow raised in question.