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While the main battle rages halfway across the continent, Sir Conalmir and Captain Isabis have sailed to the far eastern shores of the Rhunese Empire.  There, they are attempting to stir up rebellion amongst the Emperor's client states.  One such land is ruled by the father of Malakeh - once the Emperor's favorite concubine, now married to Sir Asgaeron of Gondor.

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While the main battle rages halfway across the continent, Sir Conalmir and Captain Isabis have sailed to the far eastern shores of the Rhunese Empire.  There, they are attempting to stir up rebellion amongst the Emperor's client states.  One such land is ruled by the father of Malakeh - once the Emperor's favorite concubine, now married to Sir Asgaeron of Gondor.

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A lad has been sent with a message to where the two ships lie hidden in a small river.  This is the message:

"The bird is in the roost. The hay is in the loft. The sheep are still in the pasture, but the shepherd tries to lure them in with sweet hay.  And the wolves are sniffing at the door."

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"Birds, hay sheep," Mikkan grumbles to Conalmir after the messenger boy has left. "He couldn't send just a straight message? Who is the bird-the lord? the emperor? The sheep--the peasants? supporting lords? Oh, and the part of the verse that his messenger nearly forgot--wolves sniffing around. I assume that's the Emperor's spies?"

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"I have no idea." Conalmir stares after the boy looking somewhat stunned. "I assume the wolves must be the Emperor's men. Soldiers, perhaps?"

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"Well, if this is any place like Harad, probably spies," Mikkan answers dryly. "In any case, maybe we should send back a message of our own? Something about sending a smarter messenger and a message that makes sense? Does he need our help and if so how? Does he have a lot of recruits? many? few? supplies? and if he wants to use some code, then we have to sit down and work it out."

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"Indeed."  Conalmir's voice is equally dry.
"I suppose 'sheep' might be the others he is trying to contact, and he would be luring them in with sweet hay?

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Mikkan laughs. "Write it up and I'll deliver it? Unless you're willing to trust one of our ship's boys with it or you want to go yourself?"

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Sorry, I have tried four times to say yes start a new scene, but it hasn't saved it.

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The man of Gondor stands before Lord Bhalir (the name something unpronounceable, so that it changes all the time, it seems!). The man is waiting, waiting....Bhalir seems to be on his 'throne,' so to speak, looking imperiously at the Gondorian and keeping silent for a moment.

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"Well?" demands Bhalir at last. "Why are you here?  Didn't you get my message?"

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"Yes of course, my lord," Mikkan says, with a bow. "The only problem is, sir, is if we are going to speak in a code, such as it is, we must agree beforehand what the code means. For instance--sheep. Do you mean peasants? Other lords? Both? Wolves--the emperor's spies? your enemies? a bird in the roost is....we know not what. Perhaps you could do us the honor of explaining?"

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Bhalir grunts.  He stares at Mikkan, unimpressed, then looks around the small room with obvious deliberateness. The room is empty, but he glares at the Gondorian as if an entire regiment of Imperial soldiers stand around them listening. "If you speak like that, soon everyone will know and I will not be burdened with your stupidity. Kala send me conspirators
l liw

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...who have brains."

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"Fine," Mikkan says, barely containing a sigh but making an effort to be polite."We will try your way. So the sheep are in the fold and the wolves are sniffing around...and I suppose the pigs are treading water.. Yes? So I suppose if the wolves get the sheep then the hen will have to fly the roost. Honestly, don't you think we should talk about bolts of silk instead of these children's tales? How many orders for bolts of silk do you think you will have for us so far?"

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Bhalir sighs ostentatiously. But despite his theatrics, he lowers his voice when he speaks next. "The Emperor's men are everywhere. They listen at doors and watch with evil eyes. I have sent messages with men I trust, but there is one man I must speak to in person. We are great rivals. No one will think it strange that I journey there to gloat over my fine new silk clothes."  A sharp grin flashes across his face.

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"So..." Mikkan considers a moment. "That is your biggest order of silk for us. Good. I can have the bolt of silk that we have sent to you--so that your tailors can work it in your style. Or would you prefer or shiphands to tailor your clothes?" he grins.

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Bhalir considers.  "Send the silk," he says, "and a tailor also.  If he stays to consult on styles with my men, no one will think it odd.  But send him quickly.  I am leaving in two days.  In fact," he adds, struck by brilliance, " He can come with me."

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Mikkan returns to the ship, relaying it all to Conalmir--"So who do we send? They have to know how to sew but be able to assess the situation, too..."

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Conalmir considers, his gaze turning distant as he stare into the surrounding trees without seeing them.  Then his eyes turn speculatively to Mikkan.  "You can sew," he says.

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Sometime later Mikkan is back before Bhalir, little lines of annoyance around his eyes, bolts of silk with him and--presumably--enough needle and thread and scissors and pins to make a go at tailoring. Of sorts.

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"Ah," Bhalir says expansively.  "You are also a tailor!"  He smiles widely, clearly in a very good mood.  "You may travel in my household.  You are ready?  We leave tomorrow.  Early."

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"Yes, I'm ready," Mikkan answers, the little lines not dissipating. "I will have to be a foreign tailor...of sorts...for I'm not familiar with the customs or your household, for that matter. Where do we go first and what are your expectations?"

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Bhalir claps his hands loudly in reply.  A moment later, a servant opens the door and bows.  Bhalir rattles off a string of words, then turns to Mikkan.  "Go with him.  I have told him you have come with the silk, as a gift."

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Mikkan nods, then follows along.

(Scene fade)

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The wagon with Bhalir and Mikkan ...and all of the lord's servants and cousins, it seems...makes its way through the streets of the town, up one street and down another. Finally they come to a checkpoint manned by the Emperor's guards--which, as Bhalir has noted--there is no way of getting around them. Mikkan does his best to look unobtrusive and bored. And local.

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The guards are eagle-eyed and fierce, eyeing everyone intently and subjecting the Lord to many questions.  But all is going well until they come to Mikkan.

The soldier barks a question in a language Mikkan can't understand.
The servant standing beside the young knight hurries to answer, but is silenced with a curt phrase and a sharp gesture.  The soldier steps closer to Mikkan, frowning, and snaps his question again.  Clearly, no one so going to be allowed to speak for him.

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Mikkan has been watching all of this closely, so that when the guard focuses on him, he doesn't appear surprised. He pauses, thinks a minute, then reaches behind him in the wagon, pulling forward a portion of one of the bolts of silk for the guard to examine. "Silk," he says, then--in one of the few words of the local language that he knows, "for the 'Emperor.'" He glances at Bhalir. "Tell him it's tribute for the Emperor--from his allies in the south."

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Bhalir ignores Mikkan -what lord would respond to the demands of a lesser being?  But the man beside the Gondorian, who had spoken up before, bows rapidly several times and hurries to point to the cloth and explain.

The guard watches this exchange suspiciously.  "Awfully free," he grunts, and abruptly, "Where in the south?"

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"The nobles of Harad," Mikkan says. "They sent me forth in secret before all was lost--to indicate that not all the nobles of Harad agreed with the decision to fight against your Emperor. My lords send these gifts to say that they stand with him."

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This too is repeated, but the guard does not seem mollified.  "Harad," he says.  "Your king has turned against the rightful Emperor and allied with that imposter on Gondor's throne.  The /true/ king of Gondor will soon set things right."  He scowls at Mikkan.  "You are a traitor!"

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Mikkan looks taken aback for a moment, but shortly comes up with a reply. "The traitor imposter does what he wants, while the rest of the nobles watch, unable to do anything. But--they have sent me with gifts. If they did not believe in the true King, why would they send someone with gifts? Sending me all this way to you with our gifts was the only way to let you know our true feelings and our belief in the true king."  (Conalmir might be proud of that one.)

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The guard listens, then jerks his head towards two of his men.  "Take him," he says.  "We will see what the Emperor thinks of his words!"

Bhalir seems unmoved.  Bored, even, though there is a note of dry scorn in his voice that brings a red flush to the guard's cheeks.  "Now that you are finished finding traitors under every leaf, may I go?"

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"Wait--what?" Mikkan looks from the guards to Bhalir. "What's going on? Bhalir--do something!"

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"Gwaith crashes yer party, but not Gwaith in Rhun cuz that'd be weird" OR "Hi conals hope trip goes well!"

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"Gwaith crashes yer party, but not Gwaith in Rhun cuz that'd be weird" OR "Hi conals hope trip goes well!"

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A fly-whip swooshes, followed by a clucking tongue.  "What is this talk of traitors, Imazdi?" Another guard stands by the wagon now; pieces of his armour are enameled.  "I will take them.  My watch is near over, and it is on my way."  The man flicks his whip again.  "Consider it thanks for getting me off watch last night.  No one wants to drag prisoners through the streets."

So saying, he bows to Bhalir, crimped dark hair wafting the scent of sandalwood into the air. "I am grieved to see that you have been deceived by your companions, my lord. Surely if you make a gift -- a bolt of silk, perhaps -- to my friend, here, he might appreciate the awkward position you are in, hm? Unless you wish to walk the streets with us, to be sure. I would not dare dictate to a lord." He winks at his fellow guard.

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The guard scowls suddenly, and cuffs Mikkan upside the head.  "Watch your tongue!  You're speaking to Lord Bhalir, not just anyone!"  The other two guard move to grab Mikkan's arms.

Bhalir watches, face expressionless.  "Foreigners," he says at last.  "No sense of their place in life."  He shrugs and with awful politeness, says, " Am I to be allowed to visit my cousin, Lord Emitir, now?  Or have you suddenly decided I am a traitor also?"

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Hi Gwaith!! WE're also RPing on email and I cut and pasted your post to Conal. Do you want to join the email?

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Hi Gwaith!! WE're also RPing on email and I cut and pasted your post to Conal. Do you want to join the email?

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"Ow!" Mikkan yelps. "I'm a lord, too--how do you think your emperor will react when he hears how you treated a noble lord?!" He shuts up suddenly at the whip crack, then looks at Bhalir.

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Enamel-pauldron grins, his little whip swooshing.  "Surrounded, I see.  What's the term? A plague of princes?  A lesion of lords?  I can't remember.  An infestation, at any rate."

"Won't you come along nicely, my lord?  I've got a most punctual stomach and it tells me 'tis nearly time for dinner." He continues to cast loving glances at the roll of cloth.

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Gwaithie!  I was just thinking of you, and here you are!  Mikkan and I are emailing poses, and she posts them for me because I can't seem to make the padlet save anything from my iPad.  D'you want to be emailed also?Waves from the land of sushi and chopsticks. (I didn't check this page Thursday night, so you and conal crossed messages. :) -Mikkan)

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Gwaithie!  I was just thinking of you, and here you are!  Mikkan and I are emailing poses, and she posts them for me because I can't seem to make the padlet save anything from my iPad.  D'you want to be emailed also?Waves from the land of sushi and chopsticks. (I didn't check this page Thursday night, so you and conal crossed messages. :) -Mikkan)

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"Of course!  Silly me, I'd forgotten."  Bhalir doesn't even try to sound as if he truly had forgotten.  He snaps his fingers and one of his servants leaps to do his bidding.  A smaller bolt of the cloth is taken tenderly from the cart and, bowing low, the slave presents it to the guard.

"A gift," Bhalir says, bored.

They all ignore Mikkan - save for the two guards who are holding him.  They look to Imazdi for orders.

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Mikkan nods his assent. "Of course," he says, giving the two guards holding him an imperious look.

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Imazdi glowers at the newcomer.  "All right," he says with a vicious lack of grace, "You take him.  But I'll be sending in my report, don't think I won't."  With a jerk of his head, he collects his own guardsmen and stalks off, leaving Mikkan in the custody of his superior officer.

Bhalir glances after him.  "Such a lamentable lack of manners these days."

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Mikkan shakes his arms out as he is released, straightens his tunic, and squares his shoulders. Trying to look pompous and noble? He lowers his voice to speak to Bhalir. "A friend?" he asks Bhalir, with a look toward the enameled-armored soldier.

The servant beside Mikkan hisses and, when (if) Mikkan looks at him, the other man gives his head a minute shake.  But whether he means Mikkan should be quiet, or whether he means the enamel-pauldroned soldier is not a friend is anyone's guess.

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It may be nearly mid-day, but there is an unusual amount of activity on the grounds of the Farside Tower. There seems to be a steady stream of wagons of goods coming in--or is that going out? It might be hard to tell for sure. There are scaffolds and workmen making improvements to the tower itself and the walls, and under the din of this noise, sounds of steel clashing and shouts.
In the midst of it all, checking off things going out and coming in and things being fixed and done are several of the prominent men and women of the tower, along with Mikkan who is by the tower door, overseeing and checking off what enters and exits.

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Fariele stands nearby watchin all this with faintly quizzical expression. "Dare I ask.?"

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"No, no, grain stores this way, ale that way," Mikkan says to two men carrying barrels, pointing each in opposite directions. He takes the few steps over to answer Farielle. "You have not heard the rumors?"

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"Which rumors would those be.?" she asks in turn. "I