At the banquet that evening, the Nine were sitting at the highest table, grouped around the Lord Radik himself. It was the first time they had seen
him since their arrival in Siobhangé, and again he conveyed an air
of formidable charm and capabilities. He was a powerful man, lean and dark,
with glittering, hard eyes, and an overpowering air. Contrary to first
impressions, however, the Nine found him to be courteous, dignified, and
kind. He was adored by the fey, and all the Nine, the hobbits especially,
had been whispered slips of rumor about his greatness when the fey still
dwelt openly in Middle-Earth. He obviously adored his daughter, and it
was apparent where Anemosi had inherited her steady grace, her sweet nature,
and her earthy sense of humor. This was Sam's first encounter with the
fey king, and he was totally overwhelmed by Lord Radik's tremendous personal
magnetism.
The meal was a loud joyous affair, with many shouted conversations
being thrown across the great oaken tables. The Nine were unprepared for
such boisterous enthusiasm; after the myths they had heard from childhood
on up, they had expected an austere, solemn race that never smiled and
spent all its conversation on esoteric subjects, but once again, their
preconceptions were thrown out the window. The fey were a study in delicious
contradictions. The Lord Radik, for all his air of sober dignity and wisdom,
shouted bawdy jokes at the shier members of the dinner party and even dared
to jest at Gimli's sexual abilities. Instead of a growl and a vicious attack,
the dwarf laughed merrily and shouted down the table that if the king had
so much to brag about, why was only one daughter sitting at the table?
Tehr Radik threw back his raven head and laughed richly. "Hear ye,
my people! Never again shall I claim dwarves are cold and averse to humor,
for here is a dwarf who can bandy insults with me! I toast you, Gimli,
son of Gloin!" He raised his cup in Gimli's direction and drained it at
a swallow.
Seated between Frodo and Legolas, Sam ate with a hunger he couldn't
have rivaled back in the Shire. It seemed the food was working a spell
of its own, making the eater want more of the sustenance the more he ate
of it. He wiped his plate with a slice of heavy, dark bread, and stretched
himself cautiously. He was still sore in places, but Anemosi's magic had
healed him almost fully.
Anemosi...his thoughts flew to her across the table, and his gaze followed.
She was seated at her father's left, and was joining in the conversation
he was having with Gandalf. He drank her in as she ate, fascinated by the
clear angles of her body. She looked recovered from her weakness, but she
was still paler than usual.
Her hair was loose over her shoulders, and the movement of it against
her skin made his heart ache. He sighed gently, and as if at a signal,
her eyes turned to his.
Their gazes met, and a sudden clarity of knowledge dropped into his
mind. Every moment spent with her thus far had been leading up to this
realization: he had fallen in love with her.
His eyes dropped to his plate again, and suddenly food had no attraction
for him. He longed again to be alone with her in his room, talking, laughing,
merely enjoying her warm presence. It was torment to be caught here, among
shouting, exuberant people when all he desired was to be quiet, and to
sit beside her for a spell. Their secret meeting in the roses later that
night couldn't come soon enough.
Across the table, Anemosi watched him. She knew, within herself, that
her heart now lay with Sam. It did not amaze her that her feelings had
taken root so quickly, and so deep. They had been there since that first
meeting five years ago in the Shire, when she had seen something within
his character that none of the fey men possessed. She had seen it again
only a few days before, when she had come to his aid in the forest and
the first thought in his mind was the safety of Frodo. Yes, it was that
devotion that she had seen, that loyalty, and that brave heart hidden under
a simple rustic exterior. Her healing of his wounds had created a connection
between them, for no such intimate act could be undertaken without losing
part of oneself in the other. She knew then, that in the way that the fey
have, that she had been bonded to him for all time. The thought was overpowering.
She pushed her plate away, feeling slightly sick as she thought of the
staggering implications, not least of which was the burning desire to feel
his gardener's hands on her body.
She had to get away from the table; the sounds and smells assaulting
her senses were sickening. Without thinking, she threw her chair back and
stood, clutching the sides of the table in a death grip. Her father looked
up at her in concern, noting the set of her jaw and a slight trembling
throughout her body.
"Anemosi, my dearest, what is it?" His dark eyes met hers, and she
forced herself to smile. What could she say to him? For obvious reasons,
the most honest response of "I'm hot for that hobbit over there, would
you all mind clearing out so I can have my way with him?" was out, so she
racked her brain for a convenient excuse.
"I, um, er, ugh..."A splendid beginning! Now the whole high table was
looking at her; she couldn't been more conspicuous if her dress had fallen
off. What had her father and Gandalf been talking about? Ah! That was it!
Saved at last!
"Father, I could not help but overhear you as spoke with Master Gandalf,
and I am astonished to hear that we have, among us this evening, Aragorn,
son of Arathorn. I beg your leave to show my admiration for him, and the
rest of our esteemed guests, in our time-honored way." She could feel the
eyes of everyone in the hall upon her, and was painfully conscious of the
silence that had fallen upon the gathering. She smiled bravely at her father,
wishing fervently that she could have stayed in bed.
Lord Radik was about to respond to her when the door at the far end
of the hall flew open. A blast of cold air entered the hall, and a penetrating
sense of fear settled upon all those gathered. What was entering?