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Minas Tirith Forums » The Green Dragon » Unrest in the Riddermark - RP (Page 3)
Author Topic: Unrest in the Riddermark - RP
Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel held the other girl's hand, saying very little at first. Her mind was full of thoughts, and she was overwhelmed by sadness. It would do very little good to speak when she felt this way.

Finally, she looked over at Arylia and smiled softly.

"Lord Éomer is a good man, is he not? Good, and brave."

She said it flatly, almost as if she were trying to convince herself.

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Roll of Honor Éomer
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Citizen # 2824

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Berethorn's face showed the same worry as Lothíriel stood shakily, and he nodded respectfully to her as she and her handmaiden departed. As soon as they were gone, he looked to the king again and smiled. "My father is well, my lord, thank you. He and the people of Lamedon have been hard at work removing the stain of the Dark Lord's minions in Calembel and elsewhere throughout the countryside. I'm afraid that the story likely is much the same throughout Middle-earth."

The taller man's smile weakened somewhat, and his face took on a chagrined expression. "Again, I must apologize for arriving uninvited. King Elessar has sent me north to Annúminas on an urgent mission, and my squire and I were simply seeking shelter here in your fine city for a while. We plan to continue on our way shortly, after resting a while.

"As for your gracious offer, Your Majesty, I would be more than happy to accompany you. Long have I desired to see the fabled home of the Rohirrim," Berethorn added, inclining his head and smiling again. That was not exactly truthful, but it was not his place to refuse a king. "But for now, I think a warm bath and a chance to rest would be most appreciated," he added after a moment. "If I am not being too presumptuous, that is..."

[ 08-11-2006, 01:23 PM: Message edited by: Éomer ]

From: Serenity | Registered: Nov 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Citizen # 1302

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Arylia looked at her Queen for a long moment before replying, sorting through a variety of answers in her head.

"Lord Éomer is the best of men, My Queen. His bravery is fabled, and he is wise beyond that of most men, although others do not always see it."

She paused thoughtfully, "I know well how the outside world has often viewed the Rohirrm, and our Kingdom..." she paused again, not wishing to offend the Queen. "And even our King, but he is a great man..."

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel reddened slightly. She was quite certain that she was one of those in the "outside world" who had an unfavorable impression of the Rohirrim. She had shared in the childhood jokes about the "horse-people" to the North, and her worst fears had been confirmed when she had moved here after her marriage...

There was no culture here. It was harsh, but it was true. Here, men slept in common on the floor of the great hall, sometimes with women. It disgusted her, the vulgarity of the soldiers - she had seen nothing such in Gondor, where soldiers were the best of gentlemen. Here, even the king seemed uncomfortable with his title. He cringed nearly every time she called him "my lord," but was not that the proper address? Was not that the way she would have referred to her husband had he been from Gondor? It was not the place of a wife to refer to her husband by his given name (at least without his title), except in intimacy. Certainly never in public!

She rested a hand on her belly and frowned. When the baby came, what would happen? Would things be better between them? Worse? She looked at Arylia and forced a smile.

"Yes, I suppose he is."

Her gaze drifted out the window and suddenly she frowned deeply again.

"Shut the window, if you would. I cannot bear the smell of horses."

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia nodded and moved to close the window, shutting out the fresh breeze. She stood for a moment beside the window, her fingers involuntarily smoothing the soft fabric of her new dress, chewing at her lower lip in thought. At last she turned to face her Queen once again.

"I brought the fabrics for you, and some designs, some of them are most beautiful, when you are feeling well again I shall take the necessary measurments and begin working on the dress." She paused again, there were things that she wished to say, but she knew that it was really not her place. Finally she cast thoughts doubts aside, she had never been one to do what was expected of her.

"I know that you have found it difficult, Your Majesty. I know that our kingdom is very different from your own..." She bowed her head slightly, "I know that I am just a maid servant, but sometimes...well, sometimes it is good to have someone to listen...to talk to...I am always here My Queen."

She kept her head bowed and her eyes almost closed, dreading Lothíriel's response. She only knew that she longed for someone to talk to herself, someone who would listen without judging, and she vowed that she would do that for her Queen if she so desired it.

[ 08-10-2006, 05:30 AM: Message edited by: The Swordmaster ]

From: Paphos, Cyprus!!! | Registered: Dec 2001  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel was a bit taken aback at the girl's suggestion, but not horrified. Just...suprised. She barely knew this girl, really, and yet here she was offering to be her confidant if she so wished.

She looked at her for a brief moment.

"Perhaps," she said non-committally, then clasped her hands. There was something that had been eating at her for months now, and she had to know.

"Do you have feelings for my husband?"

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia's eyes opened sharply but she continued to stare at the floor. How to answer that question? Did she have any true feelings for King Éomer, other than those of an almost childish infatuation?

Eventually Arylia gave a tiny shrug, "I don't really know Your Majesty, but I would not lie to you. As a child my father would bring me here to the Hall, where I would spend my days surrounded by Riders, and King Éomer, although he was not king then, always stood far above the rest, and that has not changed for me in all the years since." She paused biting her lip, "But he is my King, and you are my Queen, the feelings I have for both of you are bourne from devotion and loyalty, but perhaps..." and here she smiled a little wryly. "Perhaps some lingering feelings of that childhood infatuation remain..."

She paused again, and raised her head to look her Queen in the eye for the first time. She knew that she had not perhaps told the entire truth, that it was only since her meeting with Thwain that her feelings had begun to change, but she felt she had told the Queen all that she needed to know, that she was no longer truely in love with her King the way she had once been.

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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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Lothíriel sighed. In a way she wished the girl had loved Éomer. Perhaps she could have told her why...helped her to feel such things herself. She desperately wanted to love her husband. She did not hate him by any means - he was gentle and kind and looked after her needs almost obsessively. Yet she could not find in her heart that intensity of emotion that was love. Despite his kindness, he was still provincial and uncultured. She could not talk to him of literature or philosophy or art or drama or music...he was a soldier, and only a soldier.

She sighed tiredly.

"Yes, he is brave and handsome."

She sounded bored in her words and looked away.

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Dancing Sparrow
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Citizen # 2240

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The rain poured on ceaselessly into the afternoon. The ground was no longer recognizable as grass and soil, but instead shimmered and moved like a vast lake. The plain seemed to dance subtly in the rain and the air was thick with the smell of soggy wood from the trees. The land was all one shade of gray with the sun being completely over taken by the heavy clouds. There wasn’t any sense of direction and there were even times going in a straight line seemed difficult.

Lorn’s body gave off the slightest bit of steam as his muscles burned and ached, but he trudged on none the less with his face into the wind. His feathered legs sopped with mud, twigs, and dead leaves as he labored to lift each leg. His burden sat in discontent on his back with her nose pointed to the ground and her eyes shut tightly. Even Cú, the deerhound, was up to his ears in misery has he dutifully followed closely behind the gelding, soaked from top to bottom. His muscles were also hot from the strain of traveling so far in half a day, yet chilled to the bone from the ice cold rain and mud.

As the gray gelding dug into the mushy ground to climb a slight incline the mud gave way causing him to slip down onto his chest and face. Cú bolted out of the way as the massive draught horse came sliding down the slope and narrowly escaped disaster. Lorn on the other hand could not save himself as easily. In one strong movement his lifted his head out of the mud and lurched his body forward to counteract the downward slide. In his attempt to right himself his rider was thrown from his back and landed hard on the slope. If her body ached before, she did not know the meaning of pain. A piercing stab ripped through her thumb, up passed her elbow, as she gasped before turning as white as a sheet.

She rolled from side to side as she cringed and swallowed nothing but air. She could not speak, scream, move, or think for the pain was too unbearable. If she had not broken something, then she had torn something. She had never expericanced such pain before in her entire life and wondered for a moment if this pain marked her death.

What seemed like hours passed were in fact only minutes as she sat up with her arm cradled like a child against her chest. She glanced down at her crippled arm through tears and rain drops to see her it swollen and red with inflammation. Would her arm fall off? Would she ever be able to use it again? Would she live to see tomorrow? What had she done?

The tears of fear, anger, and confusion came even stronger as Lorn walked up to her with his brown face melting away in the rain to reveal his gray coat. The look in his eyes almost seemed to be that of guilt to her, but he was just a horse. Only people feel guilt, right?

Guilt.

As Lorn looked into her eyes, her face fell to that of an expressionless doll and her eyes were glazed over with deep thought. She flashed away the thoughts in her mind then hauled her heavy body into the air and took Lorn’s rein with her one good hand. There couldn’t be a town too far from them now. Once at the top of the small hill she would be able to see farther into the distance and with a bit of luck see something worth seeing. She clucked for Lorn to move and started up the slope with the hound, once again, in tow.

[ 10-11-2007, 12:49 PM: Message edited by: Dancing Sparrow ]

From: Over Yonder *points south* | Registered: Jun 2002  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
Dancing Sparrow
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Cu, the grey wolfhound, crested the hill and immediately flopped to the soggy ground to catch his breath. The breeze was a little stronger at the top than along the slope. On a hot and sunny day it would have been welcomed, but the cool wind only seemed to pass through his chilled bones and making the cold damp that much harder to fight off.

Cu panted with his eyes shut and his head tilted to the sky. He paused his heaving breaths for a moment to lick the drool from his gaping mouth and caught a whiff of a pleasing scent. His eyes and ears perked up instantly in the direction of the wind. Hot wood fires, horses warm in their stalls, stews over countless stoves, and the thick musk of human shelters filled his snout. He turned his head back the way he had come to greet his human and the horse with a, “What the hell took you so long?!” expression.

The woman was beyond dirty and the thought of how she must smell nearly made her convulse. She grimaced at Cu and stuck her tongue out at him like a five year old. Oh to have four legs! Two more to help relieve some of the pain radiating from her own would be nice.

Just as Lorn reached level ground the woman slumped down to the ground next to the wolfhound and let out a sigh. This sigh was not caused because of a sense of relief, but from sheer lack of air in her lungs. They burned like fire along with the rest of her body. Suddenly her eyes lit up and smile crawled across her face for the first time in days. The smells of warm houses, dry livestock, and the possibility of a hot bath floated into her lungs.

She looked out across the clearing before her and saw the faintest bit of light. As her eyes focused through the rain she realized that this light was not so faint after all. A glorious city was before her… the glorious city! She finally knew where she was.

“…Edoras.”

The word sounded so sweet in her mouth and the sight of it brought a tear to her eyes. She was not destined to die in the mud, but to seek refuge in a place her father spoke of in her bedtime stories.

At the thought of her father her smile fell and her eyes grew distant. She stood for a moment in silence gazing off into the rain and then shook the thought from her head.

“Lorn, this is the final stretch! If we hurry we can be warm and dry by night fall.”

She led the giant draught horse to a near by log that had once been a glorious tree. She carefully hopped into the log then scrambled onto Lorn’s back. She took the single rein and held it in her right hand then nudged with her opposite leg. Lorn took a few long strides at a walk then smoothly hopped into a canter. At first the woman was afraid her weary legs could not hold her to her mount, but his gait was impressively quiet for such a large horse.

Cu, not paying any attention, jumped to his feet and sprinted off to catch up. He would have to work double time in order to keep up with the gelding’s massive stride. He pumped his burning legs faster and faster while the smell of man made hound heaven grew stronger and stronger.

The woman greatly under estimated her steed’s ability to cover ground for if he could keep this pace, they would be there in Edoras in less than two hours.

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The Swordmaster
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Citizen # 1302

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Arylia sighed slightly at the Queen's listlessness. She seemed so very sad.

"Perhaps I should leave you now my Queen, perhaps you would like to get some sleep. But when you feel well enough, send for me and we can begin work on your new dress."

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Nelyafinwë
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Citizen # 5247

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"No, please, I am well enough. We are running out of time, I fear - our guest will be here in a matter of days and I need the dress."

In reality, Lothíriel did not feel like being left alone. She was alone so much...she had never dreamed that the life of a Queen could be so very lonely...

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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"Very well My Lady," Arylia said with a small nod. "Do you wish me to bring the fabrics here, or would you prefer to come down to the workroom?"
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Nelyafinwë
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 5247

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"Bring them here, I suppose," she said softly, again running her hand over her swollen belly. "It just seems such a waste to make new dresses when I am in this condition. In a few months I shall not be able to wear them anymore!"
From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia gave the Queen a gentle smile.

"But with any luck you shall be able to use them again in a few years, when you reach this stage again."

She made her way over to the door, "I shall not be long My Lady, rest a while longer, before I have you standing on your feet for hours whilst I measure."

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Nelyafinwë
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When I'm in this condition again...

Lothíriel watched as Arylia left the room, trying to keep her frown suppressed until she was gone.

I suppose that is all I'm here for, after all...to produce heirs for Lord Éomer.

She had thought it would be so much more than this. Where was the romance she had dreamed of? The excitement, the glory that would come with being Queen? No, here she was simply alone and lonely.

What kind of life was this?

From: The Green Dragon - forever and always | Registered: Oct 2005  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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Arylia made her way quickly down the corridor towards the workroom to find her fabrics. The girl she had given them to had simply dumped them on a bench and they had spilled down across the floor, a swirling mass of colour.

Arylia tutted to herself and carefully began to fold the fabrics neatly, trying to ignore the little voice in her head that told her she was purposefully taking a long time. It wasn't her fault, but the Queen was just so unhappy, and Arylia found it difficult to spend to long in her company without begining to feel a little depressed herself. She paused in her work and glanced up as the sun broke briefly through the cloud cover. She moved to the window where she could see out across Edoras. A patrol was just returning to the city; she could see the Riders taking thier horses back to the stables.

Suddenly she spun resolutely away from the window. She would not torture herself with what could never be. She was a maid servant, and that was all she would ever be.

She gathered the fabrics into her arms, and with a fixed expression on her face, made her way back to the royal quarters.

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Amárië
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Lothíriel had recovered enough - at least on the surface - by the time Arylia returned that her face was set in the fake smile she usually wore here in Edoras.

"Very well, thank you," she said, sitting up a bit on the bed, trying to repress the nausea that did not seem to ever go away.

She looked at Arylia for a moment, then pushed herself to her feet, the very effort tiring her more than she knew possible.

"I do hope that this won't take terribly long."

From: Mishawaka, IN | Registered: Aug 2006  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
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"Of course not My Lady," Arylia said smiling weakly. "I shall be a quick as I can."

She drew the knotted string she used to take measurements from her pocket, and began her work, marking down the new measurments in chalk on a scrap of cloth.

It only took her a few minutes and then she tucked both the scrap of cloth and the string back into a pocket.

"Now then," She picked up the fabrics and began laying them on the bed. There was a soft dark red velvet, a dark blue satin that were Arylia's favourites and many others of all different colours. "Which ones do you prefer?"

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Roll of Honor Mahanaxar
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"Not at all," Éomer replied. "I will escort you to your quarters personally where you may rest as long as you need." With a smile he motioned for the young man to walk alongside him down a nearby corridor.

As their footsteps echoed off the solid stone of the hallways Éomer offered, "I know full well the strains of travel, particularly in this sort of weather, and how it can tend to eat away at one's will to carry on. Some rest, I'm sure, will be a welcome reprieve." Éomer hesitated briefly before continuing. "I do hope you do not feel a bit... neglected in these coming days. You see we are expecting still another visitor from your good king: an elf of Rivendell."

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Roll of Honor Athene
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Gliss had managed to gain entrance via the kitchens. Always a good place to start, she thought approvingly. A personable young man in need of sustenance could get a lot of insider information (along with a good feed) by flirting with the right kitchen maid. The maid never needed to know that Gliss wasn’t a young man at all. By the time she showed up to their tryst, Gliss would have what she came for and hopefully be out of the city by dawn. Provided some careless person had left a good horse standing around unattended. Gliss was constantly shocked how little care some people took of their possessions.

She had dressed more smartly than usual, knowing she would have to pass for a servant rather than a peasant, but not pushing her luck by stealing some of the Rohirric insignia that might get unwanted attention. It was tempting, though; Gliss had a magpie’s tastes and a bit of gold braid was always asking to be snatched. Ferog would be angry if she messed it up with distractions, though. He paid well for her services and had been very specific about the sort of item he wanted. Gliss had wisely refrained from telling him that any of the royal plate would be instantly recognised by any dealer within two hundred miles and rejected; she intended to leave him to find that out after he had paid her.

Ferog had told her that the plate was kept in a locked cabinet by the armoury. The kitchen maid, bridling and blushing under Gliss’ teasing, had carelessly let slip that the armoury was on the other side of the building, near the throne room. This meant passing through the women’s quarters, which would prove tricky in this guise. Snatching a wad of folded brocades from a window embrasure, she was ready. If questioned, she could always say that the keeper of the house had sent for her to carry the swatches for dressmaking, or some such thing. The brocades would also cover the heavy gold plate while she made her escape.

Right. Eyes down, look harassed, remember not to drop the stuff. Off we go.

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Amárië
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Lothíriel ran her hands over a deep blue velvet, and smiled.

"Yes, this one, I think. It is a very fine material, and I think it shall make a lovely gown. I do not want something too showy, not while I am in this condition. It would be completely inappropriate."

She sat on the bed, feeling weak, but choosing fabric and thinking about their guests had put a spark of happiness in her heart.

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Roll of Honor Athene
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Citizen # 3473

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Gliss met no-one on the way towards the armoury. She had heard the kafuffle of the king’s arrival and assumed, correctly, that the armoury would be unguarded as his stewards hastened to tend to their returning monarch. The voices of women drifted through the corridors, rising into soft laughter at times, and dropping back into the intimacy of conversation. For Gliss, who had never known the friendship of women, this cosy detail elicited a pang of envy. Still, she told herself firmly, at least I get to travel and drink beer, and I’m not made to do tapestry, thank Eru.

She reached the armoury hall without incident, and instantly saw the imposing oak cabinet to which Ferog had referred. Now was not the time to hesitate. It was the work of a moment to fish out her lock pick, slip it silently into the lock and fumble for the familiar click. Then open the door. She felt her eyes grow like saucers as the contents of the cabinet were revealed. Shelf upon shelf of plate, bowls, flagons, chalices…. Even in the dim lit corridor, the lush gleam of solid gold was unmistakable. Gliss grabbed a large serving dish, smothered it quickly in the folds of brocade and kicked the door shut. That should keep Ferog happy.

As she was turning to go back the way she came, the sound of approaching men came from the wide hallway to her right. Spurred heels rang on the flagstones, at least a dozen individuals. The king’s guard! What in Arda were they coming down here for! Gliss knew that she did not have time to re-trace her steps back to the corridors before the body of men came around the corner. Her only exit was up a stone staircase immediately to her left. She dived up it just as the first squire stepped into view, tucking herself into the recessed window, several steps up. As the guards paused in the hall, Gliss knew that her only way of escape was to continue upwards and try to find another way out. But where did the staircase lead?

[ 09-13-2006, 09:55 AM: Message edited by: Athene ]

From: Hades, UK | Registered: Mar 2003  |  IP: Logged | Report this post to a Moderator
The Swordmaster
Guard of the Citadel
Citizen # 1302

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Arylia nodded with a smile.

"An excellent choice your Majesty. it is a stunning fabric. I think then that I should be able to begin work on it. If I can take my leave of you My Lady?"

Arylia was already edging slightly towards the door, the fabric bundled back up in her arms.

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Roll of Honor Athene
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Citizen # 3473

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As Gliss edged up the stair, she saw and heard no-one. When she reached the top, a light, airy landing of wood met her eye. Most of the hall was on the ground level, so she felt fairly safe to assume that these must be the quarters of the gentlewomen of the queen. If not the queen herself. The richness of the tapestries hung from the walls seemed to bear this out.

Wonderingly, Gliss allowed herself to stray along the corridor, careless of capture. She had forgotten the weight of the golden dish in her arms; she was curious in her own right now. The landing seemed deserted, the wooden doors to her left closed. To her right, slender openings let the feeble gleams of late afternoon sun find their way through the rain, leaving slits of pale gold on the floor. The tapestries were lush, with intricate gold thread, but strangely, Gliss never thought of their value. She only saw their beauty, and the work that must have gone into them from many patient hands.

She stood rapt for some time, until her wandering attention was claimed by a click behind her and the sound of a woman's voice. Instantly, panic flooded her. Now there really was no escape!

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