[Dain Ironfoot]

Despite his first impulse to rush out headlong and immediately capture the stranger that the burghurs had described, Fréa eventually decided it might be more prudent to approach the camp by night. He rode north of the city to the very edge of the Chetwood, where the trees gave way to open grasslands. Searching the area, he found a secluded bower, well hidden by boughs and twining plants that concealed a campsite just large enough to house a small band of travellers.

The encampment was empty at the moment, but there were indications it had recently been occupied and that the travellers would probably return that evening, since many of their belongings were strewn over the ground. Fréa crept up cautiously and entered the grove. He investigated what had been left behind and found an odd assortment of things, but nothing that would identify the men as Rohirrim. This did not surprise him. If he was on the lam, fleeing from the law, he would have enough sense to mask his identity and assume another personna.

Hiding under the cover of a nearby rock overhang, Fréa waited till the sun had gone down, and darkness enveloped the skies. He heard the sound of horses' hooves approaching and went out to have a look, carefully concealing his body within the tangled underbrush. Unfortunately for him, the new moon was well hidden under a bank of clouds so that it was pitch dark and impossible to see any further than a foot or two away.

There was one thing, however, that he instantly noted. The men wore heavy cloaks pulled down low over their faces and seemed to look around now and again to check if anyone was following them. It was the kind of behavior Fréa expected from Brytta and his crew. His spirits rising, Fréa vowed to have a closer look. If these were indeed the outlaws from Rohan, he would return to get his brothers and Hama so they could confront the men. Creeping in as close to the edge of camp as he dared, Fréa lurked in the shadows straining to see the mens' faces and hear their words.

So intent was he on spying out the central portion of the camp, that he did not notice that the men had set a sentry far out on the perimeter. Nor did he see when this tracker skillfully and silently made his rounds, coming up in back of Fréa and collaring him by the neck. Within a split instant, Fréa went from being the pursuer to becoming the pursued, and was dragged out before the men who were now gathered round a campfire.

A single look at the travellers told him he had made a serious mistake. There was no sign of Brytta or Heldor or any of the other Rohirrim. Worse than that, these folk were thugs, pure and simple. They were hauling off a considerable batch of stolen goods they'd eveidently plundered that same day and hidden under their huge cloaks and in their horses' saddlebags. Fréa groaned as the leader of the band, the man who supposedly resembled Brytta, approached him with a flaming torch.

"And what may I ask are you doing hiding in the bushes of our encampment?" the leader of the band growled under his breath.

Fréa's mind went blank for a moment. Then he blurted out the best answer he could think of off hand, "I was waiting on a band of friends, well-trained soldiers from Rohan who were to meet me on the trail, but they'd apparently been detained. I do expect them anytime now, a considerable company of fighting men."

The ruffian leader placed his hands on his hips and threw back his head, roaring with laughter. "That is a strange tale indeed. You surely don't think I'd buy that."

"Believe me or not," barked Fréa in response. "But have a look at my horse. He is a fine stallion of Rohan, the best in the world."

The horse was led forward before the men, who began exchanging nervous glances. Perhaps there was something to this wild tale.

The leader of the band again stood up and approached Fréa with a scowling face. "You may be filled with lies. But my crew and I take no chances. We push out tonight just in case your visitors are coming. And you, dog of Rohan, will pay for your impudence!"

With that Fréa was seized and bound with ropes and left tied to a nearby tree. The leader gestured to the ropes and barked out a warning, "That should keep you busy while we make our way to safety. You are lucky that I'm in a very good mood, or I'd slit your throat from ear-to-ear, but I want no trouble with the Knights of Rohan. However, since you've put me to such inconvenience, I believe you owe me a favor. I have always fancied a horse from Rohan. Plus, your dagger and short sword."

Fréa watched helplessly as the men packed up and headed north out of the encampment. leading his precious horse with them. His only consolation was that his broadsword lay back at the Inn. For the rest of the night and all the next day, he chafed and pulled against the bonds. It was shortly before midnight when he finally managed to free himself. Fréa instantly collapsed on the greensward and fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted from all his travails, staggering back the next morning to the Prancing Pony.

Later that day, when his brothers approached and demanded to know why he'd been detained so long and had lost his horse and weapons, Fréa only growled and threatened to tan them if they asked any more questions. He rushed down to the market and quickly replaced his belongings, although his new stead sadly did not match up to the one that he'd brought with him all the way from Edoras. The brothers spent several more days in Bree, fruitlessly hunting for any more clues as to Brytta's whereabouts as tempers shortened and their bickering increased.

[ September 04, 2003: Message edited by: Dain Ironfoot ]