A/N Hey fifth chapter. I hope you noticed the translations, because they were really boring to do. OK so next chapter he stops speaking french; I couldn't get it done in this one properly because I have a sister's German exchange in my room, and can't get to my computer.
Their path led back the way Jake had been hauled by the previous set of guards, but instead of entering through the side door Éomer made for the door on the other side of the main entrance. At this the guard made what Jake guessed to be a half hearted attempt to stop him but Éomer barked a few words at him, and he was silent again. Jake was mystified, but when he heard some half screamed whines from inside the building he was moved to ask Éomer what was going on.
He turned and smiled through his rather pronounced scowl, "Une change a vien en Rohan." (a change has come to Rohan.)
That was all he would say and they passed into the dark hallway, passing up some roughly cut wooden stairs which joined another, more polished set, then continued to a corridor with three doors. At one Éomer paused, then threw it open and walked in. It was obviously a sleeping room of some sort for guards or something, with four straw pallets on the floor and, at one end a plain, serviceable wooden chest; little more than wooden box with a lock. This, the guard quickly unlocked and stood back while Éomer took out a sword.
It was a beautiful piece of work as far as Jake could judge; heavy but streamlined as Éomer demonstrated with a few experimental lunges. He grinned at the guard who nodded back at him, then sheathed the blade, speaking again in their guttural language. The frown had almost entirely lifted from his features and he was cheered enough to answer Jake's question more fully.
"Cet homme s'appelle Hama, avec il et vous, nous irions finir une certaine ver !"
(this man is called Hama, with him and you, we will finish a certain worm!)
Jake had no idea what a ver was, so he wasn't much the wiser, except that now he knew the other guy was called Hama. He said hi to him, which Hama couldn't have understood but must have got the gist of, though he looked at him with distrust, probably wondering why he was dressed in such a strange uniform.
They followed Éomer out the way they had come in, and then entered the main doors. Jake could finally see the real purpose of the building; there was a throne at one end, where a man sat who looked to be about eighty, but badly treated by his years. He was perhaps an invalid, Jake thought, for he was attired in a fur trimmed robe with animal skins bound about his feet in contrast to the cured leather boots of most of the men. There had obviously been a recent struggle in the room, and a druidic man in white, who was perhaps a doctor, was beside his chair, sitting on the topmost step of the raised stone dais. He was talking quietly with what Jake took to be the king, and close by them stood three other men, two stranger than any Jake had seen before. The more normal one was perhaps an inch or so taller than himself, with dark, wiry hair to his shoulders and was dressed in murky brown travel stained clothes. His companions contrasted sharply with each other. One was very tall, more so even than Éomer, though slightly built. He had hair as long as some of the girls back in Barnet, though he had blonder hair than even the peroxides, as they were less than affectionately nicknamed. He turned at their entrance, though the others' attention was focused on the king. He eyed them keenly, recognising Éomer, and nodding to him, passing over Hama with hardly a flicker of interest, but widening with astonishment when they reached Jake. He was made to feel keenly aware of his strange clothes, though there was also disdain in this one's eyes. The last man in the group was very short, with a long beard of matted red hair, his face more wrinkled than the other twos', and sun burnt, as though he was unused to being so exposed to the elements.
The short man was the one with his foot on the back of the squirming dark haired man, slithering under his boot. His hair was matted from a struggle and there was blood on his face, though he didn't seem hurt beyond that. He was staring in horror at the closely huddled King and his advisor. Maybe they were deciding his fate between them; he obviously hadn't had a chance to wash his hair recently so maybe he had indeed been a prisoner like they had. He hoped Éomer was not here to get them both thrown back into the cell.
Others stood further back from the King, around a man who was held to the floor by two of the door wards Jake had been manhandled by earlier. They seemed to be extremely happy, though in a thoroughly shell shocked way. In fact, everyone, with the exception of the prone man and some others who were being restrained around the hall, looked joyful, as though something wonderful had happened. Perhaps the king had been ill and had recovered, and as part of the celebration had freed the prisoners and…and…and had his guards beat up some others. Somehow Jake doubted that, but he was at a loss for a really credible reason. His eyes searched the hall, not only to take in the entirely different approach they had to interior decoration compared to Barnet, but also for a possible cause of a disturbance. At last he saw something; hidden by shadows in the corner behind the throne, a woman in white was staring at the man on the floor, an expression torn between hate and detached confusion. As the door shut behind them with a muted, but just about audible crunch she also looked up from the greasy man on the floor to the newcomers and her face lit up when she saw Éomer. He smiled at her, and Jake wondered whether she was his wife, or sister. She was similar to Éomer, though whether this was because of a sibling likeness or just their racial characteristic he couldn't tell. He didn't really feel qualified to make any assumptions anymore, having landed in a strange land, which he was beginning to suspect was nothing to do with his imagination.
Jake felt Éomer's former palpable tension and anger leave him very suddenly when they entered the hall, and he glanced behind to see the man gazing at the King as the others had been; in utter amazement. But then the old man spoke more loudly, struggling to stand, and there were gasps from around the hall. The druid or whoever he was smiled and said something, in what seemed an encouraging tone of voice and the King nodded, looking around until his eyes fell on the figure being restrained by the short man.
He exploded with rage, and Jake could see now he had stood up and risen above the shadow of the throne that he could not actually be very much older than seventy. Shouting seemed to alleviate his age even more, as his face grew animated. He seemed to be demanding something, though the prisoner could only splutter until the druidic man snapped at the short man, to which he replied by lifting the pressure slightly from the other man's chest so he could speak, though even then he only whined. Jake began to lose all fellow feeling with him; he may have been a prisoner but he could at least have kept some kind of dignity about him. He began to notice other details as well that belied his theory; the rich fur robes and silver chain he wore pointed to him as an influential and powerful member of the court. Not so powerful now, though, that was clear.
Jake looked back to the King as he began shouting again, and was amazed; the man before him certainly wasn't anywhere past late middle age. He had wrinkles, but there looked to be caused by laughter lines rather than advanced years. His hair was far from being white; he had yellow gold hair, untamed yes, but definitely that of a younger man than the crone Jake had first seen. It was almost impossible to believe that shadow could so change a face. The robes hung off him like the fur of an animal after hibernation, his clothes seemed to have been tailored more for ease of wear than any sense of style. He looked, and Jake thought wryly of his English teacher, like Macbeth had put on King Duncan's clothes.
At this juncture, as the king stopped shouting, seemingly lost for words, Éomer chose to step forward. He walked to the dais, stopping a little below the throne, and knelt. Well at least he did not look like he wanted revenge for his accommodation of late, Jake thought with a distinct feeling of relief. There were many warriors standing around the hall, not to mention the three men closer to the throne, and Jake did not think that Éomer, Hama and himself could have withstood even odds of one to one; he doubted it would be a street fight, and he was absolutely defenseless against their cold steel, or whatever metal it was they used for their weapons.
Éomer's words seemed to resonate off the walls as he spoke, though his voice was not overly loud. If there was not already a king here, Jake would have surmised Éomer to be royalty. That, and the fact that no sane person would be able to imprison a member of their family in the place they had just left. He proffered the sword to the King, and there were murmurs of approval around the room at his words and Jake noticed an approving look resting on the druid's face, with grins and smiles from the three travel stained warriors.
The king frowned down at Éomer, and Jake was for a moment afraid he would not take the sword, but then he grasped the hilt and swung it up, brandishing it before him. However the frown was still on his face, and he looked down to glare at Hama. The druid followed the daggers from the Kings eyes and again there was a very faint gleam of amusement in his eyes, but this left immediately when his eyes encountered Jake. It was like having an X-ray carried out without a protective vest, and Jake could feel his insides turn to ice, his muscles clenching in fear. He wasn't a coward, but this unflinching stare was extremely unsettling. Luckily, he was saved by a renewed bout of shouting from the King, and everybody in the hall turned to watch the tableau. It was Hama that was getting the grilling, but he stared proudly up at his ruler, seemingly more pleased that ashamed that he was being told off, though, admittedly, the King seemed more like he was shouting at someone to exercise his Kingly authority than because he was really angry with Hama.
Finally the tirade ended and the King took the sword. It was as though a collective intake of breath had been released, and the woman in white stepped forward impulsively, moving to embrace her brother (cousin? Husband?) but checked herself just in time. As the king held the sword, rearranging his grip, the company seemed to move closer to him, and there were swift movements from around the room as the captives were absentmindedly released by the stunned courtiers as they stared at their King. The greasy man on the floor struggled to stand, the short man also having moved, and crawled into the shadows at the side of the hall. Jake could only acknowledge his subsequent stumbling escape from the extreme periphery of his vision, as the King and Éomer locked gazes, both assessing the other's face for signs of…what Jake did not know. There was palpable tension in the air, far more so than when the King was so openly expressing his anger. A galaxy of emotions flitted over the Kings face as he stared down at Éomer, and to Jake's mind guilt seemed foremost among them. Finally, when the woman beside the thrown looked as though she would break into a million pieces from stress, her shoulders sagged in relief, and though she did not smile, her face relaxed, smoothing the lines that had hung there. The cause of this détente was evident; the King had also relaxed and as Éomer stepped back, he swung the sword shouting in triumph, though Jake could not see over what. His yellow hair blew back from his face as it was moved by the sudden draft which issued from the doors that were now flung open as guards rushed in, swords drawn.
They took in the scene with incredulous eyes, but, their faces breaking into joyful expressions they also hurried to the throne, echoing Éomer's shout with their own, and placing their swords at the King's feet. Everyone in the room was smiling now, even the woman in white, and the room rang with cheers and exclamations of elation, but the King silenced them with a wave of his hand, calling the druid forward, and returning the sword back to Éomer, clapping him on the shoulder with his other hand. Then looking around he spoke again, questioning the assembled throng. The short man spun around, and Jake remembered the escape of the prisoner. The king snapped at Hama, and he ran outside, shouting to the guards that had come into the hall who then followed him out. The crowd backed away from the King, to retake their places at the sides of the hall, one woman returning to the fire pit in the centre of the room, to remove a pot from which issued a distasteful smell, like some kind of herbal tea that his grandfather drank to relieve his rheumatism. Jake wondered who it could be for; an old relative not present here?
The thought of herbal tea, unpleasant though it was, brought him back to the pressing problem of his own hunger. He hadn't eaten for what he judged to be at least a night and day, not counting the school day he had so summarily left. He wondered when Éomer would remember him and address the problem for he must be hungry too. More women entered from a side door and the savoury smell that belonged to those pots drew him like a moth to a flame. His stomach rumbled loudly, and the tall blonde man turned around and grinned, touching the druids shoulder, who looked at Jake with a frown and then answered whatever request the blonde guy had given him. He came over with the really short guy and they gestured to the table. Jake peered round them as best as he could without seeming weird, but Éomer was deep in conversation with the druid, dark haired man and the king, so he sat down and soon was staring at the bottom of an empty bowl on which only flecks of gravy still showed. He swallowed the second bowl of stew slowly enough to taste. It tasted very slightly alcoholic with a rich flavour that belied the stringy texture of the meat. There were thick clumps of what looked to be rice in there, but they were a strange creamy yellow colour.
When he finally looked up, it was to the amused eyes of the blonde man, who had not taken any of the stew and the grimace of the short guy as he tried to chew the stringy meat. The dieter laughed and said something in German, much more fluently than the guard had attempted earlier. Of course, this also meant that Jake couldn't understand a word. He shrugged his shoulders, wary of trying the French that had seemed so dangerous before, but then again, there seemed to be a change in mindset within the hall; fewer spears and more smiles. Éomer would probably get him out of any really difficult situations anyway.
"Je parle seulement elvish" (I only speak elvish) he did not have to wait long for a reaction. The short man dropped his hunk of bread into his bowl, splashing the table with gravy and the tall one leapt up from the bench, over it backwards, landed, turned and shouted to the druid all in one fluid movement. Jake was amazed at the speed of the manoeuvre; executed so incredibly quickly but not upsetting a single splinter of either the table or the bench in the process.
A/N Trala! I hate revision and I hate exams review me now or I'll shut like a clam.
Ahem, I am going crazy. I detest AS levels with every fibre of my being. What's wrong with wanting to be a road sweeper anyway?