Abduction in Edoras RPG

[JennyHallu]

Lin woke from a restless slumber to faint sunlight slanting down from a high vent in the opposite wall of the cellar, and falling with little warmth across the bars of her cell. She reached blindly for the pitcher of water she kept beside her bed, her hand grabbing at empty air before she remembered where she was with an unpleasant start.

The cell was spring-morning cold, and the air coming through the vent blew fitfully against her body, still clad in the light linen gown she'd donned for the fair the day before. Glad no guard seemed to be around, she used the cracked chamberpot that had been provided for her, and shoved it carefully under the cot, making sure not to spill. No one had yet come to clean it out, and she hoped they would soon, before it began to smell.

Wrapping the thin blanket around her shoulders she sat on the edge of the cot, using the wan light to inspect the bindings on her arm. She hadn't done too bad a job the night before, actually, but she untied the knot and unwrapped it, inspecting the damage. Her wrist wasn't quite straight, and this worried her. If she did get out of here, she wanted the arm to be usable still, after it healed. She tried to ignore the dark purplish welts swelling to prominence, aware that there were far more hidden under her gown, and a certain tightness around one eye spoke to yet another. She wondered briefly if she could set it herself, remembering her painful examination last night had shown her the breaks were clean. She had once watched her father's surgeon setting her brother Farahil's broken arm, though, and remembered how he'd bound the arm to straight bits of wood to hold it steady while it healed. She had nothing like that...unless...

She turned, searching under the bed. The floor was dusty, but bare. With a sense of disappointment she started to turn away, but the corner of her eye caught and held on one of the slats holding the straw mattress. With a strong heave she managed to lift the mattress onto a shoulder, reaching down awkwardly to pull at a slat. The weight of the mattress made her usual graceful movement impossible, but, getting her fingers under the edge of the slat, she lifted it and knocked it awkwardly onto the floor.

Too long. The slat was too long. Gritting her teeth she slipped her fingers firmly under one end of the slat and stepped down hard near the middle. Lifting with a grunt, she fell back unbalanced onto the bed as it broke. The short fall jostled some bruises, but she looked down at the slat in triumph. Now all she had to do was set the bone, and bind it tight.

Lin was trembling in anticipation of this coming pain. She grabbed the bar of the cell tightly with her injured hand and pulled very very slowly back, feeling her progress with her good hand. To her surprise, the pain really did not much increase as she did so, and as she carefully settled the bones back where they properly went, she felt almost a feeling of relief. It hurt, by Eru it hurt, but she could bear it. If she had to. She placed the arm firmly but gently against the bed slat and bound it firmly down with yesterday's wrapping, using her teeth to tighten the knots, making sure she could move and feel her fingers. As she straightened up, she heard the footsteps in the cellar behind her and spun rapidly around. Scyld stood there, with a tray of food. Eggs and some cold ham, it seemed.

“I have a message with breakfast for you,” he said smirking, but it couldn't quell her triumph in this moment. “How did Sorn put it, now? Something like if your wrist hurts so badly, he will come down himself and set the bone. And I would not count on Sorn’s skills as a healer.”

Lin grinned thinly, humorlessly, lifting the set and splinted arm to Scyld's gaze like a challenge. "Tell that yrch he can fall on his sword," she said, answering the smirk.

Scyld did not answer immediately, entering her cell to set down the tray. He took her glass for a moment as he left, and when he handed it back to her through the walls of the cell, she could smell the wine that had replaced most of the water he had brought her. She gripped his hand for a moment as she took it, aware of the risk he ws taking.

"Thank you," she murmured sincerely.

A feminine voice at the top of the stairs called Scyld's name, and they both turned towards it like children caught out of bounds. Scyld threw her a warning look and left before the woman could come down.

Lin watched him go with a half-smile on her lips. No need to fear this getting found, she thought, knocking the glass back and gulping down the contents before setting ravenous to the cold and ill-cooked meal as though it were a feast in her honor.

[Taralphiel]

Sorn sat a while longer after Scyld left. He studied the dagger Linduial had used again, smiling before placing it gently back in her basket. He stood, taking a key from his vest pocket, and locked the door to the study. He kept all of his finest things in there, and in better times, all of his land titles and fortune. Placing the key back in his pocket and patting it down, he decided to go for a walk.

The long hallway where the study sat was a central of three long passageways in Sorn's estate. The first had a larger room at it's beginning, so that one entering would be lead to the left, and to Sorn's long hearth that stretches almost the width of the front of the House. At the end this first hall connected to the outside, and a path to the stables. This hallway also had the one entrance to the cellar where Linduial was being kept.

Sorn walked to the front of the central hallway, cutting through the hearth and taking the long route to the back of his house. He enjoying casting an eye into his servants rooms, making sure they were well kept and nobody was up to nonsense. Reaching the end of this first hallway, Sorn stepped out into the chilly air.

Looking forward, Sorn could see some bustling in the stable. The door was heaved wide open, and he could make out people readying a cart. 'Ah, Osfrid is preparing to leave' he thought, and stepped onto the stone path to give the man and his woman a few last orders.

On his way, he saw a figure, lumbering slowly through the cold. He grinned. Gurth rambled along, his dog barking at his heels. It seemed that the drink of the night before had yet to clear Gurth's thick head. Sorn stopped and smiled at him.

"Good Morning dear Gurth! You were given too much last night, I fear. You should set to the kitchen and get some bread for you and your hound. You look to sorely need it!"

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas rode with a bitter resignation to his fate as messenger, his entire being aching, rather, to be a member of the rescue team.

He would find the tip that would lead them to the very gates of the fiend's home. That way blocked, he would use his copious amounts of wit to discover a hidden entrance. Moving silently as darkness, he would guide his team through torch lit halls crawling with potential doom. Making their way to the cavernous dungeons, he would spot Linduial. As he'd move toward her, the fiend himself would jump from the shadows and engage him in battle. Swords would clash, daggers would lash out, and Degas would end the battle in a way that legends would later depict as marvelous and kind, disarming the cruel beast that had stolen fair lady and arresting him for the crime with no injury to him. It wasn't, after all, for Degas to meter punishment for the crime. He would look up, Linduial, clad in flowing white, would meet his eyes... He would take the keys from the monster's belt and move to her. Her shackles would fall and she would throw her arms around him and--

Degas hit the ground with a resounding thud. His horse was dancing nervously, stamping at the ground, whinnying. Degas rolled to his feet quickly, rotating the shoulder he landed on and rubbing it as he circled his horse carefully.

She'd never bucked him in her life and he'd raised her from infancy. There, before in the road, was a large snake, coiled and hissing. He shivered at the sight of it, glad there were none present to see what he was about to do.

Grasping her firmly by the reins, Degas led a wide circle around the serpent. Move it? He shivered. He'd only ever dealt with snakes when Caelyn had asked of it. Saeryn had no fear of them. She was fascinated by their sleek scales, the quick darting motions of their tongues. Degas would rather they did not exist, but for the sake of his pride, he would pretend no fear in the presence of others. He rubbed his horse's nose softly, whispering soft reassurances as they avoided the snake together. Once further, and certain of her calm, he mounted once again and continued to ride.

Perhaps a few more hours before his arrival, he thought. He reached into a pack for some dried meat and an apple, guiding his mare with his knees. A few more hours before he informed Lord Farlen and his sons, all of whom Linduial spoke of with great love, that she was missing and the fault was his own.

[Folwren]

Deren walked with three other men down the sloping streets towards the gates. Two of them carried spears. Deren and one other, both of which had never acquired the ability of using a spear well, walked behind, their swords and daggers by their sides. They said next to nothing as they marched. People silently made a way for them, staring with wide eyes at the grim and stern faces.

They found the gates opened, as usual, and the two guards left to watch it sitting on a great rock just by the wall. They both leaped to their feet as they saw the four men approaching and stepped quickly into their places, suddenly in rigid attention.

The formost of the men, Lystholn come with Deren walked to one to explain their appearance. "You've heard of the kidnapping of Lady Linduial?" he asked. The man nodded stiffly. "We've been sent to add extra guard on the gates, to try to spot any questionable characters coming in or leaving."

"Are we being kicked off duty, then?" the man asked, a flash of what may have been eagerness darting over his face.

"No. We've merely come to add men. We're to question every person who comes into the city about whether or not they have seen anything suspicious out on the road or anywhere."

"Ha. Not like they'll answer if they've a hand in it!" the guard scoffed.

"Perhaps," Lystholn answered coldly. "People who don't have anything to do with it, peasants, rich travelers, anyone, will speak up if they know anything. That's all I hope to acquire. Yet we might hope for some good luck. I think that if anyone does know something about it but doesn't choose to tell we may be able to notice some. . .discomfort while we put the questions to him. Take your posts. Fyn and I will stand outside."

He was obeyed. The two original guards stood back and allowed Lystholn and Fyn to pass through to take up their place outside the gate. Deren and his other companion stationed themsleves opposite the first two guards. Now all they had to do was wait until the first traveler came seeking to enter Edoras. Deren leaned his shoulders back against the wood of the gate post. All they had to do now was wait, and no one knew how it would be, or how many people would pass through, before they gained any real information or something they could use.

[Anguirel]

Gurth ceased his strange attempts at song as the Master hailed him, holding up a massive hand in salute. At his feet, Grendel also slowed, panting in a gargantuan manner, its great pink river of a tongue lolling out from between its daggers of teeth. Gurth assumed a solemn...practically noble...expression as Sorn addressed him.

"Good Morning dear Gurth! You were given too much last night, I fear. You should set to the kitchen and get some bread for you and your hound. You look to sorely need it!"

At the sound of "kitchen" and "bread", Gurth nodded gratefully, like a drowning man thrown a line or an invalid offered a cure by a doctor. He yanked Grendel along by the scruff of his neck, who came willingly enough, quite tolerating treatment from his owner which would have been instant death to any...less proportionally sized. The giant shook his head, his yellow locks tumbling back impressively, and he smiled widely.

"Sorn," he remarked amiably as he passed his lord, who returned the gesture with an almost fatherly smile. When the colossal Fool reached the farmstead's pantry, he found a fine breakfast laid out for him; bread, certainly, but also a specially huge flagon of goat's milk and a wheel of goat's cheese, as well as a haunch of ham to be shared between man and beast. As the loyal retainers felt the food settle in their stomachs, they stretched contentedly, knowing that never would there be any such Master to treat them so kindly.

But Gurth was not unaware of the meaning of duty, and once his repast was finished, he set out to the door at the house's left end which led down to the cellar. The time had come for him to assume the guard duties of that weakling sneak Scyld, and protect that strange creature beyond the bars, whose gaze inspired a feeling with which he was uncertain and confident.

It was, did he but know it, guilt.

[JennyHallu]

Torim wandered the Fair rather aimlessly, picking at the roast-pork-on-a-stick creation he'd bought from a vendor. It was steaming hot, and good...but his enjoyment of the event was severely curtailed by the thoughts racing through his head, brought on by the rumors racing just as quickly through the crowds. The Lady Linduial, cousin to the Queen, has been kidnapped. And Torim feared he knew exactly where the young woman was.

He stepped quickly aside as a group of grim-faced guards rushed through the crowds towards the gates, his mind seething with indecision. Should he find who was searching for her, and tell them what he had seen on the way, or should he protect himself and his family and keep his mouth shut?

Sorn was a character whom Torim knew well, at least by reputation. Vicious and amoral, the man never gave up a grudge or forgave, and no matter the slight, punishment was brutal. Torim's personal opinion was that the lord was truly a coward, but a coward in power could be a fearsome thing. Silently he wrestled with his conscience, thinking of his young wife and two small children, defenseless on their farm all too close to Sorn's borders. Sorn is overconfident. He'll make a mistake, and they'll find him on their own. But if Sorn hears you were the one to betray him...

Besides, you don't know who to talk to or anything, and they'll probably hold you for further questioning and all that, and you'll get home late, and everyone will worry...

But they say Linduial is little more than a child.

I'll wait. I'll wait a little while, and then go tell them what I saw, if they're still looking for the kidnapper. Maybe you were wrong, anyway. If they're still looking for the kidnapper before I planned to leave, I'll talk. If they promise to keep my name secret...

~<*>~

Lin shuddered when the giant Gurth plodded down the stairs, with the large dog again at his side. However, her new sense of self-reliance was still with her, and she knew that she needed everyone at her side she could finagle around. Her plate was wet with the juices from her meal, and she nervously tipped it sideways through the bars, moving slowly so as not to startle her guard, and placed it down on the floor.

"For your dog," she said to Gurth, pointing at the plate and the dog, and being careful and distinct with her words, not sure how much she needed to do for the man to understand her. She was thirstly still, though the wine had admirably dulled the pain, and if Gurth seemed less frightening now than he had last night, perhaps she could find the courage to ask him to fill her now empty cup with water.

[Anguirel]

Gurth's eyes grew large and bright when Linduial extended the plate with its meagre remnant of a consumed meal. The vicious Grendel, also, stared brazenly at the captive woman. What did that gaze mean? Anger? Pity? Anticipation?

And then, in the same moment, the creatures' mouths slid open, and as Gurth laughed, and laughed, Grendel barked, and barked, running about in circles, wagging his tail, as Gurth beat his feat and slapped his thighs. It was a stunningly...well, almost majestic...outburst of vulgar mirth.

When dog and master had recovered themselves from their overpowering fit of amusement, Gurth turned to Grendel somewhat sternly, though his eyes still shone.

"Sit, Grendel."

The wolf-mastiff gave a short whine and then a staccato bark of consent, settling itself in front of the cell, its eyes alert. Gurth turned away, striding rapidly out, giving no indication where he was headed. Linduial made an occasional overture to the dog, but without its only friend it was peevish and gave out a low and distinctly discouraging growl in response.

At last there was another clatter against the door, and Gurth entered. (It seemed he was not physically incapable or cripplingly clumsy, for when possessed of the key he opened the door and locked it with ease. He proceeded down the stairs, a deep frown engraved on his features. Grendel caught the giant's mood and growled louder, almost as if he was restraining his every muscle from leaping upon Linduial, smashing apart the bars, and gobbling her every morsel up. The captive noblewoman, understandably, edged back against the wall. She could see that the massive oaf seemed to have a new, and rather larger, club, as well as some indistinct object behind his back. He approached, nearer and nearer...

And then it became clear. Gurth was carrying no weapons, but a quite enormous joint of ham in one hand, and a pitcher of goat's milk in the other. Grendel pranced about, his tongue flapping up and down, though he emitted no noise, relying on imploring eyes for his appeal. Gurth chuckled.

"Grendel", he said, in the tone of a wise arbitrator, rending off one slab of meat and chucking it to the dog, before pointing to himself, saying something indistinct in a low voice, and ripping off another chunk.

"Munch!" he concluded happily, bending down in an awkward position and pushing the remainder of the ham and the jug of goat's milk through the hatch into the cell. He waited proudly for Linduial to react with pleasure, looking tremendously pleased with himself.

[JennyHallu]

Lin looked at the haunch of meat and the pitcher for a moment in confusion. Why had he brought her food? She had been offering...a paltry offer, she knew, but Gurth had treated it as a request. Why?

Her eyes travelled to the empty plate still sitting outside the bars of her cell, and then naturally to the large dog greedily devouring its portion. Grendel...there was her answer. Gurth was simple, that was patently obvious. But though words were useless, he was not entirely incapable of communication. Relief flooded Lin's heart, and she laughed happily aloud. Words were her refuge and her strength: only when communication failed was she truly helpless. And with Gurth the difficulty was merely a language barrier. Many times had Lin watched her father's dogs nosing at their dishes. Lin had pointed out to Gurth her own was empty, and he had filled it, with foodstuffs of the same quality as he gave Grendel, whom he clearly loved.

Cautiously, but with an open smile on her face, Lin crept forward, eyes locked on the big man, alert for any sign of movement. Did she but know it, she looked not entirely unlike a beast herself, for a moment, before she straightened by the food, carefully picking up the meat in her good hand and tearing at it neatly with her teeth. She was not really hungry, having just eaten, but she took a few good-sized bites to show her gratitude before turning to the milk.

A whole jug, all to herself! Lin smiled happily and poured some into her glass, sipping the rich liquid with hearty appreciation. This gift she would savor, and she sat crosslegged to drink it, her eyes still on Gurth, but now thoughtfully. He'd rewarded her as he would the dog, but Lin was not at all insulted. Rather, she was inwardly almost elated. If Gurth thought of her as a pet, as a lesser member of his own pack, perhaps he would feel protective towards her.

[Firefoot]

As Haleth finished answering the question of one of his men and was turning back to Eodwine, he overheard the comment of the one speaking to Eodwine, “I think that it would be a good idea not to rile anyone up before we have any evidence against them.”

“An excellent point,” put in Haleth. “I doubt we would accomplish much by knocking on people’s doors and asking about a kidnapping. Those innocent would probably be annoyed, to say the least, and the guilty one would almost undoubtedly lie. Rather, I think it would be better to send some men out into the city to ask some subtle questions. Perhaps you, Eodwine, and your two men here would be one of those search parties? You'd probably attract less attention than armed guards... Try to find out if any of these men have been in the city recently, I suppose, and anything else you might be able to find out - use your discretion.

“I suppose that will be all for now… if none of this works, I’m about out of ideas. If you come up with any, I’d be happy to hear them. If anything interesting turns up, I’ll be in touch.”

“Very well,” responded Eodwine, and with that, Haleth set off to find a few more men to send out into the city. The queen was counting on him… but how did one go about finding a kidnapper? It would be luck indeed if anything turned up…

[JennyHallu]

Evening settled with deceptive peacefulness over Rohan, its beauty unnoticed by the tired and subdued party eating a late supper in the Mead Hall. Most of the Hall's residents were busy with their own tasks, but those involved in the search for Linduial were still awake, recapping their failures and successes over the day. Haleth and Eodwine sat, closely attended by Thornden and Garstan, quietly discussing the events of the day and plans for the morrow. Marenil sat in the corner, too worried to go to bed, but nodding in his chair. Deren was still stationed at the gates, for there was yet another hour before they closed for the night, late due to the Fair.

~<*>~

Lin sat on the threadbare cot, wakeful and wary, one eye on her guard, and her mind fixed on the cold light of Earendil, shining strongly through the vent. The day had been long and weary, but successful, and she felt she'd established some sort of rapport with her two guards. A start at least, and tomorrow another day. The light of Earendil seemed especially close, warming her despite its silver chill, reminding her of its promise of deliverance. She sighed in a contentment at odds with her surroundings, her fears calmed for at least a little while.

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas sat in a tall backed chair by a roaring fire, listening to the sound of rain pounding the roof and trickling through the ceiling to tap its way musically into pots. He could smell a simmering stew and strongly wanted a bowl or two to fill his complaining belly as he stared into the flickering flames.

"I'm sorry, young lord."

He looked up into the deeply etched face of the innkeeper's wife. She'd spent the last hour with the boy, feeding him broth and keeping him warm until he fell asleep.

"Is there no way?"

"Unfit for work as he is, we just can't afford another mouth to feed." She gestured toward the dripping ceiling and the patchwork furniture, all comfortable and worn with long use, no one piece matching another.

"But he will be fit! He's sick and weak, but you can tell by the sight of him he hasn't always been nor will he be for long."

"I am sorry."

Degas tried to look through the thick glass of the window. It would still be light had the storm not come. Clouds had moved in as Degas rode, covering the sky and bringing dusk hours early. He'd rode onward more quickly, hoping the storm would hold off. He'd been yet a half hour short of the next town when the rain began to pour in slanting sheets. The road flooded with small rivers of mud from the saturated fields along it and Degas dismounted to lead his horse more sure-footedly. He'd stumbled over the boy, sprawling into the muddy road. His horse, finicky though she could be, had remained calm. Degas rolled over, wiping mud from his face and opening his mouth to the sky, expelling both dirt and water with a disgusted spit.

He'd groaned when he saw what had tripped him and knelt beside the boy, wiping mud from him as best he could, being himself covered. He'd been breathing, but he was cold, and his breath came short. Degas had given him a mouthful or two of fresh water before tying him to his horse. They'd walked for twenty minutes in the pouring rain before finding a small cottage with lit windows.

"Ye'll find The Roadside yonder, down that road a bit." Degas had followed the direction in which the old man's finger pointed, turning off of the main road and walking through ankle deep puddles for a half mile or so before finding the rickety inn. He'd hoped to find lodging and food for the night... though he was only an hour or two from Farlen's lands, the weather was nowhere near passable for travel. The only light on the roads came from flickering lightening and the ditches were treacherous, running heavily with water and plant debris. He would continue on in the morning after finding a caretaker for the boy. Or so he had hoped.

Now... the innkeeper and his wife had discussed it at length. They couldn't keep the boy on and no-one in the area had the means for it any more than they did.

He'll have to come... but he can't ride. Degas considered the implications. He could not, in good conscience, leave the boy to fend for himself. He could not even leave him, sick and helpless, with money in his pocket and call that passable help. It was his duty to help and protect those who had need... Degas wondered at the boy's story; why he had been travelling alone, how he had fallen sick, how long he had been on the road before Degas had found him. No, the boy needed help and Degas could offer it.

Eodwine would understand the delay... he hoped.

[Alcarillo]

The baggage was loaded onto the cart, and once Osfrid had ran inside to retrieve a basket of food from the cook, he and Muriel rode off down the dusty road to Edoras. Osfrid smiled and wrapped an arm around Muriel's shoulders. It was good to be on the road again, out of Sorn's musty house and away from his shifty henchmen and servants. It was just like the days before he had met Sorn… He basked in his joy while he could, until Muriel pulled him out of it with her questions.

"What did Sorn tell you, when you and he spoke before we left?" asked Muriel.

"What? Oh, just a little thing about a doll," Osfrid said. "The rich lady had a doll with her when we took her from the fair. Sorn thinks it must've been a gift for somebody. He wants us to investigate if we can."

Muriel pursed her lips and considered this bit of information for a moment. "Does she have a younger sister, maybe?" she suggested, "Or maybe a young friend?"

"I don't know. We'll have to wait and see." He smiled at Muriel. She was beginning to think like a spy. He leaned back, casually holding the reins, and resumed his daydreaming about the good ol' days when he once traveled all across southern Rohan, committing all sorts of mischievous crimes, before he had even heard of Sorn.

The rest of the journey to Edoras was rough and bumpy. Though Osfrid didn't mind it, Muriel complained that her legs were sore, and so she and Osfrid would often rest by the side of the road for a bit. When noon came, they stretched a blanket at the roadside and had a picnic. The cook had prepared a rather bland meal of bread and cheese, but Osfrid and Muriel were grateful after their scant breakfast earlier that morning. Once Osfrid had hitched the mules back to the cart, they continued their journey. They passed through rolling farmlands mostly, and occasionally passed through a few tiny hamlets. They traveled long into the afternoon, and Muriel soon began to complain of boredom.

"Oh, Osfrid," Muriel said, turning to him from where she sat gazing at the countryside, "When will we reach Edoras? There's nothing to do here but sit and watch the scenery!"

Osfrid shifted in his seat and dropped the reins from one of his hands to stroke his moustache. "Well, Muriel dear, I'm afraid we won't reach Edoras for some hours." Muriel slumped her shoulders in disappointment. "But we can pass the time by embellishing our disguises," Osfrid continued, "False names won't be enough! We need complete false identities, histories, and reasons for traveling!"

Muriel sat up, eager to pick a new history for herself. "Oh! I want to be a noblewoman!" she said.

Osfrid chuckled. "I'm afraid I had something a little more simple in mind," he told her. He turned his head for a moment to take a quick look at the luggage loaded into the back of the cart. Nothing that would indicate a specific occupation… An abundance of cloth, for example, would let them become cloth merchants, or carrying barrels of apples could give them the disguise of orchard-tenders. Osfrid sighed. They would need to be traveling for non-commercial purposes. "Now, listen here, Muriel," he continued, "I'm afraid we can't even disguise as merchants if we don't carry any possible merchandise with us. We can be…farmers, possibly? Traveling to visit your ill mother east of Edoras?"

"I suppose…" Muriel said. "Must we be farmers? Can't we be anything…um, richer?"

"Well, dearie, our luggage isn't the stuff of luxury. Just the bare essentials, and rather simple essentials at that..." He paused to stroke his big, blond moustache again. "I think we can best be farmers on our way to your ill mother. Bertwald and Hilda, traveling farmers."

Muriel shrugged and turned back to watching the countryside go by, a little disappointed that she had became only a farmer.

The journey continued as before. The sun headed west, and they spent afternoon riding. Muriel still sat in absolute boredom, while Osfrid contented himself with driving the cart down the seemingly endless road. The afternoon became early evening. The stars appeared, and still they rode on. Muriel, feeling tired, had rested her head against Osfrid's shoulder and tried to sleep, but the jolting of the cart kept her awake. Just when she finally felt at rest, Osfrid nudged her in the ribs.

"Look, Muriel," he whispered to her, "We're here."

She sat upright and leaned forward to peer at Edoras in the dim light of the evening. There it was, the long-awaited city. "Finally!" she muttered.

Osfrid drove the cart up to the wooden gates, where a soldier stepped forward with his hand upraised, indicating that they should halt. Osfrid slowed down the cart. The soldier was unexpected. Was this because of the kidnapping? Undoubtedly. "Remember our disguises, Muriel," he told her as the cart rolled closer, "I'm Bertwald and you're Hilda. This is especially important now. The guards must be here to question travelers." Osfrid turned from Muriel and took a deep breath, grinning amiably as the guard approached.

"Hello, there, friend!" Osfrid called from the cart, "We weren't expecting guards. I don't suppose some urgent matter of safety has come up now, do I?"

[Folwren]

Darkness was beginning to fall. In a few minutes, they would be able to shut the gates and return home to a warm supper and bed. Deren yawned a huge yawn that nearly split his jaw. He sighed and rubbed his eyes. Another few minutes went by and he stood up to go to Lystholn to express his thoughts on going home. Lystholn turned towards him as he approached, but before Deren could say a word, the sound of carriage wheels came out from the darkness. The clopping feet of a tired horse sounded out in the night, and then the shape of a cart and horse came into view.

Lystholn and Deren glanced at each other and then Lystholn gave a great sigh and began to stand up.

“Don’t worry about it,” Deren said, placing his hand on Lystholn’s shoulder. “I’ll deal with this one, then we’ll be able to shut the gates for the night.”

He turned and walked forward, his hand up, and his face set. Inside his head, he ran through the questions that they had asked all the people entering the gates. The driver pulled back on the reins, uttering a low ‘woah!’ to his horse. It came to a stop and stood chewing on its bit.

“Hello there, friend!” he called out as Deren walked closer. “We weren’t expecting guards. I don’t suppose some urgent matter of safety has come up now, do I?”

Deren filed that quickly away in his mind as he finally stopped near them. He laid his hand on the horse’s high back. “You might, if you like, but if you would choose not to, then don’t,” he answered him.

“Don’t rightly know what you mean, sir!” the chap said, sounding amiable enough.

“Something did come up in yesterday’s proceedings. You can understand, I’m sure. . .lots of people, some of them not altogether honest. We’ve been sent to make sure no further villains entered the gates. What’s your name, sir?”

“I’m Bertwald, and this is my wife Hilda. We’re from the Middle Emnet on our way to the West to visit Hilda’s mother. She’s sick and they don’t think she’ll live long. From what we’ve been told, she may not be alive even when we get there!”

“What are you doing in Edoras?” Deren asked, disinterested in the woes of Hilda’s family. “Where are you going?”

“You wouldn’t expect us to ride all night, could you? We have to rest sometime. I was planning on going to our lord’s Hall to sleep tonight and break our fast in the morning before we leave again.”

“You’ll be leaving in the morning?”

“I imagine so!”

Deren looked at him sharply. In the dark, he had no doubt that Bertwald could see little of his face or expression, and he dearly wished he could. It might have made the man tremble a bit. More than that, if Bertwald could see his face, he could see Bertwald’s face, but as it was, he found it extremely difficult to tell if the look on the man’s face was the simple honesty that most farmers’ faces bore.

“I hope so,” he said, stepping away from the horse and cart. “We’ll be watching for you. Good night.”

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Degas watched the boy as he slept, knowing that he must wake him, knowing also that any information gleaned from the boy would do little to help his sour mood.

Pretty Lin is missing and I'm to blame; Eodwine lets me salvage my name by bearing ill news like a messenger boy rather than saving her myself like a man and now... now I'm trapped in the rain at an inn with no tenants with a boy that can't walk and that I must protect.

He looked the boy over... he looked smaller clean. There were no bruises... he hadn't been beaten, or at least not within recent memory. That meant either good behavior or a good master as his attire, before the innkeepers had found him clean garb, had placed him as a servant... but to whom? The old woman had combed his jet black hair and it lay flat and straight, even dried. What was it about Gondor that made being blonde or red-haired such a marked appearance? Degas blended in nowhere with his flaming locks. He wondered, not for the first time, where his parents' parents had originated... surely not from the land of the forgoil. He grinned lopsidedly at the insult... to insult a person for the way they looked? Why did it matter?

He looked back at the boy, noting his pale skin. Not an outdoorsman, then, unless he'd not been outside since the spring rains ceased. Degas glared half-heartedly at the window once more before resuming his activity.

He was small... not scrawny, just small. He looked quick. Degas gaze fell upon the boy's left ear; a tiny hole pierced the center. He laughed and knew without asking that the boy admired the sailors of the south. A dreamer, or perhaps an adventurer of the making. Yet the hole was closing... a master and mistress not so keen, perhaps?

At Degas's laugh, his eyes fluttered open and he looked afraid.

"Where'm I?"

"You are safe."

"Who are you? You've got red hair... 'nd yer accent's all funny."

Degas grinned and refrained from rolling his eyes. "My name is Degas. I am from Rohan, perhaps a day's ride from Edoras. D'you mean t' tell me, boy, that my Westron's gone foggy with Rohirric?"

"No, sir." He pushed himself up against his pillows, eyes wide and face earnest. His teeth were mostly straight and one was missing, right in front. His nose was tip-tilted, but it seemed to suit him well. Degas had to admit that the boy was cute. Had their been a wager, he'd have placed money that bullies loved this one and that they'd been taught a swift thing or two that size isn't everything. "Just that I could tell you ain't from these parts, least not from birth like me."

"Is that so?"

"Uh huh."

He was growing on Degas. The young lord tried to harden himself... it was much like stray dogs... they could tell when they found a good candidate and spent inordinate amounts of time looking utterly lovable and helpless. He'd raised countless strays as a boy. He's not a stray and I can't raise him.

"What's your name, boy?"

His face fell. "They've called me Hefigtyme since my master and mistress fell from favor and released me from service."

"Well, no burden are you to me, so a new name must be found. What name was yours before then?"

"My parents called me Feowertyne because they'd already had thirteen. My papa said my mama was tired all the time when I came along."

"I can see how that could happen." Degas chose not to hope. It was cold by the window but he saw no nooks that might conceal extra heat and he would rather be cold than cold and disappointed. "What happened to your thirteen brothers and sisters?"

"Most of 'em died when we were little." Degas eyed the boy's small frame and held back a quick grin. "A coupla the boys grew up and turned into blacksmiths and stuff, but my papa said I'd get crushed under the weight of my own hammer so I'd better not even hope it. And my sister Fyrmest..." he looked around as though half-expecting to see a reprimanding older sibling or parent. "They don't talk about her now, which 's a shame, 'cuz I liked her real much. She fell in love and ran off to live in the wild with a Ranger. A real Ranger, and my parents were ashamed. Can you imagine the adventures she must be having?"

Degas was beginning to regret his question. The boy had slept and apparently recharged while Degas sat next to a fire; his limbs were falling asleep without him.

"I can imagine. Feowertyne, I found you on the road while I was travelling. Do you remember it?"

"No sir, but I remember travelling well enough."

"Why were you travelling alone and on foot, Feowertyne?"

"Just Feo, sir. My brothers said I was too lil to get strapped down wi' such a big name. And I was travellin' a'cuz I had nowhere else to go."

Degas had been afraid he'd say that. "By nowhere, you mean--"

"My master and mistress got caught doing things that I guess they shouldna been. I don't know what it was, but they made medicines and stuff with herbs I picked 'em 'cuz they said I'd fit real well into all the places the good stuff grows and so I'd pick 'em the plants and find 'em the mushrooms 'nd all and they'd brew up medicines and all and then sell it. But I guess they did somethin' that the King didna like and so they couldn' do it any more and they turned me out."

"They didn't." Degas was curious about the story and surely enough:

"They mos' certainly did." Feo was indignant and to place a look of adult indignance on the petite face of a small boy child of maybe ten, with a missing tooth and a hole in his ear, was a sight that would stay with Degas for quite some time.

"And your siblings? You could not go to them?"

"No, sir. See, my brothers tol' me that I'm too small to work for 'em and that they don't want me." There was no trace of sorrow or resignation, just acceptance that his size was reason enough for family to cast away family. Degas thought of Saeryn and Caeli, conveniently forgetting Fenrir's temperament. The three of them had always been close. "So they said that I oughta travel east and north and go up to Minas Anor and get a job there, so I started walkin'."

"And how far did you get?"

"Well... it was two days ago that I started walkin' 'nd then it got real cold out while I slept." Degas notice that while the boy's voice was enthusiastic, his body was mostly still, and he clutched at the blankets that were over him. "And then I walked another day and slept in a barn while nobody was watching and I know it was wrongful for me to sneak in like that, but sir, it got so cold..."

"I believe you." Degas heart was softening despite all of his attempts otherwise. You're the younger son of a house that fell out of favor with the death of your parents. You've not the depth of purse to pick up a stray bigger than a small cat. You're on a mission! You have to face Linduial's family. You can't drag a boy child, and a sick one, across Gondor! "And today?"

"Well... I woke up when a little girl screamed and I got outta there real fast 'nd ran pretty far but it was cold out today and I was real hungry 'cuz I forgot to pack food 'nd even though I slept in a barn, I wasn't hungry 'nuf that I'd steal from decent hard-workin' folks."

"Would you steal from lazy folks that weren't decent?"

"No, sir!" The answer was emphatic. Degas was glad to hear it. No, fool, you don't care. Do not care. It's simple. You have a responsibility to the man in whose home you stay. He's your sister's friend and protector, and you owe it to him. No strays. Not this time.

"Feo, the rest of the day?"

"Well, I walked for as far as I could, and then I... I don't really know. But then I woke up and I was all wet and someone, was it you?, was carryin' me and then I was here, and where is here?, and there was an old woman and now there's you and did you tell me your name?"

"Perhaps not. I am Degas, and it was me that brought you here. Here is a small inn, about an hour's ride in dry light south and west of Minas Anor."

"Sir, if you don't mind my askin', why'd you bring me?"

"Because it was cold and wet and you lay napping in the road. That is not, I might add, the most comfortable or safe place to lay. I found you by tripping over you and thought it best to find you a safe place."

Feo's nose was running and Degas pulled a clean kerchief from the pocket of his breeches and handed it to him. The boy started coughing.

"Now, none of that. No getting sicker than you already are."

"Why not?"

"Because, boy, it seems there's nobody to take care of you, so you're going to have to" Degas screamed at himself silently once more, but even as he did, he knew that he'd never have left the boy. "Come with me."

"Ride with you, sir?"

"Just Degas, please, Feo, and yes."

"Where're we going?"

"Back toward where you came and further. I ride toward Dol Amroth bearing news. But we cannot ride until you are well, so sleep now. It is late. We will speak more in the morning."

Degas rose and felt his joint crunch. He winced a bit and bounced a bit on the balls of his booted feet before feeling that his legs were his own and he could use them properly. With a wave as he shut the door, Degas made his way back to the common room where the old man and woman still sat over mead.

"He will ride with me in a few days. I'll need food and lodging for us both, and a second horse. This should pay for the first two," he set a bag of gold pieces on the table between them, "and can you tell me where I can find him a mount? Nothing fancy, just a horse or pony that can bear his weight and a few packs over distances. Speed matters little, but endurance is of the utmost importance."

The woman looked at her husband and he nodded. "We've a small pony in the stable. Her name is Gehola and she is old, but she is sweet and patient and can go far, as long as you don't ask of her what she can't give."

"I will look at her in the morning. Until then... a room?"

The old woman rose with as much internal creaking as the doors upon the hinges that she pushed through back toward Feo's room. She unlocked the door next to his and opened it, the lantern in her hand swinging gently, the light lazily beating away shadows.

"Thank you, lady, for everything, and good night."

[Alcarillo]

Osfrid drove the cart through the gate. "And a good night to you, sir!" he called. Once through the gate, he slumped down into his seat, his smile wiped away. He cast a nervous glance behind him to check that the guards were well out of earshot and that the street was empty before speaking. "What sort of twaddle was that?!" he complained to Muriel once he knew he wouldn't be heard. "Something about something happening in some sort of proceedings, and having to watch out for villains! Not a straight answer out of him. Somebody told him to keep the kidnapping a secret, I'll wager. Ha! Those fools might try to hide information from me, but they can't!" He quieted his voice as they passed a shadowy group of ruffians near an alley. "But if the guards won't talk," he whispered to Muriel, "There'll be plenty of ordinary folks who will."

Muriel wasn't interested in Osfrid's speech. "Oh, yes…" she said back to him. She leaned against his shoulder, with her arms hugging one of his arms, cuddling close. He called me his wife! Thoughts of marriage ran through her head. Her parents would be so proud of her, that she would marry this handsome outlaw instead of those dull farmers back home. And all the girls would be so jealous…

The cart rolled up the hill, past the group of ruffians at the alley's mouth, and up to the mead hall. Osfrid spotted the stables and drove the cart forward. A boy with a lantern, undoubtedly an ostler, emerged to guide them. "Remember our disguises," Osfrid whispered one last time to Muriel.

The ostler greeted them, and Osfrid introduced himself as Bertwald and Muriel as his wife Hilda. "We're travelers from the Middle-Emnet, and we heard we could find a place to stay at this hall."

"Certainly. Lord Eodwine will be glad to have you as guests. I'll handle your cart for you."

"Thank you, son," Osfrid said. He climbed out of the cart, and helped Muriel step daintily to the ground. Osfrid clapped the young ostler on the back and tossed him a silver coin before the two walked across the courtyard and entered the mead hall.

The hall was warm and bright. A fire had been lit in a great hearth at one end of the long hall. A few people sat at the tables nearby, chatting casually. Osfrid and Muriel could smell something meaty cooking in a kitchen somewhere, probably behind the door near the fire. Osfrid even heard faint, jovial laughter from down a hallway. Despite the warm surroundings, Osfrid and Muriel stepped forward cautiously.

"Alright, Muriel dear, let's find out as much as we can, but be careful. Don't let anything true about us slip out. This is the hall of the eorl. There are sure to be dozens of guards and search parties crawling through here daily."

She nodded in understanding. Osfrid smiled at her, and turned his head to the hall. "I've heard my wife and I can find a good meal and a place to stay here!" he announced. "Now, where is the eorl? And the cook, too?"

[Celuien]

Garstan sat wearily by the fire. The party had walked far on their first day of searching, though they had not yet left Edoras. There were many places to seek news, to ask if anything had been seen, to find out if the kidnappers had let drop a careless word of their plans.

Eodwine gazed absently into the flames. "A long day, Haleth," he said. "Though I fear we have nothing worthwhile to show for it. No news of Linduial was to be had."

Haleth gave his assent. "No. Not a word. It is strange, though, that a woman could be taken from the streets of Edoras, with the crowds of the fair all around, and without one bystander to have been present to witness it."

Eodwine made no reply, still staring at the flickering light. He seemed distracted, yet intent. Garstan studied the Eorl's face, wondering what was troubling him.

He tried to draw Eodwine back to the conversation, "But, my lord, surely we have learned something today. We learned that several of those on the list cannot have been involved. Æfic has been away to trade his horses, and Eadric with him. Pehthelm has been ill these last weeks and still is tended by the healers. That leaves only Sorn, Cuichelm and Fenrir."

"There are others on the list, Garstan, whom you have not mentioned. Why?" Haleth held the stoneshaper in his gaze.

Garstan returned Haleth's look. "Because they are too far from Edoras to have taken Linduial, written a letter, and had it delivered all on the same day. True, they might have sent notice of the deed before the lady was secure in their keeping, but it would be foolish to raise the alarm before she was well hidden. I do not say that we should not give them our notice, but I do say that the three I have mentioned are more likely to have been involved than those more than a day's journey from here." Garstan, more keenly aware than ever of his unequal experience, hoped that he had not pressed the issue too far.

"You speak wisely, Garstan." Haleth clapped him on the shoulder. "Then we go next to seek word of Fenrir, Sorn, and Cuichelm. What say you, Eodwine?"

Eodwine gave his agreement to the plan and lapsed back into his musings on the fire.

Garstan joined him in staring at the light, wondering how they would investigate the remaining three suspects. It had been simple to inquire about those with nothing to hide. But how much harder would it be to gather information on someone with a secret to keep?

Secrets. The word brought Garstan back to Eodwine's face. The Eorl was intent on the embers, seemingly lost in thought. He hoped that whatever troubled the Eorl would soon pass. This distraction would make Eodwine an easy mark for the kidnappers, should they be discovered while Eodwine kept his mood. Garstan would keep watch for the both of them.

The hall door opened, and two strangers, a man and a woman, entered the room.

The man spoke and his voice echoed over the room. "I've heard my wife and I can find a good meal and a place to stay here! Now, where is the eorl? And the cook, too?"

"It seems that we have visitors, my lord," Garstan said.

[littlemanpoet]

littlemanpoet's post


Eodwine stared at the fire. It had been a pointless day. He knew that they wouldn't find anything out in Edoras. The kidnapper would not be so careless. Not as if he had put his whole heart into it, he confessed to himself. His wife was alive! She was a captive of Dunlendings, probably forced to wife to some ill-begotten rat-herder, no less. No. She had only come in dreams, but so vivid! Her sweet and beautiful face, her expressive eyes, even her slight overbite lent to her winsomeness, and it had all been there in his dream. But she had not appeared to him as the winsome young wife of fifteen years ago, but as a woman of forty years, gray in her blonde tresses, lines of sorrow outlining her face, crows' feet at her eyes, and other signs of the passage of time. Surely his dreaming mind was not that creative! She must be real, and alive!

Eodwine looked up. Visitors. Asking for the Eorl.

He let out a breath of resignation and stood up. "I am the Eorl. How may I and my Hall host you?"


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Alcarillo's post


Osfrid bowed to the Eorl. "Thank you, lord, for your kind hospitality. My name is Bertwald, and this is my wife Hilda-" here Muriel curtsied, "-and we seek a good meal and lodgings for the night. We've traveled a long way, you see, we're on our way to visit my dying mother-in-law, and we would appreciate it if you could spare us travelers a room here…"

"That I can," the Eorl told them. "I will see that Kara brings two meals to you." Osfrid and Muriel sat down at his table, and the Eorl walked to the kitchens. Osfrid smiled encouragingly at Muriel. She sat uncomfortably in her chair, casting glances all around at everybody, acting nervous. "Don't worry," he whispered to her, "Just let me do the talking and nobody will suspect us of being anything more than a farmer and his wife on their way to a dying relative."

The Eorl returned, and soon after came plates of breads and cheeses and meats, and mugs of frothy ale. Osfrid dug in immediately. The picnic lunch by the roadside had hardly been enough to tide him over till dinner. He made conversation with the Eorl as they dined, hoping to probe his mind about the kidnapping.

"Lord, something has been troubling my mind ever since I entered the city. Now, I pass through this town often, always on my way to sell my goods at faraway markets, but today was different. There were guards at the gate this time. They stopped my cart, had to ask numerous questions and whatnot, gave my wife quite a scare, you see, and I've never had to be troubled like that before. Has something happened lately?… I've heard rumors something's happened."

"I would that you not worry overmuch. The guard on the gates is tripled at the order of the queen. I am sorry that your wife has been frightened, but it would be worse that she came to harm at the hands of those we would find...."

"Yes, my wife thought they were robbers at first… These guards don't have to do with the abduction of that princess, does it?" Osfrid said, hoping the change in subject would help him learn more. "I've heard rumors that she was kidnapped at the fair, but I was skeptical. Could've been false. I live far from Edoras, you see, and most of the news we get is mostly hearsay, usually twisted in some way or another. But when I saw the soldiers at the gate, I knew it must've been true! Isn't it true, lord?"

The Eorl seemed unsure what to say. "You have guessed right, though I wonder that your wife thought the guards were robbers, wearing Eorling markings at the gates of Edoras! Be sure that we are doing all we can to see to the matter. Excsue me, please, and I'll have a word with the guards; we do not want them to be overzealous in their duty..." He stood and bowed to his guests and left the table.

"What's he telling the guards?" Muriel asked when the Eorl was gone. "What if he knows we're spying? What if the guards will kill us in the middle of the night?"

"They're not going to kill us!" Osfrid told her. "That'd be ridiculous…" He reached a hand out to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly. "He doesn't know…at the worst he'll tell a guard to keep an eye on us. And I wouldn't blame him after his most important guest was kidnapped." Muriel nodded, and resumed dining, feeling a little better.

A little blonde girl came running around the table, giggling madly. A boy a few years older chased her around and around the tables. Osfrid watched the race, and couldn't help but smile at how adorable the little blonde girl was. As the little girl ran near, Osfrid reached out and caught her in his arms. "Gotcha!" he said, and she shrieked gleefully as Osfrid swung her into the chair next to him. She giggled again and squirmed in her seat. "Well, well," said Osfrid, "Who do we have here? What's your name, little girl?"

"Lèoðern," she told him, "And that's my brother Garmund."

Her brother came and tried to share the chair with his sister, causing more giggles and mirth. Osfrid sent him away with a special task. "Here, Garmund, I must send you on a special quest." The boy's eyes grew wide. "You must venture deep into the blazing hot kitchen and fill my ale mug with the cook's secret elixir! Go, be swift!" He gave the empty mug to the boy and pointed him in the direction of the kitchens. Garmund saluted like a soldier and bravely marched off to achieve his quest.

Alone with Lèoðern, Osfrid could begin questioning. "Well, Lèoðern, my name is Bertwald, and this is my wife Hilda." Muriel waved and Lèoðern waved back.

"Have you been to the horse fair yet? That's why my wife and I are here: to see all the horsies and buy things from the vendors." Osfrid told her.

"Yes! I went there. The fair was fun."

"Really? I think it will be fun when I go there, too. Who'd you go with?" He thrust a hand into a pocket to see if he could find some candy to loosen the girl's lips.

"With 'Egas and Linduial," she said, carefully pronouncing Linduial's name.

Osfrid nudged Muriel. "You might want to hear this!" he whispered. "Now, Lèoðern, you went with Linduial, eh? And who's Egas?"

"Degas!" she said, correcting him. "He's my friend. I rode on his shoulders."

"Rode on his shoulders, eh? Like on a horsie? He must be a lot bigger than you, then, to have carried you through the fair like that."

"Oh, yes. He's Linduial's size!"

Osfrid found some candies in a pocket. He had bought them for Muriel the last time he was at the fair, the same day they abducted Linduial. He passed one to Lèoðern. She giggled and swung her short little legs joyfully through the air. "So, it was just you, Linduial, and Degas at the fair?"

Lèoðern nodded, preoccupied with sucking on her candy. Her brother returned carrying a full mug of beer. "Kara didn't have what you told me to get, so I just got beer." Osfrid smiled and patted the boy on the head. He gave him a candy, too, and the boy took the seat next to his sister, eavesdropping casually on the conversation.

"Now, Lèoðern, does Linduial have other friends?"

"Oh, lots. Like Saeryn and her grampa."

"What's Linduial's grandpa like?"

"He's old. He's sitting over there." She pointed to an old man sitting by the fire. Osfrid thanked Lèoðern for her delightful conversation and told her and her brother to run along. They did, probably to tell everybody about the nice man with the candy, Osfrid realized with chagrin.

"Come, Muriel, let's go pick out a room for the night." She was unhappy to stand, being more comfortable sitting. To pass by all those guards and friends of the Eorl made her nervous. Osfrid smiled at her and wrapped an arm around her waist, and she forced a smile back. Osfrid would keep her safe. They walked together toward the hallway at the end of the hall, but Osfrid paused a moment beside a guard, and asked him quietly, "Who is that man by the fire? Isn't he Lady Linduial's grandfather?"

"No, sir, that's Marenil. He's a guardian of some sort. He came with her when she traveled from Dol Amroth."

"Thank you, lad," Osfrid said, and he and Muriel disappeared into the dark hallway beyond.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


littlemanpoet's post

Eodwine reached the gate of Edoras and found Deren with the other guards.

"Greetings, Deren! I hope your thankless chore at the gate has paid you in some bit of news. What know you of this Bertwald and Hilda?" Eodwine smirked. "The wife seems to have mistaken your King's Markings for robbers' crests, if you can believe it! Do you remember the pair?"

"I remember the pair," Deren replied, walking forward. He placed his hand on the horse's shoulder and looked up at Eodwine. "They came through not long ago, just after dark. Said they were on their way to see the woman's dying mother and had to stop here on their way. Why do you ask? Has something come up?"

Eodwine wondered at that: the woman had spoken nothing of a dying mother. Had the man? Eodwien could not remember that he had. It was suspicious. Then again, anything and everything seemed suspicious these days. Eodwine scowled, not liking that he was suspicious first.

"They have come to the Mead Hall seeking shelter for the night. What think you of the pair? Tell me all your mind about them."

“Well, I do not rightly know, sir,” Deren replied. He knit his eyebrows together, wondering if something had happened and asking himself all the while why the Eorl had come all this way to question him on the matter. “This job has made me question everybody, for real and in my mind. I did wonder that they came so late, but I do not suppose we can really hold that against them too much. He spoke strangely, sir, to tell you the truth. All day we had people coming through here and they did not know why they were stopped by guards and most of them didn’t say much. They just answered the questions straight and went on. He. . .well, he talked, but without making his point quite clear. But maybe it was only my imagination.”

Deren scratched his head. He was talking in circles and that certainly would not help in the matter. “I would just keep an eye on him, my lord,” he finished. “If he fails to leave tomorrow morning early, then there would be real cause to worry. He told me that they were only stopping for the night, and when I asked him if he’d be leaving tomorrow morning, he said ‘I imagine so!’ and I let him pass."

"My thanks, Deren. I will watch these two and see if they leave early tomorrow. If we could spare men, maybe we should have them followed. I will give the matter thought. Good night to you!"


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Firefoot's post

Upon his return to the Mead Hall, Eodwine went directly to Haleth and asked him to his own rooms for a talk in private. Once there, Eodwine went straight to the point.

"I know not if you heard Bertwald's own words as to the greeting he and his wife were given at the Gate. I spoke to Deren who was the very guard this Hilda claims to have mistreated her; or I should say, this Bertwald claims that Deren was, shall we say, overzealous. Deren told me that it seemed this Bertwald talked more than need be. That suggests to me that he may be crafting a bed of lies, as they say. I admit that I have no other call to think ill of the man, but these are bad times. So I would ask of you that the couple be watched. Maybe they will lead us to the fiend who has taken Linduial."

Haleth hesitated. Where did one draw the moral line? "In normal times, such would not even be thought on," he answered slowly. "As like as not it is simply an innocent couple staying here the night. Would not watching them be near the same as questioning those nobles on our list simply because they meet our guidelines?" But then what had been the point of guards at the gates of Edoras if Haleth was not going to take their word when someone seemed suspicious? "I would be loath to have them followed in the case that they are innocent people. But if they do not leave the Mead Hall in the morning, then yes, have them watched. If they leave, let them go."

Eodwine was unsure of Haleth's thought, but Haleth was the ruler in this matter. He nodded, "Aye, that is well."

[JennyHallu]

Marenil leaned back in his chair. Exhaustion and worry were evident in every line of his body, and he drifted quietly off to sleep in his corner of the Hall, unable to focus on Lin's danger any longer against the needs of his body.

His last waking thoughts, however, were of her safety, and in his troubled dreams she cried to him for help and he could not find her.

~<*>~

Lin slipped into a light, but serene slumber, the starlight, the sense of accomplishment in her splinted arm, and even the presence of her guard providing her with something she hadn't expected: a sense of security, however tenuous.

~<*>~

Two days passed with little progress towards finding the missing noblewoman, except for a frantic sense of urgency rapidly spilling from the high halls of Meduseld down into the Fair. Entertainments and song took on a certain hectic quality, young children virtually disappeared from the proceedings, kept at home by parents frightened out of security, and there was a low undercurrent of worry underneath every bargain driven. The royal couple were well loved, and yet there was no missing the cold, grim anger on the faces of the frustrated searchers, as they went out through the Fair, questioning any who might have or claimed to have seen the woman during her stay in Edoras.

Torim firmly settled his pack onto his back, heavy now with the goods his family needed, and a few little gifts for his wife and two small children. It was the day he'd meant to leave, and Linduial had not been found. He sighed, thinking of his wife's pretty face. She'd understand missing him a day; wouldn't worry too much. He turned away from the Gate, and trudged resignedly up the hill toward the Mead Hall. This early in the morning, no few of the searchers would still be there, choosing their course for the day, and a duty begun is sooner done...Torim pushed his fear of Sorn's petty vengefulness to the back of his head. There were great things at stake here, and he meant to see them through.

[littlemanpoet]

Garmund and Léoðern in danger from the man who had taken Linduial for ransom? Fear for the children and rage at the man grew together within him, and all thought of a ghosted past or present was set aside. The moment his head had cleared from such thoughts, Eodwine felt shamed that he had been so careless of Linduial, so filled with dreams and wistings that served no use.

He paid close attention to Torim as he described the location of this Sorn. Eodwine tried to think if he knew the man, a landholder about a day's ride from Edoras; well within the confines of the Middle Emnet. I am this man's Eorl.

When Torim had finished describing the way to Sorn, Eodwine turned to Haleth. "Do not blame yourself overmuch, Haleth. Your choice may seem ill, but maybe fate will show that it was for the best that they should be free just now. Who knows but that they may not aid us e'en though it be against their will?"

Haleth cleared his throat and gave back gruff words. "My thanks, Eodwine. I'd have that choice back nonetheless." He rose. "The day is young! Let us ride within the half hour! Mayhap we can meet this Sorn and have the lady freed before night falls!"

Eodwine rose. Fresh horses would need to be borrowed along the way, more than once, but the need was great. He feared that they were already too late. The men rushed to the stables, Eodwine calling for Léof.

[Alcarillo]

Osfrid's cart rumbled down the old road to Sorn's home. Muriel sat curled up next to Osfrid, wrapped in a new shawl. He bought it for her at the horse fair after it struck her fancy. It's price was ridiculously expensive: the equivalent of many laborious hours' wages. But Muriel and the stall-keeper were both vigilant as hawks; Osfrid could not steal the shawl without notice. He was forced to thieve from a blind beggar. The trick was to act as though you were giving coins as you bent down, perhaps even placing one or two into the man's bowel, but once your fingers gently grazed the coins' surfaces, you would pluck out another worth twice what you gave. If people happened to be walking by you as you did this, you might fumble around in your pockets for a moment before the crime, pretending to reach for a hidden coin. But as soon as their curious eyes had disappeared around a corner, you would shamelessly commit your act of petty thievery. Osfrid did this many times to the same man, and was able to buy Muriel her shawl. Besides, those coins weren't the beggar's anyways. They belonged to the good people who donated to the poor. If he wanted money he should've earned it.

Osfrid had no qualms about stealing from the beggar; it was his nature to steal. He was a thief, a swindler, a con man. Once, while on his own many years ago, before he had ever heard of Sorn, Osfrid happened to find a pile of bricks left unattended beside a house. He simply loaded them into his cart and sold them in the next village. A man shouldn't leave a pile of bricks laying around like that. Another time he relabeled bottles of cheap wine with the labels of much more expensive bottles. He sold them for a profit ten times as great as what the original labels would've given him. All the great vineyards did that. If they could get away with it, so could Osfrid. And besides, he had done that only once. There were men, rich men, who had gained all their wealth that way. It wasn't fair to the poor man that the rich man stole from him. And so the only way to beat the rich was to play their own game.

Sorn's house appeared as the cart rolled over the last hill. It still sat imperiously among the fields of lesser estates, despite its decline over the years into a den of criminals. Osfrid drove the cart before the doorways of Sorn's home.

"Muriel," he said, stepping out of the cart, "Find one of Sorn's men. Have him take care of the cart and the luggage. I'm off to find Sorn." Muriel shrugged and daintily stepped out to find somebody, Wæveth, maybe, or a servant. Osfrid, meanwhile, bounded up the steps to the door and quietly entered the house.

Sorn was always in his study, usually brooding or plotting. Osfrid walked down a hallway and knocked on the door before entering, not wanting to interrupt Sorn if he happened to be busy. "Come in…" Osfrid heard Sorn say.

Osfrid entered. His heart leapt when he saw that a bloody knife had been stabbed deep into the desk. Sorn sat behind it with a dark and sour expression on his face. "Yes, Osfrid?" he asked. Sorn had wrapped a hand around the knife hilt and gently began to massage it between his thumb and index finger, rolling it between his fingers, worming it into the wood menacingly.

Osfrid tried not to look at the knife. He would ignore it…Sorn was in one of his moods, and…had he stabbed someone? "Um, yes, I've returned from Edoras," Osfrid said. He reached into a pocket and withdrew a tiny black notebook. "I've written down, um, what I've found out…" Osfrid inched forward, holding out his little book. He stretched his wavering arm across the desk, and Sorn grabbed the book, giving Osfrid a dirty glare. Osfrid stepped back as soon as he could.

"It's all, um, in there…names of friends, guardians. The like." He tried to look neither at the knife nor into Sorn's eyes. He shifted his gaze uncomfortably to the walls, but he considered that Sorn might find it rude that he was avoiding eye contact. He fumbled for some time, glancing from Sorn to the walls and to Sorn again.

"Thank you, Osfrid," Sorn said. Osfrid shivered at the calmness of his voice.

"Erm, yes, sir,". He exited the room quickly. He normally wouldn't have addressed Sorn as sir, but these were exceptional circumstances. Anything to appease him. Osfrid walked back down the hall, wiping sweat from his temples. He should find somebody who could tell him about the bloody knife. Did Sorn stab somebody? He wouldn't do that… would he? Maybe he had just taken a few stabs at some raw meat to release some anger. That still didn't give Osfrid much comfort…

He would find Muriel first, though. The silly girl was probably wandering through fields of barley right now.