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eamane_feiniel @ : Discussing the party- Aka recruiting.
As soon as she is out of earshot and has some privacy, Eamane lifts her bewildered gaze to the councillor. She knew next to nothing about those who should make it with them to the Halls of Thranduil, and Elrond had said the trip had to be done within two days.
So, she said nervously. Who do you have in mind?
I am not... entirely sure that'd be wise. Eamane objects cautiously, lifting the hem of her skirt to climb the stairs and immediately cursing to the Void and beyond the unspoken rule that said women had to wear skirts. Her ankles were freezing. Elder people, I agree, but it'd be best if we kept whomever may have a history with Thranduil off the bargain for the moment being. Our best shot may well be fresh faces, people he'd be fforced by honour to give a moment's attention to.
Eamane fixes the shawl over her shoulders, taking mental note of how warm her travelling outfit would need to be. And that would be a pair of pants and tunics, and propriety could well go to--
It might help to have a letter form Elrond explaining his reasons. We can deal with the political side of the affair, but a more private explanation, from a father to another, might greatly diminish his anger. At least after the first wave have come and gone.
That's a good thought, concedes Erestor. When he sees that Elrond did not intentionally offend him, or place his son in uneccesary danger... he trails off, thinking of 'if'.
If I may ask, what is Thranduil actually like? I have only heard from those who know him as a King. Erestor decides not to add that his temper, greed and tendencies for wine precede him. I expect you will know him as a person, having lived so long in his halls.
Eamane grins impishly. Thranduil is... something.
Then she let the grin bloom into laughter.
What can I say? Sometimes, most the times, Thranduil seems larger than life. There is something about him. He has a stern ruling, a firm hand, and quick temper. But he is also caring and loyal. He knows every servant, every huntsman, every inch of his territory, even that which the enemy wished to claim for himself.
She pauses long enough to draw breath, and as she does so her brows furrow.
The king demands the best of his subjects, and he gives his best in return. He may be stern, but never unfair. I was greatly impressed Legolas, gentle soul that he is, valar bless him, did not jump over the dwarves rather than constrain his companions. Even in the face of the insults he received Thranduil saw to their comfort- not overmuch since they were suspects of spying, but they were given food, shelter and healing salves for their wounds.
Eamane turns to face her companion, a mischievous smile playing in her eyes. She was daring him.
All in all, I think that's as good an answer as I can make. Did I tell you what you wished to know?
Feel free to throw things at me for neglecting this.
What more could I ask? says Erestor. He sounds like... all a King should be. I look forward to meeting him.
That because you have not yet. With the news we are delivering, he'll be in his worst.
Eamane sombers quickly, examining the silver patterns in the councillor's sleeves's hems. Anything to avoid looking at his eyes, specially when the lady is about to voice a question that may be looked upon as disrespect.
Specially given the people involved.
We have so many great warriors in this house...Lord of great valour and stature. I do wonder why he choose Legolas, when he had such abundance of choices. Has lord Elrond confided in you why he chose my lord prince?
She feels her face heatening, and hastily adds,
I'd better have a reason, If I am to give one to Thranduil, unless you wish for me only to teach you the rules of silvan ettiquette, and deliver the news yourself, or whomever you choose for the ta--
A deep breath, more blushing.
Forgive me, I do not know what came over me.
Erestor regards her quizzically.
I think it would be better if you deliver the message. As to what you will actually say... well, would he accept that Legolas chose himself? I do not think that Lord Elrond compelled him to go. He was just in the right place at the right time - or the wrong one, depending on your opinion on the matter.
Are you all right? he adds. You've gone pink...
Yes.... that would do. That would do well...
She appears somehow startled by his comment.
Pink? Me?! Surely it must be the light.
But it was a cold day, the sky was clear, and the sun shone bright even if no wamth reached the land.
Well, it is cold... says Erestor, with the slightest of smiles playing on his lips.
Let us speak of more cheerful matters. Did you enjoy last night? he enquires.
You are right, of course.... 'tis the cold.
Eamane pursed her lips stubbornly and nearly gave in to glaring at him, but let the matter drop.
Now why on earth was he asking about last night? there hadn't been much that would make it apart from any other Night at the Halls of fire. Granted, she had danced a little more lively than usual, but that was it.
She frowned. Was he afraid she would not be able to endure a strainning task after some merrymaking? She was a woodelf, for Eru's sake!
It was a fine night, though I am afraid you were the wiser. bilbo felt like sharing his newest composition with us, and by the end it was hard to pretend not to be sleepy...
Ah, a night of poetry by the fireside? I might have stayed up for that, Erestor remarks with a wry grin.
He notices her frown, and continues. In truth, I was hoping that you would give me some kind of... forewarning, for the entertainment we might recieve at Thranduil's court. I need hardly tell you that the parties are legendary, and the dancing somewhat different from the Rivendell fashion. You don't drink that firewater stuff all the time, do you? he asks, a little anxiously.
Eamane fights and looses with the frown.
What on Eru's sweet Arda is wrong with Firewater?
She sighs and waves her hand in the air so as to dismiss the affair.
It is different, granted. It is... livelier, more carefree... childish, I have heard. Woodland elves are hardly wont to restrain their passion for the sake of property, we generally choose straightforward over smooth. But that, as we both know, you had chance to see from past negotiations.
This time the sigh is of a rather undeniably wistful nature. The lady impetuously takes the councillor arm in hers, pulling him closer as she changes the course of their stroll into the icy cold garden.
She all but dances on the steps.
I can give the rivendellians a few classes in dancing before we go, though I think the maidens of my land would prefer to have the pleasure.
All in all, I should advise you not to skip at least the first four dances, not to be overly kind to any single maiden, and to avoid Flambee green at all costs. Don't ask, she adds conspirationally, grinning. You must trust my judgment in that.
'Flambee green' sounds sufficiently frightening that Erestor does not press the matter.
I see. I should warn you, I have two left feet and really should not be allowed to dance - but not to do so would be rude, if we are asked.
It's a lovely day to be outside, he notes. The snow and the sunlight - I will miss it. We probably should go inside before we freeze - and the pile of paperwork isn't getting any smaller.
Eamane tries to imagine what it would be like if the chief advisor refused to dance in the court and has to suppress a shudder. That would be rude.
Then she thinks of teaching him the rapid swirls of the courting games and her whole body goes icy cold.
But then she is reminded of the Forest Circles and decides maybe it would not be such a bad idea if she snaks off ewith Elrond's letter in her grasp and conveniently fogets to drag the rest of the company along.
We will think of something, she replies simply. If you have coordination enough to practice the fighting games you should be able to learn the dance well enough.
What?! Oh, yes, of course. Eamane finds herself blushing for what feels like the thousandth time that week. Are you sure you do not wish for a hand in it?