Abduction in Edoras RPG

[Firefoot]

Scyld shrugged. “Curiosity – wondered if I should keep them in mind or not. I’ve no doubt Sorn would like to know... but I have no reason as yet to tell him.” He watched her for a moment more, still thinking about her impassioned outburst against Sorn. Her hatred of him – not surprising in itself, really, but the depth of it – that was a bit surprising, but good – good for him. It was time to let her know some things…

He looked her in the eye and spoke quietly and with feigned nonchalance; he had been an eavesdropper far too long not to give heed to being overheard himself. “I caught sight of Sorn with them the other day – admiring the knife, I think – and I know where they are… and how to get to them.” He watched her face as the implications of this settled in. “I know a lot of things that Sorn would probably rather I not knew – at least, things he would never tell me…” Scyld paused, still not sure how much she ought to be told. She would certainly want to know about Osfrid’s mission. Actually, presented in the right light, that would be the perfect thing to tell her. But first, he glanced around to make sure the door at the top of the stairs was closed. He had much more to fear from Sorn than any potential rescue party at the moment.

“For example,” he continued in the same deadly quiet tone, “perhaps you remember Osfrid? No matter. But Sorn has sent him and his lady friend on a mission to Edoras. He never told me why, but I could tell you.” He had gotten her attention now and was thoroughly enjoying drawing out the suspense. “He wants to find some weakness of yours… a person you wouldn’t want to see hurt.”

[Firefoot]

As the fourth day of searching for Linduial’s kidnapper began, Haleth was beginning to feel rather resigned. On that first day, they had narrowed it down to just three likely possibilities, but since then they had made very little headway. Their information, the few bits that they had anyway, was inconclusive and circumstantial. None of the three suspects looked more likely than the next.

Perhaps it was worst for him. Others, they could do things. Ask questions at the gate or in the city, mostly. But he always had to be available in case there was news – people had to know where to find him. That meant he had been spending a lot of time doing very little or nothing at the Mead Hall, which had become the unofficial headquarters of investigation.

He was preparing himself for another long day when a man stepped into the Mead Hall. He looked to be a traveler, but not one come from a journey. He did not see Eodwine at the moment, so he approached the man himself, trying not to feel too hopeful. Surely if the man had information, he would have come to them before now.

Trying to keep the tiredness out of his voice, he asked, “Can I help you, sir?”

[JennyHallu]

“He wants to find some weakness of yours… a person you wouldn’t want to see hurt.”

Lin turned her eyes away from her breakfast to meet Sorn's gaze. Fury rose gleaming darkly in those eyes, and her face closed off, leaving her with a cold, blank look that was almost frightening in its lack of intensity.

"There is only one person on this earth I would wish to see hurt, my friend," she said flatly, anger letting her make the claim she'd been dancing around with Scyld. A cool, detached part of her marvelled a little over it: she had truly begun to trust Scyld. She hadn't expected that. And she wished no harm to Gurth, who was merely a child, with a child's fervent desire to please, and a tool dangerous in the wrong hands. She found she did not particularly care about Osfrid's fate. "And that is Sorn."

Scyld said nothing, seemed to be thinking about something, but he did not break her gaze.

"What exactly does he plan to do with this information? Kidnap another? Add murder to his many crimes, if it isn't there already?"

~<*>~

"Can I help you?" A tall and powerfully built man stood before him, by his build and grace obviously a warrior.

Torim nervously scratched his head, already uncertain of the wisdom of his actions. "Actually, m'lord, I thought...mayhap...I might could help you."

The man looked at him expectantly.

"Th--that lass ye've been a-searching for. I maybe know where you could find her."

The warrior's eyes lit up fiercely, and he near dragged the frightened Torim toward a table, where sat three or four other men, in various states of dejection and discouragement. Torim realized one was his own new Eorl, Eodwine, and his knees went a little weak. He wondered belatedly if he might have a chance to run away.

With many stutters and false starts, and so quietly that the men had to lean far in in order to hear him, Torim described what he had seen on his journey to Edoras: the battered young woman standing up to Sorn, and his further mistreatment of her.

"But why didn't you come to us earlier?" one of the men demanded harshly. "It's been three days, she may have been killed already!"

"I-I--I was a-feared, m'lords!" Torim stammered wildly. "I didna wish the lass harm, but I am a simple man, and my bit o'land lies far too close to m'lord Sorn's than is my liking. He's vicious, and my family's there, my wife and th'littles, and if Sorn knew I spoke to you, 'e'd kill th'littles quick, and m'wife...Aren't you, lords, aware of what manner o'man he is? I fear him greatly."

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Come lad, catch up. We're nearly there." Degas called over his shoulder to Feo and grinned. He had sight of buildings on the horizon and thought them to be, though was unsure, buildings in the care of or belonging to Lin's family. Feo rode a dozen or so yards behind Degas, looking at the world wide-eyed. All that was left of his sickness was a barking cough when he did too much, and Degas kept him calm, though it was harder than most anything to keep the boy sitting still once he had the energy to move.

Feo trotted his sweet-tempered pony up next to Degas. It had taken all of about thirty seconds once they had left the inn for Feo to become comfortable with Degas. Degas tried to sound gruff and distant, but he mostly failed, and Feo learned quickly that if he pretended that Degas was tough and unapproachable in front of anybody, Degas would laugh and play games during much of the ride when there was nobody looking. He couldn't, of course, be seen as a soft noblemen, willing to take in stray children and treat them as his own younger siblings... he must appear distant! He grinned at his own bad illusion. What was the point? The world knew perfectly well that he was about as firm as pudding... they merely took their cues from him and pretended that he was tougher than he really was. It was all a game to him, and he knew that Feo understood it as such.

"Degas, what happens to me when we get there?"

"I'd recommend that you run off as soon as you're able."

"You'd leave me alone?"

"Shall I put it clearly? If I'm drawn and quartered, I assume that you'd prefer not to be seen associating yourself with me. Am I right?"

Feo's eyes widened and he grinned, showing the gap where a tooth had recently been. Riding in the sun, dozens of freckles had suddenly appeared to complete the image of a rascal. "You can be sure, lord, that if you are met with bad favor, I will deny ever having known you."

Degas laughed aloud, fascinated by this boy child. His speech had hints of education, most especially when he was joking back and forth, and he adopted many of Degas's words quickly, but when he spoke fast, or nervously, it carried far less annunciation. It was as though he chose not to reveal most of what he knew. Degas wondered why. Feo seemed more comfortable with an uneducated drawl than anything else, though he was clearly confident with other words. It was much like Degas speaking Westron and Rohirric; he was comfortable with both languages, and knew them well, and only a well trained ear could catch a lilt in his voice born from interchanging them so frequently, but he would always prefer Rohirric. He wondered if Feo considered both forms of speech in the way that Degas thought of the languages that he had mastered and decided that it would be a good thought for a rainy day.

"That's a boy. Self-preservation." He laughed and reached across the distance between mounts to clap Feo on the shoulder.

"So what's it I'm keepin' myself safe from?" He spoke as though he and Degas were old friends of the same age, and Degas liked his attitude. Travelling became lonely, and Degas was used to the silence of the road. It was more fun to sing with an audience, and having somebody to banter with as he rode did not upset him him in the least.

Degas was comfortable enough with the lad to be candid. He decided to tell him straight what their errand was. It was unfair to drag him along without warning, and Degas was surprised that Feo had not asked before why they rode. "I've been sent to tell a noblewoman's father and brothers that she's been kidnapped and it's my fault. On top of that, I plan to ask their permission to court her."

Feo looked as though Degas had told him that he meant to ask Lin's father to hand over his estate and work as his servant. "You mean t'tell me that yer gonna tell 'em you lost ther girl and when you find 'er agin, you wanna handfast with 'er? You've gone crazy!"

"Perhaps I have. We'll see what their reaction is. I have visions of being thrown into the ocean... she tells me her brothers are seafarers."

"That would be a proper adventure!" Feo's eyes lit up. "Do they battle pirates?"

"One could guess, perhaps, that they have done so. Why not ask them when we arrive? If you like it there, and they are willing, you could stay on with them for a time and work for your keep. They might teach you to sail." Feo's eyes took on a dreamy quality and Degas knew that his guess had been right.

"So that's where we're goin'? Up ahead?"

"So it would appear."

"Think we'll get there fast?"

"Fairly quickly, I would think. Our mounts are tired though, and an extra few minutes will not harm my errand, and will help our dear friends that have done well to carry us so far."

"So we have t'wait?"

"A bit longer, yes. Our four-legged friends have been kind to us. We must return the favor."

"But then I'll meet these sailor brothers?"

"Yes, I believe you will."

"And I get to see you drawn and quartered?"

"You sound so enthused about it."

"I sound what?"

"Excited. You sound as though it would be enjoyable to watch."

The talk continued thusly until Degas and Feo reached the walls of Farlen's land and the pair were greeted by a rather strong looking man with a good natured face.

"Greetings, my good man," Degas spoke politely. "I have business with Lord Farlen, and with his sons... it is important that I speak to them quickly."

"I can see you to Farlen's home, but you will perhaps have to wait. Farlen is at field and his sons are an hour's ride or more from home. I will see to it that they are found. Please, follow me."

Degas dismounted and motioned for Feo to stay ahorse, taking his reins and guiding both mounts behind the man that led. He schooled his face into one of business, trying not to let the world see his pure terror at the prospect of reactions to his news.

[Firefoot]

“I do not know. Not another kidnapping,” answered Scyld in a quiet, strange tone. My friend. Not since he had come to Sorn’s house thirteen long years ago had anyone deigned to call him friend: none of Sorn’s other employees or acquaintances, and certainly never Sorn himself. But this woman – this noblewoman he held prisoner and from whom he withheld all but the barest kindnesses – she did?

He had been trying to make her into an ally, or even something less than that: a tool to be used for achieving his own ends. Never in his wildest schemes had he thought to make her a friend. A friend. She trusted him. He had never sought her trust, only her good will. He should have been elated. Her trust could be his trump card – only able to be played once, perhaps, but to astounding gain.

Instead, her friendship terrified him. He had no experience with it, no past experience from which to judge. How could he in good faith even contemplate betrayal? Wait – in good faith? Scyld could not remember doing an honorable deed in the past decade. Why change now? Because of two words: my friend. He could not return the favor, nor could he forget it or let it sit. He did not want this burden.

“Perhaps murder is his intent,” Scyld continued harshly, “and if it is, I care not.”

[Folwren]

Thornden sat with Eodwine and Garstan as Haleth stood behind the stammering and terrified peasant waiting until he finished speaking.

"I-I--I was a-feared, m'lords! I didna wish the lass harm, but I am a simple man, and my bit o'land lies far too close to m'lord Sorn's than is my liking. He's vicious, and my family's there, my wife and th'littles, and if Sorn knew I spoke to you, 'e'd kill th'littles quick, and m'wife...Aren't you, lords, aware of what manner o'man he is? I fear him greatly."

What was Thornden to think? The man had reason to fear, that was true, and who wouldn’t want to protect his family? But to actually know that some helpless girl was in the grasp of someone as Sorn (and the man knew very well, clearly, what sort of man Sorn actually was) and not do anything about it for days, was hardly short of cowardice.

‘We can’t all be heros, though,’ Thornden said to himself. He averted his gaze away from Torim’s face and looked at Eodwine. Surely there would not be any more sharp words towards the fellow for his silence. Yet should the lady have suffered much because of the three days’ delay. . .Thorndin didn’t feel so sure that any one of them sitting there would feel very kindly towards Torim.

He leaned slightly towards Eodwine, but said nothing as the pause grew longer and into one of those horrible silences. What would he say? And what could they do - now that they knew who had her and maybe where she was to be found?

[JennyHallu]

Lin's eyes flashed angrily towards Scyld. How could he say such a thing? And yet...something did not ring true. He was too angry with her, when ordinarily his response would be dry laughter or scathing scorn at her...naivete, I suppose. And it's fair. I am naive, though I am rapidly learning.

Her anger receded rapidly, and she leaned back thoughtfully. When she spoke her voice was gentle, and that in itself seemed to startle Scyld. "Perhaps it is his intent. But you should care, Scyld. Adding murder to his crimes does you no favors."

He recoiled, as if in expectation of some righteous lecture, and Lin laughed softly, with only a trace of bitterness. "I mean when he is caught. Whatever happens to me doesn't matter, whether I live or die. He will still be caught, and made to answer." She looked over and caught Scyld's eyes with her own. "And so will any who aided him, or served him. You know this. Adding the murder or harm of an innocent, and to no purpose other than to cause me pain...even if I lived and argued for you, I do not think I could save you, if you knew of such intent and did nothing. And certainly no one else is like to try."