A/N Chapter 9 at last, in which Jake finds a friend (sort of) and has to cope with the difficulties of a girl's wardrobe. Thank you to all the lovely, lovely, lovely reviewers, both named and anonymous.

He was led into the kitchen, where the women who had been standing in small groups, looking as lost as those outside, scattered back to various tasks, taking care not to catch Seorwyn's eye as she led Jake around the floury tables and past cavernous fireplaces where spits hung untended and fires unlit. They passed through a doorway and encountered clouds of steam, which Seorwyn disappeared into as confidently as if the room had empty, and as he hurried after her he passed shadowy figures through the gloom, a strong scent burning his nostrils and the dense clouds leaving warm perspiration on his skin. Another doorway was soon behind them and they encountered a flight of stairs which Jake followed the housekeeper up, almost tripping over heavy burlap sacks as he went. The place was a rabbit warren of corridors, all of which, he had to remind himself, was undercut by the dungeons he had so recently been a guest in. Other, younger boys occasionally passed them, standing aside for Seorwyn but barrelling into Jake more often than not. How they knew their way was a mystery to Jake, for he had passed many doors, other staircases and further passages. Finally they reached a long low room with chests lining the walls, akin to the one from which Éomer had retrieved his sword.

Seorwyn walked along the row and then unhesitatingly unlocked one about ten from the door on the left. She pulled out a loose, undyed shirt, then what looked, rather unsettlingly, to be a pinafore type dress, tights and soft, floppy boots. Piling them up she shoved them at Jake.

"You'll sleep with the other boys in the attic above this, go now and dress, then report back to the kitchens. Quickly!" she strode off and all he could do was to go in the direction of the narrow spiral stairs at the other end of the room. As it was they were hardly needed; he could almost have pulled himself up through the narrow square and into the room before. Instinctively, he protected his head with his hands, thereby saving himself from concussion and peered into the gloom.

As far as he could tell it was empty, and once his eyes got used to it, lighter than the unlit corridors he had just come from. There must have been holes in the thatch which the light was shining through, and twitterings suggesting nesting birds as well. There were very thin mattresses on the floor, seemingly made of straw with linen stretched over them, and by most there were small bundles; the personal belongings of his dorm mates, he guessed. He couldn't tell whether any were uninhabited, so he refrained from placing his own pile of modern clothing by any of them and instead settled down to the task of dressing. It proved more difficult than he had thought, as he had never had occasion to put tights on before, or a dress. Most of the garments were of undyed cloth, natural browns and greys prevailing. The dress was easy, going on, as far as he could tell, over the shirt, with a kind of attached cape that covered the arm holes and shoulders. He struggling with the tights, but finally, by balancing very carefully on one foot he was able to insert the other foot into the opening. He had, by dint of great effort, just managed to cover one whole leg when he discovered he had left himself the impossible task of filling the other stocking while the opening was right at the top of his unclad leg. How did girls do this every day? It was absolutely hellish!

Even by raising his leg the highest it could go it still would not reach the intended aperture, and by this time he fancied the shirt was beginning to feel too warm, and sweat was trickling down his spine. Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever he overbalanced and with a loud crash found himself sitting on one of the scratchy mattresses. Worse than that was the dagger now levelled at his throat.

"You move and I'll gut you like a rabbit!" Obligingly, Jake froze. There was a boy, perhaps a little younger than him, with one knee pressed onto his ribs and a scowl on his face. His cheeks were dirty, and his clothes couldn't have been called pristine either, not to mention the relationship he had with soap; presumably it had dwindled to letter writing by the smell of it. Nevertheless, the knife was a more important matter at the moment.

"What were you doing then, looking through our stuff? What are you a thief?" the knife had been withdrawn slightly, as his victim had not retaliated in kind.

"Seorwyn told me to come up here and change." Jake choked out, his eyes on the rather rusty blade the boy held.

"Seorwyn?" the knife was removed entirely and the pressure was withdrawn from his ribcage, allowing Jake to sit up. "What, are you a new boy then?"

"I suppose." Jake was trying to gauge the system; what would gain him entry to the circle of these messengers, and what would result in banishment to the worst chores without a friendly face to talk to all day.

The other boy, secure in his fully established role had no such qualms. "Where you from then?"

"An island, up north." That had been his story so far; that was what he would stick to. Even Gandalf had required no other explanation in the hurry of the army leaving. He saw no reason whatsoever to try any other course of action, and certainly he didn't want to go anywhere near the truth. A boy at school had seen things a bit differently from the others and he had left the following term, without having made a single friend, and that was putting it politely; the number of enemies had been magnified by the simple truth that everyone was happy to have someone around who could be their punch bag when they fell out of favour with friends.

"Up North? You're a bit out of your way here aren't you? How do I know your not one of Grima's spies, hiding here until the fuss dies down. We all know what happened yesterday!"

"Well Gandalf doesn't think I am." The name dropping seemed to work. The boy wore a slightly awed expression. "You know Gandalf Greyhame? You know the wizard who rides Shadowfax? You lie!" it was more an exclamation than an accusation, and Jake took it to mean that he was no longer 'the new boy' but the 'new guy'; of equal standing with the locals and one who would be respected.

"Oh Gandalf and me go way back, and I know Éomer quite well too." He knew and the other boy knew that he was lying through his teeth but as the rules go, this only raised his standing; the new guy not only had connections but he was sharp too.

His companion got up and leaned against the wall as nonchalantly as he could in the slanted ceilinged room, while Jake lent back onto the roofed side, stretching out his legs. Unfortunately, this revealed his rather embarrassing dressing difficulties, and the other boy raised his eyebrows.

"Trouble?" Jake looked down.

"Well we don't wear the same stuff up North." He said defensively, glaring at the offending tights, and gesturing across to his discarded school uniform. The boy's eyes widened and he reached down and plucked one of the shoes off the floor.

"What's this then? A poncy pair of shoes? What are you; a prince in hiding or something?"

"No, that's what we all wear up there." Jake hoped desperately the boy wouldn't notice any of the obvious details that made the shoe patently not medieval, or whatever period they were in. Unfortunately, the boy had seized on the shoelaces almost straight away.

"What are these made of?" Jake frantically glanced around the room looking for inspiration.

"Whiskers!"

"What?"

"Yeah, uh whiskers," Jake cursed himself as the mouse ran back under one of the mattresses. "From large cats. Uh, very large cats. Huge."

"I've never heard of them." He was turning the laces over and over in his hands, "and these are braided!"

"Yeah, well they're not that big, we have to put several together to make one lace."
"Just a minute, let me get this straight. You live on an island, up north?"

"Yes"

"Where giant cats live?"

"Yes"

"Which you catch?"

"Yes"

"But you have to catch lots of cats to get lots of whiskers to make one string to tie your shoes with? Is that not a bit stupid?" Jake groaned inwardly; this boy was no fool. However he replied as nonchalantly as he could.

"They were a present, from my father." True; his father had bought him these shoes, what he would say if anyone ever asked him to go hunt big cats was another matter.

This, at last, seemed to subdue the boy. "My father's gone to war. With my brothers." Jake felt awkward; was he supposed to comfort him, to say it would all be okay? Thankfully for him, his concern was misdirected. "I was too young to go. It's so unfair." His crestfallen attitude was due only to his exclusion from what he evidently viewed as attractive a trip as Lady Éowyn had done. He was not to be downtrodden long though, and after a few moments raised his head.

"I'm Brasfain son of Brasfer by the way. Who are you?"

"Uh, I'm Jake" he paused; the other boy was waiting for something else and with a stab of panic he realised he was supposed to produce a father's name similar to his own. "Son of Jakir!" he said triumphantly, after several moments thought.

"Jakir? It sounds strange on the tongue. Is it painful for you to speak of him; you did not seem eager to speak his name?"

Jake stared at him, debating. If his father was dead, which he would have to be, or otherwise he would probably have been in the city, it would be perfectly expected that he should not wish to talk about it.

"Yes, very painful; he died when I was smaller, I do not remember him well." It was clear by Brasfain's face that he had many other questions but he refrained from asking them, instead pushing aside a little more straw to check the sunlight outside.

"Seorwyn will be wondering where you got to; the sun is on the wane. We had better get back down or she'll have our ears. Come on."

Jake stood up, then remembered his new wardrobe. "Uh, Brasfain?"

A/n hope you like my new OCs. Plot coming soon.

Now; AMAZING NEW FACT; that mauve button down there is the newest way of eating chocolate# and when pressed it will automatically transfer a warm fuzzy feeling on a nearby author. (Or a hotter flamey feeling depending on whether it is milk or bitter chocolate)

#some scientists say