A/N Chapter 10; thanks to my superlative reviewers. I am overjoyed by the feedback, which encourages me enormously. To be honest, the more chapters I write, the less revision I do, which probably isn't a good thing, but I do my revision at my desk, in front of my computer, so it can't be helped. Therefore, think of this; If I fail I can blame it on creative spark, rather than my own stupidity 

The work in Meduseld, as he learnt to call his new home, was demanding and for the most part physical. With no knowledge of the language apart from what he slowly picked up as he and others spoke, and understanding only with the help of the stone given him by Gandalf, it was small wonder that he was not set to any clerical work. Instead he learnt his way around the rabbit warren of the hall, where the large throne room was the hub of activity but the structure around as riddled with passages as some of the biscuits were with maggots.

He was not disliked by the other boys as far as he could tell, but they regarded him as an outsider, and it was only with Brasfain's help that he was included at all. The younger boy was happy to have someone willing to listen to his life story, as all the other messengers had grown up with him and knew him as well, almost, as he did himself. His natural curiosity prompted him to question Jake as well, but despite the fact that at times it was like being under the onslaught of the Spanish inquisition, he was able to answer most with noncommittal shrugs. He was lucky that Brasfain was so ready to accept his new companion's mysteries, and so eager to speak about himself, for this way he was able to armour himself against other, less easygoing examiners.

Although he saw Éowyn around Meduseld she showed no sign of recognition apart from irritated glances in his direction when he failed to carry soup to the hall without spilling any, or some such slip. He was not keen to remember himself to her, in fact, was keen to do exactly the opposite. With Seorwyn breathing down his neck all day, he was quite busy enough, and almost ready to believe the stories the other boys shared before sleeping, of fire breathing dragons and other monsters. These battled brave Rohirric warriors or more unusually elves. Apparently there was an elf witch in one of the forests, and Legolas and his companions had come bearing word of her. Jake's status briefly soared when he said he had spoken to the strange visitors, but it was soon pushed aside by a boy from one of the further villages whose family had fled to Edoras after wargs of Isengard attacked them. A blow by blow account was required of the boy who, as his story wound on, described his own personal battle against one of the wol f like creatures, where he had saved his mother and sisters by killing three opponents simultaneously. Jake grinned in the dark; the Rohirrim seemed little given to suspicion, and although he suspected that this story would not have passed muster were it not night time and they were not so young all the other's were fixed on the storyteller. Despite the clear belief by some of them in such feats there did not seem to be any other faith- he found little mention of religion there either, though occasionally one would curse using what he could only guess to be a name, as it was not translated by the stone.

They were, however, almost religiously fanatic about their horses. Brasfain would talk for hours of horses he had known, praising Éomer's horse, Firefoot and many other mounts. Jake learnt how important the Mearas were; the lords of horses as Brasfain called them. Despite his young age he was an expert on horse breeding and could recite Shadowfax's list of dam and sire ancestry back further than his own, for he knew that only to the sixth generation. Admittedly, all his forefathers seemed to have variations on the same name, but it was still impressive. Every one on the household staff held a favourable opinion on horses, and he was surprised to hear conversations in the kitchens, about the maids' young men including whether they owned a horse in the family, as well as other factors, like appearance and the characters of potential mothers in law.

Indeed, the kitchen girls were often the best source of information besides Brasfain. Jake was daily sent to perform any particularly heavy or unpleasant task in there, as great quantities of food from the meagre stores were prepared each day for the many refugees. He was set to preparing barley meal, which he had since learnt was the rice like lumps in his stew on the first day, and cutting up meat which was too ripe for anything other than a herby stew. Food, although there was enough to go around, was not plentiful in this time of war and many of the maids complained about the toughness of some of the meat, the age of the vegetables and the constant supply of limp cabbages from one rather single minded grocer. Fuel -mainly peat due to the lack of trees- was constantly needed and he would pick up snatches of the girls talk as he went to and fro.

"…and he said to me; you go and stay with me mother while me and Da are off to war, and I says 'not I' for the woman's nought but a slave driver. She's worse than Seorwyn, I can tell you. Why the other day…"

"I'm sure it's not going to be ready in time for the dance, for there's three more seams to sew, and that's just the under skirt so…"

"It wasn't me, I can promise you that, for when I heard what she said I was right shocked, so I was, and I would have come straight to you but…"

The women pad no attention to him, for although they would smile and slip the younger boys a bit of bread or a honey cake, Jake seemed to be too old to interest them, and he had to admit even to himself, that he wasn't much compared to the men he had seen leave for war, who could ride, fight and speak Rohirric. He was free to come and go as he pleased, or at least listen as he pleased, for if Seorwyn caught him with nothing to do there would be hell to pay. She swept around the halls like an ugly goose, hissing at anyone who she thought was idle, and criticizing their work. There were cuffs and sharp words for any boy who came near her, and many of the younger girls were terrified of her. One girl, by the look of her a country refugee, was reduced to tears when it emerged that she had chopped the carrots without peeling them first. She had never seen any before, poor as her family had been and she simply hadn't realised she was supposed to remove the outer layer of tough skin as well as the mud. Jake had heard her hiccoughing afterwards, the podgy arm of one of the bake-cooks wrapped around her shoulder, explaining that they had always eaten everything in its skin, because her mother didn't let them waste anything.

It was clear that she wouldn't be doing any more cooking that day, as she couldn't hold her knife without her hand shaking and jumped violently when anyone walked behind her. She was handed over to Jake to 'see down the hill' to where her younger brother and invalid mother were staying and they walked in silence through the maze of houses, mainly made of mud bricks, due again to the lack of wood. Jake racked his brains for a way to break the silence but couldn't think what to say. He didn't want to ask about her family, having heard her tell the bake-cook that her mother was crippled, and not wishing to seem rude by bringing the subject up. Desperate, he commented on the goods that the few stallholders were now packing away in the market place, asking which one of the ornately carved spoons she preferred and asking what she thought of some bits of lace that a rosy cheeked woman was selling. Unfortunately, his companion was painfully shy and although Jake even ventured to ask what the lace was for, as he hadn't seen anybody wearing any, she would only blush and stare at the ground they walked over. However, she had obviously not found his company repulsive, for at the door of their room she hesitantly invited him inside to meet her Ma and brother.

Although Jake had found it difficult to make conversation whilst they walked, the homely atmosphere that had been created in the one room they had been given was a welcome change from the bustle of the hall. The mother offered him a glass of water, all she had at present as all the refugees ate at the hall, and was overwhelmingly grateful for his escort. She informed him, in a friendly way that he didn't look like he was getting enough food, bemoaning the shortages in her next sentence. The little brother was very sweet, though his round eyed stare was slightly unnerving. Gertwyr, now completely recovered from her nervous state, asked politely whether he had any relatives in the town, and her mother chimed in as well, wondering if he had any brothers, as the little boy, Gerthwig, was on his own too much with her, ruffling his curly blonde hair as she spoke, at which he wrinkled his nose.

Feeling sorry for him, Jake promised to come and play with the five year old whenever he had time, saying he would bring Brasfain as well, though he was forced by their questions to admit to his lack of family. Gratitude was showered upon him once more for his kindness, though now it was tempered with pity, for although she was crippled, the mother was quick to remark upon the need of everyone for the love of a family. Such was her smothering concern for his wellbeing he was barely allowed to escape in time to avoid being late to help serve the evening meal.

When he left the room, Gerthwig followed him down the stairs, clutching a much chewed wooden model of a horse.

"You have to be nice to my sister." The big eyes were fixed on Jake's face, two sparks of determination and stubbornness.

Taken aback by his truculent manner, Jake smiled, "I'll try"

"You got to do more than that. My Da and my big brother said that I was to look after my sister, 'cos there not here to do it themselves. So if you're nasty to her I shall cut your head off.

Jake had to hide his laughter, coughing to cover it. Gerthwig's serious face was so funny when you considered that all he had done was walk Gertwyr home on the request of a bake cook, and even then had shown no interest in her at all. She could only be fifteen, and not overly attractive in any obvious way, but he did not want to disappoint so earnest a guardian as Gerthwig either so, solemnly, he laid a hand over his heart in what he hoped was a noble stance. Bowing he said, "Master Gerthwig, I shall treat your sister with nothing but respect."

He privately added a reminder to himself; do not let the boy have any sharp objects. If this was the way a five year old reacted, it was probably a good thing that the kitchen maids didn't seem to find him attractive in the least.

Their room was in a public house near the gates, mainly empty as most of the men had left, so Jake had quite a way to go to get back, and was not entirely sure of the way, not having explored the town at all. Gertwyr had led him there, but her mother would have a meal prepared by the innkeep, as she was unable to walk the distance up the hill, and Jake was obliged to ask for directions. Not finding anyone in the bar he went outside, unwilling to go back and ask the little family, who would surely feel obliged to send Gertwyr back with him. At the gate he could see the silhouettes of guards, and hoping this encounter would go better than the last walked up behind them to ask. The words were on the brink of spilling from his tongue when he picked up a conversation nearby. Hopeful of avoiding asking an armed warrior the way back to the hall, he searched the shadows of the buildings and located the men.

They were almost entirely hidden by the looming shadow of the inn's straw roof and he could only grasp snatches of their conversation, as the words were whispered. He had been lucky to hear them at all.

"And I say it'll be all right! Look, if she's not here, and he doesn't come back…"

"But how do we know he won't?" the second voice was flatter, and deeper than the first, more nervous than cunning, as the first had been. On reflection, Jake did not think it wise to enquire for directions from them, but their words drew him in, so, keeping as close to the shadows of the opposite building as possible he lingered unmoving.

"….you know how powerful…Saruman's army…rats in a trap…Grima said so…" Cunning's voice was full of barely concealed impatience, and Jake suspected that he was much cleverer than Nervous was.

"…still a guard…and she can fight…as bad as her brother…"

"…outside the city…no one will hear her!" This last was expelled more loudly in exasperation and the speaker glanced towards the guard. The two parted and slipped off, going separate ways when they reached the end of the street.

Jake didn't know what to make of the conversation. He didn't know the laws here, but he was sure that what they were planning would break at least one, yet he did not wish to jump to a conclusion over quickly, after all, he did not really know what they wished to do. As he stumbled through the dark streets, relying on the noise of the evening meal to draw him home he ran the words over and over in his mind. More than once he was only saved from walking into a wall at the last instant, and by the time he reached the doors he was too muddy to go into the hall, having tripped twice on the dirt streets.

Instead he grabbed a hunk of bread and some cheese as he passed through the kitchen and stumbled up the stairs to his pallet. No one was there yet so he was able to consume his supper in peace, savouring the tang of the yellow cheese and the crusty freshness of the bread. By the time he had undressed to the nightshirt he had been given, the conversation was forgotten among the other memories of the day. The fatigue of his duties was far worse than after a football practice and the strangeness of the entirely alien culture was very wearing. On several nights he had dreamt of school and his family, not missing them as such but seeing them as vague shadows at the edge of his vision. No feeling was attached and he was happy enough here, perhaps happier than at some moments in what he still though of as his 'normal' life. Admittedly, those moments included maths lessons, but as he swallowed the last chunks of bread he had to admit there were many benefits to this life.

It was not until one of the boys was telling a tale about yet another fair maiden being rescued by a brave rider that he remembered the men and their sinister words.

Hey; you've sent me more than 50 reviews! Need I ask what I want you to do in exchange for me writing this chapter…? (Yes I do; REVIEW please)