[piosenniel]

Idril sat at her desk, staring at the long list in front of her. She was ticking off items concerning the party, and was having problems moving past the first one. Leave it to Piosenniel to ruin her plans for a public exchange of rings and vows! Could that Elf never do anything the way it was supposed to be done?

Tuor had shaken his head at Idril’s concern, saying only that he was glad it had been done. And as far as he was concerned the summit of Meneltarma seemed a perfectly appropriate place to have Manwë, Varda, and Eru bear witness to the union.

But Idril had her heart set on seeing it done properly. She wanted to stand in stead of Pio’s mother and give the bridegroom his gift, and she wished for Tuor to do the same for the bride. She would have it also that she and Tuor would join the hands of the pair and bless them. And in her wildest imaginings she had already picked out a dress she wanted to see the much too boyish Elf in.

A frown creased her brow at her list of wants. She could already see Pio sighing and politely, but adamantly, refusing to follow through on any of this. She chewed hard on the end of the pen, and tapped it on her teeth.

Perhaps she could approach Mithadan? Or better yet, perhaps Tuor might approach him, and plead for help in keeping his own wife happy. She smiled at this idea, circled it twice, and moved on to the next section of party preparations.

Bird was handling the food needs, the lighting, and the music. She had better check with her on that. Many of the children had begun piling all sorts of noise makers on the large beach where the party would take place – sticks, pots and pans, shells filled with small pebbles and bound together with twine, small hollowed logs with grooves cut across them, spoons. What could Bird be thinking of doing with all these? They would make quite a din and the elves who had promised to bring their flutes would be drowned out.

She wondered what Bird was thinking of for lights. The swanships could be anchored in close to the shore and their elven lamps lit. Those, and perhaps a bonfire at night, maybe one or two torches should be enough.

Ancalimon had already promised her that he would do the fireworks, and Coral and Shell had immediately volunteered to help him. They already had some ideas for some lovely effects, and they had a new helper, Kesha, along with them. He was just as enthused as they were about the art of pyrotechnics and couldn’t wait to be on the production end of it.

Daisy and Azraph had organized the others of their age to do the decoration of the site. Younger Hobbits and Hobbrim lent their eager hands to gathering the materials needed. Fragrant flowers and greenery, and little star shaped shells on ribbons to dangle from the branches of the trees set back from the the beach.

Someone should be asked to do a welcome to the party - she would talk to Cami about that. Then perhaps the actual wedding ceremony should come next, nothing too elaborate about that, just short, sweet, and final! At last, then,, a time for eating and drinking. Her pen flew over the paper as she drew up her plans.

She needed to talk to the Loremaster. Perhaps she could do that when she talked to Cami. He had mentioned he wanted to say a few words of thanksgiving. Come to think of it, Phura had been present when he had spoken to her and has nodded his head ‘yes’ also. Andril, also, should be included in all of this.

Idril wondered when Cami wanted to present the quilt to the man and Elf. She had better work that in somewhere – perhaps at the end, just before the fireworks. She circled it along with the previous two sections to talk to Cami about.

She held up the piece of paper and surveyed the entire plan. It was doable. Day after tomorrow would be best, she thought, looking at the extent of her plan still to be put in place.

The speakers would need a little time to prepare. The musicians would have time to practice. Gandalf and his assistants would have time for some glorious displays. Decorations would be complete. And most important of all, at least to her mind, was that there would be time to get the couple on board with the full, traditional Elven, observance of custom.

She put down her pen, the first two fingers of her right hand now stained black from ink, sat back in her chair, and smiled.

‘Tuor!’ she called sweetly. ‘I have something urgent I need you to do . . .’

[ November 22, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]