It was the fifth banquet in one month and quite likely the reason why the Rohirrim had not yet left for their homeland, though their hosts were beginning to drop growingly obvious hints about their welcome drawing to an end. Oh, not King Elessar his hospitality, it seemed, knew no end - but the inhabitants of the White City in general were growing weary of their guests, with their resonating laughter and loud attitude. Really, it was all very well for them to have come and saved Minas Tirith from certain doom, but a visit is a visit and it was time for them to go.
One Gondorian not to share this opinion, though, was the young Steward, who was seated at the King's right-hand side and distractedly fingering his goblet, his eyes watching one of the foreigners sitting a distance away from him the Lady Éowyn, who was currently leading a heated discussion with one of the local stableboys about the care of horses' coats. He was just thinking to himse