Elendor
Party
Big Ball at Girithlin's House
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Minas Tirith
Description:
The courtyard has bedecked for a party of singular magnificience. Streamers of gold and burgundy silk are draped all about, strings of white lanterns sway gently in the trees. Tables, broad expanses of white cloth, are laden with the most succulent of savories and sweets, costly wines and fruity punches. Servants wander everywhere, distributing these tasties among some four score nobles or more. The foremost impression is wealth, oppulence. In one corner of the courtyard a group of musicians play courtly dances opposite it, round tables have been set up to host games of chance. Silk everywhere, costly furs and lustrous jewels. The cream of Gondor's crop out to play.
Among them wanders one who stands out from the swaths of rich garments and knightly dress. He wears the uniform of a Mate in Gondor's Navy, translated into silk. In spite of his dress, he carries him through the crowd with the casual ease of one both sure of himself and accustomed to such gatherings. A man in his mid twenties, Cairion seems to exude an air of affability. Standing near the end of the beverage table, a glass of port in one hand, he seems to be waiting for something or someone.
Tathar has come, ordered by her aunt no doubt, and she is standing and watching the musicians. She doesn't look like she is particularly enjoying herself, though she is particularly nicely dressed in a dark green dress with pearls sewed into the lace hems and an ivory shawl draping from her elbows. There are pearls to match tucked into the dark upswept curls of her hair. She turns and looks across the crowd.
A bored lady. Cairion's gaze sweeps passed her. They dart back a second later. A bored, beautiful lady. A group of young men, already well into their cups, swings by Cairion on their way into the hall, blocking his view. The sailor follows after them, trailing in the rear of the group until a quick dart between dancing couples brings him up behind Tathar. "What is this, my lady?" His tone is soft, faintly chiding, "A lady as lovely as yourself has no excuse to look so weary of her company." He holds out a hand an obliging servant deftly maneuvers a tray to set a wine glass within his reach. Said glass Cairion offers to Tathar, bowing over it as it held out to her.
Tathar starts, surprised, at the voice and the hand holding a wine glass in front of her. Turning, she says frankly, "I do love parties, but I was not in the mood for this one. I came only to oblige my aunt. Thank you..." She takes the glass and curtsies in turn. It surely has taken many years of practice not to spill the glass in the process.
"My pleasure," Cairion answers automatically, eyeing the lady appraisingly. He smiles at her well-conducted curtsy. "I am seldom in the mood for parties, I find. If it were left to mere desiring, I doubt I should ever see the inside of a ballroom again. Or a courtyard, however well appointed. Pray tell, if not a party, what would you fain be doing this moment?" His bright, green-grey eyes regard her openly - the question is an honest one and not mere pleasantry.
"Most men would agree with you, I think," Tathar says with a faint smile. "Though I have known some who enjoy it..." She looks at him consideringly. "What would I rather be doing?" The smile widens and a wicked light glints in her dark grey eyes. A swift glance to either side - no one is particularly close, or particularly listening. "I would be practicing - " a pause " - my swordplay. And you? If not here, where would you be?"
"Swordplay." Cairion pronounces the word as though it tastes strange in his mouth. It is chewed over for a while before he laughs. "Now there is spirit, indeed." It is difficult to tell if he is more pleased or shocked. "If I were not here?" He glances up to the star-speckled sky, a wistful smile bringing something of honest beauty to his countenance, "At sea. Racing west at twelve knots or better with the wind six points abaft the beam - how the Asgar loves that point of sailing! The spray dashing aboard and the rigging singing..." A cough attempts to cover what could've become an all-night tirade and Cairion smiles shyly, glancing at Tathar. "Forgive me. I have not even introduced myself. Cairion Cirdain, at your service, my lady." He inclines his head instead of bowing again.
Tathar watches him to see what his reaction is. "I have never been to sea," she says. "I have seen the ships at Dol Amroth though." A faint shadow crosses her face, and she banishes it instantly. "Tathar Nimothan. Is the Asgar your ship? I can see that you love it, sailing."
"A pleasure." Again, an automatic response, though his smile is warm enough. "Aye. The most beautiful frigate in the fleet." Taking a sip of his port, he tilts his head conspiratorily and adds, "Of course, you must understand that it is a duty of every officer to praise his ship above all others. Yet I confess myself most curious...." He bites his lip before continuing, "Forgive me if I seem impertinent, but it is most...unu...uncommon to meet a lady with such a hobby as swordsmanship. Or is it more than hobby?"
Her proper smile flashes into a grin, before returning to the faint practiced expression - the Noble Lady In Public. "People are generally far more than merely impertinent," she says, "You need not apologize. It began as a hobby. When I was a girl, I begged lessons of Uncle Iavasil."
Her grin draws an answering one from Cairion, as unreserved, and disappearing just as quickly. "When I was a lad I always dreamed of rescuing damsels in distress. I suspect something would have been much remiss in my upbringing if I had not. I had a chance to rescue a damsel and the experience nearly undid me. Apparently it is a part of many a noblewoman's training to learn how to scream bloody murder at the sight of a spider," he can't help another flash of a grin. "No, I would much rather a lady capable of sticking her own spiders, or worse, Valar forbid." Another sip of his port.
"I am sorry to disappoint you," Tathar says politely, "But I do not like spiders. I could probably undertake not to scream, however, did I see one." Her eyes twinkle a little. "And was your rescue successful? Or did you leave the damsel to her distress?"
Cairion laughs, a warm, rolling sound, the volume of which is better suited for a quarterdeck at sea than a garden party. With his awareness of his own, uninentional loudness his cheeks flush. "Oh, one can scarce blame you for disliking the things. A little /restraint/ in their presence is all a man can hope for. I rescued the lady most valiantly, of course, and was obliged to carry her some thirty feet to what she considered a safe distance from the corpse. Then I ran in true cowardly fashion back to the ship and did not set foot ashore for a good six months."
"But I rather doubt that your uncle taught you the skill merely for the slaying of spiders..." He can't quite bring himself to ask the next logical question.
Several people turn to look as Cairion's laughter rings out. Tathar laughs herself, though softly. "Cowardly indeed!" she tells him. "To run from a spider so."
But laughter turns almost instantly to sobriety at his final comment. She looks at him levelly. "No," she says. "He taught me because I begged and he felt sorry for me. But I have had occasion to use what I learned." She lifts her chin a little, defensively - refusing to apologize for her actions or her words.
Cairion looks taken aback, though good breeding retakes control of his countenance almost instantly, and he ends up merely frowning. "How very sorry I am to hear it, my lady. Yet it is most reassuring to hear that it is not only the /men/ of Gondor that stand between our land and conquest." A smile, though a rather sad one, his eyes reflecting a worry and a question he cannot give voice too. The ensuing silence is only a breath in length before he picks up again, a different subject but the same unhappy tone, "A Nimothan, did you say you were? I was friends with one their people in youth. I spoke with him, not two days ago in Pelargir. Sad news he has of some far-off relative of his. I do not remember the name - perhaps you could enlighten me on that score? I hear tell that he had yellow hair. I only ask because I promised his cousin to bring him news from Minas Tirith, if ever there was news to be heard."
The laughter doesn't return to Tathar's face - perhaps she is accustomed to people distancing themselves when they hear this. Resigned, she bends her head and looks at her hands, folded carefully around the wine glass.
But then she stiffens, drawing in a sharp breath, her eyes flying up to meet his. "B-berenar?" she falters.
Her bowed head, and Cairion is in the middle of reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder when suddenly her eyes meet his. Something in her gaze causes his brows to knit, eyes wide and somewhat startled. Still, he holds her gaze. "That was the name." Cairion shakes his head in self-disgust, "I should never have mentioned. He is your kin, then, and the news worse than I feared?" His voice has dropped in pitch, not much better than a whisper.
"My husband," Tathar answers, in a stifled voice. "He - he is dead." She turns her head aside, trying to hide the tears that fill her eyes - trying valiantly to keep them from falling. "I - am sorry," she manages at last, a little louder, and almost looking at him. "I should be used to it by now. He - " She swallows, and takes a breath. " - they told me he was slain by orcs and his body never recovered."
Cairion's hand settles on Tathar's shoulder for the briefest of instants before being withdrawn. "It is I who must beg your pardon, Lady Tathar. I spoke in ignorance. And please, I beg of you, do not chastise yourself for giving countenance to grief. Honesty is far the better policy than the stony silence we are taught to assume. No, I should rather a flood of tears than whole parade of pleasing masks."
A dancing couple swirls too close Cairion steps nearer to Tathar.
Entering the courtyard is the Lieutenant Aearon Telpekhor, though if you do not know him you would not know it. For he is dressed not in his military attire but in noble attire. He is dressed in dark blue tunic with silver trim that reaches to the middle of his hips, A thick black belt with large buckle that has the Telpekhor crest upon it, and Black trousers, and upon his feet are fine black leather boots. Looking about the gathering he looks for faces he knows.
The dancing couple is composed of a gangly Nimothan youth in black silk, and a small, chubby Girithlin maiden in white. They whirl off-balance, with Turlach (the taller by far) attempting to stay the girl from spinning into the tables of refreshment. He looks over the flowered black head and smiles apologetically at his aunt, Tathar.
Tathar gives Cairion a wavering smile. "But it would be so distressing to everyone else," she tells him, her voice nearly steady again though her eyes are dark with sorrow. "To - to have to watch me weep. After all it is a party!" She doesn't seem to notice that he has moved nearer - she is lifting her hand to give her nephew a small wave - and discretely, to wipe a bit of dampness from her cheek. "Please. Do not apologize. How could you have known? There - there has not been time for - for the news to spread so very far. And you are often at sea, I am sure."
A stir in the crowd that moves back and forth shows Aearon, and Tathar smiles at him - though as if she isn't really sure what she is doing. She takes a swallow of the here-to-fore untouched wine.
Noting the smile not directed at him, Cairion steps back to his former place, albeit turning to find this new source of amusement to the lady. He finds Aearon readily enough. The sailor cants his head in Tathar's direction, "A friend of yours, lady?" He smiles determinedly while a servant, forced to back-pedal out of the way of the whirling youths, treads upon his toes.
Seeing Lady Tathar through the crowd Aearon begins to make his way in her direction, greeting those as he walks by, laughing a bit with a few men and continuing, finally nearing Lady Tathar he bows before her and says "Good evening milady" raising his head he looks to the man beside her and introduces himself "Aearon Thalion Telpekhor, good sir" Looking back to the party he waves to a few others before returning his attention to Tathar and the man beside her.
"The Lieutenant?" Tathar asks, looking back to Cairion. "I have met him, since I came up to Minas Tirith. My nephew wishes to join the Hosts, you see as soon as he is old enough." She nods at Turlach.
And then Aearon is there. "Good evening," Tathar says in reply, and sips at her drink.
Turlach slips past, sweat-laced, freed of the small lady for a time. He tosses back a glass of rosy-sweet beverage -- perhaps a bit strong for his age -- and dips his head to the company. "Good evening, sirs, aunty," he begins, polite, if breathless....
And is yanked back into the dance by a pink, round hand.
Cairion glances obligingly in Turlach's direction, but is far more taken up with the approaching Aearon. He drops a very quick bow toward the Telpekhor, "Cairion Cirdain, m'lord." There is a slight, a very slight, tendency to defiance in the way he speaks. Introduction concluded, Cairion takes a rapid look about, rather desperately seeking out someone, anyone connected with the Navy. Finding none, he straightens his posture and swollows.
His dignity is nearly brought low by a bit-back laugh at the beset Turlach.
Nodding his head to Cairion Aearon says "Well met, Cairion" Looking back to lady Tathar he grabs a drink from one of the servers and says "How have you been Milady?" Taking a large drink from his glass he sighs and says "I could of used this hours ago."
"Turlach, this is..." Tathar stops as the boy is gone. Then, to Cairion, she says wryly, "That was my nephew." She catches his skimming look, and even that small bit of humor dies - fading again to resignation.
"I have been well, thank you," she answers Aearon, watching him drink and then sigh in relief. "You've had a long day?" she guesses.
There is a small commotion near the cheese table -- another narrowly averted disaster. The tall head of Turlach is seen wandering wearily towards the center of the throng.
At the remark regarding Aearon's drink of choice, Cairion rolls his eyes, not nearly as privily as should've been. To keep himself out of trouble, he settles on watching Turlach. Then he frowns. "Pardon my interruption, but is your nephew drinking Lady Girithlin's rose punch? That brew would have a sailor tied into his hammock in two glasses..." He leans out, nimbly peering beyond Aearon to follow Turlach's progress.
Taking another small sip from his cup Aearon says "That I have milady, the Hosts are getting ready to move to Pelargir soon and my men are getting prepared." Catching Cairion roll his eyes, Aearon pays little attention just a slight confused glare before saying with a laugh "Two glass If he is to join the Hosts he will need to learn to hold his Liquor."
"I see." A small vertical line creases between Tathar's eyebrows. "How long is this faire meant to go on?" She looks between the two men, but makes no attempt to decipher their behavior, only saying to Cairion, "I don't know. I wasn't watching..." She too looks after the boy. "He doesn't look like he is enjoying himself much - perhaps I should rescue him from that girl. Whoever she is." With sudden determination, she holds her glass out for Cairion to take. And a little more sharply, to Aearon, "Perhaps, but he is yet a boy, and does not need to be drunken on the dance floor to prove his manhood."
Again Turlach is anchoring the little girl in a dizzying vertigo. She is enjoying the dance immensely, laughing in chime-like pitches, but he is rather pink, the white-trimmed collar of his stiff shirt soaked in sweat.
Hearing the words of Tathar Aearon bows his head and says "Yes milday, I meant no offence." Taking another drink from his glass he looks to the party and waves bows his head to a few people as they pass by. Speaking with a man who has had a few to many drinks he says "Perhaps you should slow down Master-at-Arms."
In response the somewhat drunken man says "I apologize Lieutenant. I shall keep my composure."
Shaking his head as the man leaves Aearon looks to Cairion and says "How fare you Cairion Cirdain.
Cairion takes Tathar's glass thoughtlessly, far more interested (and concerned) with the frolicking Turlach. "Well enough," he says to Aearon. After a moment: "I do so hope you are not declaring it laudable for a youth of his age and kin to be so deep in his liquor..." A brief, not altogether friendly glance at the Lieutenant.
With the same distraction that he took it, Cairion gives up the glass to a passing servant. A large, overly dressed lady is pointed animatedly at Turlach and his companion. Now she is advancing, all indignant fury. Cairion immediately sets himself on an intersecting course, hoping to head the righteous lady off before she manages to reach the boy.
Tathar herself is making a beeline towards her nephew, saying a hurried, "Excuse me, Lieutenant," over her shoulder to Aearon. She dodges another dancing couple, ducks around an elderly lord pontificating about some matter or other, and reaches out to tap Turlach's shoulder. "Excuse me," she repeats, this time to the girl who is given a bright, ferocious smile. "I need to speak with my nephew."
Taking another sip from his glass Aearon says "I did not declare anything, merely lightening the mood for there are those who have attitudes ." with Cairion leaving he finishes his glass and hands it to a server and takes another glass and nodding his head to another soldier passing by.
The tiniest lady of Girithlin looks up at Tathar, smile quickly fading. It is Tathar Nimothan -- the very lady who was reported, in whispers among maids and children, to have brandished a sword! A sword, Eru save us all! The pink girl squeaks and dives for the Overdressed Lady's skirts.
Turlach turns, a rosy languidness bringing him face-to-face with his aunt. "Hello," he begins cheerfully, but then his face falls. "Oh. Hello, aunty."
Seeing the Little Girithlin beat him to the Overdressed Lady, Cairion slows his steps. At the same moment, Aearon's remark reaches him. One could almost trace the vertibrae straightening themselves as he draws himself up to his full height. He turns around to face Aearon, regarding him narrowly for a second. Inspection done, the sailor bursts into easy laughter, "I think you need a few more of those drinks, Lieutenant," he replies.
Tathar gives Turlach a narrow look, but only says, smiling a little, "There is someone I would like you to meet..." She turns away, leading him off the dance floor, then pauses, looking around for Cairion.
With a smile Aearon says with a laugh "Perhaps I do" Taking another drink he then looks to the crowd and towards Turlach and Tather and watches for a moment before he feels a tap upon his shoulder. Turning around he stands in front of a young woman, bowing his head the two begin to dance moving away from those he was speaking with before.
Cairion watches Aearon take off with his dance partner, a benign smile set on the sailor's face. A glance to the stuffy Girithlin Lady (safely occupied with the miniature Girithlin lass), and he begins to pick his way through the makeshift ballroom towards Cairion. "Disaster averted?" The question is directed at Tathar, his grin at Turlach.
Turlach follows meekly, loosening his collar. "I was just dancing with her because her brother ..." he attempts to explain, with little success.
Tathar smiles up at him, ignoring his explanations until the ebb and flow of the crowd leave them relatively private. As Cairion comes towards them, she says in a low voice, "There was nothing wrong with the girl you may dance with whoever you please. But that wine is too strong - you've had enough." Raising her voice then she answers the naval man, "Yes, all is well. Thank you. Turlach, this is Cairion Cirdain. He has a ship..." As reasons for introductions go, it is perhaps a little lame.
Tathar can post it eventually. Won't be right away, probably, though.
Turlach nodnods.
Cairion just laughs good-humouredly at the introduction, nodding. "Well, not /my/ ship. Gondor's ship. Her Captain's ship. Failing the authority of those two, my ship. Her name is the Asgar. She is anchored at Harlond for the nonce, if you wish to visit her. Either of you," a dip of his head to Tathar. "I would be most honoured to give you a tour."
Near the entrance to the courtyard a group of young men dressed in uniforms identical (or nearly so) to Cairion's join the party. One of them hails Cairion at once, his strong, sea-going voice easily filtering through, and nearly drowning out, the rest of the company. Cairion raises a hand his comrades. "Thank you for a lovely evening, my lady Tathar. May I call on you?" He is already stepping back, towards the other sailors, but keeps his eyes on Tathar, smiling with mingled nervousness and hope.
"Yes, aunty," says Turlach, looking miserable. He didn't mean to swallow the punch, sincerely! The boy bows to the young man, but the flush is gone from his cheeks, replaced by an unhealthy pallor.
Tathar looks up sharply at the note in Turlach's voice. "I think perhaps we should go home," she says gently. "Come.. have you a coat? I left my cloak in the entryway." She looks up as Cairion is claimed by his friends. "Yes, of course, we're always glad to receive friends." And resumes shepherding the boy towards the doorway.
Cairion, walking backward, bows to Tathar. Never another word til he's in the company of his friends. They speak excitedly to one another, immersed at once in an exclusive Naval environment, their sea-going terms practically a language unto themselves.
"I will get it for you," says Turlach, making a veritable beeline for open air and cool, dark streets.
The courtyard has bedecked for a party of singular magnificience. Streamers of gold and burgundy silk are draped all about, strings of white lanterns sway gently in the trees. Tables, broad expanses of white cloth, are laden with the most succulent of savories and sweets, costly wines and fruity punches. Servants wander everywhere, distributing these tasties among some four score nobles or more. The foremost impression is wealth, oppulence. In one corner of the courtyard a group of musicians play courtly dances opposite it, round tables have been set up to host games of chance. Silk everywhere, costly furs and lustrous jewels. The cream of Gondor's crop out to play.
Among them wanders one who stands out from the swaths of rich garments and knightly dress. He wears the uniform of a Mate in Gondor's Navy, translated into silk. In spite of his dress, he carries him through the crowd with the casual ease of one both sure of himself and accustomed to such gatherings. A man in his mid twenties, Cairion seems to exude an air of affability. Standing near the end of the beverage table, a glass of port in one hand, he seems to be waiting for something or someone.
Tathar has come, ordered by her aunt no doubt, and she is standing and watching the musicians. She doesn't look like she is particularly enjoying herself, though she is particularly nicely dressed in a dark green dress with pearls sewed into the lace hems and an ivory shawl draping from her elbows. There are pearls to match tucked into the dark upswept curls of her hair. She turns and looks across the crowd.
A bored lady. Cairion's gaze sweeps passed her. They dart back a second later. A bored, beautiful lady. A group of young men, already well into their cups, swings by Cairion on their way into the hall, blocking his view. The sailor follows after them, trailing in the rear of the group until a quick dart between dancing couples brings him up behind Tathar. "What is this, my lady?" His tone is soft, faintly chiding, "A lady as lovely as yourself has no excuse to look so weary of her company." He holds out a hand an obliging servant deftly maneuvers a tray to set a wine glass within his reach. Said glass Cairion offers to Tathar, bowing over it as it held out to her.
Tathar starts, surprised, at the voice and the hand holding a wine glass in front of her. Turning, she says frankly, "I do love parties, but I was not in the mood for this one. I came only to oblige my aunt. Thank you..." She takes the glass and curtsies in turn. It surely has taken many years of practice not to spill the glass in the process.
"My pleasure," Cairion answers automatically, eyeing the lady appraisingly. He smiles at her well-conducted curtsy. "I am seldom in the mood for parties, I find. If it were left to mere desiring, I doubt I should ever see the inside of a ballroom again. Or a courtyard, however well appointed. Pray tell, if not a party, what would you fain be doing this moment?" His bright, green-grey eyes regard her openly - the question is an honest one and not mere pleasantry.
"Most men would agree with you, I think," Tathar says with a faint smile. "Though I have known some who enjoy it..." She looks at him consideringly. "What would I rather be doing?" The smile widens and a wicked light glints in her dark grey eyes. A swift glance to either side - no one is particularly close, or particularly listening. "I would be practicing - " a pause " - my swordplay. And you? If not here, where would you be?"
"Swordplay." Cairion pronounces the word as though it tastes strange in his mouth. It is chewed over for a while before he laughs. "Now there is spirit, indeed." It is difficult to tell if he is more pleased or shocked. "If I were not here?" He glances up to the star-speckled sky, a wistful smile bringing something of honest beauty to his countenance, "At sea. Racing west at twelve knots or better with the wind six points abaft the beam - how the Asgar loves that point of sailing! The spray dashing aboard and the rigging singing..." A cough attempts to cover what could've become an all-night tirade and Cairion smiles shyly, glancing at Tathar. "Forgive me. I have not even introduced myself. Cairion Cirdain, at your service, my lady." He inclines his head instead of bowing again.
Tathar watches him to see what his reaction is. "I have never been to sea," she says. "I have seen the ships at Dol Amroth though." A faint shadow crosses her face, and she banishes it instantly. "Tathar Nimothan. Is the Asgar your ship? I can see that you love it, sailing."
"A pleasure." Again, an automatic response, though his smile is warm enough. "Aye. The most beautiful frigate in the fleet." Taking a sip of his port, he tilts his head conspiratorily and adds, "Of course, you must understand that it is a duty of every officer to praise his ship above all others. Yet I confess myself most curious...." He bites his lip before continuing, "Forgive me if I seem impertinent, but it is most...unu...uncommon to meet a lady with such a hobby as swordsmanship. Or is it more than hobby?"
Her proper smile flashes into a grin, before returning to the faint practiced expression - the Noble Lady In Public. "People are generally far more than merely impertinent," she says, "You need not apologize. It began as a hobby. When I was a girl, I begged lessons of Uncle Iavasil."
Her grin draws an answering one from Cairion, as unreserved, and disappearing just as quickly. "When I was a lad I always dreamed of rescuing damsels in distress. I suspect something would have been much remiss in my upbringing if I had not. I had a chance to rescue a damsel and the experience nearly undid me. Apparently it is a part of many a noblewoman's training to learn how to scream bloody murder at the sight of a spider," he can't help another flash of a grin. "No, I would much rather a lady capable of sticking her own spiders, or worse, Valar forbid." Another sip of his port.
"I am sorry to disappoint you," Tathar says politely, "But I do not like spiders. I could probably undertake not to scream, however, did I see one." Her eyes twinkle a little. "And was your rescue successful? Or did you leave the damsel to her distress?"
Cairion laughs, a warm, rolling sound, the volume of which is better suited for a quarterdeck at sea than a garden party. With his awareness of his own, uninentional loudness his cheeks flush. "Oh, one can scarce blame you for disliking the things. A little /restraint/ in their presence is all a man can hope for. I rescued the lady most valiantly, of course, and was obliged to carry her some thirty feet to what she considered a safe distance from the corpse. Then I ran in true cowardly fashion back to the ship and did not set foot ashore for a good six months."
"But I rather doubt that your uncle taught you the skill merely for the slaying of spiders..." He can't quite bring himself to ask the next logical question.
Several people turn to look as Cairion's laughter rings out. Tathar laughs herself, though softly. "Cowardly indeed!" she tells him. "To run from a spider so."
But laughter turns almost instantly to sobriety at his final comment. She looks at him levelly. "No," she says. "He taught me because I begged and he felt sorry for me. But I have had occasion to use what I learned." She lifts her chin a little, defensively - refusing to apologize for her actions or her words.
Cairion looks taken aback, though good breeding retakes control of his countenance almost instantly, and he ends up merely frowning. "How very sorry I am to hear it, my lady. Yet it is most reassuring to hear that it is not only the /men/ of Gondor that stand between our land and conquest." A smile, though a rather sad one, his eyes reflecting a worry and a question he cannot give voice too. The ensuing silence is only a breath in length before he picks up again, a different subject but the same unhappy tone, "A Nimothan, did you say you were? I was friends with one their people in youth. I spoke with him, not two days ago in Pelargir. Sad news he has of some far-off relative of his. I do not remember the name - perhaps you could enlighten me on that score? I hear tell that he had yellow hair. I only ask because I promised his cousin to bring him news from Minas Tirith, if ever there was news to be heard."
The laughter doesn't return to Tathar's face - perhaps she is accustomed to people distancing themselves when they hear this. Resigned, she bends her head and looks at her hands, folded carefully around the wine glass.
But then she stiffens, drawing in a sharp breath, her eyes flying up to meet his. "B-berenar?" she falters.
Her bowed head, and Cairion is in the middle of reaching out to lay a hand on her shoulder when suddenly her eyes meet his. Something in her gaze causes his brows to knit, eyes wide and somewhat startled. Still, he holds her gaze. "That was the name." Cairion shakes his head in self-disgust, "I should never have mentioned. He is your kin, then, and the news worse than I feared?" His voice has dropped in pitch, not much better than a whisper.
"My husband," Tathar answers, in a stifled voice. "He - he is dead." She turns her head aside, trying to hide the tears that fill her eyes - trying valiantly to keep them from falling. "I - am sorry," she manages at last, a little louder, and almost looking at him. "I should be used to it by now. He - " She swallows, and takes a breath. " - they told me he was slain by orcs and his body never recovered."
Cairion's hand settles on Tathar's shoulder for the briefest of instants before being withdrawn. "It is I who must beg your pardon, Lady Tathar. I spoke in ignorance. And please, I beg of you, do not chastise yourself for giving countenance to grief. Honesty is far the better policy than the stony silence we are taught to assume. No, I should rather a flood of tears than whole parade of pleasing masks."
A dancing couple swirls too close Cairion steps nearer to Tathar.
Entering the courtyard is the Lieutenant Aearon Telpekhor, though if you do not know him you would not know it. For he is dressed not in his military attire but in noble attire. He is dressed in dark blue tunic with silver trim that reaches to the middle of his hips, A thick black belt with large buckle that has the Telpekhor crest upon it, and Black trousers, and upon his feet are fine black leather boots. Looking about the gathering he looks for faces he knows.
The dancing couple is composed of a gangly Nimothan youth in black silk, and a small, chubby Girithlin maiden in white. They whirl off-balance, with Turlach (the taller by far) attempting to stay the girl from spinning into the tables of refreshment. He looks over the flowered black head and smiles apologetically at his aunt, Tathar.
Tathar gives Cairion a wavering smile. "But it would be so distressing to everyone else," she tells him, her voice nearly steady again though her eyes are dark with sorrow. "To - to have to watch me weep. After all it is a party!" She doesn't seem to notice that he has moved nearer - she is lifting her hand to give her nephew a small wave - and discretely, to wipe a bit of dampness from her cheek. "Please. Do not apologize. How could you have known? There - there has not been time for - for the news to spread so very far. And you are often at sea, I am sure."
A stir in the crowd that moves back and forth shows Aearon, and Tathar smiles at him - though as if she isn't really sure what she is doing. She takes a swallow of the here-to-fore untouched wine.
Noting the smile not directed at him, Cairion steps back to his former place, albeit turning to find this new source of amusement to the lady. He finds Aearon readily enough. The sailor cants his head in Tathar's direction, "A friend of yours, lady?" He smiles determinedly while a servant, forced to back-pedal out of the way of the whirling youths, treads upon his toes.
Seeing Lady Tathar through the crowd Aearon begins to make his way in her direction, greeting those as he walks by, laughing a bit with a few men and continuing, finally nearing Lady Tathar he bows before her and says "Good evening milady" raising his head he looks to the man beside her and introduces himself "Aearon Thalion Telpekhor, good sir" Looking back to the party he waves to a few others before returning his attention to Tathar and the man beside her.
"The Lieutenant?" Tathar asks, looking back to Cairion. "I have met him, since I came up to Minas Tirith. My nephew wishes to join the Hosts, you see as soon as he is old enough." She nods at Turlach.
And then Aearon is there. "Good evening," Tathar says in reply, and sips at her drink.
Turlach slips past, sweat-laced, freed of the small lady for a time. He tosses back a glass of rosy-sweet beverage -- perhaps a bit strong for his age -- and dips his head to the company. "Good evening, sirs, aunty," he begins, polite, if breathless....
And is yanked back into the dance by a pink, round hand.
Cairion glances obligingly in Turlach's direction, but is far more taken up with the approaching Aearon. He drops a very quick bow toward the Telpekhor, "Cairion Cirdain, m'lord." There is a slight, a very slight, tendency to defiance in the way he speaks. Introduction concluded, Cairion takes a rapid look about, rather desperately seeking out someone, anyone connected with the Navy. Finding none, he straightens his posture and swollows.
His dignity is nearly brought low by a bit-back laugh at the beset Turlach.
Nodding his head to Cairion Aearon says "Well met, Cairion" Looking back to lady Tathar he grabs a drink from one of the servers and says "How have you been Milady?" Taking a large drink from his glass he sighs and says "I could of used this hours ago."
"Turlach, this is..." Tathar stops as the boy is gone. Then, to Cairion, she says wryly, "That was my nephew." She catches his skimming look, and even that small bit of humor dies - fading again to resignation.
"I have been well, thank you," she answers Aearon, watching him drink and then sigh in relief. "You've had a long day?" she guesses.
There is a small commotion near the cheese table -- another narrowly averted disaster. The tall head of Turlach is seen wandering wearily towards the center of the throng.
At the remark regarding Aearon's drink of choice, Cairion rolls his eyes, not nearly as privily as should've been. To keep himself out of trouble, he settles on watching Turlach. Then he frowns. "Pardon my interruption, but is your nephew drinking Lady Girithlin's rose punch? That brew would have a sailor tied into his hammock in two glasses..." He leans out, nimbly peering beyond Aearon to follow Turlach's progress.
Taking another small sip from his cup Aearon says "That I have milady, the Hosts are getting ready to move to Pelargir soon and my men are getting prepared." Catching Cairion roll his eyes, Aearon pays little attention just a slight confused glare before saying with a laugh "Two glass If he is to join the Hosts he will need to learn to hold his Liquor."
"I see." A small vertical line creases between Tathar's eyebrows. "How long is this faire meant to go on?" She looks between the two men, but makes no attempt to decipher their behavior, only saying to Cairion, "I don't know. I wasn't watching..." She too looks after the boy. "He doesn't look like he is enjoying himself much - perhaps I should rescue him from that girl. Whoever she is." With sudden determination, she holds her glass out for Cairion to take. And a little more sharply, to Aearon, "Perhaps, but he is yet a boy, and does not need to be drunken on the dance floor to prove his manhood."
Again Turlach is anchoring the little girl in a dizzying vertigo. She is enjoying the dance immensely, laughing in chime-like pitches, but he is rather pink, the white-trimmed collar of his stiff shirt soaked in sweat.
Hearing the words of Tathar Aearon bows his head and says "Yes milday, I meant no offence." Taking another drink from his glass he looks to the party and waves bows his head to a few people as they pass by. Speaking with a man who has had a few to many drinks he says "Perhaps you should slow down Master-at-Arms."
In response the somewhat drunken man says "I apologize Lieutenant. I shall keep my composure."
Shaking his head as the man leaves Aearon looks to Cairion and says "How fare you Cairion Cirdain.
Cairion takes Tathar's glass thoughtlessly, far more interested (and concerned) with the frolicking Turlach. "Well enough," he says to Aearon. After a moment: "I do so hope you are not declaring it laudable for a youth of his age and kin to be so deep in his liquor..." A brief, not altogether friendly glance at the Lieutenant.
With the same distraction that he took it, Cairion gives up the glass to a passing servant. A large, overly dressed lady is pointed animatedly at Turlach and his companion. Now she is advancing, all indignant fury. Cairion immediately sets himself on an intersecting course, hoping to head the righteous lady off before she manages to reach the boy.
Tathar herself is making a beeline towards her nephew, saying a hurried, "Excuse me, Lieutenant," over her shoulder to Aearon. She dodges another dancing couple, ducks around an elderly lord pontificating about some matter or other, and reaches out to tap Turlach's shoulder. "Excuse me," she repeats, this time to the girl who is given a bright, ferocious smile. "I need to speak with my nephew."
Taking another sip from his glass Aearon says "I did not declare anything, merely lightening the mood for there are those who have attitudes ." with Cairion leaving he finishes his glass and hands it to a server and takes another glass and nodding his head to another soldier passing by.
The tiniest lady of Girithlin looks up at Tathar, smile quickly fading. It is Tathar Nimothan -- the very lady who was reported, in whispers among maids and children, to have brandished a sword! A sword, Eru save us all! The pink girl squeaks and dives for the Overdressed Lady's skirts.
Turlach turns, a rosy languidness bringing him face-to-face with his aunt. "Hello," he begins cheerfully, but then his face falls. "Oh. Hello, aunty."
Seeing the Little Girithlin beat him to the Overdressed Lady, Cairion slows his steps. At the same moment, Aearon's remark reaches him. One could almost trace the vertibrae straightening themselves as he draws himself up to his full height. He turns around to face Aearon, regarding him narrowly for a second. Inspection done, the sailor bursts into easy laughter, "I think you need a few more of those drinks, Lieutenant," he replies.
Tathar gives Turlach a narrow look, but only says, smiling a little, "There is someone I would like you to meet..." She turns away, leading him off the dance floor, then pauses, looking around for Cairion.
With a smile Aearon says with a laugh "Perhaps I do" Taking another drink he then looks to the crowd and towards Turlach and Tather and watches for a moment before he feels a tap upon his shoulder. Turning around he stands in front of a young woman, bowing his head the two begin to dance moving away from those he was speaking with before.
Cairion watches Aearon take off with his dance partner, a benign smile set on the sailor's face. A glance to the stuffy Girithlin Lady (safely occupied with the miniature Girithlin lass), and he begins to pick his way through the makeshift ballroom towards Cairion. "Disaster averted?" The question is directed at Tathar, his grin at Turlach.
Turlach follows meekly, loosening his collar. "I was just dancing with her because her brother ..." he attempts to explain, with little success.
Tathar smiles up at him, ignoring his explanations until the ebb and flow of the crowd leave them relatively private. As Cairion comes towards them, she says in a low voice, "There was nothing wrong with the girl you may dance with whoever you please. But that wine is too strong - you've had enough." Raising her voice then she answers the naval man, "Yes, all is well. Thank you. Turlach, this is Cairion Cirdain. He has a ship..." As reasons for introductions go, it is perhaps a little lame.
Cairion just laughs good-humouredly at the introduction, nodding. "Well, not /my/ ship. Gondor's ship. Her Captain's ship. Failing the authority of those two, my ship. Her name is the Asgar. She is anchored at Harlond for the nonce, if you wish to visit her. Either of you," a dip of his head to Tathar. "I would be most honoured to give you a tour."
Near the entrance to the courtyard a group of young men dressed in uniforms identical (or nearly so) to Cairion's join the party. One of them hails Cairion at once, his strong, sea-going voice easily filtering through, and nearly drowning out, the rest of the company. Cairion raises a hand his comrades. "Thank you for a lovely evening, my lady Tathar. May I call on you?" He is already stepping back, towards the other sailors, but keeps his eyes on Tathar, smiling with mingled nervousness and hope.
"Yes, aunty," says Turlach, looking miserable. He didn't mean to swallow the punch, sincerely! The boy bows to the young man, but the flush is gone from his cheeks, replaced by an unhealthy pallor.
Tathar looks up sharply at the note in Turlach's voice. "I think perhaps we should go home," she says gently. "Come.. have you a coat? I left my cloak in the entryway." She looks up as Cairion is claimed by his friends. "Yes, of course, we're always glad to receive friends." And resumes shepherding the boy towards the doorway.
Cairion, walking backward, bows to Tathar. Never another word til he's in the company of his friends. They speak excitedly to one another, immersed at once in an exclusive Naval environment, their sea-going terms practically a language unto themselves.
"I will get it for you," says Turlach, making a veritable beeline for open air and cool, dark streets.
Located in: Gondorian
