Something Rotten in the Riddermark

[Turgon]

Chapter One

The old man splashed a handful of water on his face and let out a resigned sigh. He was fast approaching sixty, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to feel it. As he gazed down at his reflection in the gentle rill that trickled passed his campsite, a stranger looked back at him. A long mane of shaggy hair hung down around his shoulders, a few glitstening beads of water caught in the iron-grey cascade. Skin like old leather, faded and worn from a once ruddy glow. His beard a patchwork of grey and silver, quivering now as a breeze caught the water. Only in the eyes could the old man see something of the man he once was, green they were, as green as the grass that ran westwards to the horizon, and eastward to the very eaves of Fangorn. Slapping at the water in annoyance he drew himself upright, looking if he only knew it, very much like the trees of that ancient forest. Weathered but not bowed.

'Hengist you old fool,' he muttered. 'What are you doing out here in the Marches? Travelling is a young man's business. You should have taken yourself a wife whilst you still had the looks for it.'

Stamping back to the small canvas shelter he had been dwelling in for the past three days, he rummaged around in his pack and pulled out a few strips of salted pork. Placing them on a small, flat stone at the edge of his tiny campfire. Damn that forest! he thought, as he sat down with his back against a rock. Although high summer was fast approaching, the early morning sun had done little to warm him. Hengist knew well enough what dwelt within the eaves of Fangorn, and though his people might view tales of tree shepherds and dark woodland spirits as stories fit only for children, the old man knew better. He was well travelled for one of his race, having passed beyond the borders of the Riddermark on many occasions, and unlike many of his countrymen, he had few predjudices or preconceptions. It was out of respect for those who dwelt within Fangorn that he kept down his fire, not out of fear; and though the forest lay some leagues away, Hengist knew that one watched from beneath Fangorn's hoary boughs, to whom the very thought of fire was pain beyond mortal ken.

The salty smell of sizzling pork drove all thoughts of the forest from the rider's mind, as the breeze took up the aroma and blew it, teasingly, beneath his nose. Pulling a small knife from his belt, Hengist leant forward and speared the pork with three swift strikes. 'Trust the elf to be late.' he grumbled, as he gobbled down his meal. 'Could take down one of them big Fangorn tuskers with that bow of his; it is going to be a lean journey back to Edoras otherwise. Especially with two mouths to feed.'

At this the old man jumped up, a half-eaten strip of meat falling unnoticed to the floor. A loud whinnying could be heard from down by the steam, where Hengist's steed was grazing. The horse, it seemed, had spotted something. Rushing to his pack the rider pulled out his battered broadsword, and crouching down as best he could made his way around the rocks that sheltered his campsite.

[chrysophalax]

"Eru, did you have to create your most delicious animals....not that I'm complaining mind you...so...inconveniently heavy? Where is that old horse thief when he could be of use? " This rather ambiguous statement was delivered to no on in particular (save Eru, of course) as Haluin dragged a fat doe out from under the shadows of two ancient elms, with whom he had a nodding acquaintance, the guardians Fangorn's southernmost edge. She (the doe in question) had run him a merry chase and he now found himself eagerly anticipating some of Hengist's venison stew for which, Hengist had assured him in the past, he was widely famous. Haluin intended to put him to the test.

Suddenly, he heard a piercing neigh and stopped dragging his kill long enough to shade his eyes against the sun's rays. "Well, well. That must be that bat-eared old nag of Hengist's. I believe he could hear a mouse break wind in Isengard from here." He chuckled. "I know I can." In much higher spirits, Haluin grabbed up the doe's well-trussed forelegs and re-doubled his efforts in the direction from whence the neigh had come.

Haluin couldn't help grinning. He could hear scrabbling amongst the rocks ahead and the occasional faint chink of metal against stone, far too faint for a man to hear, but all too easy for an elf. He knew an ambush awaited him and he decided to walk right into it. As he approached the base of the rocky outcropping, a head cautiously peered down at him from above. Haluin dropped his burden, assumed a heroic stance with one foot atop the doe and threw back his cloak over one shoulder. "Hengist, mellon! I see that you are well...well, if my eyes do not deceive me. If you would care to help me carve up this deer, I would have you make good on your boast as a cook. Unless, of course I have awakened you betimes? Do not lay the blame for that at my feet! Nay, rather, blame that old windbag of yours. Ruined my entrance, as usual. Come, help me with this!"

[Daranavo]

An evening sun had almost disappeared below the horizon and the sky was emblazoned in hues of gold and crimson. Two forms sat under a poplar tree that was in full bloom. It's blossoms were of a pale violet and they served as almost a blanket for them as they sat and watched the sun dive deeper behind the hills just beyond Edoras. Daranavo was not sure what to say but he knew in his heart that he was not ready. So much has happened of late and so few of the Rohirrim to fight. The words caught in his throat and he just smiled politely at her and then turned away to gaze once more at the sun.

In a soft tone he spoke to her. "It is not for me to decide such things anyway. If I am needed then I must do what I have been trained to do...I have taken the oaths and to them still I hold. I wish...I wish you could understand." He began to stammer and his expression changed as he did not really like his own words that he had spoken, however, he knew she would like them even less.

Her gaze lingered on the burning sunset. She seemed to have grown cold as the silence deepened between them. There was no question about their needing good men at the call, but why had he given any heed to the call? Why had he gone forward? Did he have any idea what the cost could be? Of course he did. How could anyone not. He had known since he was old enough to understand why the men would go out, and not all would always come back. Aerin’s eyes hardly blinked as he broke the silence. Tears burned behind her eyes, but experience helped hold them back. Level and calm, her voice was spoken out ahead of them, her face not turning to him, "Why can't you tell them no?"

He turned and faced her. His eyes softened but always they glowed a bright blue when he looked at her. How many times have they had the same conversation? How many times had he said the same things? He did not know for certain and he desperately tried to find the ones that would burn the least. "Look...down, over there just beyond the stable." He pointed below them where a small group of young men were being taught how to use a shield while on their horses. "Those men have people who care for them...mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers and wives. Each day men die and more of those there...our youngest take up the oaths and bear the responsibility of protecting our lands. What little they can learn in the short time they have, perhaps, it will save their life and perhaps not but always the risk is the same. Each day we ride those that care for them, those that love them will go another day and do what they must do and live their lives as best they can. For if it is not to be so, then those that die, that give their lives so that others can live, their sacrifice is wasted." He looked closely at her and hoped that his words were not to harsh. He thought back to when his own father had died. He was just a boy himself. He remembered that he had knelt down beside his father. Broken and bloodied. He traced the lines of his face with outstretched fingers while his mother stood above him and wept. Daranavo had no tears for his father that day. Nor did he have tears for any of his men that never returned home. Such sentiments were lost upon him however today, at this very moment, his heart felt as it would leap from his very chest. For her...for Aerin who was not but a few feet from him now.

She remained silent while he spoke and her eyes refused to look where he had pointed. She already knew their faces and even the names of most of them. They were somehow different in her mind though, the men and boys that she herself would cheer for upon their going out, and the one sitting beside her. They were others', he was... she wanted to call him hers. Everything in her was against the thought of loosing him to any war. Even if it meant giving up what she had, she thought she could live happily so long as he stayed. What sort of a life is there for someone if the one she gives her heart to is no sooner taken away?" Fighting to keep still, Aerin kept her eyes as far away from his as she could. How many times from then to now had she had to fight against each tear since he had left that very first time? Even since he had returned she had nearly refused to look him in the eye, so frightened was she of what could come of it. There seemed to never have been a way she could get through to him, but stubbornness and her heart demanded that she not let go of any scrap of hope he may give her.

He sighed and knew what she wanted...what she always wanted and he wasn't getting any younger to be sure. "Perhaps she did have a point," he thought to himself. Though the decision had been made for a while now, it was something that he could give her that wasn't at all a promise that he couldn't keep. "Well, what I have been trying to tell you is that soon...Aerin it shall be the last time I ride out of those gates as a soldier." He detected a slight stiffness in her just then but continued. "There is a young man who is coming along well and good enough that soon I think...he shall be ready to take my place." With that he turned and looked down the hill once more.

A breath of chilling air pricked at her arms; something inside her began to quiver and her eyes darted on their own to the side of his downcast face. "Daranavo... I..." But her voice was choked out by the surprise of what had just been said. A single droplet escaped to roll unnoticed down her check. Had he really just said that? But... The thought of him going out at all, even one last time made her very blood feel cold. She wanted to beg him not to leave again; wanted there to be some way she would know for sure that he would come back to her. She wanted to tell him she would sooner fight at his side then allow him to risk his life even once more so far from where she was.

[Daranavo]

A strong, summer breeze found its way to them up on the hill. Several of the blossoms flew into the air and spun around them almost as if they were suspended in slow motion. He turned his head and gazed at her. The tiny flowers twirled around her and a few settled within her hair. Right then and there he knew he had made the right decision and that it was long overdue. Perhaps he had done his bit for King and Country but there was this last thing that he did have to do. First though was the summer harvest and he had not asked her yet. "Aerin...would you go with me to the Harvest? He asked her. It would do me proud to have you there beside me."

Her cheeks filled with a warm glow and Aerin found that she could do nothing to look away from him; how could she want to? His question danced on the edge of her mind and then it was snatched up like a glittering gem. Another tear slid down her cheek and she smiled as brightly as she could. "Of course!" She blurted and just barely kept her voice from cracking. "I'd be honored..." A smile crept lightly upon the corners of her mouth.

Slowly, he shifted, moved over next to her and took her hand in his own. Her skin was very warm to the touch even though the wind had whistled past them for most of the evening. She only half turned her head as he leaned over to whisper in her ear as if others were nearby and might here him. "Will you dance with me at the Harvest milady?" His tone was almost playful.

It was too much. She felt the happiness rise within her and it tickled and stirred almost to a frantic swirl as his face came so close to her own. She tried to speak out in response, but instead of words, a joyous laugh began to brake free. Aerin's arms came up and wrapped themselves around Daranavo's strong neck. Before he could catch her so close, she pushed away and looked into his face. A strong, appraising tone came over her. "I shall dance with whom I please, my good sir." The harsh expression melted back into an almost laughing smile as quickly as if it had never been there. Though her heart still ached, she let her doubt and fears fade away into the moment.

Contented he wrapped her in his arms and lifted her up with him as he stood. Not wanting the day to end, he gently pressed his face up against her hair and watched as the last burning embers of the sun fell slowly beneath them.

[YayGollum]

A short, stocky, hairy, and hodge-podged sort of armoured man with a large raven on his shoulder stumbled gratefully into Edoras. A graceful and intelligent-looking white horse with a few depleted packs on his back trotted amiably beside him. The man reached over and absently started fiddling with his friend's mane. "When was the last time we were here, Anthrax? This is the first time that our old buddies haven't found us this deep into Rohan."

All of Anthrax's (and Shadowflaps's, towards the end) translated from Animalic, just for the readers ---> "I don't know, but I was definitely a lot younger. They could be dead or retired, by now. Why do you have such a bad memory? Their horses are certainly dead."

He pulled his hand back and grunted. "Probably. Oh. sorry. I didn't know them as well as you did, but, hey, you always said that they were hard to talk to."

"Well, at least I tried, human. It took me a while, but they had some good stories once they loosed up. You would have liked them."

"That's, 'Beorning,' Anthrax. And their stories couldn't have been too good, or you'd have already told me. Anyway, you have too many friends already. You should be more like me and Shadowflaps. Unapproachable. You're too nice."

"Ha! And I get you to admit that there's nothing wrong with being nice every time you condemn it."

"Yeah, so it doesn't take much to keep you happy, then, huh?"

Anthrax shuddered and sped around to halt the guy. "And you pride yourself for being honest?"

A few humans were startled by what looked to be an eccentric and an unpredictable animal attempting to have an argument. The man shrugged his shoulders at them and glared at the horse. "Would you mind not calling so much attention to us? Yeah, I'm honest, but that doesn't mean I'm nice. Argh! I don't like making friends. You and Shadowflaps are the best, okay?"

The raven squawked a disdainful laugh and flew off. The other two didn't even have to roll their eyes anymore and barely noticed. They resumed their walk and were distracted by the sights and their attempts to find anything familiar. The man studied his friend's face for annoyance, after a bit. "Well, it doesn't matter if we can't find those guys, anyway. It's just a little tradition, checking in on the first guards that caught us sneaking around the border. You know that. I knew the humans about as well as I knew their mounts!"

"What are you going to do when I'm gone?"

"Huh?" A heartfelt growl. "What do you mean? You think I'm ready for it or something?"

"You should be. Heh. Who'll tell you what to do, then?"

"Huh! Same person who always did, that's who!"

"Nah, I don't think I'll be haunting anybody."

"Like I said, too nice." He placed his hand back on his friend's mane. "Don't ask me about that. sorry I even mentioned your old friends."

"Hey, I can always make more. It's you I'm worried about."

Getting uncomfortable, not as interested in finding some old acquaintances anymore, and spotting a smallish inn with a stable nearby ---> "No need, Anthrax. I know what you'd say in any situation. Here, why don't we stay here? I'm already asleep out here."

Anthrax snorted at him but brightened at the sight of a couple of experienced-looking horses in the stable. "Have fun, Beorning. I won't stray too far."

Shadowflaps resumed his perch on a shoulder just after the man slammed the door of the inn open. "About time for a vacation from your conscience, Truor?"

He stopped short, which surprised the raven but didn't dislodge him, then gave him a hurt look, which very quickly passed to make way for a shrug and a look of resignation. "You said it!"

Back in the stable, Anthrax settled in and began to introduce himself to the others. One was an older warhorse, who looked like he could tell plenty of decent stories but was only politely listening and would take a lot more warming up before he'd tell anything. The other was what Anthrax thought of as the typical Rohan sort: all business, wouldn't deign to speak with a foreigner, but if he could be made to forget that, he would have lots of fun with telling stories. They all looked to the doorway when they heard a horse outside in a disturbance. "No! Come on! We have finer stables for you!" Lots of grunting and shuffling and a yelp of pain later ---> "Ugh! If you weren't so valuable... Huh. I wonder if this was where your former master was accustomed to keeping you. But why? He was entitled to better. Well, fine. At least I'll have put you somewhere."

The horses ignored the limping stableboy leading the horse in. Anthrax blinked and self-consciously adjusted himself a few times. He had travelled many places and had met many horses. He still thought of the ones from the Vale of Anduin as the best and had lost his awe for the Rohan sorts a long time ago, but this one was the ideal that they all seemed to be thinking about. The other two made their own noises of admiration and kept their heads low. Realizing that he recovered so quickly because he had been around Truor's cynicism for so long and wishing that he knew if that was a good or bad thing, he cheerfully introduced himself. "I am Anthrax, of the Vale of Anduin. You have chosen a good resting place. Heh. We all tell great stories." The older horse gave him an incredulous look and kept his head lowered. The haughty one scoffed and pretended to ignore Anthrax while still hoping for him to ask the Mearas everything that he would have wished to. Anthrax laughed to himself and decided that he didn't mind Truor's influence so much.

[Miss Insanity]

"Perhaps," responded Taetho to the new horse. "But I doubt I shall find much rest in this resting place." He was tall and muscular, and his coat was of soft black hair. His eyes showed a wisdom that was a rare sight amongst horses. The stableboy and his master laughed as they closed the door on his pen and locked it firmly. "This one must be crazy. I wouldn't sleep here if you paid me!" and the two men walked through the open doorway into the village. There was a brief and awkward silence before Taetho spoke.

"Come now brothers," he said to the other horses in the stable. "Do not fear to look on me. I am different than the others. I am like you." One of the horses glanced quickly at him, then shuffled around to face the wall, pretending to examine a crack. The other merely stood fast, staring across the stable and out the door, hardly blinking.

"Fine. Wonderful... At least one of you is willing to talk!" He turned towards the new horse, who had been listening with interest to Taetho's conversation with the other horses. "You speak very well... for a common horse. Well," he chuckled, "at least better than these ones if you can get a whinny out of them." He smiled - if horses are able to smile, which in their own special way, they are. He sat down in his stall, but was tall enough still to see clearly over the gate that locked him in. "Were you educated, or are you just naturally brilliant?

[Turgon]

'Greetings to you Haluin!' Hengist boomed from his vantage point above the elf's head. 'And well met! Two days late by my count, but we shall let the deer pay for that. A goodly price too, once she's cooked up and served.'

Slinging his sword over his shoulder the old man made his way down the narrow, twisting slope, bordered by the rocks, down to the water where the elf stood smiling. Hengist looked his friend up and down, marvelling how even though it had been ten years since last they met, the elf looked not a day older. Not so for the Rohirrim, ten years had brought him down from the prime of life, to a shadow of the warrior he once was. Hengist, as he strode towards the carefree elf, thought back to the day the two of them first met, some thirty year ago now. Where, on the borders of Mirkwood, the two of them fought, simply for pleasure, in the joy of a chance meeting, and where the Rohirrim had beaten the elf down to his knees, the youthful fury of the secondborn proving too much for the carefree elf. Now Hengist knew, he would not stand a chance against his old friend. Time, as always, his greatest foe.

Standing before Haluin, Hengist nodded his head, and reaching out his arms, embracing his friend. 'It has been too long Haluin.' He said softly. 'And the years have weighed heavily upon me.' With this the old man into gazed his friend's eyes, catching a glimpse, or so he thought, of pity in those almond eyes. 'But though I must leave you soon, I can promise you one last adventure. Come with me to Edoras...'

Haluin took a step backwards at these words, knowing well enough, the Rohirrim's fear of those different from themselves. Indeed amongst the Rohirrim the Firstborn were viewed with something akin to fear. Unlike the the men of Gondor, the horseriders knew nothing of the elder race, thinking of them as sorcerers, or something worse. Hengist knew better though, was it not the elves who found him close to death on the borders of Lorien? Was it not the White Lady herself who drew the arrow from his chest and brought him back from the dead? The Rohirrim's life had never been the same since. An outcast he had become, his mind at odds with those of his countrymen, filled as it was with elven tales.

'Adventure you say my hairy friend,' Haluin smiled sadly, taking in the thick silvering beard that grew now from the rider's chin. The last time the two had met, Hengist had reminded him of one of the elf-friends of old. A man with a beauty even an elf could appreciate, being as it was, high, and solitary and most stern. But the man who stood before him now? A tree in winter, but with no promise of rebirth. It was a bitter blow. 'What adventure could a mere mortal lay before me?' the elf laughed. 'I who stood by my lord Thranduil in his hour of need, and weathered the greatest of all adventures?' Yet regardless of his tone, Haluin saw the troubled look in the Rohirrim's eyes.

'There is something rotten in the Riddermark,' Hengist said slowly, his grim state of mind returning despite his carefree friend.. 'Something even I fear to combat. The Dunlendings are massing on the borders of our kingdom...' With this the old man ran his hand through his iron-grey hair. 'And yes, I know you think we have treated them ill in the past. Perhaps you think it is but natural for them to claim back their ancestral lands? But no... this time it is different. Something guides their hand. Something cunning. Perhaps it is only I who see this, for there is none now amongst our people who know them as I do. Yet I can see the darkness falling upon them, and I need your help, come with me to Edoras. Be the eyes of a faltering old man. Tell me what you see. And perhaps between us we can make right that which is wrong?'

[YayGollum]

When the Mearas mentioned that he might not be able to rest especially well, he figured that he should leave the guy alone for a while, but he forgot about that when he started talking to the others. He tossed a sympathetic look at them when they wouldn't speak but focused entirely on Taetho when he was spoken to. "Naturally brilliant, if those are my only choices. My companion and I are just travellers, so I haven't been trained the way that you probably have. He just tells me what he needs, and I do it, if I feel like it. Heh. I've got him trained, actually. We're friends, though. We travel all over, telling stories, getting into trouble. He always just walks beside me, unless we really have to run. Have you never met a horse from the Vale of Anduin? We're all naturally brilliant, then." He turned and nodded at the other two. "Not that you are stupid. When humans speak of intelligent horses, they think of you first. The Beornings are just a little more private. People think they're strange for talking to their horses like they talk to their brothers." He remembered something and turned back to the pinnacle of equine perfection. "Ah, and if I may ask, why did you choose this place? I am not so surprised that they let you choose. That boy didn't seem to know you very well."

[Miss Insanity]

"No..." began Taetho. "No, that boy does not know me. Nor does his master. I..." he trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence. "I have never met a horse from the Vale of Anduin before, but I have heard many things. I have been told that it is a beautiful land and that the people there - and I suppose the horses too - are a free-spirited, peaceful folk. That sounds Ideal. Do you know that I wish nothing so much as freedom? I do not care for royal treatment and a life of servitude." Suddenly he looked towards the other horses again. "Neither should any of you! But what's the use?"

He gave a long sigh, stirring the dust on the cracked stone floor. His eyes trailed slowly back to the white horse across from him. "I haven't gotten your name yet, and I don't think you've got mine. My name that the Rohirrim gave me is LightFoot, but the name I prefer is Taetho-Ernil, or Taetho for short. It's my Elvish name and it means Fast Prince. Personally, I just like the way it sounds. But please, tell me yours so that I might have decent conversation with you."

He smiled, and his eyes looked expectantly towards the new horse. Finally. Someone who might understand...

[Turgon]

Upon a hill, some miles north of Edoras, three figures stood in the moonlight. Two men, Dunlendings by the look of them, well armed and dressed in light armour, and another, more sinister character, cloaked and hooded in a mantle of darkest black. There was nothing to signify what lay beneath these garments, be it elf, man, or something other. It was apparent, though by the distance the hillmen kept from this stranger that they viewed it with great fear. Turning now to the Dunlendings the figure spoke, slowly, and with a soft, sibilant hiss.

'I have a task for your master.' The voice cut through the still night air like a blade. 'A simple task, and one that he will not find difficult. Perhaps there by he can gain my favour, and give me proofs of his loyalty?'

'I'm sure my master will be willing, lord.' The boldest of the hillmen muttered. 'Ban bids me tell you that he is ever at your command.'

'That is well,' Came the reply, and there seemed to be a flush of pleasure in the sound. 'For the time is coming when I will raise your people up from the dirt where now you languish, and give you lordship of this land. This then is your master's task. A lone rider comes now from the eaves of Fangorn, one your master knows well. Ever a thorn in my side, and an obstacle to my plans. Hengist he is called, an old man of little merit, though meddlesome as old men are want to be. He must die before he reaches Edoras, and an ambush would suit my purpose well. Tell Ban to send me his head, and, in return, he shall receive an equal weight in gold.'

'It shall be done, lord.' Said the bold one with a shiver. 'This Hengist is as good as dead.'

'That is well. Return here in seven days time, and I shall have new orders for your chieftain.' With this the black figure waved a gloved hand, dismissing the Dunlendings from its presence.

[chrysophalax]

Over a bowl of venison stew, the elf and the man talked of journeyings and mishaps that had befallen them over their ten year separation. Hengist recounted in great detail the defeat of his three greatest opponents, one using only a bread knife, while Haluin made his friend laugh until his sides ached with the tale of how he came to have his scar, the wearing of which he was decidely displeased. Ever the dandy, Haluin now often kept the hood of his cloak up, or left his hair unbraided on the left side so that it fell cross his left cheek.

"Tell me, Hengist. What woman would have me now? If I had not killed that foul Corsair...I would...I would kill him again. Just for the pleasure of it!" Hengist could only try not to choke on his stew. "Serve you right, peacock. You always have thought too highly of yourself." The grim look Haluin threw him made him pause. "Nay, nay Haluin. You know..." "You are right, Hengist. My people have always said that I am far too vain. I now have no right to be." He slowly stirred the remains of his stew and sighed. "How could you even ask if I would help you? Ever have I been at your side if there was need, so let there be no talk of last adventures between us." He leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me all that has happened in the Marches of Rohan that gives you such cause for concern. Leave nothing out."

Gloom was thus displaced by earnest discussion and before they realised it, the sun had climbed to noon. "We must go. 'Tis a long ride yet to Edoras and you, foolish elf, have no horse...again." Haluin only shrugged and together they wrapped up the remainder of the deer and set off. Hengist on his veteran mount and Haluin, jogging at his heel. After they had covered the first two leagues toward Edoras, Haluin chuckled. "I must be mad not to enter Rohan without a horse. I always end up having to run entire length and breadth of the land gazing at your nag's backside. Not the most elegant of sights I have to say!"

A hearty laugh greeted this declaration. "Better his than mine! Perhaps this will cheer you up. Midsummer Festival is upon us and there will be as much drink, food and dance as your elven heart could wish for. Be that of interest to you? Haluin?" Hengist glanced down, only to find that Haluin had vanished. He reined his horse in and danced it in a circle and saw his friend racing to the top of a nearby hillock. Curious, he cantered slowly after him, wondering what had triggered such behaviour. He watched as Haluin reached the crest of the grassy rise and stood still, scanning the plain below. After a short time, he ran to Hengist's side with a stern look on his face. "I sense...something, something I have never felt before. I can see nothing ahead, but I am uneasy. We must go forward with caution."

[YayGollum]

Anthrax made eager noises of agreement towards the things Taetho was saying but tossed him a look of sympathy when he was asked for his name. "Oh, I said already. I am Anthrax. But that's okay. Taetho-Ernil? Hm. I don't have an elvish name. How you got that must be a story! My companion hates elves, so I've never seen one. We both came from the Vale of Anduin, and it is very free-spirited and peaceful. But he is a wanderer, and my father asked me to protect him, as a favor to our benefactor, old Beorn. We go back to visit fairly regularly, though. Everyone is treated fairly. We all help each other. No one gets any special treatment, really. Sounds like you'd like it, but you must have responsibilities here. It makes sense. You look very strong, very useful. It must be exciting, if they aren't wasting your time?" The idea then popped into his head that this horse could be strong willed enough to even wish to leave his masters to obtain more freedom. He knew that Truor could be talked into helping him, if he wanted to be helped. Truor had a distaste for convention, which Anthrax frequently found short-sighted yet amusing. The thought passed quickly, but he made no effort to conceal it, with his suddenly mischievous eyes.

[Miss Insanity]

"I'm sorry. I've been very distracted lately. Details and events, even faces have been slipping out of mind. I have no more purpose here anyhow. I failed in my duty and now my life is the stable. They'd never think of formally punishing me, for in their hearts they still pity me, but lock me up they will. I deserve luxury less than these horses and, surely, far less than you." Taetho was leaning his head downwards to the floor. Suddenly he looked back up to Anthrax.

"Your companion, Truor, you go with him freely? He does not ride on your back or saddle you with burdens you cannot carry? That sounds like real Heaven to me... Feeling the wind's brutal force as you gallop towards the moon on a blue night, the splash of water over your hooves as you cross new rivers that lead to distant seas, never before seen by man or beast. That is what I long for. But it seems now that I shall never reach that. I feel as if my days from now will be spent here, learning the cracks in the floor and speaking in futility to these silent statue-horses. If I could just see the ocean and hear the croaking of gulls..." Taetho snorted in discontent at the hay out in front of him. "That would be bliss."

[Turgon]

Hengist frowned at the elf's words, and dismounting his horse, pulled his pack loose from his saddle. 'Best be prepared then.' the old man said with a crooked smile. 'I have come to trust this sense of yours, you may be the first elf I have met who had any at all, and you, it seems, have some to spare.'

Placing the pack upon the ground, Hengist loosened the cords which held it tight, pulling out a thick bundle of oiled linen which unwrapped to reveal a well-tended coat of chainmail. Removing his sword-belt, the old man slipped the mail over his head, shrugging his shoulders to let the hauberk fall into a comfortable position. Then slipping his belt on once more, cinched it tightly about his waist. Again the Rohirrim slipped his hands into the pack, this time pulling out a helm of shining silver hue. Obviously a work of great craftsmanship, and dwarven in its origins, judging by the ornate face mask that adorned it. Hengist placed the helm upon his head, looking for all the world, like an oversized dwarf-lord, his forked beard poking out beneath the beautiful, gilt-edged image that was graven upon the mask. The old man felt better at once, the helm had always lent him strength in battle, and he had always taken pride in it. Haluin had always thought it looked ridiculous, but Haluin was an elf, and perhaps the dwarf-mask seemed unlovely to him.

Pulling his shield from the pommel of his saddle, Hengist slipped his arm into the straps, and climbed on to his horse. Haluin had dropped to the floor now, crouching low in the tall grass of Rohan. The elf slashed his arm southwards across the plain, five slender fingers signaling the number of the oncoming foe. The old man saw a quick grin play across his friend's face as Haluin motioned the rider to charge down the rise and meet the oncoming threat head on. The elf, as always, had some trick in mind. Hengist could see the enemy himself now, five skirmishers, slipping quietly through the grass towards them. Their arms and armour darkened with mud. The hillmen were crafty, well-skilled in the ambush, and the lightning-quick raid. If not for Haluin, the rider doubted he would have noticed their coming at all.

'Eorlingas!' Hengist let out a sudden yell, and sped down the slope, spear in hand. It was not long before the rider closed with them. As he got within twenty feet of his assailants a javelin came flying at him, hitting his face mask with ringing peal, before skimming away into the grass. The old man grunted, raising his own spear high and launching it into the chest of the man who dared to give him such an insult. Hengist pulled his own sword from it's battered scabbard as his horse barrelled through the hillmen's ranks, knocking one of them backwards with a sickening crunch. Pulling his steed around, the old man tested the weight of his blade in his hand, readying himself for the final charge on the Dunlendings. He need not have bothered; the elf was already amongst them.

[chrysophalax]

Haluin hid in the tall grass as Hengist charged headlong into the enemy. "Mad old fool! By the Valar, if he..." Stealthy sounds coming nearing set Haluin's nerves on edge. His fingers curled tightly around the stout quarterstaff in his hands. "Come nearer,ulundore. See what awaits you." he said to himself. With a cry, he sprang at them, his staff a blur of motion as he cracked first one, then two skulls before leaping back to avoid a sword thrust at close quarters. The remaining Dunlending's eyes were pig-like and gleamed with hatred. His breathing came in harsh, fetid gasps as he rushed at Haluin, who leapt aside. The elf was tall, but the Dunlending was massive. If caught, the elf would surely be crushed to death in the man's arms.

Haluin wasted no time in talk. He had slain the man's comrades and he could see that nothing short of his own life-blood would satisfy his foe. A short distance away, he caught Hengist, still astride, out of the corner of his eye. Relief washed over him that Hengist had apparently suffered no harm. With a lighter heart, Haluin taunted the man. "It seems you are the only dance partner I have left. Such a pity. " The man shouted a string of epithets and waved his sword at Haluin, but the elf merely laughed. "Nay! Kind of you to ask, but I have plans already. Besides, I think you will be much too busy being dead." He spun his staff and buffeted the man's elbow sharply, causing him to drop his sword.

Howling with pain, the man grabbed Haluin's cloak and yanked him close. He cracked his forehead against Haluin's, stunning him. Haluin fought to remain standing as he groped for his dagger. Valar, do not let me die in front of Hengist. I would never be able to escape the humiliation! With a surge of effort, he shoved the man away from him long enough for his dagger to clear its sheath and bury itself in the Dunlending's gut. As the man lay thrashing on the ground, Haluin staggered a short distance, then collapsed onto the grass. cradling his head. He winced as he heard the snort of a horse a few feet from him. "Well, I've seen that better done." "No doubt." grumbled Haluin. "No doubt."

[Turgon]

'A stout stave is well for walking,' Hengist laughed. 'But a sword serves better when the wolf come a-stalking.'.

The old man sheathed his blade and climbing down from the saddle, offered a hand to Haluin, who was sitting cross-legged in the grass. Hengist nodded in the direction of the wild warrior who had given the elf so much trouble. 'One of Ban's men. If I had doubts about the troubles brewing in Rohan, this has done little to assuage them.' Seeing the puzzled look on the Haluin's face, Hengist offered an explaination. 'Ban is one of the more ambitious chieftains of the hillmen clans, for years now he has tried to unite them in common cause against the Rohirrim. He is as cunning as he is bold. The other clans though, have long prefered raiding to open warfare, though I fear now this may have changed. Yet why move against me? I hold no favour in court, and I doubt the king would mourn my passing over much. These are strange doings indeed. Although Ban bears me no love, he has never offered me any injury in the past.'

Hengist pulled the elf to his feet, before turning to retrieve his spear from the chest of his fallen enemy.'We should make haste to Edoras, we will ride through the night if need be. I still have friends amongst the Riders of Rohan, perhaps one of them can gain me an audience with Déor.'

Taking his horse by the reins, Hengist climbed back up the slope, and gathering his belonging, fixed his pack once more to his saddle. His armour, though, he kept on, slinging his shield upon his back and fixing his helm to the pommel of his saddle. Haluin came to join him upon the brow of the hill, and ere long the two of them were far across the plains. By noon they were a mere speck to the carrion birds that now feasted on the dead.

[chrysophalax]

Tattered, crimson-coloured wisps of cloud were all that remained of a magnificent sunset to greet the two comrades as they stood looking out across the great, flat plain that lay before the city of Edoras. Two days of constant arguing and wild speculation as to where their attackers had come from (Hengist's suppositions seemed to mostly favour Dunlending settlements to the south and west of Fangorn, while Haluin believed they might have come from Angrenost), had served to hasten their journey to Rohan's capital.

As Hengist looked toward the city, Haluin rubbed his hands eagerly. "It has been too long since I held a cool cup of wine in my hand. Not for me the over-sweet mead of the Rohirrim. No offense intended, Hengist, but once one has tasted the wines from Thranduil's cellars..." Haluin paused. Hengist seemed leagues away, his expression a mixture of sadness and longing. Haluin laid a hand on his shoulder. "Is there something you have not told me? I know your king holds you in little favour, but aside from his poor judgement of character, what else is there that troubles you?" Hengist sighed deeply, but remained silent. "As you wish, mellon. So, shall we sleep out here under the open sky, or shall we go irritate the gate-keepers?"

[Ghorim]

A sudden bump in the road awoke Jokim. The dwarf opened his eyes slowly, taking in his first dim vision of the day. All of his familiar companions were there: the constant shaking and unnerving squeaks of the rickety carriage, his splitting headache, and the hulking figure of Ollie sitting hunched beside him. The giant smiled down at Jokim as the dwarf sat up groggily, picking bits of straw bedding out of his mouth and bushy beard.

“Did you have good dreams?” asked Ollie in his resonant baritone.

Jokim glanced up at his mammoth companion in annoyance. Even in the wan light that snuck in through the carriage’s two heavily barred windows, the dwarf could still make out Ollie’s idiot smile. The giant always carried that empty grin around on his gnarled face, even when the crowds scattered and cowered in his wake. Mothers would cover the eyes of their children everywhere he stomped, and still Ollie smiled on, as if the horrified masses were just new friends waiting to be made.

“You ask that every morning,” said Jokim dryly. “Need I say it again? I do not dream.”

“Everybody dreams,” said Ollie with a warm, almost philosophical air. “You just need to try harder to remember.”

Jokim grumbled and rubbed his hooded head gingerly. “Dreams are not worth remembering. If I cannot grasp it in the hand, why attempt to hold on to it?”

“Everybody needs to dream,” said Ollie, his smile expanding to reveal two uneven rows of yellowed teeth.

Jokim shook his head and rose uneasily to his feet, ignoring Ollie as he attempted to align his balance with the nervous rocking of the carriage. Much to his surprise, the dwarf had grown accustomed to most of the giant’s ways. Ollie’s girth had long since ceased to intimidate. His kindly and dumb sayings just bounced off of Jokim’s ears now. Even the giant’s overpowering, musky aroma barely elicited a twitch of Jokim’s nose anymore. One might even stretch to call the pair friends.

Among the performers in Sir Astoundo’s Astonishing Assortment of Associates, they were obviously the most physically dissimilar. Jokim estimated that Ollie had a good three or four heads on him. They only traveled together because Jokim was the sole performer who could fit in one of those cramped carriages with the giant. Yet their personalities somehow meshed – only Ollie’s sunny, inquisitive manner could coax the dwarf out of his stony shell, while Jokim’s pragmatic outlook kept the giant’s head from floating too far off into the clouds. They were, to put it coarsely, two freaks in a pod.

Jokim wobbled up to one of the windows, grasping the thick iron bars for support as he looked out upon the passing landscape. It all looked the same to him – drab greens and browns passing by in a blur. Everything was flat out here. The air felt too thick. Jokim tried to shake off his vague nostalgia for Erebor. He hadn’t been fully truthful with Ollie – he could still dream, but only while awake, and only with a great deal of concentration.

By straining hard enough, he could rearrange the old images into a complete picture: the Lonely Mountain rising triumphantly above Dale and the Long Lake, bathed in moonlight, its snowy peak lit aglow in the still night. With an even greater effort, he could again feel the gentle caress of the winds, the crisp taste of the mountain air, and below ground, the ancient songs of his folk reverberating off of the stone walls. He wished he could return…

“Where are we headed?” asked Ollie, unwittingly intruding upon Jokim’s memories.

“Edoras,” muttered the dwarf, tightening his grip on the bars.

“What’s that?”

“I don’t know much of it.” Jokim paused to think. “Do you like horses?”

Ollie shook his massive, bald head. “They taste sour.”

Jokim blinked in surprise, turning around to stare at Ollie. And then he laughed, a big dwarvish laugh that rippled up from his abdomen and spilled out of his lips. He removed his hands from the bars and pointed a finger at Ollie, his bearded face alight with a rare grin.

“You, Ollie…”

But another pothole in the road interrupted Jokim mid-sentence, sending him sprawling off of his feet. Instinctively, the dwarf brought his arms up to protect his head and braced for impact. The shock of the rotten floorboards never came. Instead, Jokim found himself steadied by one of Ollie’s thick paws.

“Be careful!” said the giant, his voice charged with genuine concern.

Jokim exhaled, and gratefully patted the hairy hand that held him on his feet. “My thanks, Ollie. That’s another favor owed…”

Pushing off of Ollie’s hand, the dwarf made it back to his pile of straw and sat down slowly. He glanced up at the ceiling and sighed.

“I tell you, Ollie. This festival is my last performance…”

[Seregon]

A fire barely flickered in the hearth, yet even Avari had no idea why she lit it. It served little purpose; the room was mostly dark, and it was a very warm night. Avari was in just a nightshirt and some leggings, her sword sheathed and tied to the bedpost, everything in the room undisturbed, and the moonlight flitting in through the windowpane. She let a sigh escape her lips, leaned her head against her knees. Somehow, she felt like it wasn't right. Sad old tourneys with sad old men, far past their prime and far past their years in the Rohirrim. She had gained acceptance, but what kind of acceptance? Acceptance from men who could be beaten by boys. I need something more. She thought, something big. Something to be remembered for... A true fight, against a true opponent. I need something... legendary. A smile graced her face, and disappeared. Yeah, that'll be the day. And the shadows returned to her face as she resigned herself to another night of rum and overflowing glasses of alcohol; another night of drunken men, with perhaps a half of a good story between them all. Maybe one of them had had a brush with something close to an actual story; met a distant cousin of someone who ventured beyond the lands. So she pulled on an overshirt, and ventured into the dining hall, which could more properly be called a bar. Leering gazes and drunken calls met her almost immediately, and she sighed, getting a beer from a waitress who only looked mildly annoyed at being distracted from her customer. Whores and immature men. What a surprise. Yet oddly enough, there was one person in the bar who did not seem anywhere near as drunk as the rest. She walked up to him, trying to feign interest. "So," she said sweetly, "I guess you're a warrior, come to Rohan for the Spring Festival." She smiled in the most charming way she could.

"Yes." His voice was soft, with an odd accent to it. "And don't worry. You don't have to feign any interest in me. I'm not interested." Avari opened her mouth, shocked, and he just smiled at her. She wasn't quite sure what she was most insulted by - the insinuation that she was a whore or the fact that he wasn't interested.

"I'm not a whore. My name's Avari, and I could probably beat you blind in a swordfight, so I wouldn't be so smug if I were you." He laughed, swept his hand across his face, carelessly throwing his hair back over his head.

"You? Really?" He laughed some more, took a sip from his drink, and narrowed his eyes at her. "I take it back." Avari smiled smugly. "I am interested." And she practically hissed, turning slightly red. "It's okay darling, don't be angry." He interrupted her rage with kind words, patted her hand. "I'm sure you know your way around a fight." He smiled genteelly, and she felt herself calming down. Well... at least he's slightly charming. And, admittedly... kind of funny. Heh. That wasn't too bad, really. She felt herself smile a little.

"So... I suppose you've traveled a lot... or, you're from a distant town. Your accent isn't familiar to me." He laughed a little.

"Ah, of course. I came from Southern Rohan, and ventured into Gondor when I was young. Yet my accent comes from my years of travel. I've spent more than a decade exploring Middle Earth, and as far beyond as I could get." And suddenly, her interest was peaked.

"So... you've met elves, I expect?" He wasn't sure whether it was a question he should answer, and he hesitated for a few long moments.

"...Yes, yet-"

"Really? Like from Rivendell?" And her tone was actually interested, curious.

"Yes, actually... I spent two years in Rivendell... and three in Mirkwood, and Lorien." Her smile widened. "Why, any questions for me?" She laughed.

"Thousands."

*****

Leoh stretched his bejeweled fingers, looked at the bright, colorful stones on the rings, as if he was just enraptured with the fact that they were shiny. Yet it was only brief, as he turned his attentions back to the map on the table in front of him, rubbing his chin and running his fingers across the map. Damned elves. He bit his lip, turned his head slightly. As if it'll help. Scribbles, nothing but scribbles! He knew where the map was of, just not any idea of what was around it. He couldn't even identify the general region. "Probably fake anyway." He grumbled. Yet he hesitated to put it away, or move it, afraid of creasing or damaging it, just for the one little chance that it wasn't a fake. He brought out other maps, looking for something, anything similar. Some landmark, some translation of some of the jargon. Some... anything! He grumbled curse words into his drink, shoving all of the other maps away, and searching the first for just one familiar landmark. Yet nothing fit. That could be the Lonely Mountain, but last time he checked, it wasn't near a sea of any kind. That could be the Nimrodel, but he always thought it went through a forest... Whores and out of work soldiers crowded the bar, the soldiers on their way to Edoras, the women folk following in their wake, most of them of ill reputation. Well, so much for the evening. Might as well take my share. And he put the map carefully away, just as a woman came up to him, smiling, her eyes clouded.

"You a strong horseman, on his way to the festival?" A smile graced her face, and he noticed she wasn't half-bad. Yet she wasn't the best he could get, and that was what made him what he was. Why settle for half of what he could have if he invested a bit of time and effort?

"Yes of course milady, yet as such I hope you understand I could never partake of your company." She looked disappointed, yet refused to give up. If he was a horseman, he had money, and as long as he had money, she was interested. The night drew on, and before long there were no less than six women gathered round him. "Ladies, ladies. I must respect your honor. I do hope you understand." He smiled sweetly, his hand just brushing the shoulder of one of the girls.

"Well, could you at least spend some time with me alone... to tell me of your adventures?" She smiled sweetly. He paused, thinking for a moment.

"Well..." A pause, for her to look pleadingly at him. "I suppose that would be acceptable." And he led her to his room, a smile plastered across his face.

[YayGollum]

Eorache the Valiant jumped into action. His steed, whose frightful neighing had awakened him, fought the rope that held him to a tree. Three scruffy-looking men cursed and ran towards him, badly maintained swords swinging. The largest held back and directed the other two to surround the hero. He looked like he was ready to sneer something at him, but Eorache had already drawn his sword and engaged the one closest to him. "Cowards! I am Eorache the Valiant! You cannot hope to best me! Stand down!"

A couple of clumsy attacks by his opponents later, and the first was bleeding his life out on Eorache the Valiant's bedroll. The second had been mercifully disarmed and stood there, shuddering. With eyes flashing but obvious restraint in his movements --->
"I would prefer to spare your lives, fellow Men, if you could convince me that you are worth it." The large one snarled and directed the other to pick his sword back up. He was ignored, however, since the guy was still overcome with fear.

The leader, while scowling and retreating ---> "You will die, Eorache the Valiant! Maybe not today, but you've been trouble for too many to live for long!" Eorache the Valiant watched the two scuttle off, then turned sadly to the now dead body. With a sigh to his horse, while preparing to bury the body ---> "Good horse. You have saved me yet again. Ah, I don't regret choosing this place to sleep." He flicked a glance at the magnificent view from the top of a hill towards Edoras. "So many paintings, so many poems. It's a pity that you can't appreciate them, Rogane. But you should enjoy Edoras. The Harvest Festival is approaching. You may have the chance to prove yourself again, there."

Rogane, for some reason unknown to his master, merely continued his attempts at escape exactly as frantically as before.

Back at the stable, Anthrax's reply was cut off as Eorache the Valiant led his horse inside. He dropped his reins and forgot all about Rogane when he saw the Mearas. "Oh!" to the stable boy, who was having a hard time with keeping Rogane from bolting now that his master wasn't watching ---> "Whose magnificent animal is this?" Suddenly glaring at the stable boy ---> And why is it being kept here?"

The stable boy rolled his eyes but cringed when he noticed that Eorache the Valiant had caught it. "Uh, I don't know whose he was, sir, but he's, uh, died, sir. His horse wanted to stay here. They couldn't get it to go any further." Eorache the Valiant nodded, then strode back to the door. "Ah. A magnificent inheritance. Now, take good care of my horse. He has saved me countless times. How is the food?" Confused but still fearful ---> "Ah, for the horses, sir? It's just your basic - " A flash of irritation and a cutting off gesture ---> "No, inside." "Oh. I'm sorry. We are famous for our bread, sir. And the stables really aren't bad, sir. We are taking good care of every horse." While walking away ---> "Fine, fine. We must both be rested for the festival."

Rogane, after miserably being led ---> "I was so close! Two times! Those bandits could have taken me! I wouldn't have minded! I can't be mad at the stable boy, though. He was just afraid of the guy." He coughed with surprise and embarrassment when he really got a look at the Mearas. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Uh, he's just always running straight into trouble! Don't most of the Riders only fight when they have to? This guy, he'll stick to the borders half of the time and stumbles through the mountains the other half! This is the safest place I've been in years! I really wouldn't try to run if I had, maybe, an average human."

Inside the common room, Eorache the Valiant and Truor Tupnm caught eyes and instantly disliked each other, of course. :rolleyes:

[Turgon]

It was almost dark by the time the two companions passed beneath the carved wooded gates of Edoras. Haluin's words had proved somewhat prophetic as the two gatemen stopped Hengist as he approached them, the look of annoyance on their faces was quite apparent. Dressed in bright mail, with burnished helms upon their braided hair, these were no slovernly city watchmen, but rather season veterans in the King's employ. Strange though that they chose to stop the old man, for he had known both of them since they were children. Indeed, Hengist knew every rider within the city walls, from the ruddy, beardless youths in their first season of service, to the old hoar-locked campaigners like himself.

'What make you in Edoras?' One of the gatewardens asked as the companions approached. He was a tall man, as tall as Hengist almost, though not quite as sturdy. 'If you have business here, then state your purpose, though the King welcomes merchants and travellers to his city, he has bidden us to turn any wandering vagabonds away.' He said this with a sneer, plainly enjoying himself. His fellow warden though looked somewhat sheepish, keeping his eyes downcast and refusing to look Hengist in the eye.

Haluin stirred, plainly disliking this man's tone, but Hengist put a hand on the elf's shoulder and took a step forward. 'Kjartan,' the old man said with a crooked smile. 'I would have thought the beating I gave you at last summer's fair was enough to teach you some manners. Ah, but you were ever lacking in grace.' With this Hengist turned to the other gatewarden, nodding his head in greeting.'But you Eófric, you know me well. Many is the time we have ridden together through the plains of Rohan. What is the meaning of this?'

'King's orders.' Eófric muttered, still refusing to look Hengist in the eye. 'I have no liking for it, but the King's word is the King's word.'

'The King refuses me entry into my own city?' Hengist growled. 'I served Rohan faithfully for nigh on forty years...'

'But it is not your city is it, old man?' Kjartan snarled. 'It is the King's. If it were my choice you would have been run out of the Riddermark years ago.'

'Come Hengist,' Eófric said softly. 'It is not just you. With all these rumours of the Dunlending tribes massing on our border, well, the King has to be careful. No telling what mischief the hillmen might cause with the fair going on and all.'

'Aye.' Kjartan said with a grunt. 'And so we have been given orders to turn any of your kind away at the gate.'

'My kind?' Hengist asked with a face like thunder, his hand going to slowly to his sword. This time it was Haluin who put forth a restraining hand, his bright eyes glittering a warning from beneath the shadow of his hood. Hengist drew a long breath and nodded to the elf, then turning back to insolent guard spoke again, this time with a voice both weighed and measured. 'What exactly are you saying Kjartan? Come speak quickly, and be careful how you answer.'

'We all know you have hillman blood in your veins.' Kjartan spat. 'The King's law stands, so turn back old man, you will find no welcome in Edoras this night.'

Hengist fell silent at this, wounded by Kjartan's words. There was indeed Dunlending blood in his veins, his mother being one the hillfolk who had assimilated themselves into Rohirrim society over many long years. Yet, never in his long-life had this been a stigma to him, never before had somebody dared to hurl it at him as an insult.

It was Haluin who broke the silence. 'Tell me, goodman Eófric,' he beamed. 'Did the King expressly forbid Hengist from entering this city?'

'No, no he didn't.' Eófric reply, feeling at once unnerved by the hooded stranger's words, yet at the same time feeling lulled by it's soft, melodious sound. 'But our orders are to stop all Dunlendings from entering this city.'

Kjartan found himself suddenly silent.

'Tell me Eófric,' Haluin continued, the words falling like music from his lips. 'Do you think the King will be pleased to find you have turn one his finest warriors from his gates in this his time of need?'

'I.. I think not.' came the reply.

'You could perhaps send for the King?' Said the elf with a shadowy smile. 'I am sure he could clear this matter up for us? Or perhaps for one of the Marshal's of the Riddermark? Surely they would not mind being called from the supper table for a matter as important as this?'

'The King?' Eófric stuttered. 'Call the King?'

'Aye,' Haluin cajolled. 'Or do you plan to leave his messenger sitting at the gates until the morrow?

'His messenger?' Kjartan muttered, himself feeling a sudden liking for this soft-spoken stranger. 'You have business with the King?'

'No apologies needed,' The elf said suddenly, giving Kjartan a friendly slap on the shoulder. 'We will be sure to tell your lord how well his gates are guarded.'

So it was the companions entered Edoras. Striding boldly passed the gatewardens, Haluin flashed Hengist a quick grin, before beckoning him to follow. The two guards, it must be said, were left scratching their helmets. Something strange had happened, though neither of them could quite figure out what it was. Yet, has Hengist walked beneath the fine carvings of the gateway, he couldn't help but feel troubled.

[chrysophalax]

As soon as they had passed through the gates, Haluin grabbed Hengist by the front of his tunic and pulled him behind a large waggon. "What was that all about?" he hissed. "Why does he think you have anything to do with those Dunlending brigands?" Hengist pushed Haluin away, trying to ignore the look of pained confusion in his friend's eyes. "Come on, I have need of more than venison just now." he said gruffly. "A good strong mug of beer and then some should put me right." He strode away, leaving Haluin to muse over the vagaries of men.

They ended up in one of the many feasting halls that has been prepared to furnish visitors to Edoras with food and drink during the Harvest Festival. Even though the weather could hardly be called chill, fires were kindled in the hearths and mead was to be had in plenty. Haluin watched as Hengist proceeded to down mug after mug of the stuff, but it didn't seem to improve his mood overmuch, therefore, the elf settled himself to observe those around them. There were the usual regulars, a few waomen of questionable repute and a goodly number of people who were obviously strangers to the Riddermark. One in particular caught his attention.

The man in question would have been considered eccentric in almost any company. His mismatched armour was in poor repair and his "helmet" looked as though it wouldn't have protected him from anything more aggressive than sunlight. He was glaring at a rather large man whose hair gleamed in the lantern-light like gold. Amazing. I have never actually seen that effect before on a man. marvelled the elf, grinning to himself. "Wha'so funny Haluin? You thinkin' you're better than someone else again?"

The elf turned, startled by the smouldering anger in the voice. "Hengist, what...?" "What did you mean by "Dunlending brigands"? Can I help it that I have..." Haluin, assessed his friend's condition and where this would lead within seconds. He also knew that if he were discovered, given the prejudice the Rohirrim held against elvenkind as wielders of magick, he would be lucky to escape with his life. He had come here because his friend needed his help, not to die. Therefore, in his mind, the blow he delivered which rendered Hengist unconscious was entirely justified.

No one flinched (much) as he heaved Hengist's large frame over his shoulder and carried him outside, where he spied a stable. "For a warrior, you carry far too much weight." he muttered as he carried his burden to the far end of a row of stalls. There he unceremoniously depositted Hengist upon a large pile of straw and sat down to wait.

[Miss Insanity]

"No need to apologise" said Taetho to the new horse. "I understand far better than you may believe the situation you are in. I have longed for freedom for many years now, my new friend. My name is Taetho-Ernil, and this is my acquaintance, Anthrax. I will not bother introducing these others, as they refuse to speak in my presence. Please, what is your name, brother?"

[YayGollum]

Rogane relaxed a bit, happy to see that not all horses were endlessly pleased with their lots in life. He glanced at the others, who weren't such unimpressive specimens of Rohan sorts of horses. "Why are they afraid of you? Ah, well, I am Rogane, tied to Eorache the Valiant, who wishes to be the xenocide for all evil." A shudder of remembered fear. "He doesn't need me for that! Actually, you look strong, Taetho. If you wanted to, you could just break out of here. I saw a caravan of foreigners coming in on my way here. They would snatch us all up easily!" A shudder of eagerness, this time. He noticed that the other horses had been shocked out of their timidity and aloofness. He figured that they might try to warn his master in some way and sunk his head down glumly. "But it probably wouldn't work. Oh, uh, I'm sorry. Were you talking before I got here?"

[Daranavo]

A large dark brown gelding listened as the two spoke. Gaiden snorted and bobbed his head as to the unpleasent tone of the two horses that stood just two stalls away from his own. He did not much care for how they looked down at his brethren though he really did not know them well. Still their talk did leave a sour taste in his mouth and he decided to address them. "What would make you leave your master, has his heart grown dark?" He looked over at Taetho crossly. "I am honored to be my masters gait. He is a good man like many who are here. Why do you say such things?" He asked none to politely.

[YayGollum]

Rogane slumped even more. Anthrax perked up and nodded encouragingly, merely looking for some interesting conversation. Rogane, speaking to the floor ---> "I'm just not cut out for adventures, I guess. Maybe if they were less often. Most of the horses that have told me stories patrol the border. They are in a lot less danger than I am. I'm sorry. I know that I should be more loyal. I've tried for so long, though! I've found myself hoping that some Orc would eventually kill him! I know, I am horrible. He doesn't seem to know that I am discontent. He is a good man. He would sell me, if he knew, I am sure." Anthrax did mumble something sympathetic-sounding but was also a bit put off by a horse from Rohan hating his master so much.

[Daranavo]

Gaiden snorted again and pounded upon the wooden floor with his left front hoof. He was a very sturdy and quick horse. In fact he and his master had won the great harvest race two years in a row. However he was a humble horse and though winning had brought him much pleasures it was only that he had made his master happy that was at all important to him. This year though he would not be running and this did sadden him. Gaiden shook his head briskly and forced the sad thoughts from his mind. “Take heart my friend for it was you and you alone that bore him from such dangers that you speak of. We all have dreams from before we knew anything of tack and saddle. Serve him well and one day you shall know those times once again for I have seen such happen and to those horses I shall miss them greatly.”

[Miss Insanity]

"Please, brothers, listen to what I have to say!" interrupted Taetho quite loudly. He had stood again, and now towered over the other horses, his black eyes piercing. "No horse should be tethered against his will, nor should any horse be obligated to follow his rider or call him 'master'. If truly they think on us as equals, why are we to be locked away in stables. Should not we run free, as they may if they so choose?" Taetho kicked his stall door heavily. It did not break, but the lock bent noticeably far out of shape and splinters flew from the wood. Suddenly he stopped and hung his head low. "Now I shall explain all... I have not always felt this way. I once, like many other young Mearas, enjoyed being pampered and taught to speak, as if I too were a man. We were raised to envy men, and we did. We trained to live with them, to fight with them, and," he looked to Rogane, "to die with them."

"But what they never taught us was how to deal with grief, or shame, or love. My rider, my greatest friend... is dead. And it is my own fault. I failed in my duty to protect him, and I pay the price. But that is not what angers me. I have come to realize that we horses are little more than slaves. We are expected to do brave, difficult, and heroic deeds with no compensation except grain and a roof over our heads! All horses are equal to each other and to man! It is for this reason that I have chosen to leave now. To throw off my shame and my grief and run free... to see the ocean before I die. When the Harvest Fair ends... I shall be gone."

He sat down in the straw again, and leaned his head against the corner of his stall. From the pub, up the street, a dim sound of violins could be heard playing an upbeat melody as the men stomped on the tables.

[Daranavo]

The large gelding glared at the beautiful Mearas and stomped once again. “Why do you apply despair where it does not belong? It is the choice of each of us to obey our masters. We are true, noble, giving creatures. To take for ourselves lowers us!” Gaiden snorted angrily and whipped his long, silky, black tail. He looked over at Rogane and then to Anthrax. He lightly snorted a sigh and he too lowered his head and his voice to a gentle calm. “Brothers, it saddens me greatly that your hearts have grown dark. What you speak of goes against all that we are or hope to be. The cage in which you must escape is within yourselves. I will pray that you purge your hearts of this darkness but you shame us with such words and I shall speak to you no longer.” With that Gaiden turned and faced toward another of his brothers that stood in the stall next to his.

[Miss Insanity]

"I have no reason for despair," said Taetho, now angrily turning once more to the gelding. "My only friend is dead because of my error and I have no need for sorrow?! It was these men that you seem so desperate to blindly follow that sent him to his death, and I could not save him. I believe that warrants some anger and some grief. I wish to take nothing except myself and my freedom. If you believe that it is our place to do the bidding of man without second thought then so be it. But I will not be held by bonds of ignorance. I have no more place here. Now, please, all of you, leave me alone." He kicked the stall door again, and it shattered into pieces. As he walked out through the stable door, he surveyed the damage with a smirk.

The sounds of music and merriment got louder as he approached the pub. Where was he to go now? He noticed an empty stable to his left and trotted inside, the old wooden boards creaked. Suddenly, he noticed at the end of the row of stalls... a man!

[chrysophalax]

A sound of slow hoofbeats made Haluin turn. His jaw dropped at the sight before him. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. One of the Mearas, here? Alone? Haluin loved horses and to have one of the stallions of legend standing before him nearly struck him dumb with awe. With a quick glance at Hengist, he inclined his head in reverence, then spoke to the stallion softly. "I am Haluin of Mirkwood, one of the First-born. My people honour all living things, but one of the Mearas...forgive me, I hardly feel worthy, Lord. May I approach?"

The stallion snorted, pawing at the floorboards with a powerful foreleg. He tossed his head, then slowly extended his muzzle toward Haluin, the large nostrils flaring as he smelled the stranger's scent. After a moment, he took one step, then waited. Haluin put out his hand. lightly stroking the strong, glossy neck. "Great One, tell me your name. I can understand you, if you will share it with me." He held his breath, waiting to see if he had been accepted.

[Miss Insanity]

"My name, gentle friend, is Taetho-Ernil in the language of your people. I would bid you look upon me as you would on any other horse of all kinds. I may, by birth, be a lord of horses, but I do not feel that lordship in my bones." Taetho let the Elf stroke his mane, and rested his head on the Elf's shoulder in as a sign of permission. He whinnied softly, and turned his head slightly. Suddenly he lifted his head and took a step past the Elf, who looked rather put out. "Worry not, friend. You have done nothing wrong. But who..." he looked at the unconscious man lying on the floor, "is this?"

[Turgon]

'By the Horn of Araw.' Muttered Hengist as he slowly came to. 'What happened?' Glancing up he saw Haluin, standing next to one of the most beautiful horses he had ever layed eyes on. Strangely though, the elf seemed to be speaking to himself, and stranger still was the note of awe in his voice. Hengist knew the elf thought highly of himself, but this seemed to be taking it a little too far. As he put his arms down and tried to raise himself to a more comfortable position, the horse took a few graceful steps forward, glancing down at the Rohirrim with a curious light in his eyes. Suddenly several things clicked in Hengist's head. The memory of Haluin's stunning blow in the feast-hall, the confrontation with the gatewardens outside the city, and the sinking realization that he need to speak to somebody who could help him out of this predicament. Then something else flashed into his head, something that made it spin. The horse, it was a Mearas surely? The old man had only ever seen once such creature in all his years, and to find one here in a common stable in the outskirts of the city? Sinking back into the straw Hengist let out a long, drawn out sigh. A final realization dawning upon him; he was still dreaming.

[chrysophalax]

"That, my Lor-er, Taetho, is my erstwhile friend, Hengist. He is much the worse for drink just now, but were he with us entirely, I am more than certain he would honour you as well. He is one of Rohan's most illustrious warriors after all, though, it seems not all here seem to remember that." he added bitterly. Haluin was still angered by the cold reception the guards had given them. All he had ever known of the Rohirrim, he had gathered through his friendship with the grizzled warrior, therefore, he had assumed that Hengist was the rule, rather than the exception.

The rustle of straw caught his attention as Hengist sat up, blearily looked around, then focussed on the horse only a few feet in front of him. A puzzled look became one of surprise, then acceptance as he settled back into his makeshift bed. Haluin was having none of it. A bucket with a wooden ladle hanging beside it bespoke a solution to the problem. Without another thought, he eased past the stallion, peered into the bucket and grinned. Perfect!

A heartbeat later and Hengist was spluttering words fit to curdle milk. Haluin was now wisely standing just outside the entrance to the stalls, in plain sight, in case he needed witnesses to a possible homicide. Hood shadowing his face, the elf permitted himself to feel pleased. He had met one of the Mearas and thus far, had escaped bodily harm. He also knew that the day was young...

[YayGollum]

Rogane only released a few helpless noises as Taetho broke out and left them. He wanted to ask him to set him free as well. That desire was burning pretty hotly in his brain, as usual, but Gaiden's disapproval shamed him too much. The Mearas were above reproach, he figured. Gaiden was the sort that he knew he was supposed to emulate, the sort that his master had always assumed him to be, for some reason. Any reminder of Eorache the Valiant later, "Come back! Let me out!"

Anthrax had been settling in, immensely pleased with the opportunity to observe a good argument, instead of taking part in one, but when Taetho left and Gaiden looked determined to ignore him, his thoughts turned to Truor. "Ack! He would have hated to miss this!"

Inside, Truor glared at Eorache the Valiant, sure merely by the sight of the guy that he was correct to abhor his aura. Eorache the Valiant's gaze barely flickered over the Beorning. After a quick evaluation of, "Foreigner. Filthy. Strong but unfamiliar with his own weapon." he took a seat at the opposite side of the bar and ordered a drink. They both rushed back to the stables when they heard an urgent horse's neigh.

Truor ---> "Anthrax! What? I just missed a Mearas? What's a Mearas? Don't look at me like that! Huh? He went that way? What do I care? Oh, he's fun. Okay. Argh! They had some good mead in there, you know!"

Eorache the Valiant ---> "Rogane? What is it? Have the bandits returned?" About to do an inventory check, to make sure that nothing had been stolen or that his horse hadn't been damaged, he noticed the broken door, heard Truor say something about the Mearas, and shot him a reproachful glare. "You think of drink before this? Have you no sense of worth, foreigner?" He then forgot all about his horse and started sniffing around for a more impressive specimen.

[elfgirl]

Eteri looked up at the stars, tracing patterns to the moon. He wasn't exactly sure why he stared at them, he just knew that there was something else out there, something more than him. And somehow, it hit him harder than any other blow. When next I utter the word 'mellon', I will be old and gray, I think. And they will not. They will be just as youthful and carefree as when I next saw them, as blonde and beautiful and ever-green. And I will be fifty, if I live that long. He was nothing. Insignificant in lifespan and influence in comparison to his first-born friends. Insignificant. Yes, that summed it up. Suddenly, he felt a breeze, and realized the coldness of the water on his skin. Quickly scrubbing the rest of the blood off of his body, he dried off and dressed. Mayhaps I need some friendly faces. Someone to make me feel... significant. He hardly had to think about it; his feet carried him assuredly to the closest inn. He had to admit; he was not at all good with drinks. He always amused the odd creatures he met with his drunkenness off of just a glass or so of mead - something which would have been nothing to an elf, or a dwarf, or even, he heard, a halfling. Yet after a glass, his speech was only slightly slurred; just enough to take out the faint accent he'd gained from Lorien, that smooth edge to his voice, and regain the native rough edge of his Rohirric tongue. The inn was crowded with whores and fighters, the fighters all horrid and sickening, the whores all scantily clad and made-up, and not many good-looking. Besides, some of them already seemed to be choosing favorites and moving toward them. Yet suddenly, one of the women in the bar caught his attention. She was blonde, blue eyes, and her hair was down. She was not nearly as attractive as some he had seen, yet a good find among humans, although she carried herself oddly, and suddenly he realized why. She was not so much thin as lean; not so much well-shaped as strong. She carried herself like a warrior, and her hair had that trade-mark curl from being tied back, and away from her face. And somehow, this made her more beautiful to him than anyone else in the bar. Later, he would realize why; she was a fellow outcast; a fellow insignificance in the world.

"So," she said in that horrible, imitation-sweet tone, "I guess you're a warrior, come to Rohan for the Spring Festival." She smiled, trying desperately to be charming, and he felt her liking for her wane.

"Yes." He decided that perhaps it was best if she left, so he smiled, and said as charmingly as he could, "-and don't worry. You don't have to feign any interest in me. I'm not interested." Her mouth opened, eyes widened, face locked. He just smiled. It was rather sad, yet fitting... for two so unimportant as they.

"I'm not a whore." He tried to look surprised, while in his mind, laughing. "My name's Avari, and I could probably beat you blind in a swordfight, so I wouldn't be so smug if I were you." He couldn't help it - he laughed, tossed his hair back. Now, this was interesting. Her, beating him. Who knew? Maybe she could. He'd seen odder things. Yet, the mead he was consuming was starting to go to his head.

"You? Really?" He laughed a little more, and took a sip from his drink, looked her up and down, running his eyes over every curve and muscle. "I take it back." She smiled, smug, and he leaned a little closer, whispering, "I am interested." She blushed and he saw anger rising in her... again. She has not had nearly enough to drink for this time of night. "It's okay darling, don't be angry." He reached over and patted her hand kindly. "I'm sure you know your way around a fight." He smiled as kindly as he could, and finally saw her start to calm down, and even smile a little. And suddenly, he realized; like it or not... he was interested.

"So..." Unfortunately, she interrupted his thoughts. "I suppose you've traveled a lot... or, you're from a distant town. Your accent isn't familiar to me." He couldn't help but laugh a little. He had thought the mead had removed it all.

"Ah, of course. I came from Southern Rohan, and ventured into Gondor when I was young. Yet my accent comes from my years of travel. I've spent more than a decade exploring Middle Earth, and as far beyond as I could get." Suddenly, she seemed to be paying much more attention.

"So... you've met elves, I expect?" Despite the alcohol, he hesitated. Or, rather, because of the alcohol, he hesitated. Normally, he wouldn't tell anyone for fear of being kicked out of the inn, yet he was getting much nearer to drunk than he was half an hour ago, and he for some reason, he wanted very badly to keep her around.

"...Yes, yet-"

"Really? Like from Rivendell?" Her tone was curious; his increasingly sluggish.

"Yes, actually... I spent two years in Rivendell... and three in Mirkwood, and Lorien." Her smiled broadly, though whether the source was her company or alcohol was questionable. "Why," he slurred sweetly, with genuine interest in her, "any questions for me?" She laughed, melodically, sweetly, and suddenly she was much more attractive than he'd noticed before. Much, much more attractive...

"Thousands." He smiled broadly. At least he wouldn't be alone all night. Now, if only he could answer the questions straightly. He motioned at her to drink more; maybe she wouldn't notice so much if she was equally drunk.

By the end of the night, though, he was rather disappointed. Even that odd, blonde man got more attention than him.

*****

Allea watched the people around her with careful interest. She'd loved this, as a child; just sitting and watching people. There was so much you came to learn. Watching passers in the street that night was especially interesting. She'd seen a Beorning, along with the normal slew of Rohirrim. One very attractive yet rather odd-acting man... mayhaps he had eaten the wrong berries... And a Maeras... a Maeras! Being led away to a stable. And she could've sworn she saw one man with the lithe figure of an elf, yet he was totally cloaked, so perhaps he was just a very graceful man. Another man who seemed quite... lightfooted, yet definitely human. Quite too drunk to be anything but human...

"Well, hello, sweetheart." A drunken soldier swayed up to her. She laughed as kindly as she possibly could, while still laughing in his face.

"Not if I was old and blind and drunk as I could be." And she placed her palm firmly against his face, shoving with as much force as she could muster and sending him tumbling drunk into the mud. The people seemed to be getting less and less interesting as the night went on, and finally, she gave up finding any amusement in the now-deserted streets, and decided on finding a place where she could stay the night. Unfortunately, she found herself in an inn with the drunken lightfooded man, saying something about some person called 'Legolas'. Allea's lip curled. Sounded like elven magic-speak to her. Foreign, at least. Dangerously foreign. Although they were interesting, she couldn't get past their dangerousness. Other than that, there were few people left, and she resigned herself to drinking the rest of the night.

[Turgon]

Dawn came to Edoras, blushing behind a gauzy veil of cloud. It promised to be a fine day, the few clouds that were in the sky were little more than wisps and would no doubt flee as the sun made her sultry progress across the sky. The streets were already buzzing as stallholders set out their wares for the day. A myriad of entertainers were heading from their lodgings to the various corners and squares scattered around the city, some dressed like poppinjays, some dressed in smart, well fitting costumes, and some dressed in clothes so outlandish that the various goodwives already about their business couldn't help but stiffle giggles as they passed. All of them, it must be said, were oblivious to the strange events unfolding in the stables.

Even the guards seemed to be in a cheerful mood, the most comely of them having flowers placed on their helms by several boisterous maidens who were running amock through the streets, bundles of freshly picked blossoms clasped tightly in their arms. Eófric, a handsome, good-natured fellow, was one of these guards, and he made his way through the streets with a wide grin on his face, glad that sour-faced Kjartan would not be keeping watch with him today. Kjartan would be taking part in the wrestling tourney, which was taking place this very evening and Eófric couldn't help but hope that he would face Hengist again on the field.

Soon it seemed as if the whole city was out and about, people haggling in the marketplace, at the stalls, and even for the price of a meal in the feast-halls. The noise increased steadily, as the various minstrels, jugglers and tricksters completed with each other in increasingly splendid performances. It was a tradition in Edoras that the best of the entertainers perform before the King, in Meduseld itself, on the final evening of the fair; and the King was known to be a generous patron. The majority of the Rohirrim in Edoras had no idea about the troubles brewing on the border, and that is as it should be. The High Summer Fair, was a celebration of all that was good in Rohan. A time of happiness and hope. The various martial contests held outside the doors of the Golden Hall, were the highlight of the Rohirrim year, with bets changing hands, huge crowds cheering for their favourites, and a year of fame and honour for those who won glory. There were four events in these contests, wrestling, swordsmanship, archery, and finally, and it must be said, most importantly, the race. This took place on the final day of the fair, and all the best riders in Rohan took part. It took places over three laps, the course winding around the very hill that Edoras stood on.

Hengist was the favourite again for the wrestling. Even though he was long in years, he was still strong, and had a lifetime of experience behind him, and having won the prize five times already, there were few who would bet against him. Daranavo was a strong favourite for the swordsmanship tourney, he had narrowly missed out in the final the previous year, but had won on two previous occasions. Rumour had it that Eorache the Valiant had been spotted in the city too, and he could be counted upon to put up a good show. The archery contest, as always, was anybody's. Goodwine was a contender though, or at least that's who the smart money was on. As for the race, it would be as always, impossible to call. Indeed betting was forbidden at this event, being somewhat sacred to the horse loving Rohirrim.

All in all it promised to be a splendid few days.

[Ghorim]

Sir Astoundo was not a knight, nor was he a nobleman. Then again, everyone knew that. Riding in to Edoras at the head of his train of carriages, he looked like a scrawny farmer bringing livestock to market. That was deliberate. Astoundo wanted to scout his competition inconspicuously. Only at the gate did he state his true purpose. He had arranged this date well in advance, knowing the distrust of the Rohirrim rather intimately from past experience. He gave the flower-laden guards at the East Gate the full dose of his charm, and they let him pass.

Adjusting his straw hat as he urged his team of mules forward, Astoundo surveyed the fairgrounds from his perch atop the lead carriage. The early morning had settled in, and the main square was already filling up fast. There they were, staking out every corner: the garishly dressed jesters, the two-bit jugglers, and the tiresome bards, warbling the same old songs about love and heroism. Astoundo smirked, continuing to chew on a long blade of grass that rested in the left corner of his mouth. He used to be like them – a sad little solo act, prepared to undergo any sort of humiliation for a handful of coppers from the leering crowd.

Astoundo had never possessed much talent. On a good day, he could juggle four objects at once. He could carry a tune within a limited range, but his fingers were too clumsy to wield a stringed instrument properly. Yet Astoundo always knew what people wanted in a performance. They wanted variety, surprises, and spectacle. They wanted to feel afraid but safe at the same time. In truth, they wanted to watch the very things that they despised rendered harmless.

That’s where the Astonishing Assortment of Associates came in.

He had picked each of them up along the way like spare parts. They were all castoffs, lost somewhere in the shadows. The blind acrobat twins were orphaned and begging for alms in Gondor. A village in Arnor had chased off the bearded lady as a sorceress. And who knew where Ollie came from… the giant certainly didn’t remember, or at least he wasn’t letting on. Each one Astoundo seduced with ease, for they had no one else to turn to. At night Astoundo would count the proceeds and remind himself that he was a hero. He alone could fashion these broken souls into something of use.

How could Astoundo forget the pitiful sight of Jokim when he first discovered the dwarf, slouched over that grimy bar in Dale, gazing listlessly ahead?

And look at him now, thought Astoundo, my star performer…

After a few unsuccessful attempts, Astoundo brought the mules to a halt at the far north end of the fairgrounds and hopped down from his seat. Producing his keys, he unlocked the second carriage, letting loose the swordsman and the snake wrangler to help him construct the group’s stage for the evening. He also freed the contortionist to ensure that no one came too close to the carriages. Astoundo didn’t want some curious urchin stumbling upon the evening’s biggest attractions and spreading gossip. Surprise, after all, was essential in this line of work…

---

“Eleven… twelve… thirteen…”

Jokim never asked Ollie to count his pushups. It was a complimentary service. The dwarf had propped himself up almost completely vertically against the carriage wall, putting all of his body’s weight onto his arms. The blood rushed up into his head, blurring his vision and making him dizzy. But he continued his reps with a mechanical efficiency, making it easy for Ollie to count along. Sometimes Jokim thought that this was all that his fifty-odd years in the army had gifted him – the addiction to physical exertion. The salary certainly hadn’t lasted…

“Eighteen… nineteen… twwww…”

The dwarf paused before the last one, craning his neck to grin at Ollie as he drew the last rep out. The giant held his tongue and waited patiently.

Jokim bent his arms slowly, feeling the familiar burning strain before he pushed back up to full extension.

“Twwwwenty!”

After holding his stance for a few moments longer, Jokim walked forward on his hands and climbed down the wall with his feet. The dwarf let out his breath in a huge gust, and plopped down upon his pile of straw as he shook out his arms. He felt healthy, more so than he had in a long while. Had Jokim attempted that exercise only a year ago he would have fainted dead away. Now he could almost envision himself as he once was – someone respected, someone useful.

Jokim could say what he would about his career as a performer, but he could not deny that it had allowed him to recover his old physical form. Even as his pride rankled at the indignities that Astoundo subjected him to, at least he had a sense of pride now. It hadn’t been so when they first met…

By Durin, had he been drunk! At first he mistook Astoundo for a hallucination – this squirrelly stringbean man with his peach fuzz mustache and sunken eyes couldn’t be real. But there he was, an arm on Jokim’s shoulder, talking to him like an equal. The dwarf hadn’t heard a sympathetic voice in weeks. He fell under Astoundo’s spell. Yes, he needed the work. Yes, he’d sign a contract. Twenty-five performances, complete loyalty to Astoundo, and no drinking while on tour. Illiterate as he was, Jokim could only nod along to the terms as Astoundo read them off. The dwarf applied a sickly-looking “X” to the bottom of the contract with a quill that Astoundo seemed to grab out of the air.

The festival in Edoras marked Jokim’s twenty-fifth performance. After this business, he was done. Jokim thrilled at the prospect of a fresh start, maybe in the Iron Hills or the Ered Luin. He only wished he hadn’t told Ollie earlier…

“You should stay with us,” the giant said, appealing to Jokim with the eyes of a child.

“I cannot,” said Jokim, reclining with his hands clasped over his chest. “Not a moment more of this…”

“You don’t like it?” Ollie leaned forward, seeming determined to press the matter.

Jokim bit his lip and considered his words carefully. “I have enjoyed working with you, Ollie, and the others. But I must move on. The road calls to me, and I cannot ignore her.”

Ollie lowered his gaze, looking thoughtfully at the floor. “I’ll miss you.”

Jokim suppressed a shudder. He couldn’t stand to hear this mighty form sounding so pathetic. “You do not need me, Ollie.” He paused as Ollie looked up at him questioningly. “Do you realize what you are capable of, a fellow as large and as strong as you?”

Ollie shook his head, and Jokim nodded back sharply.

“You could do a lot of good, build a lot of things for people. You could be more than someone else’s entertainment. Do not forget that.”

The giant was silent. Jokim stared at him. The sounds of the festival crowd milling about filtered in from outside the carriage. They were in for a long wait before Astoundo let them out…

[Narya]

I warned you never to make contact with me while I'm here. I cannot risk being identified with you—not until I have it! It is here. I've seen it. He has it. He keeps it along with all the petty treasures of his house, which, if we play our cards right, will not last long. If we play it right! I have not plotted my way into his bed and endure the torture of his company every night only to loose it in the end because of your stupidity! Gold will be sent to you soon. If you must send word, use the well, but use it sparingly.Again, may this be the last, or I will not hesitate to send something else to make sure you never write again.With all my love.




The morning was quite warm, and though the countryside still swayed with thick green, Seranis knew that soon it will turn golden brown. She unclasped the necklace and placed it back into the box then took another, one with an emerald pendant as large as pebble dangling in the middle.

“I think this looks better, don't you agree?”

“Yes, my lady,” agreed the young woman beside her. “It looks exquisite round your neck, your majesty!”

Seranis smiled at her flattery then sent her away along with the other maidens that waited on her. She slowly stood and placed the crown of silver and pearls upon her head, in front of a thick braid of golden hair that had been circled around twice and fastened at the back with a pin made of rubies and gold.

The doors of her chamber opened with a soft chime and as she walked down the corridor, Knights saluted her while servants bowed their heads. Soon, she was in the throne room where the King had been waiting for her. The Festival was about to begin.

Beside the King, and after he had kissed her hand and she had acknowledged his crown, Seranis smiled sweetly and said, “This shall be a day of celebration, my king. A day that will be remembered in Edoras.”

“It will be remembered because of your beauty, Seranis my love,” the King replied. His eyes gleamed with so much love for her.

“Then let us not keep them waiting,” she replied.

They stood and walked towards the doors of the great hall escorted by the finest riders of the Rohirrim.

[YayGollum]

Eorache the Valiant easily found the escapee. Several frantically interested parties bumped into him on the way, spouting that the thing's last rider had been killed and that its future was most probably in the direction of their familes. He quickly bowed out of any confrontations that would have been meaningless to him. As he approached the stable that he had been directed to, he avoided some snappily dressed someone, who had no problem with standing in the way and paying little attention to traffic, it seemed. He sniffed as he passed but focused on the horse when he saw it inside. He didn't speak as he took the reins and attempted to lead the horse. A few grunts and encouraging noises later, he stood, perplexed, and finally noticed Hengist, who didn't look to be in an especially helpful mood. He scanned around for someone else but only found the snappy dresser, who he narrowed his eyes at briefly. Was he a noble, come to retrieve the horse? No, he didn't look like a native, which would be another good reason to take the horse away. "Hm. I can't leave it here, and it can't be kept in the stables..."

Truor, on top of a different hoof, announced to Anthrax that he was too tired to go running off just to talk to some horse from Rohan, no matter how famous his breed. He drifted back inside to finish his drink, shared a few stories, then came back to speak with Anthrax before he went to sleep. Apparently, he had chosen a good time to visit. He talked with Anthrax and Rogane for a bit and found a great reason to ask around about the upcoming events. With the humans, he asked about how to join. With the animals, he asked around about the whereabouts of the latest addition to the Mearas population in town. He woke up late, planning on surprising several by talking that horse into winning the race for him, then merely to keep running.

[chrysophalax]

A tall Rohirrim strode confidently toward the stable. He had heard tell that one of the Mearas was in the city, a rumour to which he could hardly give credit. The Mearas were always allowed to roam free upon the open plains not... To his disbelieving eyes, there was indeed one of the magnificent animals standing before him, alongside a tall, well-dressed (one might say, overly so) man. He went to the horse's side, his well-trained eye sweeping over every line for any sign of injury or mis-use, before fixing the stranger with a steely gaze.

Haluin returned the look with a wide grin. "Greetings, man of Rohan. I am...Halfast and this..." he gestured toward the hay on which Hengist was perched, "is Hengist, of this fair city. We've come for the Festival, as have you, by the look of you." Haluin made his way past Taetho and pulled Hengist out of the hay. "Come, old man. Let us see what we can find for breakfast." Mumbling his agreement, Hengist pulled hay from his clothes and hair, then nodded to Eorache in passing. The man could be insufferable at times, so he was glad Haluin was hungry for once, giving them an excuse to leave quickly.

Hengist squinted in the bright sunlight, his head pounding. "Wipe that annoying grin of your face Haluin, before I..." Haluin help up a cautionary hand. !Ah, ah! Halfast, if you please! I know how your people act around Elvenkind. In any case, we need to find some food, then find where you go to enter the wrestling competition." The two had spoken earlier of the many contests that would be held over the course of the Festival and Haluin had expressed interest in the archery contest immediately. "I am not worthy to call myself one of the Eldar if I should lose." He said confidently and Hengist could only agree.

[Daranavo]

Several soldiers accompanied him as he approached the back entrance to the stable where Hengist was rumored to be. Daranavo’s outward sour demeanor spurred the eager men who wanted to see him put the outcast in his place. Perhaps even to stand witness and watch their Lieutenant boot him from the gate himself. As they walked, Daranavo unconsciously tightened and tugged on his gloves to ensure that they were fit snuggly upon his hands. Something he did often in times of stress or nervousness. In contrast however, Hengist had been on his mind more then once since he had left. He had been his friend and mentor for many years and it hurt Daranavo more then he would admit to see him go like he did. To jumble his thoughts further he contemplated the reason for his return. What would he say to him? Why did his old friend risk coming back? None of it made any sense to him and the closer he got to the stables, the more questions fluttered around in his mind.

The afternoon sun was bright but the wind felt cool upon the skin as it blew strongly through Edoras. The summer harvest celebration had always brought a crowd but this year the dusty streets swelled with them and barely no patch of grass was left that would suit a tent large enough for a man to sleep in comfortably. Several soldiers on horses trotted across Daranavo’s path and they waved to him as they passed by. The three Rohirrim soldiers that trailed along behind him snickered to one another as they grew anxious almost to the point that they might burst to the excitement. The stable was right in front of him and the Lieutenant spied the back end of one of the Mearas and the vagely familiar cloak of the very man that he was to duel against at the Festival. Though he could not remember the mans name offhand. Daranavo opened his mouth and was about to address him properly until he also saw Hengist and someone else next to him that he could not see very well due to the dark cloak that shrouded his face. He raised a brow as he came to a halt in the stable doorway. He brought a gloved hand to his mouth that suddenly went dry as he quickly fought to clear his mind of questions.

Upon seeing Daranavo, a smile began to grow upon the face of Hengist. However, a dark glare of a stare was all that was returned to him from his old friend as he looked to the mysterious man then back to Hengist once again. In a deep voice Daranavo boomed; “You should of stayed away Hengist, you are not welcome here!” His lower jaw jutted forward and his eyes pierced the dimly lit interior of the stables. The stranger that stood very close to them deftly and slightly shifted his weight to gain balance and the end of a staff suddenly revealed itself near the stranger's feet. The movement was all that was necessary to have the three soldiers behind Daranavo draw their swords quickly and hold them at their sides. Hengist also raised a brow not fooled by the show of arms and his gaze shifted over to Eorache then settled back upon Daranavo. “Well, I would of. half expected a much warmer welcome my old friend. Has…” “Leave us,” Daranavo barked rudely. His face twisted in anger as he looked over at the stranger. His sharp words even agitated the Mearas that lingered silently nearby and almost stepped forward to leave himself. however Anthrax only lifted his ears to listen further to the exchange. Sighs and grumbles came from the three men that stomped away not at all pleased that they would not be able to watch. Eorache almost spoke up in protest but he had heard of Daranavo and in any case had no wish to test his resolve in the here and now. The cloaked man turned and looked back toward Hengist. The aging soldier furled his brow and nodded vigorously at him as a sign that all would be well though a slight look of uncertainty did linger in his eyes. The stranger turned back to Daranavo and his keen, shadowed eyes looked him over carefully.

[chrysophalax]

*Hengist, you never told me your countrymen were so...impolite to strangers." Haluin said as he stepped closer to the man who had addressed him so rudely. "Tell me, friend. Do servants dress like this in Edoras? If so, I haven't seen them and, I can assure you that I am no servant to be thus bidden by you or anyone else." He noted with pleasure that the man's right hand reflexively closed into a fist every time Haluin spoke and that he had to make an effort to relax it. As always, Haluin decided to test the boundaries.

"Before you apologise to me, just let me say that you owe an apology to Hengist as well, for it was he who invited to your fair city. We have long been comrades and it would do you naught but ill if you were to insult him in my presence. He glanced sideways at Hengist as he spoke and saw there the look he expected. It said, Don't push him too far, you fool. You may get more than you bargained for! Haluin merely grinned and moved ever so slightly to his left, between Hengist and the man. "Come, say whatever it is you came to say. I will not be going anywhere."

[Daranavo]

Daranavo’s gaze shifted sharply over to the cloaked stranger. His brow furled as he listened and he could hardly believe what he was hearing. With a broad gate he stepped forward and moved squarely to the man’s front and stopped. Like his demeanor and his movements, his words were sharp. “An apology? I know not who you are and by your words it is obvious that you do not know to whom you speak and with whom you travel. What you are is of no import to me and know that if anyone else had found you here that you along with Hengist would be surely BEATEN from the gates.” Daranavo paused and quickly shifted his narrowing eyes over to Hengist then back to the stranger warily. “Speak ill to me again and I shall show you that the confines of steel and stone will be even less accommodating then that of the stables,” he whispered in a snarled.

With that the Lieutenant shifted and almost shouldered the cloaked figure to the side as he stepped forward toward Hengist. “And you old man…” He said as he stepped right up to him and shook his head. With a jerk and quick movement he raised his hands and almost simultaneously, so did Hengist and the two embraced and laughed loudly.

[chrysophalax]

Haluin watched as Hengist embraced the rude intruder heartily with a mixture of astonishment and distaste. "I'll leave you both to it then, shall I? I find have the most urgent desire to be anywhere but here." Before Hengist could say anything, Haluin had walked rapidly away from them and disappeared into the crowd.

Few people in Haluin's life were aware the elf had a violent temper, so successful was he at concealing it. Even his good friend Hengist had only seen brief flashes of it and had put it down to Haluin's strict dietary preferences. In truth, the elf had a serious problem. He was subject to homicidal rage, the sort that ends with far too many bodies and far too many lies having to be told. It was his temper that had had him barred from Lorien, after he had slain one of the Lady's favourite minstrels (all of them, in fact) for singing a satirical lay concerning himself, his penchant for a good bottle (read barrel) of wine and a travelling tinker's goat. Haluin had taken great exception to the goat and when he had been told politely by Lord Celeborn to take it all in good fun, he had smiled, asked to be excused and then gone to his flet to sharpen his sword. The ensuing rash of deaths was judged inexcusable and he had had to flee.

Thus it was that Haluin found himself stalking across town in an attempt to calm himself, for the tall Rohirrim had insulted him, had treated him as though he were a mere servant and his pride had been badly stung. Had the man not proved to be a friend's of Hengist's, his life would have been forfeit on the spot. Muttering Elvish imprecations, he suddenly came up against a large waggon emblazoned across the side of which read SIR ASTOUNDO'S ASTONISHING ASSORTMENT OF ASSOCIATES! He took a step back, then walked around it. He could hear voices inside. Quickly he glanced around, saw no one was watching, then came close to the waggon, listening intently. It seemed that two men, two friends by the sound of it, were discussing something important. Curious, Haluin pressed himself against the side of the waggon and cautiously lifted the canvas up to catch a glimpse of who might be inside.

What met his gaze caused him to gasp aloud. A giant! His shook his head, trying to clear it, it couldn't be! He had only ever seen one in all his life and that had been from a very safe distance long ago. He realised he was still holding the canvas open a slit and now a thickly bearded face with glaring dark eyes filled the opening. As quick as he was, the other was quicker and Haluin found his wrist being crushed in a vise-like grip. "Release me!" he hissed. "Make me!" a deep voice replied. Eru, what have I gotten myself into this time? thought Haluin as he felt, rather than saw, several men gather behind him.

[Ghorim]

For the first time in awhile, Jokim was thinking about tomorrow. Would he break East for the Iron Hills, or West for the Ered Luin? Would he take up blacksmithing again? Was he ready for a family of his own? Simply being able to ask himself those questions delighted the dwarf to no end. As part of Sir Astoundo’s show, he’d had security, but that security always came with manacles attached. Everything was regimented – much like it had been in the Ereborian army – from when he ate to where he wandered. Only unlike the army, this position afforded him no dignity or camaraderie. Well… perhaps Ollie was a comrade of sorts…

“Why’re you leaving?” asked Ollie as soon as Jokim made the mistake of looking at him again.

Asking that dratted question again! He should have figured. Conversations with Ollie – like many things in life, Jokim reminded himself – tended to travel in circles.

“I would not expect you to understand it,” said Jokim. “Not fully.”

“Tell me,” said the giant insistently.

Like a child… he knows how to get his way, thought Jokim in exasperation and amusement. He pondered the best way to relate his situation for a moment before responding.

“Well, Ollie… imagine that there were an entire people who were just like you. Big men and big women who all lived together in a forest somewhere.”

This idea seemed to enchant Ollie, and he leaned forward with moonstruck eyes as he listened.

“… But they weren’t all merely just the same height as you,” Jokim continued. “They shared a language with you, a history, traditions and values… things that no one shorter than a house could understand.”

Ollie nodded with enthusiasm.

“You grow up with them in that forest… live that way all your life… and then one day circumstances lure you away from your home. You are suddenly surrounded by all of these short people who live and think things differently. They look at you queerly. And the things you took for granted as shared back in your home – those ancient customs – to these people you are with now… well, it’s all nonsense to them, you see?”

Ollie nodded again, but didn’t seem to register the full weight of the dwarf’s words.

“Well,” said Jokim with a sigh, wondering if this explanation was worth the effort. “That is my predicament, in summary! Simply switch the heights around and I have just told you my story.”

Ollie paused, looking remarkably thoughtful as he scratched his chin.

“So… if you were so happy with your friends… why did you leave them?”

Jokim laughed bitterly. Ollie had deciphered the tale better than he had realized.

“That, my cloud-headed friend, would make for a full night’s tale, and I believe that…”

Suddenly a gasp came from directly over Jokim’s shoulder, at the entrance to the carriage. The dwarf’s gaze shot up and around to see a pair of eyes and a hand holding open the entrance flap. In a sudden, fluid motion, Jokim rose to his feet and grabbed the eavesdropper’s wrist in a crushing grip.

“Release me!” came a hiss from just beyond the flap.

“Make me!” replied Jokim, not without a cruel sense of satisfaction. Those were personal words he had just spoken to Ollie, hardly the sort that he’d want some passing stranger to overhear. His demeanor from but a few moments ago had changed dramatically, from relaxed and almost wistful to cold and intense. Ollie crawled toward the entrance, alarmed by this sudden shift in Jokim’s behavior.

“What’s happening?” the bewildered giant asked.

From outside the carriage, a sharp voice stilled everyone in an instant.

“Jokim! Release this man immediately!”

The dwarf poked his head out of the flap, maintaining his hold on the stranger’s wrist. Just marching up to the carriage was Sir Astoundo himself, flanked by three of the other performers.

“Not before I receive my satisfaction from him,” said Jokim, measuring every syllable. “He was listening into our conversation, just lurking about like some…” He searched his mind for a moment. “Some… Elf!” And he looked directly into the offender’s eyes as he spoke this last word. Jokim was surprised to see a mix of shock and amusement gazing back at him.

“Tut tut!” said Astoundo, stepping forward with a suave and pacifying air. “All a misunderstanding, I’m sure. Now for the Valar’s sake let him go, my good dwarf! He did not shear your beard or question your family’s honor, I assume? So why are you so eager to take him prisoner?”

“But you see…!” Jokim began but stopped short as Ollie encased the dwarf’s entire shoulder with one mammoth hand.

“Let him go,” said Ollie in a simple, plaintive voice. “He didn’t do anything.”

Jokim glanced back into the carriage to see Ollie giving a pleading gaze. With a grunt, the dwarf acquiesced and released his hold. The stranger rubbed his wrist indignantly, and Jokim startled as the fellow gave him a wily smirk.

“My apologies on behalf of my associate,” said Astoundo, stepping right up to the stranger like he was a familiar face. “He comes from a people known for their short temper.”

“I come from a people who do not enjoy being spied upon,” protested Jokim with controlled fury.

“Oh, do not worry on my behalf,” said the stranger coolly. “I’m quite familiar with his type.” And he gave Jokim another mocking look. Another!

“Ah, I see!” said Astoundo, trying to give Jokim a mollifying glance as he spoke. “And that surprises me to hear, for these exceptional and hardy folk are rare, especially in these parts. Which is precisely why I have Master Jokim and Master Ollie so carefully hidden from the rest of the fairgrounds. Ah! But I must introduce myself! Sir Astoundo, at your service.” He bowed deeply.

“And these ot