Suddenly Helen was no longer out of sight; everyone was turning to watch the king as he entered the ruins, and she was standing right there in full view. She tried to head back to the alley she'd come from, not wanting to be the centre of attention in front of all these fanatics, but one of the blond-haired men caught hold of her shoulder. He pulled her out of the way as everyone went past, but he kept a firm grip on her.
"Let me go! I'm sorry, I didn't know there was an enactment here, actually I didn't even know this was here, I just turned the wrong way, I'm sorry I spoiled the illusion for you, I didn't mean to! I'll go straight back, honest!" But the cheering was so loud that the man couldn't hear her anyway, and he was too strong for her to get away, not being the fittest of people. Eventually she gave up and crossed her arms moodily, as the people continued to stream past, all of them turning left and heading up the paved street as she stood gritting her teeth on the right hand side. The man holding her continued to watch the procession, but kept her in view as if he expected her to pull out a gun or something equally ridiculous.
At last the noise began to die down, and Helen let out an exasperated sigh.
"Finally, now will you let me go home?"
"I am sorry, my lady," replied the man, not letting go, "But you are strangely clad and I feared you might perchance be some late tool of the Enemy; I must ask you, where is your home?"
"What is this, some kind of joke?" asked Helen in disbelief, "I just live up the road and round the corner, so to speak, it's not far, I just turned the wrong way and stumbled on your little play – well, I say little, it was pretty OTT in my opinion! But anyway, just let me go!" The man shook his hand, clearly a little confused. He beckoned to one of the few remaining blond men who still stood near, watching the two of them.
"Déorbrand, this maiden speaks strangely, and as you see she is clad unlike any I have ever seen; she claims to live near, or so I perceive, and I feel it is our duty to ensure that this is the case. Will you accompany me?"
"Indeed I shall; but allow me first to inform Hamwine." The first man nodded and turned back to Helen, who was looking at them as if they were somewhat mad.
"Honestly, you can drop the act! And I can walk back on my own without an armed guard, thank you very much, I'm not completely incapable!"
"I beg your pardon my lady, but I fear I must escort you; for I cannot risk any blight on the day of the King's coronation; it is too important a day."
"For crying out loud – what's your name? – it's not like it's real! I only want to go home! And surely if you take me back you're spoiling it for yourself?"
"My name, my lady, is Hereláf, and to save more trouble on such a day I do this thing gladly. For never have we seen a lady like yourself, and we fear to allow you to cause the city of Minas Tirith any sadness on its day of joy." As Hereláf finished speaking, Déorbrand came over, nodding to him. "Now, my lady, I ask you to direct us to your dwelling, that we may bid you good day."
Helen could not quite believe this was happening. These guys were so ridiculously caught up in their games that they couldn't even let her go home alone? Shaking her head and raising her eyes to the skies in despair, she noticed something; the set they were using was so intricate that it even had levels, with white houses of stone rising above each other in a huge structure which seemed to be built into a mountain.
"Oh my gosh, you guys actually built this just so you could pretend at this silly game? How on earth did you do that without anyone noticing? That's incredible! When was it built? Overnight?"
The two men exchanged glances.
"Lady, are you sure you are quite well? This city has been standing for over three thousand years, and it was certainly not built in one night." Déorbrand spoke uncertainly, as if he were worried about her reaction; and it was probably wise, as Helen laughed at him in absolute dismissal of his comment.
"Oh come on guys, don't be stupid, I wasn't born yesterday! Next thing you'll be telling me you've never seen a girl in jeans before, or that the king really is a king and not some sad middle-aged accountant who gets bored on weekends, or that your names really are Déorbrand and Hereláf!" She shook her head, still laughing.
"Lady, truly, I fear you are ill; I do not know what jeans are, nor do I know what you mean by calling the king an accountant, but I assure you we are not in jest," said Déorbrand, glancing at Hereláf with a frown. Hereláf nodded, and said,
"My lady, lead us on to your dwelling, but if when we arrive there you have no other to care for you in this malady we shall escort you to the houses of healing where you shall be looked after."
"Please, guys, enough!" protested Helen, holding her hands up as if in surrender, "I'm not ill, I just need to get away from you and your hare-brained schemes, honestly, let me go on my own!"
"That would be most improper, my lady," replied Hereláf calmly, but he was interrupted.
"Will you please stop calling me that!" Helen said, exasperated. "My name's Helen! Call me that! Please! And I'll let you go with me, but stop it!"
"Very well, Lady Helen," Déorbrand answered with a nod. "Lead on."
Still shaking her head in frustration at these two way-too-involved actors, she headed towards the alley, one either side of her. She walked up it and made as if to turn at the end, but stopped short. The men looked at her quizzically.
"Where's the turning?" she muttered with a frown. Then she shook her head as if to clear it and turned around. "I must've gone up the wrong lane, sorry guys," she said out loud, heading back to the street. She looked around, but she couldn't see another alleyway anywhere. She tried that alley again, but all it led to was the entrance to a couple of houses, and there was no turning in sight.
"My lady?" asked Hereláf tentatively.
"How on earth have you done this?" she asked angrily, turning on him. "Where's the lane? You can't have had another house built while I watched, this is just stupid, where is it?"
"Lady Helen, I know not of what you speak; it is quite clear that these houses have been here for many years." Déorbrand seemed almost as confused as Helen, which, she thought to herself furiously, was clearly just a sign that he was a good actor, as the whole thing was obviously some kind of stupid plot.
"You know exactly 'of what I speak' as you put it, so quit messing around and let me go home! As if I hadn't had a bad enough birthday as it is, you idiots have to muck me around as well!" She kicked at a stone that lay on the floor and glared at both the men.
"My lady," said Hereláf hesitantly, "Perhaps you would come with us to our king? He may be able to help you."
"What, you mean that idiot in the white cloak? Oh please, give me strength!"
"Nay, Lady Helen, we are not men of Gondor; we are from Rohan, and so our king is Éomer in light of the death of the King Théoden. Nevertheless I cannot suffer you to speak so harshly of one who will bring peace to the West after recent times. But come, let us escort you to King Éomer. He is young, but he is wise." Déorbrand smiled at her kindly.
Frustrated, Helen looked around again. Then she let out what sounded something like a growl, clenching her fists, before saying through gritted teeth,
"Fine, take me to this Éomer guy. He can't be any worse than this anyway."