Thank you all who have reviewed.

To Agador of the woods, part of your foot is called the heel. I didn't really mean that they were wearing high heels. I didn't really think of it that way. That is funny.

To Me, It is a practiced art for Eowyn to not kill her brother, Faramir, or Bormir. She didn't want them to see her angry because in her head anger is a weak silly thing and very undignified. Faramir saw right through the act. Oh she will get them yet. I assure you that they will be sorry they messed with the E woman.

To Christine, Thank you for being patient about the whole father thing. I think that it worked out rather nicely, don't you? It even added to the plot a bit and help form many relationships and effects on the story. The entire going to Gondor was created by my... um... blooper.

To Aahz, my dearest fiend (Oh and friend), This will not be harlequin... this will not become harlequin... this will not become harlequin... *Fumes* Oh and Love yah. Read and be happy!

***

The Market Place inside of the city was bustling with people. The Monte, the cheery old chef, had left us then to meet his family. The rest of us had been given a respectful berth in the crowd as we were headed through the line of shops and trading shacks, because of the known prestige of the brothers. People gave us room to move, but as we threaded through the crowd it was still necesary to hold onto eachothers shoulders in single file as not to be swallowed up in the sea of people.

I wonder how much fun it would have been to wander this place alone? The sites were fantastic to the eye. Bolts of vividly colored cloth hung throughout the streets, flashes of color like becons in the corner of my eye as we passed. It was so noisy. People, laughed, and bellowed, hollered, and cried as we passed apparently without too much care for us as they went about in their daily buisness. Strange objects that I had never seen before lain next to kettles of tin, weponry, and bundles of tinder. It was all jumbled up together like a child's sloppy room.

It seemed to me that it required all we could do to deter my brother, Eomer's, attention on our directed course. His eyes would begin shining and his lips would part wide right before he would decide that it was time to dash off again, and drag us to another of the flashy booths we crossed. His previous distress when hearing the tidings of Boromir seemed lost in his eager wonderment. The last thing we were pulled off to was to a shop that was packed with viewers to some spectacle. A demonstration was happening, and in what other area besides magic?

Magic! It was all purely stunts and tricks of the eye. The tall dark haired elf behind the counter was nowhere near as respectable looking as what elves are usually considered. He had a rather blood thirsty scheming look about him as if he were the thug of some dangerous criminal. I noted that his powerful appearance had nothing to do with muscles, because in that department he was definitely at a loss. Therefore he couldn't have been some henchman but the madman himself, hardened to the core, that is if he was into that sort of buisness.

Alot of the rougher looking people I had ever met were into mercenary work or smuggling. The elf was very rough looking.

The elven man was pouring together liquids and tossing in unknown ingredients in a large wrought iron cauldron it seemed. He might as well have been making a stew for all I cared. Magic is something of Faerie Tales told to children before they went to bed. The only thing know to be remotely close to magic was the wizard, Mithrandir, who claimed to have magical powers. His magic was just words also. He was the bringer of trouble and his only power was the power of persuasion which in it's self is a kin to magic. The only magic that I know of, phony.

As the elf continued to mix the ingredients to the potion that he now claimed was to be used to rejuvenate the mortally wounded to former health, he kept up a running commentary wooing the crowd to his every command. As he finished he poured the worthless solution into small vials attached to silver chains. I turned away and began nudging through the crowd, companions in tow, and attempted to leave to no avail. I muttered something about insane men and the cruel looking elf looked up at me and started heading towards us.

Oh no, I thought, more sales pitching.

A huge man with a brutish look about him was blocking our path in a very truculent manner. He was sneering down his bulbous nose at me and said, "Why would I give way to some woman like you? You would be better off, woman, if you did as I say and-" He stopped abruptly and I turned around to see the Magician staring crossly at the brute.

"Let Lady Eowyn, Daughter to the King, Theoden, of Rohan, be. You, my dear sir, would be better off digging your own grave than attempting to cause trouble with the likes of her. Or with me for that matter. Be off and come back when you learn some manners!" The tall man left with a snide but startled look on his face. "Come now my Lady... and Lords of course. We have to get you all out of here. We need to speak." He looked back at his stand to his servant and said in his deep voice, "Gorin, run the shop until I return."

Obediently a short boy of the age of 14 stood up and finished pouring the potions. We left without stating another word.