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“Of course,” answered Lily. Something had happened to Gróin while getting their drinks, but if he preferred not to talk about it, Lily didn’t want to push. She took a sip of her ale, more for politeness than because she actually liked it. In fact, she did not much like ale at all and would have preferred cider. But once more she did not say anything. She forced herself to take a second and a third swallow before setting the mug down. At any rate, if she drank much more she knew that it would go straight to her head, and she doubted that getting drunk would help in any real way.
Gróin did appear quite eager to return to dancing, and Lily did not disagree. She had too much time to think while standing around, and she did not want to think. Not of the sweet rides through the Shire countryside, nor of the flowers Posco had once woven in her hair, nor of anything.
But when she returned to the dancing with Gróin, she could only feel as if she were simply going through the motions. She smiled as brightly as ever, and her feet were light as silvery moonbeams upon the ground, yet her eyes lacked that special sparkle. The lively song sounded torrential to her ears. She wished that her carefree attitude that had fooled everyone, even herself, would become real, that she could cease to care, but she was too honest for that. She could put on a magnificent show for everyone else, even for Gróin, so attuned to everyone else’s problems, but she could not do the same for herself.
If only her heart could be as light as her feet.
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