[Anguirel]

Drenda suppressed an anguished gasp of frustration as he saw the Chieftain's son practically ripped out of their conversation...by none other than his mother. As usual. A part of Drenda acknowledged that his mother existed to further his success, but it was often suppressed by the way he resented her harsh charm in moments like these; he was conscious he was arresting to look at himself, but that was scarcely any advantage at all for a real man. With a kind of aching annoyance, he turned back to Torguar...

A short, compact, even dumpy figure had rapidly joined them. At first Drenda, seeing another woman, felt like swearing out loud his hatred of all female kind in perpetuity, and their meddling meanderings. But then the girl, much to his surprise, gripped Torguar by the shoulder and began whispering urgently, evidently wanting the older man to go with her. Of course, Drenda realised! This was the daughter!

He almost laughed, and with some real happiness too, as the pair of them began to move off from the bench, Torguar apparently having supped too well to offer any effectual resistance. And besides, the girl was evidently a tough little creature. He smiled without effort at the departing couple, uncertain if either had seen him, though the maid - Tora, that was her name - did throw a glance back. His smile grew wider. She was thoroughly disappointing to look at, of course, but he hadn't expected much, and he found her ready handling of her tiresome old boor of a sire really quite funny.

With a birdlike movement of his head, the youth scanned the Hall for Uldor and his mother, but could not track them...and at that moment there was another commotion at the door. Some of Uldor's household, henchmen of the yes-man Brodda, had come in, and word rapidly circulated that the Elvish envoys were on their way...

***

"I weary you, my lord, I fear," Gausen said, at the other side of the hall with Uldor, behind a convenient screen of sycophants talking and bragging with noisy meaningless.

"I would never wish to weary you. Yet if you ever feel fatigued by the weight of your affairs...remember that I know a little of the world's hardships, that we are of an age, and of a mind, that I have fondness for you, my lord..."

The widow still avoided mirth, curling her large lips inward, as if assuming a look of extreme piety, as she murmured in the heir's alert ear...

"...fondness equal to that I hold for my child. You are more steadfast than a brother, too, Lord; kinder than a husband. Yet there are some who would look with unfriendly eyes on our friendship, even as they do on your glory..."

Gausen dropped her voice ever lower, and crept ever closer. "Amid your pleasures and your might, lord, be mindful of your brother Ulfast. He knows how to fight. He killed my lord long ago, and he could kill again..."

She steered her reluctant companion to a gap in the press, guiding his haughty glance towards where Drenda stood, staring idly about.

"A good lad, my lord. Tall and strong. Tell me, Lord Uldor, would it not suit you in your heart of hearts to have one brother instead of two...?"