Chapter 27 – Dancing and Romancing

Aragorn had a bad feeling when he noticed the hobbits enter the hall in company of four lovely ladies, none of whom he had ever seen at court before. That bad feeling became an omen when the hobbits spotted him and began guiding the ladies towards him. They reached him and his companions within a few moments. The hobbits nodded to Faramir and Imrahil but their attention was on Aragorn. For their part, the ladies couldn’t seem to settle on any one thing and were glancing around the hall and the people there with looks of wonder, joy and amazed disbelief. Only when the hobbits began the introductions did they pull their attention forward to look upon the king.

“Good evening, Strider,” Frodo said with a toothy hobbit grin and an expression of pure innocence. “We wanted to introduce our companions to you. This is the first time they’ve ever been to a ball and they were most excited to meet you.”

“Scared is more like it, but we promised them you don’t bite,” Pippin quipped. The ladies giggled nervously. “Strider, Faramir, Imrahil, this is the lovely Miss Laine, daughter of Mardin.”

Laine curtsied, a blush on her fair face. The men bowed courteously. “Your servant, Miss,” they said.

Merry went next. “Good sirs, this is Miss Isolda, daughter of Mardin.”

Isolda was a few inches shorter than her sister and her face was more rounded, but that was where the differences ended. Both ladies had long raven hair that fell loosely down their backs and smoky grey eyes that shined with excitement. Isolda curtsied in her turn, blushing even more than her sister had. Aragorn guessed that she was perhaps the younger of the two.

Sam took his companion’s hand and held it through the introductions. “Miss Esti, daughter of Tovar, this is Prince Imrahil, Prince Faramir and Strider, the King Elessar.”

Esti appeared to be the youngest of the four and certainly the most nervous. She clutched onto Sam’s hand as she curtsied and held her breath until the men returned the favor. Her dark brown hair was pulled back at the temples with combs shaped like doves. Her blue eyes lingered over Aragorn in adoration.

Frodo went last. “May I introduce Miss Marja, daughter of Orphendel.”

Marja faired better with the introductions that the other ladies. She executed her curtsy with aplomb. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Highnesses,” she said in a soft, lilting voice. She wore a butterfly comb with trailing beads that sat against her dark hair, and her silver eyes sparkled as she held out her hand for the king to take.

Aragorn, having no other choice, took it and kissed it lightly.

“The pheriannath have told us so much about you,” Marja continued. “We look forward to getting to know you better.”

Pippin cleared his throat and looked at Faramir pointedly. Faramir gave the slightest of nods. “Oh look,” he said suddenly to Imrahil, “there is Lord Amlich. We should approach him and find out how go the preparations for the last refugees.” He pulled Imrahil after him, departing before Aragorn could think of some reason for them to stay.

Aragorn’s suspicions grew. His foster brothers had warned him the hobbits were up to something, but neither had known what that may be. Looking at these four ladies, all with a striking resemblance to his betrothed, Aragorn thought he could guess. Perhaps Gandalf was right and he should have told the hobbits about Arwen.

“These lovely ladies work as bar wenches at The Peeking Eagle,” Merry announced. “They were worried you would look down on them for that, but we assured them you would not.”

“I have heard many fine things of the establishment,” Aragorn said. “I had some of the ale delivered for tonight’s festivities. It is a marvelous brew.”

“We only serve it, Your Highness,” said Esti, clearly not interested in discussion of hops. She smiled sweetly. “Though we are pleased that you enjoy it.”

“Your pleasure is of the utmost importance to us,” purred Marja.

“The ladies have all sorts of questions they wanted to ask you, Strider,” Merry continued, still smiling innocently. “I assured them you are a kind and patient king, and you’d be more than willing to give them a good chat and perhaps a dance or two. We leave them in your capable hands.” Then the hobbits too departed swiftly.

Before he knew it, Aragorn found himself alone with the four ladies. They were watching him expectantly, and despite their bold words while the hobbits had been present, there was an anxious look in each of their eyes. Aragorn knew how they felt, and his own discomfort wasn’t helped when he noticed that they all wore dresses that generously displayed their womanly attributes. He cleared his throat and promised to strangle the hobbits – and Faramir – at the first available opportunity.

“Tell us, Your Majesty, if you will,” said Marja. “Do you enjoy living in the city? Is it what you imagined?”

“I have been here before, years ago,” Aragorn said, “but it is not entirely as I remember it.”

“For truth, the city is quite banged up,” said Esti, frowning. She seemed ready to say something else but thankfully couldn’t bring herself to do it.

Isolda patted her arm. “She was one of the first to return after the war. At least when we came back, some of the rubble had been cleared away. But the Gates. That was a shock, seeing them like that.”

“Did you ladies grow up here in the city?” Aragorn asked.

“Only Isolda and I,” said Laine. She smiled sweetly. “We know all the ways of the city, all the paths and all its secrets.”

“We could give you a tour sometime,” said Isolda in a sultry voice. “We can show you places no one else knows.”

“That I do not doubt, but I enjoy discovering the ways of the city on my own,” Aragorn said. “It is much like scouting through the wilds and unfamiliar terrain.”

“A very apt description, Your Majesty,” said Marja, batting her eyes. “We’ve heard that you’re a master scout. If there is any man capable of taming our wilds, it would be you.”

Aragorn forced a grin. Frodo had warned him Merry was close to solving the riddle Sam had uncovered. Frodo had said to beware Merry’s retribution, but it was apparent that all the hobbits had decided to participate. Why couldn’t they have just streaked through the ball to seek their revenge? But Aragorn already knew that answer. For that to be proper revenge, they would have had to somehow trick Aragorn into streaking. As they clearly couldn’t do that, they had chosen the next best thing.

He really should have listened to Gandalf.

“Ladies, I appreciate your interest, but tell me truthfully. Did the hobbits put you up to this?” he asked.

They nodded. “They did. Are you upset?” Esti asked, looking worried.

“Only at myself,” Aragorn answered. “I suspect they are paying me back for keeping a secret from them. I will be more than glad to share a dance with each of you after the ceremony. For now, there is food and drink aplenty. Eat and enjoy yourselves.”

“Sir Peregrin said you might try to get rid of us,” said Isolda. The ladies were no longer behaving seductively, thank the stars, but they didn’t look ready to leave his side either. “He said we were to stick by you no matter what you said. They all say you’re lonely. We’ll keep you company.”

“That is kind, but not necessary,” said Aragorn.

“This is a ball, Your Majesty,” said Marja. “You can spend the night with the four of us, or with every other lady in the hall, and all their single daughters.”

“You make a worthy point,” said Aragorn. “In that case, go and find yourselves something to eat and join me at the High Table. You can meet my foster brothers and get a better view of the festivities.”

“You are most generous, Your Majesty,” said Esti. They curtsied just as a bell rang. 

The hall fell into silence for a moment of reverence as everyone looked out the western windows to the setting sun. Then servants entered the hall, carrying trays of food that were placed upon the many tables. 

Esti and her friends excused themselves and went to the nearest table. They were ravenous and more than curious about the Haradrim food of which they had heard so much over the last two weeks. And now they would meet the king’s elf brothers and dine at the High Table!

“Wait a moment,” said Isolda, looking around the hall at all the lords, ladies and other guests. The hall was so full that at first she had not noticed, but now… “Where are the Haradrim?”  

Word had traveled quickly through the city of the young lords called upon to participate in the night’s festivities. By the time the Fellowship and their guests reached Merethrond, speculation had reached its pinnacle. The hall was abuzz with rumor and intrigue as everyone attempted to solve this most compelling of mysteries. After the hobbits left their guests with Aragorn, they joined Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf in their efforts to stanch what worries they could.

“Called out of a meeting with Lord Devorin, he was,” said Sir Anron of his nephew, Lord Alcaron. “They wouldn’t even tell his father what it was about.”

“There are times when such secrecy is required,” said Legolas. “I would not be alarmed, as you will soon be seeing for yourself the result of this intrigue.”

“He was still slumbering,” Lady Elainel said of her son, Lord Dairmir. “He was out late and did not return home until after midnight. He’s not an early riser on his best days, and they wouldn’t even allow him time to get dressed! It was most alarming.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Pippin reassured her. “I understand it to be a great honor to be asked to participate in this particular ritual.” That he didn’t know what the ritual entailed seemed hardly worth mentioning.

“They drink blood in some of their ceremonies, I’ve heard,” said Sir Indor from Ringló Vale.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear,” Gandalf advised, with a glance around the hall. “Too often do people speak when they know nothing at all.”

“It’s a ceremony of some sort, that’s all I know,” Gimli told Lord Duinhir, whose young nephew, Lord Dagnir, was one of the participants. Duinhir had lost both his sons in the Battle of the Pelennor and so was feeling especially concerned about his nephew's participation in this supposed ceremony.

“Ceremony. What sort I wonder. I do hope he won’t be expected to sing,” said Lord Duinhir, trying to make light of the situation, for all the worry in his eyes. “That boy couldn’t carry a tune to save his life.”

Frodo and Sam found the bards, but none of them knew anything either. “We were told to warm up in our homes,” said Radigis. “I do know the young lords were in the dressing room for hours, longer than they spent learning their part in the festivities for tonight.”

“How do you know this?” Frodo asked.

“My wife was helping to prepare the stage while they were rehearsing. It is some sort of dance. That is all she dared tell me.”

The women were concerned with other matters entirely. “Do you think the young lords will be wearing the same outfits that the savage men wore for the welcoming feast?” Mistress Isilmë asked, fanning herself in anticipation.

“How scandalous!” her maid declared, looking equally hopeful. “They were hardly wearing anything at all!”

“Lord Alcaron would look quite fetching in that little kilt,” said young Lady Inzilbêth. “Perhaps if I like what I see, I will consent to marry him.”

Legolas overheard this on his way back to Gimli. He leaned down to whisper in his friend’s ear. “Can you believe this? And with their husbands and fathers just a few feet away.”

“That is nothing,” Gimli said. “Dwarf women have tongues that would shock a harlot. Speaking of harlots…”

Legolas followed Gimli’s gaze to where the four bar wenches had rejoined Aragorn. The wenches had passed over the little doilies the other ladies were using for their dainties in favor of small plates piled high with a sample of each of the dishes provided.

“So this city does have women who know how to eat!” exclaimed Gimli with admiration.

“Perhaps we should go rescue him,” Legolas said.

“Don’t you dare!” Frodo said, coming to join them.

“You planned this together, did you?” Gimli asked.

“We did,” Pippin admitted, joining them also. “Someone needed to call his bluff, but as he wanted to be all secretive about it, we couldn’t simply tell him that we knew.”

“Why not?” asked Legolas.

“That wouldn’t be as much fun,” Pippin said.

“Thanks to Sam, we were able to find a roundabout way of telling him that his ruse was spoilt,” Frodo said and beamed at his friend.

“This was your idea?” Gandalf asked, turning to join their conversation as well. He raised a bushy eyebrow at Sam.

Sam blushed. “No, it weren’t exactly.”

“It was so! Well, yours and Merry’s,” Pippin said. “We couldn’t figure out why Strider just didn’t tell us. Then Sam said, ‘well, maybe he’s just lonely and talking about it would make him lonelier,’ to which Merry said, ‘how can he be lonely with all of us here?’ Then Sam said, ‘he’s lonely for a lass’s company,’ to which Merry replied, ‘well, I wanted to give him a lass’s company until you talked me out of it.’ So that’s when Frodo decided that Merry and I should go and find him some female companionship, and now he has four dark beauties to entertain him through the night.”

“For the feast only, of course,” Frodo amended, catching Legolas’s alarmed look. “They’ve been told this is merely a jest. They were somewhat scandalized at the idea of playing a jest on the king, but what lass can resist the prospect of dressing up and attending a royal ball?”  

The Haradrim appeared two hours into the ball. The wide double doors to the hall opened and the entire royal court entered, lead by their queen and king. The vizier and prince followed, and behind them were their attendants, the translators Soroush and Ashtir, the queen’s ladies-in-waiting and lastly the dancers and musicians with their drums and sitars. They filed into the hall in a double-lined procession that seemed never to end. When finally the last of them had entered, the doors were closed behind them and half the candles were extinguished, plunging the hall into semi-darkness.

The court went onto the stage and sat at the High Table, while the dancers and musicians formed two circles in the middle of the floor. The musicians formed the inner circle, sitting down on pillows that they had carried in with them. The dancers formed the outer circle, and this time both men and women were included, seven of each.

The ladies wore dance dresses with long, wide sleeves and skirts. The dresses alternated between burgundy and sky blue, with the lead dancer in red-orange. Wide trim of white lace decorated the hems and white lace was sewn into strange patterns up the sleeves and skirts. The bodice was a block of fabric, a shade darker than the dress, with lace and beads embroidered in four sections of square or chevron patterns. Over their heads were scarves matching their dresses, held in place by beaded circlets, and their feet were bare.

The men all wore beige kilts down to their knees, decorated with a simple belt, beaded the same as the ladies’ scarves. They wore closed vests that matched the patterns and colors on the ladies’ dresses, and tribal paint decorated their arms, legs and shaved heads. They stood in a line behind the ladies, waiting for the music to begin.

“Where is my son?” asked Lady Elainel.

“I don’t see my nephew,” said Lord Duinhir.

“Where’s Osric?” asked Wulf. “I thought he was supposed to be part of this.”

“I don’t know,” Merry said, looking around. “I don’t see any of the Gondorian lords either.”

“I think that’s them,” Sam said, pointing at the male dancers.

“Impossible. Osie has hair,” said Penda, then gasped. He blinked and looked again, squinting at the dancers to be sure. “By Hammerhand, that is him!”

“No, it can’t be,” said Ecgberht but his protest trailed off as he too looked closer at the third dancer. “They shaved his head?” he asked in horror, running a hand through his own locks to ensure himself they were still there.

“I don’t believe it,” said Wulf.

“He’s not paired with Jamila,” Pippin said, for Jamila stood in the center, wearing the red-orange dress. Behind her stood Lord Alcaron, looking more than uncomfortable. In fact, all the men looked both ready to bolt and determined to play their parts, but the determination was slowly giving way to their desire to flee as more people around the hall made the same realizations.

“Aragorn said a sacrifice would be required,” Gandalf said. “It is a small one and reasonable.”

Ecgberht looked ready to protest this when he thought better of arguing with the White Wizard and closed his mouth.

Everyone was so excited and appalled with their discovery of the identity of the seven male dancers, that they at first didn’t notice when the tombak players began to tap out a fast beat. Each drummer played a different beat, one layering on top of another, until the rhythm filled the air and became a pulse within each person, stronger than a heartbeat.

The ladies began to move, a quick and cheerful dance of intricate arm movements and hand claps. They stepped out of their positions and danced in a circle around the men. When they reached their partners again, the men joined the dance, echoing the women's movements but at a distance of an arm’s length. The third time around, the two lines drew in closer together and with each pass the distance between them narrowed more until on the sixth pass they were nearly touching. On the seventh pass, the line merged. The dancers were now a hand’s width away from each other and still they did not touch. Everyone watching held their breath’s, certain the next step would meet with a stumble, a slip of the foot, a turn taken too soon. The seventh pass ended and the dancers collapsed, the women falling to the right, the men to the left, and the music stopped.

Then a setar player began plucking out an intricate rhythm, and Jamila and Lord Alcaron rose to their feet and began a simple pairs dance, their hands coming within inches of touching but never making contact. As they finished their first pattern, a second couple rose from the floor to join them, then the third and so on until all seven couples were up, dancing in a starburst pattern.

The setar dropped away and a pair of ney flutes and a kamancheh began to play in soft, sultry tones. The couples separated into lines, which slowly drew into circles. Now the dance, before happy and carefree, became seductive, the women on the inside of the circle stepping in and out between the men in the outer circle, daring them to touch. The men’s dance grew more aggressive with each passing, reaching out, playing with the temptation, hands brushing against fabric, mere inches from skin.

By the time the seventh pass ended and the dancers slid to the ground in the traditional bow to the queen and king, the whole hall was transfixed with bated breath. The audience erupted into enthusiastic applause. The queen and king bowed their heads, indicating their satisfaction with the performance. The Haradrim performers rose to their feet with expert ease, the Gondorians and Osric with less finesse.

Wulf and Penda whooped over the din of the applause, drawing Osric’s attention. He nodded to them but pointed to the musicians and dancers who were making their way towards the stage. He was not yet released of his duty. He followed the Gondorian lords onto the stage and managed to claim a spot near Jamila at the stage’s edge. They all sat tailor-fashion on pillows provided there as food and drink were brought to them by the queen’s servants. Meanwhile, servants went around the hall, relighting the extinguished candles.

“Well, that was unexpected,” said Sam. “I liked that!”

“It was quite riveting,” Frodo agreed.

“I didn’t think Osie had it in him,” said Wulf in wonder. “But his hair…”

“That’s going to take years to grow back out,” Cuthred said with immense sympathy.

Merry frowned. “Poor lad. Is he at least already courting a lass?”

Wulf shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. No lass will want him now.”

“Surely it won’t be so tragic as all that. It’s only hair,” Pippin said.

“You’ve never had your foot shaved,” Sam said, thinking of the time he had sprained his ankle. The healer had been wise to give him a sleeping draught before shaving his foot hair in preparation for the cast, but what a shock that had been when the cast was at last removed!

Penda gasped in sudden horror. “I do hope that is tribal paint and not a tattoo.”

“It would be impossible to do that much detail work in seven hours,” Wulf reasoned, but shuddered none the less. “I wonder how long it takes for that come off.”

“Too long, I wager,” said Ecgberht.

“How much are you willing to bet?” asked Wulf.

Pippin rolled his eyes. “Come on, lads,” he said to his cousins and Sam. “Let’s see how Strider is faring with his lasses.”

They reached the High Table as the Citadel minstrels took the stage and began playing, encouraging everyone to dance. Pippin and Merry sat directly across from Strider and grinned. “So, don’t you owe these ladies a dance?” they asked in unison.

“I do, but first they wish to dance with you,” Aragorn said with a sly grin. “They are your guests after all, and they don’t mind about the height difference.”

The ladies rose and circled the table to stand beside the hobbits. Sam looked up at his guest and sighed. “I knew this was a bad idea,” he muttered, then offered his arm to Esti. At least word of this would never reach the Shire – or Rosie, if Merry and Pippin knew what was good for them.

To be continued…

GF 8/24/09
Published 9/21/09