Gaeradan knocked softly on the entry to the King’s chambers. He heard the familiar muffled voiced, raised as if in greeting, and opened the door. ‘My Lord, I’ve come with the papers we discussed this afternoon.’
The King pushed his goblet of wine to the side, and motioned Gaeradan to him. The night was warm, and the doors to the room’s porch were open, allowing the fragrance of the night-blooming flowers in the gardens below to filter in. ‘I’ve gotten the names of the suppliers and a list of their costs. I’m confident we’ve come to reasonable deals with each of them.’ Tarannon glanced over the sheaf of papers and put them aside for closer inspection later.
‘Sit down, Gaeradan.’ Tarannon reached for a goblet from the serving tray and poured the man some wine. Gaeradan took a sip, then put his drink down as Tarannon leaned toward him, asking how the plans for Tarciryan’s arrival were proceeding.
‘I’ve made arrangements for Eärnil with the various masters. We’re fairly well set in that area. And I’ve just returned from the Cook. There will be a small dinner party – You, the Queen, Tarcyran and his family. I will be there to attend on you, should you need me.’ Tarannon nodded his head, thoughtfully as Gaeradan made his report.
The talk turned to other matters – the King wanting to reminisce about his brother, Gaeradan filling in with stories of his own. He left the King’s chambers in a good mood and made his way back to his own.
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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