Ever the diplomat, Piergeiron answered with a tactful version of, "Not if Ao himself commanded it."

The elves, perhaps not out of longear-shot, insinuated that at Piergeiron's next wedding, he should avoid inviting tree killers and stone hackers.

To that, the Open Lord replied enigmatically that many current guests would be excluded, should there be a "next wedding."

As to the stone hackers-dwarves who considered themselves descended from Delzoun-they requested only prompter refills of their ale mugs. Already, they had drained a quarter barrel apiece!

Piergeiron sighed and ruefully rubbed his shock of black hair. There would be a few more tufts of gray in it after tonight. Surviving his own wedding, and making sure the rest of the celebrants did, would be his greatest feat of statesmanship yet.

"I will arrange for a tapped barrel to be placed on your table," he told the dwarves before continuing on.

Not all the annoyances were this harmless. After departing the dwarves and before encountering the next barrage, Piergeiron turned to his mop-headed bodyguard.

"Keep your eyes sharp."

That advice seemed ill-considered, given the sheepdog locks dangling in Madieron's eyes, but the bodyguard nodded dutifully.

Piergeiron continued. "I've gotten wind of plots against the trade pact. It must be sealed tonight. Some factions would cause any disturbance to prevent it. But, more than the pact, I fear for Eidola. Guarding me means keeping one eye on her."

Madieron's eyes struggled askew beneath his bangs. "Got it, milord " he said.

The Open Lord nodded dubiously. Madieron was a good man, as steady, strong, patient, and smart as a rock. Piergeiron was his close match in battle, but tonight he'd supply the more cerebral virtues for the pair. Between the two of them, they were ready for anything.