Perilous Journeys. Shadow Over Rhudaur III

[Valandil]

Nov 4, 1347 – evening – Tanoth Brin

Another day was drawing to a close at “The Market Street Inn”. Brithoren, the innkeeper smiled with satisfaction as he wiped down out a tankard and thought about all the money he was making. The music had just ended and several of the patrons had just departed for their homes for the night. Around him, the last few customers joked and laughed with the serving girls, and in one corner, several of his servants had gathered for their evening meal.

His eyes lit upon two of them; Harma and Harda, they had called themselves, cousins they said – off a little to one side of the rest. They seemed a bit out of place among his other servants, but he was glad to have them. And to think he had almost turned them away – when they’d come around late the one night, almost two weeks back. He took them in though, and they quickly proved themselves. Harma, the small one, did most of the talking, and was dependable enough to send on errands or to take charge of difficult tasks. Yet when the two drew aside together, Harma seemed always deferential toward Harda. Harda, worked the forge out back, and while slow at first, he was quickly gaining in strength and deftness of hand. He seemed slow of foot, and wasn’t fit for moving about all day – but he could stand at a task and put his mind to it for hours on end. He wasn’t much for words, but on about their third day here, there was trouble of some kind among the other servants – Brithoren still wasn’t sure just what – but he heard that Harda had taken care of it. Besides, old men that they were, they ate but little, and took up very little space – and were no trouble at all.

Meanwhile, Harma and “Harda” were having a discrete conversation of their own.

“Tell me again Harma… what you saw. What she looked like.”

“Only as I’ve said before, master. She and her friends went all a’riding by, and made trouble for an apple peddler. Dressed all plain she was, notably so amongst a proud company, and I wonder at it – for she must be the highest born of them all – save only one of the other young women.”

Harda sat back and sighed. “Oh, I wish I had been there to see her though. You must know how it aches me, Harma.”

“Yes master, but say no more of it now. The proper time for that will come, surely. But first we must know what risk there is. And who it is that would harm you. We certainly want no harm coming to HER.”

The two returned then to the bowls before them and to their prior silence, stealing glances around to make sure they had not been overheard.

[Alagos and Tyaron]

Afternoon of November 4th, on the Great Road south of Brockenridge


"It is the answer you seek, however."

Alagos looked thoughtful. "But it is an answer that raises 10 more questions!" he finally responded, laughing, as Tyaron came up and bowed respectfully to Gere.

"I advise you to escape while you can, for each of the additional 10 questions will raise 10 MORE questions!" he said to Gere in a solemn voice, but with a smile ("he CAN smile!" thought Gere). Alagos was right; this was interesting ...

Gere decided to take Tyaron's advice; a little elf went a long way for her, and she wanted to get back to her friends. She gave a polite nod of her head to the elves, which they returned, and went off to find Truin.

"I have news, brother," said Tyaron, reverting back to their native tongue so as not to be overheard.

"So do I! Strange news," said Alagos thoughtfully, his eyes following Gere as she disappeared into the crowd.

"Hroim has told me ..." began Tyaron, but he was interrupted by the arrival of two dwarves leading small ponies.

"Here are your mounts," they said gruffly, their eyes trying to take in everything about the elves without appearing too curious.

Alagos turned around and covered his face with both hands as he feigned a violent coughing fit, trying to cover up his uncontrollable laughter at the vision of Tyaron riding a dwarven pony that had leaped into his vivid imagination. Tyaron stepped in front of Alagos and took the ponies, thanking the bearers graciously.

"I thought elves weren't supposed to get sick," said the dwarf to his friend as they walked back to Hroim. The other dwarf merely shrugged his shoulders; he had no idea why their leader had agreed to let the elves join their company, but that wasn't his concern. Right now, he was deciding how to redistribute the baggage that had been taken off of the two ponies that had been given to the elves.

[Agannalo]

Shedun fortress, night of November 4 - morning of November 5, 1347
written almost entirely by Angmar

The news of the strange new prisoner spread rapidly through the fortress. Within less than an hour after the bizarre death of the guard who had dared taunt Agannalo with his harp playing, everyone from the cooks in the kitchen to the grooms in the stable had heard about the incident.

At sunset, the jailer gingerly pushed a wooden bowl of cabbage stew through the bars and used a long pike to shove it closer to the chained prisoner. Wrinkling his nose, Agannalo sent it flying back. The jailer cursed but didn’t press the matter. “They are starting to learn to keep away from me” the nazgul grinned mirthlessly to himself. He huddled in a corner and waited for the morning.

The only sounds besides the footfalls of the jailer making his rounds and the occasional laughter of guards as they played a game of dice had been the monotonous trickle of water down one side of the wall. At one point during the night, a large gray rat had slunk into the chamber on its nightly search for scraps of food. Seeing Agannalo, the creature had not tarried, but raced squeaking across the floor, seeking refuge in a hole on the other side.

As dawn approached, Agannalo saw the jailer and two guards walking down the hall and then they stopped at his cell. There was the sound of a key sliding in the lock, and the jailer, a fat greasy man with a bulging paunch, walked through the doorway, followed by two guards armed with spears.

"Enjoy your night?" the jailer squinted at Agannalo. "Now you're not going to like this, but there's nothing you can do about it! Give me any trouble, and you'll have to answer to the guards!"

Agannalo found the situation bizarrely amusing. At any time he wished, he could have all three of them dead on the floor. He allowed the jailer to pull his hands roughly behind his back and manacle them there. "Now you're going with us!" The guards threatened Agannalo with their spears and motioned for him to go out the door.

Once out in the stable courtyard, Agannalo saw his mounted escort of twenty fearsome looking men. Many of them dark and swarthy, they were all armed to the teeth and appeared to be as ferocious as any criminal who might be found lurking on the docks of Umbar or in the more squalid section of any city of the east. Their black and red livery, however, was splendid, clean and unwrinkled, and their mounts were outstanding specimens of horseflesh. A number of the horses, though, were skittish, shying easily and giving their riders some difficulty. A few of the men lost their tempers at the obstinacy of their mounts, and, cursing, gave them smart blows with their riding crops before bringing the beasts under control.

Lieutenant Hyarion, already mounted on the back of his bay stallion, looked down his nose at Agannalo and then turned his head in the direction of the pack horses. Agannalo sensed that the Southron was gloating over the emerald dagger and the Morgul blade, stored safely away in one of the packs. Agannalo grinned. "The pompous fool," he thought. "At least he is still among the living, but with his ignorant recklessness, I wonder at how long."

A groom held the halter rope of a large, saddled buckskin gelding. The animal was young, no more than four years in age, yellow in color with splashes of white on its stomach and legs and a black mane and tail. Big and rangy, with placid, though intelligent, eyes, the horse had a slight bulge between the eyes which continued until it reached the nose. In appearances, the horse resembled a draft animal more than it did a riding mount. Agannalo knew, though, that such horses were usually tough and resilient, seldom getting injured, and oftentimes bold.

"Your mount," one of the guards at his side growled. "He is a lot finer animal than that old plug you rode into the fortress. Think you can ride him?" the guard asked without waiting for a reply.

Motioning to the groom, the man ordered, "Bring the prisoner's horse forward! We'll help him mount!"

The groom gave a tug to the halter rope, and the animal took a step, its ears pricking forward. As the horse drew closer to Agannalo, his right ear would flick forward, the left ear back. A tremble ran over the horse's body, then the animal balked, planting its feet rigidly. Embarrassed, the boy tugged fiercely at the halter rope, but the horse would not take one step forward.

"I cannot understand what has gotten into Prince this morning," the shamefaced boy bemoaned. "He is usually such a good beast."

"All right, you," one of the guards pushed Agannalo forward, "you are going to ride that horse if we have to tie you to him!"

The sight of the off-balance Agannalo stumbling towards him terrified Prince. The beast rose on his hind legs, pawing the air. The young groom, pulled off the ground, lost his hold on the halter rope and fell onto the cobblestones. Prince's feet came back down, and then with a kick of his heels, he galloped away across the courtyard.

"Catch that beast!" screamed the head ostler who had just come out of the stable. Then for the next fifteen minutes, the grooms and many of the guards chased the horse as it ran wildly around the courtyard before it was finally captured. As four grooms held Prince cross-tied, the ostler soundly beat the horse over the head with a long, thick stick. "He'll give you no more trouble now, and to make sure of it, I'll have him blindfolded!" the ostler said.

When calm had at last returned, the two guards hoisted Agannalo onto the blindfolded horse's back. Prince shuddered and snorted, but subdued and dazed from its recent beating, he stood steady.

Agannalo used his knees to direct his horse towards the head ostler who was still standing nearby. The man was apparently a barbarian – a stocky squat brute of a man. He jumped startled when he heard Agannalo’s whisper, venomous as a hiss of a snake.

“Make sssure my old Gray is well fed and well tended, osssstler… If I don’t find him hale and ssound when I ssend for him, I will come for thee perssonally, ossstler, and I will ssskin thee alive to make a harness for my new horse!”

In horror the man looked up at Agannalo, his watery blue eyes bulging in his ashen face. Unable to reply, he gulped and nodded many times, shaking all through. Satisfied, Agannalo straightened up in his saddle again. At least no woe would befell his old horse.

In the confusion of the departure nobody seemed to pay attention to this short conversation. Hyarion gave the signal to leave.

Soon the procession was trotting across the drawbridge and onto the road. Occasionally Prince gave a long suffering groan of protest, but followed dutifully behind a trooper who led him with a very long rope on his halter. For some odd reason that no one was able to comprehend, none of the troopers' horses were willing to get near Agannalo, and so it was decided it would be best to lead the steed on a very long rope.

[Gimilbeth]

On the Great Road east of the Last Bridge, morning of November 5, 1347

When Gimilbeth and her entourage set out for the Last Bridge, it became apparent that their previous luck with weather had run out. The morning turned out to be one quite usual for the month of Hithui -wet, miserable, and chilly, with thick mist filling the roadbed to the brink. The horses had difficulty picking their way in this milky substance, but the old road built by High Numenoreans in ages past was well beaten and even, so Gimilbeth's party advanced without accident.

The previous evening they had reached the Great road and took shelter in a rundown watchtower near the crossroads. Gimilbeth sent everyone to camp outside as best they could and took possession of the only decent chamber the old tower had to offer - the quarters of the Warden. The man, however, did not seem to mind, awed by the presence of royalty and cowed by Gimilbeth's rather intimidating personality.

So Gimilbeth had a decent supper, a bath and a good night rest in relative comfort, including her customary nightly green mask. Now, despite the weather, she felt fresh and cheerful. Also, last night she had an opportunity to take out her green velvet dress and try Tarniel's emerald necklace on with it. As she had hoped, it fitted perfectly - which cheered Gimilbeth considerably.

She nudged her horse closer to Gwindor's and asked playfully "Tell me, Gwindor, do you have any idea why Merendil seemed so grim yestermorn? And, for that matter, why did he send additional guards with us? I guess the gruff Captain being both preoccupied and unusually nice bodes no good."

Gwindor smiled and shook his head. "Do not bother with it, my fair Lady, there is nothing to worry about. While we were approaching Brochenridge, Merendil imagined he smelled orcs. Can you believe it - orcs that far south?" Gwindor laughed merrily, more for Gimilbeth's sake than his own. "I bet the Captain is getting paranoid with too much campaigning."

Gimilbeth frowned slightly. She suddenly remembered Belzagar's pigeon and the vision of orcs she got when she tried to trace the letter with her magic. "I think it is not unusual to find orcs and even trolls in the Trollshaws. But hopefully, we are well past this place now."

"Quite so, my Lady," nodded Gwindor. "Anyway, we are strong enough to discourage any attackers." He guided his black horse closer to Gimilbeth's bay, took her left hand and kissed her gloved fingers adding in a hot husky whisper "I wish most fervently for someone to attack us - then I will be able to prove myself to my Princess in battle!"

"A bad omen!" Gimilbeth's stomach suddenly went cold. "How stupid of him to call misfortune upon us," she thought.

As if to prove her true, one of the scouts suddenly materialized out of the thick mist in front of them.

"There is trouble ahead" he reported. "A company of armed Dwarves bars our way. They seem unfriendly and ready to fight".

"Stay here, my Lady" - Gwindor instantly became stern and businesslike. "Make the standard-bearer advance. Let them see the Royal colors of Rhudaur."

Followed by the standard-bearer and two score of fighting men Gwindor disappeared in the heavy mist.

[Saakaf]

Morning of November 5
Woods north of the Great East Road

Private Saakaf slumped against the bole of a great oak tree and pulled the stopper from his flask of draught. Lifting the bag high in the air, he let the liquid flow down his throat as he listened to the sounds around him. Accursed daylight shone down through the trees, but the shade was deep here where the company rested.

Sometimes Saakaf just liked to sit and think, and there were many things filling his mind. The image of the beautiful Princess Gimilbeth was predominant in his thoughts, and he relived the one time that he had seen the haughty princess. "As fine a piece of womanflesh as ever lived, an ivory goddess too far above the likes of me," he reflected unhappily. The orc was totally enamored with the princess. As a matter of fact, this was the first time he had ever been in love. He had once had a mate, a fine, big, strapping she-orc, ugly as sin and with a temper that would rival that of a warg, but he had not loved her. The association had not lasted long, however, for she had been killed several years ago in a brawl that broke out with several other she-orcs. He seldom thought of her now.

Off duty during the rest period, he had time to muse, and he found his mind wandering to a scene several nights ago. Pizgal Durbûrz had been late reporting back after the scouting mission, far too late in Captain Ashûk's mind. After Saakaf had informed the Ashûk about his suspicions that Durbûrz was cannibalizing the hanged man, the captain was enraged. "The greedy lard-gutted bastard! Absent without leave, is he? I know what he is doing! He's taking his fill of the corpse! He will learn he can't do that after he's been flogged thirty lashes with a cat-o-nine! He will regret that little feast! Bring him back!"

While the main part of the company had headed southwest, the captain had detailed a patrol of ten men under the command of Corporal Boshok to find the missing Durbûrz. Assigned as part of that detail, Private Saakaf had slogged off with the rest of the patrol. Never having gotten along too well with Durbûrz, who was known among the company as a bully and a braggart, Saakaf was looking forward to the task. It had been a while since any man had felt the kiss of the cats.

When the patrol found Durbûrz, he was asleep, drunk on orc draught, and engorged upon putrefying man-flesh. The sound of the approaching patrol brought him staggering to his feet, angry at being found, and feeling guilty at his breach of discipline.

"Durbûrz, you are under arrest!" Corporal Boshok hissed. "Throw down your weapons peacefully and come along with us! Maybe it will go easier on you!"

"I ain't done nothing!" came the belligerent reply, a common response of the guilty person who is not sorry at his fault and is only angry at being caught.

"Neglect of duty," Corporal Boshok said matter-of-factly. "Now quit arguing and throw down those weapons!"

"You're not taking me without a fight!" snapped Durbûrz as he drew his scimitar and rushed towards Boshok. The corporal had seen the menace in the other orc's eyes. Quickly out of his way, he drew his own weapon as the draught-slowed Durbûrz charged by. He landed a light cut to the back of Durbûrz's neck, who roared at the sudden pain and then turned to face his assailant. While some of the orcs howled in excitement at the smell of fresh blood, others placed bets on which would kill the other with the betting favoring Durbûrz as the winner. Saakaf, not a gambler, seldom placed bets.

As their scimitars clashed together, Corporal Boshok let the heavier orc drive him back, occasionally landing a blow to exposed skin. The draught had made Durbûrz clumsy and slow, and he soon began to show signs of fatigue. Those who had placed bets upon Durbûrz began to mutter.

"Too flatulent to fight, eh, Durbûrz?" Corporal Boshok taunted him.

"You will see!" screamed Durbûrz as he came charging and swinging his weapon at Boshok. Ducking as the enraged orc swung his scimitar over his head, Corporal Boshok brought his own blade up and sliced across Durbûrz' throat. Gurgling blood from his mouth and neck, Durbûrz fell to the ground, his limbs thrashing. Boshok finished him off with a piercing blow to the heart.

"All right, matey, you owe me a bundle," smirked an orc who had bet on Corporal Boshok. The orc beside him glared.

"I don't remember making that bet," the other snapped.

"You liar! You bet me half a month's pay that Durbûrz would disembowel the Corporal before the fight had gone ten minutes! You lost! Now pay me!"

"You filthy reneger!" came the angry voice of a nearby orc. "You're trying to cheat my brother! I heard you make that bet with him! Now give him his money or I'll cut out your guts!"

The dispute among the three orcs grew more threatening, and other orcs became caught up with it, with each one taking a side. In the ensuing tumult, Private Saakaf slipped away into the trees and watched from a safe distance.

When the fight was over, six orcs lay dead under the trees, while three were wounded, one seriously. Corporal Boshok had a wicked gash over his right eyebrow, and oozing cuts to his arms and legs.

"Let's get out of here," the corporal ordered.

"What about the dead? Are we going to salvage the bodies? Don't we have it coming to us?"

"Take what possessions of the dead you want and hack off any of the remains that appeal, but be quick. You never know who might have heard the screaming and moaning," Corporal Boshok ordered as he wrapped a rag about his bloody arm. "And Saakaf, cut off his head! I want it for a trophy! You others who aren't injured, whack off Durbûrz' prime cuts! We feast tonight!"

[Eryndil]

Nov 5, 1347 – mid-morning, Royal Palace of Cameth Brin

Rondaran and Lastorion had arrived early to the Winter Garden Gallery this morning, where for the previous three days, along with their two colleagues, they had waited in vain to be drawn into the King’s Small Council Room to begin the duties for which they had been brought together. This morning, the two sat near the windows with the door ajar that they would know if someone drew near, and spoke together in hushed whispers over the remnants of their breakfast.

“The King won’t call us today either, I’ll wager,” began Rondaran. “The Council doesn’t like us being here, and he doesn’t want to stir up trouble.”

“Patience Rondar,” replied Lastorion. “We don’t have a bad life, as it is.” He continued after a pause, “As for our own plans, and our two compatriots, what do you think? Eryndil has the greater ability, does he not?”

“Yes – he does. But I don’t think he would approve of our ideas… or our methods.”

“Nonetheless, I aim to explore it a bit. Without revealing ourselves, for sure.”

“You take good care, Lastorion,” Rondaran replied gravely. “Our lives could be at stake. As for me, I have greater hopes that Naurlith will be sympathetic to our designs.”

“He is quiet and hard to gage, but I think you’re right. Eryndil, though, would be the greater help. Hush now… here comes one.”

At that, Eryndil strode through the door.

“Good morning friends,” he began. “Still at breakfast? I had that ere the crack of dawn, then took to the ordering of my house for the day.”

“Had to get up and milk the cows, eh farm boy?” answered Rondaran with a smirk.

Lastorion laughed as he rose in greeting and said, “Don’t mind my grumpy companion here, Eryndil. He had his hard duty last night, keeping up the spirits of the young ladies here in the upper city. Your presence then was missed indeed. Won’t you join us tonight?”

Eryndil smiled at the friendly offer. It sounded inviting, and things were not going well at all with the particular young lady he couldn’t completely get off his mind. “Sure, why not? But… I half-expect my family in town any day. If they should arrive…”

“Of course, of course. But first we’ll see what His Majesty requires of us today.”

So the three sat for a while until Naurlith likewise joined them, and then the four waited further. Rondaran and Lastorion had both lived in the city for all their lives. Lastorion was a nephew of Orefim, and Rondaran a protégé of his mentor, Nimruzir. Naurlith’s history was more like that of Eryndil’s – younger son of a Thane and a soldier in the King’s service, he was recommended to the King by Huramir of Dol Aglardin. Eryndil had received no particular nomination, but was added chiefly by his reputation alone – though Merendil knew him and added his good opinion when it was solicited. Eryndil was a good deal younger than the rest, but the oldest was not more than 70.

Eventually, a messenger came to the door. All turned, expectant at whether they should be at last summoned, or once again dismissed.

“Sir Eryndil, a company has arrived at the outer gate of Cameth Brin, claiming to be your family. They were taken to the city square to await you.”

Eryndil rose quickly, bowed slightly to his companions and began to make his departure. “A company?” he thought. Before he reached the door, Rondaran had spoken.

“What of us, messenger?”

“Oh… His Majesty the King says for you to return again tomorrow.”

- - - - - - - -

City Square of Cameth Brin

When Eryndil reached the city square of Cameth Brin, he realized that there was indeed a company. Not only had his father and mother and his sister Hendegil come, but also his brother Vilyandur and sister Gildurien, and Dornendur’s two younger children, Eryndil’ niece Glambeth and nephew Paurblung – as well as a few servants and Eryndil’s four men who had escorted them all.

First there were warm greetings all around, and then a flood of questions, but soon the talk drifted to the trip from Ostinand to Cameth Brin. The frustration began to show in Camglas’ face.

“We made good time – only started on the first, as I didn’t care to be out traveling on Duvudu. But we made Penmorva the first day, the Crossroads the next and camped out the night after. Oh – and did we have a hard, cold rain then! Fearful that snow was just behind it, I pushed hard the day after, yesterday that is, and bypassed River Crossings, hoping to make Cameth Brin. But when we got to the gate of Tanoth Brin, it was after dark and no amount of pleadings or threats would get those guards to open their fool gate! So we had to turn around and go back to the Four Furlongs. Oh – the prices there! What’s more, a wheel on my supply wagon started to give me trouble. Well, this morning we come along and all, and the wagon wheel just breaks apart right in the middle of town – Tanoth Brin that is! So we had to load our things in the coach, and pack up the horses and some had to walk besides.”

“Oh – and that walk. Bad enough the climb, but the men along the way, between the cities now – were just the lewdest, crudest…”

“Yes father, I know. Those are Broggha’s men.”

“Broggha’s men!” exclaimed Camglas, seeming surprised. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me!”

“So did you just leave your wagon where it fell?” asked Eryndil, curious and somewhat amused. His father rarely got very talkative, but he was flowing like a waterfall now.

“More or less. Dropped it at the Market Street Inn down there. Innkeeper says he’s got a man he thinks can fix it. I can’t imagine what he’s going to charge me though.”

On the lookout for a break, Eryndil noticed the messenger only now turning about and heading back toward the palace grounds, and realized that he had been standing by Hendegil. “Hendegil, what did you have for the messenger?”

“Oh – he just waited for me,” Hendegil said happily, “while I wrote a note to Caelen, inviting her and her brother over to your house!”

Eryndil tried to keep the smile pasted to his face, but inwardly groaned.

“What is it, Eryndil?” asked his mother.

“Oh – it’s just that Callon is away.”

“A-WAY?” his mother asked sharply.

“Yes, but under orders. He’s part of the royal stablemaster’s men, and his duties have taken him out of town for a few days.”

“Then all the more reason for us to have Caelen over,” his mother said frostily. Then turning about, she added, “It’s chilly up here, even at mid-day. Won’t you take us to your home?”

“If her brother is away, maybe Caelen should stay with US!” offered Hendegil.

Eryndil only just managed to turn his wince into a smile as his sister looked expectantly into his eyes.

- - - - - - - -

Eryndil’s Home in Cameth Brin

The group was soon at Eryndil’s house, travel-weary, but excited to be at a new place, and to see if it was all as wonderful as it sounded in Eryndil’s letter and from the descriptions of his men. Before long, all were pretty well satisfied that it was every bit as pleasant as described – and even pointed out to Eryndil all the great things he had failed to mention to them.

Eryndil delighted in the presence of his family once more. After a short while though, when the initial excitement had died down, he noticed that Soromo had withheld himself from contact with the new arrivals as much as possible. But now that things had calmed down a bit, he approached Eryndil’s father, stood directly before him, drew himself up and addressed him rather pointedly.

“You are Camglas, son of Borlost, Thane of Nandemar?”

Camglas was taken aback a bit at first and only replied after pausing and briefly studying the man before him, “Yes, I am he.”

Soromo bowed and continued, “Then I have an office to fulfill. The King, Tarnendur has taken this house and bequeathed it to your third son, Eryndil, but for my part I return it to you, for it has been in the keeping of my fathers and me these eleven score years.”

Camglas, his eyebrows knitting together, looked even more curiously at Soromo. “Well, I’ll not gainsay my King, but you… then you are…”

“Yes, your third cousin - Soromo by name. When your great-grandfather departed from this house and this city, never to return, he left the property in the care of his brother, my great-grandfather. We share the same great-great-grandfather, who was the 14th Thane of Nandemar.”

“Wonder of wonders!” exclaimed Camglas, then placed his hands on Soromo’s arms, his face lit up with joy. “And you’ve kept the place for us all these years?”

Soromo did not return the embrace but smiled slightly.

“Yes,” continued Camglas. “Now, my great-grandfather was the 15th Thane, but the 16th was my great-uncle. It was my father who became the 17th when my great uncle died along with his family… most of them.”

“I know the family history well,” answered Soromo. “Odd chance is it not? Your grandfather was the second son of a first son, while my grandfather was the first son of a second son. Little difference, it might seem – but you are a Thane, and I… a servant.”

“An honored one then, at least henceforth!” replied Camglas, smiling ever brighter. “Like the cousin that a King takes for a Steward in his palace, so you shall be both here, and at Ostinand, if ever you would join us there!”

“You are too kind.” Replied Soromo with a slight bow – and for the first time since knowing him, Eryndil felt that Soromo was truly… pleased. And maybe deeply touched besides.

At just that moment, Naneth the housekeeper interrupted to announce that refreshments of apple pies and hot apple cider had been prepared and awaited them all.

- - - - - - - -

[Daurendil]

Cameth Brin Tower, late morning of November 5, 1347

Daurendil returned from his sword practice, and took his time washing sweat and dirt from his body and making himself presentable again. “To be presentable” meant much more to the Prince than it did to most young men – it entailed being fashionably and impeccably dressed, combed and perfumed. A knock on the door surprised him when he was almost finished, so he sent a servant to open the door.

The visitor was one well known to the Prince – Ilyanon, the Royal Taylor. The tall, thin, slightly balding man bowed respectfully to his best customer. “Greetings, your Highness” he offered. “I took it upon myself to deliver your latest order as diligently as possible.”

“You have taken quite a lot of time, as it is!” was the impatient reply. “I hoped to have the dress by yestereve. Why so long?”

“It was a difficult commission, my Lord,” the tailor explained placidly. “We could take no measurements and it is not easy to make a close-fitting dress without them. I…”

“But I have described her to you, have I not?!” the Prince interrupted. “She is much like Tarniel or Odaragariel, but a bit shorter than the former and taller than the latter.”

“You would be surprised, my Prince, if I tell you that the two princesses you mentioned have an entirely different build.”

“Really?!!” gaped Daurendil, now thoroughly puzzled. To him both girls looked much the same, barring their coloring, of course.

“To be able to design the riding dress to your satisfaction, I had to track down the Lady in question and observe her from a distance with my own eyes. She is lovely indeed, my Lord. But after that little examination I understood the need to enlarge the dress in hips and breasts.”

Daurendil blushed. Thinking of Caelen’s body sent a slow fire through his own, a sensation still new to him. “A-hem, show me the dress then!” he ordered, trying to cover his embarrassment.

The tailor opened the large box he carried and proudly laid down on the bed an elegant riding outfit with a long train. The dress was made of soft sea-blue velvet, richly embroidered with golden thread. There were also a fox pelerine, long matching gloves and a small velvet hat lined with fox fur to go with it. Daurendil eyes lighted when he thought how truly bewitching Caelen would look in all this courtly finery.

Of course, a dress was not a suitable present for a lady he barely knew for a few days. But it seemed Caelen was not yet aware of the court restrictions. The day Daurendil lost the race and with it his heart, he had raked his brain for several hours to decide what fitting present he could give his new love. She was by far the loveliest of the ladies in the hunting party, he thought, but she was also the one with the poorest dress. Barring Odare or course, he remembered - what has gotten into Lady Oddie to dress like that? But Odare’s reasons worried him little now. He paid the tailor, grabbed the box and hurried out of the Tower and across the court to the Palace.

While he raced through the court and up the palace stairs, he had to realize that Princes were not supposed to be running around hauling Boxes. He got quite a few curious stares from the guards and the servants, but the worse part of it was awaiting him upstairs. His appearance in the married servants’ quarters made quite a stir. There was a small crowd assembled when he stopped to ask where he could find Lady Caelen.

“The wife of Callon, the ostler?” one old woman replied. “This way, please, my Lord. But Caelen is away – she went somewhere an hour ago”

Daurendil’s heart sank. He hadn’t counted on Caelen being away – he hoped to see again this wondrous, sunny woman. But it was not to be…

The prince was ushered into a small room with a large double bed in the corner. “I wonder where does this guy, her brother, sleep?” he thought, uneasy. Gingerly he put the present on the bed and searched for a while among the things on the table until he located an inkwell and a quill.

With a sudden inspiration, he scribbled a short humorous note:

"For the Fair Lady who won the Race - from her faithful Orc.
I will wait for you in the court tomorrow morning - I beg for a riding lesson. Yours forever, D."

He put the note on the top of the box and left as fast as he could, the curious gazes of the assembled servants hot on his back.

[Caelen]

Cameth Brin, late morning of November 5, 1347

After a few minutes of raised eyebrows and whispers and interesting conjectures, the crowd in the married servants' quarters finally dispersed, as less interesting but more urgent duties called. By the time Caelen returned from Arinya's room, where she had been taking her first harp lesson, no one was in the halls anymore. She hummed the tune that Arinya had been trying to teach her as she opened the door to her room, and then stopped short at the sight of a large box on her bed, with a note propped on top of it. As she was crossing the room to examine it, there came a knock on the door, and she regretfully turned away from the interesting package to open the door.

A messenger greeted her politely as she opened the door, and handed her a note as he informed her that he was instructed to wait for her answer. Her curiosity turned to real happiness as she saw that the note came from Hendegil! She opened it quickly and scanned the contents - Hendegil was in town, and wanted to see her right away!

"Just a moment, please," she told the messenger, and sat down to compose her reply. Then a thought struck her - Hendegil was at her brother's house, and she had NO wish to see him after that irritating encounter in the marketplace. Her lips pursed together, she composed her reply:

My dearest Hendegil,
I would love to see you, but I'm afraid that your brother will not receive me in his house as I will have to come unescorted, through no fault of my own (my brother has been called away), and he violently disapproves of females doing this. I'm afraid I would be turned away if I called for you at his house in this unseemly manner. Perhaps you should come here instead, as I long to see you. Please send your reply as soon as possible - I will wait here for it.
Yours sincerely,
Caelen

She stood up and thrust the note out to the messenger. As he reached for it, she had second thoughts; why should Hendegil be punished for her brother's faults? With a "wait just a moment," she pulled the note out of the messenger's hands, crumpled it up, threw it away, and sat down to write another one.

My dearest Hendegil,
I would love to see you - I'm so happy you came to town! Would you mind if we met somewhere outside of your brother's house, though?

She frowned at the note - this wasn't working, either. She crumpled it up and threw it out, and the messenger, with a sigh, leaned against the door frame and looked down the hall to see if anything interesting was happening.

Caelen started again:

My dearest Hendegil,
I'm SO glad you came to town, you have NO idea! I've been so lonely here, especially since my brother's duties called him away for a week. I would LOVE to come see you, and lunch would be perfect. I will follow shortly after this message.
Yours sincerely,
Caelen

She recalled the messenger's attention from the hallway, and handing him the note and a coin, dismissed him and then shut the door. Quickly crossing the room, she seized the note off the top of the box and read it. What in the world? Oh well, whatever ... Anyway, WHAT was in the box?!

She tore off the lid and then drew her breath in at the sight of the exquisite riding dress. It was lovely! All that detailing with the gold thread ... oh, it was so pretty! And the hat ... and the gloves ... and and ...

She quickly took off her clothes and put on the riding outfit. It fit perfectly! And now, she could finally get rid of her old riding outfit. She had hated putting it on after what had happened to her in it, but she had nothing else to ride in, and she loved riding more than she hated what had happened to her. She grabbed up her old riding habit, holding it gingerly as if it could bite, and rushed out of the room. She would thank Daurendil later - that was so thoughtful of him! Right now, she wanted to see Hendegil more than anything she had wanted in a long time. Tossing her old riding habit in the dustbin on the way out, she ran to the stables, saddled her mare over the protests of the stablehands who tried to do it for her, and rode off happily to Eryndil's house.

[Caelen]

Eryndil's house in Cameth Brin, noon, November 5, 1347


"I believe she's in the garden, miss," said the servant who answered Caelen's impatient knock at the door as he indicated that she could enter. She followed him impatiently through a large, airy room [note - architectural details will be corrected shortly - Rian] and practically ran through the open doors into the garden. And there she was - Hendegil! With a cry of pleasure, Caelen ran to her friend, who was smiling her welcome and holding her arms out. They embraced warmly as Eryndil and his father and mother looked on at the pleasant sight.

"And of course you remember my mother and father, and my brother," prompted Hendegil gently, reminding Caelen of her manners.

"Of course I do!" replied Caelen, blushing and curtsying politely to the thane and his wife, and a bit more reservedly to Eryndil. "I'm so sorry, I was just so happy to see your daughter!" she explained, turning back to Hendegil's parents.

"No offense taken," said Camglas graciously. "We are both very glad to see Hendegil have such a warm-hearted friend!"

"Caelen, what an exquisite riding outfit! Is it new? I don't remember you wearing it before!" said Hendegil as she examined Caelen's clothing.

"Yes, I just got it today - it was a present from the Prince Daurendil - wasn't that kind? I went on a riding party with him, and he must have noticed that my outfit was a bit worn, and I guess he had one made up for me! But now, Hendegil, tell me all about YOU!" she said, impatient to move past the topic of the new riding outfit. "Was this a surprise visit here? Oh, it doesn't matter, I'm just so glad you came!" And she took Hendegil's hands in hers and gave them a squeeze.

"Did you say Prince Daurendil gave you this?" asked Eryndil, surprised in more ways than one - and none of them pleasant.

"Yes," answered Caelen, a little impatience creeping into her voice. "And he wants me to give him a riding lesson tomorrow morning, too - although really, he rides just fine - a little rough, but I can show him some things that will help his seat."

"And you accepted this gift from him?" continued Eryndil incredulously. This girl was really too much - was she really that ignorant of what it meant? Was she just going to continue to cause embarassment and trouble for her brother and others around her?

"Eryndil," said his mother softly, as the thane watched the unfolding scene with interest.

"Why, of course - why not?" answered Caelen, trying to keep her rising temper in check. "He can afford it, can't he? Maybe it's just a thank-you in advance for my riding instruction," she finished, although a little uneasily, as she remembered Daurendil's note and started to face what she had tried to ignore in it.

Eryndil sighed. "Well, I suppose it might be all right," he said, trying hard to make allowances for the situation. "After all, he thinks you're married."

Caelen's guilty expression made Eryndil do a double take.

"Married?!" exclaimed Hendegil and her parents in unison.

"Caelen, he DOES think you're married, doesn't he?" pressed Eryndil.

"Well ... " and Caelen's face assumed the expression of a dog who has been caught stealing food from the dinner table.

Eryndil groaned.

"I couldn't help it!" cried Caelen, irritated and ashamed and angry with herself as well as Eryndil. "I told him everything - he asked me if I wanted to go riding, and I wanted to, SO much, and I couldn't if everyone thought I was pregnant ..."

"PREGNANT?!?!" exclaimed Hendegil and her parents, aghast.

"Callon was just trying to protect me!" said Caelen imploringly. "He told people that we were married and that I was with child, because he was afraid for me there - there were so many rough men ... after what had happened once ... and then he ... he had to leave me, and ... and I was all alone, and I wanted to ride so much but I couldn't ... and I was with Arinya and the Prince came in and then asked me to go riding with them! ... so I told him what Callon had done so ... so I could go riding," finished Caelen in a small voice. "And I thought that it would be wrong to deceive a prince," she added lamely, as an afterthought.

Then a new thought occurred to her - Callon had said that Eryndil had agreed to support the ruse. She turned back to Eryndil and added, in a half accusing tone, "Callon told me that you had agreed to support the ruse - why didn't you tell your family?"

Eryndil's eyes opened wide in disbelief ... and a bit of anger. This is just too much!" he thought. "Like I did something wrong?"

"I told your brother that although I disagreed with what he had done, that I would not reveal your true connection, so of course I was going to tell my family! I just hadn't gotten around to it yet - they just arrived here a few hours ago! I had more important things to discuss with them first," he concluded a bit angrily, thinking that she needed to learn (for her own good, of course) that she - and her concerns - were not at the center of everything. He immediately regretted his words, however, as he saw Caelen's expression. He hadn't meant them to sound that harsh ... he was just trying to teach her something ...

Looking at Caelen's white face and trembling mouth, Eryndil's mother broke in. "I think perhaps we better sit down somewhere," she said, as she put a protective arm around the young orphan and led her to a nearby garden bench.

[The Wandering Dwarves]

On the Great Road southwest of Brochenridge. November 4-5, 1347.

By evening, almost all the dwarves had forgiven the two elves for the cold reception handed out to them by Agannalo. After all, they had more than made up for any prejudices by dangling their long legs all over the ground from that morning till now... without grumbling. Gere had confided to Truin alone her conversation with Alagos, and he had decided they were interesting enough to talk with. And as he led the fashions of their little company, and as he had already been preceeded by his father, it was soon common enough to nudge one's pony near to theirs and engage them in conversation. It certainly lightened up a dull journey.

The next morning, they found a new use for the elves. They had barely started the day's journey after a hearty breakfast when they found the elves looking worried beside their new ponies.

Truin told them confidentially, "If you fear riding them for another day, maybe we can excuse you. After yesterday," he paused to allow himself a grin at the recollection "you would not be considered rude for doing that."

"I appreciate it, but something else troubles us." Alagos replied, his bright eyes on the road behind them, but surely even his eyes could not penetrate the thick mist that had settled down that morning. "Someone... well, a lot of someones.. are on the road behind us. They will be catching up to us soon."

Hroim listening to their conversation, said, "Well, it could be nothing, or it could be anything. We'd best be prepared."

It was the sign for them to draw their weapons, to pull their ponies and wagons back to the side of the road. They waited, anxiously, ready for anything. The one consolation - no one smelled orc.

A noise of horses and silver armour came through first, and then the fog parted to let through around twenty men, led by a proud-looking man. The royal standard of Rhuadar hung upon itself with no wind to blow it up.

"Halt, dwarf. State your name and business."

Of course that is hardly the way to speak to a dwarf with thirty others standing ready behind him, but Gwindor's blood was running hot today. Hroim looked him up and down and took his time answering, "We are travelling to Tharbad. My name is Hroim, and I am the leader of this tribe."

Gwindor could hardly take offense at this, so he tried another tack. "The Lady Gimilbeth - daughter of the King of Rhuadar -" and a few other titles that quite slid past the dwarves, but which obviously proclaimed her importance, "is travelling this road today. You and your company will kindly move yourself to one side while we pass. She is in no mood to wait for the slow plodding of a dwarf anyway." The last sentence was meant to be a mutter, but of course he made sure it was the kind of mutter that reached everyone's ears.

Hroim's face darkened. Before he could say anything, Truin spoke up, "What if we're not in the mood to wait out the slow regal tread of your lady?"

Gwindor paused for a second trying to select the best of three replies that had occured to him. He had just rejected one as too obvious and the other as too subtle, when hooves behind him announced the presence of Gimilbeth herself.

"My lady, maybe you should turn back," he started to say. He was, of course, looking forward to the upcoming fight with the dwarves, just as soon as he managed to let off that very witty reply that he had decided on, and he did not want it complicated by having to look after Gimilbeth. Though a part of him reflected, that would be much more romantic, him slashing away with her at his back... and then she could see him in action, not just hear about it.