Fire tosses from hand to hand. Balls fly. Bodies curve to form hoops.

“Hands! Momma, he’s on his hands!”

Faramir bounces on his mother’s lap. Pale face illumined by her smile, Finduilas leans close to hug him back to safety. Boromir stands entranced by the tumbling bodies, eyes wide as he struggles not to miss a single leap or toss.

Imrahil, a sleepy and indifferent Elphir cradled against his shoulder, catches Denethor’s eye as applause ripples around the crowded hall.

The Steward smiles. Some of the foreign entertainers were, no doubt, spies. The amusement they brought was worth the risk.