Helen was more than a little angry. The stupid game these idiots were playing was getting somewhat out of hand, and she wasn't sure she could take much more. All the same, a small part of her mind had to grudgingly admit that they were very good at their sport, and that part steadily grew as she was escorted up the street she had first entered, past many houses and streets, all built with amazing detail. She really couldn't imagine how they'd pulled it off; unless maybe it was a film set? That was possible. If it had been kept secret really well… for… well, months she guessed. She didn't know how this scale of building could be kept secret, but whatever the explanation it had been.
"So," she said in a falsely cheerful voice, "Is this a film set or something? I mean, you can't just have had it built for this… did you?"
Déorbrand looked at her, a worried expression on his face – or what she could see of it anyway, as both the men were still wearing their strange helmets – then asked in a strange tone, "May I ask what a film set might be, Lady Helen?" She growled again in frustration.
"Will you please stop with the games?" she said as they turned and moved up to the next level of the city, "It's just getting annoying now, well, it just is annoying and has been the whole time, actually. And I'm getting really fed up with it." Neither of the men answered, but instead they looked at each other and nodded as if they had just reached some kind of silent agreement. For the rest of their journey, as they climbed up through what Helen thought was six levels, although she wasn't keeping a proper count, neither spoke, and Helen was left to mull over what was happening.
It had been a very irritating day so far. Well, first it was just upsetting actually. Not one person had called to say happy birthday, not even her mother. She knew she didn't have any friends in Newbridge, but really, it was only a year since she'd moved; she thought someone would have called from Hardfield. Okay, so the last time she'd spoken to her mother they'd had something of an argument, but she hadn't realised it had been that serious. Of course it was her own fault she didn't have any friends in Newbridge; she was much too temperamental at work, and anyway she liked being on her own. It was only on birthdays and holidays that she really felt lonely.
And then she'd walked into a play. Honestly, talk about contrast; one minute you're walking alone in a quiet alley crying to yourself, the next you're suddenly the only spectator at a huge re-enactment of some king's coronation. And then you get lost.
Helen sighed. This was stupid. She really hoped this Éomer guy would help her; she was getting fed up of these two thinking she was ill. Well, pretending to think. Although they were, she had to admit, very good actors.
"My lady," Hereláf said, turning to her, "We have reached the White Tower, where the King and the other Lords are celebrating. I shall go and find King Éomer; in the meantime, Déorbrand will sit with you." Shaking her head to bring herself out of her reverie, Helen nodded, then looked around. She was standing in a white courtyard, with a fountain in the middle surrounded by greenery; but she noticed that there was one dead tree.
"Déorbrand," she said, genuinely curious enough to forget how angry she was for a moment, "Why is that tree dead?"
"It is the White Tree of Gondor, and it has been dead for many years," answered Déorbrand softly. "But it is precious to the people of Minas Tirith, for it is descended from a tree that once grew in Númenor, their ancient home. Now that the King has returned, it is hoped that it will blossom once more."
Helen did not reply; she was mystified by the depth of this role-play. She wondered how she could get Déorbrand to answer the many questions she had; when was it that they were re-enacting? Where had all this really taken place? Was it even historical or some fairytale they'd made up?
She looked up, hearing footsteps; Hereláf was returning, bringing with him one of the men who had entered the city with the King, the one who was dressed like Hereláf and Déorbrand. They approached, and Hereláf spoke.
"King Éomer, Lord of the Mark," he said, bowing to the man, "May I present the Lady Helen, whom I discovered near the gates of the city as the coronation parade entered."
With an exasperated sigh, Helen held out her hand. "Pleased to meet you," she said, in a voice that clearly implied that this was not entirely true. Éomer looked at her, both wonder and bemusement in his clear bright eyes.
"Lady, I greet you in the name of the Mark," he said with a bow. "Yet I fear I must do you a discourtesy; for I do not recognise your raiment and cannot tell whence you came, and it is needful that I learn more of this matter. Before I do so, however, you must be refreshed; you do not look quite well. Come; you shall be given food and wine."
Helen rolled her eyes as he led her into a white building, then into a small room, furnished only with a small table and a number of chairs.
"Honestly, can't you just tell me which way to go to get back to the sane part of Newbridge?" she said as he gestured for her to sit down. He frowned.
"Newbridge? I have never heard tell of such a place, although it sounds not unlike a town of the Halflings; is that your home? Do you live among the hobbits?" Now it was Helen's turn to frown.
"What on earth are hobbits and Halflings?" she asked, interested in spite of herself. Éomer smiled.
"We too had not heard of them except in legend for many a long year, and yet now they walk among us; they are the heroes of the hour, and indeed of the realm. But surely you have heard of the defeat of the Enemy?"
"That's the second time I've heard this enemy mentioned, what on earth's been going on around here? World War Three? Or are you still playing your silly games?"
"Lady, I do not understand what you mean by games, and nor do I understand your origins. I will have Hereláf bring us some refreshment, and then I fear I must call upon the Lord Ar- your pardon, King Aragorn – to aid me in this mystery. For I would say that you were ill, and yet you seem not so; and I would say that you lie, but I know that you do not, for I am one of the Rohirrim, and those who do not lie easily recognise the signs of deceit. And yet what you say is quite beyond the reach of my knowledge to confirm." He spoke to Hereláf, who left with a bow, then sat in one of the chairs. Helen, realising that she probably wasn't going anywhere for a while, sat cross-legged in another chair, and the two sat in silence.
Hereláf reappeared with wine, bread and cheese, then quickly went again. Helen, rather hungry after all her protests, tore some bread off the loaf and poured some wine for herself. Éomer, she noticed, seemed to have closed his eyes, and she was relieved; she hadn't liked the way he looked at her, as if he'd never seen anything like her. Actually she was just getting even more fed up of this whole charade by the minute; it might have been a good joke at first, but now it was just silly.