The Shadow over Rhudaur Part II. Intrigues and Sorcery.

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Cameth Brin Palace, early morning of October 23, 1347
Written by Gordis
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Gimilbeth was walking along a narrow path in a shadowy forest bathed in moonlight. She felt small stones and tree roots beneath her bare feet and shrubs clinging to the ample skirts of her nightdress. At length she came under the shade of huge pine trees. Somebody was waiting for her there. She barely discerned the shape of a horse with a tall rider on its back. She stopped hesitantly, hoping to remain unnoticed and ready to turn and run away the way she had come. At this moment, the eerie silence of the woods was rent by a horrible shriek. A piercing cold voice rose and fell, ending in a long wail that froze the very marrow of her bones.

Flinging away the fur coverlets, Gimilbeth sat bolt upright in bed. The shriek was still ringing in her ears and her heart was beating frantically. The room was dark, faintly illuminated by the thin predawn light. Cats that usually slept at the foot of Gimilbeth's bed were now fully awake and visibly frightened. Hissing, they jumped away, and disappeared under the bed.

She heard the thud of running feet in the corridor. Without so much as a knock, several guards with drawn swords burst into the room, followed by a bleary-eyed frightened Nimraen.

"What happened, Lady?" asked Vardir, the captain of the night guard. "Who was here? Are you hurt?"

"I don't know what you are talking about," snapped Gimilbeth. "How dare you enter here unannounced and uninvited?" She pulled the blankets up, covering her shoulders and bosom. Morgoth be praised, she thought gruffly, at least she did not put a herbal mask upon her face this night!

Visibly taken aback, Vardir stammered: "But you cried for help, did you not? We clearly heard your cry!"

Gimilbeth lowered her thick eyelashes. So it was she herself who shrieked... Oh, the shame of it!

Ever helpful, Nimraen chimed in, "As you surely know, my lady had been ill and is not yet fully recovered. Perhaps she had a bad dream. Anyway, there was no need to bang in here with no warning. You see for yourselves that Lady Gimilbeth is safe. Leave now and guard the doors!"

Uncomfortable and visibly suspicious, the soldiers bowed and left, some of them making a sign against evil behind their backs.

When they left, Gimilbeth shook her head to clear it and yawned. "What time is it?" she asked Nimraen.

"'An hour before sunrise, my lady. But Lady Arien is so late to show her face in autumn in this cold country. Most people at the Palace are up already. Today there will be the Council held, they say."

Yes, the Council. Gimilbeth shivered. First Council with Broggha. But there was no way out now. She had to be there to stand against the brigand, if needed. She doubted if anybody else were capable of it.


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The Hare and Thistle Inn, Tanoth Brin, early morning of October 23, 1347
Written by Angmar
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Although he had considered it a great hardship, Heggr bathed that morning. What Heggr called a "bath" consisted of merely washing his face, hands and feet, and putting on a clean tunic and breeches. He had considered even that a great imposition.

Since he was at last "courting," he had even toyed with a concept that would be a bold move for him - a full bath. However, when he set out to instrument the audacious idea, he found that the ice was still upon the pail of water, and he had quickly discarded the plan. Now that he considered it, he could not remember ever having a full "take off all your clothes and get totally drenched in water" bath in his life. He doubted that he had even been washed on the day he was born. He was not about to break an established precedent on account of a mere woman, even though she was very pretty.

Heggr felt the way a thrashed dog feels after it had been beaten for being caught sucking eggs. The treasures that he had stolen for Fainwen had been taken from him, and he had been given no reimbursement. Nothing could be done about it now, for the princess' nightgown and jeweled jar were lost to him forever. At least one thing was in his favor - he had coins in his money pouch.

When he swaggered into the Hare and Thistle Inn near the Cameth River, he saw Fainwen wiping a table with a none-too-clean cloth.

"Where have you been, Heggr?" the woman asked in a none-too-friendly manner. The slightly younger than middle-aged woman went on with her wiping, now judiciously ignoring Heggr, who approached the table where she was working.

"Tending to Jarl Broggha's business and performing acts of derring-do!" Heggr said proudly, puffing out his chest at his own self-importance.

Fainwen arched a brow, held the grayish cloth on the table, and regarded Heggr skeptically. The other early customers of the tavern laughed loudly.

"Derring-do, Heggr? Since when was being drunk most of the time accounted as that?" jibed a gray-bearded man at another table. He cracked a smile, enjoying the sport at Heggr's expense.

"Oddlaug, why don't you shut up?" Heggr muttered at the other man, who scowled and went back to his drinking.

Heggr walked closer to Fainwen, who moved her head to avoid his ripe morning breath.

"Heggr, your breath smells so bad I swear that your entrails are in a state of mortification!"

Heggr had a look of offended dignity and pure hurt, for he was fond of the plump barmaid. "Not much I can do about it," he said gruffly.

"Go to the blacksmith, Heggr, and get some of those teeth pulled out! There are herbs that any apothecary can sell you that would do a world of good at getting rid of that stench! And that brings me to another thing, Heggr!" Fainwen was getting worked up. "Acquaint yourself with soap and water! You smell like a hog in his sty!" She turned from him with a flounce of her skirts and walked back into the kitchen, which was divided from the serving area by a thin curtain.

Heggr sat down at a table by himself. He knew what was really bothering Fainwen. He had not brought her the promised gifts the other night. He knew she was seething at that perceived slight. Only one thing to do for it, he knew - inspire her jealousy. Seeing another barmaid, a fat, red-faced woman, he called her. "What does the house have on its menu for breakfast this morning?"

"Same thing as usual," she yawned as she wiped her hands on the dirty, grease-covered apron over her large stomach. "Porridge, ham, potatoes... pie... bread..." She listed the breakfast menu that seldom varied in the winter. "What do you want, Heggr?"

"A tankard of ale, a large bowl of porridge, ham, potatoes, plenty of bread, and half a pie!"

"Ambitious, aren't you?" She scratched her reddish-veined nose as she stood with one hip cocked and lazily regarded him.

"Aruiniel, after you bring me the food, sit with me, will you?"

Fainwen had just come out of the kitchen, and Heggr saw that she was pretending not to notice them. He smiled as he watched her go to another customer, spying on the woman and him out of the corner of her eye.

"I am particular about whom I sit with, Heggr, and it is not just any gentleman with whom I want to spend my time." She gave him a knowing look that he recognized immediately. "Do you have enough coin, Heggr, to make me want to sit with you?" she asked flirtaciously.

His eyes darted furtively around at the other customers and then fell to the coin pouch tied to his belt. "I think so, Aruiniel. Now get me my breakfast." When she sidled closer to him, he patted her ample hips.

After she had brought him his breakfast, Heggr bought her a tankard of ale. As he ate, she pulled her chair closer to him and put one of her flabby upper arms around his shoulder. Fainwen was back polishing another table, eying them both surreptitiously. Her eyes glowed pure malice as Heggr wiped his greasy mouth off on the back of his sleeve and then kissed Aruinel's chubby cheek.

The huge woman tittered like a young girl. "Oooohh, Heggr! You are a lusty one this morning, aren't you!"

Heggr took another deep swallow from his tankard, and as the ale ran down the corners of his mouth, he pulled the woman's face to him and kissed her rambunctiously, gloating to himself that Fainwen might at last appreciate him. He was correct in his appraisal.

Fainwen walked towards the table. When Heggr told the tale later to Griss, he could not actually say that she "walked;" it was more like the charge of an enraged mare which was guarding her territory.

"Get up, Aruiniel!" she shrilled. "You are sitting with my man!"

"Ooohhh, who is jealous this morning?" came Aruiniel's catty reply.

"None of your business, you slatternly hussy!" Fainwen's gray eyes were full of malice. Fainwen was not a large woman, while Aruiniel would outweigh her by many pounds. Heggr was amazed when Fainwen grabbed Aruiniel's hair and pulled her over backwards in the chair. Aruiniel landed in a hissing pile of skirts and gray, dirty petticoats as Fainwen jumped on top of her, scratching and slapping and cursing in what would not be considered a ladylike fashion by anyone's accounting.

Heggr pulled his chair out of the way, and as he finished eating the piece of pie, he watched the scuffle on the floor.

"Cat fight! Cat fight!" the other men shouted in glee and gave the two plenty of berth as they rolled, wrestled, scratched, hissed and bit as they pulled hair and tussled on the floor.

"I'm betting a coin that Aruiniel will triumph!" the gray-bearded man said and held up a coin.

"I am betting on Fainwen! She's a scrapper!"

Indeed she was, for in a short time, a furious Aruiniel - a lock of greasy hair hanging over her eyes, her clothes torn and her face scratched and an eye looking already swollen - sat sprawled on the floor with Fainwen still pounding her face.

"They're going to kill each other!" the gray beard shouted.

While Aruiniel never admitted defeat, it was obvious that Fainwen had the best of her when she rose to her feet and glared down at her opponent. Folding her arms over her chest, Fainwen watched as the gray beard pulled Aruiniel up. With an air of offended dignity, Aruiniel flounced off to the kitchen to settle her nerves and soothe her injured feelings with a goblet of wine that a patron had not finished.

"Well?" Fainwen demanded as she tapped her foot on the floor.

"Well, what?" a sheepish Heggr asked cautiously.

"Even though you are a sneaking, vulgar, crude, drunken, vile, worthless little man whose breath would gag even a buzzard, you are still my man, Heggr, and never forget it!" She plopped beside him in a chair and drained Aruiniel's unfinished tankard.

"Forgive me, sweetheart," Heggr tried to pacify her by tweaking her cheek.

"What happened to those presents you promised to bring me?" she demanded to know.

"I don't know what it is all about, Fainwen, but I think there are big things afoot." He looked at her doubting face.

"Big things like what?" she glowered at him.

He whispered, "All I know, my dearest love, is that I was told if I asked too many questions, I would never live to be an old man."

Her face sobered at that, for she knew that although Heggr was a shiftless, spineless drunken fool, he was one of the Jarl's men, and the Jarl was marked by destiny for great things.

"All right, I believe you," she sighed.

"I will make it up to you, sweets," Heggr put one hand on her shoulder and sucked on her earlobe.

There was a stir at the door to the tavern as Griss and another soldier walked in. His gaze went immediately to Heggr.

"What are you doing, lounging around in the tavern at this hour? It is past time that you presented yourself for duty! Get up, Heggr! You have been selected as one of the guards to attend Jarl Broggha at the council meeting!"

"Yes, Captain, yes!" Heggr pushed the chair back and saluted his superior officer. Then turning his head, he winked at Fainwen and marched away to the council meeting. After all, the tower where the meeting would be held was close to the palace, and perhaps the princess had left her window open again.

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Cameth Brin, palace garden, morning of October 23, 1347
Written by Serenoli
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Today the healer had pronunced that Odare, at least, might leave her bed. Amantir, who had not seen her since the day of that disasterous feast, decided now might be a good time to visit her.

He found her in the garden, with a maid close by. Surprisingly, Tarniel was not there.

"Good morning, Princess," he greeted her stiffly, "I trust you are well now?"

She nodded politely to him, "Good morning. I am as well as could be expected, Prince." They faced each other like that for a moment, and next minute Odare suddenly dropped her polite manner and began to giggle. "Princess! When have you ever called me anything but Odare?" She shook with uncontrollable mirth. After a moment of shocked surprise, he found an unwilling smile creep onto his face as well. He began to walk beside her.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you're still angry-"

"Actually, Amantir, I am," she said, but her tone implied otherwise. It was always so with Odare- quick to anger, but not very good at retaining her anger. "I still think you behaved like a fool that day."

"I don't know much about fool," he said, his tone moody, "But yes, I'm not happy... about how I did behave. Not regarding you, of course, I still think you should never have attacked the bear - don't pout, you know very well its the truth - but... I should've done more. Taken control, perhaps. Done something other than think just of running away."

Odare was surprised- she had always regarded him as too much immersed in a weak apathy to even think through that much. But evidently he had woken up from the apathy now - or had he? His next words threw her into doubt again.

"But I'm only the youngest, it is up to my brother and my father, and - how could the let these hillmen into our lands? They caused the entire fiasco, they're untrustworthy"

Odare nodded in agreement to what he was saying. Tarniel's necklace was still missing, and she had a shrewd idea that it might be found in Broggha's camp. "But there is nothing I can do, except sit and watch them have their own way."

"Nothing you can do? Nothing? If you feel so strongly against them, there is plenty you can do! You just have to - I don't know, be a bit braver, develop a spine!"

"What, you want me to fight them and end up like Daurendil, or Nauremir? You think that will help?" he turned on her defensively.

"I didn't say that! No, I mean you should stand up to your father. I don't think anyone trusts these hillmen, and yet, no one is speaking against them! Why don't you do that? So what if you're young, you're still a prince, your word goes for something! Oh, if I was a man, what I wouldn't have done!" and then she stopped short, knowing how unladylike her words must sound. But Amantir was too taken up with the rest of what she said. He had suddenly remembered there was to be a Council today - and maybe he wasn't old enough to be at the Council, but if he could find his way into it, and maybe have a say in what was done - maybe Odare, with all her foolishness, had the right idea about what bravery was, though admittedly attacking bears wasn't bravery, just rashness, but he had to admit she had a point. And taking some kind of action must be better than spending all night and day feeling unworthy and powerless against a few hillmen!



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Cameth Brin, morning of October 23, 1347
Written by Gordis and Serenoli
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In the morning, Prince Daurendil went to visit his friend Nauremir, one of the victims of the memorable night of the feast.

Daurendil himself felt lightheaded and slightly disoriented when he stalked across Bar Aran - the Main Square. Daurendil clenched his teeth and straightened his back and concentrated on avoiding the dirty puddles left after the night’s rain. Old Sarador had let him outside for the first time, and it wouldn't be good if the Vulture saw his dizziness, in case he was still watching his patient from one of the Tower’s high windows.

The Prince made his way to the Dunedain Guardhouse on the south side of the square. When the main hall had been hastily evacuated, Nauremir was brought there and put in charge of the garrison physician. Daurendil found him in the guard’s healing rooms.

"How are you, Nauremir, my poor friend? I see you are doing well." In truth, Nauremir looked ghastly, but the Prince was trying to be considerate, as a noble should.

"Ah… Daurendil…" Nauremir managed to squeeze the Prince’s hand and some color appeared on his pale cheeks. "I am glad to see you in good health. I heard you got a nasty blow on your head. By Eru, the Hillman will pay for it!"

"That he will!" Daurendil balled his hands into fists in hot fury. "The King will order him to make amends today. I am eager to see how the scoundrel will wriggle out of it!"

Nauremir nodded. "Trying to kill the King’s Heir is no small matter. Carcharoth’s pelt! High treason, that is what it is! It is a hanging business!"

"My father will see to it," promised Daurendil. "And if he doesn’t, I will see to it myself. Am I not a member of the Council now?"

He paced along the room, gesticulating excitedly, and speaking of his plans for the future. Soon all the Hillmen would be driven from Cameth Brin, never to return!

At length he stopped and said, "But I must go, I have to say good morning to Mother, and then the Council is in an hour. Farewell, Nauremir, try to get better soon. I need you."

In the garden by the palace, Daurendil spotted Amantir and Odaragariel. They were talking, heads held conspiratorially together. Two bored guards were hanging nearby.

Daurendil approached the pair on tiptoe and tugged at the end of one of Odare’s long blond tresses. When she turned furiously, he grinned

"Morning, lady-Oddie! Morning, Am! What mischief are you planning together?"

"I see you're still alive then." Odare replied, her look of chagrin vanishing. "And as for mischief - hark who's talking!" She grinned, and then said seriously, "That was some display against Broggha at the feast, Daurendil."

Daurendil's face clouded over again. "Don't worry your little head about him. He will pay for his actions!"

Amantir spoke up, "Are you so sure that the Council will take action against him, then? So far they have done nothing to oppose him, and -"

"And he will certainly face opposition today! You seem to forget I'm part of the Council now."

"But, perhaps you'd be glad of some support?" Amantir asked suggestively.

"Support?" he quizzed, eyebrows raised.

"The Council has been hesitant to act against Broggha before, and despite all you can say, they might be hesitant again. After all, no one can deny that you did attack first -"

Daurendil's fists had tightened up in fury again. Odare quickly stepped in to help.

"All he means is that those doddering fools who make up most of the Council will only listen to the wily Hillman, if it is only one man speaking against Broggha. And so Amantir and I thought, maybe, you'd want to take someone along with you, someone to second your voice."

"And who would that be, you, lady Oddie?" now his tone was mocking.

"No, your brother Amantir!"

There was silence. Then uncertainly, Daurendil said, "He's too young, they won't let him in."

"I'm not asking anyone's permission!" replied Amantir hotly. "I'm a prince of this country, and I deserve a say. I don't need permission from anyone!"

For a second, Daurendil looked shocked. Then an unwilling grin crept across his face. "Well, if you can be that spirited at the Council, perhaps they'll listen to you after all. And even little Odare here," (Odaragariel scowled at being called 'little') "has been privy to the Council, so maybe its your turn."

There was a moment of shared smiles, unusual among the three. Then Daurendil departed, saying he had to visit Mother, and "You do know where the Council is being held, don't you? It's starting in an hour, don't forget!"

And with a lopsided grin, he walked off.