See first chapter for disclaimer, thanks, and other notes.

A/N: I hope you all appreciate just how HARD it was for me to get his chapter uploaded. I was packing, and cleaning, and running errands, and hyperventilating about having to pack and clean and run errands--and I STILL took the time to polish the chapter, add in a paragraph, and post it. Yes, you may grovel at my feet now, and tell me what a wonderful, self-sacraficing author I am... -bg- Hehe, J/K, you're all lovely readers and reviewers, and definitely deserve this chapter before I take off. But I hope you'll all understand if I am unable to respond to some of your reviews for the last chapter, and probably little to none for this chapter. I figured the reason you were reviewing was mostely 'cause you liked it and wanted more--consider this my thanks. :o)


Chapter 29: Enemy Lines

Araedhelm had rarely been as proud of any group of men under his command as he was now. If the soggy trek through the foothills had been depressing, this day, which was fading into night at last, had yet to improve. If anything, conditions had only gotten worse. They were treated to an even more thorough drenching—as the elements apparently weren't finished with them—returning this time as a misty drizzle.

All-out rain drenched you instantaneously, but this damp and constant wetness lingered, seeping right past every layer and into bone. Hard to believe as it was, as he haunted the perimeters waiting for the excuse to move and perchance banish some of the chill, Araedhelm knew there was the very promising possibility this drizzle would turn into a more full-bodied, cloaking mist. With that cover, they might not need a distraction.

And the plans for tonight's distraction were another source of satisfaction for Araedhelm. Ever since he'd verbally consolidated their course of action, Aeron had led his willing followers in a series of ventures to procure several "distractions", in case one should be needed.

Falling back a ways from the Dunlending camp so as not to be heard, Aeron and the other four men had alternately been constructing, baiting, and checking various roughly-constructed live-traps, intended for the capture of small animals. They'd been successful, capturing an assortment of squirrels and rabbits mostly, and a few rodents besides. All in all, probably three times more than what would be needed. Their purpose had been to capture some of the creatures and, if it became imperative to divert attention away from their mission for any reason, they would release a few. With the numbers they'd procured over the day, they could send a veritable stampede of the creatures through the camp. That ought to get a reaction of some sort. The men had been joking about the endless possibilities all day.

After applauding them for their creativity—Araedhelm couldn't think of a better plan himself—he'd watched their activities and tried not to smile too obviously. Nothing to worry about there, though, because every time his smile slipped into something larger, they'd just grin right back at him with that boyish exuberance. Araedhelm couldn't tell for certain if they'd missed his amusement and were including him, or if they knew he was laughing at them and simply didn't care.

After they'd caught a couple of rabbits, it was mostly frivolous and superfluous antics, but it kept them all from worrying a little less actively. Well, it kept the men from worrying more. Araedhelm found himself drawn back to watch the camp incessantly, unable to stay away for more then a quarter of an hour at a time, except for at mealtimes.

When Aeron sat down next to him, taking sips from his water skin, Araedhelm looked sideways at him with a smile of amusement that morphed into gratitude. Aeron's distraction had served a purpose already in distracting the men from pent-up anxiety and impatience and helping dwindle the hours away. Even if Araedhelm couldn't find escape from his own anxieties, he was glad the rest of them had. Aeron gave a face-splinting grin and nodded his acknowledgement before leaving.

However overboard they went with the preparatory arrangements, by the time the sky began to darken a more somber mood took the small band of men. By the time they were ready to put the plan into action, they were all subdued and focused.

A small ways back from the camp, Araedhelm gave his last instructions. Three of them were to wait on the opposite side of the camp with the "distractions", ready to implement them if and when the time came. Araedhelm and the remaining man would accomplish the rescue.

Araedhelm tried to picture what state the prisoners would be in. One of them was poisoned, and would probably need assistance. If, Eru forbid, it was the prince that was poisoned, he could be carried easily enough. If Thorongil were the one… Depending on how badly he was faring, it might take at least two men. And the prince, however brave he might be, would probably be more than a little frightened in either case.

As the men turned to carry out his instructions, he stopped Aeron. "Wait. I want you with me as well."

"Sir." Aeron nodded and followed close behind him as they began to creep into position.

"Are you good with children?" Araedhelm whispered.

"Sir?" Aeron whispered back.

"Are you good with children, soldier?" Araedhelm repeated, as if it were the most natural question for an officer to ask one of his men in such a dire situation.

"I…don't know, Sir."

"Well, you'll find out tonight, I think."

"I understand, Sir."

"Good." Araedhelm turned to the two men following him to give them one last briefing before they got close enough that talking would be off-limits. "Remember, I'm stopping at the first tent." He'd seen Mehdal leave the tent not too long ago to survey the camp and keep some order among them men, but there was no telling how long he'd stay away. And when Mehdal returned, there was still the question of how long it would take him to notice one of the vials was missing. "If everything goes smoothly, I'll be on to help you before you've even freed them, but don't wait for me. Keep going and get the prince out at all costs."

There were mutual murmurs of, "Yes Sir."

"Any last questions?"

"No, Sir."

They moved in, Araedhelm leading until the reached the first tent. He motioned them on as he dropped to his knees and moved the cloth far enough up that he could slip underneath. With his luck, he'd bring the whole tent down around his ears… But he got inside successfully, scanning the inside of the tent for the object of his mission. There was a small table off to one side with a lit candle on it, giving the small enclosure minimal lighting, but enough for him to find what he needed.

It was on that table that he knew he'd find the vial. He picked up several of the glass containers, holding them to the light. Two were filled with a similar clear substance, another with a kind of mossy colored, nasty-looking liquid, and another one that when a shade darker to murky greenish-brown. But then another vial at the end of a separate rack caught his eye, and he picked it up for closer inspection. It was filled with a deep amber liquid. Mordor take it all… Which one to chose? He decided on the one separated from the rest. If he took them all, as he was tempted to do, he'd be as good as ensuring that Mehdal would notice something was missing immediately, but taking the wrong one was a risk he hated to have take. But, if they didn't get out of here without Mehdal discovering them, everything would be lost. He'd have to hope Thorongil would be in a state of enough self-possession to tell him if he'd taken the right vial. That was, of course, if Thorongil knew what the right vial was. If he'd taken the wrong one, he'd have to make a second trip and pray he got as lucky a second time…

First making certain the stopper was firmly stuck in the vial, he wrapped the glass tube in some cloth and set it carefully in the pouch at his side. He contemplated blowing out the candle in the hopes that Mehdal would be come back tired and, assuming the breeze had blown out the flame, not bother relighting it, and not see something was missing until daylight. But that could easily backfire, if he did decide to relight it, and thus focused his attention more specifically on the table in order to do so.

He left the candle as it was and slipped back out of tent, letting out a carefully silent breath of air. He'd done it. One part of their mission down, the most important yet to achieve. The sudden desire to see how Théoden and Thorongil were fairing—a desire long tamped down—urged him to move to the next tent as quickly as was practical. The soggy ground muffled his movements, another unforeseen benefit of the rain. Perhaps Eru did know what he was doing.

Araedhelm slipped into the second tent in the same manner he had the first, dropping to the ground and squirming under the flap. Although there was no candle in this tent, the nearly full moon outside was bright enough to illuminate the interior to some degree. It was enough to make out the silhouettes of the four forms gathered in the center of the tent.

Araedhelm gravitated automatically towards the shortest figure, knowing it belonged to Théoden. "Are you alright, little one?" The child started at his appearance, but composed himself with admirable speed.

"Yes," Théoden whispered, voice small but steady.

Reassurance on that account only channeled Araedhelm's worry in another direction. Apparently Théoden was alright, apart from being scared, and that meant Thorongil… Halting the thought, Araedhelm let his palm rest reassuringly on the shape of the vial under its protective layers. It would be the correct one, and it would be enough.

Sensing rather than seeing Aeron on the other side of the prince, Araedhelm left Théoden in his hands and directed his concentration on his captain. He feared what he would find. The other soldier was behind Thorongil, cutting his bonds. Just as Araedhelm was beginning to wonder if he was conscious or not, Thorongil surprised him by speaking first.

"I suppose you expect me to move now."

Araedhelm swallowed the slightly hysterical chuckle of relief rising in his throat. Thorongil sounded tired, but completely coherent and in full mental capacity—if his intact sense of wry humor was any indication. "I'm afraid so, Captain," Araedhelm replied lowly, reaching out to grip his shoulder. "We cannot linger too much longer. Here, lean on me."

Thorongil's hand gripped his arm in response, and Araedhelm, together with the silent-but-helpful soldier who moved to his side, managed to get him to his feet. Araedhelm then transferred Thorongil's arm around his own neck, holding it there with his right hand and giving extra support by wrapping his left arm around his waist. The soldier mirrored his movements on the other side. Thorongil gave a low groan as he was successfully pulled upright, leaning heavily on the two men attempting to assist him. Araedhelm was only too glad to be able to aid him, but the very fact that his captain was accepting that aid without protestation was reason to be concerned. However, questions would have to wait until they'd put some distance between themselves and those who'd done this.

With foresight, Aeron had already guided Théoden over to the back of the tent and was lifting the cloth high enough for Araedhelm and the other two men to stoop under. Having done so with little grace but improvised efficiency, and knowing Aeron would be right behind him, Araedhelm moved with his burden as fast as he could, the three of them awkwardly limping along in a half-crouch through the tall grass and undergrowth.

They had almost found a more comfortable rhythm to move by, when a noise startled them, nearly causing all three of them to stumble. Araedhelm had almost been able to drown out the sound of the wolves howling in the distance, but now those howls sounded unexpectedly near. The lonely cries kept repeating, coming closer. Men, huddled around their campfires, automatically looked up to scan the surrounding hills. There was little danger with this many men and this many fires, but something about the chilling noise demanded attention. The five of them instinctively came to a halt, crouching in their positions until the camp became less alert.

Come on, come on, look away already… Araedhelm repeated in a mantra, as the moisture from the ground seeped into his clothes. Thorongil was taut with vigilance, but Araedhelm could feel the uncontrolled shivers shaking him.

Before the men in the camp could look away—or Araedhelm's own men release a few distractions—Eru provided a little interruption of His own. A cacophony of nearby excited howls and yelps of canine excitement heralded the sound of breaking twigs as a herd of four deer, wild with panic, plunged out of the forest and dashed through along the edge of the clearing. The sight of the fires only increased the creatures' fear. With ravening predators behind them, and brightness and men before them, the deer scattered across the clearing toward the shelter of the woods. Dunlendings and mercenaries alike were jumping up, nocking arrows as they ran, excited at the prospect of an easy meal and fresh meat.

None of the fugitives waited to see the outcome, taking advantage of the deer for their own purposes.

---o—oOo—o---

Morwen nodded her greetings wordlessly to Neylor, as the old healer opened the door for her and stepped aside for her to enter. Full of victorious condescension, Heolstor was in a generous mood and had allowed her to come and go within Meduseld unrestricted—if having armed and swarthy men watching you from every doorway and corner could make you feel unrestricted. She was, basically, allowed free range of movement. Neither she nor Thengel had been harmed in any way or prohibited from going about daily tasks.

The servants too were allowed to go about their routines and left alone, apart from being verbally terrorized by their rowdy "guests". The servants were even allowed to leave Meduseld and return to their homes at evening. Heolstor had of course first impressed them with the gravity of the consequences should any of them mention to anyone the goings on in Meduseld, and of the consequences should any of them try to leave Edoras. Not that there was much hope of anyone getting past the new guards that watched the gates.

What really made Morwen's blood boil were the rumors circulating, insidious rumors that she could do nothing to change. It was common knowledge that Heolstor had returned, much to the general populace's initial confusion. Wasn't he a traitor? The man half the country was in an uproar to apprehend? None of the common people knew exactly how much of traitor Heolstor really was, but they knew he was one. Now, rumor had it that whole report had been vastly exaggerated—no, more than that, it was a downright lie. A mistake had been made. Heolstor was back, and his name cleared. Morwen wanted to march out, gather the people together, and tell them every detail of the truth.

Of course, in the telling, she would be killing her son.

She and Thengel had talked very little since Heolstor's return. Numerous glances were exchanged, but despite their illusion of freedom, privacy to talk in was scarce. Besides, neither wanted to talk about the choice they might soon face. The choice of country, over their own flesh and blood.

It was men like Feldon who were paying the price. Men like… Morwen felt a flood guilt when she thought of another man, whom she'd all but forgotten for far too long. The messenger she'd sent when Thorongil had been imprisoned—a man by the name of Halef—had never reached his destination, nor been able to deliver the message to Thengel. It shamed her to realize that, in all the chaos of so many things happening all at once, she'd scarcely stopped to worry for him when he hadn't returned, or to grieve when she'd heard the news that his body had been discovered—not far from Meduseld—by one of the returning search parties. Well, if she had failed in all that, she certainly wouldn't fail in honoring his memory by remembering him with gratitude for what he'd died in order to attempt.

And there were the living she needed to express her gratitude to, as well. Urged by concern, questions, and—admittedly—boredom, Morwen had come to see how Feldon was fairing.

"How is he?" she asked Neylor softly.

From the bed, the man in question answered for himself, "I will survive, my Lady."

"I'm glad to hear it." Morwen walked over to the side of the bed with a smile.

Naylor chided Feldon as he tried to prop himself up on his elbows at the queen's arrival. "Survive? I never said you'd survive. That's a bit presumptuous of you to just assume. At the rate you're going you'll rip out all my careful stitches and bleed to death yet."

Feldon and Morwen traded wry looks at the characteristic string of doom-saying from the healer. Then Feldon cleared his throat and responded dutifully, "I wouldn't dream of ruining your work, Master Healer."

Neylor eyed him austerely under his bushy eyebrows. "See that you don't, Master Feldon." Gathering the folds of his loose-hanging garments around him, he made his way unhurriedly into the adjoining room.

"So, in your opinion, you think you're going to survive?"

Feldon snorted. "I'll survive. Neylor says I lost 'more blood than I'm allowed to', and I'd probably look about as steady as newborn colt if I tried standing just yet, but I'll survive." He paused. "I'm sorry, my Lady."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry I couldn't protect your son. I cannot say how sorry I am, or how many times I've returned in my mind to those moments when he was captured, seeing what I could have done differently, if—"

"Don't." Morwen held up a hand. "Don't. Don't go back there, or I'll have to start thinking over my actions as well. I think if any of us try to live in the past right now, we'll all wallow in our guilt until we're of no good to anyone. None of us wanted Théoden to get captured or hurt. That's what it all comes down to. That's all it comes down to. Please don't apologize to me. I should be thanking you."

Feldon watched her silently, as she'd wrapped her arms around herself in what might have been a ward against the chill in the room, but looked more like a posture of unconscious self-comfort. "I only wish I could have actually done something while I was busy getting myself oh-so-heroically wounded protecting the Prince," he said, in an only half-jokingly self-deprecating tone. "I really do feel honored, my Lady, to have had the chance to try to protect your son with my life. I only wish I could have."

"I know. That is why I thank you. I know you tried."

Deep down, Morwen was beginning to wonder if too many good men were getting hurt or killed—or were going to get hurt or killed—for this cause. There was an aching clash in her heart between wanting her son back at all costs, and the pain of possibly condemning men like Feldon and Thorongil to their deaths to have him safe again. She looked at someone like Feldon, and all she saw shining back was loyalty and willingness, and she felt so immeasurably selfish. These men had families, too. In gaining her son, she might be killing others' fathers, brothers, husbands, or sons. Looking at Feldon she also realized it wasn't her choice. These men would go on trying to save Théoden, even if she had had enough self-denial to tell them to stop.

"He was very brave."

Morwen didn't have to ask who. "That's one thing I've never had to doubt through this whole catastrophe. I know, wherever he is, he's being brave."

"He's already so much like his father. So like a king. When I was shot from the saddle, he didn't let his pony panic and flee. He stayed to fight. Charged straight at their leader with a drawn dagger." Feldon snorted in exasperation, shaking his head fondly at the same time. "And I do believe he would have won, too, if he'd been a little older, and if the odds had been a little less impossible."

"He fought them?" It was impossible for her not to see the glaring similarities between Thengel and Théoden. Of course Théoden had fought. Retreating from insurmountable fights, or surrendering, was not one of his father's strengths either. "He wasn't hurt?"

"Yes, he fought, no, he wasn't hurt. Our enemies had some…leverage," Feldon said with distaste.

"That man, that…fiend." Again, there was no need to specify who was being discussed. "Playing his twisted games with Thengel is bad enough, but involving a child... When all this is over, I reserve the right to wring his neck." Morwen began fiddling distractedly with a strand of her hair, twisting it around her forefinger, untwisting it, twisting it again. "I suppose I should have said if all of this is ever over."

"Don't give up yet, my Lady."

Morwen bit her lip and shook her head slowly. "I'm trying not to, but how can I even think straight anymore with Heolstor breathing down my neck?" She stiffened when the door was pounded from without heavily enough for it to rattle on its hinges. "I can only guess who that is…" she muttered resentfully.

"Lord Heolstor requests her Ladyship's presence immediately," a sarcastic voice bellowed from the hall, not waiting for admittance. Heavy footsteps retreated without waiting for a response either.

Feldon observed the queen's stooped shoulders sadly. "It's right about now I begin to feel completely useless."

"There's a lot of that feeling going around Edoras these days, I think. Just rest and regain your health. Believe me, you'll be doing something worthwhile. If I know Théoden, he's as worried about you as you are for him. You aren't going to disappoint him, are you? He'd want you to get well."

"That I can do, my Lady. It may be the only thing I can do… But I will see if I can manage it."

As she stepped out into the hall, Morwen gathered all her turbulent emotions together and locked them away for later reflection. She pulled her shoulders back, held her head high, and made her steps measured and deliberate. She would face Heolstor, every time her presence was "requested", with all her remaining dignity.

When she entered the room and saw Thengel sitting across from Heolstor at the table, and looking so drawn and tired, she held herself back from rushing to his side. She crossed the room leisurely and sat down next to her husband, surreptitiously sliding her hand into his under the table. "I have come, as you requested, Lord Heolstor," she said frigidly.

"So you have, dear lady. Considerate of you to be so prompt." Heolstor smiled that maddeningly agreeable smile he'd perfected over years of wearing a mask in front of society.

"Well, it is not as if I have much else to do these days."

"Why didn't you tell me you were bored?" Heolstor chided.

"I should have. I know your goal is to keep me entertained."

"I strive for nothing else." Heolstor motioned to a timid servant girl standing in the door holding a platter of fruit. "Bring that here, girl," he ordered.

"Your meal is prepared." The servant girl's attention wavered from Heolstor to her king and queen. "Do you want it here?"

"Yes, yes, have it brought in right away," Heolstor ordered.

The girl hurried off, and was replaced in a few moments by the larger and more imposing bulk of an anything-but-timid Feorh, who didn't hesitate to glare with open hostility at Heolstor as she set a steaming tureen of soup in the center of the table.

"How are you feeling today, my Lady?" Feorh asked Morwen gently.

"The Queen is doing wonderfully, as you can see," Heolstor brushed her off, looking meaningfully in the direction of the door as he selected a bunch of grapes off the first platter.

Feorh disregarded him completely, ladling out some soup into a bowl and placing it in front of Morwen. "There, my dear, eat something. You're looking pale." She poured some milk into a cup as well, setting it within easy reach. "Humor an old woman, and drink that all down, too."

"I will, Feorh," Morwen responded, meeting the older woman's gaze with gratitude and lifting a spoonful of broth to her mouth.

Heolstor gave Feorh an annoyed glance as she sailed contemptuously out of the room in her own good time. Morwen smirked into her soup, but didn't dare laugh outright. There were two people in Meduseld who seemed to have the ability to suck all the haughty condescension and mock patience right out of Heolstor, just by being in the room with him. Perhaps it was because the two individuals were the only two who had the nerve to disobey him in every small matter they could, and didn't hide their hatred for him. Morwen's secret theory that Neylor and Feorh would have made a wonderful couple—or co-commanding generals of an army for that matter—was only being confirmed.

Heolstor recovered from Feorh's presence with a grimace of dislike. He couldn't afford to get rid of the Feorh, who was managing the servants efficiently despite the chaos, and keeping Meduseld running smoothly, making sure meals were prepared on time. Dunlendings and mercenaries had their talents, but culinary and house-keeping skills were not high on either of their lists. And Heolstor liked to live comfortably.

He could have rid himself of Neylor, which he was inclined to do on more than one occasion. He himself was proficient healer in his own right, with his knowledge of herbs. But he'd much rather not be stuck using his valuable time on trivial matters like healing unless it was necessary. They both knew he wouldn't disrupt the well-oiled functionings of Meduseld unless it were crucial. He couldn't afford that kind of time right now. They knew it, curse them. No time for pettiness…

Heolstor cleared his throat and resumed the conversation where they'd left off. "So, you were informing me of your…boredom. I'm very sorry to hear it. Perhaps I can make amends by taking you both on an outing."

Thengel narrowed his eyes. "Just where did you have in mind?"

"I'm sure you could think of something."

Morwen knew he was only baiting them with that suggestion, and that she'd only be gratifying him with her anger, but she couldn't resist a haughty retort. "Why don't we go see my son, right now? As a matter of fact, why don't you have your henchmen bring him here? That would relieve my boredom I'm sure."

"That is an idea." Heolstor mused with exaggeratedly careful consideration. "I had something else in mind. What was it…? Ah, yes, I was just thinking how much I'd like to meet the Steward of Gondor."

"Ecthelion?" Thengel snorted incredulously. "Why would you want to go all the way to Gondor right now? Set your sights on Minas Tirith already—is Rohan not large enough for you?"

"Oh, you have me mistaken. I don't plan on going to Gondor at all—although I hear it's absolutely lovely this time of year."

Thengel frowned. "Then what?"

"Don't make a fool of yourself, Thengel-King. Surely you've figured out by now that if I had control over Eothald, I have control elsewhere. I couldn't be everywhere, but I had my spies. You've been making plans to meet with Ecthelion to repair your friendship."

Thengel smiled bitterly. "Yes, well, I'd all but put that aside. I didn't think meeting him was possible now. I assumed being held prisoner in my own home, against the well-being of my son, might put a bit of a damper on my social life."

"How very astute of you."

"I pride myself on my logic. I suppose that's one of the reasons I'm king."

"Quite. But please, don't let your social life suffer because of me," Heolstor insisted, reaching across the table to snag another cluster of grapes.

"Of course not. Now that I know you do not mind, I will be only too happy to go have a few glasses of wine with Lord Ecthelion, and tell him all about the latest developments in my life. No doubt he'll want to know everything about how wife and son are doing, and how Rohan fairs…whether he can help with any hostage situations."

"Doubtless," Heolstor concurred agreeably. "I only have one stipulation."

"There would be one of those, wouldn't there?" Thengel rejoined, with equally hollow cheerfulness.

"I will accompany you as a reminder." Heolstor cocked his head to one side, popping a grape in his mouth and chewing slowly. "A reminder of who is in control, and who decides the topics of conversation."

Thengel glowered darkly. "I should thank you for taking such a specific interest in my social life, but that is quite unnecessary."

"On the contrary, your Majesty. I think my concern is well-founded. I hear you and Lord Ecthelion have been having some…discordances in your friendship. I wouldn't want Rohan to suffer politically simply because you can't maintain friendly relations with Gondor's ruler. That would be terrible—it could even mean war. If you don't take my advice, I fear the whole country might suffer. Your son might suffer."

Thengel winced. He should have known Heolstor would have known about Ecthelion. He was beginning to have more than a few suspicions about what exactly might have happened to his correspondence with Ecthelion… But that was ridiculous. Not even Heolstor was meticulous enough to have intercepted their letters each time they were sent, and make increasing but subtle changes of a hostile nature. Heolstor wasn't that meticulous, was he? If he had been… Well, it was just one more reminder of how long this treacherous snake had been plotting against his own country.

Secretly, he'd been hoping that when Ecthelion didn't hear from him he would know something was wrong. Still, that hope wasn't all gone. It had been days since Thorongil's return, and even if they sent a messenger to confirm their meeting now it would be several days more. Ecthelion might be alerted yet.

"I can see what you're thinking," Heolstor said, his patronizing expression laughing and mocking him.

Thengel's better sense always told him never to gloat openly at an enemy. Apparently his common sense wasn't paying attention. "I've seen how talented you can be. I know, for one thing, you have a vast knowledge of poisons. Have you been learning to read a person's mind as well?"

"Read minds, no. Read expressions…perhaps. Why don't I make a guess as to what you were thinking, and you tell me if I was right. You think, because you've sent no messenger with a reply, Steward Ecthelion is going to figure everything out and come with all haste to your support. Am I close? Let me tell you something, Thengel, King of Rohan. A messenger has already reached Ecthelion by now. I believe Ecthelion will be at the arranged meeting place the day after tomorrow. I also think he'll be looking for an explanation for all the rather…offensive letters he's been receiving. Too bad he won't get one. Or, at least, not the explanation he wants."

Some of the anger bled from Thengel as he was filled with more immediate feelings of defeat. Morwen's hand felt cold and trembling in his own. He couldn't bring himself to look at her right now. He'd wanted answers from Heolstor, clarifications about his mastermind scheme. Now he had them. "War?" he whispered, incredulously.

Heolstor laughed loudly. "That's a little premature and melodramatic of you. War doesn't exactly suit my plans. I'm not looking for anything quite so sensational. No, my Lord King, I think a simple estrangement between our two countries would be quite enough. At least until I've consolidated my power here."


To be continued...

There, are you happy, Laire? I actually gave that poor Doomed Messanger both another paragraph, and a name. AND (I think several of you were inquiring about him) I also went back and checked up on poor Feldon. Am I good, or am I good? (And so humble, too! Heh. Sorry, it's all the reivews going to my head...) See ya guys after vacation. :o)

P.S. Sorry for the menacing end-note I'm leaving you to hang on! But it's not all that unexpected, right? I mean, you all knew Heolstor wasn't planning on taking over so he could create world peace, or something... (...and next on Heolstor's post-Rohan domination to-do-list: Work toward a more Animal-Friendly Environment!) Hey... -ponders- You know, Rohan's color IS green...

Hehe, yeah, I'm in a goofy mood. :-P