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?
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?