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Rowenna
So Ulric was going to play it like a rogue. Rowenna had more than half expected it. She had been playing both sides against the middle so far, to see which side came out on top, but she had secretly been hoping that she could leave outlawry behind. If it was not to be, she would have to make the best of it that she could.
When the man yelled and charged into the doorway, Ulric grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him roughly. The only movement she could do now would be to strike at Ulric's face blindly with her small fists, or feebly kick her heel into his groin. Had he given her more freedom of movement, she could have surprised the man before them by kicking his sword hand, possibly disarming him. But that would be too decisive and ruin her chances at leaving outlawry. She held her tongue and stilled her body; it was time to wait things out to see which side won out.
Falco
Maybe Eodwine was right, maybe not. Falco was still convinced that Rilef would have been able to hide from the outlaws had he stayed in the woods around the ruin. But he was dead, and the outlaws were trying to escape. Eodwine and Elborn had run down the kitchen hall, effectively blocking off that escape. That would mean that the arbor court was their most likely means of escape, unless they planned to climb out through the hole in the cone shaped roof of the kitchen, which was frankly too small even for himself. That or dig a tunnel out of the cellar. Falco looked again at Lefun and Ritun.
"I'll avenge your death on these outlaws if I'm given the chance. Seein' as Eodwine plans them to hang anyway, it wouldn't hurt if I hurry them along."
He did not go to the armoury, but walked steadily past the firepit and the Eorl's Seat, past the tables and benches, past the door to the guest rooms, past the stove in the south wall of the Great Room, and through the door to the Alder court. The kitchen door across the court was shut tight. Had the outlaws done that? Where was Stigend? For it had been he who had yelled the warning, no doubt.
Falco stooped and searched the ground. The lawn was new and rough here where the kitchen had once been, and it had truly been small, fitting into the tiny space between the Hall and the Alder tree. Rocks were plentiful and he had his choice. He picked up four of them, holding three in his left hand, testing one in his right, feeling its weight, its edges, its curves, for just the right throwing grip.
The story of Mayor Samwise's "Apple Toss in Bree" was famous in the Shire, but also here in Rohan where the Master of Buckland had been a knight, and told the King, who had laughed heartily; his eorlings had liked the tale and the story of the halfling's skill of the target had spread across Rohan. It had been the same in Gondor.
"So let's show 'em, Master Shirriff of the Shire," Falco said to himself, "that it's not summat only the Mayor is good for, but most every Hobbit west of Bree."
Falco Boffin waited at the door to the Great Hall for his chance, should the outlaws come charging out of the kitchen into the Alder court; a deft and deadly shot to the side of the head would fell 'em, and maybe kill 'em, and if not kill 'em, then someone else could finish 'em off with a sword. Or tie 'em back up to contemplate their hanging on the morrow. Either way would be just as well.
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