The Shadow over Rhudaur Part II. Intrigues and Sorcery.

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Cameth Brin, the Main Hall of the Tower, Evening of October 19, 1347.
Written by Angmar
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The feasting and revelry had been in progress for quite some time. The ale had been flowing in great, copious quantities, and after imbibing freely, Captain Griss felt the urge of nature demanding his presence elsewhere. Uncertain of where the latrines were located, he asked directions from a young page clad in the livery of the king of Rhudaur.

"Sir, you will find them right on the other side of the kitchens."

"Thank you, lad. With your directions, I think I can make my way there."

The boy bowed and then looked uncertainly at the man, who was staggering somewhat as he went down the hall. After taking the door to the outside, Griss walked across the small open area. Passing by the kitchens, he observed Heggr leaning up against the side of the building and grinning like a fool.

"How are you enjoying rubbing elbows with the nobility?" Heggr gibed.

"A new experience entirely, and I must say I could learn to adapt. And what have you been doing while I have been hobnobbing with the elite? Looking at the serving maids, eh?"

"Not at all, not at all! I have had more important things to do than flirt with the wenches tonight."

"What, pilfering?"

"You guessed it!"

"And what did you manage to snatch?"

"You will not believe it, Griss! You just will not believe it!"

"Suppose you tell me." Griss lounged against the side of the building.

"Perhaps it would be better if I showed you," the scruffy-looking man grinned as he motioned Griss to follow him up an alleyway lit by a lantern hanging off the side of the building and then pulled something out from an inner pocket and held it up to his companion's gaze.

"You mean you stole that?" Griss whispered eagerly.

"Aye, right out of Princess Gimilbeth's bedroom!"

"You rogue!" Griss exclaimed appreciatively. "How did you get inside the room without anyone seeing you?"

"The lady or her maid made the mistake of leaving a bedroom window open. I was able to slip in and out without anyone's being the wiser."

"Did you manage to steal anything else?"

"Only one other thing. I did manage to take this." Heggr reached inside his fur cloak and pulled out a delicate, fluffy undergarment.

"I cannot believe you took THAT! Man, what possessed you to steal it?"

"Down in the village, there is a little tavern maid who just needs a little more encouragement..."

"And you thought a suitable gift might influence her favorably!" Griss pounded his arm across his friend's back as peals of laughter escaped his lips.

"Aye," Heggr smiled proudly, exposing his rotting teeth.

"Good luck to you, but you must be very careful. If anyone ever suspects who burglarized the princess' boudoir, it could cost you a hand... or worse."

"No one has ever caught us yet," Heggr said confidentally.

"Now, my friend, I must pay a visit to the privy, and then get back to the feast. Talk has it that we are to be treated to an exhibition of a trained bear by a Dunedain. Should be interesting. If they open the hall to the soldiery, I am sure you can get a good view of the entertainment."

"Perhaps I will, but the feast and the bear trainer provide such splendid distractions that I am reluctant not to take further advantage of the opportunity," Heggr drawled. "There are other chambers with windows facing the back of the palace. Who knows what more treasure I might discover in some of the other rooms?"

"Just be careful, will you? If you get caught, I don't know if even Lord Broggha can save you from being charged with the crime of felony!"

"I'm always careful, Griss."

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Cameth Brin, at the doors of the Tower, Evening of October 19, 1347.
Written by Gordis
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"Berethil! Master Berethil!"

A tall, middle-aged Dunedain guard at the door of the Tower started when a strident feminine voice called his name. His sharp eyes scanned the dense crowd of townspeople and villagers all striving to get into the Hall to see the trained bear. When a small portion of the crowd was allowed to enter the Tower, the guards barred the doors, as there was clearly not enough space inside to accommodate all the curious.

Soon Berethil noticed a plump, rosy woman with freckled face waving to him frantically. Berethil smiled at her, as Widow Gudhrun, the keeper of the best inn in Tanoth Brin, was a popular person in both the upper and the lower towns. Many a guard spent their nights off-duty in her establishment, the "Sword of Elendil," and Berethil was no exception. He motioned to other guards to make way for Gudhrun.

"Thank you, Captain. Next time the drinks are on the house for you and your fellows!" she said in a breathless voice when she finally reached the door. A decently clad man with a weather-worn, grim face followed her.

"Who may that be, Gudhrun?" another guard asked playfully. "Is he your new man?"

Gudhrun’s freckles went on fire and she replied timidly "Aye, that he is. His name is Algeirr. We are about to marry soon."

Algeirr cringed inwardly. Much as he liked Gudhrun’s inn, the prospect of burdening himself with a family for the rest of his life was far from pleasant. The guard looked at him disdainfully, clearly thinking that Gudhrun might have done better.

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Cameth Brin, the Main Hall of the Tower, Evening of October 19, 1347.
Written by Earniel
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When the dinner was nearing the end, servants came forward and extinguished some of the torches, casting most of the tables in a dimmed half-light. Some of the townsfolk were let into the hall and were given space to stand behind the lower tables, but still a good distance from the royal table.

Now only the open square in the middle of the Main Hall was still brightly lit. The entrance to the hall, where no one stood near, was dark as night. A distant flute could be heard in the corridor, not far from the hall. A hush, filled with anticipation, fell over the great hall.

A man with a game leg, dressed in brightly coloured clothes, hobbled into the light circle. He was not a full-blooded Dъnedan; his blood must have been as mixed as a ten-grain bread. Just at the edge of the light, before the tables, he halted. The little bells sewn on his cap jingled forlornly in the silent hall. In his one hand he held a long wooden stick, while in the other he held a piece of chain which disappeared into the darkness behind him.

He slowly surveyed the hall, his gaze going from left to right. Here and there a nervous giggle broke out. Some bear, this was! But before more laughter could erupt, the game man spoke. His voice was clear and loud, showing experience in speaking before crowds.

“Lords and ladies, gentlefolk, oh most worthy nobles of Rhudaur!” He bowed deeply. “I trust you have been well entertained this evening, but as they say: the best is yet to come. Tonight we have one more act for your pleasure, and what an act it is! You shall see a thing unparalleled in any court in Arnor, nay in the whole of Arda. For only in Rhudaur, at the court of our mighty king Tarnendur, can such splendour be found!”

The man cast a quick look at his master, to see whether the noble was pleased with his performance so far. The noble who employed him was beaming with pride at having the opportunity to entertain the king himself with his dancing bear. This could only go well for the advancement of his political carreer. He gave the game man a short nod to continue.

“I bring before you,” the game man went on, “the most formidable of predators, the king of forests, the fear of countrymen and shepherds. Only the truest of hunters can hope to survive an encounter with this beast, this fur-clad warrior! Ladies, if ye be of faint heart, I beseech you, withdraw from this hall. For the sight of this monster is not suitable for children. Stay and see this wonder at your own peril. For I bring you….the bear!"

The game man hobbled forward, and a large part of the darkness obediently followed him into the light circle. The large brown bear walked on all fours, seemingly ignoring all the cries of amazement and the few shrieks of fear that erupted from the hall. The bear wore a broad leather collar around its neck. Its nose was pierced by an iron ring on which a metal chain was attached. The other end of the chain was held firmly in the hand of the game bear handler. The chain seemed ridiculously feeble for such a formidable beast.

Gasps of amazement and surprise were heard. A hum of enthusiastic conversation started. All looks were riveted on the large animal, except those who were already too drunk to notice what was going on.

Two of the hill men (who had indeed already drunk more than was good for them) were more amused by the admiration the crowd showed for the bear than the bear itself. One of them suggested something to the other, which caused the other to grin madly and nod his head enthusiastically. The first got up drunkenly, pushed through the crowd, and staggered to the door as fast as his unsteady legs allowed.

After allowing his public a few minutes to gape and stare, the game man motioned for silence.

“Fear not, lords and ladies of Rhudaur, have no fear, for by art the beast is bound to my will, but do not approach it lest you seek a terrible death. See and be amazed!”

The handler turned to the bear and ticked firmly with his staff on the bear’s shoulder. He dramatically raised the staff high. “Bruin, arise!”

The bear raised itself on its hind legs, now standing taller than most men in the hall, and evidently possessing a lot more muscle. A woman sitting nearby on the lower tables screamed shortly and fainted against the guest sitting next to her, making him spill much of the wine he intended to drink.

At command of the handler the bear roared, a deep-throated sound that raised the hair on the back of the neck. In a long yawn, it showed the crowd a frighteningly large maw, but in the commotion of the roar no one paid any attention to the old scars in the gum where the deadly canines were conveniently lacking. Their imagination was well capable of filling in the blanks unnoticed.

More women screamed and some of the men grew visibly pale, too. But the game handler laughed and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“Fear not, fear not. Bruin has shown you he is a dangerous animal, yes? But for you, honoured spectators of the noble court of Rhudaur, he will dance!”

At the signal of the game man, the flutist started a new tune, festive and glad. A tune that encouraged the public to clap their hands. The handler ticked with his staff against the legs of the bear. “Dance, Bruin!” he commanded.

The bear, responding to the old memory of red-hot plates under his feet, obediently raised his left leg. The large form of the bear swayed for a moment before the foot came down on the stone floor. It repeated the gesture with the other foot. The bear danced.

Cheers of encouragement and merriment went up in the hall. People laughed and clapped their hands. Mugs and chalices with drinks were raised and toasted to the odd dancing couple. The game handler took the cap with bells from his head and expertly tossed it on the bear’s head, where it continued to jingle to the tune.

But the dance was about to end rather abruptly.

In the entrance of the hall, the hill man that had left the hall a little before suddenly appeared again. And he was not alone. Two large hunting hounds stood at his side, their leashes in his hand. The hounds were nervous; the lights, the noises, the smell of many people close together mixed with a smell of a bear confused them.

The flutist, who was just beginning a new tune, fumbled the first few notes at the sight of the hounds and stopped all together, uncertain of what to do.

The bear handler’s smile faded as soon as he caught sight of the dogs. “Get them out, you fool, get them out!” He staggered between the bear and the dogs, his staff held defensively before him. The drunken hill man just smiled stupidly and dropped the leashes.

“Go laddies, get the bear!” he shouted before losing his balance and ending up on the floor.

The hounds, trained to obey commands to a fault, charged forward. The handler dropped the bear’s chain and but was too late to swing the staff in an attempt to divert the first dog that barrelled into him. Both man and dog rolled screaming over the ground in a bundle of fur and cloth. The flutist and the handler’s assistant jumped in the fray to get man and animal separated.

The second dog leapt towards the bear, landing on the floor dangerously close to the other animal. It barked angrily, attempting to get the bear to flee. It pranced around the larger animal, coming closer, trying to nip it, and then jumping back again.

The bear, freed of the compelling music and chain movement, turned and roared back in challenge. The cap with bells fell off, and it was as if the bear was suddenly transformed from a tame to a wild animal. And it was not inclined to lose ground to the dog. The blood-chilling roar startled everybody out of their stupor.

People stood up in confusion as the bear act clearly had gotten out of hand. Somebody shouted for guards, another for more wine. A few thought it was a good time to leave the hall, and with a large detour around the fighting animals, went straight for the exit. But mostly, the guests cheered on the fight. The sight of a fighting bear was almost as exciting as a dancing bear. Bets were made on who would win, or which of the animals would draw first blood.

The entertainment had obviously changed, but was by no means already over.

The roaring of the bear and the hound’s angry barking were loud and drowned out most of the other noise. The dog darted out the way as the bear struck at him. The bear’s large forepaw, even with the claws removed, could still pack quite a punch and the hound wasn’t keen on finding it out by experience. It jumped back and forth, avoiding the bear’s paws and looking for a vulnerable spot. It darted away again.

But the bear was a split second faster. It dropped back on four legs, bringing him suddenly a lot closer to his adversary, and simply swiped the hound off its feet with its massive paw. The swipe had enough power to splinter bone. With a sickening sound, the hound smacked against a table, bringing the entire thing down by momentum. Blood dampened its fur where the bear had torn the skin. The hound yelped pitifully and then lay still amid the scattered food and remains of the dinner, its spine broken.

Now chairs and benches were thrown backward as almost everyone stood up from their seats in fear. A few with much self-control (and that had bet on the dog) cursed, and some money changed hands. Other people shouted more urgently for guards. Still others just screamed, as it seemed the right thing to do.

The more sensible guests who wanted to flee the hall now found the dog and bear blocking the main exit, so they turned back and collided with the people behind them. Some of the dishes were shoved off of the tables, adding the rattling of metal to the din.

The other dog had broken free from the bear handler, foaming at the mouth and barking like mad, and turned on the bear. It was a little more cautious than its companion, keeping a farther distance.