[Orofaniel]

The garden surrounding the Palace had been neatly polished for this particular event; the flowers were blossoming, giving one and all the scent of delicacy and beauty. The statues stood still but they seemed alive this evening. The water in the fountains was dancing; the spectacular water drops made the eye heed no other objects, as they made such a comfort to the troubled mind. Evrathol gazed upon it all; he couldn't remember when the palace had been so full of magnificence and beauty as in this moment. Was it a new place he had come too? Intrigued and fascinated by the sudden, but interminable, beauty of the garden, he walked swiftly over the ground. Evrathol could feel the heaviness of his clothing; the sweet coloured robe he wore was of the finest fabrics. His boots were high and showed great confidence, reflecting the elf that wore them. His face however, still holding the usual mask; stiff and unchanged. His hair was hanging down on his back, neatly in a braid, while some of his hair hung loose around his ears. It made his face look broader.

The guests were going to be of the finest rank. Evrathol wondered what he was doing among them; clearly because he was the General's son and because he was a part of the Royal Court, but he couldn't quite understand what he'd done to earn such a great position among these fine and noble guests. He, however, didn't object, quite on the contrary; he embraced the possibilities he had, what else was he to do?

The room he was standing in right now didn’t quite capture Evrathol’s interest as much as the garden had done; the carpet was of a ghastly colour that he wouldn’t be able to describe in words. Evrathol, however, smiled - being polite as he is. He looked around himself, digesting the new atmosphere that was filled with new impressions each time he turned around. Standing there quietly, in his own thoughts, one of the servants stepped up to him. "Excuse me, sir," he said politely. "You are the good lord Evrathol, are you not?" the servant continued while making a small gesture with his hand. Evrathol nodded, full of confidence, wondering what the servant wanted from him. "Her Majesty, the Queen, has asked your parents to meet her at the banquet entrance," the servant then started. "I see..." Evrathol interrupted. He should have known the Queen's kindness to ask the General and his family to attend her during the banquet. He sighed a little, but waited for the servant to finish. "I believe they are already with her, although I'm not quite sure," he said looking around. Evrathol knew what he was thinking; Evrathol had come late as the banquet was now about to start. The servant then turned to Evrathol once again, explaining him that Evrathol was expected to attend them. "Thank you, my good servant," Evrathol then said. "At your service," the servant said, smiling weakly as he was dismissed.

Walking across the floor, he wondered where the General and his wife might be. Perhaps they were already at the banquet entrance, he didn't know. He decided to follow the elegant hallway that he had approached; It was far longer than he would have imagined at first, it was, however, neatly decorated with tapestries that even Evrathol found enchanting. The result of walking down the long hallway was nothing else than the banquet entrance. He eyed two figures in the corner; knowing that by the black raven hair and the fine figures, it had to be the General and his wife - Evrathol's parents. Walking towards them, they didn't notice him at first, as they seemed to be preoccupied with something else. By looking at his mother, he felt that the time of his arrival had been most inconvenient, not only for his mother, but both of them. They seemed to take no heed of him, as they were heavily debating things of great mattes- or so it seemed. They did turn however, as soon as they heard Evathol's voice.

"General - father - I hear you're expected me..." Evrathol let out, now standing right in front of them. Evrathol's voice was as always, full of confidence. He then bowed to his mother, who looked ever so charming this evening. "Thank you my dear," she said as Evrathol kissed her cheek. "Good evening son," his father said, smiling, but he didn't seem too joyful. "My apologises for having to let you wait. It was very wrong of me; please do forgive me," Evarthol then said, first looking at his mother, then turning to his father. Morgôs nodded, but took no heed to what Evrathol had said. "Do not worry, my son," Arlöme said, pausing before continuing; "Her Majesty, the Queen, has not arrived yet."

"Have you seen the Emissary?" Morgôs then asked Evrathol, breaking the short silence that had occurred.

"Nay, unfortunately not. Not yet at least," Evrathol said, feeling obliged to use the word "unfortunately" as he cared little for the newcomers and the gifts. He didn’t return the question to his father as Evrathol had the feeling that Morgôs hadn’t met the Emissary himself yet.

"That is why they are holding this banquet, is it not? In the Emissary's honour?" Evrathol continued, lowering his voice. He knew, of course, the answer to his silly question, but he found no other way of continuing the conversation. "Indeed it is," Arlöme answered quickly.

"You don't tell me you've seen him, do you?" Evrathol asked his mother a bit surprised; he had the impression that she might have since her answer had come so quickly. "No, not really, maybe a small glimpse. Just a small one," she said firmly.

Evrathol raised an eyebrow, but his mother didn't notice it. He wondered why his father was speaking so little this evening.