Elendor
Final Banquet
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Location: Pelargir
Description: Pelargir: Minas Sirion - Main Hall
Antique opulence abounds in this entryway of the palace, the vaulted ceilings soaring overhead. Lit by hundreds of white candles in silver sconces, the main hall of Minas Sirion opens up before you, and it is large and fair, with deep red carpets plush beneath your feet. The hand-work of the carved walls depicts a voyage on the sea, where Numenorean men fought against the ravages of the open water. The hewn wooden scene captures the lives of those lost and seems to come alive before your eyes, and a longing fills your soul, for what you know not.
Directly in your front is a massive staircase, delicately carved from the whitest of marble and bedecked also with a deep crimson carpet. To the upper levels of the palace does it lead, and it is guarded by a pair of finely dressed guardsmen in the livery of Pelargir upon Anduin. On either side of this massive center feature the walls stretch back a goodly ways, and they are set with many doors opening to some other realm of the palace. To and fro these doors pass the many courtly folk who dwell and work within. Dazzling noblewomen bedecked with jewels and gold beyond price, and garbed in flowing gowns of silk and satin. Dashing young courtiers, always eager to gain the favor of a lord or lady of the city. And the ever-present men of war, striding stoically past in silence, upon some errand of their own accord.
She hesitates a moment, "I have managed some arrangements for my family. But little spectacular. The Haradrim are a strange people, but merchants seem the same regardless of their color. Thus, it has been difficult."
She moves on, "Save for that there has been little of interest in them for me. Their women crude and brutish. Their men, likewise. I do not envy your position to keep them in line."
A nod is given to the Lady and then the Lieutenant says "Merchant wise yes, they seem rather the same.. For the most part." pausing a moment "As for keeping them in line.. They seem to fear their lords, and thus I have had more dealings with their lords.. A very complicated situation.." a sigh escaping the man as he finishes speaking.
Tathar moves among the crowd, more regally dressed than at any other time so far here in Pelargir. Pearls glimmer in her hair to match those stitched to her dress. Smiling faintly at a passing servant, she accepts a glass of wine, and turns away - coming towards Aearon and Gweneth now.
"Name the dark one and he soon finds your bed," Gweneth echos the proverb as she catching sight of Tathar. She too is dressed for the occasion, an ornate gown of cream laced with thread colored gold.
She curtsies politely as Tathar approaches, "Lady Tathar, a pleasure once again to see you." A motion to Aearon, "We were just discussing some business with you and the dancing girls of Harad. They sound quite fascinating. Have you had much time with them?"
A nod is given to Lady Tathar as she approaches, saying "Lady Tathar.." taking a sip of his wine he continues saying "Yes, Lady Gweneth seems to find them interesting.. Perhaps you can enlighten her on how they are not something to be interested in.."
Tathar smiles, a gracious and polite smile that might cover the tightening about her eyes, and nods in greeting to the Lieutenant and Gweneth. "I am afraid I haven't seen as much of these women as you apparently think. I am sorry that I cannot enlighten you further. But you find them interesting, Lady Gweneth?"
A shrug, "It is rare to get a peak inside such a backwards culture." She laughs, "I mean, they enrolled women in their combat tournament. I was curious if their dancing girls were the same as their corsairs, sword wielding reaver wenches dancing across table tops?" She looks aside to Aearon, "See? My imagination quickly gets the better of me."
"Perhaps they are sad slaves? Forced to entertain?"
She waves off the topic, "In any case, Aearon mentioned them. A curiosity to say the least. I believe I was in the middle of asking the Lieutenant which Haradrim was his favorite so far," she says, looking expectantly to Aearon once more.
As Lady Gweneth once again asks the Lieutenant which Haradrim is his favorite the Lieutenant says "To be honest.. I do not like any of them. I simply tolerate them, as per my orders for the faire.. Commanding the Hostmen stationed here in Pelargir has tested not only my patience, but my abilities as a commander..
"Dreadful," Tathar murmurs. "But from what I saw of them, I doubt there was any sword-wielding involved. Heledir said that they told him they danced for pleasure." She leaves whose pleasure unspoken, looking to Aearon also. "But surely there is one you dislike less than the rest?" she asks him.
"Indeed," Gweneth presses, "Do not be a bore by dodging the question so."
With a sigh the Lieutenant says "Ok, ok.. Fleetmaster Mirdanath seemed surprisingly noble for what he was.. Honorable even.." taking another drink of his wine he says "And yourselves?"
Having made his way through the party in general, Menelglir now manages to find his way to this small grouping. He has a drink of some sort in his hand, a golden liquid in a wine glass. "Sir, Ladies."
Dark eyebrows draw together in a frown, and Tathar's eyes snap with long-born anger. But reluctantly, she says, "That one - woman. Azradi. She has a little honor also, I think. Much as I hate to say it." It is with evident relief that she turns to greet Menelglir. "Squire."
Gweneth tchs once after Aearon, another after Tathar, "Fleetmaster Mirdanath was to be my choice." A sigh. "Lady Farside my second choice a woman who has done well for herself despite the unfortunate shape and size of her nose."
She considers a while, "I cannot say I have met any other," she replies disappointedly, then smiling and nodding to the Squire, "Good eve to you, Menelglir. My cousin has set you free this night?"
Looking to the squire he gives him a nod, then looking at the squires drink he frowns slightly.. Shaking his head he looks back to the two ladies and takes a drink of his wine saying "Lady Tathar, there are rumors of you fencing with some of my soldiers.. I do hope they are not true.."
"He has, he has," Menelglir says. "But he is quite busy. I dare say you may have seen him more than I have of late, Lady Gweneth?"
Catching the Lieutenant's look, the Squire takes a sip of his drink, then offers it toward Aearon. "You should try this," he says. "Tis quite an interesting flavor. Complex--I hadn't expected it."
"Sword play, Lady Tathar? I know, of course, that it is an interest of yours. Perhaps that is what sparked such rumors?"
"I am not surprised," the Nimothan lady says darkly in response to Gweneth, but then Aearon speaks and both of Tathar's eyebrows rise in well-bred surprise. "Fencing?" she asks and laughs, shaking her head. "Someone is enjoying themselves, I think. /I/ have heard that Turlach is to be married, which is obviously untrue."
She smiles at the Lieutenant, and nods to Menelglir. "Perhaps that is it. I do appreciate good a swordsman. Corlin was explaining your moves to me, Lieutenant, the other day. When the Eagle came?" Admiringly, she says, "I was amazed at how easily you held off not one, but two opponents!"
Waving off the offer to taste the squires drink the Lieutenant says "What is it?", looking back to Lady Tathar the Lieutenant nods and says "It is good to hear that it is just rumors Lady Tathar, as for the rumor about your nephew I have heard little.. But I too think it is but rumors.." smiling as she speaks of the spar the other day the Lieutenant says "Easily is not a word I would use my lady.. I was at an advantage, the spear allows you to keep your enemy, or enemies at a distance.. Keeping you out of swords distance.."
"An eagle? Here? Surely not. They are said to arrive only when men need them most," Gweneth recites, "An Eagle's Shade soldiers be not afraid, as they say."
"It must have been something you ate to see one flying in the sky so. A smaller bird, perhaps?"
"Cider," Menelglir says, holding Aearon's gaze as he answers. "Plain cider, not hard. I like it."
"No, Lady." This to Gweneth. "It was an eagle. Seeking your cousin Sir Gwendion, in fact. And..we are in need."
a man enters the room with his hood drawn back and says cider for me as well
"Oh, I did not see it flying in the sky," Tathar replies sweetly. "I saw it upon the ground, not fifty feet away. And it spoke." A hint of awe tinges her voice, followed by a shadow. Silently, she takes a sip of her wine, looking up to see Brethir not far away.
Smiling at the squire the Lieutenant says "Cider.. I had some earlier.. It is quite good.." Looking to Lady Gweneth he says "I spoke to the Eagle myself.. He was very real Lady Gweneth.. And as Lady Tathar says he was upon the grounds of Lists.." taking a drink of his wine he looks about the room, spotting Brethir out of the corner of his eye.
"Is that so," Gweneth replies only, too stunned to say more. She lifts her glass and sips from her wine unconsciously, then frowns at the glass and the taste held within.
"Is your wine not to your taste?" Tathar asks solicitously. She lifts an arm to beckon to a servant. "You should try some of this it is quite good."
Brethir smiles and grabs a mug of cider and before drinking looks to the west and holding up his mug says"to the souterons return journey, here here!"
"No no, I only forgot it was wine. My mind caught up with your tale. That's amazing," Gweneth nods emphasizing her words, "To see an eagle and speak to it. Astoundingly lucky. But," and now she looks to Menelglir, "It was here for Gwendion? How... how does it even know of Gwendion?"
At the toast spoken beyond her, her lips twist, "I wonder how they will take those words?"
"Aye, Brethir, careful of our speech, lest you insult our guests and dishonor us...as some have done already," Menelglir says, ruefully, in fact. He glances to Aearon momentarily, blushing.
"Sir Gwendion never told you the tale, then? Lady Tathar knows it, even."
Hearing the toast the Lieutenant half coughs.. Then looking about the room to see the reaction of the Haradrim that are present.. Looking to the squire as he speaks to the Scout.. Looking to the scout himself he shakes his head, then he says "It was a spectacle to see.. That of an eagle.."
"Gwendion and I uh..." Gweneth pauses, "Travel in different circles. I had hoped to see him here in fact. A disappointment he has not yet arrived."
"Quite a spectacle and a welcome omen I hope."
Tathar lifts her own glass in return, tilting it slightly towards Brethir and says, quietly, "To peace with honor."
"It was most incredible," she says to the younger lady. "I had never seen, had never even thought to see, such a thing. And to hear it speak..."
Brethir raises his glass says "here here"
Seeing a passing group of Soldiers the Lieutenant looks to group he has been speaking to and says "If you will excuse me.. I must speak with a few of my soldiers.." With that he bows his head and follows after the group.
Brethir unsheathing his sword and says "well there's no party without entertainment who wants to spar?"
looking around neviosly brethir says "anyone?"
Tathar draws her breath in and then shakes her head. "This is not the place for swordplay," she says sternly to Brethir. "Put it away again, or they will think there is to be an attack. Do you wish to be the cause of a battle in the very palace?"
Brethir says, "no i see your point"
Gweneth eyes the scout nervous as he brandishes his blade openly. As Tathar scolds him, she cannot but help and smile at the unintended pun he says. But she says naught to him for now, turning the focus from him and his part faux pas, "Speaking of marriage, Lady Tathar. I know the past has been painful for you, but has love found its way to you yet?"
Unescorted, Lady Farside appears at the top of the grand stairs. Dressed in the same finery she wore when the Haradrim arrived, she pauses on the top stair for a moment - garnering more than one stare from Haradrim and Gondorian alike.
She places her hand lightly upon the marble rail and descends gracefully, her skirts trailing behind her. Her amethyst necklace and the pearl resting upon her brow sparkle in the candlelight. Upon her visage rests her typical pride, softened this night by an ease not often seen during her time in Pelargir.
Walking directly towards the scout is the Lieutenant Aearon a look of extreme irritation upon his face as he nears the young scout looking at him he says "Come with me scout.." and with that he grasps the back the scouts shirt and head towards the door.
A faint blush rises in Tathar's cheeks, and she takes a sip of her wine, looking away. Azradi's entrance catches her attention, and she watches the Haradrim lady down the stairs. And then she is able to look back at Gweneth and reply composedly, "It is kind of you to consider my welfare, but I do not think to marry again."
Menelglir stares--first it is at Lady Azradi, and then it is at Brethir, as the Scout brandishes a sword. He, too, starts to say something, but Tathar beats him to it, and then Aearon is attempting to drag Brethir out of the room. He watches, in case he should be needed, giving Tathar and Gwendion an apologetic look. "He is young..."
"Oh I see," Gweneth replies, again surprised with a hint of disappointment or pity. She presses the topic no more, instead following the attention to Azradi, motioning with her glass, "See what I mean? On one hand, it is clear she has some sense of taste, despite it being Haradaic, on the other, it fits her not. She looked more comfortable dancing with a sword than she would in slippers on a floor. I cannot place it. What do you think the difference is between her and us?" she asks in general.
Tathar looks back to Azradi, considering. While she thinks on this question, she asks with idle interest, "And yourself? Has someone found his way to your heart?" If it is an impertinent question, so was Gweneth's, and Tathar has the advantage of age.
"Perhaps," she muses, "She looks more comfortable with a sword, because she is skilled in the usage of one."
Taking a glass of wine from a server in passing, Azradi casually wends through the crowd, pausing to talk briefly to this person or that who hails her.
Her general direction brings her closer to Gweneth and those clustered around her, though she is by no means close enough to hear their conversation...yet.
"She is skilled with a sword and likely taught it from a youg age," Menelglir says, watching Azradi's approach. "As for the difference, I cannot say otherwise. But," he says to Gweneth, "I hear tell that the Bragollach's have arranaged trade with Umbar? Is that so?"
As the Lieutenant and the squire reach the far door of the hall the Lieutenant says "What were you thinking with that stunt in there Scout? Do they teach you anything within the ranks of Ithilien.."
"Then you mean, she is not skilled in the softer arts?" Again a glance for Azradi by the young Bragollach, "I suppose that is the way of things. Men can be taught to be warriors or poets, sometimes both."
"As to love, there is no story there for me. Mother is looking for a good match, but I am far too busy for such frivolities. Between family duties and my studies... No, none have a had a chance to woo."
"And you Squire. You are approaching an appropriate age for such quests. Is there a future in sight yet for your line of the Telpekhori? Does Lady Laeraelin aid you in your search?"
"I wouldn't know," Tathar says repressively. As the Haradrim Lady approaches, she curtsies slightly, and says to her, "I hope you are enjoying the evening."
Gravely, she replies, "I am sure that such will not always be the case." And a glint of amusement lightens her expression as she turns with equal gravity to hear Menelglir's answer.
"The softer arts?" Menelglir chokes a little on the cider he is drinking. "Well..." he considers the Farside woman, "the Seaward Lady is married, is she not? To Lord Eron? So perhaps they do learn the softer arts as well? Though on second thought, the Seaward Lady amazed us wiht her dancing skills here, not her prowess with a sword."
"Marriage?" The Squire blinks. "I am but nearly 17 and Telpekhiri do not marry until 25 years. But...I hear a rumor that Lady Laeraelin is negotiating with the Bragollachs to find a woman suitable to me," he says with a perfectly straight face and a polite smile to Gweneth. "A clever one, one who is brave as well."
"Lady..." This, a little awkward, to Azradi.
A movement glimpsed from the corner of her eye, Azradi turns and notices Tathar and her curtsey. Closing the distance between them, the Southron Lady smiles politely and replies. "I am, Lady Tathar. I hope you are enjoying your evening in a similar manner."
Glancing at the Squire, she raises one shapely brow, "Softer arts?"
Entering the hall once again is the Lieutenant Aearon, a very irritated look upon his face.. Grabbing a glass of wine off one of the servers plates he drains half the contents as he moves about the party, shaking his head slightly with the same irritated look upon his face.
"Clever and brave? Aurelia?" Gweneth guesses, "Callach has been looking for a match for her for som.." but her thoughts are interrupted as Azradi arrives and greets Tathar. She hesitates a moment, before curtsying, "Lady Farside, a pleasure to see you."
"The Squire was inquiring if you were taught in softer things than war... dancing was brought up as one of the topics. Art perhaps?"
"Dancing...painting...embroidery? Though, rather, it was Lady Gwendion who brought the topic up," Menelglir says.
"Ah, but Lady," he continues to Gweneth, "I am too young to marry and those ladies should not wait for me. I need someone closer in age to me. Now...my cousin Aearon, he is of marrying age."
"This is good to know," Gweneth replies honestly, "I shall send his name to Callach. Aearon seems a good man, and Aurelia, by all accounts, is a fine woman. Their children," she glances to the Hostman again, "Would be quite tall," she notes with a soft laugh.
"But, forgive me, I speak over Lady Farside's reply."
Finally calming himself, the Lieutenant takes a deep breath and continues to move about the party, talking briefly with those he knows as he passes by, heading towards the group gathered he sips his wine and nears the group gathered..
Arriving at the doorway, to await the announcement of the door guards, is Eruphel, bedecked in some of her finest clothing. Or at least, some of the finest clothing she's brought with her. Unlike the dancing girl's dress prior, this dress is the epitome of modesty and inaccessibility...for a woman of Umbar, perhaps. Behind her, some of those same dancing girls follow, carrying a length of fabric that trails behind her like a cape. Last in the retinue are a couple of Corsairs, wearing their cleanest, finest clothing, and each wearing a blue sash about their waist.
"Eruphel, Lady of Seaward," the doorman says, and Eruphel proceeds into the room, her train in tow.
"I was fortunate enough to receive a full and rich education," Azradi replies, her gaze taking in all who stand conversing. "In addition to the arts of war and the skills of the sea, I was tutored in a wide array of subjects including history, mathematics, literature and yes, the arts. I sing well enough, but my brother is the gifted musician. My forte is drawing and painting."
"Embroidery?" she repeats and then pauses. "My mother attempted to teach me, but I was a poor and distracted student."
"Is that so? I sing but a lit..." Gweneth stops mid-sentence as Eruphel is announced, her brows rising in curiosity as she stands upon the tips of her toes to get a better view, "Lady Seaward...? How interesting."
"There. The softer arts, Lady. So, the women of Umbar learn the sword as well as what our own women learn. Some have said that the women of Gondor should be taught the sword, as well. Some women, I hear, even do learn it here," Menelglir says.
"And," the Squire continues, eyeing Eruphel's arrival now, "are your women taught dancing, as well?" He looks briefly to Aearon, if the Lieutenant is close enough to do so.
A sudden smile flickers across Tathar's face. "I have never been able to abide embroidery." The smile deepens, lurking in her eyes. "I have heard that also, Menelglir," she says.
Now near the group the Lieutenant bows his head saying "My Ladies, squire.." I apologize for the Scout.." Taking another drink of wine he looks to his cousin and gives him a nod.
Saying nothing, Gweneth motions to the pair, Tathar and Menelglir, as they agree on the rumors with her head, catching Aearon's glance, suspicion clear in her eyes.
After taking a moment to search the faces, Eruphel naturally gravitates toward the most familiar face she sees: that of Azradi. She approaches the Umbarean Lady. "Lady Farside..." she greets, then smiles to those gathered together in the conversational circle. "Gentlemen and Ladies..." she addresses them all sweetly.
"It is just a rumor.." Menelglir says, looking into his drink. He sighs. "I'll go find more...cider." With a rueful look to Aearon, he departs the group in search of more drink.
As Lady Seaward approaches, Gweneth does find words, perhaps too quickly, as she curtsies once more, "I must be off, though..."
"A pleasure to see you all again. Perhaps when we return to Minas Tirith I shall have us all to dinner, with apologies, for Lady Farside."
A curtsey, waiting for none, and she is gone.
A half smile is given to Lady Gweneth and then taking a sip of his wine he hears the greetings of Lady Seaward, bowing his head he says "Lady Eruphel.." as the Squire and the Lady leave the Lieutenant gives them each a nod then takes another drink of his wine.
"Lady Eruphel," Azradi greets her friend formally. She inclines her head to Aearon, "Are you enjoying your evening, Lieutenant?"
Tathar gives Eruphel the same small curtsey and polite smile that she had given Azradi a little while earlier. "And you?" she asks, courteously. "May one ask of your education? Did you also learn to draw and paint?"
Lowering his glass of wine the Lieutenant says "For the most part, I am.. Thank you Lady Azradi.. I hope you are also enjoying this evening. I apologize if you heard or saw the actions of the young scout.. I have dealt with him.." then taking another sip of his wine.
Eruphel blinks, suddenly drawn into a conversation that precedes her arrival, she looks a little lost, looking at Azradi for some sort of cue or guidance. "My education?" She shifts on her feet. "My education began when I was fourteen, really. A Gondorian slave in my father's tower. He taught me Westron first, and then to read. And, eventually, numbers and counting and some of the maths."
Wearing an amused smile, Azradi pauses to sip her wine before answering the Gondorian officer. "Do you mean the young man who brandished a sword - let alone wore one to fete such as this."
"I am afraid I did indeed notice that."
"I wager he did so for one of three reasons: He was drunk, he was angry, or he was trying to impress a young woman."
Unfortunately, the Farside lady misses her counterpart's look until after she has already described her education. Azradi glances between Eruphel and Tathar.
"Interesting," Menelglir says, having returned to the group with a wine glass full of cider. He does not elaborate on precisely what is interesting to him. "And at what age do the ladies of your land first learn the sword? Do they give it up at marriage and childbirth?"
Tathar's eyebrows snap into a frown. "I see," she says with icy civility, and turns a little so as not to face Eruphel directly but not quite so much as for it to be considered a direct snub.
An sigh escapes the Lieutenant as he says "He is young.. Unfortunately he has to learn things the hard way.." a shake of his head at the end of his words then a sip of wine he sys "Again, I am sorry.." Looking to the squire as he re-appears he smiles a moment and says "I will have to get a glass of that cider myself.."
Eruphel's brow furrows slightly at Tathar's reaction, truly unable to fathom what is eating at the woman. But Menelglir's question cannot be ignored. She turns to him. "I do not know. I suppose it varies. /I/ learned the knife first, while I was still a slave...which was unusual in itself, since slaves are not allowed weapons. Once I was freed and elevated in station, I began to learn the sword. That was about sixteen." She pauses, thinking, "And...no, I have not given up the sword since marriage, and will continue even after I bear children."
"Cider?" echoes Azradi, glancing at the Squire's glass. "What is cider?"
But Eruphel's conversation catches her attention and she interjects, "Contrary to popular Gondorian belief, not all women choose the way of the corsair or soldier. My own education in the arts of war began informally around age ten and more formerly at thirteen. Some do give up the life after marriage, others do not."
Despite herself, Tathar is listening to Eruphel with a sort of horrified fascination, and now she looks at the lady again. "A - slave?" she asks, disbelievingly. She barely hears what Azradi answers Menelglir, or Aearon's continued apologies for Brethir.
Looking to a server the Lieutenant says "Bring a few glasses of cider my good man.." then looking to Lady Azradi the Lieutenant says "A juice made from apples and spices.. Served both hot and cold.. Rather good on a cold evening.."
"Brethir is young, yes. Lady Azradi, I'm afraid I have to apologize to you, as well, for my behavior the other day. It was unacceptable, and I am sorry for being rude."
"Cider. Yes. At my cousin's suggestion."
"A slave?" Menelglir blinks, repeating Tathar's question.
Eruphel looks to Tathar again, her brows furrowed and her mein worried, as if she cannot figure out what to make of the woman. Then the Gondorian man also looks surprised. She offers a shallow nod. "Yes, I was a slave of Seaward Tower for a time, though I suppose some might argue that I was not." She pauses, holding her breath as if looking for the right words. Finally, she says simply, "It is a very convoluted story."
"Apology accepted," Azradi assures the Squire, smiling. She turns back to Aearon and says, "Juice? From a fruit? It sounds refreshing. I would love to try some."
A wry look askance is offered to Eruphel and her obviously confused audience.
It has been but a short time, but the server returns with a tray full of glasses of cider, taking one and handing it to Lady Azradi then setting his empty wine glass down and taking one for himself he says "It is rather good. Are you ready for another cousin?"
Tathar frowns. "You were and yet you were not." She glances at her wineglass, finds it nearly empty and drinks the last swallow. "How is this? Or do you prefer not to speak of it?" Rather stiffly, she says, "I apologize if I have asked a question that discomforts you."
"Surely," Menelglir says, setting his own glass down and taking another--though he seems a bit resigned as he does so.
"Lady Eruphel...would it be offensive if I inquired why you did not attend most of the faire as...well, as yourself."
When a drink is offered to Eruphel, she accepts the glass, but studies the contents with some doubt, sniffing first, and then sipping for just a taste, rolling the liquid across her lips to fully taste it. She then regards the contents again, as if trying to decide. She puts the thought aside for now, holding the glass. "How is this? Hmm...well, as you might guess, the story is long, and I would prefer not to tell the entire thing while standing. This is a banquet, no? I assume delicacies will be forthcoming?" She smiles serenely.
But then, as Menelglir asks his question, she pauses, her face going somewhat lax as she looks for exactly the right words. "It would not (be offensive to ask) if you are willing to risk that the answer might also be offensive." She smiles again, breifly. "But let me say simply that it is sometimes nice, or even fun, to shed the mantle of power and responsibility in order to be able to do things one might otherwise not be able to do, and see and hear things one might not otherwise be able to see. And hear."
Azradi drains her glass of wine and places the empty on the server's tray. She looks at the cider curiously, twirling the glasses' contents a moment before sniffing it - much as Eruphel did. But she takes in more than a taste. Considering a moment, she says. "It is sweet and tangy at once. How odd. But I do believe I like it."
"It is not very strong, though. Is it a children's drink or does it have spirit?"
Reaching into a pouch at his side the Lieutenant says "It is without spirits, but does add a good flavor when spirits are added.." pouring a bit of the contents into his won cider he then offers the flask to Lady Azradi and says "If you wish for the cider to have more of a bite.. This makes for a good mixture.."
It is now that there is a small ripple in the crowded room and servants begin to circulate carrying trays of various dainties, some sweet and some savory. Tathar plucks a pastry of some manner from a passing tray, and has her wine glass refilled - and not with cider.
"There are seats," she says, looking around. Somewhere. There are people in the way, and none can be seen. And then, as Eruphel goes on, laughter brightens her eyes at some memory.
"It is not a children's drink, however," Menelglir says, looking mortified by this very suggestion. He watches Aearon pour liquor into his cider, a frown flitting across his face briefly.
The Squire instead turns his attention to Eruphel. "Rightly said--I will not take offense at the answer. And I imagine that seeing the world as a dancing girl is quite different. Educational, even. So can you tell me--what have you learned?"
Tathar interjects, "It can be stronger. If one leaves it to ferment, and then freezes it." She returns her attention to Eruphel.
Eruphel smirks slightly. "I have learned that dancing as they dance is hard, and athletic, and requires much coordination and concentration. I've learned that its quite rewarding to get an appreciative look for a dance, and very frustrating and even demoralizing to get no response from your audience." She glances about. "I've learned that Gondorians are apt to mistake a dancing girl as a slave, but they are kind and charitable."
"My thanks," says Azradi, accepting the Lieutenant's flask. She pours a bit in her drink, offers the flask back to its owner and swirls the cider in her glass. Glancing at Tathar, she comments: "I may have to purchase some of latter before I leave."
She takes a sip of her laced cider and smiles. "Better. What was in the flask?"
Again Eruphel's conversation catches the Farside lady's attention. She grins mischievously, "Maha was with me when Sir Gwendion showed me to my rooms at our arrival. It was...enlightening to see his response to her."
Turlach's head, dark and neatly combed, appears in the crowd. A black cloak is pinned soberly at his shoulders with a small blue jewel otherwise, his Host-uniform makes no concession to finery. He passes by the circle, peering at the faces of those talking -- wanders, wavers.
"Gondor has no slaves," Tathar says, with a resumption of her earlier stiffness. The laughter fades from her eyes. She catches sight of Turlach and smiles at him.
Taking back the flask the Lieutenant says "A bit of some of our finest brandy.. Goes will with the cider.." taking a drink of his own he says "Very good on a cold day.." Looking to the squire he hands him the flask and says with a wink "just a touch.." Seeing a few people pass by the Lieutenant says "If you will excuse me a moment.." stepping away from the group he begins to speak with a group of men.
"Just so, yes," Menelglir tells Aearon as he takes the flask. He pours a bit into his cider, then stoppers the flask and holds onto it as Aearon moves away.
A quick look of sympathy is given toward Tathar and a smile to greet Turlach as the Squire then considers Azradi's remarks. "And..what was Sir Gwendion's reaction? If I may ask."
"I know Gondor has no slaves." Eruphel answers almost deadpan. "Which, no doubt, is why they mistook me for one." Eruphel looks toward Azradi, a glint of bemusement in her eye. She waits for the Farside lady to answer.
Lifting her glass, Azradi salutes the Lieutenant with her glass and turns to join the other's conversation fully. "Well," she begins, warming up to her story, "I explained to him that women dance in Umbar for many reasons: Some dance publically for entertainment and coin wives dance for their husbands and daughters often dance for their families."
"He seemed rather alarmed at the prospect Maha might dance for him as a woman does for her lover," she finishes, exchanging an amused look with Eruphel.
Turlach smiles a little at his aunt, then edges into the circle to listen, his cheeks flushing a little pink at the conversation.
This response leaves Tathar utterly bewildered, and almost speechless. "But.." she protests faintly. Then she apparently decides there are some things it is better not to know, and shifts her attention to Azradi. And then to a different servant carrying a different platter of some sorts of small meat-cuts wrapped around a vegetable. "Ah, Turlach," she says, her own cheeks slightly flushed. "How are you tonight?"
Menelglir, in contrast, is not bewildered. No, the Squire half spits out his drink, so flustered is he by the answer that Azradi gives him. He reddens at the answer, then reddens further at his own reaction.
"I, uh..." Menelglir says when he can manage it. "Yes, I can imagine that would horrify Sir Gwendion. That...well, that is not a custom among our people. Nor are dancing girls."
At Azradi's short story, Eruphel laughs in a quick outburst. "Oh yes, now I remember. Could scarcely look at me." She takes a sip of her cider now. "In any case, I would like to go sit." She looks to everyone standing nearby. "And I would enjoy your company, if you care to join me."
"Wives do not even dance for their husbands in private?" asks, Azradi, her expression as shocked as the Gondorian's were a moment ago. A bit distracted, she turns to quickly acknowledge Eruphel's request while she waits for her answer. "Yes, I would like to sit as well. I believe I saw chairs along the walls as I descended the stairs..."
Tathar, being the only current participant in this conversation with any personal experience, shakes her head. "No," she says. "Not dancing of ... of that sort. We dance at balls. Parties. But it is not like that." She manages all this without turning any darker a red, and turns at once towards the indicated chairs.
"I am all right," says Turlach quietly, a curious glance flickering between his aunt and the Haradrim. He follows her, pulling up the chairs so that they may all sit comfortably, and remains standing to wait.
"If wives dance for their husbands in private, that is their business. Certainly not any of mine. Not at the moment, as I am only 17, and it will be years before I even consider marriage," Menelglir says, still fighting back a red blush. "Yes, chairs....gladly. Please, make yourself comfortable." He gestures toward the chairs, but as yet he stands.
As Eruphel goes to the chairs, so goes her retinue, the dancing girl helping her with her dress as she sits, and thus she is freed to move about more. She goes to look at what delicacies she might find, while Eruphel's male escorts are content to lean against a nearby wall, watching and listening to the conversation distractedly.
"Well, perhaps you have never danced for your husband only because you never have, not because a woman of Gondor never would?" Eruphel takes a longer drink of her cider, enjoying the taste, and the warmth. "Much better. And...I can now answer your question, Lady Tathar, if you are still interested."
Azradi takes her seat with the young Hostman's assistance, "Thank you, Turlach. I am glad to see you are faring better."
"Well it cannot be entirely their business as someone must teach the young bride-to-be the proper dances."
"I am as private about such things as you," she relents, looking at the Squire with sympathy, her voice softer. "Nor am I married, but I do not appear to find the subject as uncomfortable as you."
More stiffly still, Tathar says, "I was taught all that any young lady of Gondor would be." Her eyes flicker to Azradi. "Those are not the sorts of dances we learn." She too sits, gathering her skirts gracefully in one hand and allowing them to drape along the side of the chair. "Yes," she says to Eruphel. "I would like to hear that tale." Though she doesn't sound very enthusiastic.
Turlach manages an absent smile for the Lady Farside, lingering awkwardly beyond the chairs. The prospect of marriage brings only a deeper red to his face.
"Ladies...Turlach. I must excuse myself from your company." Menelglir gives the group a small bow before, drink in one hand, Aearon's flask in the other, he goes off into the crowd, apparently in search of the Lieutenant.
Eruphel takes a deep breath, and then tosses back the rest of her cider, as if she does not expect to get a chance to finish it later. She holds it to the side, and after a moment, one of her guards notice it, and takes it to dispose of it. "Well let me see...when I was born, my mother died. My father, a corsair lad of only fourteen...no he would have been fifteen by then, was not interested in the difficulties of fatherhood, nor was he equipped with the means to deal with a newborn infant. Yet, too honorbound to abandon me completely, he paid a merchant whose wife was childless to adopt me as their own. It was no small amount, and the Merchant, always happy to turn a coin, and happy to make his wife happy, took me in and raised me as his own. They named me Maha, which means..." Eruphel cocks her head slightly, searching for the words, "...Wild Cow." She nods to Menelglir as he leaves.
Amusement clear on her features as Menelglir departs, Azradi sits with a straight back (the gold-leafed bodice allows for little movement), and settles in to listen to Eruphel's story.
A wide variety of expressions fleet across Tathar's face as she listens to this recital. "Fourteen!" she repeats, under her breath.
"Fourteen," Turlach echoes quietly, a pensive smile accompanied by a tilt of his head.
"I was /conceived/ when he was fourteen, as you may remember from our encounter in the tavern." Eruphel says, nodding. "In any case, I think my true father, Mahir, never intended to see me again, and perhaps even forgot about me. I think he sired many more children after, during his shore leaves after, but I think none of those children were so fortunate as to have been cared for in that way. I was his first. And, the Merchant never let on that I was not his child. And so I grew. Yet at the age of fourteen, I was no more learned, nor had any more understanding of the ways of the world or of Umbar, than when I had been five or six." Her dancing girl servant arrives with more drink, and Eruphel pauses to take it, sipping.
Signaling for a servant, Azradi drains the last of her spiked cider and selects a glass of wine. "Did you live in the city itself or in the desert?"
"Fourteen," Tathar says again, shaking her head. She is frowning a little disapprovingly now, surely at the behavior of this irresponsible young corsair.
Turlach blushes, then disappears behind a crowd of servants, returning with a slender glass of pale liquid.
"I lived in the city, though I was discouraged from roaming or interacting with anyone. Overprotective, perhaps. But in any case, it seemed my Merchant father saw no reason for educating a female child." Eruphel answers Azradi. Then she continues her narrative. "During that time, my true father, Mahir, had risen in ranks among the Corsairs of Seaward. Then in an odd set of circumstances, the Steward of Seaward (for there was no lord at that time) counted a raid made by Seaward Corsairs as unlawful, and shut the gates of the tower against them. Those returning corsairs, led by my father, beseiged their own tower, and it eventually fell to him. My father was proclaimed its new lord, and he took a new name, Mazrakhor."
Several of the palace's servants, seeing some of the guests seating themselves, appear discretely at various elbows, murmuring things like, "Would you care for a taste of fowl, m'lady?" One stops beside Azradi, another comes towards Tathar who absently takes whatever fruit tartlet is on his tray, biting into it as she listens.
Fowl. Its hard to eat fowl while telling a story, but Eruphel takes a piece...one that can be consumed in a single bite, and holds it. "On the other hand, my merchant father's business had slowly fallen into decline, to the point he was in need. In Umbar, it is not uncommon at all to sell one's own children into slavery to pay a debt, so I should not have been surprised that he would be willing to sell me, as I was not of his flesh. And, remembering who my real father was, he probably felt that would be a selling point to get more coin. 'Come buy the young daughter of Mazrakhor, Lord of Seaward.'" Eruphel's voice takes on a different inflection, as if mimicking a man, then returns to normal. "Or perhaps he just planned to blackmail Mazrakhor. I do not know. About that time, I met Lord Dublach, and my merchant father approached him about buying me."
Gratefully, Azradi selects what appears to be a sort of miniature pot-pie from a tray. First setting down her wine glass, she takes a bite, cupping her hand to catch the crumbs. Her face darkens at this point of the story but she does not interrupt.
Slavery. Turlach's eyes flicker towards the ground, and he lifts the glass to his lips, listening, but not drinking.
Tathar's face darkens as well, with indignation and anger and disapprobation. Her hand tightens about the stem of her wine glass.
"Lord Dublach later told me that he paid twice the asking price. I think he also paid extra to have my merchant father dress me nicely, as a fine lady, and he instructed him to take me as a gift to Lord Mazrakhor. I was ignorant of all of it, and did not understand what he was doing when I was first brought to Seaward. When I was presented to my real Father, it was as a slave and a gift. And I think my father immediately knew who I was, because he recognized the merchant. He told the merchant to thank Lord Dubhlach, and gave him one of his newly acquired slaves to take to Lord Dubhlach in return, for a gift cannot be accepted without something equal being given in return." All of this Eruphel says calmly, though her face is somewhat grave.
Brushing the crumbs off her hands, Azradi reaches for one of the small fruit tarts Tathar had enjoyed. Her expression is no lighter than it was a moment ago - but still, she says nothing.
Tathar's face is yet darker, her eyes angrier. With an effort, she loosens her grasp on her wine glass, and takes a drink, but she still has not eaten all of her tart. It crumbles in her fingers.
Popping the piece of fowl in her mouth, Eruphel chews quickly, and swallows. "And so at first, I lived as a slave in Seaward Tower, scrubbing floors and weeding the garden, and other menial chores. However, I was not quite treated as the other slaves were. I was not marked as a slave of Seaward, and whenever my father...my real father, of course...ever saw me working anywhere, he seemed to find my labor supremely unsatisfactory, and banned me from doing that particular job ever again. One by one the tasks I was permitted to do were being eliminated." Eruphel's cheeks apple as she smiles, but then the smile turns bitter. "I came to feel quite inadequate to do /anything/. But, it was during this time that I learned to speak Westron well, and read, from one of his new Gondorian slaves: Adanion Bragollach."
Amidst the low din that thrums like a droning hum through the Hall comes wafting over the clamor the over-loud, grating tenor of one Fouad ibn Yousef: Master Merchant, Scholar, and Gentleman of High Station (all self-appointed titles). Though the words are unclear amidst the goings-on, he appears to be blabbering in the ear of a rather uninterested-looking party goer as they walk in that typical, slow canter that most adopt when going to and fro in an event such as this. He, in typical fashion, is garbed in rich red silk and gaudy gold jewelry, and, when not full of some savory pie or other such delicacy, he carries a large red kerchief of silk to mop up the sheen of sweat that seems to perpetually cover his face.
Her tart finished, Lady Farside reaches down to reclaim her wine from the floor. She spares a glance for Tathar, wearing an expression similar to her own. She shifts her gaze back to Eruphel and asks in a tight voice, "Do you have any idea why your father chose to keep you in that state if you suspect he knew your true identity?"
"Ah! Ah! Wondrdous and fortunate I am to have found such graceful company as this!", says Fouad as he walks up to where the group of familiar Haradrim are seated and barges into the conversation. "My Lady Farside," he says, sweeping into an attempt at a graceful bow aimed in her direction. "You are bright as the morning sun, as always. Indeed, Fouad could sense your presence upon entering this glorious Hall!" He straightens to his full, unimposing height and beams, cheeks flushed garnet from alcohol consumption, and nods courteously to the other Haradrim seated before him. "Greetings indeed! What a glorious event, this is! Ah!", he says, plucking a steaming-hot morsel of food from off of a tray, "and such lovely hosts to have provided such a feast as this!"
There is a hiss of breath from Tathar as Eruphel mentions once more the Gondorian - by name this time. And her face, which has gotten harder and harder as the other's tale goes on, is rigid with outrage. She opens her mouth to say something when another Haradrim comes up, and instead, the Gondorian Lady turns her glare onto Fouad. She says nothing, but her eyes are dark with fury.
Appearing near the table where the group he had been speaking to earlier is now sitting is the Lieutenant Aearon Telpekhor, a glass of spiked cider in his hand, nearing the table he gives them all a nod of his head, then taking a drink of his cider he listens to the group talking. Seeing the Merchant approach he half shakes his head and takes another sip, much larger this time.
Turlach startles suddenly, as if waking into a nightmare, and reaches out for his aunt's shoulder -- the last time a drunken Haradrim gentleman met Tathar, things did not end pleasantly.
"Hmm." Eruphel looks down at her lap, thinking. "I believe that while he felt honor-bound to care for me initially, he perhaps felt ashamed later on to have shirked fatherhood as he did. Or, he may have felt ashamed to have allowed one of his children to be so un-cared-for that she would wind up on his door as a slave. Or...perhaps he thought he could live with me working as a slave in his tower, where he could see to my needs and protect me, without ever having to admit what he'd done." Eruphel pauses and looks up at the approaching merchant. "Hello." she says. "What a strange circumstance. You look very like my merchant father..."
Even Fouad's boisterous praise cannot entirely lift the general cloud of Azradi's disapproval. When she turns to the corpulent Merchant, she is unsmiling but her voice less tight when she says, "Merchant Fouad, please join us. Lady Eruphel is gracing us with the tale of her strange youth. Find a seat if you can, and listen."
But to Lady Seaward, Azradi shakes her head. "Nothing is more important than family, not even pride. It was ill-done, my friend."
Laughs in an exaggerated manner, eyes darting wildly. "Father? Oh, certainly not, certainly not! Fouad has never taken a wife in his days yet, no!" The portly man graps for a glass of cider on the tray of a passing servant and, having found his quarry (and nearly upending the tray upon the servant carrying it), Fouad finds a nearby chair and settles down into it, the frame of the furniture creaking miserably under his massive weight. "My thanks, Lady Farside," he says before turning his attention fully to the storyteller's offering.
Tathar's furious glare is transfered to whomever has had the nerve to put their hand on her shoulder for a minute, she glowers at the boy as if she doesn't see him, then her face softens a little. When she looks back at Eruphel however, and sees Fouad, the black look snaps back into place. Azradi's words bring a swift look - and almost a glint of agreement.
"Well, that is true. And after a while, his conscience wore him down." Eruphel answers Azradi. Then to Fouad, "Well, certainly not. My merchant father and my foster mother died shortly after I was sold in a fire that consumed my childhood home. So clearly, you could not be him." Eruphel smiles.
Then she turns to the hosts. "There were some other odd happenings...my father assigned guards to escort me out into the city. It is unheard-of to send valuable men to protect a worthless slave, especially four. I was also allowed a dagger for my protection. And then one night, I was kidnapped, and held for ransom. Lord Mazrakhor put out a reward for my return far exceeding my worth as a slave. I eventually was returned safely back to him. He kept me practically as a prisoner in the tower for a few weeks, then finally told me the entire story of his youth, and gave me a new name, Eruphel. It means, "One Daughter" or "First Daughter," he said, and he issued a proclamation formally recognising me as his firstborn child."
The Gondorian boy shrinks from Tathar's Look, murmuring something soft and tame then, setting his glass down by his chair, he folds his hands in his lap, listening to the story with a grim-set face.
Looking at Lady Tathar and the apparent anger she has the Lieutenant sighs and yet again takes a drink of his spiked cider, pulling up a chair and taking a seat the Lieutenant looks to Turlach and shifts his eyes towards the Lady, ask if telling him to calm her.
"I suppose better late than never," observes Azradi, grudgingly. She takes a deep draught of her wine. "You are a far better daughter than he deserved, given your acceptance of his treatment and your love."
Fouad takes a healthy draught of his cider, smacks his lips, and smiles contentedly for a moment before catching the fiery, hateful gaze of the Gondorian woman. His own eyes widen momentarily, then, brows knotted, he looks away, only to find the familiar face of Aearon seated nearby. "Ah, Lieutenant! So wonderful that your people allow military men to mingle with people of station!" His smile is genuine for a moment, but his eyes dart back to see if the Gondorian woman's gaze is still locked upon him with such hatred as was present before.
It is not - quite. Eruphel has said this is not her foster father, and Tathar's angry look has abated. A little. Not much. Catching Fouad's gaze, she looks away, back to Eruphel.
Yildirim appears to the group as he rounds another gathering gayly conversing. In each hand he bears a wine glass, one nearly empty, the other nearly full. He is dressed as he ever is, as a Corsair of Umbar with none of the pomp or preening of the night. Azradi is a difficult sight to miss, glittering jewels and gold, and it is her that catches his eye first. The Lady Seward is noticed quickly after and his course adjusts towards the group. Though his mood is blithe, he is not so daft to sense the mood of the group and he tames his grin accordingly as he approaches.
Caught between the Look of the Lieutenant and the slightly-lightened wrath of his aunt, Turlach shrugs helplessly and ducks away for another slender glass of wine, which he offers to Tathar. Fouad's comment to Aearon earns the Merchant a pale, rather reptilian stare.
Looking to the Merchant, the Lieutenant says "Yes, many soldiers are present here. And not as guards but as guests.. Gondor treats our military personnel well." taking a drink his cider he looks to a passing servant and says "Cider.." looking back to the table he says "I do hope everyone is enjoying the evening, for that was the reason for this party.." obviously hinting that some people need to calm down.
Upon noticing that the Gondorian woman apparently no longer wishes to try and murder him with her gaze, Fouad turns to the Eruphel with an overdone, morose expression. "Ah, such as sad thing, that! I am most sorry for your loss, even though I am certain it was some time ago. Fouad mourns with you My Lady...", he says, inviting her to introduce herself.
"Yes well..." Eruphel agrees with Azradi begrudgingly. "I am quite sure he loved me, but had a difficult time showing it. But that one incident...with the..." she shifts her glance to the Gondorians before saying carefully, "...creature that was to save me...and to save his tower for what I'd done. He gave up..." She pauses again, struggling with the words, "his very essence for me." She looks down at her lap, wiping her hands as if they were sweaty. Fouad seems now as a pleasant distraction. "Thank you. Lady...Eruphel. Lady of Seaward. Senior Lord of Umbar." she introduces herself, holding out a bejeweled hand for him to take.
"Yildirim," greets Azradi, smiling slightly. "Come join us."
A sidewise glance is offered to the Merchant and she says to Aearon, "Are you not yourself from a noble house, Lieut..."
Her head snaps to Eruphel at the mention of a 'creature'. Her face pales perceptively and she looks down to hide the sudden appearance of fear in her eyes.
Practically doing a belly-flop in an effort to prostrate himself before the Lady of Seaward, Fouad takes the bejeweled hand in his own meaty paw and kisses her signet ring. "My Lady! Truest and most sincere apologies for my foolishness! Never would Fouad have been so free with his speech had I known your station before this moment!" He holds his gaze to the floor, akwardly positioned in a half-crouch, half-bow that has his fat, corpulent frame practically tottering toward near distster.
Tathar takes the wine, and pastes a smile on her face in thanks. It fades almost at once. "Creature?" she is starting to ask, when Fouad hurls himself at the ground. She looks at him with distaste, drawing her skirts back a little. Movement - it is Yildirim, and for a moment, Tathar's gaze rests on him, then she drinks the wine.
Yildirim finishes quickly for Azradi, "Lieutenant Telpekhor, yes? I think I've said it correctly? Your names roll off the tongue like a song, but very strange to say nonetheless."
For the merchants, he but raises a brow, chuckling quietly at the man. "Lady Seaward," for her a bowing of his head, "Lady Tathar, Master Turlach," he greets each in turn. Then looks to and fro, "Where is my young master Menelglir?"
Yildirim questions, moving the topic from the creature.
"He left, sir," Turlach supplies shortly, his shoulders tensed from the sudden saturation of Haradrim.
"An understandable mishap." Eruphel says graciously, almost. There's a hint of sarcasm. But then her voice turns kinder. "I /have/ spent the majority of this expedition incognito." But at Tathar's query about a creature, Eruphel shoots her a dark, angry look, as if this is one question she may not ask. "In any case, that is the story of how I served as a slave, yet not a slave, in my father's tower."
Hearing the words of Lady Azradi the Lieutenant goes to answer but stops himself as she cuts her own words short. Silently a server hands the Lieutenant a glass of cider, pulling out a flask the Lieutenant adds a bit of its contents to the cider and then looks to Yilidirim and says "Yes, I am of the Noble Gondorian House of Telpekhor.. " taking a drink of his spiked cider he looks to Lady Azradi.
"Already gone?" Yildirim questions, glancing around once more, "A shame. I will miss that one. And a story missed as well," he finishes one glass of wine and begins work on the other, "My luck is poor this night it seems."
His face a mask of confusion, embarrasment, and sheer drunkeness, Fouad rises (albeit with great effort, strain, and much grunting and such), straigtens his silks, and has a seat again, once more to the extreme displeasure of the cushioned chair he has chosen his victim. To the same servant from which the Lieutenant recieved his cider he gestures, apparently for another round, and sits back, eyes flicking from one face to another as if to judge the scene.
Eruphel's angry look is met by Tathar's own, but the Gondorian turns aside to nod silently to Yildirim. She finishes her wine, and sets the glass aside, and only now notices the crumbs and stickiness where she has crushed half a fruit tart to bits.
Offering Yildirim a swift look of gratitude, Azradi drains the remainder of her wine (a half glass) in one long draught. She signals for a server to bring her another. Her face still pale, but now composed. She turns back to Aearon. "Yes, I remembered correctly, it seems. Are most of the officers in Gondor of noble birth? In Umbar, anyone with skill and power can rise to prominence - even as high as Towerlord."
Lady Seaward seems to have gone pensive, lost in her own reflections. She listens to the others speak for now, and the servant girl returns with a platter full of collected pastries and tasties, sitting near Eruphel and offering suggestions as to which are good. Eruphel distractedly follows her advice.
The waiters here are well-trained, and observant. One comes up beside Tathar, discretely offering her a damp cloth. She wipes her fingers and gives it back, smiling in thanks. Then looks to Aearon for his answer.
Taking another drink of his spiked cider the Lieutenant says "Any man may join the ranks, as for Noble birth.. Most, if not all of Gondor is of some Noble blood, the blood of old flows strong within us still" taking another drink he says "Nobility is not need to attain rank.. Rather our Nobles are natural leaders and skilled fighters.."
As Aearon speaks to Azradi, Yildirim looks to Tathar, commenting in the aside, "I am overwhelmed at this moment, I must admit," Yildirim interjects, "In what life would I imagine a dinner party such as this? Gondor has a saying I saw, 'Follow what may, great deeds are not lessened in worth.' It seems appropriate to the time, does it not?"
A slender servant bearing a tray holding a single large mug slides up alongside the seated Fouad and offers it to him. With naery a nod of thanks nor an appreciative smile, the merchant takes it and rather heavy-handedly shoos the servant away. He turns to Aearon and offers an ingratiating smile, the mug clasped between both meaty paws. "So very quaint, indeed! The idea that all of your people, peasants and kings alike, are all somehow of some grand old lineage!" He takes a large quaff of his cider, belches softly into the back of his hand, and grins again, this time somewhat more wolfishly than before.
"Perhaps," Tathar says to Yildirim, her tone reserved, but not actively hostile. "You have not been to such gatherings?" She glances over at Eruphel, and says in a low voice, not to interrupt Aearon's conversation, "Tell me of this Bragollach. Adanion, you said his name was?"
"I suppose it is no different in Umbar," Azradi replies. "Most nobles make good leaders and warriors. Those who do not are not tolerated."
She offers her merchant a dark look after he speaks. "That grand lineage is shared by my family, Merchant Fouad," she reminds, sharply.
Looking at the merchant the Lieutenant says "It is not an idea, rather a fact.. Almost all men can trace their linage to the days of old.." taking another drink of his cider he looks away from the merchant and then back to the rest of the table.
Spreading his hands in an apologetic manner, Fouad turns to his Liege-Lady and bows his head. "I intended no mockery of what the Lieutenant said, My Lady, and certainly no mockery of your own ancestors! Please," he says, awkwardly setting the mug down on a nearby table and clasping his hands together, "forgive a poor merchant who speaks out of place. I meant no offense, no! Certainly not!"
"Another Bragollach?" Yildirim questions, seeming impressed, "Either in luck or in fact, but that is the only family name I hear in repetition in this land. Is your Steward also of this family? As to gatherings, I have met with men from both nations, but never is such a merry fashion as this!" he says, finishing his other glass of wine.
Tathar's voice draws Eruphel out of her reverie, and she glances up, taking a moment to process the words. When she speaks, she speaks softly. "Oh. Lokhi, we called him. It was fitting. I was enamored of him initially, much to my shame. And he, in turn, became enamored with a dancing girl." She chuckles briefly at the irony. "My father elevated him to Steward, at the same time he freed me and made me his advisor. He betrayed us in the end, and used his position to return to Gondor. He abandoned his dancing girl, and their child, and left the tower in a mess. I was made the new Steward."
Lady Farside looks down her nose at the merchant rather imperiously. "See that you remember your place in the future, Merchant."
A brief, almost irritated glance back at Yildirim. "No," Tathar replies. "He is not. The Bragollachs are a large family, with many scions. It is no surprise you would hear that name often." Back to Eruphel, where her expressive face wavers between understanding - who would /not/ want to return to Gondor? - and censure - to abandon wife and child for whatever reason!
"Yes yes, of course My Lady," says Fouad, finding once more the familiar confines of his cushioned chair much more comforting than any sort of prostration.
"My apologies Lady, I meant no offense," Yildirim replies, clearly some has been taken. "We have spent so much time in your lands, yet do not forget we are strangers to it."
At Eruphel's story, Yildirim finds some interest, "I had not heard of this. What was his profession in Gondor?"
Letting the words of Lady Tathar answer the question for him the Lieutenant takes a drink of his cider and says "Let us all speak of, less confrontational topics shall we.." looking about the table as he says this with a friendly look upon his face, looking to the Merchant he says "How much profit have you made Master Merchant Fouad.."
Fouad's eyes are distant for a short while, seemingly staring into space. Then, shaking himself back into reality, he turns to the Lieutenant with a smile, albiet a weaker one than he offered before. "Oh... ah, yes. Quite a fair profit, yes, quite fair... My thanks for asking, Lieutenant." His eyes dart back to rest upon the Lady of the Farside Tower for a brief moment, and then back to the Lieutenant. "Do please forgive my foolish words from earlier. I fear I am quite deep in my cups, and I speak without thinking."
Eruphel looks at Yildirim, a blank look on her face. "Soldier, I assume. I really do not know, and never thought to ask." Her brow furrows. "He was likely a soldier, because he was captured during the sacking of Pelargir." Again, this is all spoken matter-of-factly.
Azradi stands, still holding her wine glass. She looks at those gathered near her and smiles wanly. "I believe I shall wander about the hall a bit there are other people I wish to speak to before the night is through. I thank you all for the interesting conversation."
"And if I do not see any of you again before our departure, I thank you for the hospitality and bid you farewell."
Fouad dips his head in a bow as the Lady passes, eyes firmly set on the floor.
Tathar looks at Yildirim again, frowning slightly. Then she says, "You did not offend. Bragollach is a large family. There is no secret in saying this." Eruphel's words bring a return of the anger, and something else as well - regret? Sorrow? She stands then, curtseying slightly to all those gathered here. "Please excuse me, I must go," she says. "Farewell," she tells Azradi, and moves towards the exit.
Antique opulence abounds in this entryway of the palace, the vaulted ceilings soaring overhead. Lit by hundreds of white candles in silver sconces, the main hall of Minas Sirion opens up before you, and it is large and fair, with deep red carpets plush beneath your feet. The hand-work of the carved walls depicts a voyage on the sea, where Numenorean men fought against the ravages of the open water. The hewn wooden scene captures the lives of those lost and seems to come alive before your eyes, and a longing fills your soul, for what you know not.
Directly in your front is a massive staircase, delicately carved from the whitest of marble and bedecked also with a deep crimson carpet. To the upper levels of the palace does it lead, and it is guarded by a pair of finely dressed guardsmen in the livery of Pelargir upon Anduin. On either side of this massive center feature the walls stretch back a goodly ways, and they are set with many doors opening to some other realm of the palace. To and fro these doors pass the many courtly folk who dwell and work within. Dazzling noblewomen bedecked with jewels and gold beyond price, and garbed in flowing gowns of silk and satin. Dashing young courtiers, always eager to gain the favor of a lord or lady of the city. And the ever-present men of war, striding stoically past in silence, upon some errand of their own accord.
She hesitates a moment, "I have managed some arrangements for my family. But little spectacular. The Haradrim are a strange people, but merchants seem the same regardless of their color. Thus, it has been difficult."
She moves on, "Save for that there has been little of interest in them for me. Their women crude and brutish. Their men, likewise. I do not envy your position to keep them in line."
A nod is given to the Lady and then the Lieutenant says "Merchant wise yes, they seem rather the same.. For the most part." pausing a moment "As for keeping them in line.. They seem to fear their lords, and thus I have had more dealings with their lords.. A very complicated situation.." a sigh escaping the man as he finishes speaking.
Tathar moves among the crowd, more regally dressed than at any other time so far here in Pelargir. Pearls glimmer in her hair to match those stitched to her dress. Smiling faintly at a passing servant, she accepts a glass of wine, and turns away - coming towards Aearon and Gweneth now.
"Name the dark one and he soon finds your bed," Gweneth echos the proverb as she catching sight of Tathar. She too is dressed for the occasion, an ornate gown of cream laced with thread colored gold.
She curtsies politely as Tathar approaches, "Lady Tathar, a pleasure once again to see you." A motion to Aearon, "We were just discussing some business with you and the dancing girls of Harad. They sound quite fascinating. Have you had much time with them?"
A nod is given to Lady Tathar as she approaches, saying "Lady Tathar.." taking a sip of his wine he continues saying "Yes, Lady Gweneth seems to find them interesting.. Perhaps you can enlighten her on how they are not something to be interested in.."
Tathar smiles, a gracious and polite smile that might cover the tightening about her eyes, and nods in greeting to the Lieutenant and Gweneth. "I am afraid I haven't seen as much of these women as you apparently think. I am sorry that I cannot enlighten you further. But you find them interesting, Lady Gweneth?"
A shrug, "It is rare to get a peak inside such a backwards culture." She laughs, "I mean, they enrolled women in their combat tournament. I was curious if their dancing girls were the same as their corsairs, sword wielding reaver wenches dancing across table tops?" She looks aside to Aearon, "See? My imagination quickly gets the better of me."
"Perhaps they are sad slaves? Forced to entertain?"
She waves off the topic, "In any case, Aearon mentioned them. A curiosity to say the least. I believe I was in the middle of asking the Lieutenant which Haradrim was his favorite so far," she says, looking expectantly to Aearon once more.
As Lady Gweneth once again asks the Lieutenant which Haradrim is his favorite the Lieutenant says "To be honest.. I do not like any of them. I simply tolerate them, as per my orders for the faire.. Commanding the Hostmen stationed here in Pelargir has tested not only my patience, but my abilities as a commander..
"Dreadful," Tathar murmurs. "But from what I saw of them, I doubt there was any sword-wielding involved. Heledir said that they told him they danced for pleasure." She leaves whose pleasure unspoken, looking to Aearon also. "But surely there is one you dislike less than the rest?" she asks him.
"Indeed," Gweneth presses, "Do not be a bore by dodging the question so."
With a sigh the Lieutenant says "Ok, ok.. Fleetmaster Mirdanath seemed surprisingly noble for what he was.. Honorable even.." taking another drink of his wine he says "And yourselves?"
Having made his way through the party in general, Menelglir now manages to find his way to this small grouping. He has a drink of some sort in his hand, a golden liquid in a wine glass. "Sir, Ladies."
Dark eyebrows draw together in a frown, and Tathar's eyes snap with long-born anger. But reluctantly, she says, "That one - woman. Azradi. She has a little honor also, I think. Much as I hate to say it." It is with evident relief that she turns to greet Menelglir. "Squire."
Gweneth tchs once after Aearon, another after Tathar, "Fleetmaster Mirdanath was to be my choice." A sigh. "Lady Farside my second choice a woman who has done well for herself despite the unfortunate shape and size of her nose."
She considers a while, "I cannot say I have met any other," she replies disappointedly, then smiling and nodding to the Squire, "Good eve to you, Menelglir. My cousin has set you free this night?"
Looking to the squire he gives him a nod, then looking at the squires drink he frowns slightly.. Shaking his head he looks back to the two ladies and takes a drink of his wine saying "Lady Tathar, there are rumors of you fencing with some of my soldiers.. I do hope they are not true.."
"He has, he has," Menelglir says. "But he is quite busy. I dare say you may have seen him more than I have of late, Lady Gweneth?"
Catching the Lieutenant's look, the Squire takes a sip of his drink, then offers it toward Aearon. "You should try this," he says. "Tis quite an interesting flavor. Complex--I hadn't expected it."
"Sword play, Lady Tathar? I know, of course, that it is an interest of yours. Perhaps that is what sparked such rumors?"
"I am not surprised," the Nimothan lady says darkly in response to Gweneth, but then Aearon speaks and both of Tathar's eyebrows rise in well-bred surprise. "Fencing?" she asks and laughs, shaking her head. "Someone is enjoying themselves, I think. /I/ have heard that Turlach is to be married, which is obviously untrue."
She smiles at the Lieutenant, and nods to Menelglir. "Perhaps that is it. I do appreciate good a swordsman. Corlin was explaining your moves to me, Lieutenant, the other day. When the Eagle came?" Admiringly, she says, "I was amazed at how easily you held off not one, but two opponents!"
Waving off the offer to taste the squires drink the Lieutenant says "What is it?", looking back to Lady Tathar the Lieutenant nods and says "It is good to hear that it is just rumors Lady Tathar, as for the rumor about your nephew I have heard little.. But I too think it is but rumors.." smiling as she speaks of the spar the other day the Lieutenant says "Easily is not a word I would use my lady.. I was at an advantage, the spear allows you to keep your enemy, or enemies at a distance.. Keeping you out of swords distance.."
"An eagle? Here? Surely not. They are said to arrive only when men need them most," Gweneth recites, "An Eagle's Shade soldiers be not afraid, as they say."
"It must have been something you ate to see one flying in the sky so. A smaller bird, perhaps?"
"Cider," Menelglir says, holding Aearon's gaze as he answers. "Plain cider, not hard. I like it."
"No, Lady." This to Gweneth. "It was an eagle. Seeking your cousin Sir Gwendion, in fact. And..we are in need."
a man enters the room with his hood drawn back and says cider for me as well
"Oh, I did not see it flying in the sky," Tathar replies sweetly. "I saw it upon the ground, not fifty feet away. And it spoke." A hint of awe tinges her voice, followed by a shadow. Silently, she takes a sip of her wine, looking up to see Brethir not far away.
Smiling at the squire the Lieutenant says "Cider.. I had some earlier.. It is quite good.." Looking to Lady Gweneth he says "I spoke to the Eagle myself.. He was very real Lady Gweneth.. And as Lady Tathar says he was upon the grounds of Lists.." taking a drink of his wine he looks about the room, spotting Brethir out of the corner of his eye.
"Is that so," Gweneth replies only, too stunned to say more. She lifts her glass and sips from her wine unconsciously, then frowns at the glass and the taste held within.
"Is your wine not to your taste?" Tathar asks solicitously. She lifts an arm to beckon to a servant. "You should try some of this it is quite good."
Brethir smiles and grabs a mug of cider and before drinking looks to the west and holding up his mug says"to the souterons return journey, here here!"
"No no, I only forgot it was wine. My mind caught up with your tale. That's amazing," Gweneth nods emphasizing her words, "To see an eagle and speak to it. Astoundingly lucky. But," and now she looks to Menelglir, "It was here for Gwendion? How... how does it even know of Gwendion?"
At the toast spoken beyond her, her lips twist, "I wonder how they will take those words?"
"Aye, Brethir, careful of our speech, lest you insult our guests and dishonor us...as some have done already," Menelglir says, ruefully, in fact. He glances to Aearon momentarily, blushing.
"Sir Gwendion never told you the tale, then? Lady Tathar knows it, even."
Hearing the toast the Lieutenant half coughs.. Then looking about the room to see the reaction of the Haradrim that are present.. Looking to the squire as he speaks to the Scout.. Looking to the scout himself he shakes his head, then he says "It was a spectacle to see.. That of an eagle.."
"Gwendion and I uh..." Gweneth pauses, "Travel in different circles. I had hoped to see him here in fact. A disappointment he has not yet arrived."
"Quite a spectacle and a welcome omen I hope."
Tathar lifts her own glass in return, tilting it slightly towards Brethir and says, quietly, "To peace with honor."
"It was most incredible," she says to the younger lady. "I had never seen, had never even thought to see, such a thing. And to hear it speak..."
Brethir raises his glass says "here here"
Seeing a passing group of Soldiers the Lieutenant looks to group he has been speaking to and says "If you will excuse me.. I must speak with a few of my soldiers.." With that he bows his head and follows after the group.
Brethir unsheathing his sword and says "well there's no party without entertainment who wants to spar?"
looking around neviosly brethir says "anyone?"
Tathar draws her breath in and then shakes her head. "This is not the place for swordplay," she says sternly to Brethir. "Put it away again, or they will think there is to be an attack. Do you wish to be the cause of a battle in the very palace?"
Brethir says, "no i see your point"
Gweneth eyes the scout nervous as he brandishes his blade openly. As Tathar scolds him, she cannot but help and smile at the unintended pun he says. But she says naught to him for now, turning the focus from him and his part faux pas, "Speaking of marriage, Lady Tathar. I know the past has been painful for you, but has love found its way to you yet?"
Unescorted, Lady Farside appears at the top of the grand stairs. Dressed in the same finery she wore when the Haradrim arrived, she pauses on the top stair for a moment - garnering more than one stare from Haradrim and Gondorian alike.
She places her hand lightly upon the marble rail and descends gracefully, her skirts trailing behind her. Her amethyst necklace and the pearl resting upon her brow sparkle in the candlelight. Upon her visage rests her typical pride, softened this night by an ease not often seen during her time in Pelargir.
Walking directly towards the scout is the Lieutenant Aearon a look of extreme irritation upon his face as he nears the young scout looking at him he says "Come with me scout.." and with that he grasps the back the scouts shirt and head towards the door.
A faint blush rises in Tathar's cheeks, and she takes a sip of her wine, looking away. Azradi's entrance catches her attention, and she watches the Haradrim lady down the stairs. And then she is able to look back at Gweneth and reply composedly, "It is kind of you to consider my welfare, but I do not think to marry again."
Menelglir stares--first it is at Lady Azradi, and then it is at Brethir, as the Scout brandishes a sword. He, too, starts to say something, but Tathar beats him to it, and then Aearon is attempting to drag Brethir out of the room. He watches, in case he should be needed, giving Tathar and Gwendion an apologetic look. "He is young..."
"Oh I see," Gweneth replies, again surprised with a hint of disappointment or pity. She presses the topic no more, instead following the attention to Azradi, motioning with her glass, "See what I mean? On one hand, it is clear she has some sense of taste, despite it being Haradaic, on the other, it fits her not. She looked more comfortable dancing with a sword than she would in slippers on a floor. I cannot place it. What do you think the difference is between her and us?" she asks in general.
Tathar looks back to Azradi, considering. While she thinks on this question, she asks with idle interest, "And yourself? Has someone found his way to your heart?" If it is an impertinent question, so was Gweneth's, and Tathar has the advantage of age.
"Perhaps," she muses, "She looks more comfortable with a sword, because she is skilled in the usage of one."
Taking a glass of wine from a server in passing, Azradi casually wends through the crowd, pausing to talk briefly to this person or that who hails her.
Her general direction brings her closer to Gweneth and those clustered around her, though she is by no means close enough to hear their conversation...yet.
"She is skilled with a sword and likely taught it from a youg age," Menelglir says, watching Azradi's approach. "As for the difference, I cannot say otherwise. But," he says to Gweneth, "I hear tell that the Bragollach's have arranaged trade with Umbar? Is that so?"
As the Lieutenant and the squire reach the far door of the hall the Lieutenant says "What were you thinking with that stunt in there Scout? Do they teach you anything within the ranks of Ithilien.."
"Then you mean, she is not skilled in the softer arts?" Again a glance for Azradi by the young Bragollach, "I suppose that is the way of things. Men can be taught to be warriors or poets, sometimes both."
"As to love, there is no story there for me. Mother is looking for a good match, but I am far too busy for such frivolities. Between family duties and my studies... No, none have a had a chance to woo."
"And you Squire. You are approaching an appropriate age for such quests. Is there a future in sight yet for your line of the Telpekhori? Does Lady Laeraelin aid you in your search?"
"I wouldn't know," Tathar says repressively. As the Haradrim Lady approaches, she curtsies slightly, and says to her, "I hope you are enjoying the evening."
Gravely, she replies, "I am sure that such will not always be the case." And a glint of amusement lightens her expression as she turns with equal gravity to hear Menelglir's answer.
"The softer arts?" Menelglir chokes a little on the cider he is drinking. "Well..." he considers the Farside woman, "the Seaward Lady is married, is she not? To Lord Eron? So perhaps they do learn the softer arts as well? Though on second thought, the Seaward Lady amazed us wiht her dancing skills here, not her prowess with a sword."
"Marriage?" The Squire blinks. "I am but nearly 17 and Telpekhiri do not marry until 25 years. But...I hear a rumor that Lady Laeraelin is negotiating with the Bragollachs to find a woman suitable to me," he says with a perfectly straight face and a polite smile to Gweneth. "A clever one, one who is brave as well."
"Lady..." This, a little awkward, to Azradi.
A movement glimpsed from the corner of her eye, Azradi turns and notices Tathar and her curtsey. Closing the distance between them, the Southron Lady smiles politely and replies. "I am, Lady Tathar. I hope you are enjoying your evening in a similar manner."
Glancing at the Squire, she raises one shapely brow, "Softer arts?"
Entering the hall once again is the Lieutenant Aearon, a very irritated look upon his face.. Grabbing a glass of wine off one of the servers plates he drains half the contents as he moves about the party, shaking his head slightly with the same irritated look upon his face.
"Clever and brave? Aurelia?" Gweneth guesses, "Callach has been looking for a match for her for som.." but her thoughts are interrupted as Azradi arrives and greets Tathar. She hesitates a moment, before curtsying, "Lady Farside, a pleasure to see you."
"The Squire was inquiring if you were taught in softer things than war... dancing was brought up as one of the topics. Art perhaps?"
"Dancing...painting...embroidery? Though, rather, it was Lady Gwendion who brought the topic up," Menelglir says.
"Ah, but Lady," he continues to Gweneth, "I am too young to marry and those ladies should not wait for me. I need someone closer in age to me. Now...my cousin Aearon, he is of marrying age."
"This is good to know," Gweneth replies honestly, "I shall send his name to Callach. Aearon seems a good man, and Aurelia, by all accounts, is a fine woman. Their children," she glances to the Hostman again, "Would be quite tall," she notes with a soft laugh.
"But, forgive me, I speak over Lady Farside's reply."
Finally calming himself, the Lieutenant takes a deep breath and continues to move about the party, talking briefly with those he knows as he passes by, heading towards the group gathered he sips his wine and nears the group gathered..
Arriving at the doorway, to await the announcement of the door guards, is Eruphel, bedecked in some of her finest clothing. Or at least, some of the finest clothing she's brought with her. Unlike the dancing girl's dress prior, this dress is the epitome of modesty and inaccessibility...for a woman of Umbar, perhaps. Behind her, some of those same dancing girls follow, carrying a length of fabric that trails behind her like a cape. Last in the retinue are a couple of Corsairs, wearing their cleanest, finest clothing, and each wearing a blue sash about their waist.
"Eruphel, Lady of Seaward," the doorman says, and Eruphel proceeds into the room, her train in tow.
"I was fortunate enough to receive a full and rich education," Azradi replies, her gaze taking in all who stand conversing. "In addition to the arts of war and the skills of the sea, I was tutored in a wide array of subjects including history, mathematics, literature and yes, the arts. I sing well enough, but my brother is the gifted musician. My forte is drawing and painting."
"Embroidery?" she repeats and then pauses. "My mother attempted to teach me, but I was a poor and distracted student."
"Is that so? I sing but a lit..." Gweneth stops mid-sentence as Eruphel is announced, her brows rising in curiosity as she stands upon the tips of her toes to get a better view, "Lady Seaward...? How interesting."
"There. The softer arts, Lady. So, the women of Umbar learn the sword as well as what our own women learn. Some have said that the women of Gondor should be taught the sword, as well. Some women, I hear, even do learn it here," Menelglir says.
"And," the Squire continues, eyeing Eruphel's arrival now, "are your women taught dancing, as well?" He looks briefly to Aearon, if the Lieutenant is close enough to do so.
A sudden smile flickers across Tathar's face. "I have never been able to abide embroidery." The smile deepens, lurking in her eyes. "I have heard that also, Menelglir," she says.
Now near the group the Lieutenant bows his head saying "My Ladies, squire.." I apologize for the Scout.." Taking another drink of wine he looks to his cousin and gives him a nod.
Saying nothing, Gweneth motions to the pair, Tathar and Menelglir, as they agree on the rumors with her head, catching Aearon's glance, suspicion clear in her eyes.
After taking a moment to search the faces, Eruphel naturally gravitates toward the most familiar face she sees: that of Azradi. She approaches the Umbarean Lady. "Lady Farside..." she greets, then smiles to those gathered together in the conversational circle. "Gentlemen and Ladies..." she addresses them all sweetly.
"It is just a rumor.." Menelglir says, looking into his drink. He sighs. "I'll go find more...cider." With a rueful look to Aearon, he departs the group in search of more drink.
As Lady Seaward approaches, Gweneth does find words, perhaps too quickly, as she curtsies once more, "I must be off, though..."
"A pleasure to see you all again. Perhaps when we return to Minas Tirith I shall have us all to dinner, with apologies, for Lady Farside."
A curtsey, waiting for none, and she is gone.
A half smile is given to Lady Gweneth and then taking a sip of his wine he hears the greetings of Lady Seaward, bowing his head he says "Lady Eruphel.." as the Squire and the Lady leave the Lieutenant gives them each a nod then takes another drink of his wine.
"Lady Eruphel," Azradi greets her friend formally. She inclines her head to Aearon, "Are you enjoying your evening, Lieutenant?"
Tathar gives Eruphel the same small curtsey and polite smile that she had given Azradi a little while earlier. "And you?" she asks, courteously. "May one ask of your education? Did you also learn to draw and paint?"
Lowering his glass of wine the Lieutenant says "For the most part, I am.. Thank you Lady Azradi.. I hope you are also enjoying this evening. I apologize if you heard or saw the actions of the young scout.. I have dealt with him.." then taking another sip of his wine.
Eruphel blinks, suddenly drawn into a conversation that precedes her arrival, she looks a little lost, looking at Azradi for some sort of cue or guidance. "My education?" She shifts on her feet. "My education began when I was fourteen, really. A Gondorian slave in my father's tower. He taught me Westron first, and then to read. And, eventually, numbers and counting and some of the maths."
Wearing an amused smile, Azradi pauses to sip her wine before answering the Gondorian officer. "Do you mean the young man who brandished a sword - let alone wore one to fete such as this."
"I am afraid I did indeed notice that."
"I wager he did so for one of three reasons: He was drunk, he was angry, or he was trying to impress a young woman."
Unfortunately, the Farside lady misses her counterpart's look until after she has already described her education. Azradi glances between Eruphel and Tathar.
"Interesting," Menelglir says, having returned to the group with a wine glass full of cider. He does not elaborate on precisely what is interesting to him. "And at what age do the ladies of your land first learn the sword? Do they give it up at marriage and childbirth?"
Tathar's eyebrows snap into a frown. "I see," she says with icy civility, and turns a little so as not to face Eruphel directly but not quite so much as for it to be considered a direct snub.
An sigh escapes the Lieutenant as he says "He is young.. Unfortunately he has to learn things the hard way.." a shake of his head at the end of his words then a sip of wine he sys "Again, I am sorry.." Looking to the squire as he re-appears he smiles a moment and says "I will have to get a glass of that cider myself.."
Eruphel's brow furrows slightly at Tathar's reaction, truly unable to fathom what is eating at the woman. But Menelglir's question cannot be ignored. She turns to him. "I do not know. I suppose it varies. /I/ learned the knife first, while I was still a slave...which was unusual in itself, since slaves are not allowed weapons. Once I was freed and elevated in station, I began to learn the sword. That was about sixteen." She pauses, thinking, "And...no, I have not given up the sword since marriage, and will continue even after I bear children."
"Cider?" echoes Azradi, glancing at the Squire's glass. "What is cider?"
But Eruphel's conversation catches her attention and she interjects, "Contrary to popular Gondorian belief, not all women choose the way of the corsair or soldier. My own education in the arts of war began informally around age ten and more formerly at thirteen. Some do give up the life after marriage, others do not."
Despite herself, Tathar is listening to Eruphel with a sort of horrified fascination, and now she looks at the lady again. "A - slave?" she asks, disbelievingly. She barely hears what Azradi answers Menelglir, or Aearon's continued apologies for Brethir.
Looking to a server the Lieutenant says "Bring a few glasses of cider my good man.." then looking to Lady Azradi the Lieutenant says "A juice made from apples and spices.. Served both hot and cold.. Rather good on a cold evening.."
"Brethir is young, yes. Lady Azradi, I'm afraid I have to apologize to you, as well, for my behavior the other day. It was unacceptable, and I am sorry for being rude."
"Cider. Yes. At my cousin's suggestion."
"A slave?" Menelglir blinks, repeating Tathar's question.
Eruphel looks to Tathar again, her brows furrowed and her mein worried, as if she cannot figure out what to make of the woman. Then the Gondorian man also looks surprised. She offers a shallow nod. "Yes, I was a slave of Seaward Tower for a time, though I suppose some might argue that I was not." She pauses, holding her breath as if looking for the right words. Finally, she says simply, "It is a very convoluted story."
"Apology accepted," Azradi assures the Squire, smiling. She turns back to Aearon and says, "Juice? From a fruit? It sounds refreshing. I would love to try some."
A wry look askance is offered to Eruphel and her obviously confused audience.
It has been but a short time, but the server returns with a tray full of glasses of cider, taking one and handing it to Lady Azradi then setting his empty wine glass down and taking one for himself he says "It is rather good. Are you ready for another cousin?"
Tathar frowns. "You were and yet you were not." She glances at her wineglass, finds it nearly empty and drinks the last swallow. "How is this? Or do you prefer not to speak of it?" Rather stiffly, she says, "I apologize if I have asked a question that discomforts you."
"Surely," Menelglir says, setting his own glass down and taking another--though he seems a bit resigned as he does so.
"Lady Eruphel...would it be offensive if I inquired why you did not attend most of the faire as...well, as yourself."
When a drink is offered to Eruphel, she accepts the glass, but studies the contents with some doubt, sniffing first, and then sipping for just a taste, rolling the liquid across her lips to fully taste it. She then regards the contents again, as if trying to decide. She puts the thought aside for now, holding the glass. "How is this? Hmm...well, as you might guess, the story is long, and I would prefer not to tell the entire thing while standing. This is a banquet, no? I assume delicacies will be forthcoming?" She smiles serenely.
But then, as Menelglir asks his question, she pauses, her face going somewhat lax as she looks for exactly the right words. "It would not (be offensive to ask) if you are willing to risk that the answer might also be offensive." She smiles again, breifly. "But let me say simply that it is sometimes nice, or even fun, to shed the mantle of power and responsibility in order to be able to do things one might otherwise not be able to do, and see and hear things one might not otherwise be able to see. And hear."
Azradi drains her glass of wine and places the empty on the server's tray. She looks at the cider curiously, twirling the glasses' contents a moment before sniffing it - much as Eruphel did. But she takes in more than a taste. Considering a moment, she says. "It is sweet and tangy at once. How odd. But I do believe I like it."
"It is not very strong, though. Is it a children's drink or does it have spirit?"
Reaching into a pouch at his side the Lieutenant says "It is without spirits, but does add a good flavor when spirits are added.." pouring a bit of the contents into his won cider he then offers the flask to Lady Azradi and says "If you wish for the cider to have more of a bite.. This makes for a good mixture.."
It is now that there is a small ripple in the crowded room and servants begin to circulate carrying trays of various dainties, some sweet and some savory. Tathar plucks a pastry of some manner from a passing tray, and has her wine glass refilled - and not with cider.
"There are seats," she says, looking around. Somewhere. There are people in the way, and none can be seen. And then, as Eruphel goes on, laughter brightens her eyes at some memory.
"It is not a children's drink, however," Menelglir says, looking mortified by this very suggestion. He watches Aearon pour liquor into his cider, a frown flitting across his face briefly.
The Squire instead turns his attention to Eruphel. "Rightly said--I will not take offense at the answer. And I imagine that seeing the world as a dancing girl is quite different. Educational, even. So can you tell me--what have you learned?"
Tathar interjects, "It can be stronger. If one leaves it to ferment, and then freezes it." She returns her attention to Eruphel.
Eruphel smirks slightly. "I have learned that dancing as they dance is hard, and athletic, and requires much coordination and concentration. I've learned that its quite rewarding to get an appreciative look for a dance, and very frustrating and even demoralizing to get no response from your audience." She glances about. "I've learned that Gondorians are apt to mistake a dancing girl as a slave, but they are kind and charitable."
"My thanks," says Azradi, accepting the Lieutenant's flask. She pours a bit in her drink, offers the flask back to its owner and swirls the cider in her glass. Glancing at Tathar, she comments: "I may have to purchase some of latter before I leave."
She takes a sip of her laced cider and smiles. "Better. What was in the flask?"
Again Eruphel's conversation catches the Farside lady's attention. She grins mischievously, "Maha was with me when Sir Gwendion showed me to my rooms at our arrival. It was...enlightening to see his response to her."
Turlach's head, dark and neatly combed, appears in the crowd. A black cloak is pinned soberly at his shoulders with a small blue jewel otherwise, his Host-uniform makes no concession to finery. He passes by the circle, peering at the faces of those talking -- wanders, wavers.
"Gondor has no slaves," Tathar says, with a resumption of her earlier stiffness. The laughter fades from her eyes. She catches sight of Turlach and smiles at him.
Taking back the flask the Lieutenant says "A bit of some of our finest brandy.. Goes will with the cider.." taking a drink of his own he says "Very good on a cold day.." Looking to the squire he hands him the flask and says with a wink "just a touch.." Seeing a few people pass by the Lieutenant says "If you will excuse me a moment.." stepping away from the group he begins to speak with a group of men.
"Just so, yes," Menelglir tells Aearon as he takes the flask. He pours a bit into his cider, then stoppers the flask and holds onto it as Aearon moves away.
A quick look of sympathy is given toward Tathar and a smile to greet Turlach as the Squire then considers Azradi's remarks. "And..what was Sir Gwendion's reaction? If I may ask."
"I know Gondor has no slaves." Eruphel answers almost deadpan. "Which, no doubt, is why they mistook me for one." Eruphel looks toward Azradi, a glint of bemusement in her eye. She waits for the Farside lady to answer.
Lifting her glass, Azradi salutes the Lieutenant with her glass and turns to join the other's conversation fully. "Well," she begins, warming up to her story, "I explained to him that women dance in Umbar for many reasons: Some dance publically for entertainment and coin wives dance for their husbands and daughters often dance for their families."
"He seemed rather alarmed at the prospect Maha might dance for him as a woman does for her lover," she finishes, exchanging an amused look with Eruphel.
Turlach smiles a little at his aunt, then edges into the circle to listen, his cheeks flushing a little pink at the conversation.
This response leaves Tathar utterly bewildered, and almost speechless. "But.." she protests faintly. Then she apparently decides there are some things it is better not to know, and shifts her attention to Azradi. And then to a different servant carrying a different platter of some sorts of small meat-cuts wrapped around a vegetable. "Ah, Turlach," she says, her own cheeks slightly flushed. "How are you tonight?"
Menelglir, in contrast, is not bewildered. No, the Squire half spits out his drink, so flustered is he by the answer that Azradi gives him. He reddens at the answer, then reddens further at his own reaction.
"I, uh..." Menelglir says when he can manage it. "Yes, I can imagine that would horrify Sir Gwendion. That...well, that is not a custom among our people. Nor are dancing girls."
At Azradi's short story, Eruphel laughs in a quick outburst. "Oh yes, now I remember. Could scarcely look at me." She takes a sip of her cider now. "In any case, I would like to go sit." She looks to everyone standing nearby. "And I would enjoy your company, if you care to join me."
"Wives do not even dance for their husbands in private?" asks, Azradi, her expression as shocked as the Gondorian's were a moment ago. A bit distracted, she turns to quickly acknowledge Eruphel's request while she waits for her answer. "Yes, I would like to sit as well. I believe I saw chairs along the walls as I descended the stairs..."
Tathar, being the only current participant in this conversation with any personal experience, shakes her head. "No," she says. "Not dancing of ... of that sort. We dance at balls. Parties. But it is not like that." She manages all this without turning any darker a red, and turns at once towards the indicated chairs.
"I am all right," says Turlach quietly, a curious glance flickering between his aunt and the Haradrim. He follows her, pulling up the chairs so that they may all sit comfortably, and remains standing to wait.
"If wives dance for their husbands in private, that is their business. Certainly not any of mine. Not at the moment, as I am only 17, and it will be years before I even consider marriage," Menelglir says, still fighting back a red blush. "Yes, chairs....gladly. Please, make yourself comfortable." He gestures toward the chairs, but as yet he stands.
As Eruphel goes to the chairs, so goes her retinue, the dancing girl helping her with her dress as she sits, and thus she is freed to move about more. She goes to look at what delicacies she might find, while Eruphel's male escorts are content to lean against a nearby wall, watching and listening to the conversation distractedly.
"Well, perhaps you have never danced for your husband only because you never have, not because a woman of Gondor never would?" Eruphel takes a longer drink of her cider, enjoying the taste, and the warmth. "Much better. And...I can now answer your question, Lady Tathar, if you are still interested."
Azradi takes her seat with the young Hostman's assistance, "Thank you, Turlach. I am glad to see you are faring better."
"Well it cannot be entirely their business as someone must teach the young bride-to-be the proper dances."
"I am as private about such things as you," she relents, looking at the Squire with sympathy, her voice softer. "Nor am I married, but I do not appear to find the subject as uncomfortable as you."
More stiffly still, Tathar says, "I was taught all that any young lady of Gondor would be." Her eyes flicker to Azradi. "Those are not the sorts of dances we learn." She too sits, gathering her skirts gracefully in one hand and allowing them to drape along the side of the chair. "Yes," she says to Eruphel. "I would like to hear that tale." Though she doesn't sound very enthusiastic.
Turlach manages an absent smile for the Lady Farside, lingering awkwardly beyond the chairs. The prospect of marriage brings only a deeper red to his face.
"Ladies...Turlach. I must excuse myself from your company." Menelglir gives the group a small bow before, drink in one hand, Aearon's flask in the other, he goes off into the crowd, apparently in search of the Lieutenant.
Eruphel takes a deep breath, and then tosses back the rest of her cider, as if she does not expect to get a chance to finish it later. She holds it to the side, and after a moment, one of her guards notice it, and takes it to dispose of it. "Well let me see...when I was born, my mother died. My father, a corsair lad of only fourteen...no he would have been fifteen by then, was not interested in the difficulties of fatherhood, nor was he equipped with the means to deal with a newborn infant. Yet, too honorbound to abandon me completely, he paid a merchant whose wife was childless to adopt me as their own. It was no small amount, and the Merchant, always happy to turn a coin, and happy to make his wife happy, took me in and raised me as his own. They named me Maha, which means..." Eruphel cocks her head slightly, searching for the words, "...Wild Cow." She nods to Menelglir as he leaves.
Amusement clear on her features as Menelglir departs, Azradi sits with a straight back (the gold-leafed bodice allows for little movement), and settles in to listen to Eruphel's story.
A wide variety of expressions fleet across Tathar's face as she listens to this recital. "Fourteen!" she repeats, under her breath.
"Fourteen," Turlach echoes quietly, a pensive smile accompanied by a tilt of his head.
"I was /conceived/ when he was fourteen, as you may remember from our encounter in the tavern." Eruphel says, nodding. "In any case, I think my true father, Mahir, never intended to see me again, and perhaps even forgot about me. I think he sired many more children after, during his shore leaves after, but I think none of those children were so fortunate as to have been cared for in that way. I was his first. And, the Merchant never let on that I was not his child. And so I grew. Yet at the age of fourteen, I was no more learned, nor had any more understanding of the ways of the world or of Umbar, than when I had been five or six." Her dancing girl servant arrives with more drink, and Eruphel pauses to take it, sipping.
Signaling for a servant, Azradi drains the last of her spiked cider and selects a glass of wine. "Did you live in the city itself or in the desert?"
"Fourteen," Tathar says again, shaking her head. She is frowning a little disapprovingly now, surely at the behavior of this irresponsible young corsair.
Turlach blushes, then disappears behind a crowd of servants, returning with a slender glass of pale liquid.
"I lived in the city, though I was discouraged from roaming or interacting with anyone. Overprotective, perhaps. But in any case, it seemed my Merchant father saw no reason for educating a female child." Eruphel answers Azradi. Then she continues her narrative. "During that time, my true father, Mahir, had risen in ranks among the Corsairs of Seaward. Then in an odd set of circumstances, the Steward of Seaward (for there was no lord at that time) counted a raid made by Seaward Corsairs as unlawful, and shut the gates of the tower against them. Those returning corsairs, led by my father, beseiged their own tower, and it eventually fell to him. My father was proclaimed its new lord, and he took a new name, Mazrakhor."
Several of the palace's servants, seeing some of the guests seating themselves, appear discretely at various elbows, murmuring things like, "Would you care for a taste of fowl, m'lady?" One stops beside Azradi, another comes towards Tathar who absently takes whatever fruit tartlet is on his tray, biting into it as she listens.
Fowl. Its hard to eat fowl while telling a story, but Eruphel takes a piece...one that can be consumed in a single bite, and holds it. "On the other hand, my merchant father's business had slowly fallen into decline, to the point he was in need. In Umbar, it is not uncommon at all to sell one's own children into slavery to pay a debt, so I should not have been surprised that he would be willing to sell me, as I was not of his flesh. And, remembering who my real father was, he probably felt that would be a selling point to get more coin. 'Come buy the young daughter of Mazrakhor, Lord of Seaward.'" Eruphel's voice takes on a different inflection, as if mimicking a man, then returns to normal. "Or perhaps he just planned to blackmail Mazrakhor. I do not know. About that time, I met Lord Dublach, and my merchant father approached him about buying me."
Gratefully, Azradi selects what appears to be a sort of miniature pot-pie from a tray. First setting down her wine glass, she takes a bite, cupping her hand to catch the crumbs. Her face darkens at this point of the story but she does not interrupt.
Slavery. Turlach's eyes flicker towards the ground, and he lifts the glass to his lips, listening, but not drinking.
Tathar's face darkens as well, with indignation and anger and disapprobation. Her hand tightens about the stem of her wine glass.
"Lord Dublach later told me that he paid twice the asking price. I think he also paid extra to have my merchant father dress me nicely, as a fine lady, and he instructed him to take me as a gift to Lord Mazrakhor. I was ignorant of all of it, and did not understand what he was doing when I was first brought to Seaward. When I was presented to my real Father, it was as a slave and a gift. And I think my father immediately knew who I was, because he recognized the merchant. He told the merchant to thank Lord Dubhlach, and gave him one of his newly acquired slaves to take to Lord Dubhlach in return, for a gift cannot be accepted without something equal being given in return." All of this Eruphel says calmly, though her face is somewhat grave.
Brushing the crumbs off her hands, Azradi reaches for one of the small fruit tarts Tathar had enjoyed. Her expression is no lighter than it was a moment ago - but still, she says nothing.
Tathar's face is yet darker, her eyes angrier. With an effort, she loosens her grasp on her wine glass, and takes a drink, but she still has not eaten all of her tart. It crumbles in her fingers.
Popping the piece of fowl in her mouth, Eruphel chews quickly, and swallows. "And so at first, I lived as a slave in Seaward Tower, scrubbing floors and weeding the garden, and other menial chores. However, I was not quite treated as the other slaves were. I was not marked as a slave of Seaward, and whenever my father...my real father, of course...ever saw me working anywhere, he seemed to find my labor supremely unsatisfactory, and banned me from doing that particular job ever again. One by one the tasks I was permitted to do were being eliminated." Eruphel's cheeks apple as she smiles, but then the smile turns bitter. "I came to feel quite inadequate to do /anything/. But, it was during this time that I learned to speak Westron well, and read, from one of his new Gondorian slaves: Adanion Bragollach."
Amidst the low din that thrums like a droning hum through the Hall comes wafting over the clamor the over-loud, grating tenor of one Fouad ibn Yousef: Master Merchant, Scholar, and Gentleman of High Station (all self-appointed titles). Though the words are unclear amidst the goings-on, he appears to be blabbering in the ear of a rather uninterested-looking party goer as they walk in that typical, slow canter that most adopt when going to and fro in an event such as this. He, in typical fashion, is garbed in rich red silk and gaudy gold jewelry, and, when not full of some savory pie or other such delicacy, he carries a large red kerchief of silk to mop up the sheen of sweat that seems to perpetually cover his face.
Her tart finished, Lady Farside reaches down to reclaim her wine from the floor. She spares a glance for Tathar, wearing an expression similar to her own. She shifts her gaze back to Eruphel and asks in a tight voice, "Do you have any idea why your father chose to keep you in that state if you suspect he knew your true identity?"
"Ah! Ah! Wondrdous and fortunate I am to have found such graceful company as this!", says Fouad as he walks up to where the group of familiar Haradrim are seated and barges into the conversation. "My Lady Farside," he says, sweeping into an attempt at a graceful bow aimed in her direction. "You are bright as the morning sun, as always. Indeed, Fouad could sense your presence upon entering this glorious Hall!" He straightens to his full, unimposing height and beams, cheeks flushed garnet from alcohol consumption, and nods courteously to the other Haradrim seated before him. "Greetings indeed! What a glorious event, this is! Ah!", he says, plucking a steaming-hot morsel of food from off of a tray, "and such lovely hosts to have provided such a feast as this!"
There is a hiss of breath from Tathar as Eruphel mentions once more the Gondorian - by name this time. And her face, which has gotten harder and harder as the other's tale goes on, is rigid with outrage. She opens her mouth to say something when another Haradrim comes up, and instead, the Gondorian Lady turns her glare onto Fouad. She says nothing, but her eyes are dark with fury.
Appearing near the table where the group he had been speaking to earlier is now sitting is the Lieutenant Aearon Telpekhor, a glass of spiked cider in his hand, nearing the table he gives them all a nod of his head, then taking a drink of his cider he listens to the group talking. Seeing the Merchant approach he half shakes his head and takes another sip, much larger this time.
Turlach startles suddenly, as if waking into a nightmare, and reaches out for his aunt's shoulder -- the last time a drunken Haradrim gentleman met Tathar, things did not end pleasantly.
"Hmm." Eruphel looks down at her lap, thinking. "I believe that while he felt honor-bound to care for me initially, he perhaps felt ashamed later on to have shirked fatherhood as he did. Or, he may have felt ashamed to have allowed one of his children to be so un-cared-for that she would wind up on his door as a slave. Or...perhaps he thought he could live with me working as a slave in his tower, where he could see to my needs and protect me, without ever having to admit what he'd done." Eruphel pauses and looks up at the approaching merchant. "Hello." she says. "What a strange circumstance. You look very like my merchant father..."
Even Fouad's boisterous praise cannot entirely lift the general cloud of Azradi's disapproval. When she turns to the corpulent Merchant, she is unsmiling but her voice less tight when she says, "Merchant Fouad, please join us. Lady Eruphel is gracing us with the tale of her strange youth. Find a seat if you can, and listen."
But to Lady Seaward, Azradi shakes her head. "Nothing is more important than family, not even pride. It was ill-done, my friend."
Laughs in an exaggerated manner, eyes darting wildly. "Father? Oh, certainly not, certainly not! Fouad has never taken a wife in his days yet, no!" The portly man graps for a glass of cider on the tray of a passing servant and, having found his quarry (and nearly upending the tray upon the servant carrying it), Fouad finds a nearby chair and settles down into it, the frame of the furniture creaking miserably under his massive weight. "My thanks, Lady Farside," he says before turning his attention fully to the storyteller's offering.
Tathar's furious glare is transfered to whomever has had the nerve to put their hand on her shoulder for a minute, she glowers at the boy as if she doesn't see him, then her face softens a little. When she looks back at Eruphel however, and sees Fouad, the black look snaps back into place. Azradi's words bring a swift look - and almost a glint of agreement.
"Well, that is true. And after a while, his conscience wore him down." Eruphel answers Azradi. Then to Fouad, "Well, certainly not. My merchant father and my foster mother died shortly after I was sold in a fire that consumed my childhood home. So clearly, you could not be him." Eruphel smiles.
Then she turns to the hosts. "There were some other odd happenings...my father assigned guards to escort me out into the city. It is unheard-of to send valuable men to protect a worthless slave, especially four. I was also allowed a dagger for my protection. And then one night, I was kidnapped, and held for ransom. Lord Mazrakhor put out a reward for my return far exceeding my worth as a slave. I eventually was returned safely back to him. He kept me practically as a prisoner in the tower for a few weeks, then finally told me the entire story of his youth, and gave me a new name, Eruphel. It means, "One Daughter" or "First Daughter," he said, and he issued a proclamation formally recognising me as his firstborn child."
The Gondorian boy shrinks from Tathar's Look, murmuring something soft and tame then, setting his glass down by his chair, he folds his hands in his lap, listening to the story with a grim-set face.
Looking at Lady Tathar and the apparent anger she has the Lieutenant sighs and yet again takes a drink of his spiked cider, pulling up a chair and taking a seat the Lieutenant looks to Turlach and shifts his eyes towards the Lady, ask if telling him to calm her.
"I suppose better late than never," observes Azradi, grudgingly. She takes a deep draught of her wine. "You are a far better daughter than he deserved, given your acceptance of his treatment and your love."
Fouad takes a healthy draught of his cider, smacks his lips, and smiles contentedly for a moment before catching the fiery, hateful gaze of the Gondorian woman. His own eyes widen momentarily, then, brows knotted, he looks away, only to find the familiar face of Aearon seated nearby. "Ah, Lieutenant! So wonderful that your people allow military men to mingle with people of station!" His smile is genuine for a moment, but his eyes dart back to see if the Gondorian woman's gaze is still locked upon him with such hatred as was present before.
It is not - quite. Eruphel has said this is not her foster father, and Tathar's angry look has abated. A little. Not much. Catching Fouad's gaze, she looks away, back to Eruphel.
Yildirim appears to the group as he rounds another gathering gayly conversing. In each hand he bears a wine glass, one nearly empty, the other nearly full. He is dressed as he ever is, as a Corsair of Umbar with none of the pomp or preening of the night. Azradi is a difficult sight to miss, glittering jewels and gold, and it is her that catches his eye first. The Lady Seward is noticed quickly after and his course adjusts towards the group. Though his mood is blithe, he is not so daft to sense the mood of the group and he tames his grin accordingly as he approaches.
Caught between the Look of the Lieutenant and the slightly-lightened wrath of his aunt, Turlach shrugs helplessly and ducks away for another slender glass of wine, which he offers to Tathar. Fouad's comment to Aearon earns the Merchant a pale, rather reptilian stare.
Looking to the Merchant, the Lieutenant says "Yes, many soldiers are present here. And not as guards but as guests.. Gondor treats our military personnel well." taking a drink his cider he looks to a passing servant and says "Cider.." looking back to the table he says "I do hope everyone is enjoying the evening, for that was the reason for this party.." obviously hinting that some people need to calm down.
Upon noticing that the Gondorian woman apparently no longer wishes to try and murder him with her gaze, Fouad turns to the Eruphel with an overdone, morose expression. "Ah, such as sad thing, that! I am most sorry for your loss, even though I am certain it was some time ago. Fouad mourns with you My Lady...", he says, inviting her to introduce herself.
"Yes well..." Eruphel agrees with Azradi begrudgingly. "I am quite sure he loved me, but had a difficult time showing it. But that one incident...with the..." she shifts her glance to the Gondorians before saying carefully, "...creature that was to save me...and to save his tower for what I'd done. He gave up..." She pauses again, struggling with the words, "his very essence for me." She looks down at her lap, wiping her hands as if they were sweaty. Fouad seems now as a pleasant distraction. "Thank you. Lady...Eruphel. Lady of Seaward. Senior Lord of Umbar." she introduces herself, holding out a bejeweled hand for him to take.
"Yildirim," greets Azradi, smiling slightly. "Come join us."
A sidewise glance is offered to the Merchant and she says to Aearon, "Are you not yourself from a noble house, Lieut..."
Her head snaps to Eruphel at the mention of a 'creature'. Her face pales perceptively and she looks down to hide the sudden appearance of fear in her eyes.
Practically doing a belly-flop in an effort to prostrate himself before the Lady of Seaward, Fouad takes the bejeweled hand in his own meaty paw and kisses her signet ring. "My Lady! Truest and most sincere apologies for my foolishness! Never would Fouad have been so free with his speech had I known your station before this moment!" He holds his gaze to the floor, akwardly positioned in a half-crouch, half-bow that has his fat, corpulent frame practically tottering toward near distster.
Tathar takes the wine, and pastes a smile on her face in thanks. It fades almost at once. "Creature?" she is starting to ask, when Fouad hurls himself at the ground. She looks at him with distaste, drawing her skirts back a little. Movement - it is Yildirim, and for a moment, Tathar's gaze rests on him, then she drinks the wine.
Yildirim finishes quickly for Azradi, "Lieutenant Telpekhor, yes? I think I've said it correctly? Your names roll off the tongue like a song, but very strange to say nonetheless."
For the merchants, he but raises a brow, chuckling quietly at the man. "Lady Seaward," for her a bowing of his head, "Lady Tathar, Master Turlach," he greets each in turn. Then looks to and fro, "Where is my young master Menelglir?"
Yildirim questions, moving the topic from the creature.
"He left, sir," Turlach supplies shortly, his shoulders tensed from the sudden saturation of Haradrim.
"An understandable mishap." Eruphel says graciously, almost. There's a hint of sarcasm. But then her voice turns kinder. "I /have/ spent the majority of this expedition incognito." But at Tathar's query about a creature, Eruphel shoots her a dark, angry look, as if this is one question she may not ask. "In any case, that is the story of how I served as a slave, yet not a slave, in my father's tower."
Hearing the words of Lady Azradi the Lieutenant goes to answer but stops himself as she cuts her own words short. Silently a server hands the Lieutenant a glass of cider, pulling out a flask the Lieutenant adds a bit of its contents to the cider and then looks to Yilidirim and says "Yes, I am of the Noble Gondorian House of Telpekhor.. " taking a drink of his spiked cider he looks to Lady Azradi.
"Already gone?" Yildirim questions, glancing around once more, "A shame. I will miss that one. And a story missed as well," he finishes one glass of wine and begins work on the other, "My luck is poor this night it seems."
His face a mask of confusion, embarrasment, and sheer drunkeness, Fouad rises (albeit with great effort, strain, and much grunting and such), straigtens his silks, and has a seat again, once more to the extreme displeasure of the cushioned chair he has chosen his victim. To the same servant from which the Lieutenant recieved his cider he gestures, apparently for another round, and sits back, eyes flicking from one face to another as if to judge the scene.
Eruphel's angry look is met by Tathar's own, but the Gondorian turns aside to nod silently to Yildirim. She finishes her wine, and sets the glass aside, and only now notices the crumbs and stickiness where she has crushed half a fruit tart to bits.
Offering Yildirim a swift look of gratitude, Azradi drains the remainder of her wine (a half glass) in one long draught. She signals for a server to bring her another. Her face still pale, but now composed. She turns back to Aearon. "Yes, I remembered correctly, it seems. Are most of the officers in Gondor of noble birth? In Umbar, anyone with skill and power can rise to prominence - even as high as Towerlord."
Lady Seaward seems to have gone pensive, lost in her own reflections. She listens to the others speak for now, and the servant girl returns with a platter full of collected pastries and tasties, sitting near Eruphel and offering suggestions as to which are good. Eruphel distractedly follows her advice.
The waiters here are well-trained, and observant. One comes up beside Tathar, discretely offering her a damp cloth. She wipes her fingers and gives it back, smiling in thanks. Then looks to Aearon for his answer.
Taking another drink of his spiked cider the Lieutenant says "Any man may join the ranks, as for Noble birth.. Most, if not all of Gondor is of some Noble blood, the blood of old flows strong within us still" taking another drink he says "Nobility is not need to attain rank.. Rather our Nobles are natural leaders and skilled fighters.."
As Aearon speaks to Azradi, Yildirim looks to Tathar, commenting in the aside, "I am overwhelmed at this moment, I must admit," Yildirim interjects, "In what life would I imagine a dinner party such as this? Gondor has a saying I saw, 'Follow what may, great deeds are not lessened in worth.' It seems appropriate to the time, does it not?"
A slender servant bearing a tray holding a single large mug slides up alongside the seated Fouad and offers it to him. With naery a nod of thanks nor an appreciative smile, the merchant takes it and rather heavy-handedly shoos the servant away. He turns to Aearon and offers an ingratiating smile, the mug clasped between both meaty paws. "So very quaint, indeed! The idea that all of your people, peasants and kings alike, are all somehow of some grand old lineage!" He takes a large quaff of his cider, belches softly into the back of his hand, and grins again, this time somewhat more wolfishly than before.
"Perhaps," Tathar says to Yildirim, her tone reserved, but not actively hostile. "You have not been to such gatherings?" She glances over at Eruphel, and says in a low voice, not to interrupt Aearon's conversation, "Tell me of this Bragollach. Adanion, you said his name was?"
"I suppose it is no different in Umbar," Azradi replies. "Most nobles make good leaders and warriors. Those who do not are not tolerated."
She offers her merchant a dark look after he speaks. "That grand lineage is shared by my family, Merchant Fouad," she reminds, sharply.
Looking at the merchant the Lieutenant says "It is not an idea, rather a fact.. Almost all men can trace their linage to the days of old.." taking another drink of his cider he looks away from the merchant and then back to the rest of the table.
Spreading his hands in an apologetic manner, Fouad turns to his Liege-Lady and bows his head. "I intended no mockery of what the Lieutenant said, My Lady, and certainly no mockery of your own ancestors! Please," he says, awkwardly setting the mug down on a nearby table and clasping his hands together, "forgive a poor merchant who speaks out of place. I meant no offense, no! Certainly not!"
"Another Bragollach?" Yildirim questions, seeming impressed, "Either in luck or in fact, but that is the only family name I hear in repetition in this land. Is your Steward also of this family? As to gatherings, I have met with men from both nations, but never is such a merry fashion as this!" he says, finishing his other glass of wine.
Tathar's voice draws Eruphel out of her reverie, and she glances up, taking a moment to process the words. When she speaks, she speaks softly. "Oh. Lokhi, we called him. It was fitting. I was enamored of him initially, much to my shame. And he, in turn, became enamored with a dancing girl." She chuckles briefly at the irony. "My father elevated him to Steward, at the same time he freed me and made me his advisor. He betrayed us in the end, and used his position to return to Gondor. He abandoned his dancing girl, and their child, and left the tower in a mess. I was made the new Steward."
Lady Farside looks down her nose at the merchant rather imperiously. "See that you remember your place in the future, Merchant."
A brief, almost irritated glance back at Yildirim. "No," Tathar replies. "He is not. The Bragollachs are a large family, with many scions. It is no surprise you would hear that name often." Back to Eruphel, where her expressive face wavers between understanding - who would /not/ want to return to Gondor? - and censure - to abandon wife and child for whatever reason!
"Yes yes, of course My Lady," says Fouad, finding once more the familiar confines of his cushioned chair much more comforting than any sort of prostration.
"My apologies Lady, I meant no offense," Yildirim replies, clearly some has been taken. "We have spent so much time in your lands, yet do not forget we are strangers to it."
At Eruphel's story, Yildirim finds some interest, "I had not heard of this. What was his profession in Gondor?"
Letting the words of Lady Tathar answer the question for him the Lieutenant takes a drink of his cider and says "Let us all speak of, less confrontational topics shall we.." looking about the table as he says this with a friendly look upon his face, looking to the Merchant he says "How much profit have you made Master Merchant Fouad.."
Fouad's eyes are distant for a short while, seemingly staring into space. Then, shaking himself back into reality, he turns to the Lieutenant with a smile, albiet a weaker one than he offered before. "Oh... ah, yes. Quite a fair profit, yes, quite fair... My thanks for asking, Lieutenant." His eyes dart back to rest upon the Lady of the Farside Tower for a brief moment, and then back to the Lieutenant. "Do please forgive my foolish words from earlier. I fear I am quite deep in my cups, and I speak without thinking."
Eruphel looks at Yildirim, a blank look on her face. "Soldier, I assume. I really do not know, and never thought to ask." Her brow furrows. "He was likely a soldier, because he was captured during the sacking of Pelargir." Again, this is all spoken matter-of-factly.
Azradi stands, still holding her wine glass. She looks at those gathered near her and smiles wanly. "I believe I shall wander about the hall a bit there are other people I wish to speak to before the night is through. I thank you all for the interesting conversation."
"And if I do not see any of you again before our departure, I thank you for the hospitality and bid you farewell."
Fouad dips his head in a bow as the Lady passes, eyes firmly set on the floor.
Tathar looks at Yildirim again, frowning slightly. Then she says, "You did not offend. Bragollach is a large family. There is no secret in saying this." Eruphel's words bring a return of the anger, and something else as well - regret? Sorrow? She stands then, curtseying slightly to all those gathered here. "Please excuse me, I must go," she says. "Farewell," she tells Azradi, and moves towards the exit.
