[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Síriel glided down the steps to her father's garden at precisely two in the afternoon. Her eyes were sparkling with fun and she whistled under her breath as she went. A handsome soldier, a masquerade ball, and a delightful costume... what more could she want in one day? Even the weather was perfect, smilingly sunny, and not too warm for Síriel's fitted black top. She crossed a back hall and pushed out through the black iron and glass doors that led to the small walled garden where she had promised to meet Thenidir.

He was there waiting, tall and resplendent in his guardsman's uniform. He bowed low as she approached, and Síriel replied with a deep curtsey. Slipping her arm through his the two walked demurely through the rows of fragrant herbs and flowers, their bright scents making Síriel's head reel. "So," she began experimentally, "what service can you do me today?"

Thenidir chuckled, rubbed a finger across his jawline, freshly shaven in fact. The girl didn't mince words. "Well, milady, I can show you a good time today, if you'll come out into the city with me." Síriel considered this. She wasn't dressed to go into the city, but then again, if she was fit to be seen by Thenidir, what did she care about the common people? She smiled, leaned hard against his shoulder and sighed.

“I couldn’t, you know. It simply wouldn’t be proper.” She looked up at him regretfully, knowing that he would respond the way she wanted him to. The invitation was promptly retreated, and Síriel spun her parasol delightedly as she listened to Thenidir elaborate on throwing caution to the winds, and how lovely it would be. She sighed heavily, batted her eyelashes (ridiculously, if only she knew it) and finally spoke. “I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t, but let’s go, just this once!” She smiled up at Thenidir, who smiled back tentatively and took her hand.

They left the garden through the gate in the stone wall, finding themselves in the bustling streets of Minas Tirith. Thenidir led Síriel through the crowded marketplaces and the back alleys, pointing out things that the Steward’s daughter had never had time or opportunity to discover. The stall where the best paper for making children’s kites could be bought, the bakery that sold the most delicious cakes and pastries, the milliner that could transform the drabbest hat into the most delightful. Síriel squealed with delight as they passed the milliner’s shop, peering inside at a delectable creation of red feathers and lace that greatly resembled her costume for the masquerade.

The masquerade. Síriel stopped still in the street, Thenidir pausing a step behind her to look at her with worried eyes. “My brother’s masquerade ball! I had forgotten… Oh I have no time to get ready.” Her eyes were apologetic as she lifted her skirts and turned back in the direction of the Citadel. Looking upward at the heights of the city made her open her eyes wide with astonishment. They had come so far, it must be a full hour’s walk back! “Where are we?” Síriel asked, hesitantly, the lower circles were not very familiar to her, and she wondered how she would get back quickly enough to prepare for the masquerade.

“I’ll take you back right away, Lady Síriel.” Thenidir spoke in a low voice, touching her elbow with his hand.

“No, find me a carriage, it will be faster that way.” Thenidir nodded and lifted her hand to his lips before turning and walking quickly away in the direction of the nearest garrison of the guard. Síriel huddled against a wall, slightly embarrassed to be seen alone here, in the lower levels, dressed in afternoon clothes as the sun began to sink behind Mindolluin. Oh how she hoped Thenidir wouldn’t be long.
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Tíriel stood in front of a mirror, surveying her costume. The white gown she wore was extremely becoming, if a little lower cut in the front than the conservative Tíriel preferred. The low waistline was set with small green stones that formed a belt around her waist, the sleeves were full and gauzy giving the illusion of wings. A long plume of feathers proceeded from the bustle of her dress and swept the floor. Her jeweled and feathered half-mask had a long black bill and black stones set at the corners of the eyes. She held the mask in front of her face for a moment, a satisfied smile creeping across her lips. A wonderful costume, and she would match Síriel so perfectly.

“A swan indeed,” Gaerlin whispered in her ear, as he crept up behind her and put his arms around her waist.

Tíriel relaxed in his hug for a moment before scolding him quietly, “Don’t rumple my plumage, you big oliphaunt.” Gaerlin laughed and turned her around, looking at her dress with approval.

He bowed ceremoniously. “Are you ready to go, my lady?” he asked her, his eyes still laughing. She leaned in and kissed his cheek quickly before nodding, and allowing him to lead her out of the house to the waiting carriage.

[ August 31, 2003: Message edited by: Sophia the Thunder Mistress ]