# Something Rotten in the Riddermark



## Turgon (May 20, 2007)

_*Chapter One*_

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (May 20, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## Daranavo (May 21, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## Daranavo (May 23, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## YayGollum (May 27, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## Miss Insanity (May 28, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## Turgon (May 28, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## YayGollum (May 28, 2007)

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


----------



## Miss Insanity (May 29, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## Turgon (May 29, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (May 29, 2007)

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

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

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

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


----------



## YayGollum (May 29, 2007)

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


----------



## Miss Insanity (May 29, 2007)

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

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


----------



## Turgon (May 30, 2007)

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

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

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (May 30, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## Turgon (May 30, 2007)

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

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

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (May 31, 2007)

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

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


----------



## Ghorim (Jun 4, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s that?”

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

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

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

“_You_, Ollie…”

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## Seregon (Jun 4, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...Yes, yet-"

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

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

"Thousands."

*****

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## YayGollum (Jun 5, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## Turgon (Jun 5, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kjartan found himself suddenly silent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (Jun 5, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## Miss Insanity (Jun 5, 2007)

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


----------



## YayGollum (Jun 5, 2007)

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


----------



## Daranavo (Jun 5, 2007)

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


----------



## YayGollum (Jun 5, 2007)

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


----------



## Daranavo (Jun 6, 2007)

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


----------



## Miss Insanity (Jun 6, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## Daranavo (Jun 6, 2007)

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


----------



## Miss Insanity (Jun 6, 2007)

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (Jun 6, 2007)

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

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


----------



## Miss Insanity (Jun 6, 2007)

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


----------



## Turgon (Jun 6, 2007)

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


----------



## chrysophalax (Jun 6, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## YayGollum (Jun 6, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## elfgirl (Jun 7, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"...Yes, yet-"

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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


----------



## Turgon (Jun 7, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## Ghorim (Jun 7, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

_And look at him now_, thought Astoundo, _my star performer…_

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

---

“Eleven… twelve… thirteen…”

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

“Eighteen… nineteen… twwww…”

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

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

“Twwwwenty!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ollie shook his head, and Jokim nodded back sharply.

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

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


----------



## Persephone (Jun 9, 2007)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


----------



## YayGollum (Jun 10, 2007)

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (Jun 10, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## Daranavo (Jun 12, 2007)

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

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (Jun 17, 2007)

*Hengist, you never told me your countrymen were so...impolite to strangers." Haluin said as he stepped closer to the man who had addressed him so rudely. "Tell me, friend. Do servants dress like this in Edoras? If so, I haven't seen them and, I can assure you that I am _no_ servant to be thus bidden by you or anyone else." He noted with pleasure that the man's right hand reflexively closed into a fist every time Haluin spoke and that he had to make an effort to relax it. As always, Haluin decided to test the boundaries.

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


----------



## Daranavo (Jun 25, 2007)

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

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


----------



## chrysophalax (Jul 26, 2007)

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

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

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

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


----------



## Ghorim (Jul 27, 2007)

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” said the giant insistently. 

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

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

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

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

Ollie nodded with enthusiasm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jokim! Release this man immediately!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And these other gentlemen behind me are members of my Astonishing Assortment of Associates. They may not appear as exotic as the two whom you’ve already met, but rest assured, they too are capable of such feats as to make the mind reel!”

Jokim watched the stranger closely as the fellow listened to Astoundo’s routine. He did not appear especially charmed, and seemed to be merely tolerating the speech until it was concluded. There was something peculiar about the fellow, though, that Jokim couldn’t place…

“At any rate,” continued Astoundo, “I hope you understand the need for secrecy in these matters… we like to keep a few surprises up our sleeves, as it were. So if you could keep what you have seen here to yourself…”

The stranger nodded.

“Excellent! Now, in recompense for your troubles, I’d invite you to join us after the performance this evening. I have the entire troupe booked at the Mortar and Pestle Inn for a celebration. This is our biggest performance yet, you see.”

“I’ll consider it,” said the stranger, aloof and non-committal.

Astoundo nodded. “Fine, fine. Then, unless Master Jokim here has any objections, you’re free to go!”

“I’ve but a few queries to make,” said Jokim, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Answer me these, stranger: what do you call yourself? Whence hail you? And how, exactly, are you familiar with ‘my type?’”

The dwarf eyed the fellow very closely as he made his responses.


----------



## chrysophalax (Jul 27, 2007)

Swift as arrow-flight, questions swarmed through Haluin's mind as he found himself facing, of all things, a _dwarf_ in this part of the world. He could scarcely give credence to what he was seeing, but nevertheless, there it was, alive and glaring down at him from the back of the waggon. The fact that a giant was filling the remaining space behind the dwarf was of no moment to him any longer as he found himself unaccountably filled with pity for the two beings crammed in such confining quarters. 

Carefully guarding his features lest his thoughts betray him, Haluin answered Astoundo cooly, thanking him, then turned to face the dwarf. "Greetings, son of Durin. Long and yet, not so long has it been since I have seen those of your race in the North. Indeed, we are neighbors of a kind, you and I, truth be told. I am an archer of no little skill and am here to compete by invitation of an old friend. Forgive my insatiable curiousity, but rest assured, I heard vague mutterings only. It was not my desire to intrude upon a private conversation." He bowed low before the dwarf, hoping he had not given himself away, for it seemed to him that the dwarf was sharp-eyed and most likely knew an elf when he saw one. Haluin found himself oddly drawn to him, as though they shared a bond of...displacement,of kinship, perhaps? It disturbed the elf, for rarely was he given to overt sentimentality, yet he knew beyond a doubt that the feeling existed.

_I've been out in the sun too long. Why should I feel anything for this grizzled old stone-eater before me?_ His lips quirked with a tiny smile of irony. _An old stone-eater that nearly crushed my wrist! A formidable foe indeed! Far better as a friend, says I._ Shading his face once again with his hood, he smiled up at the dwarf before turning to clap Astoundo on the shoulder. "Aye, I will gladly join you this evening. May I offer you and yours a round of ale to show my good faith?" A roar of approval from Astoundo's men greeted his offer and he turned to see the dwarf still staring down at him, arms like small tree trunks crossing his chest. Haluin grinned. He loved a challenge.


----------



## Ghorim (Aug 17, 2007)

The others cheered the stranger's cheap reward, but Jokim stood unmoved. Gradually their merriment and laughter died away, and their attention refocused on Jokim's stolid figure. Only then did the dwarf speak, his tone bone dry.

"And what do you _call yourself_, stranger?" he asked once again. "I am not fond of repeating myself - leastwise three times over - so out with it."

"Halfast," said the stranger, quick to correct his oversight, "at your service."

And he gave another bow, as smooth and polished as the last one.

"At yours and your family's," said Jokim, dispensing with the formality as he might bat aside an errant fly. 

"Hullo, Halfast!" said Ollie brightly from just over the dwarf's shoulder.

The stranger smiled, seeming pleased by this sunny detour from Jokim's interrogation. The dwarf, meanwhile, glanced over his shoulder in some annoyance.

"Greetings... Master Ollie, was it?"

The giant nodded excitedly.

"Well! We're all introduced, then," said Halfast, looking ready to depart.

"You said we were neighbors, of a sort?" said Jokim quickly, as if Ollie had never cut in.

"In the North, aye," said Halfast.

The dwarf paused, running a hand through his beard as his bushy brow sloped downward. "You were correct."

"How so?"

"Long has it been since my people dwelt in those lands." There was an air of melancholy in Jokim's words, as if he had been carrying them in his heart for too long. His gaze seemed to lose its focus on Halfast, drifting off toward some vague distance where his memories lay. "And yet..." his eyes flashed suddenly back to life, "not so long, by the reckoning of some folk."

These words seemed to freeze Halfast for a moment. 

Jokim finally uncrossed his arms. "I overlook your indiscretion." This was as close as he'd venture to forgiveness. "We shall drink tonight then, Halfast. But understand, my loyalty is not bought so easily as these others'." He gestured to the other performers.

Halfast nodded, and the dwarf crisply turned about, squeezing past Ollie as he marched back into the dark confines of the carriage. 

Astoundo gave one last nod to Halfast. "Tonight, then!" And then he and the others left to continue work on the stage.

Only Ollie remained, smiling in all of his benign simplicity at the stranger called Halfast. All around them, cries of surprise and delight arose from the festival grounds, encasing Edoras in a strange and happy spell.


----------



## Turgon (Aug 22, 2007)

Hengist released his old friend from his grip and gave him a weary smile. Daranavo had changed much since their last meeting, there was a light in his eyes that had not been there before, and a certain strangeness in his demeanour. The old man gave his friend a slap on the shoulder and then sat down on a bale of hay, looking up at the young warrior sadly.

'I am afraid my companion has taken your words to heart, Daranavo, he is a delicate sort.' Hengist had always held this belief, being somewhat blind to the faults of his friends. 'I only hope the damage is not lasting, but I think it will take more than a stoop of wine to fix him.'

The stern look in Daranavo's eyes brought forth a sigh from the old man, the rider too had taken this altercation badly. 'No doubt you are wondering what madness made me force entry into Edoras?' Hengist said finally.'Believe me, this is stems not from an old man's pride, nor his anger at being denied entrance to his home. Things are stirring on the borders of the Riddermark, something is amiss in the hearts of hillmen.' Hengist paused for a moment, running a gnarled hand across his brow. 'I must speak with the King, Deor must know that danger lies not far ahead.'

The old man unbuckled his swordbelt and threw it at Daranavo's feet. 'Take my blade, lay it at the King's feet if you must, and tell him Hengist offers himself for judgement. Dark things are stirring, I can feel it in my bones. You can call it old age if you wish, but my instincts are never wrong.'


----------



## chrysophalax (Aug 28, 2007)

Having escaped with only a slightly bruised hand and a lightly made promise, Haluin considered himself too lucky by half. _I should not have underestimated that dwarf. Far too often have those of Durin's Folk proved our betters in bartering and if he is any indication, dwarvish cunning has not diminished over the last hundred or so years since I last had cause to cross one. I will have to be more vigilant!_ 

With those cautionary thoughts to himself running in his head, Haluin decided, albeit reluctantly, to seek out Hengist once again. He fervently hoped that the rude Rohirrim would be nowhere in sight, otherwise Hengist could just possibly find himself one friend less. As he walked through the town, banners and notices began appearing here and there, announcing the contests, when and where they would be held and the names of the contestants. Haluin was pleased to see both his and Hengist's names and he wished the old man well. He himself had no doubt whatsoever that he would win his own contest easily.

The next few days promised to be exciting and Haluin could feel his blood singing in anticipation. Crowds of gaily adorned women, eager, bright-eyed children, even grizzled oldsters had the same look of cheerful enjoyment and it gladdened his heart. Hengist had told many stories of Rohan's past and much of it had been bloody. These people deserved a bit of happiness whenever it came their way, in Haluin's mind. He hoped their peace would last many generations under King Deor's rule, though only time would tell.


----------



## Miss Insanity (Aug 28, 2007)

Taetho looked to the forward end of the stable. He peered through the dust and saw the silhouette of a man walking in with a ridiculous swagger. _Oh, not Eorache!_ Taetho looked for a way out. Eorache the 'valiant' was the most conceited fool in the whole town. A megalomaniac of vast proportions and a well known meddler. The last thing Taetho needed was Eorache hearing about his plans and locking him up in the Royal Stable.

Taetho backed up and felt the boards that made up the back wall of the stable. He lifted his leg and kicked with all his might. The board snapped and slipped out of it's place. He kicked again and brought down another board. One more and he could fit through! Eorache had paused for a moment to examine a carving in the boards that read _Eorache The Witless_.

SMASH! The last board was gone. Taetho backed up through the hole and ran as fast as he could down the path to his favourite hiding spot out behind the great hall's kitchens.


----------



## Turgon (Aug 28, 2007)

Daranavo leant down and picked up the sword from where it lay at his feet. A small furrow had plowed itself into his brow, and his face looked sombre. 'The King will not see you Hengist, though he gives you leave to wander the city, under my honour. It sits ill with me that those who desire nothing more than to live in peace with our people, should be singled out so. And you my friend.' the younger warrior's countenance lightened a little. 'You have ever been counted amongst the doughtiest warriors of the Mark. Let any man say otherwise!'

'When did things get so complicated?' Daranavo said. 'It is well that you have given me your sword freely Hengist. For the King wishes it. As... as a token of good grace.'

Hengist waved a leathery hand in the direction of his friend. 'I expected as much, do not let it trouble your thoughts. Yet I must speak to the King!'

'I will do what I can old friend.' said Daranavo tugging at his gloves. 'Perhaps when the fair is over I could persuade him to speak with you. Keep your head down until then? It will do you no good to fret about it. Come! The wrestling tourney begins this evening and you should be putting all your thoughts into that. You are not getting any younger Hengist!' Daranavo let out a sharp laugh. 'And Prince Helm is going to take some beating! He could kill a boar with his bare hands that one!'

Hengist flashed the younger warrior a smile and got to his feet. 'Aye, it is high time I got myself moving. Be sure to lay some coin on me Daranavo! You can be sure I will do the same during your match tomorrow!' Daranavo nodded, and motioning to his soldiers, headed out into the streets. He stopped briefly in the doorway, turning his head to the grizzled old warrior. 'For what it is worth Hengist, I believe you.' And then he was gone.

Hengist slumped back down onto the bail of hay, his thoughts turning back to Haluin... no Halfast. Where had the elf gone? Hopefully not into the arms of mistress mischief. Placing his head in his hands, the old man gave in to the melancholy that was building up in his heart. His thought wandering backwards over the long years of his life.

SMASH! There was a loud crack from the back of the stables, jolting the old man back into the present with a start.

'By the wild kine of Araw!!' he yelled, as he toppled backwards off his perch.


----------



## chrysophalax (Aug 29, 2007)

As Haluin threaded his way through the densely crowded streets, it suddenly occurred to him that they had left Hengist's horse tied outside one of the mead-halls near the gate. Guiltly, he thought of the remainder of the venison, knowing his nose would probably find the horse long before his keen sight would. He shook off a vague feeling of nausea and set out for the gate, not wanting to waste anymore time dealing with what he knew would be a highly unpleasant, if not downright disgusting task. 

Sure enough, a few minutes search brought him downwind of the unfortunate animal, driven nearly mad by swarms of flies and a few interested dogs who kept sniffing about his legs. Haluin untied the poor beast while trying to ignore the many indignant glares of both townspeople and the inn's owner. He ignored their remarks as he led the horse back toward the stables where he had left his friend, all the while imagining his winnings vanishing into a new set of saddle leathers for Hengist, as these, he felt certain were beyond saving.

A loud crack and the sound of racing hooves coming towards him caused Haluin to pull the horse roughly aside as the Mearas he had seen earlier raced past. Sudden concern for the old man made him hasten to the stables, only to find Hengist staring in his direction, swearing loudly. He smiled broadly. "And here I was, worried you had been attacked and left for dead. I see I need not have concerned myself!" Hengist gave him an ill-favoured glare, then wrinkled his nose. "By the...Haluin, what _is_ that stench?" "That, my friend, is the delicate scent of a deer long past her prime, I'm afraid. I suggest we dispose of it forthwith." After much grumbling, the leathers, along with the rotten meat, were discarded behind the stables in the middens and Hengist had the promise of a new set from Haluin.

"It was my fault entirely. You were in no fit state to remember your name, much less your horse. On my head be it, in fact, come...let me buy you some ale and a good hardy loaf and some cheese. That should set you right." Hengist looked at the elf as if he had grown an extra head. "Are you mad? I have a match tonight, in case you have not noticed! Have you bet against me that you would fill my belly now so that I cannot move later on?" "Are men so frail that they cannot take nourishment before a contest? Very well, starve if you must. I sought only to make amends." With that, Haluin glanced reproachfully at Hengist, then set about counting his remaining coins. He still had to purchase a new bow for his own contest the following day.


----------



## YayGollum (Sep 1, 2007)

On the morning of the festival, Truor glared at the wall of his room. It was some time before noon, and his eyelids wouldn't stay closed any longer. He groaned then hopped off the bed. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he wondered for a second where his friends Shadowflaps and Anthrax were. Glaring out of a window, he saw an abundance of activity. He growled at the thought of an overly crowded city but forgot about that when he realized how hungry he was and how likely the presence of interesting festival food was. 

After trudging his way out to the stables, he clamped his hands over his ears when Anthrax started nattering excitedly about something. "You, too, Anthrax? Argh! I'll have enough of these townspeople!" Before he even got the reminder about Taetho, he stomped outside. Shadowflaps squawked an offhanded acknowledgement of his presence from the roof of the inn. Truor barely payed attention, since he became quickly occupied with dodging random humans. He kept to the outskirts of the activity and almost allowed himself to be drawn in by the smells of food before he remembered what he was supposed to be doing.

Horses and their humans were trotting about all over the place, and after speaking with only a few, he was directed to Taetho's hiding spot. Growling in Animalic at the horse ---> "Alright, let's go! I hear there's a race to win, and beating these Riders at their own game would be quite a story! You lost your last rider recently, right? You want a change of scenery, right? Anthrax told me about you. You just stick with me, and we'll get you out of here."


----------



## Miss Insanity (Sep 1, 2007)

Taetho had gone around the back of the Great Hall's kitchens. It was his favourite hiding spot because the cooks would often bring out little treats for the horses. Baked apples and sugar was Taetho's favourite, and he was sure they would be making a lot for the festival. He tried to forget about the the last few days. They'd been nothing but trouble. Despite his efforts, he hadn't managed to get any closer to escape. Even Eorache the _Valiant_ had come to see him. Had message gotten around already that he was trying to leave?

The smell of baked apples filled Taetho's nostrils as he leaned over against the wall. A warm breeze brushed through his mane and down his spine. He dreamt of running through an orchard. Leaping for the fruit and taking it to the shores of a vast ocean to sit and eat with the sound of the sea in his ears and the smell of salt mixing in his head with the taste of the apples. That was what he wanted.

"Allright, let's go!". Taetho woke with a start and noticed the beorning standing over him. He quickly got up onto his hooves again and blinked wearily at the man. Wait... He'd spoken in Animalic, not human. "I hear there's a race to win," continued the beorning, "and beating these Riders at their own game would be quite a story! You lost your last rider recently, right? You want a change of scenery, right? Anthrax told me about you. You just stick with me, and we'll get you out of here."

Taetho was shocked. He didn't know what to say. This was his chance to leave. The one thing he truly desired was finally within his grasp... So why did he feel so unsure? He had said Anthrax. _Anthrax... That was the name of the horse who-_

"I will win you the race," said Taetho, "if you can tell me how to get to the ocean".


----------



## YayGollum (Sep 2, 2007)

Truor raised a nervous eyebrow but eked out an, "Uh, of course I can! But why would you want to go there? I've been there and only found a bunch of, uh, nothing! Yeah, but there are great places on the coast! I prefer the mountains, but, if you want the ocean, I know an eagle that heads that way sometimes." He approached respectfully and ended up with a grudgingly agreeing with a few of the tales of praise he'd heard about such horses. "Hmph! I guess Anthrax was just a good argument! Well, come on. Are you ready? You probably know more about these races than I do. I don't even use a saddle!"

Eorache the Valiant had, of course, gotten up early and completed two of his usual sword practice sessions. He stayed in the mostly abandoned common room to watch the festival-goers through a window, pleased at the thought of his part in protecting them. Shrugging at the sight of yet another peddler's wagon being mobbed, he trotted back to the stables. Rogane twitched. "Ah, such energy! Save it for the race, Rogane."


----------



## Turgon (Sep 8, 2007)

Hengist and Haluin spent the rest of the day in relative quiet. The events in the stable had been forgotten, or at least put aside for a time. The two friends wandered the city, the old man showing the elf the various places that had in some way played an important part in his life. Then, as evening fell, they made their way to the market place, where now a huge throng of people had gathered. A ring of chalk had been marked off in the centre of the square and it was around this that the various vendors and minstrels, ladies and gentlemen, vagabonds and veterans now took their ease.

There were many familiar faces in the crowd, most of them friendly, and as Hengist approached the circle he received many a slap on the back and many words of encouragement. 'Give that sour-faced Kjartan a good slap for me Hengist!' and 'Throw that crooked good for nothing right out of the Mark!' The old man payed little head to them. Kjartan he could see on the opposite side of the ring, stripped down to his chest and ready to compete. Several other competetors stood nearby, faces bruised in defeat or shining in victory. Yet it was the sight of the tall, burly youth with the golden hair and ruddy cheeks that set his heart to pounding. Prince Helm, grandson of the king, he a grown into a man since Hengist had last set eyes on him. And what a man! He over-topped the old warrior by a full head and was almost as broad. There then was the real competition.

'My Lord,' said Hengist as he neared the prince, pointedly ignoring Kjartan. 'How you have grown!'

The old man was unsure how the prince would treat him, being as he was so out of favour with the King, and it was no secret that the prince had little time for those with hillman blood. He need not have worried. Helm was a big man in heart as well as body. 'Hengist my friend!' The young prince shouted as the grizzled warrior drew near, his voice raised so that all would hear. 'You are welcome back to the Riddermark! The King is lucky to have you back in these troubling times.'

So Helm had noticed something was rotten in the Riddermark too, that was a relief to Hengist. 'Indeed,' he said as he bowed his head before the prince. 'And I am ever at the service of my King. When is your bout my lord?'

'My bout is over Hengist, and my opponent gone to recover from the strain of it.' The massive youth smiled at him and grasped his arm in greeting. 'Blink and you would have missed it! But you and Kjartan are next up. So ready yourself, and show these people how a veteran fights!'

Hengist smiled, and let his troubles melt from his mind. The Riddermark was in good hands, Helm would be a mighty king when the time came, he was sure of it. In this youth seemed to be something of the strength of Eorl himself. It would be an honour to come up against him in the ring, win or lose. Walking around the ring, Hengist stripped off his jerkin and undershirt and handed them to Haluin, smiling wickedly at the hooded elf as he rolled back his shoulders and let out a whoop of joy. 'Are you ready for the Haluin?' he grinned. 'This is where Kjartan pays for his insults! Have you ever seen a grown man cry?'


----------



## chrysophalax (Sep 13, 2007)

Haluin's smile mirrored that of Hengist as the old man boasted of his wrestling prowess. His boasting was well-founded, his skill legendary among the Rohirrim and Haluin was glad he would finally be able to witness one of his bouts first hand. The fact that he had bet heavily with a couple of Astoundo's men on Hengist made his own anticipation all the more keen. It was good to the the fire return to his friend's eyes as he made his way to the stone circle in which the two would compete. In Haluin's opinion, it had been overlong since he had seen such a predatory look on Hengist's face and he began to feel a modicum of pity for this Kjartan, whoever he was.

As he waited for the match to begin, Haluin reflected on the exchange between his friend and young Helm. The young prince certainly looked capable, the sort of natural-born leader many a land would eagerly fight for as heir to their throne. Tall, strong, personable, an obvious judge of character and generous of heart, the elf wondered then why the king did not seem to share his gifted son's abilities. Where was the king? After all, was this not an important time in the life of his kingdom, a time for all to share in? Why had he not been among them at the festival's opening? The absence of the king struck a discordant cord with Haluin and he resolved to ask Haluin about it after his triumph, for there was no doubt in the elf's mind that Hengist would be victorious once more.


----------



## YayGollum (Sep 23, 2007)

A large as well as brightly colored wagon with the words, "Trahald's Itinerant Armoury And Apothecary And Toyshop" announced on it trundled along, stuck in a long line of other merchants and their wares. A hulk of a human drove the wagon, simply staring straight ahead, looking for a good spot to set up camp. A bandana-laden head poked out from behind a curtain every now and then, looking eager. Inside, a dark-skinned man wearing typically outrageous corsair of Umbar type garb whispered with a sickeningly innocent looking Dwarf with what many might assume to be a clown's uniform, although it was merely out of place in anything but the snootiest of Dwarvish tea parties. "Boffin, if you were a better haggler, I could be out there, earning your food!" 

The Dwarf frowned sadly but wondered at why his boss thought that he wasn't a good haggler. Customers always walked away happy when he sold things after the first price was suggested. His boss continued to rant, though, "And I can't leave Tolir here to watch you, either. Even you are too smart for him!" The Dwarf nodded sheepishly and grinned to himself. Although he wasn't sneaky by most standards, he had taken advantage of the large human's suggestibility several times before. "I'll just have to scope the place out tonight, then. I love these festivals! So many targets in one place!" 

While his boss poked his head outside again and directed Tolir to a suitable spot, Boffin pulled the back curtain aside and, after allowing a guilty feeling from knowing that Trahald planned on stealing from so many happy people, he shrugged and started talking in Sindarin to the pony tied to the back of the wagon. Tolir secured the wagon and mounts, then stomped around, opening chests and arranging weapons and armour for viewing. Trahald opened a window on one side of the wagon to set up his mini-apothecary, but when he heard Boffin, he scowled and barked, "Boffin! None of that elvish nonsense! Go set up your toys! And I've got some snacks to set out soon. They are for customers only! Buy something, and you can have one!" 

Boffin patted his pony, scowled a bit, but happily rushed off to display his toys, some of which even had a bit of magic in them. He grinned as he found a block of wood and a knife to whittle with. He held his stomach with a pained expression when he saw the little snacks that Trahald was arranging. His boss, besides knowing a bit about pick-pocketry and brewing up a good potion or poison or two, had been trained as a gourmet chef. Customers dove at the food, Trahald charmed and cheated many, Boffin mostly played with his toys but sold several, Tolir bustled around inside the wagon to fetch things but was able to sit and talk to a few who were particularly interested in his armoury business.

______________________________________________________________

Eorache the Valiant strode from the stables with a look that suggested forced optimism. With little to do until his contest, he gave in to the idea that watching the others could be educational. After sweeping by who he could and locking someone's gaze while offering an apologetic, "Pardon me," he acquired a partial view of the ring. He studied the opponents and concluded with zero bias that he could beat either of them, based on the few times that he had been disarmed and forced to wrestle with trolls. He shook his head to clear it of such unpleasant memories and looked around at the crowd, allowing a grin to grow on his face only due to their enthusiasm.

_____________________________________________________________

Truor wondered what he should be doing with Taetho, since the horse didn't seem disposed towards staying in any stable, and such an animal would be difficult to keep hidden, at least for the short time before the race. He was drawn to a wagon selling all kinds of stuff, but only stayed to grab a free bite of food and grin at the corsair attempting to direct his attention elsewhere. Wandering towards one of the nicer looking stables and attempting to figure how much it'd cost to put Taetho in there for a while, he could see over the crowd well enough to discern some wrestling. "Eh. Boring. Beornings wrestle all the time. Any of my brothers could beat these guys!" Towards Taetho, "Ah, it's just not for me."


----------



## Ghorim (Sep 24, 2007)

Jokim marched straight for the back corner of the carriage, concealed in the dark just outside the strips of light that shot in through the barred windows. He could already feel it coming on, the pressure gradually mounting on his skull. It always began slowly. The dwarf imagined his head on a metalworker’s press, with each beat of his heart bringing a turn of the crank. He no longer felt himself solidly planted on the dusty floorboards below, but lurching unevenly into a heavy fog. Jokim pressed a gloved hand against the wall to keep himself steady, but could already sense his knees starting to buckle.

By now, Ollie had turned his massive form away from the outside world and lowered the carriage flap. He saw Jokim doubling over, suddenly looking crippled and helpless in the corner.

“Jokim?” he said softly, fearing for his companion’s health.

“Not another word,” uttered Jokim in a hollow gasp, as if the words had been torn from his lungs. The dwarf had now slumped to his knees, sweat oozing trails along the soft lines of his face as the skin flushed red. His hands were fast becoming unreliable, weakening and trembling like an invalid’s.

Ollie placed one of his dirty paws over his mouth instinctively. The giant always feared the worst when the ill spirits took over Jokim’s body. That was the only way Ollie could conceive of the monstrous headaches, those unwelcome guests that had long ago become too familiar to the dwarf. They were never far away. Often enough he could sense them dully, like a storm gathering at the back of his skull. But he never knew when the clouds would burst and the thunder quake his entire form to the ground. Usually they came after bouts of heavy activity, but even then they were unreliable. And sometimes they struck seemingly without reason.

With an awkward, staggering turn, Jokim fell upon the pile of straw that usually cushioned Ollie’s body. He was dimly aware of the giant’s aroma invading his nostrils, but it was perhaps the least offensive sensation he had to deal with at the moment. Jokim shut his eyes tight and began to make his stand against the deadly press. With great effort, he stabilized his ragged breathing, drawing his lungs full and exhaling in even time. Images of the Grey Mountains shot through his head, as he imagined the endless expanse of the Northland’s rocky spine, free from any crowding or pressure. In his mind, Jokim was alone, floating through the mountain mist. He breathed the cool, wet air that surrounded him in a gentle cocoon. The throbbing pain lay far outside of him now, dropping over the far horizon like the setting sun.

All the while, Ollie hunched over Jokim, cautiously leaning in and trying to read the dwarf’s condition from his facial expression alone. The dwarf's features began hardened and strained, the brows knit and quivering and the jaw clenched like a vice. But by degrees Jokim’s face relaxed, the lines that creased his forehead faded and his mouth drifted open. After a few minutes, his breathing deepened, and deepened some more, to the point where Ollie felt compelled to lean in even closer.

“Jokim?” he asked, trying to soften his mighty rumble of a voice to a mere whisper.

There came a silence... and then a snore. The giant leaned back and breathed a sigh of relief. Ollie thought for a moment, and then took up a flowing blue sheet from the floor. He used it to cover himself up on the colder nights of the year. As tenderly as his oversized hands could manage, he used the sheet to dab some of the lingering sweat off of Jokim’s forehead, and then covered the dwarf with it. 

Quietly, ever so quietly, Ollie crawled to the opposite corner of the carriage. He sat facing Jokim and took up the watch, resting his chin in his right hand. 

---

Jokim’s sleep was dull and dreamless. The vision of his childhood home soon departed, and in its place a void dark and deep came to envelop him. A loud knock on one of the carriage windows jostled him awake.

“Wha...? By Durin! Some... quiet!” The sounds tumbled out of Jokim’s mouth thoughtlessly as he sat up, perceiving himself entangled in Ollie’s bedsheet. His gaze stumbled to the opposite window, toward the source of the offending noise.

There, framed by the vertical window bars, hovered the gaunt face of Domo, the troupe’s contortionist. He had seen perhaps thirty winters, but still had that sly, childlike air about his manner. “An over-stretched imp,” Jokim had once called him. Indeed, Domo had a history of troublemaking. He hailed from a distant village out in the East, not so far from the Lonely Mountain, in fact. However, his sordid antics with the village chieftain’s wife had earned him a summary banishment to what – the villagers assumed – were the harsh and inhospitable lands of the West. 

Domo had gotten along well enough with Astoundo, however, joining the Associates shortly before Jokim arrived with the group. His natural ability to twist his reedy figure into a variety of different forms earned him a permanent spot in the traveling stage show. He still spoke with that peculiar Eastern dialect, wielding his Westron as a child might handle a wooden sword: recklessly.

“No point hiding these two, the way they snore,” he said, before making a crude imitation of the noises that the giant and the dwarf made in slumber. “Piggy! Piggy!”

Ollie had nodded off during his vigil, and even Domo’s knocking hadn’t stirred him, as his head continued to bob about like a cork at sea.

Jokim rubbed his temples with a sour expression. He could still feel the lingering sting of his headache, and Domo here wasn’t doing him any favors. 

“We’ve little else to do, ” grumbled Jokim, “reined up in here like a pair of Rohirric mounts.”

“Little _Khoozd_ needs to wake up less grumpy,” said Domo. “I bring to you news this evening.”

Domo was the only Man Jokim knew of who had picked up more than a word or two of Khuzdul. It must have stemmed from Domo’s village being so close to the Eastern Clans of the dwarves, who were evidently less secretive with their tongue. Out of curiosity, Jokim had tried carrying on a conversation in Khuzdul with Domo on at least a couple of occasions. But the fellow mangled the grammar structure so badly that it made his Westron sound eloquent. Mostly, Domo knew the naughty words, and could always conjugate them perfectly.

“News, eh?” Jokim stood, checking as he did to make sure that his hood hadn’t slipped off of his head while he slept. “Half a moment... it’s evening already?”

“Aye, much so!” said Domo, letting one of his pale and lanky arms dangle through one of the gaps in the window’s barring. “_Khoozd_ sleeps like one of his Seven Fathers, eh?”

Jokim gave an amused grimace, but spared Domo a retort. Instead, he corrected the man’s pronunciation. “_Khuzd_, not _Khoozd_.”

“_Khuzd_,” repeated Domo with surprising obedience. Evidently he didn’t want Jokim to think that he couldn’t grasp the dwarvish tongue. 

“What news, then?” asked Jokim briskly, reaching over to nudge Ollie awake so he could hear the message, too. 

“Ah,” Domo nodded, his eyes sparking as he remembered his purpose. “Astoundo says we perform in the late of night.” 

“Why the delay?” asked Jokim, assuming his familiar stance with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Rohirrics are having wild wrestling contest,” said Domo with a shrug. “Every of our comrades has coin riding upon it.”

“Wrestling,” Jokim repeated. 

That word brought with it sudden flashes of memory and meaning in the dwarf’s head. He saw himself a century younger, on the slopes of Erebor with the other foolish dreamers of the Grey Legion. Under moon and stars they would tangle in savage acts of camaraderie, slamming each other down into the dirt and stones, grappling for supremacy, each combatant trying to prove to the others – and to himself – that he was a worthy opponent. Jokim burst into a smile, unconscious of the expression as it lit up his face.

“When shall this contest take place?”

“Few minutes,” said Domo, turning about to glance in the direction of the improvised wrestling ring. The crowd surrounding the center of the square had grown far too thick to see if the festivities had commenced, however.

“Mmm...” Jokim stroked his beard. “And where has Astoundo got to?”

“He says he will spread words about our performance.”

“I fancy a peak at this contest, Domo,” said Jokim, with a strange air of solemnity. “You would not alert our employer were I to slip out to watch?”

“And what if’s I told?” Domo pressed his face tighter against the bars, looking ghoulish and predatory in the light of dusk.

“Then I would twist that overgrown body of yours into a position that not even _you_ could get out of,” said Jokim with a grim smirk.

“Mmm...” Domo didn’t have to consider long. “Not a word from me.” He retreated from the window swiftly.

Jokim glanced at Ollie, who had listened to the whole exchange attentively after being roused. The dwarf started to make for the carriage flap, but reconsidered, pausing before the giant.

“You need not nurse me, Ollie,” he said.

“Are you...?” Ollie began.

“Fine, perfectly fine,” cut in Jokim. “Well capable of handling my own health.”

Ollie fell silent, feeling chastised. As Jokim began to make his exit, Ollie suddenly glanced up as if inspired.

“Did you have good dreams?”

Jokim paused, halfway out the flap. His head popped back into the carriage. “I do not dream, Ollie.”

He ducked out swiftly, leaving the giant to his own devices.


----------



## Ghorim (Sep 24, 2007)

Jokim crept carefully into the carriage where the troupe kept most of its costumes and props. After a minute of rummaging about, he found the garb he sought: a dark brown hooded cloak that would adequately conceal his identity. It was somewhat oversized, but it would have to do. Wrapping himself tightly in his disguise and tucking his beard into the folds of the cloak, Jokim stepped back out into the square, trying to stand as erect as he could. In truth, he felt he could pass for a shorter rider of the land. The Rohirrim, after all, were never an especially tall folk. 

Jokim stomped up to Domo, who had crept up to the edges of the wrestling crowd to try and get a look at the competition. 

“Domo,” muttered the dwarf discreetly as he approached. 

The fellow turned about, and upon seeing Jokim so disguised had to stifle what would have been a crippling laugh. 

“How do I look?” whispered Jokim as he glanced about the crowd defensively, not noticing Domo’s reaction.

“Like _Khuzd_ who needs a better tailor!”

“Good! Your pronunciation is improving.”

And with that Jokim waded into the mass of bodies, keeping the cowl of the hood pulled low as he casually shoved past spectators to get to the front of the teeming throng. A bout was already in progress, and as Jokim advanced he could begin to make out the two competing figures – one older and the other younger. A seeming mismatch, but it looked hotly contested at the moment. Finally, fending off the curses of the spectators he had dislodged, Jokim arrived at the fore of the crowd. He gave a quick glance at those who stood in his immediate vicinity. 

And there he was, standing directly to the dwarf’s left: the eavesdropper Halfast.

“Hail, Sir Jokim,” said the fellow, his bright eyes not deviating from the match in the least as he spoke. 

The dwarf froze in temporary surprise, before he regained his senses and mumbled, “Just keep that to yourself, eh?”


----------



## Turgon (Sep 25, 2007)

Hengist took a few steps forward, his mind empty now of thought, running only on instinct. It was always like this when he faced men in the ring, so different than the calm that washed over him when facing men on the battlefield. This was almost bestial, primordial, primative. Kjartan was circling him slowly, looking for an opening, a weakness, a way passed those burly arms. Hengist however saw only his prey. Lowering his body Hengist took the younger warrior at a run, smashing his shoulder into Kjartan's stomach and driving the very breath out of him. Then, slipping around his opponent's back, he locked his arms around Kjartan's chest and began to crush the fight out of him.

The younger warrior however had plenty of fight left, and Hengist was quickly rewarded with a wild elbow smashing into his mouth, and another to his chin, then another, and another, until a savage hit into the socket of his eye forced him to release his grip. Staggering backwards the old man let out a roar, buffeting Kjartan with several strikes from his heavy fists. The two men quickly came together again, grasping each other around the shoulders, each trying to force the other to the ground. Kjartan snaked a foot around Hengist's leg, getting a brutal knee thrust into his stomach as a reward. Then Hengist wrapped his bear-like arms around his opponent and began to lift him upwards, only to drop him as Kjartan smashed his head into the older warrior's skull. The crowd let out a hiss at this, but by the look on their faces, they were lapping it up.

Kjartan leapt forward now, hoping to take Hengist's legs with a shoulder charge, but a heavy foot in his face sent him sprawling backwards onto the ground. That was all Hengist needed, leaping onto his prone opponent he pinned him to the ground, driving his head into Kjartan's skull not once, not twice, but three times. And then it was over. The younger warrior's eyes rolled back in his head, fortunate perhaps, as Hengist stood and lifted him off the ground once more, grunting with effort as he raised him above his head before slamming him down upon the ground with a mighty yell. It was brutal, but Hengist cared not, nor did the crowd to judge by the cheer that went up.

There was life in the old dog yet.


----------



## chrysophalax (Sep 25, 2007)

The appearance of the dwarf at a human contest of strength intrigued Haluin, but his own concentration upon the struggle before them was such that he could spare no more than the briefest of greetings. This in itself would have told anyone who knew the elf at all the depth of his concern. True, Hengist was a skilled and canny warrior, however...one ill-timed feint, the twist of a knee, unsure footing, any of these could result in permanent injury, or worse. Had this been true battle, Hengist's adversary would long ago have bled his life out on the point of Haluin's dagger, but this was his friend's fight alone and so he cheered along with the others as Hengist returned blow for blow, finally besting the younger man with a mighty throw Haluin would hardly have given him credit for.

A cry of victory enveloped the old man, who stood wiping blood from his eyes that streamed from a cut in his forehead. A rapidly swelling eye and a split lip could not stop Hengist from returning the wolfish smile on Haluin's face. It was more than obvious that the elf had bet heavily on him and he had not disappointed. Hengist threw his arms up and bellowed as the crowd roared their approval. It had been too long since he had felt so alive and he revelled in it.

"I hope you had time to wager on him." The softly spoken statement nearly made Jokim jump. "To my knowledge, Hengist has never lost a match." The dwarf seemed discomfitted by the fact that the elf was speaking to him, which only served as a source of amusement to the elf. "Come, would you join us in a tankard or two of ale? I have little doubt my friend would welcome the criticism of one such as you, who are renowned for their feats of physical prowess." The dwarf turned a baleful eye on Haluin. "You make free with your coin and your invitations...sir. Is your friend so eager for criticism that he would willingly take it from a stranger...should the stranger even care to give it?" Haluin chuckled. "After a victory such as this, he would gladly do as much and more if ale were involved."


The subject of their discussion limped gamely over and Haluin threw Hengist's tunic around his dirt-encrusted shoulders. "Well done indeed, Grey-beard! The money I have just won will fetch me a very fine bow, with more than enough left over for provisions, if you do not drink it all. I had no idea you had that much fight left in you." Hengist threw Haluin a wry grin as he wiped the sweat, blood and grime from his face. "Was there ever any doubt?" Hengist looked about him searchingly. "Is there no ale ready to hand? What manner of friend do you call yourself?" Haluin heaved a heavy sigh and smote his breast in mock-contrition. "I am truly remiss in my duties! I pray your forgiveness, O victorious one!" Both the dwarf and Hengist rolled their eyes as Haluin's melodramatic antics which caused the elf to grin. "Shall we to the mead-halls then to celebrate?"


----------



## Ghorim (Oct 1, 2007)

Jokim quickly turned his gaze from Halfast and did his best to ignore the fellow. It wasn't difficult - the two combatants were putting on quite the show. The dwarf watched them from beneath his hood with a squinted gaze, trying to filter out the incessant noise from the crowd. He saw the match differently from the jeering masses. Each move from each wrestler created with it dozens of possible responses that his counterpart could undertake. Jokim read ahead in the action, trying to gauge the styles of the two opponents and anticipate the responses before they were made. He would mutter to himself as he watched, occasionally nodding or shaking his head as the two men grappled fiercely.

His mutterings intensified as the combatants’ heads collided and blood began to flow. The crowd howled for more, and Jokim could sense that one of these fighters would soon make a rash decision as the atmosphere heated up. Sure enough, the younger combatant went for the win too soon, and caught a boot to the face as a result. Jokim smirked and shook his head, giving a glance up to Halfast. From the fellow’s smile, it was clear that he had good money riding on the old goat. The dwarf turned back to the action just in time to see the elder wrestler deliver a sharp series of headbutts to subdue his opponent. 

_Ah... there must have been a history between those two_, thought Jokim amusedly.

“I hope you had time to wager on him,” said Halfast, his voice cutting through the drone of the crowd without warning. “To my knowledge, Hengist has never lost a match.”

_So they are friends, eh?_

Jokim grunted something unintelligible in response, drawing his cowl lower in annoyance. What fowl luck that he’d run into this meddler again...

“Come,” continued the fellow, his voice dancing with hidden laughter, “would you join us in a tankard or two of ale? I have little doubt my friend would welcome the criticism of one such as you, who are renowned for their feats of physical prowess.”

The cajoling words of praise rang hollow in Jokim's ears. It had seemed a great while since he thought himself capable of "feats of physical prowess," outside of dragging himself up onto Astoundo's rickety stage to make warrior dances for the shadowy crowds. But what use was it explaining any such thing to this Halfast jester, or that bloodied Hengist besides?

Jokim glared up at Halfast from beneath his thick hood, just one eye visible amidst the darkness of his face, one eye shining bright and untrusting like the full moon.

"You make free with your coin and your invitations... sir," said the dwarf, adding the "sir" as a polite afterthought. "Is your friend so eager for criticism that he would willingly take it from a stranger... should the stranger even care to give it?"

Halfast laughed. "After a victory such as this, he would gladly do as much and more if ale were involved."

Hengist now approached, and Jokim stepped back to let the two companions share in congratulations. Outside of the ring and up close, the old man looked rather ragged and unimpressive. But the dwarf could see that he had a wolf's spirit, and had fought the match with an abiding rage. That wild power made him dangerous, but in Jokim's eyes, Hengist was yet rough around the edges.

"Shall we to the mead-halls then to celebrate?" suggested Halfast.

"A fine salve that might be for this one's wounds," said Jokim, stepping forward as his oversized cloak dragged along the ground behind. "But he has another match, does he not?"

Hengist's eyes narrowed at this odd-looking stranger, but he nevertheless responded to the question that had been indirectly hurled his way.

"Aye, that I do."

"So I thought. That fellow you bruised up just now did not seem the championship type. Who is your next opponent?"

"I'd sooner know your identity, stranger, before I take to this interrogation of yours," said Hengist, still filled with violent passions after his bout.

"This," said Halfast, quickly cutting in, "is Jokim. We met earlier today by chance."

"Or rather, you stumbled upon me by chance," corrected Jokim. Hengist kept trying to catch a gaze under his hood, but the dwarf would always seem to turn so that the man could not steal a good look. "Well met, Hengist."

"Aye, well met..." 

Jokim stepped forward and shook Hengist's hand. Gazing up into the man's eyes, the dwarf now made no attempt to conceal his identity. Even in the evening's dying light, Hengist could clearly make out the thick beard, the stone-set expression, and the keen eyes that could only form the face of a dwarf. 

"Sir Halfast speaks highly of your abilities in the ring. I would add to those a few words of advice, if you would allow me."

Hengist merely nodded, looking surprised.

"Point out your next opponent to me, if he is within sight."

The old man turned, scanned the crowd, and then indicated the towering presence of Prince Helm. Jokim followed Hengist's gesture, his eyes narrowing as he took in the prince's youth and vitality from across the square.

"He is of... distinguished stock, is he not?"

"He is the king's grandson," replied Hengist.

Jokim whistled quietly, while Heingist and Halfast exchanged glances. The dwarf stood silent for a few moments before speaking, tucking his hands beneath his armpits as he brooded over the options.

"If mine eyes do not deceive, he has you bested in size, speed, and endurance," said the dwarf grimly. "I do not know how he fights. But I will say this: he is still a boy."

He turned to face Hengist now.

"To stand a chance, you must frustrate him... and the crowd as well," said Jokim. "They hunger to see their combatants take risks and fight without patience... but you shall not give them that satisfaction. Get in close and grapple. Do not seek to entertain. Make as if you are fighting for a stalemate. Your opponent's enthusiasm will get the better of him more soon than late, and then you will be there to capitalize upon his error, aye?"

Hengist nodded once again, but his gaze lingered upon the prince.

"You do not hate him as you hated your last foe, do you?" asked Jokim with a sharp air of inquisitiveness. "You respect him."

"It shall not hinder my performance, if that's what you aim to suggest," replied Hengist in some anger. 

"Good," said Jokim tersely, before suddenly turning to head off into the crowd.

"And what of our ale, then?" called Halfast after the dwarf.

Jokim turned about, his cowl slipping down to conceal his features once again.

"I have an errand to complete," said the dwarf.

"And what, pray tell, is that?" Halfast smirked, never before having heard of a dwarf opting out of an opportunity to drink.

"I must place a healthy wager upon this one," said Jokim, pointing dead-on at Hengist. Though his face could not well be seen, the dwarf's smile was all too apparent. And then he disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two friends to converse between themselves.


----------

