Dinner was a quiet affair, which meant in Gondorian culture that only half of Merethrond was used, and everyone only wore their normal silks.  The King and his Queen were seated at the head of the main table, with select guests of honor.  Of course the ambassador had to be accorded a place, but he spoke little.

            At the King’s right sat the Wizard whose task it had been to marshal the great fight against the Enemy.  Aragorn leaned over to speak in his ear.  “There is an unexpected matter upon which I would have counsel with you.”

            Mithrandir nodded his consent.  “After the last course, then.”

            From Elessar’s left, the Queen glanced keenly at her husband, then at Gandalf.  Their eyes met, and slowly the expression of the Wizard changed.

            Instantly the King looked at him.  “What is she telling you?”

            Gandalf shrugged.  “That it is a personal matter between herself and you and that I had best not interfere.”

            Aragorn attempted to focus his eyes on both individuals at once, with great difficulty.

            “And,” Gandalf continued, “if I understand her communications concerning this matter aright, I am not entirely sure if I wish to interfere.”  There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, though it could have just been a trick of the eye.

            “At least I would like it if this matter were postponed until after the delegations are over!”

            Arwen laughed.  “You forget, love, the folly of asking a third party to aid you in the presence of your opponent.  Time is very limited, you know—Théoden cannot lie in state in Minas Tirith forever.  Soon, I am afraid, your Fellowship will be dissolved for good.  Surely you would like the support of those who know you as you go through this ordeal?”

            “If they know me that well I am afraid they shall laugh.”

            “Not cruelly, though.”

            Aragorn masked his mood by taking a particularly long quaff of wine.