As she walked along the serving tables, she noticed the attention to detail and even artistry in the arrangement of food upon platters. Rows and rows of goblets sparkled around decanters, punch bowls and small casks of fine beverages. The scent of the fare was delightful and inviting. The musicians were nearly set up in their corner of the room. Many tables and chairs were arranged around the ballroom but a large space was left for dancing to whatever tunes the players might offer. Wenndolyne took mental note of all the details. For this occasion, others had handled the arrangements but Minister Whitcomb indicated that she might be doing this honor in future.

The visitors had all arrived in Camelot during the day. Arrangements had been made to get them settled before the evening began. Wenn was grateful that there would be no complicated agenda. This was intended to be a gathering of goodwill and little else, according to Whitcomb. This evening, Camelot would be entertaining emissaries from a cooperative of three small provinces. Ambassadors, ministers and their consorts were to attend and get to know the Council and nobility of Camelot to be comfortable with them for future commerce. Thankfully there was no reported animosity between any of the parties involved. It was merely a friendly get-together between neighbors.

Sir Poet slipped in quietly from an entrance near the musicians. Wenn managed to catch his eye and a moment of his time before they both had to smile and greet at the door. There was little time to discuss anything, but Wenn did get to quickly tell Arin that she spoke with the Admiral and felt sure things would all be settled soon, with the outcome as they'd hoped. Poet responded reservedly, aside from telling her how beautiful she looked. He had no time to delve into what she was doing in the garden with Lord Wolf. He had no time for anything. More guests were arriving. Even as Poet thought of the mage, Lord Wolf appeared in the entrance as if invoked. A chamberlain announced him then Wolf proceeded through the gathering clusters of people, seeming to know so many.

Not waiting to see what exchange there might be as Wolf passed Wenn, Sir Poet made his way back to the musicians with whom he needed to coordinate some of his presentations for the evening. Wenndolyne was in fact greeted by a gracious bow from Lord Wolf and a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. She fought the urge to look around and see if Poet had witnessed this. The gestures embarrassed her all the same. Fortunately the evening got underway and it was much easier to work the room with polite banter and helpfulness than to deal with either Sir Poet or Lord Wolf or her thoughts on that situation at all.

During Poet's readings, Wenndolyne found a place to stand which allowed her to enjoy his skill without the distraction of duty. Actually, it wasn't a large feat. The whole gathering would go silent to listen. He was a showman to be sure. His voice was warm and smooth. His own words in verse were lyrical truth and spoke the heart. All in attendance seemed pleased and entertained by Arin's talent but none so much as the lass standing back from the rest and watching every move, listening to every breath, tone and nuance of his words, with her own heart.

The evening proceeded as planned. Toasts and other announcements were interspersed between interludes of Poet's readings, the musicians' selections and much dancing. The chatter in the room was sometimes a collection of whispers and at other times a din of unsortable topics. Wenn paid attention, mostly listening and smiling warmly. She kept her awareness for any of the visitors who appeared to be searching or had some question she might answer. She prompted the serving staff to keep glasses filled and other needs tended.

Sir Poet was embroiled in a conversation when the musicians began the next tune. However, his eye caught Lord Wolf winding his way across the room. It was difficult to miss him. His white hair was in great contrast to the deep blue formal robes he wore this evening. Besides, Poet knew or felt where the mage was headed. Indeed, the bard forced himself back to the discussion at hand, just as Lord Wolf approached Wenndolyne.

"Care to join me in the dance?" Wolf's hand was extended to Wenn where she stood with a goblet clutched in her own hands. She'd only just escorted one of the visiting ladies back into the ballroom.

"If you wish, M'lord." In the half-turn she took to set down her goblet, she bound up her thoughts. This was not the time to discuss Wolf's pursuit of her otherwise. When she turned back and took his hand, she had her smile fixed securely.

The music was fairly upbeat, but the dance was slow, entirely too slow to suit Wenn. She felt Lord Wolf watching her much too closely. They joined a line of other dancers, women facing men. Bows and curtseys were given in time with the beat and followed by steps forward. While passing, shoulder to shoulder, Wenn tried to look straight ahead but she could still see emerald eyes watching her. She could feel them too. Her smile was blushed because of it. Upon turning to face him, she faltered. She nearly forgot to extend her hands to him. When she remembered, he gently cradled her fingers in the warmth of his own.

"Do you know this tune, M'Lady?" Lord Wolf led her easily in the steps as they continued in time with the musicians and the other dancers. Wenndolyne was trying not to trip over her own skirts. She knew the dance. Concentration was the problem. Her lips parted to speak but fearing that nothing would come out, she just grimaced apologetically and shook her head.

Wolf's youthful face grinned. "Goddesses," he informed in a meaningful whisper, just as they passed closely on the right and made the next turn, then again clasped hands.

Her head turned away so she could neither see nor be seen by him. He was surely teasing. Her next few steps in the dance were exceedingly crisp. Her concentration went fully into them and not at all on her partner, except where necessary to complete the round and a low curtsey of reverence to him as dictated by the dance.

She was almost angry with Lord Wolf now, for speaking to the Admiral and for engaging her in this dance and for making her so nervous. It was time to look back up to him and offer her hands for another circling. Clearing her throat as nonchalantly as possible, Wenn offered, "The dance I know, 'Tracks of the Wolf.' I would assume it's one of your favorites." She meant to sound sarcastic but was sure that it didn't come out that way at all.

"I suspect it will be now." He smiled and stopped, as did all the dancers. He bowed to kiss Wenn's hand, then turned with her to present her to the next partner, as was the custom in this slow and stately dance. Wenn was relieved to be handed off to one of the lesser dignitaries of the visiting entourage. She could perhaps clear her stupor and return to work. The room might even return to normal temperature. Her smile was now genuine and soon she made polite commentary with her dance partner. Everything was much easier than it had been before. The mage and his still mysterious motives unnerved her but that could be forgotten again for the rest of the evening, she hoped. Had she been aware of it, she might have been further disturbed by an exchange of glances between Lord Wolf and Admiral Cartwright as the music came to an end.

Later, while in a circle of discourse with a few other ladies of the court, both Camelot and visiting, Wenndolyne felt a touch to her elbow and grinned at a whisper in her ear. She made her excuses to present company and turned to see Sir Poet's smiling face. He had decided to doff his misgivings and pursue his heart's wish, at least for this evening. He'd watched Wenn's smile and friendliness as she spoke with all the guests and strangers. He could not resist her, despite himself, and so, he made a request to the musicians then set out to see if he could engage the lady in a dance. In his quiet inquiry, Poet asked how long since Wenn had enjoyed a rousing reel.

Also whispering, she replied with a rather deep blush, "I assume you mean the dance, good sir." Her giggle stepped with them as they collected with others in response to lively music announcing exactly that, an Irish reel, not to be undertaken by the faint of heart. This dance Wenn knew in her soul. It was the sort of thing that everyone would do at faires and gatherings of any size. In the camps of the Stone Warren, there was always a gathering around the warm fires. Invariably, clusters of people expressed their joy with movement.

Poet reveled in Wenndolyne's cheerful grace as she stepped around him and through the chain of arms and bodies. Only once did her smile fade, about which he inquired after the reel was finished and they stood together catching their breath. Her panting reply was only that she'd forgotten how much abuse one's ankles take in such endeavors, but she regretted it not and thanked him for the dance. Both of them had to return to duty, yet for those few minutes, they were alone in the crowded ballroom.

At some point, in the hum of voices overrunning the musicians' efforts, a small cluster of voices rose to a high enough level to begin silencing the others. Attention around the ballroom gradually turned toward one area where the revelers seemed to be parting rather rapidly now. Epithets were raised in anger then a cry of fear rang out from one of the ladies standing all too close to some developing fray.

Wenn instinctively wound through the frozen crowd. She had no idea what she could do but felt a duty to do something, as one of the official members of the staff. At the same time that Wenn heard another scream split the room, she leaned into an opening gap in the crowd but was knocked aside by a man rushing past her. She was in fact turned by his gruff departure. As her eye followed, all she could note of him was his servant's uniform and a flash of metal, but then he was lost to her in the sea of faces now closing in.

When she turned back, there was no room to move. Something was going on up ahead and it grew increasingly chaotic. Many began to leave as soon as word spread through the crowd. Hints were reaching Wenndolyne but it took time for them to make a picture. She proceeded forward as the crowd thinned, finally getting nearer the center of activity. One of the visiting ministers was seated and being tended by the Council's Healer, who'd been on hand, as was nearly all of the Council. The musicians were ordered to resume playing, something calming. Orders were being shouted across the room. The Black Watch guards were sent off on detailed commands. Other Council members and staff were checking to see if anyone else had received injury. Wenndolyne realized that she might help with this but a quick glance around her indicated that all were reasonably well, except for said minister and his escort, both of whom were now swamped with assistance.

So, Wenn stood in place and watched as the glorious evening suddenly came to an inglorious end. She had no notion what else to do but help pick up goblets and such to place them on the nearest table. Poet seemed to be involved with helping one of several people who'd been knocked down by the fleeing villain.

Eventually, Wenn found a chair nearby and just sat, feeling suddenly very tired. She seemed to lose focus on the room for a moment until again she was face to face with Lord Wolf. His brow was drawn.

"Lady Wenndolyne?"

"Yes... M'lord Wolf?" Her own voice, as well as his, seemed a bit distant.

Wolf had helped assess the situation. He was just returning from speaking with a few guards about the possible escape route of the assassin, whose attempt had thankfully failed. He'd heard that the original servant, whose clothes had been pilfered for disguise, was now being tended in the kitchens. Wolf was pondering the source and motives of the assassination attempt when he noticed Wenn sitting off to the side.

Wenn hissed as a cold damp cloth touched her shoulder near her neck. Now her own brow was furrowed. She'd only just realized that her shoulder had been burning. She tried to look at the spot but flinched and could only see a trickle of blood upon the bodice of her gown. She looked up again at Wolf in confusion.

Gently, Wolf applied the cloth to the cut on her shoulder. His voice was calm and quiet. "You've been injured."

"Oh. While passing. Yes, I saw him but..."

"Yes. He's gone now. Everything will be fine."

Her hand came up to his. She felt she needed to tell him something but didn't quite recall what it was. "No, I saw him."

"Aye, he must have struck you on the way out. Seems there were a few in his path." He was pleased to see that the cut was not terribly deep but it crossed her collarbone and thus continued to bleed profusely. He applied pressure to the cloth he held there. His free hand caught hers and lowered it gently to her lap. "M'Lady, be still. We'll get a healer here when available."

She kept frowning at him. "He turned me. Did the dagger catch me as well?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Oh. I saw it, you know." She didn't feel badly injured but she didn't feel well either. It was perhaps all the excitement of the evening, the chaos of this last event, and the heat within the ballroom.

"Saw what?"

"The dagger. It was silver with... um... something red." She noted Wolf's nodding and knew what he thought. She shook her head. "Not blood. A stone. A ruby perhaps, set in gold or brass. He was a servant too. Odd that." She shook her head and winced, for this pulled at the cut.

"Hmm. This may be helpful information, but think on it no more. Just relax." He looked up to catch a servant's attention and bid him fetch a healer.

Wenn took a deep breath and smiled. She was aware that Wolf's hand still held the cloth against her skin. She tried to look at her shoulder again but instead followed Wolf's sleeve up to see his youthful face. How very odd, she thought, but she was getting used to seeing him in this guise.

Sir Poet stood up as a healer came to tend the person he'd been helping. Finally he could look around to see what had become of Wenn in all of this mess. He scanned the room hopefully, until his heart began to ache. There she sat. The mage knelt before her. Poet's feet were ready to run over to her and see what had happened, yet his heart was too heavy to move. The Wolf had her again. Poet slipped out of the ballroom just as quietly as he'd come in.

Distracted by the healer's attention, Wenn did not see her Poet leave. Minister Whitcomb and the Admiral came to check on her, each in turn, while they reviewed the overall situation. She was given permission, in fact orders, to leave and retire to her rooms. Lord Wolf offered to escort her but she refused as politely as possible. Despite his assistance with her injury, she was in no mood or condition to be alone with him. Lord Wolf understood more than what she said but did not quibble. He called over one of the servants, one he knew, and asked him to see the lady home.