A/N yup, it's revenge of the siXth (chapter), short (sorry) but it seemed a good place to cut off when I reached it. Francophobes will be glad to recognise the language used throughout most of the dialogue. By the way; from this point on the story will follow the book's version of events, so watch out movie fans. Oh, and thank you to all my lovely reviewers. And yes I don't own the Lord of the Rings franchise but I do own Jake.

Jake did not like the look of this situation; the quiet discussion between the druid, King and Éomer had halted immediately and it was apparent that Éomer had forgotten entirely about Jake in seeing the King once more and only now recollected his cell mate. All three hurried over to the table, and the King called for one of the guards, though not one of those he had so briefly spoken to earlier. At the present moment only Éomer had any weapon to be seen and Jake was no longer as sure of his friendship, for the man had a look of suspicion on his face, looking Jake up and down again as though seeing him again for the first time. Jake cursed his timing; if he had just shut his mouth he could have grabbed another bowl of the stew. Also, if he hadn't spoken then, he might never have needed to, and that, a niggling though at the back of his mind was just now suggesting, might have been the best course to take. Every time he tried it he seemed to land himself in greater trouble.

The blonde man was talking very, very quickly in a further language, one that Jake hadn't heard before, unless it was one of the ones' that Éomer had tried and failed to speak to him in. The druid's gaze was far too appraising for comfort, and if he had not been so discouraged by the presence of the newly arrived guard's sword, he would have been sorely tempted to run from the room. As it was his common sense was split two ways; to run would be the most desirable course at the moment but if he waited-therefore avoiding the rather painful sensation of the sword tip jabbing into his back- there might be worse punishment in store.

Luckily for Jake, at that very moment, Hama reappeared, two guards behind him dragging the grease ball between them. The King made a sound not unlike a triumphant 'Ha!" and returned to his throne, regaining his seat with all the majesty of a headmaster about to drill an errant pupil into line. Hama produced a sword, far more decorated than Éomer's had been and passed it over. He gripped it, running his hand over the carvings as if familiarising himself with an old, valuable tool that had been rediscovered behind the lawnmower, and the greasy man squirmed in freshly renewed attempts to relieve himself of the men on either side of him. Jake didn't blame him; the King had a distinctly malicious glee hiding in the lines of his grimace.

However the druid, standing at the table, moved behind the prisoner and Hama, raising his hand in a subtle calming gesture. This seemed sufficient to bring a significant reduction in the King's murderous expression. There followed a dialogue, mainly undertaken by the captive, whose voice varied fluidly between pleading and oily persuasiveness. At length, after Jake had felt safe enough to be able to sit looking longingly at the stew pot, he was suddenly jerked roughly back to the proceedings in hand. The convict was looking sulky, glaring daggers at Éomer who had evidently not been behaving with his best interests at heart, and Éomer was glaring at Jake. The druid and King were also focusing their attention on him, and taking a tentative glance around the room, he saw most of the occupants were doing the same. His insides contracted and his shock at their sudden consideration of him must have shown on his face, for the taller dark man said something to the room that caused it to empty significantly until all that were left were his immediate circle, the King, and the captive with his two minders and Hama.

The druid repeated what had evidently been said to Jake before and he was embarrassed to be unable to do anything to answer him. He was not about to try elvish again, that was for sure. Unfortunately the blond man had not completely forgotten him, and told them, or Jake hoped he told them, that he could speak nothing but elvish, for he at least caught that word in amongst the foreign speech. Éomer nodded his head, still brooding, and Jake had to deal again with all the reactions. The guards must have been surprised, but they had probably heard from Hama about the weirdo who had arrived, and they didn't give any outward reaction. The kings' hands tightened on his throne and he was not the only one to exclaim at the news; the dark haired man and the druid also showed signs of surprise. The prisoner, wearing a look of utter disbelief, renewed his malevolent perusal of Éomer, seeming to think he was lying.

"C'est vrai; est-ce que tu parles seulement elvish?" (Is it true; do you only speak elvish?) Jake nodded miserably and resigned himself to another spell in the under ground cells, but it seemed this was not, immediately at least, to be his fate.

"Pour quoi?" (Why?)

Jake considered this question; whether to make up some story about being brought up by elves-though why fairies would bring up a human child he didn't know; surely they weren't any use to them- but the piercing eyes of the druid did not seem to allow him that liberty, and he doubted anyone would believe him anyway. At last he decided on the truth but he need not tell all. There was no call for him to admit himself to the mental asylum.

"Je ne parle pas seulement elvish. Je parle aussi anglais." (I don't only speak elvish. I also speak English.)This didn't seem to get him anywhere; his audiences' faces were still entirely blank. "Anglais? This language, the cat sat on the mat etc etc?"

The tiredness was getting to him, or he knew he would never have dared to be so sarcastic. Luckily it didn't result in his immediate execution.

"Actually, I do know that language, and I don't think that in your position you should be so ready to insult King Théoden." Jake nearly jumped of the bench at that himself, though he wouldn't have landed nearly so gracefully as the acrobatic blonde man. The druid could clearly speak English, though he did so with a slight accent. Would he tell the King…King Théoden…about his rudeness?

His only answer was a torrent of the harsh language they all used, and Jake couldn't tell if the other people were being told of his other linguistic skills, or of the need for a permanent termination of them, by the expedient measure of removing his head.

"I have told them what language you speak, though we do not call it English here; it is the language of the North; of the Shirefolk as they call themselves. But you do not look like a hobbit."

If Jake was not very much mistaken, the man was laughing at him. Yet something in his speech seemed familiar… Hobbiton; that was it! The beginning of sir's book! "Bilbo Baggins and his party!"

"What?" darn; he hadn't realized he'd said that aloud. Now others seemed to pick up on his error. Before he could speak again the short man had grabbed the sword off the guard and was holding it at his neck. He growled something at him in yet another tongue, and then, in frustration, shouted something to the druid.

The druid gestured to the short man to put his weapon down, but the temperature of the hall seemed to have been turned down several notches.

"I think we would all like to know what you know of Mr Bilbo Baggins and how you came to know it." The druid's eyes were now dark pits, and his face had lost every hint of any laughter.

Jake didn't know what to think, it was another moment when he wished the toothpaste would just go back into the tube. He stuttered in a desperate attempt to find something to say, and the knife was reapplied to his throat.

"It was in a book; I don't know what it means! I hadn't even heard of hobbits or whatever they are before today, or yesterday, or…"

He was cut off immediately. "You mean you heard of hobbits recently? What plans have you concocted with Wormtongue?" The old man was really angry now, and Jake still had no clue what was wrong, or at least what was wrong specifically.

"Nothing!" He was almost at the end of his tether now. Yes, they were armed and he was not, but he could not stand it; since arriving here, wherever here was, he had been accused of being both mad and criminal, held at spear point, shoved around, put in a cell and now he had a knife at his throat and was being told that he had been plotting with a person whose very name seemed evil.

"I have done absolutely nothing and I have no idea what is going on! You keep asking me questions but you won't answer any-even you wouldn't when I asked what was happened!" He tried to turn his head to glare at Éomer but was stopped by the knife tightened against his skin. This effectively halted his tirade and the fear flooded back in full measure; what would happen to him now if a few words had had him thrown into a cell before?

"This question you must answer, but I promise you that I will answer your questions afterwards, if it is within my power to do so." The anger had partially gone from the druid's face and another gesture prompted the removal of the dagger from his throat. He brought his hand up, and it came away with a few drops of blood on it; the short man would have had his throat opened if he had gone much further.

"I have answered the question about Wormtongue, whoever he is. I've never heard the name before, honestly. I don't know how I got here, and I don't know why the languages I've learnt are the ones they are. All I know is that I have never seen or heard of anywhere like Rohan before, if that's what its name is, and apart from that I am in the dark as much as you are."

He was subjected to another rather too intense stare, but at the end of it there was a smile on the face of the druid; one of relief. Jake couldn't see why he needed to feel relieved that Jake hadn't been plotting, but at least the tide seemed to be turning in his favour once more.

The druid turned to the King again and they began another three way conversation with the prisoner, who Jake could only guess was connected in some way to Wormtongue, perhaps even Wormtongue himself. Both King and prisoner became gradually angrier, and eventually they all went outside, and Jake heard shouts, and the easily distinguishable shout of rage from Éomer. He was glad to be inside, even if one of his companions was the short man who had so recently been ready to cut his throat.

A/n telepaths don't exist, so I won't know if you like or don't like this story unless you REVIEW.

Thank you!