Fiona hovered anxiously behind Marcello and Niabheara, but barely looked at them; her eyes were fixed on the high table, scouting about for what constituted two-thirds of everyone she really knew at Cnoch-na-Niall: Faolin and Goneril. She saw Goneril first and winced. It was exactly like some sort of bad dream, seeing herself, but being unable to do anything about it. She was grateful to be able to slide into a seat at last. "You left me," she said, between her teeth, absolutely furious.

Goneril, arrayed in Fiona's dress, with Fiona's diadem, was started from what seemed to be a rather intent conversation with Faolin. She blinked at...herself. "Pardon me?" she asked. "What?"

Everything came spilling out in a tightly controlled fury: "I was lost! This castle is pure madness! I made an idiot of myself in front of His Lordship! And when I did get back, everyone was gone!"

"Calm down," Goneril replied smoothly. "You're making a fuss. Of course we were gone, we had to come to supper. You were gone first, remember? Who did you make a fool of yourself in front of? In case I have to apologize for you?"

"Him!" Fiona nodded her head toward Marcello.

"What?" Goneril asked, incredulous. "That's my brother."

"That is our lone political inroad," Fiona hissed back, "and I threw a plant at him."

"Shh, shh." Faolin surreptitiously patted Fiona's shoulder, with no lack of calm himself, although he cast a look around to see if this scene was attracting any undue attention to them. "Keep your voice down. Plainly he didn't take offense."

Goneril, on the other hand, sniggered-- lightly, as she was trying to prevent any more injury or coughing fits. "You did?" she asked, looking quite pleased. "Really? I'm sure he deserved it."

Fiona squeezed her hands against her lap and glared at Goneril. "Mayhaps this is funny to you, but I've been trying to get back up for an hour and when I finally did, the room was empty." She shifted in her seat and glared at her still-empty trencher. "I'm glad someone's amused by this."