“And what of the wine order?” asked Parnard.
“It arrived, complete and unbroken. You are drinking some of it now.”
“Excellent!” said Parnard, and grinned at the Vintner of Imladris. “Now that business is concluded, I am pleased to tell you, my friend, that I have just returned from a dancing lesson, where I observed some fine and wonderful dancing. Not that watching is the best way to learn, but it gave me a good observation on how it is done, when I did not know the steps. I knew the Brandle, of course, but the arms do not simply hang like dead weight (as I have seen it performed), but are held forward in a graceful curve.” Here Parnard paused in talking to demonstrate, and held his wine glass precariously over Sogadan’s head. “And the feet were never raised too high, as we are not jumping over mountains, but are glided across the floor ever so gently. We did not dance the Jig, for that requires a little kicking here and there, and that would not be seemly, you know, to these folk.” Parnard laughed outrageously for several seconds and winked at the vintner.
“To see a company so well-dressed, and so well-behaved - O Sogadan! are we not always! dancing so neatly, and seeing everyone taking so much care to look and act their very best, must be tremendously gratifying to Lord Anglachelm. I saw a hop-step, which I have never seen performed outside the Greenwood. We did not dance it too often underneath the tall trees after a time, on account of the spiders. But once upon a time, my friend, the woods beat with a wild music - ah, me!”
“I do not understand it, Sogadan,” he said, changing the subject, “because I never thought of the idea myself, but somehow I discovered that I am escorting Brasseniel to the Ball. You remember Brasseniel - that pretty black-haired lady.”
“The loud one,” spoke the vintner.
“Loud? Ha! ha! No, no, not at all. You must be confusing her with someone else, my friend. There are so many black-haired ladies skipping around in the house, that I am not surprised in the least, but I think you would remember her, she wore a neat green dress, and -” Parnard paused, unsure if he should continue or not: Sogadan was looking at him in that funny way of his.
“Well,” Parnard shrugged. “Eliriael is a very good dancing teacher. She had everyone dancing in a few minutes! That is not to say all the dance steps were learned perfectly. But I did not see any feet trodden, and that is promising, very promising!” He smiled, thinking of parts of Brasseniel that were somewhat higher than floor level.
“‘It should be the aim of anyone to do everything well that is worth doing,’” Sogadan quoted the old elvish proverb, and seeing himself ignored, and Parnard altogether too happy for his liking, added waspishly, “Did you know, dear friend, that the dance-floor is a place where many a courtship begins?”
“Courtship! - what! No, I did not know that, Sogadan!” The Lord Ambassador’s wineglass froze in mid-air. Parnard found himself wishing he had not mentioned Brasseniel. One never knew who was listening in the gallery above.
“Oh yes. For the lordly folk and soldiers, it is a time to show off their less-than-serious side; and a good place to display a portion of well-turned leg.”
“Yes…” Parnard said unenthusiastically, as familiar with the general customs of courtship as he was with the dances of the Noldor, and not liking this last observation of Sogadan’s very much at all.
