*nearly falters in his step, so great is his surprise—both at the firm shove out the door (though some part of him is grateful for the cover) and the warning (I'm not going to be happy)*
*opens his mouth and closes it* *catches your arm to slow you for a moment* *so softly you might not catch it, except you're Ecthelion and you listen* It...
*presses his lips together briefly, his ears burning, the struggle plain to see* *starts over* It's... her heels. Their heels. On the tiles. *hopes beyond reason that you won't ask him to explain any further than that*