Chapter Seven, I do declare! Thank you for all your lovely reviews by the way.

More good news for Francophobes; not only is the language in this chapter all English but from now on, it's here to stay.

From a place of solemnity and judgement the great hall had become a hive of activity. The maidservants were too busy now to tend the stew at the fire, and it had been taken away, much to Jake's disappointment. Luckily the plate of bread and cheeses was left on the table and he was quick to fill his plate with as much as he could, and his tankard received similar treatment with the weak beer they brewed; with a taste like dishwater but probably better than any water, which would, Jake imagined, not be too clean in such a place.

He had been left with the short man, who, it turned out, was in fact a dwarf. That had caused a choking fit, but only preceded another one prompted by the revelation that the blonde man, Legolas, was in fact an elf. He had been rather insulted by Jake's spluttering about fairies, though Gimli had insisted on hearing the entire plot of Midsummer's Dream and laughed heartily whenever Jake could be persuaded to describe Puck. That was before Jake had introduced them to the glories of Snow White, which was, Legolas had said through his laughter, a depiction much more true to a 'real' dwarf than Oberon had been to a 'real' elf. Jake finally despaired of his sanity, and was willing to admit that perhaps common wisdom was, in this case, not entirely fact.

He had also learned other names, and was now able to confidently point out Éomer as the nephew of the King, a relationship doubly important because the relationship was on Éomer's mother's side. The dark haired man was Aragorn, whom the two seemed to disagree on how to describe, but Jake eventually gathered was some kind of tracker, but also a member of the nobility in some way. He was talking with the King, Éomer, and Gandalf, the druid or wizard as he was more rightly known, in the privacy of the King's room, a kind of study. Legolas politely declined to comment on what they were talking of, apart from a battle plan but Gimli was less discreet. "They're talking about what to do with you, lad, and I'd not be thinking that you'll be coming with us, seeing as you're can't use a sword or do anything useful."

The idea that he was entirely useless because he couldn't use weapons was doubted by no one, it seemed. They had all been using weapons since they were tiny and were amazed that he, a boy of seventeen, had never held a sword or drawn a bow. They couldn't grasp the concept that he hadn't needed to, or been able to do, anything of the sort. There was evidently some kind of universal danger here in Arda, as they called it, a 'darkness spreading across the land' or something, and he had to admit that when they described the adversaries they would face, the 'orcs', Jake couldn't quite stop his imagination from roaming. The battle they had ahead of them seemed unreal to him, as though they would ride off, some would split and go elsewhere, and the others would come riding back. The battle experience he's had was all through a plastic screen; violence in Iraq, under the rules of dictators in Africa, in history books about the Far East. None of it was really any more than a half heard conversation over the radio or a dispassionate item diplomatically worded by Trevor McDonald or some other pristine newsreader.

Despite the maids running to and fro, servants packing up kits of bandages and herbs and warriors coming in with armloads of arrows from the fletcher, he still didn't know whether he would be going or not. The excited chatter was all alien to him and if it were not for Legolas and Gimli, who were ready to leave at a moments notice, sitting with him he would not have known anything at all. Gandalf had gifted him with a small, nondescript brown stone, and if Jake concentrated, then whatever language was being spoken would be understandable to him, and equally, so would his speech. He still could not understand if many people were speaking at once, or if his attention was divided but it was certainly better than nothing.

As it was, Legolas and Gimli told him what had been happening in Rohan in order for the prince to be locked up.

Gimli was eager to start, and Jake suspected him of being one of those people who adore the sound of their own opinion, though are not arrogant, in any practical sense of the word.

"Well, that Wormtongue, him who was thrown out of Edoras, you know the one,"

"The greaseball?" the dwarf laughed loudly at this, and even Legolas was willing to smile, though less ready to laugh than his companion.

"Indeed you're right, lad, that's the best word for anyone I've heard in a long time, though it sounds strange on the tongue. Anyway, this greaseball serves Saruman,"

"Saruman?"

"You know; Saruman, the wizard Saruman." Despite the implication of the tone; that he was entirely without a brain, Jake couldn't help his ignorance.

"You mean Gandalf?"

"No! Saruman, of Isengard! The traitor Saruman."

"Oh, yes." Jake had no idea at all, but he thought he got he gist of it; Saruman bad, Gandalf good.

"Well Saruman sent greaseball here to spy out Théoden King's land, and he did that and more. Saruman was using the man's mind to corrupt the nation, and I'll not gossip but that his reward wouldn't be Lady Éowyn when the time came."

Legolas snorted, as though he thought Gimli was gossiping and the dwarf put down his beer with a decided clunk.

"And what, master elf do you think so unreasonable about my notion. Did you not see how she was looking at him? Did you not see how Éomer…"

"I did indeed, but I don't think you have any right to continue the circulation of the story. It's hardly any of our concern."

"Look here pointy ears, who's going to hear? Not many of these people can speak the common tongue. It's not as if…"

He was cut off again by Legolas and Jake hastened to stop any argument that might break out.

"Who's Éowyn?"

They both looked around to stare at him, and he was struck by their differences. It didn't seem right to call them different species, but he couldn't think of a better word for it. They were just so unalike. Gimli sprouted a massive, rusty coloured beard of matted hair that almost hid his eyes by joining up with eyebrows that would have put Pavarotti to shame. His clothing covered a great deal of bulk, which Jake had no doubt was muscle but it was entirely different to the muscle of Legolas. His physique, though still that of a fighter if Jake's idea of it was correct, was carried with balletic elegance of movement and his shoulder length blonde hair was tied efficiently back from his face by braids that circled around his head.

Gimli snorted into his ale at Jake's stupidity and Legolas sighed heavily. Jake got the feeling he was used to knowing more than other people, and that his patience was often tested.

"Éowyn," he began slowly, "is the sister of Eomer and the niece of Théoden King. She was in here when you arrived; behind the throne remember?"

Light dawned; "the lady in white!"

"Indeed she is often called the white lady of Rohan, or so I am told by Aragorn. She's a shield maiden."

Jake was forced once again to stare blankly at him.

"She fights, Lad." Gimli had raised his beard from his tankard sufficiently to deliver the three words in such a tone that Jake could almost feel the glue from the 'Imbecile' sign stuck to his forehead.

Did everyone here fight? He had thought that the women who were hurrying to and fro with more arrows and sharpened swords were merely helping prepare the men-not go with them. He turned to stare at them. Were they going to fight in those long skirts? It must be awfully difficult. Catching the sharp eye of one of them he turned quickly back to the elf and dwarf. They were wearing expressions that, despite the variance of their features, were absolutely identical. Both had scarcely suppressed grins and Gimli 's eyes at least were so crinkled into his laughter lines that they were barely distinguishable, though that could just have been the rampant wind burn he sported.

Finally he was forced to let go his restraint, and let forth such a belly laugh that the people nearest them swung around in surprise.

"They're not fighters Lad! The look on your face…you were…" he couldn't continue and took a mouthful of ale to calm himself down. It didn't work and the table top was sprayed with the weak alcohol as his laughter seized control of him. Even Legolas was smiling slightly.

"I couldn't help it; how could I possibly know?" but the laughter was dangerously infectious and as he thought back to the woman who had glared at him, he couldn't help comparing her to a more weathered version of one of his textiles teachers. He grinned too, and was rewarded by Gimli leaning over the table to slap his shoulder.

"There we go, I knew you couldn't lack a brain and a sense of humour!" his grin widened again, "but fancy thinking the Rohirrim would send women into battle, I mean…"

He cut himself off directly, and Jake turned to find himself looking up into the face of the angriest women he had ever seen.

Legolas coughed, "Ah, my lady Éowyn!"

Please tune in next time for….more of the same and an encounter with a very irritated Éowyn!

P.S please R&R.