The Winter of Discontent. Shadow over Rhudaur V

[Queen Eilinel]

The Ball was certainly not going as smoothly as the Queen hoped. She was watching worriedly how Daurendil, after making a fool of himself so thoroughly, was now gulping down the third goblet of wine. The queen moved to him and took his elbow.

"My son, please stop this," she whispered. "You have had enough and I think it is high time for you to retire."

Daurendil scowled and shook off her hand rather rudely. "Please, leave me alone, Mother," he hissed. Deeply hurt, Eilinel watched hopelessly how he made a hasty retreat towards a group of laughing young men.

The Queen turned to look for her husband and noticed a page in a fur cape, his face obscured by a helmet (was that Edelbar?) delivering a letter to the King. She hurried over to the group. The young page indeed proved to be Edelbar, as, much to his embarrassment, once he left the King's side he found himself folded in the arms of the weeping lady Lauriel, his mother. No wonder that - a page in Gimilbeth's escort was lucky to survive the Orc ambush. His poor mother would never truly believe that he had come out unscathed…

The Queen approached to say a few kind words to the mother and son, but then she noticed another nobleman bearing Cardolan's sigil who was talking to the King, asking his permission to marry…Gimilbeth!

Eilinel gasped. She couldn't believe her ears. Someone wanted to marry the Witch, to take her away to Cardolan, never to be seen again!!! It was simply too good to be true. But Tarnendur was beaming…and Tarniel by his side was beaming as well. Her shining eyes met her mother's and she nodded smiling. So it was true.

The Queen felt tears of happiness running down her cheeks. She approached and squeezed the King's arm. Now she had a good view of the Fool who wished to marry Gimilbeth: a nice looking young man, about half her age if not younger. No matter, provided he takes her away from here….

The King was saying something along the lines that he would give the proposal due consideration, but Eilinel interrupted him. "Oh, we are so happy!" she cried. "It seems to be a very good match! I am sure the King will look favorably on your suite. I wish you both unending happiness!"

The crowd around cheered.

[Aegnor]

As the crowd cheered, Aegnor felt rather embarrassed. He considered whether he should correct the rather tipsy queen who had just congratulated him on his upcoming nuptuals. He looked at her - she did not appear to be old enough to be Gimilbeth's mother - Gimilbeth was certainly better preserved than this lady, but the Queen of Rhudaur was, he thought, actually younger than the princess.

But that was only natural, Aegnor soon realized - he seemed to remember that this was the King of Rhudaur's second wife, and that Gimilbeth was his daughter by the first. He wondered at her enthusiastic approval of her step-daughter's marriage.

As Aegnor considered how to proceed, he saw that the king had relieved him of the need to correct the queen's misapprehension. "My dear, it is not this young man who wishes to marry Gimilbeth. He is an envoy from, er, a Cardolani prince was it?"

"Indeed, sire. My master the Lord Galphant, heir to Prince Rammastir of Baranduin, is at Amon Sûl with your daughter even now."

"This is indeed great news, that my eldest daughter should be wed. Come now, sir, be welcome at your Yule celebration and be merry this eve. We can speak of the matter further in the morning."

The king and queen turned away, regarding each other fondly as they walked away from Aegnor. With this task done, Aegnor found himself alone in the midst of strangers. Many were looking at him curiously. Trying to find those he had entered with, he saw Edelbar in the midst of an emotional scene with a woman who must have been his mother, and could not find the Elves anywhere.

Only now, alone in an enormous crowd, did he realize that the king had said nothing to him of where he was to spend the night. Looking around for the king, or for that matter anybody who might be able to direct him, Aegnor came up short. Deciding not to worry about it for the moment, he thought he would take the opportunity to find a drink.

[Gildurien]

Gildurien took another goblet of wine from the tray offered by a serving girl and looked around searching for familiar faces: Vilyandur her brother, or Randoran with whom she had danced happily most of the evening. The latter seemed quite taken with her, but then abruptly abandoned her to elbow his way through the crowd to gawk at the unseemly scene that the Prince Daurendil and Caelen had played between them. Now tongues would be wagging and her new sister-in-law's reputation would be irretrievably ruined. Serves the wench right, but unfortunately it was Gildurien’s family's reputation that was at stake as well.

Gildurien snorted in frustration and, turning abruptly, collided with a tall young man. Some of the wine in her goblet splashed on her own skirt. The man apologized and called for a servant girl to help her mop the stain with a napkin.

"Don't worry, my lady," he said, "white wine leaves no permanent stains. You have a very beautiful and becoming gown," he observed with a smile.

Clumsy bastard... Striving to hide her irritation as best she could, Gildurien pursed her lips and looked the stranger over. Curiously enough, her interlocutor was clad not in festive but in traveling clothes, though rich and elegant ones. The hem of his cloak was heavily splashed with mud and on his breast there was a sigil with a star and a hawk embroidered in gold on a green field. Gimilbeth was unfamiliar with this design, but surely the Green must be… "Are you from Cardolan, good sir?" she inquired.

"Indeed I am", he replied. "My name is Aegnor and I am Steward of the Prince Rammastir of Baranduin, the highest nobleman of Cardolan."

Gildurien curtsied, happy that she hadn't given in to her first impulse to yell at the man for ruining her precious dress. That would have been most inappropriate… "Gildurien, daughter of Thane Camglas of Ostinand and Duinand" she introduced herself, smiling. "Have you just arrived to Cameth Brin, my lord?"

"Yes, I have barely spent a quarter of an hour here," he replied, "I only had time to deliver my message to your King.”

“A message from Cardolan?” Gildurien exclaimed worriedly. “I hope it wasn’t a declaration of war, or something?”

“Certainly not” Aegnor laughed. “I admit the relationships between our countries used to be not overly cordial to put it mildly, but I do hope they will improve. The Heir of my Prince, Lord Galphant, asks for Lady Gimilbeth’s hand in marriage and I was led to believe that your King, and especially your Queen, look favorably on his proposal.”

Gildurien replied, her voice dripping with venom “Ahh, the queen would do anything to get rid of her step-daughter. There is no love lost between them, everyone knows it.... But what a wonderful news,“ Gildurien drawled without much conviction, her hopes to meet Gimilbeth upon the Princess’s return to Cameth Brin jeopardized. She bit her lip. “Will Gimilbeth go to Cardolan directly from Amon Sul?”

“I am not sure, really,” Aegnor sounded uncertain. “I would say the Lady would likely return here first, sometime in spring. Royal marriages take a long time to arrange and the betrothal time should be at least a year… But why do you ask?”

Gildurien blushed and said choosing her words carefully “I have always admired lady Gimilbeth and was looking forward to be introduced to her one day. Unfortunately upon coming to Cameth Brin I have found her gone to Amon Sul. Do you hail from there? Have you met the lady, spoken with her?” She studied Aegnor’s face waiting for a reply.

[Aegnor]

Aegnor paused and looked thoughtfully at the lady before answering. It seemed that every Rhudaurian he met had an odd fascination with Gimilbeth. "I have indeed just come from Amon Sûl, my lady, in company with a troop of your own men. It is there that my master's son came to know the lady Gimilbeth. I myself saw the lady many times during my time at Amon Sûl, but I rarely had occasion to speak to her at any length. When I departed on my journey here she met me and spoke to me very kindly in urging me good luck on the journey and bidding me that the message I brought was not just on the Lord Galphant's behalf, but on hers as well. I am sure I shall come to know her well in the coming years."

Gildurien looked mildly disappointed by the response. "Well, indeed," she continued after a moment. "I'm sure. But tell me, what is Cardolan like? And why were you and your master at Amon Sûl? We get so little news of what happens in the other kingdoms here in Cameth Brin - I am always eager to learn more about other lands."

Aegnor had not begun to answer when their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of two pretty young servant girls. "My lord," the dark-haired girl said with a half-smirk, "Her Majesty the Queen has bidden us to take you to your rooms in the palace."

[Tamyris]

A young serving girl of smallish build made her way quickly and gracefully between the groups of chatting people, carrying trays of wine. Her long black hair, which she kept bound with red ribbon into a thick braid, swung behind her back as she moved. Her cheeks were as flushed as Sirien's, but not simply because of the wine that she and her coworker had been sneaking from the unused portions on trays. Being from southern Gondor, Tamyris was very accustomed to wine, and as such it had little effect on her.

Her ears were buzzing with the things she had been hearing as she passed blithely through the groups of nobles, and though her face remained schooled into a blank expression, she thought she would explode from suppressed giggles. She couldn't wait to get back behind the scenes once again and tell her friends all about everything she had been hearing - and seeing - whilst out on the floor. The palace would be fluttering with the reverberations of these tidings for months to come, Tamyris thought to herself with a well-hidden smirk.

She had gotten a good look at the bride's gown, and that of the lady in purple and gold who was always scowling - Gildurien, she thought she had heard someone call her. Oh, how I wish I could have ornate gowns like theirs! Tamyris thought with a little huff of a sigh. She had embroidered her own sleeves, which tied on around her arms in the southern Gondorian fashion, with red glass beads for the occasion, and changed their plain ribbons to red satin. She had spent her extra coins on these pretty - if inexpensive - details in preparation for the Yule ball, as the head servant had given orders to the girls who were working the event to "Wear your best". Still, her dress was mostly covered by the flowing white aprons of the waitstaff.

Carrying a mostly-empty tray past a small group of people on her way out of the room, she followed Sirien out. They would have more wine leavings to drink over their gossip. Catching up quickly with Sirien, she dissolved into hushed cackling.

"The Prince can't keep his hands off the bride!", she snickered. "Did you see that dance?" She emphasized the last word, grabbing one of the half-filled glasses and taking a long sip. "You'd think he were the groom!" Her dark eyes laughed, her cheeks nearly as red as her sleeves.

Sirien smirked. "Oh yes, I did!", she laughed back in a half-whisper. "He obviously wishes he were!" The two girls' tinkling laughter could no longer be contained, making enough noise in the hallway to attract attention if they weren't more careful.

Tamyris looked at her friend, who was starting to look glassy-eyed. She removed the glass from Sirien's hands. "No more for you for a while!", she laughed, and kept Sirien's glass for herself. She was always a little too proud of her higher tolerance for wine around Sirien, who was born here in the north. They looked at each other and laughed even more. This was a good Yule.

At last they heard footsteps, and quieted themselves - at least to the best of their ability. Tathwen, a serving woman of twice their age with no tolerance for gossip, was walking toward them.

"Ah, aren't you two a merry sight!" Tathwen's voice exuded sarcasm. The middle-aged woman wiped her hands on her apron and hastily adjusted the low bun in back of her greying head. Her blue eyes pierced the two younger women as she spoke. Sirien jumped slightly, and Tamyris stood a little taller, but the blush was still in their cheeks, even if the twinkle started fading from their eyes.

"The Queen has a special errand for the two of you", Tathwen said. "See that under-dressed gentleman over there?" She pointed to a tall nobleman in traveling clothes who was talking with the young lady in gold and purple. Tamyris snorted. But her gaze was drawn back to the nobleman. From the insignia on his clothing, she could only guess that he was from Cardolan.

Tamyris appeared to be suddenly lost in thought, sucking absent-mindedly on her red lower lip. Sirien hit her with her elbow, bringing her back to the present.

Tathwen went on. "The Queen would like you both to see him to his guest room in the palace". Tamyris, smirking, looked at Sirien, who also was smirking and raising an eyebrow. All the glitter returned to their eyes. Oh, what luck! This could stand to be fun.

As Tathwen walked away, she could hear the two girls suddenly exploding into another peal of laughter behind her. Well, at least we'll be rid of their antics for the evening. Or so she thought...

With a coy little grin, Tamyris grabbed Sirien's arm with her own. The two tarried a little along the way, eavesdropping, exchanging flashing looks of surprise at hearing the mention of Lady Gimilbeth's name. This will be some juicy news, they thought. Making a united front, the two girls walked toward the hapless Aegnor, ganging up on him.

They approached him where he stood with the purple-clad lady, who frowned most unbecomingly at them. "My lord," Tamyris said, her tone dripping with mischief. She didn't even look at Gildurien. Her face is going to freeze like that, she thought to herself with a silent giggle. "Her Majesty the Queen has bidden us to take you to your rooms in the palace".

The nobleman turned to face the two girls. Tamyris' dark eyes were lit with sparkles, her cheeks aflame, and the most mischievous little smile played on her face. Sirien's expression was a twisted little half-smirk, her light eyes and pale brown hair, which was now falling a little bit out of its binding, making a pleasant contrast with the darker looks of Tamyris.

Aegnor looked from the girls back to Gildurien, nodding slightly. "It appears as if your Queen would like to see me to my rooms for the night."

The Queen, indeed! thought Gildurien, looking at the two serving girls and their openly flirtatious behavior with daggers in her eyes. The audacity, she thought to herself, especially that Southern one! As if on cue, Tamyris just leaned a bit against Sirien, smiling and giving Gildurien a little nonchalant wave.

"Such a lovely gown, my lady!" Tamyris mocked, feeling triumphant. The two girls giggled to themselves, turning their attentions fully and exuberantly back toward Aegnor. "Shall we now take you to your room?" Tamyris was really pouring on the charm. Sirien behind her stifled an excited little laugh.

"Of course," Aegnor replied, suddenly feeling a bit warm. He bowed politely to Gildurien, bidding her goodnight, then turned toward the two girls. Tamyris and Sirien each linked an arm in Aegnor's, and walked him out of the room. Tamyris looked back over her shoulder one last time to see the jilted Gildurien flush and stamp one of her feet. She gave her one more little wave and called back to her, in a playful tone. "Goodnight!"

Once outdoors, the chilly air stung their warm cheeks and hands. Tamyris questioned, with a coquettish sidelong look. "Your journey must have been simply grueling..."

Tamyris and Sirien fully intended to hear everything he knew about what was going on with Lady Gimilbeth.



~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

[Aegnor]

Aegnor was uncertain what to make of these saucy servant girls and their extrication of him from his conversation. Gildurien had hardly been a particularly enjoyable conversation partner, but it had been some time since he'd had a chance to converse with an unmarried lady of his own rank - those at Amon Sûl had been either well above him or well below him in station. It was, at the very least, useful to keep in practice at it.

Then again, he thought, looking at the two girls who had linked arms with him, it had been even longer since he had enjoyed the more intimate company of a woman. These servant girls certainly seemed friendlier than the ones at Amon Sûl, who had largely seemed rather earnest and virtuous. "Who'd have thought the hospitality of Rhudaur would be so superior to that of Arthedain?" he thought to himself.

Glancing quickly at the two girls as they walked towards where his rooms must be. "The journey was indeed difficult, as any journey at this time of year must be. It certainly did not help that a thirteen year old boy was in charge of the trip. The lad has a good heart, but had we encountered any real difficulty, we might have come to serious harm."

"Oh, so you didn't encounter any orcs?" the blond girl inquired.

"No, no orcs, thankfully."

"Or wolves? Or wicked men? or devious halfling desperados? Or murderous elves?" inquired the brunette.

"Murderous elves?" Aegnor laughed. "You girls have an active imagination, certainly."

"Oh, no, not imagination at all," the brunette replied. "Some awful elf has been going about murdering young girls here in Rhudaur. He seduces them, and sucks out all their blood, they say."

"That hardly sounds like an elf," Aegnor said. "Not that I have that much experience with them, but I was just traveling with two elves, and they seemed capital fellows."

"Of course they would, to you," replied the blond. "You are not a pretty young girl, so they'd have no use for sucking your blood."

The brunette leaned more closely towards him. "Oh! there are elves here in Cameth Brin, then? You won't let them seduce me and suck my blood, will you?"

Aegnor put his arm around her waist, laughing again. "Oh no, of course I will protect you both from their horrible appetites."

By now they had reached the inside of the palace, leading him into one of the wings. Almost immediately they found themselves confronted with the mewling of a large number of cats. "Shush you!" cried the blond. "You are staying in the Lady Gimilbeth's wing of the palace, and she has a great number of cats. I hope you're not frightened of them. They've not harmed any of us."

"No, of course not, girls. I have never had problems with cats in the past."

"I couldn't help but overhear you saying something of the Lady Gimilbeth to that lady when we found you," said the brunette, who grabbed his hand and led him towards one of the rooms. "Have you come here from her?"

These girls were almost certainly incorrigible gossips. He would have to try to be careful in what he said to them. Nonetheless, the idea of some companionship for the night was quite pleasant. It had been some time, and the girls were pretty and seemed willing enough. "In a way, I suppose. But girls, it is late. Surely that is enough of talking for the night. Perhaps you will come into my room and turn down the bed?"

[Tamyris]

Tamyris' dark eyes lit up all the more at the invitation to come into the room, and she smiled.

"We'd be more than happy, my lord," she said, winking and giggling behind his back at Sirien, who just rolled her eyes and smirked again. Tamyris really had her ways!

"I am Tamyris, from Gondor, and this is my friend Sirien," she announced. "But you may call me Tamy. And what is your name, my lord?"

"I am Aegnor, Steward to the Prince of..." Tamyris cut him off before he had the chance to finish with all of his titles.

"Ah, what a nice name!" She exclaimed, her eyes all sparkly. Just then one of Gimilbeth's cats suddenly screeched, startling her. She had stepped on its tail. Sirien looked like she was about to burst out laughing.

Tamyris led Aegnor to the entrance of the room. Sirien went on a little ahead of them and began fluffing the pillows on the bed. Tamyris then jumped up playfully and plopped herself down right in the center. It was soft and fluffy and made a cushy sound as she fell into it, and she laughed lightly. A cat who was sleeping under a pillow ran meowing out of the room, its full silvery tail swishing as it ran. "Won't you sit here with us?" She patted the fluffy down comforter with one hand, smiling at him. Looking up randomly at the ceiling, she remembered with a smile that it was still the Yule by the sight she beheld... mistletoe. The servants had gone around hanging it over every bed in the palace just this afternoon. She snickered to herself, her cheeks all aglow.

Just then, both girls were startled by the heavy clack of heeled boots in the hallway, echoing in through the still-open door. Sirien's eyes grew wide, meeting the gaze of Tamyris, who had been startled completely and was now sitting straight up, looking as if she'd just seen a ghost. Sirien's mouth had fallen open in the silliest of ways. Tamyris' usually ruddy cheeks went suddenly uncharacteristically pale.

"Aha!" laughed Tathwen, viewing the little incriminating scene.

Tamyris looked at Aegnor, then back to Sirien. To Mordor with you, Tathwen! she cursed to herself. Tamyris turned back to look at the older servant, disobedience written all over her face and a look of terror in her eyes. Tathwen hated her, and the feeling was mutual!

The Cardolani had recoiled at the unexpected intrusion of the older woman. "What's this about?" he asked.

"Sir, I was just coming to make sure that Tamyris and Sirien had done their duty. I'm sorry, sir, if they were bothering you," Tathwen began, addressing the man deferentially.

"Nothing of the kind, I assure you. They have done their duty very well." Aegnor stood up, towering over the older woman. "Do you have any further business here?"

Tathwen's initial deference disappeared instantly. "Oh, I'm very sure I do, sir, and I'm very sure you don't. And I'll not be told my business by some debauched foreigner, I thank you very much" she snapped, and then proceeded to turn away and ignore him, addressing herself to the girls.

"Tamyris", Tathwen shook her head, clicking her tongue. "I should have known that I'd find you in such a mess. Out, out with you, right now!" Tathwen clapped her hands. Sirien stood up, smoothing her skirts and rolling her eyes. Tamyris stood, reluctantly, smoothing her black hair into place within its braid. She looked back once more toward Aegnor, who seemed to have been embarrassed into silence by Tathwen's rude rebuke, and then back to the angry eyes of her superior.

"I'm sorry, Tathwen", she gulped. "What do you need?"

Tathwen pursed her lips, giving Tamyris a disapproving glare. "Lady Gimilbeth expects her cats to be given the utmost care in her absence", she went on in her usual clipped tone. "You girls hurry along now and clean out those litterboxes!"

Sirien groaned, muttering "Oh no, not that" under her breath. Tamyris just nodded, rolling her eyes and uttering a little resigned sigh. Tathwen looked sternly at Sirien, then a bit more closely at Tamyris, with a raised eyebrow.

"Come along now, girls, your task is finished here", Tathwen clucked, placing a hand on each girl's shoulder and herding them out of the room. "Come now, Tamyris." Tathwen tapped her shoulder and physically pushed her on forward into the hallway before mercilessly closing the door.

Tamyris rolled her eyes again, this time yawning. What stupid luck! She glanced back at Sirien, meeting her eyes, and both girls shook their heads. Tathwen was always mean, but talking to a nobleman that way and spoiling the Yule for two innocent girls who were just having some fun was beyond anything!

The girls walked down the hall, toward the litterboxes. They still followed the older woman, whose lips were still pursed in the most unflattering way on her too-thin face. What a rotten, unhappy person, Tamyris thought. She couldn't help but wonder whether Tathwen was so bitter because as a young serving girl she always got her fun spoiled, too. Tamyris made a promise then and there that she would never become like Tathwen!


~* ~* ~* ~* ~*

[General Nimruzir]

Dol Hithlaer, late night, December 31, 1347 to the morning of January 1, 1348

Early that morning, Broggha's engineers had directed the placement of siege equipment below the fortress of Dol Hithlaer. The orcs had screamed in rage and launched one barrage of arrows and spears after another against the invaders, but the distance had been too great and the casualties few. The great trebuchets, capable of hurling huge stones, flaming pitch, or other materials over long distances, had been constructed from the stout Northern wood and were rolled into place. Siege towers had also been built under the close supervision of Broggha's engineers. These high towers were constructed with a series of platforms connected by ladders. Covered with animal hides, the platforms should offer a certain amount of protection from missiles and hot oil unleashed by the defenders. Once placed against the castle walls, the men in the tower would lower a ramp and rush to attack the defenses atop the wall.

The fortress walls were high and strong, but there was a weak spot that was vulnerable. Considering the castle to be impregnable, the commander of the fortress, Mautor Nûlthrakal, had neglected ordering much needed repairs, being content to spend his time in gambling, drinking, and wenching. This neglected spot in the defenses was the major target of Broggha's trebuchet.

As the machines hurled one huge stone after another against the walls, Broggha's men cheered as cracks developed and chunks of building stone collapsed and fell. As the day wore on, the breach in the wall had been widened by a good ten feet, but the lower ramparts were still intact. Unfortunately for Broggha's engineers, the siege towers could not be rolled to the base of the wall, for there was far too much rubble and debris about the place. As the engineers of Broggha's army gazed up at the wall the afternoon of December 31st, they saw that it still stood.

As Broggha strode among the engineers and their assistants, he raged, "The blasted wall is still there!" The Jarl had been so furious that he had ordered that a junior engineer be flogged in front of the troops. Such a gross example of incompetency deserved punishment, and the man had been lucky that Broggha had not ordered his death. However, Broggha was not a man who gave up easily, and there were other ways of taking a fortress.

As Broggha and his escort left the area where the trebuchets were located, a messenger rode up, saluted and said that he had a message for Broggha. As the hill chieftain read the missive, a sly smile steadily spread over his face.

***

Along with the rest of General Nimruzir's small staff, Captain Gellamond, chief aide to the General, had watched the futile assault on the walls of Dol Hithlaer. Resentment had burned in him as Broggha, chief of the hillmen and leader of the Northern invasion, had strutted before his men, rallying them to almost fanatic zeal. Captain Gellamond had more on his mind than the crude Hillmen chieftain.

The day before, December 30th, while on a scouting trip to the mountains above the fortress, General Nimruzir had taken a bad fall, injuring his leg in the process. The Captain had known the General for years and considered him a valued friend. He suspected that the old general had been hurt more severely than he would admit. As the scouting party made its way down the steep slope, no amount of suggestion would persuade the General to ride in a litter. The Captain had almost cringed as the other man hobbled painfully down the steep mountain trail, leaning heavily on a stick. When they returned to the camp, General Nimruzir refused to let the camp physician see him, saying in no uncertain words that he did not need a doctor and that he would be perfectly fine after a little rest.

As the night wore on, the General consumed much more wine than was his custom, and Gellamond knew the proud old general must be using the draught to ease his pain. Finally, the General caught a few brief hours of sleep before he rose again from his bed to watch the battering of the castle walls. Though he had insisted that he be allowed to inspect the various siege equipment of Broggha's army, he had been refused on the grounds of "too much danger to your noble person." The General had stormed and raged, but there was nothing he could do but watch along with Captain Gellamond and the other Rhudaurians.

The night of the 31st, the General had refused anything to eat and had taken to his cot early. Gellamond had been surprised when the querulous old man agreed to let the camp physician and his assistant see him.

The time ticked by slowly, and the doctor still did not emerge from the sectioned off chamber of the General's tent. Captain Gellamond and the staff members who had gathered in the General's tent were on their third bottle of wine when the doctor and his assistant finally pushed aside the canvas curtain.

"The General..." Gellamond exclaimed as he rose to his feet. The others quickly followed suit.

"The General is ill," the doctor informed him. "When he fell, he broke the thin outside bone in his lower leg. Although the General is not a young man, he is surprisingly healthy, and would have, no doubt, in time healed if there was nothing more than a broken bone. Unfortunately, the injury is not a simple one. When he fell, the edge of the bone tore through the surface of his leg." His face drawn with concern, the physician shook his head. "I have done the best that I could."

"Will he be all right?" Gellamond's voice was tense.

"Captain, the wound is a very messy one with dirt and bits of cloth deep in the wound. I had to resort to surgery to clean the site and stabilize the fracture. I gave him something to help him sleep. All we can do now is wait... and hope."

Captain Gellamond persuaded the doctor to share a drink before he went back to his tent. As the men were sitting around the table, they heard a commotion and then a great shout.

"What is that?" Gellamond demanded as he sprang to his feet, and with the other men, rushed to the leather covering of the tent. Outside they saw hundreds of torches like fireflies dancing in the night. He grabbed a hillman as the man rushed by the tent. "What is going on?"

"The fortress has fallen!" the man cried, his breath reeking of wine.

"What happened?" Gellamond demanded.

"Treachery from within, sir." The man grinned. "A little gold can do great wonders. Some orcs from inside the fortress sliced the necks of the enemy guards at the postern gate... cut some of their heads off, I hear! Then after they had finished with them, they opened the gate and let our men inside the fortress. I hear the fight was fierce, but we killed all we could... even Mautor Nûlthrakal! I saw his severed head myself!"

Gellamond grasped the man's shoulder tighter and stared into his eyes, trying to determine if the man was telling the truth. He was about to detain the hillman longer when more men rushed by, yelling at the top of their lungs. "The fortress has fallen! The Jarl has triumphed over his enemies and we are the victors!"

"All right, now do you believe what I say, Captain?" The hillman's ruddy face was mottled dark with anger.

"Aye, I believe," Gellamond replied as he released his tight grip on the man.

As dawn broke on January 1st, the flames from the burning buildings inside the fortress lit up the sky, sending up clouds of dark smoke and acrid fumes. The hillman put out the fires that they could and let the rest smolder. By late afternoon, Broggha led his men through the open gates of Dol Hithlaer and chose the unharmed keep for his headquarters. As the weak winter sun set, there were two flags flying on the ramparts - one the flag of Rhudaur, and flying above it, Broggha's own banner, the blue bear on a field of orange.

[Silmadan]

Night of December 31- January 1, 1348

Here we have the Winter Solstice celebration in the city of Carn-Dum.

[scribe]

December 31st, The Palace grounds of Cameth Brin

Two steps at the time, Callon sprinted up the stairs towards the room that had been appointed to him and Caelen. He grinned as he imagined how be happy she would be to see him arrive so unexpectedly after so long an absence. He could already see the scene before him: Caelen springing up from the seat, her eyes shining brightly, the candle-light reflecting on her hair.

What he didn’t expect, when he threw open the door after a brief knock, was to find their room empty and dark! No candles, no Caelen, no nothing. He stood there for a few moments, staring at the empty room. He took a hesitant step forward to look around. The light coming form the hall-way was enough to show that not only was the room empty, but had been unoccupied for quite a while now. Where was Caelen? His good mood quickly turned into worry that squeezed his heart in his chest. He should never have left her alone like this.

He spun around, and started briskly walking the way he had come. He needed to find someone to tell him what had happened to Caelen. But most people were at the ball, and the corridors were empty. Turning the corner, he nearly ran into a young maid that came out of the servants’ common room, carrying dirty tablecloths. He grabbed her shoulders and demanded urgently: “Where’s my wife? What has happened to Caelen?!” The young girl just stared at him dumbfounded and somewhat fearful, which he didn’t notice in his haste.

~~~

Wilwarin left the ball not long after the happily married couple had made their exit. Most of Wilwarin’s friends and colleagues were still at the ball, but Wilwarin was mindful of the fact that unlike them, she’d still have a task ahead of her that night. She had therefore limited her indulgence to only one glass of most excellent Belfalas wine, and two dances with a unknown young nobleman whose name she had failed to catch in all the noise of the ball. Being appointed the guardian of a princess was indeed a blow to one’s social life, she once again considered.

She remembered she had promised Sirien to lend her a shawl for tomorrow when Sirien had a day off. With having to leave early for the wedding, Wilwarin had not had the chance to hand over the item to her friend and it wasn’t likely Sirien would return soon from the ball. Wilwarin decided to drop off the shawl at Sirien’s room in the servants’ wing. She easily had time to do so before princess Tarniel would retire to her quarters and Wilwarin’s nightly vigil would start.

When she reached the top of the stairs and wanted to turn the corner into the maids’ wing, she heard a commotion coming from the other side. Someone was shouting. Curiously she turned towards the sound. She saw someone had accosted Malindel who had dropped the bundle of fabric she had been carrying and stood trembling. Malindel was in short a very simple girl, too simple really. But she did what she was told, and did it speedily enough, so she was generally well liked and most of the Palace staff looked out for her. She was commonly called Mallie.

Wilwarin reached for one of the heavy metal candlesticks that stood on a cupboard nearby, grimly thinking no drunken guest would molest a friend while she was around. Malindel tried to stammer a reply when Callon angrily repeated his question. “Where’s my wife? Where’s Caelen!?”

Wilwarin quickly lowered the candlestick in her hand. Caelen? Uh-oh. This called for an intervention all right, but of a different sort. She quickly walked closer and stepped between Callon and Malindel, pulling the former’s arm away from Malindel’s shoulder in the process.

“It’s alright, Mallie,” she said kindly, turning to the girl, “I’ll handle this, why don’t you take care of the laundry?” Malindel didn’t need much encouragement, with a quick nod and a stammered ‘thank you’ she quickly gathered the fallen fabric, and while casting one more frightened look at Callon, she fled like a deer.

Wilwarin looked at Callon who looked like he could barely contain his anger. But his demeanour changed abruptly when he saw the candlestick she was still holding. He made a visible effort to calm himself down. Wilwarin took those few moments to study him briefly. She could see the family resemblance now, so this must be the brother Caelen had mentioned. He sure knew when to make an appearance.

“Where is my wife?” Callon repeated, still a fraction too loud for Wilwarin’s taste.

“Hush!” she snapped. The last thing Caelen needed, Wilwarin considered, was her brother making a scene and remembering everyone of the unfortunate business with the marriage-ruse on her very wedding day.

“Come into the common room,” she said, knowing it would be practically empty at this time, and a place where she could talk to a male member of the staff without becoming the next topic in Sirien’s gossip. “At least we can talk there like civilised people. There have been a few changes in Caelen’s situation which you should know before you stir up the entire palace.”

She turned and walked into servants’ common room with Callon following. The room was indeed empty.

“Situation?” Callon asked behind her with audible concern. “Has anything happened with... her, um," He stopped in confusion.

Wilwarin turned around in a flash. “Oh no, that cat is firmly out of the bag by now,” she said more sharply then she intended. Wilwarin disliked deception, nobody did business with a lying merchant if they could prevent it. It was bad for business and it ruined reputations all around like wildfire. And since she had learned that Callon had thought up the whole scheme, she was less friendly disposed towards him than she would normally act around a friend’s relatives.

She indicated him a bench, and took a seat across the table of him, at a respectable distance. She placed the candle-stick on the table, she had no use for it now. She put down the shawl as well, Sirien would have to wait just a little longer. At least, she noticed, he had the decency to look embarrassed when referring to Caelen's supposed pregnancy.

“I am Wilwarin,” she said as introduction, “Although we have met only two weeks ago I’d like to consider myself as a friend of your sister’s.” She empathised the last word, to let him know the whole truth had come out. “Did you seriously consider Caelen capable of maintaining that hare-brained scheme of yours while you were off into the North? A three-day old fowl would have been more up to the task.”

The mention of a fowl in connection with Caelen brought a sad smile to Callon’s face.

“Although I suppose Caelen cannot be entirely blamed for failing to go through with that bad idea. Matters weren’t exactly helped when she found a rather ardent admirer in the prince.”

Callon paled. “The prince?!”

“Quite right. Crown-prince, even. Your sister has quite a way with catching male attention and I mean that in the most inoffensive manner. But to cut a long story short- your sister can tell it to you in more detail if she wishes- things went like they always do in large cities such as this one, and tongues started wagging from the very tower-spires down to the kitchens. The truth came out piece by piece and your sister forfeited her place in the palace.

“What?” Callon jumped up, nearly sending the bench flying. Wilwarin quickly held up her hand before he charged off into the night to look for his sister.

“Calm yourself, your sister is fine as we speak, quite happy too, I imagine. A man named Eryndil and his sister provided her with a place to stay, I assume you know them both as well.”

Callon visibly calmed down at the mention of Eryndil and Hendegil. So it seems Eryndil had come to Caelen’s rescue once again. Wilwarin rose and walked over a cupboard where she withdrew two earthen mugs. She filled them with water from a pitcher and placed one of the mugs before Callon. She took a sip from hers before continuing. Callon looked with a vague suspicion at the mug, he wasn’t really thirsty. But ah, Wilwarin thought, he’ll need it in a minute…

“I must say you have chosen the best- or the worst- day to return to Cameth Brin,” she said, “for this very day Caelen has married Eryndil. And if this morning she was still a guest in his house, from tonight on, she is his wife.”

Callon let out a long sigh of relief. And just as Wilwarin predicted, he took a long draught of the cool water to let the news sink in. Wilwarin refilled his mug and gave him some time to digest it all.

“I realise now why you shushed me earlier,” Callon said. “But what do you mean by ‘the worst day’?”

“There is this: while Caelen had to leave the room you shared in the married servants’ wing, there is a room put aside for you in the men’s wing. However, if I recall correctly, Caelen has taken all your belongings with her for safe keeping. And as it is bad luck – not to mention very rude- to bother a bride on her wedding-night, I’m afraid you are quite stuck here without so much as a clean shirt. Now I reckon the choices you have are these: you can stay here for the night, and I’m sure we’ll find someone who can lend you a couple of clothes. You look about Telinor’s size. Or a page boy can lead you to Eryndil’s house where you can seek lodging, although I imagine you may have to wait a while until the rest of Eryndil’s family returns from the ball. But the first thing you’ll be doing,” she said as she rose from the bench, “is follow me to the laundry room and apologise to Mallie… Malindel for scaring her so.”