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Aelorco
Third Round
Accepting Assignment

As Aelorco stormed out, in his rage he noticed out of the corner of his eye a figure slinking in the corner (Shadowfox). But he ignored the entity, walking away until suddenly he heard someone running behind him. His shoulders stiffened, fists clenched, and he turned around ready to...

And then he immediately relaxed as he saw his wife and heard her words. His eyes softened, and he scratched the back of his head that was wrapped in gauze. Then he placed his hand immediately back towards his side. He swayed a little uncomfortably,

"Yeah well... a lotta good that did," Aelorco began to respond but then his wife stated her case of wanting him to come back in and that the judges wanted to hear another speech, "Well... Okay. I won't make ya wheedle. It's just, I kinda yelled at 'em ya know. Oh well, they're grown people, they probably get yelled at all da time."

"I'll see you soon, hon," Aelorco said as he pat Thalionwen on the head and kissed her forehead.

As he walked back, he noticed a rushing Shadowfox leave the tent. At this, Aelorco turned around a little, opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head.

"What's going on over there?" he muttered.

He soon went back in the judges tent, not particularly looking the judges, in particular Taethowen, in the eye and said,

"So I may've said some things," Aelorco said, "But I can see ya coming to make amends, and I respeck that. So I'm here to accept my assignment."

With that, he accepted the assignment, and began reading it. His forehead creasing through the gauze, his eyebrows raised, and his mouth forming into a grin as his head quickly shook like a bobblehead.

"What a funny coincidence," was all he said, as Aelorco smirked at the judges, then cheerfully went outside to compose his speech.

Zarâm - Spectating, Plotting, etc.
(with Frost and Zôrzimril)

It was evident that things were beginning to go south at a rapid pace and as minions were ought to think, that was a direction they wanted things to go in. The unfamiliar woman introduced herself as Zôrzimril. "It's always a pleasure to meet another mischief maker," Zarâm said. "I'm Zarâm."

However, their introductions were interrupted by sudden wailing coming from one of the contestants. By the sound of it, he had been eliminated. A moment later, when Zarâm looked up she realised that the eliminated contestant was none other than Aelorco. "That's going to go over well," she muttered as a very angry Thali ran up to him and embraced him. And then to her great surprise, once he calmed down, Aelorco stood up to give an impassioned speech on discrimination. Zarâm gave a rowdy "Here! Here!" in response. As an orc who loved to travel from time to time she had often been looked down on and called all sorts of awful names. So what if she had been born (or bred, or something, honestly, she didn't how she had come into existence) on orc. They were still creatures to be treated with dignity (and if they were not treated well, that meant the torture devices came out. They might come out even if they were treated well, but especially when they were discriminated against).

Despite the letdown of Aelorco no longer being in the running, the Mordor contingent was still strong. Zarâm hoped that Silendris would do well in the essay contest, despite the fact that the topic seemed to be a bit unusual for them.

The drama continued to unfold as yet another individual (Mx Shadowfox) left the tent and then somehow Aelorco was once again in the competition. Zarâm scratched her head. This contests made less and less sense the longer she watched.

As Taethowen approached, Zarâm looked up warrily. She didn't know what to think about this Rohir woman. Of course, she was friend's with Thali, so that meant something, and she thought she had seen her and Frost in the middle of a deep conversation at some point, but then, Frost would flirt with anything that walked. Taethowen grabbed Frost's hand and told the small group that the Mordor contingent was being watched and that they should be careful as she didn't want the Calvary to get dragged in. Zarâm gave a curt nod in understanding. She didn't want the Calvary involved either, not if it meant more crazy people like that marshal they had just had a run-in with "Nothing will happen until a Mordorian wins," she promised, exchanging glances with Frost and Zor. If they were to pull of mischief, it was important that they all were on the same page, more or less.

In the Festival Tent as a spec'tater:

Cal' was late for all the goings on at the Summer Festival. That was no surprise he had been busy in the Tub Race and was only just back from it. He wandered around Edoras checking out all the strange activities. Strange because none of the events he saw took place in Gondor over summer. He would have lots to tell his parents and friends when he got home. Eventually he found something really interesting. Mr and Miss Meduseld. What was that all about? He was sorry he'd missed the first rounds but he was sure things would be very interesting. He sat in a chair and waited for the next part of the contest.

Allacan, in disguise, sneaking about backstage

Allacan slipped sideways into the cover of a stack of chairs as people mingled and just caught sight of the angry, bandaged fellow returned with a touch of remorse. 'Helpful' she thought silently to herself 'I'd rather keep all the suspicious-types in one place while I figure this out'. The bandaged gentleman certainly matched the description of the aggressive haggler NPC had mentioned, while that handsome fellow over there with the long black hair (Frost) could easily be the candied-apple thief.

Thankfully she knew Taethowen well enough for her eye to be drawn by her mannerisms as stood from her chair. The woman was exceedingly subtle, but all the same Allacan was close enough friends with her to recognise the uncharacteristic fidgeting and flitting of her eyes about the tent that suggested she was nervous about something. She ducked behind cover each time the Rohir's eyes shifted in her direction, wondering at her unease. It couldn't possibly be her, could it? The paethfindian had notoriously sharp instincts for trouble; it was one reason she had been so respected as Aerest. Or perhaps it was the other people gathered at the edge of the stage, the one she had dragged the tall gentleman away from (Zaram and Zorzimril). They didn't appear to be up to much mischief that she could see; sure they were exchanging conspiratorial glances at each other, and from the back view one of them certainly appeared more bow-legged and grey-skinned that their usual fair, but they hardly looked mischievous enough to unsettle the Taethowen? There must be something else going on here that she was not aware of.

She shifted further away from the crowd and tucked herself between some boxes and haybales where no-one could possible catch sight of her unless they came all the way back here, double checking the curtain behind her would serve as an escape route if someone did. In the recess where she was at least momentarily out of sight of everyone she took a moment to herself to just think. What exactly had the Second Marshal summoned her here for?!

Frost, Spectating and Observing

Silendris, even a being in their own head, wandered off to begin work on their next assignment. Frost watched them go, feeling a moment of raging panic when “Aelorco” decided to throw something in their direction, naturally because it really was Orco, the projectile missed by a wide margin. He would hate to have to kill Thali’s husband here. He relaxed, though there was the beginning of a knot working it’s way through his shoulders.

No sooner had “Aelorco” been eliminated than the mysterious Mx. Shadowfox, whom Frost had hoped to meet at some point, bowed out of the competition and “Aelorco” was placed back in. Sometimes there’s really no justice in the world. He was going to keep an eye of that one.

As he began to look at the crowd, calculating who would be best to bribe, who would be best to threaten, and who would be best to remove from the tent entirely, Taeth appeared, placing herself between him and his minion allies. She grabbed his hand and pulled him aside. There was something wrong. He could sense that from her before she said someone was watching. Before he could respond in a lazy, sarcastically charming way, she cut him off. She was serious. Frost could see the fear in her eyes. He had never seen her this ill at ease, though his experience with her emotions was somewhat limited. Someone was watching them? As used to being watched (or ogled as it were) as he was, Frost was suddenly on edge. He didn’t glance around the big tent, trying to find whoever it was, but he could suddenly feel heat on the back of his neck, and hear a ringing in his ear. It took a moment for the Númenorean to realize the Rohir’s hand was still in his. He smirked at that, the barest uptick at the corner of his lip. He brought her hand up to his and kissed it.

“Keep doing what you’re doing, Taeth. Any trouble won’t come from us first. I promise you that.”

He nodded at Zarâm’s statement as well. “As long as that Mordorian wins,” he nodded in the direction Silendris had wandered off it. “The other one is on his own. And speaking of, see what you can do about thinning this crowd a bit, scare them off, bribe them, trick them. It doesn’t matter. Less votes for the Rohir means a better chance for Silendris.” He looked back and forth between his orc companion and the human, Zôrzimril. “If things go sideways though, scatter. I’ve already been singled out by the Marshal, she’ll come after me, you two can escape and regroup.”

Jakiewyn - Round 3 speech/essay

Jakie looked at Rhys with a pout. She was ready to skip out of there. She had what she came for. She did not need any other victory. Plus, if she actually won this, she would then have an inn full of guests to attend to, instead of the party for two she was now craving. She was still considering bowing out, but then she was told that two others had already done so. Shadowfox among them. Was there any other Rohir among the group left? She took a breath, fixed her mask, then retook the stage, taking the scrap of paper her son handed her.

“‘Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?’* Who am I to argue with the King of Gondor?” Jakie started off with a shrug. “He was right when he answered: ‘Both’*. ‘After all, I believe that legends and myths are largely made of 'truth'**’. Aragorn explained it thus: ‘a man may do both, for not we but those who come after will make the legends of our time.’*” She paused, closing her eyes thinking about all her schooling. She gulped. She had always been better at the hands on things. That is why she took so well to the hands on life that Rohan had given her. “During that conversation between the two, Eomer also insisted: ‘Halflings! But they are only a little people in old songs and children's tales out of the North.’* Though, when they met the halflings for the first time, King Théoden recalled to them the few, brief stories of the Holbytlan, how they avoid the sight of men, change their voices to the piping of birds, and even vanish in a twinkling.*** And while they proved much more worthy of our stories and song, time passing feels like they may have indeed vanished in a twinkling.” She shifted in her spot, before continuing with her example of the hobbits. “Master Meriadock, (as well as Masters Pippin, Frodo, and Samwise), become quite the hero to us. However, now that they have returned to their homes, and we are left with the memories of their time here, our children and our grandchildren, and so on, will only know them as legends. We finally have more stories to pass on, and those too, shall fall into legends. The proof is in those old stories (and others not related to the hobbits) that we had thought were, in fact, only stories that came alive, renewed, before our very kings!”

She then gestured with open hands to the entire event. “There is much happening even today, that will live on in stories of this event. Don’t you think? However, even by the time we send off our accounts of today, to those whom we choose, this will all be simple legend of the event. Stories to be retold among the audiences and participants of future Miss/ter Meduseld contests. Though, some of us may wish that the stories fizzle in the summer heat, than be remembered thus.” She took a step backwards, signifying that she was done. She chewed on her thumb-nail, while waiting for the judges remarks. As soon as she had them she wanted to grab her husband and make their exit.

*The Two Towers, Chapter III, The Uruk-Hai
**The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien; 131 to Milton Waldman
***The Two Towers, Chapter VIII, the Road to Isengard

Aelorco
Third Round
Responding to Gwai

He stopped midway, listening to Gwai's words. Then he slowly turned around, his head slightly bowed, a smile appearing on his face that didn't reach his eyes. His feet shifted forwards, side to side, as his gauze tape dangled with each step. He stepped close to the table, exhaled then inhaled, then exhaled again. He grabbed a writing utensil, and a bunch of paper, then looked at the welcoming hand.

He then grinned, lines appearing near his mouth and his eyes wrinkled seemingly in merriment. Then he walked back to compose his piece.

~~~

SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH SPEECH

"Now I just want to expand on what I said before," Aelorco began, "You see back when Eomer said the victory at Helm’s Deep was because a Gandalf, but Gandalf disagreed, saying Eomer and the Westfold did more. Now no offense to either of dem, but they're both wrong. For you see there would be no victory at Helm's Deep if not for de ents and huorns disrupting Isengard and exterminating any survivors of the battle. Without the ents or huorns, Saruman would've launched anotha attack with his remaining orcs and the battle woulda not ended.

So I've read the account of the battle a buncha times. It was very useful to know. When Theoden does his big charge, the orcs are all driven away from the fortress. But what happened next was important you see. Cause all a sudden, this giant strange forest appeared that was never there before. These were the huorns, if the huorns weren't there, the orcs woulda all run away. But because of this forest, the orcs now were all frightened and didn't to know what to do. Behind em was Theoden, and ahead was a forest that probably would kill them. So the orcs all decide to group togethuh like "swarms of flies" to escape by climbing the walls of the coomb. That was when Gandalf and uhh dat Erkbrand guy showed up and collided with the orcs like hammer upon anvil or somethin' (Two Towers, page 803).

Now you're thinking, okay, maybe there was some contribution from those huorns, but it was Gandalf who finished the job. Nope. I remember how vivid the guy described it. "Like a black smoke driven by a mounting wind they fled" or so I remembuh. A black smoke is very noticeable, you see, so there were still a lotta orcs running away. Maybe even thousands of them cause otherwise it would've been described as a "wisp" or somethin', rather than "smoke." Now at this point, without he huorns, they woulda run away, regrouped somewhere, and even perhaps do another attack. But because of de huorns, all de orcs who tried to run away into the forest were killed or somethin'. It was the huorns that finished the job, not Gandalf (Two Towers, page 804).

Even if say de huorns were not there, the orcs run away from Helm's Deep. Would they have been able to regroup and do another assault? No, because of the ents, and not becausa Gandalf nor Eomer. You see by this point the Ents already got Isengard, and were shutting it down due to flooding it. That means no more supplies for orcs, no leadership from Saruman who's stuck in Isengard, These fleeing orcs without any food, without a Saruman to calm them down, they wouda either starved to death, scattered throughout the land, or killed each other for food. Cause of the ents, there would only be one assault on Helm's Deep, and thus the battle was lost by Saruman and won by Rohan (Two Towers, pages 828-833.)

Now I want ya to imagine no huorns and no ents. The orcs flee Helm's deep, probably still numbering thousands. Isengard still exists, gives em supplies. Saruman uses his voice to calm 'em down. Maybe he even leads this time with his magicks. Then they attack Helm's Deep again. Would Rohan still have won? Maybe, maybe not. But because of de huorns and ents, we need not speculate further. Without de huorns and ents, the battle for Helm's Deep woulda continued."

With that Aelorco stopped, looking at the audience and judges, "any questions?"

• SIlendris, Round 3, Speechifying
  

Silendris had gnawed most of their fingernails almost down to the quick, but had finally finished their frantic scribbling on their essay paper. Who would've thought that a beauty pageant would've demanded so much essay paper? They were in luck that their emergency supplies had included so many writing materials, including many fine quills plucked from the Duckingham family.

Ready at last, they trotted up to the judges and took a speech-making stance (legs unnaturally far apart, palm dramatically upraised), and began to declaim.

"Our topic," they said by way of introduction and for convenience of the audience who don't want to scroll up, "is: "All your words are but to say: you are a woman and your part is in the house." Éowyn proves him wrong. Discuss how Éowyn combines strength with femininity."

We shall now demonstrate this, but purely for the sake of this task, as we personally think Éowyn was a silly cry-baby."

Silendris looked around nervously to make sure Éowyn wasn't actually present, as they were in fact well aware that Éowyn could probably kick their bum-flap wearing bum into next week.

---

Femininity is a concept hard to pin down within the history of The War Of The Ring. Whilst its female characters are few, they are varied: from Arwen, the traditional courtly maiden, who effectively does remain within the house, her main contribution sewing a banner for Aragorn; to Galadriel, queen, leader and actor; but whose voice is described as "deeper than woman's wont", and whose mother-name is Nerwen, or "man-maiden", due to her height and strength.

Does height, strength and other traditionally masculine attributes detract from Éowyn's femininity? No.

Éowyn embarks on a journey of womanhood throughout the history of the Ring-war. When we first meet her, she is a girl, reluctant to accept her responsibilities: "Am I not of the house of Eorl, a shield-maiden and not a dry-nurse? I have waited on faltering feet long enough". Éowyn is forgetting her duty AS a member of the royal family: it is first to protect her Lord; and she is doing so by caring for Théoden, rather than seeking glory in war. It is her role that she feels trapped by, and not her femininity: she is "left behind when the riders depart to mind the house while they win renown", but not because she is a woman: because she is the other heir to the house of Eorl, something Théoden will be conscious of, having already lost his son Théodred.

Gandalf later acknowledges this: "You had horses, and deeds of arms […] but she, born in the body of a maid, had a spirit and courage at least the match of yours". Éowyn is Éomer's equal in spirit and courage: whilst being a maiden. Her femininity does not in the least diminish her strength.

Éowyn's urge to prove herself on the field of battle is, then, not an attempt to escape womanhood; but a more girlish desire for glory and renown (similarly to why she seeks the love of Aragorn; as pointed out by the mortal scholars Hammond & Scull, marrying Aragorn would have resulted in much the same duties as she accepts when she marries Faramir). It is childhood that Éowyn is escaping: with its memories of her lost parents, a mother who dies of despair and a father dying on the battlefield; and a more unpleasant aspect of girlhood: sexual harassment, as Gríma dogs her steps around the Hall.

And Éowyn's coming of age is realised when she finally reveals herself, as a woman, and at the height of her strength, on the battlefield: "But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin."

At this point Éowyn has embraced all her roles: she is a woman; she is a warrior; she is a daughter of the Royal House, and she is defending her lord; not as a nurse now, but as a protector with sword and shield. Rather than a giddy girl pining after glory, Éowyn has grown up, facing one of the most fearsome foes (sigh, so dreamy) and defeating Him (BOO). Far from abandoning her folk for an adventure, she is no longer pretending to be someone she is not. She is both strong and a woman, feminine and fearless.

---

Silendris adopted a more normal stance as their hips were beginning to hurt.

"We will now take questions," they buzzed.

Allacan, in disguise, invading the competition and (deceptively) claiming she is there to represent @Burnt Toast

In the quiet of the backstage area where she continued to remain undisturbed (for now), the words of the various presentations flowed over Allacan. She paid them little heed as she continued to ponder the urgency of the Second Marshal's request, and the reason she was asked to be discrete, and came up with nothing. How was she supposed to be discrete and maintain the implied secrecy of her presence there but also have any idea what was going on... especially with Taeth in the room! The pæthfindian's instincts were too sharp, and it wasn't exactly like she had yet met with any of the other pæths (or aspirant pæths) to establish a signalling code yet. Damn the Marshal, could she not have provided just a touch more context, she thought to herself.

"And our next entry is Toast, answering the question "Éowyn deliberately disobeyed the King and rode to Pelennor Fields. While her success in killing the Witch-King is undisputed, discuss if she was justified in disobeying her King." someone announced.

There was a long pause, the hush in the crowd that waited expectantly grew a little uncomfortable, and then voices rose up in questioningly. Someone had already commented that they were moving on without his submission, and Allacan's curiosity peaked; what exactly had held this particular competitor up; were they injured? Had they been abducted? Were they in fact there but not speaking because of some other reason? She had no idea while trying to maintain this 'discretion' requested by the Second Marshal, and she was growing increasingly frustrated and impatient. They were unwise emotions to cultivate while garbed in this particular manner, because they brought to the surface other, entirely un-Rohir mannerisms that Allacan was supposed to have learned to suppress.

Discrete was useful in some circumstances, but not when it blinded you to what was actually going on so you couldn't react or be prepared.

Curiosity overcame her, and she cracked open the curtains behind her to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening. It was a mistake; the motion - however subtle she might have made it - immediately caught the attention of the watchful Taethowen whose eyes snapped immediately to meet her gaze.

That decided it; even in that instant she could tell that Taethowen had her made, but did not yet recognise her face in the shadows, so it would not be long before Allacan would be swarmed by guards coming to drag her out. Discrete be damned, she thought to herself...

"Éowyn was a traitor to her king!" she declared loudly, as she strode out from behind the curtains with a flourish, running a hand through her jet-black hair in the very specific manner shown to her by one of a more magical persuasion, thus ending the minor spell of concealment that lay there. As her fingers arced backwards through her hair, thick, sharp, black lines appeared across her forehead to curve and frame around her right eye and reach sharp points down her right cheek, a black tattoo of celtic curves that were also twisted and spiked in the manner of Mordor. If the tight leather garb, lethal array of knives and jet-black dyed hair were not enough to so drastically change the appearance of Allacan so that even those closest to her would hesitate, the face tattoo and her new demeanour would have done it. She moved not only with the assured assertiveness of a legendary warrior of Rohan, but also with the quiet arrogance of a murderous assassin of Mordor. For in truth she was both, and the lethal mix gave her an aura of confidence that was simultaneously challenging and enticing.

A quick glance around showed no sign of the missing competitor, and so fuelled by the self-belief that came with the re-emergence of an aspect of her identity she had long kept hidden, a new idea formed; she improvised. "I represent Toast in this round, for he is regretfully waylaid. It would be a shame to see him lose his placing through inconvenience. Besides, sometimes you have to break the rules a bit to get the job done." She crooned teasingly with a mischievous smile, but then throwing a weighty look towards Taethowen that she hoped the pæthfindian would correctly interpret.
"Éowyn was a traitor to her king, and might have been punished as one if she'd been without the privilege of her station" she continued, disregarding any attempt to stop her. "but were it not for her privilege, she would not have been commanded to stay."

"Some interpret her betrayal as culmination of her belief that without providing all the aid they could muster, they would all die in any event so what difference would it make? But Éowyn was no fool. She was educated by the best tutors the Riddermark had to offer and more than capable of understanding the implications of abandoning her duties to ride into battle beside the only two other people fit to take the Throne. Her intentions were selfishness and rebellion wrapped up in a fine veneer of martyrdom and heroism. As the Marshal Malorn once chided me; dying heroically serves no-one if the people you are dying to protect die anyway.

"Théoden knew he might be riding to defeat, but he also knew that - as demonstrated by the perennial survival of the orcs and goblins after the initial defeat of Sauron by the Last Alliance - even after a definitive defeat in war, some would survive. But only if they were hardy and canny, knowing when to flee and when to fight. Éowyn's expertise were not only in a blade; she could also endure great suffering while remaining steely cold and determined. He knew she was cunning enough to lead a rebellion if they were defeated. Éowyn was clever, but she was also selfish and very, very lucky.

"Éowyn had no idea that she would be given an opportunity to redeem herself on the Pelennor Fields by defeating the Witch-King, therefore when judging her actions such considerations are moot. She ignored a direct order from her King and knowingly put her life, and the safety and security of her entire nation, at risk. She knew exactly what she was doing, and as the niece of the King, raised in his household, she should have known better."

Her aspect softened a little, and a little of the gentleness of the familiar Allacan glimpsed through, hopefully putting at ease a little of Taethowen and Gwai's consternation while also not losing the regard she might have earned with the minion contingent. "Notwithstanding the above, assessing one's character based entirely on an isolated incident neglects the understanding that each person is a complex collection of personas and identities, of actions and consequences. As a result of her betrayal, Éowyn was exactly where she needed to be - and in exactly the manner required - to enable her to mislead and defeat the Witch King. Consequently her betrayal saved more lives than were lost in its action.

"If we were judged solely on the intent of our actions without consideration to the consequences, or vice versa, then judgment would be swift and harsh and the world would have a great deal less heroes. Éowyn's actions were not justified, however because of the consequence of her actions they were forgivable. I, of all people here, can attest that redemption is impossible without forgiveness. "Where will wants not, a way opens"(ROTK, Chapter III) And as I said earlier, sometimes you have to break the rules to get the job done."
She did not wait for any acknowledgement or affirmation of her contribution, but with the same self-assurance with which she entered strode directly from the stage, heading into an open space in the gathered crowd only a short distance away from where Frost, Zôrzimril and Zâram were standing. This aspect of her identity might once have been the prize and masterful creation of Gecko, much revered in Mordor, but her identity had remained secretive throughout her years in the dark nation, and so she was absolutely certain the these three particular individuals would not recognise her. But that didn't meant they would not be curious. 'If so, let them come to me', she thought to herself with a satisfied smile.

OOC: Allacan is acting purely on initiative and taking the opportunity that has presented itself to her and has had absolutely no conversation, in or out of character, with Toast. If @Burnt Toast wishes to confirm her acting on his behalf, or deny it, then he is free to do so. She is also entirely ignorant to the fact that there are supposed to be questions after the speeches, so she will have to wing that little awkwardness when it comes. Also, I'd completely forgotten until now that Allacan got a face tattoo during her time in Mordor; magic ret-con for the win!

Despite the nervous edge Taeth sensed in the air, the warmth of Frost's lips on the back of her hand--had it really only been a couple days ago that he'd done the same when Thali introduced him to her, and she'd pulled away in consternation?--were grounding. Though she still felt that offness of being watched, the sense of near-panic began to fade away. She took a deep, calming breath as Frost promised that they wouldn't initiate the trouble, at least. "Thank you," she whispered, gently squeezing his hand before she let go.

At his and the orc's (Zarâm) comments--and now that she looked at his companions, she realized the orc was the same one who'd tried to steal from her shop earlier, but she would try to not hold a grudge. Yet.--Taeth rolled her eyes. "If a Mordorian wins, it will be fair and square," she answered. "And now I must get back."

Taeth couldn't help but continue to cast her gaze over the crowd and the surrounding areas of the tent as she walked back to the table she shared with Gwai. And though the urgency of the moment had passed, there was still some niggling sense that told her they were yet under observation. But by who? From where? And should she tell Gwai, since the judge was her fellow pæthfindian, even though they were not in the same eored?

Just as she slid back into her seat, though, Aelorco returned, and while Taeth's eye twitched and her lips mouth tightened into a sharp line at the statement 'but I can see ya coming to make amends, and I respeck that' because they had nothing to make amends for in Aelorco's case, at least when it came to the actual competition, she bit her tongue. She did not want to lose her temper in front of the whole crowd. She'd already embarrassed herself enough the first night.

Gwai, though, had apparently had enough, and Taeth was just a little surprised when her fellow judge stood and called Aelorco out on the threats he'd made earlier. Which, to be honest, Taethowen had completely forgotten due to the feeling of being watched that still persisted. But Gwai was right. Threats towards the judges, the audience, and fellow participants were inappropriate. Aelorco clearly needed some help with gaining confidence in himself, and if Thali was truly determined to see this relationship through, she hoped that Aelorco would get that help. No one was better for that than Thali.

As Aelorco stepped away to begin work on his speech, Taeth turned to Gwai. "Thank you for clearing that up," she said. And then Taeth hesitated for a moment, still warily watching the activity around the tent. Yes. She should tell Gwai.

"Something's brewing," Taeth whispered, catching Gwai's gaze. "I don't know what, and I don't know by whom. Be alert."

Taeth couldn't quite settle back in her seat, but instead situated herself on the edge of the chair, and reviewed the essay topics once again as she kept watch for any signs of anything at all out of place. Hopefully the speeches would begin soon.

(OOC @Allafyrefleorhtlig - as we're still waiting on the final contestant to submit an essay, and you clearly wrote your interruption as the final one, I'll get my RP response in to that when we get to the actual judging process.)

Amethyst Copperpick Presents...

Uurgh. Amethyst had scribbled, crossed out, scribbled some more, hurled parchment against the wall, gone for a drink, come back somewhat reluctantly, gone for a number of other drinks, then hurled more parchment around. It had been a trying time, but finally she had something to present.

Last up, oblivious to all the drama, dressed with sparkly high-heeled boots and the purple power suit once more, the dwarf strode out to the podium. She took out a small stool and stood on it, then pulled a pair of pince-nez from her pocket. Normally she only needed them for her more delicate work, but more and more she was finding them handy to read with. And they made her look fierce.

“Ahem,” she commanded for silence. “Éowyn's outlook rapidly changed with the end of the War of the Ring. From the negativity of openly seeking death, she turns to positivity, and as a result accepts new opportunities as they are offered to her. She ends up married, with a child, and living in and helping to develop a beautiful country - something she surely could not have achieve with the mindset she has before meeting Faramir.

Only weeks before her change of heart, Éowyn is stuck doing her duty as a nurse-maid to her frail uncle. Her cousin Théodred has been slain, her brother had defied the king's orders and ridden off to pursue a band or orcs, and she's left behind with half-dead Théoden and creepy Gríma and his whispering poison. (Amethysty broke off here to note besides these last words ‘future band name?)

Éowyn felt trapped - by duty, by despair, abandoned by family (even though not intentionally) and, as she views it, being of little use. She wants control of her own fate, and the bonus of some glory. If she can’t control her life, at least she can control her death. So she steps away from the duties put upon her, rides to battle and defeats Sauron’s top boss.

But even after snicking off the Witch King and being largely physically healed, she wants to go out in a blaze of glory:
”I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the King, for he died and has both honour and peace." (1)

In the Houses of Healing, she finds Faramir: someone who seems to understand her, who respects her as an equal, who gives her choices - even if it is just then simple choice of whether to walk in the garden or not. An alternative to death or a cage is not something she has seen for her future for a long time. He helps her to see the positive, to open herself up to possibilities, to see the potential her future still holds. Instead of having to accept certain roles, she can choose what she wants to be. And she chooses to be a healer and a gardener, to develop instead of to destroy.

She went on to marry Faramir and have at least one child with him in Gondor. With the land of Ithilien in her care, “it became once again the fairest country in all the westlands" (2). This is a sharp change from the woman who, seeing no control over her future, sought death. Surely back in Meduseld, less than a month before meeting Faramir, bent upon her own destruction, she could not have expected this future ahead of her.

1. RotK, 'The Steward and the King’, p.285
2. RotK, Appendix A, p.447

Amethyst shuffled her single piece of parchment, gave a stern look to the audience to put them off asking any tricky questions, then removed the pince-nez and stepped away form the podium. Done. Kind of.

Aelorco turned back to Gwai, a smile which somehow seemed insincere crossing his face. He stepped closer to her, but said nothing, instead breathing heavily. Gwai was taken aback, but held his gaze, her green eyes meeting his. He smiled even more largely, and instead of taking her offered hand, instead took paper and pencil. Gwai exhaled slowly as he left, feeling tension leaving her shoulders. At least he proved he heard her.

Gwai turned to sit down, looking at Taeth, who seemed distracted, as her fellow judge thanked her for clearing up the matter with Aelorco. She shrugged, “I hope I wasn’t too harsh, but he was very much out of line earlier,” she explained, before immediately forgetting the matter due to Taeth’s next words.

As she sat down, Taeth breathed in a whisper, “Something’s brewing.” Gwai’s eyes widened. “I’ll be ready,” she said under her breath, eyeing the crowd, and wishing the judge’s table was at the back of the tent instead of the front for a better view of the crowd. It went against her training to have her back to a room.



The contestants soon began, with Jackiewyn leading off the speeches. Gwai smiled as she led off with a comment about not wanting to argue with the King of Gondor. Jakie’s speech was well researched and well-reasoned, and drew in one of the most popular of heroes. Gwai thought for a moment, and phrased her question. “Jackiewyn, your example of Master Meriadoc (and the other hobbits) as heroes that will pass in to legend seems quite apt. It is common for legends to change with every telling as time goes on. How important do you believe it is to maintain pure fact, or is appropriate for a measure of exaggeration or even hearsay to accompany these events when they are told to future generations, provided the central theme rings true?” (@Veowyn)


The next contestant was Aelorco, who delivered a speech discussing the Battle of Helm’s Deep from a different perspective than usual heard. The topic was still fresh in the memory of many of the Rohir, and many a friendly debate went late into the night at the Inn over a pint involving what-ifs of the battle. Aelorco’s take on the battle, however, was a bit unique than the typical perspective of most Rohir. “Aelorco,” Gwai began “It is a brave scholar who will disagree with both a wizard and a future king!” she said with a smile. “Your premise of the Ents and Hurons contributing the most to the victory is quite an interesting view of the Battle of Helm’s Deep, and you raise some interesting ideas. As you pointed out, Erkenbrand and Gandalf, with the men from the Westfold, effectively eliminated the Dunlendings, and accepted their surrender. Do you believe the Huorns should have offered mercy to the orcs, who were already retreating and effectively routed? (@Dwarrow Elf)


The next contestant soon took the stage, striking a dramatic pose as they began their speech. Despite Gwai’s firm disagreement with Silendris’ opening statement regarding Éowyn’s silliness, she found herself nodding at various aspects of the speech. “Silendris, I agree with your thought that Éowyn demonstrated a “coming of age”, maturing into acceptance of her multiple roles, and finding peace with all of them. You astutely point out that she was frequently harassed by Gríma Wormtongue. It is not long after his banishment that she soon matures into the strong woman that we now know. How much of an influence do you think his harassment had on her desire to win renown?” (@Sil)


There was quite a delay as they waited for the next contestant, Toast. Someone murmured that Toast had withdrawn. Gwai glanced at Taeth. That would be a sore loss to the competition! However, perhaps that rumor was incorrect, as a contestant soon took the stage.

Instead of seeing Toast, as expected, Gwai was quite surprised to see somebody new taking the stage. Confused, Gwai looked over to to Taeth. Did this have something to do with what she had mentioned earlier? A question in her eyes, Gwai nevertheless said nothing out loud. If trouble was indeed afoot, surely it would be best to play along as if nothing was wrong.

Allacan’s speech, however, was also quite a shock, from her opening words decrying Éowyn as a traitor. The entire first half of the speech took much of Gwai’s self-control to sit quietly, although inwardly she wanted to defend the Lady Éowyn. With another glance at Taeth to ensure they were hopefully on the same page, Gwai was about to go ahead with her questioning as if contestant switching were a normal occurrence. However, she walked off the stage immediately, not waiting for her question.

Standing, Gwai motion for the crowd to quiet. "If anyone sees our last...contestant," Gwai hesitated over saying the name out loud, and decided vagueness was the best course of action. "The follow up is this: I believe you are indeed correct that there would be fewer heroes if they were judged solely on the intent of their actions, and vice versa. You quoted Marshal Malorn saying dying heroically saves no one if who you are dying for die anyway. While I would agree that is oftentimes an accurate assessment, are there circumstances which would change this? (@Allafyrefleorhtlig)


The final contestant to present was Amethyst. Clad once more in purple, she stood on a stool, using a pince-nez. Gwai listened carefully to the speech, again finding herself nodding in certain places. She paused a moment to gather her thoughts, and then proceeded with her question for the dwarf. “Amethyst, as you point out, Faramir is able to understand Éowyn, and offers her the respect and freedom to make her own choices that she desires. How do you believe his own past and experience equipped him to understand Éowyn’s feelings?” (@Elarith)

Taeth had calmed herself, mostly, but the time the speeches began. It wasn't a true calm as much as an outward one. Her instincts will still singing at her, telling her that somewhere, close, something was not as it should be, but she'd moved into waiting. She'd done everything she could without alarming people or giving herself away, and so now she just had to wait, for whatever might happen.

Then, finally, the third round began. Taeth could hardly believe the competition was nearly at its completion. Taking hold of pen and paper, she prepared to make notes for the final set of scores.



Jakiewyn was the first to step forward, and as she spoke, Taeth could see clear signs of nervousness emanating from the woman, but despite them, she spoke well and clearly. Taeth couldn't help but smile as Jakie declared, "There is much happening even today, that will live on in stories of this event."

"Thank you, Jakiewyn (@Veowyn)!" Taethowen smiled when Gwai finished her question. "You say at the end of your speech that 'some of us may wish that the stories fizzle in the summer heat, than be remembered thus.' Do you believe that we have a responsibility to truthfully carry on legends and stories that may cast us in poor light, or even the ones we simply find embarrassing? Explain your reasoning, whether you are in favor of it or not."

Aelorco (@Dwarrow Elf) came next, and while at times Taeth had to work out what he was trying to say through his accent, his arguments were sound and valid. After Gwai, she asked, "You are right to say that the Battle of Helm's Deep would not have been won without the ents and huorns, however that does not mean that Eomer and the men of the Westfold were unneeded. Can you name some of the deeds that Gandalf was referring to in his statement?"

Taeth chuckled quietly to herself as Silendris came forward for their speech. She knew Silendris was Frost's favorite, and while she was certainly not going to manipulate the results, Taeth had to admit that Silendris had actually impressed her all the way through. She had not been lying when she said that if a Mordorian won, it would be fair and square.

She shook her head, though, as Silendris declared Eowyn a cry-baby, but then they actually dove into their speech. To say that Taeth was un-awed would be a lie. In fact, Silendris (@Sil) speech left her pondering so many things that she almost missed that it was her turn to ask a question after Gwai.

After clearing her throat, Taeth asked, "You point out that Eowyn is escaping from her childhood. Her mother has died of despair, and she is being harassed by her Lord's favorite counselor. Eowyn doesn't even have the comfort of an aunt, for Theodred's mother died in childbirth. Do you think the fact that she grew up surrounded by men with no female role models also played a role in her desire for war and renown? How do you think her life might have changed if she had another woman to mentor her?"

Toast was next, but when their topic was announced, the tent slowly fell silent. Taeth looked up, scanning the crowd to find the missing participant, but instead her eyes locked on an unexpected movement behind one of the curtains. There, she thought. But before she could stand and cross the tent to investigate, someone stepped out and cried, "Eowyn was a traitor to her king!"

Taeth's hand flew, for the second time during this event, to the concealed dagger at her waist. It was a woman with a very, very odd familiarity about her. Taeth sucked in a breath as, with a simple gesture, a tattoo seemed to draw itself across the woman's face. She missed the questioning look on Gwai's face as she tried to remember where and when she'd seen this person before.

"I represent Toast in this round, for he is regretfully waylaid, and it would be a shame to see him lose his placing through inconvenience," the mysterious woman said, and with a teasing smile she threw a weighted look towards Taethowen. "Besides, sometimes you have to break the rules a bit to get the job done."

The woman then launched into a speech, of which Taeth was amazed was thought up on the spot, and while she agreed with much of what was said, if the woman wanted these points to count for Toast, then she would need to fulfill all the requirements, and Taeth tracked the woman's movement through the crowd where she went to stand near Frost and his companions.

Gwai stood, then, and Taeth was surprised when she asked after the... interloper, because she was right there. When Gwai finished her question, Taeth stood, and locked eyes with the woman (@Allafyrefleorhtlig) in the crowd.

"If you're truly standing in for Toast, please come back to the front and answer our questions," Taeth said, voice ringing clear through the tent. "As for my question, you say that sometimes one has to break the rules to get the job done, and you are correct in that Eowyn was very, very lucky in the outcome of her gamble. But without Glorfindel's foresight that the Witch-king would not fall by the hand of man, would she have been so lucky? When one is responsible for the fate of a nation, how far should the rules be forgiven when they are broken?"

Then, at last, it was time for the final contestant, Amethyst Copperpick (@Elarith). Taeth smiled as the dwarf-woman settled a pair of pince-nez glasses on her nose. The glasses definitely enhanced her looks.

Almost subconsciously, Taeth found herself scrawling the power of choice across the margin of her notes. Something about what Amethyst said was tickling the back of her mind, but she wasn't sure why. And, once Gwai had finished her question, Taeth asked her final one.

"The way you speak of Faramir makes him seem mostly responsible for Eowyn's change of heart. While we cannot deny the influences other people have over us through bonds of friendship, family, and love, do you think the way that Eowyn divested herself of her past and threw herself into her future as Faramir's wife was problematic in any way?"

Silendris' eyes narrowed as a Mysterious Stranger @Allafyrefleorhtlig strode out, dramatically claiming @Burnt Toast's subject and delivering a stirring speech. Even as they were nodding smugly at the description of Éowyn as a traitor, Silendris was scanning the features that seemed peculiarly familiar. A smile curved their lips slightly and a gleam of recognition shone in their green eyes, but Silendris said nothing. Time enough for reunions later.

For now, it was time for questions. SIlendris beamed at Gwai's praise before clearing their throat with a noise like a buzzsaw, whatever that is, and began.

---

How much of an influence do you think [Gríma's] harassment had on [Éowyn's] desire to win renown?

Gríma's harassment certainly has an effect on Éowyn. It is a subtle combination of his sexual harassment - as we have previously argued, Éowyn incorrectly equates her "entrapment" with her womanhood, rather than her status as a royal, when she accuses Aragorn of saying that "All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death."

The insecurities that Gríma has been playing on are clear. He has made both womanhood unpalatable to her, by his obvious lust for her beauty, and he has also been tearing down the status and honour of the House of Eorl.

Gandalf says:

"Think you Wormtongue had poison only for Théoden's ears? Dotard! What is the house of Eorl but a thatched barn where brigands drink in the reek, and their brats roll on the floor among their dogs? Have you not heard these words before? Saruman spoke them, the teacher of Wormtongue. Though I do not doubt that Wormtongue at home wrapped their meanings in terms more cunning." - Gandalf

Wormtongue is subtly bringing the house of Eorl to dishonour. The line about "brats roll[ing] on the floor among their dogs" is a clear strike at the lack of parent-figures in the Royal House: Éowyn's parents are dead, and so is Théoden's wife, her aunt. The only parental figure she has is Théoden himself, and she herself is obliged to be his caretaker: "Yet she was doomed to wait upon an old man, whom she loved as a father, and watch him falling into a mean dishonoured dotage; and her part seemed to her more ignoble than that of the staff he leaned on."

Why more ignoble than that of the staff? Because the staff's *purpose* is to be leaned on. Éowyn believes this is not the fate she is destined for.

The malady that lies upon the house of Eorl is, above all, despair. Depression runs through the household. Théoden has succumbed to it, and it is Gandalf that lifts him out of it. Éowyn's own mother died of grief, and Éowyn herself comes perilously near to it, as Aragorn explains in the Houses of Healing:

"I have, maybe, the power to heal her body, and to recall her from the dark valley. But to what she will awake: hope, or despair, I do not know. And if to despair, then she will die, unless other healing comes which I cannot bring." - Aragorn

It is of course, both Faramir and the sense of victory that lift Éowyn out of her depression and guide her into her new life.

And thus although Éowyn masks her feelings through her girlhood hope of glory - of restoring the house of Eorl, and the desire she forms for Aragorn as a visible embodiment of great and glorious deeds: it is despair that drives her onto the battlefield; she believes all is lost - especially when she sees Aragorn disappear down the Paths of the Dead, to what is, in her mind, a doomed mission - and she is going to die with the rest of her kin - rather than to be "burned in the house", which is the only other fate that she has deemed possible. When she speaks to Éomer, it is not of restoring the glory of the House, but of the troubles that prey on her mind, Gríma-fuelled:

"Care and dread she had, and shared with me, in the days of Wormtongue and the king's bewitchment; and she tended the king in growing fear." - Éomer

And so Gríma is very much responsible for her feelings and actions: but not specifically for her desire for renown, lest it be to drive away his accusations regarding the house of Eorl. Instead, his workings upon both her and upon her uncle are what contribute to her depression, and thus in a roundabout way to her taking the field of battle.

---

"We'll deal with @Taethowen's question momentarily,", Silendris declared, "but first, a drink:" and they removed a hipflask from one of their many pockets (this really was a great outfit) and began tipping the contents into their face.

Thalionwen, Being A Good Spectator And Contributing Meaningfully To The Competition At Long Last

Approaching the judges' table with her questions, Thalionwen blew a kiss at Aelorco.

"You were marvelous, heorte min!" she called, before waving to Silendris, too.

"I have some questions," Thalionwen told the judges, trying to act formal. But Bema's horn, if she had a gold piece for every time she'd heard that statement in her life, she'd have...a lot of gold pieces. "I've written them down. Sorry, my script isn't the tidiest."

She passed them a piece of paper, on which the following had been written, badly-spelled, and in a nearly illegible scrawl.

Question for Jakiewyn: That was a very eloquent speech about legends. However, some people are inarguably more legendary than others. Who do you know that you think most deserves to have their memory live on after they're gone?

Question for Aelorco: You were very extremely perfect and deserve to win every competition ever. Just as Gandalf chose to focus on the positive contributions of the Rohirrim at the battle of Helm's Deep, are there any Rohir you've encountered besides your beloved wife (that's me) that you feel demonstrate worthy qualities?

Question for Amethyst: Eowyn's heart clearly cleaved to Faramir following the Battle of Pelennor Fields. But if you had to choose a member of the Fellowship of the Ring as your true love, who would it be and why?

Question for That Suspicious One Who Is Not Toast: You stated that sometimes the rules have to be broken to get a job done. Could you elaborate on that? Under what circumstances do you think it is justifiable to bend or break rules?

Question for Silendris: Just as Eowyn demonstrates femininity, how would you say that your bumflap could do so as well?

Allacan, in disguise, responding to both judge's round 3 questions

Allacan rolled her eyes at Taeth’s summons, and was half-minded to disregard them entirely; she had no interest in being questioned on the presentation right now, she was trying to get things done.

But then the Paethfindian phrased her her final sentence and the crux of her question, and Allacan froze in place. "When one is responsible for the fate of a nation, how far should the rules be forgiven when they are broken?"Her back might still be turned to the judge’s table, but the tension that suddenly filled rippled through her muscles was unmistakable. Allacan’s hand instinctively closed around one of the daggers starts her belt, and then slowly unravelled itself again as though by a great act of will and instead simply reached into a pocket to subtly remove something small.

She was taking slow, calculated breaths when Gwai piped up with an additional question asking whether there were circumstances when dying heroically might be justified.

She turned slowly to look back at the judge’s table and try to get a read on the two woman that sat there, especially her formal Marshal. Behind a carefully neutral face, her mind whirred with questions. What was they doing? Were they trying to blow her cover? Were they intentionally goading her? The combination of the two questions had stung like rubbing salt in a fresh wound, and for her in particular it did not feel like they were asking about Éowyn.

She walked slowly back to the table with calculated movements; making certain that her hands did not get too close to any of her weapons for fear of a misunderstanding, which was in itself a challenge given how heavily armed she was. When she reached the table, she placed both hands flat down and leaned slowly towards Taeth, her sharp, blue eyes meeting her gaze intently. There was no recognition there; either Taeth was a truly brilliant actress, or she didn’t know who she was under the disguise. Then Allacan remembered with frustration and a look of mild understanding; Taeth had amnesia! She’d been banking on the woman remembering her from the tavern only a few days ago, but obviously that was not the case. Bema damn it, this was going to be exceedingly difficult to manage.

(Responding to Taeth's question)
“Well I guess that all depends on how much one loves one’s nation.” she said almost goadingly. “And exactly how far one is willing to dirty their hands for the sake of protecting others. Personally, I think, as long as the means justify the ends I’d be willing to go pretty damn far.” She said, and then threw a subtle wink at the end to try and clue Taethowen in to the fact that her words were laden with hidden meanings. “Whether a person’s actions are forgivable though; well that depends on those the nation assigns to determine judgment, not the person doing the actions, and can really differ from person to person and is highly dependant on any consequences also, which are impossible to predict ahead of time. Perhaps the question each of us should be asking is; is it worth it?” she finishes, with half a smile that for a moment appears much friendlier and companionable than the rest of her demeanour.

“Furthermore, I don't believe that Éowyn gave any consideration to Glorfindel's prophecy when she betrayed her King, or indeed later when she valiantly attempted to defend that same King. Even if there had been no such prophecy, she may have acted no different, except for perhaps not foolishly removing her helm in the middle of a battle-field and speaking a line which has now gone down in history and proven to glorify her heroism and help move focus away from her traitorism. But even were it not for the prophecy, she had no idea that she would fact the Witch-King that day and likely still would have acted rashly in attempting to rescue her uncle and King regardless of her knowledge that she could potentially defeat the Witch King. It is possible that her fate would have been the same. I don't subscribe to the belief that simply saying a thing makes it so, so the Witch-King would always have weak to her blade if she fit the criteria necessary to defeat him regardless of prophecy. As for whether the Witch-King would have been so reckless on the field had he not believed himself to be impervious due to Glorfindel's words... well... I think that's a much larger debate for another day, irrelevant to the debate regarding whether Éowyn was right or wrong, and we would be in danger of falling down a hole of 'what ifs' and never finishing this tedious exercise if we try and tackle that today.

(Responding to Gwai's question)
”As for your query, Gwai” she said, turning her attention to the other woman. “Actions and consequences do not exist in a vacuum. None of us can be certain of our fate. Just as Éowyn may have believed she rode to certain death and sought only to make her end glorious, history clearly proves that circumstances did not quite pan out the way she imagined.

“We all face uncertainty in our lives; making an overarching statement that heroic deaths are wasteful does not take into account the uncertainty principle, or that others might be inspired or influenced by your actions on either side of the weapon to act in a manner other than what they would have done without your sacrifice, thus shifting events in a different direction. Sometimes sacrificing your life for others is exactly what is necessary in the circumstances to facilitate the more preferable outcome, but how exactly does one judge that in the moment without the benefit of hindsight? Trust me, it is not an easy decision to make.” She says, raising an eyebrow pointedly and hoping this subtle comment might recollect to Gwai who the person standing before her really was.

Surely she was close enough, and giving them long enough time to inspect the features of the face beneath the make-up and tattoo for at least one of them to realise who she was. And if they figured out who she was, hopefully they could then infer that she was trying to get undercover with any mischief makers to discover if anything nefarious was going on and hopefully divert it. She had once been good friends with Gwai, and she couldn’t recall any rumour of this particular Rohir suffering amnesia, but then so many riders had suffered memory relapses recently that she wouldn’t be surprised to discover that some sort of wizard curse had been put on the entire nation.

“My read of Éowyn is that in the moment of her decision to ride to war and glory in death, the benefits of such an action could only appear to be limited to her own wants and wishes, not the needs of others. Has she thought of others before herself, then she would likely not have taken such rash action.”

She stood up then, lifting empty hands up from the table to place them on her hips. And discretely lying on the table before them among their folds of paper notes where her hand had been moments ago lay her cavalry insignia. It was extremely distinguishable, because only one of this particular badge had been seen in Meduseld recently. It was the insignia of a High Councillor of Military Affairs, an honourary and much respected rank normally reserved for an elite few; ex-First-Marshals.

“Now I have answered your question, if it please you both, may I be excused?” She asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm, but even as she did she glanced pointedly down at the insignia left on the table and swiftly back up to them. She couldn’t honestly make it any more obvious than that without blowing her freshly established cover.

Lailyn, spectating and departing with a somewhat facetious Round 3 question
Lailyn listened with wide eyes as Aelorco spouted his tirade of insults. He seemed to have missed Shadowfox's point entirely and while she was shocked and insulted by his words, to her, Aelorco's behavior was a reflection upon his own shortcomings and faults.

As Shadowfox left the tent, Lailyn had half a mind to go after them. Indeed, she wanted to to tell them that she wished they would one day shed their mask forever and just be themselves, just as she wished this for everyone.

But her attention was diverted by the announcement that none other than Aelorco, insulter of everyone present, was being placed back in the contest. How could Gwai and Taethowen allow such a sore loser back into the contest?

As she made her way toward the judge's table, Lailyn ran into Thalionwen and stopped to address her. "I have not had a chance to offer my congratulations on your nuptials, Thali. You two really deserve one another." Lail gave Thali a sweet smile. Given their similar outbursts as losing, Lail actually thought Aelorco and Thali complimented each other rather well. But whether this was a compliment or an insult was up to the interpreter.

But when Lailyn listened to Aelorco's speech, any goodwill she had left disappeared. Her hands curled into fists and her jaw clenched while she listened to him give all the credit for victory to the Ents and huorns, entirely discrediting every Rider who fought that day. She might be inclined to kindness and to giving most people the benefit of the doubt, trusting their good intentions, but the mention of the Battle of Helm's Deep touched a nerve deep within her.

Instead of submitting her question to the judges and adhering to the rules, which it seemed had been completely thrown out the window in this contest which had become rather a farce, Lailyn stopped short of the table and turned toward Aelorco to address him. He may be Thalionwen's husband, but she no longer cared about sparing someone else's feelings. This speech distracted her from all the others and she was unable to remain silent as Aelorco slandered the name of Rohan yet again.

"Though I understand the nature of the question was academic, I feel I should give you some context for my question as I am rather unable to view events objectively," she began, striving to maintain patience and peace even as tears threatened to spill over, she fought them down and raised her voice toward Aelorco. "My father gave his life at the Battle of Helm's Deep to protect each and every one of us here today."

Her voice shook in spite of herself and for a moment she paused, trying not to think of all the moments she would never get to share with him and the heartbreak that followed his loss. Yes, she was proud of him and grateful for what he had done, but that did not mean there was not a part of her heart that ached for his company, that held on to the simple memories of him. The way he let his evening's ale foam on his upper lip to make her laugh as a child, the days they spent riding through the fields under the sun without a care or burden on their shoulders, the assurance and strength she always felt when he embraced her.

"I would ask you if would agree that every being in the battle contributed equally towards victory, be they man, wizard or tree and they should all share credit? That each individual had an important part to play and it is because of all of them collectively that the orcs were defeated that day?"

Lailyn did not care to stay to hear his response, but before she left the contest, she turned to Thalionwen. "I know better than any that love is blind," she said in a quiet voice. She'd never gotten a chance to tell Thali that particular story. And now she wasn't sure she would. "But I hope that you don't come to regret your choices." Her voice was quiet and resigned now, her anger spent. The eternal optimist in her did hope whatever it was Thalionwen saw in Aelorco, that she might be able to bring out the best in him.

With that, Lailyn left the contest, unable to watch or listen anymore, despite wanting to support the other contestants. Though it had been many years since Helm's Deep and she knew it was false, the implication that her father's life had been given in vain brought the pain near once more like an old scar torn anew, pink flesh bursting into crimson, only this pain was an invisible wound that no bandage or stitch could repair.

Frost, Speculating Spectating Spectacularly

The next stage of the competition had begun. People began milling about, some trying to shove their way to the front of the portion of the competition that involved the audience. As the bedlam began, Frost nodded to his co-conspirators and casually melted into the crowd. He was taller than many of the Rohir and his hair was jet black against the ruddy blonde and brunette of the horse lords but with a slight stoop of his shoulders he did not stand out as much.

There was a close feeling in the tent that had nothing to do with the proximity of all the people. There was something else here, another presence that hid itself from him while letting him know it was there, toying with him. As he began to meander through the crowd he watched as a mysterious figure, dressed in a way that tugged hard at his memories, delivered a shockingly good speech in place of one of the other contestants then vanished into the crowd. There was something going on here that he wasn’t aware of. Surely it couldn’t the Marshal, she had never managed to intimidate Frost in the slightest before and previously had been no different. This feeling was different. This feeling had a presence of slow, sinister cunning. Taeth was on edge and that was enough to make him concerned.

He pushed passed a young man with sandy blonde hair and a face full of freckles. “Here,” he said in hushed tones as he dropped a small sackcloth full of copper pieces. “When it comes time, give your support to the odd ball with the bum flap, they deserve to win.” He patted the boy on the shoulder and melted back into the crowd. The next spectator he came across was an older man, a gruff look on his face and bushy white mustache. Frost took an immediate dislike to the man, he was watching the competition with mild disinterest though. Frost tapped him on the shoulder and pointed toward the open tent flap. “I think someone was looking for you. She was blonde, about your height, said you were her sugar bear? It sounded like she had something important to tell you.” The man’s face pale, he looked away hurried, glancing from side to side. “It wasn’t… it wasn’t my wife was it?” Frost shrugged, hiding a wicked grin. “All I know is she looks distressed.” The man wasted no time hurrying out of the tent. Frost smiled and chuckled. This was too easy. He passed a woman and smiled sheepishly at her, she was short, with brunette hair tied back in a tight braid. She watched the competition eagerly, with a look in her eyes that told Frost she was going to be competition next year. “Hi,” he said, feigning shyness. “I don’t suppose you’ve decided who you’re going to cheer for? My, my sibling is up there and they’re really nervous. It would mean everything to them, and to me, if you could cheer them when they start taking the audience questions. They’re the one with the bum flap. Oh thank you, thank you so much, Bema bless you!” He grinned coquettishly and even managed to fake a blush before he nodded and slunk away.

This was going to be a lot easier than he thought.

Zarâm - Spectating, Poised for Mischief

The next stage of the event was full of speeches. Zarâm had inwardly groaned at the initial announcement, speeches were always so boring, but today she was pleasantly surprised. It certainly helped that there was still a strong Mordor contingent in the running. Supporting someone on your side of mischief always made things a little more pleasant. However, it would be true to state that the length of the statements did bore her to an extent. Naturally she cheered for Silendris (who wouldn't want to cheer for that delightful creature?) and appreciate the always unique perspective that Aelorco took. But things got very interesting the moment Toast's speech was announced and it was discovered that for some reason, the part-Balrog had had to withdraw from the contest.

"Why's everybody quitting?" Zarâm muttered to herself. Her disappointment didn't last long though as an unfamiliar face, though with familiar shiftiness (Allacan), appeared in the wings and began to answer the speech topic, and rather eloquently at that. She kind of liked the appearance of the Rohir woman, who clearly had something that resembled a minion personality, though she had never met her before. Perhaps Thali would be able to introduce them later.

Once the speeches were completed, the judges asked a series of questions and then opened questions up to the floor. Zarâm had absolutely no interest in asking questions of the contestants and it appeared neither did Frost. She watched him began to mingle among the various audience members and oh so subtly ask them to vote for Silendris, lovingly referred to as the "bum flap" person. She briefly wondered if she should start the same, but looking down at her appearance, decided against it. Obviously, being an orc in Rohan was causing enough of a stir. If she tried to add bribery to it as well, things might go south faster than anticipated and that would mess with the carefully orchestrated plan to cause chaos.

She decided the best course of action was to simply stay where she was, by one of the tent pole, and be ready to execute the order of mischief (and perhaps fire) on the command. The Mordorians had promised no mischief would occur until the contest was over, but as soon as it finished, mischief was sure to occur.

Jakiewyn - Round 3 answering questions

With a sigh, she stepped up again, to answer the questions asked of her. Starting with Gwai's. "I suppose the importance of sticking to the facts depends on what one is trying to accomplish in the retelling. Are you trying to simply retell an event to entertain? A little exaggeration or embellishment usually doesn't hurt. Are you trying to share the story to teach morals or explain consequences to audiences such as children? Then skipping some things, and embellishing others might prove beneficial. As long as the heart of the story remains, I do not think it needs to stay exact in all the details, over time, no."

Then she addressed Taethowen's. "As I said before, King Aragorn stated that it was not us but those that come after that turn us into legends. So we would not be the ones to carry on the legends that cast us poorly, to begin with. She paused, wondering if the woman had been trying to get a different type of answer from her. "However, I think we learn lessons of ourselves through the telling and retelling of our own stories, so yes, I think sometimes we do have a responsibility to carry forward our stories, even if parts cast us in poor light. It may depend, though: do you want the legends to start from someone else's view? Or to come from your own? "

Then she was given a question from the audience. This one made her smile. "Who do I think deserves to have their memory live on? Well, that is easy. Any of the members of my family, really. They all exude courage, even heroism, in their own ways." She looked down from the stage to her husband, Rhys. "Just look at that man! She motioned to him. "Who wouldn't want to remember that... heartthrob?!" She grinned, but then glared at those who did look. "OK! You can stop looking!" She placed her hands on her hips. If she were really a cat, her tail would be flicking back and forth. It took a moment, but she softened and continued. "There were others who took this stage today that I would also say deserve to be remembered in legend! The incredibly talented and eloquent Mx. Shadowfox! For example."

She bowed, slightly, then again stepped back.

Aelorco
Round 3

The first question was from Gwai, who asked, "Do you believe the Huorns should have offered mercy to the orcs, who were already retreating and effectively routed?"

At this Aelorco placed his fingers on the gauze covering his chin, "good question," he paused for about 2 seconds before his hand was back at his side.

"If I remember correctly, it's supposed to be, you know, custom, for elves and men to not kill any orcs who surrendered (Morgoth's Ring, "Myths Transformed - Orcs"). But I don't think trees follow these customs. Now correct me if I'm wrong, so legally... the huorns didn't break no law. The orcs didn't surrender, or at least we do not know if they did. Even if they did surrender, they chopped a lotta trees down. Think of all the birds' homes the orcs destroyed, of all the squirrels, ants, and all the cute critters that live in the forest. If I were a huorn, I don't think I would let one orc by.

Now I don't see these uruks surrenderin', so unless they surrendered, the huorns shouldn'tve offuhed mercy. Because these Isengard orcs are treacherous, and can easily turn around and kill ya if they see an opening. No mercy unless requested by the orcs themselves, even then morally I don't think the huorns should've offuhed mercy cause of all the cute critters that became homeless or killed due to de uruks."

The next question came from Taethowen, who asked: "Can you name some of the deeds that Gandalf was referring to in his statement?"

In response, Aelorco placed his hand on his chest, "now ah didn't say they didn't do nothin'. Eomer and the Westfold did do a lot. Eomer helped defend Helm's Deep. If Helm's Deep did not have defenders like Eomer, the uruks woulda won regardless of the ents, huorns, or Gandalf and the Westfold. I think that's obvious, though, so I won't argue more for Eomer's contribution. As for the Westfold, they were the ones led by Erkenbrand right? Well without de Westfold warriors, it woulda been Gandalf alone charging. Now I know Gandalf is a wizard, but him against all those uruks? Not good odds. Gandalf needed the Westfold men, who were what? A thousand? Either way a lot, to drive de Uruks to the huorns, where they were finished off. So yeah, Gandalf was saying that he alone could not have saved the day, but Eomer and the Westfold played key parts too. Just not as critical as the huorns (Two Towers, page 803-804.)

In a pleasant surprise, the next question came from his wife, Thalionwen. Aelorco grinned and gave a friendly wave towards her as he listened to her question.

"Yeah, your friend over there, I think her name was.... Taeth or somethin' like that. She demonstrated good qualities by letting back in dis contest. I respeck her decision and ability to make that decision."

Now this is where he noticed someone approaching really close (Lailyn), who approached just short of the table and brought up the fact that her father was killed. At this, Aelorco's fingers twitched, and a shadow appeared over his brow as his eyes narrowed in response.

"I would ask you if would agree that every being in the battle contributed equally towards victory, be they man, wizard or tree and they should all share credit? That each individual had an important part to play and it is because of all of them collectively that the orcs were defeated that day?" the person (Lailyn) asked.

"Well maybe ya shoulda brought that up to Eomer and Gandalf first cause I can see you're upset," Aelorco said testily, "Now as you're leavin' for some reason, I wanna let you know somethin': You're not the only one who lost their fathah. I saw mine killed in front of my eyes. Now, I made it clear that they all had a part to play. That they each should share credit, but more credit should be given to the huorns. I wonder if you woulda asked the same questions to Eomer and Gandalf when they had the discussion?"

With that Aelorco took a deep exhale, then asked the crowd and judges, "any more questions?"

Silendris answering @Taethowen’s question

Silendris rubbed their eyes blearily. Normally they didn’t give this kind of scholarly lecture unless they were seriously drunk in the pub, it was 3am, and Silendris was deeply married both to the topic and the belief that they were right. None of these things were currently true, and the half of spirits that Silendris had just imbibed was not nearly enough to inebriate them properly - not with this lovely new liver Naokis had provided to their joint venture, at any rate.

Oh well. Onwards and possibly upwards.

---

“Do you think the fact that she grew up surrounded by men with no female role models also played a role in her desire for war and renown? How do you think her life might have changed if she had another woman to mentor her?"

Èowyn is, and repeatedly refers to herself as, a shield-maiden of Rohan. This is a specific role both female and fighter, so she shows no sign of being, perhaps, more masculine than she would have been with a female role model; however, the presence of another woman of the Royal House would have been significant. Not just as an example to Éowyn of behaviour, but because it would have been freeing to Éowyn: with another person available to hold the fort down at home, it might’ve been considered quite natural for Éowyn to take on a similar role to Éomer, especially after Theodred’s death and the loss of a young royal leader in the field.

But this would all depend on the attitude of the motherly figure. With already so many other losses, Elfhild - Theodred’s mother - might have been inclined to feel protective of the remaining young people and kept Éowyn at home. Whilst Éowyn might no doubt still have felt restless and desirous of earning glory of her own, one would like to think that Wormtongue’s insidious influence would never have reached so far - either with Éowyn, where a loving aunt would no doubt recognise and chase off a lecher - or with Théoden, who would have a beloved spouse to seek advice from first, rather than a cunning servant.

And if it had been Théodwyn who had lived, Éowyn - and Éomer’s - lives would likely have been quite different altogether. They would perhaps have been raised outside of the main royal circle, and been granted duties as they came of age; certainly Éowyn would not have developed her close relationship with Théoden, and it might have been an entirely different person who stepped into the role of his caretaker.

It is easy to speculate, but we would suggest that with a female mentor, Éowyn would have been more likely to have the freedom to explore her desire for war and battles; and perhaps with a better understanding of its realities would have been less inclined to dream of glory and more given to the practicalities. One always hankers after what one does not have. It is even possible to theorise that an Éowyn who had been given the duties of a Marshal would occasionally wistfully dream of home and hearth; and indeed healing is eventually what she turns her hand to, the joys of creating a green and pleasant fiefdom. She would certainly not have the attitude that to be a woman is to be pent up in the house, bare of glory; either Théodwyn or Elfhild would have taught her otherwise.

Yet Éowyn is still a free spirit. In her despair, Gandalf speaks of her:

But who knows what she spoke to the darkness, alone, in the bitter watches of the night, when all her life seemed shrinking, and the walls of her bower closing in about her, a hutch to trammel some wild thing in? - Gandalf

It is not that Éowyn is trapped particularly by her “confinement” to the house. It is her duties that she feels pressing in around her. It is choice that she desires - her own freedom to choose - and when she is given it, she feels the weight lift from her: “Then the heart of Éowyn changed, or else at last she understood it”. Faramir has offered her a choice: is it that she does not love him, or that she does not choose to love him? This confrontation allows Éowyn to truly think about her options for the first time. She’s no longer bound to be her lord’s caretaker, and the war is over and her lands made safe, so there’s no longer any obligation for her to fight.

Having another woman to look to would have expanded Éowyn’s options earlier on as well as providing a positive role model for her as how to behave as a woman of the royal house of Eorl.

---

But Silendris’ ordeal wasn’t over. They looked @Thalionwen in the eyes and hissed. “We’ll deal with you last,” they said. “Excuse us. We need to find some sequins.”

Allacan, in disguise, responding to Thali's question

Allacan had yet to step away from the judge's table and was hesitating to do so, watching both Taeth's and Gwai's faces closely to try and determine if they now recognised her and understood her deception, or if they were still suspicious of her. The moment was interrupted by a voice from the audience behind her (Thalionwen) chirping out "You stated that sometimes the rules have to be broken to get a job done. Could you elaborate on that? Under what circumstances do you think it is justifiable to bend or break rules?". For good measure, before she turned away she made a couple of motions subtlety and casually in front of both judges in the hopes one of them would recognise old Pæthfindian signs; 'Follow' and 'Safe'. It was a cryptic message again, but unless they had drastically expanded the array of motions taught to Pæths she didn't think they had a signal for 'I'm a cavalry soldier, I'm under-cover but you can trust me, please don't blow my cover' just yet. They should though, she thought on reflection.

She turned and tried to establish which person had asked the question. Under her intense stare, a number of the milling audience recoiled back and shifted away from where Thali remained, entirely unaffected whatsoever by Allacan's sinister demeanour and if anything, looking generally unimpressed. Allacan raised an eyebrow and half-smiled in appreciation; she recognised the rider but they weren't particularly close friends, so she couldn't tell if the woman had connected cavalry retiree with the swarthy woman standing before her. She began walking slowly over towards Thali with a seductive, rocking gait that accentuated her hips and buttocks. "Were you not listening? As I have literally just explained to these two..." Allacan said with a dismissive wave over her shoulder towards the judges "that depends." Her tone had a gentle nurturing croon to it that was possibly more condescending than Thali would have appreciated, but lightened by the mischievous smile on her face. "Or perhaps you wanted specific examples?" she hummed seductively.

She paused only a short distance away as though considering it, and this time addressed her response loudly to the whole room while walking slowly in a circle about the stage, as though wanting to be sure everyone could hear her so she wouldn't have to repeat herself again but also subtly scanning for sight of the Second Marshal. "Sometimes, when someone gives you an order, they don't know the full picture. They could be ignorant to crucial facts that you are aware of, and therefore you should take these into consideration, and the nature of the individual giving the orders, before acting blindly." she finally spots where the Second Marshal Rowena was standing at the back of the hall and tried to catch her eye. "Sometimes you have to interpret your orders in the spirit of the thing, rather than strictly by the wording." she moved her gaze on, not wanting to linger and arouse suspicion. "I cannot abide the ignorant excuse that people did a thing because they were 'just following orders'. Orders are never an excuse, and they aren't fool-proof. Sometimes you have to make a judgement call in the moment. Would they have commanded differently if they had known? Are they mistaken in their assumptions? Are your orders even still valid any more? Perhaps most of all, are you willing to stand accountable for your actions if you make the wrong decision and this leads to bad consequences? I know I am" she said while her eyes rested on Taeth before moving on again. Her eyes fell on Zarâm and lingered there a moment as her face broke into a comradely smile. "And sometimes the person giving the orders is stupid, a bumhole, or just plain wrong. And in that case its your job to take the initiative and... deal with that," She turned finally back to Thali and winked at her. "Éowyn didn't plan to be accountable, she planned to be dead. Théoden was neither stupid or weak, and he wasn't ignorant to the full picture. Nor was he a bumhole. So I stand by my initial statement; Éowyn was a traitor."

Silendris answering @Thalionwen

Silendris had just re-emerged from behind a tent, slightly covered in glue (there’s always glue in Rohan, where do you think Bad Horses go?) and the occasional sequin. Just in time to agree with Mysterious Stranger’s statement re Eowyn’s traitor status and answer their final question.

Just as Eowyn demonstrates femininity, how would you say that your bumflap could do so as well?

“We’re glad you brought this up, Mrs Del Orco,” said Silendris solemnly. “Let us demonstrate for you just how exactly this outfit is business in the front, party in the back.”

They unclasped their cloak, let it fall and whipped around dramatically to reveal, glued hastily onto the bum flap in pink sequins, the words “smASh tHe pAtriarcHy”.


“Besides which,” they continued, “battlefield, uh, urgency is the great equaliser; and with this bumflap one (or two) never need to be caught short again. Equally vital for people of all genders. The buttons were handcrafted by Rohirric women, thus supporting female employment. And of course the flap allows healthy circulation!”

Silendris bowed dramatically, which was unfortunate, as one of the handcrafted buttons appeared to be sagging. Oh, if only its maker could see its fate now.

Well. Amethyst had never been upstaged by a sequinned bum flap before but there was a first time for everything. And she quite agreed with the defiant sentiment on it. She made a quick mental note but she’d have to leave bum flaps aside for a while.

Questions, questions, questions! Amethyst would have to think on her feet to bat these ones back ton the judges. After a few moments of consideration, in which she looked to the tent ceiling for inspiration but found none, she replied to Gwai first:

“Faramir and Éowyn have many similarities in their backgrounds. Both lost their mothers at a young age, and both have older brothers whom they are often in the shadow of. In the War, both have faced death and been grievously injured in battle, to then be revived by Aragorn. When they meet in the Houses of Healing, they are both awaiting some kind of end from events taking place eastward at The Black Gate. These similar experiences and circumstances are ones they can bond over and gives Faramir some understanding of how Éowyn feels.”

She went on. “Faramir seems to also have some intuition:
‘He read the hearts of men as shrewdly as his father, but what he read moved him sooner to pity than to scorn.‘ (1) With these character traits, skills and background, he can pick up on her feelings where others fail to.”

The dwarf turned to the other judge, Taeth. She pushed the pince-nez back up her nose.

"I think the way Éowyn turns away from her past is certainly understandable. Let’s face it, she had a pretty rough time back in Meduseld. Can anyone blame her for wanting to get away from there, and the memories held there, for a while at least?”

“With the death of her uncle, Éomer becoming King, and the end of the War, so the burden of duty to her family, King, and country are lessened. This frees her up to be able to snap at new opportunities that she would not have had the chance to take before.”

“Some people question why Éowyn gives up her female warrior lifestyle. Though she took upon herself the role of shield-maiden, Éowyn has never been in battle before she rides to the Pelennor Fields. She loves the idea of warfare - glory in battle, useful occupation, and camaraderie - and it may well be that the harsh reality, witnessing first-hand the death and destruction wrecked by war, mean that her brief but glorious taste is enough. Faramir has already come to this conclusion: "War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” (2)

“To an extent, Faramir is an escape route from Éowyn's past into a bright, peaceful future. She is giving up her military life to settle down and balance this past with a new focus on healing and growing. To some, this might seem that she is giving up something significant to herself - and it was significant but is not necessarily any longer. She is not deprived of further adventure and glory, but has the reward of a pleasant, quiet life.”

Amethyst paused. She was desperate for a drink now, the stronger the better. She would try to keep this last answer for Thali brief.

"Hmmm, now this is tough," she tapped a finger on her lips for a few moments as she ran through the Nine Walkers in her head. "Personally, I would have Gandalf as my true love. Yes, he's old, but he’s cultured and well-travelled. He's got a great beard, and has definitely developed style - that hat? On point. The white robes? Fabulous - classic look, way better than his grey look from the Winter 3018 collection. He picks out great jewellery too. This wizard can accessorise. And he would come in handy for fire lighting, Balrog slaying, and so forth. I do like a practical partner. Yes, I think we’d get on very well,” she finished. Where was that drink?

(1) RotK, Appendix A, p.413
(2) TTT, ‘The Window on the West’, p.346

Zôrzimril, Interfering with the Votes and Not Paying Attention to the Speeches
With Frost and Zarâm

Zôr nodded at Zarâm as the orc introduced herself. "There's more than enough mischief to go around in this tent - some greater power for mayhem must have brought us all here today."

Before they could get any further in their introductions, a clamor broke out. The results of the second round of the contest had been announced, and the third round had begun. Some contestants departed, stepped out of the shadows to compete for the first time, or departed in a rage only to then return and replace someone else who had departed. Zôr didn't bother to keep it straight. At least Silendris was still up there.

But then one of the women who seemed in charge (Taethowen) slipped over to warn them not to do anything to get the Cavalry involved. Zôr withheld her judgement of this one as she seemed to be on remarkably good terms with Frost, based on the way she clutched at his hand. Zôr agreed not to do anything too destructive until a minion stood victorious.

Frost seemed to agree regarding their preferred winner. A wry smile split Zôrzimril's pale face when he suggested thinning out the crowd. She scanned the faces in the tent, trying to decide whom to pester about voting for Silendris. Zarâm had planted herself firmly by the nearest tent pole, probably given her conspicuous looks. Zôr turned to her and muttered, "I'll be back shortly, once I've secured a few votes for our well-outfitted friend."

She began to circulate the tent while largely ignoring the pontificating and gesturing occurring onstage. Zôr just was not into it. She had preferred the demonstration of outfits; at the very least, she could draw some inspiration from those. But this rehashing of old history told primarily from the perspective of the victors? It would not do for this minion to pay much attention, lest she spin into a destructive rage.

She sat down next to a ruddy-faced woman who was shifting about uncomfortably in her seat. "Are you alright?" Zôr asked her, feigning sympathy. "Can I help you with anything? I'd be happy to bring you a mug of mead if you need to hydrate." Her dark eyes glittered with mischief, but the woman was too distracted to notice.

The woman shook her head. "It's nothing . . . It's just . . . I really need to use the outhouse, but I don't want to miss the speeches and the talk of our lady Éowyn . . . she's my hero." She looked down in shame at her urgent need to relieve herself.

Zôr smiled warmly and gestured toward Silendris. "You know, if you had THAT outfit, a chair with a hole, and a bucket, you wouldn't need to worry about missing a thing. Might be worth voting for that one, so bum-flaps can go into mass production." With a wink, she slunk away as the woman looked at Silendris in wonder. Clearly, the minion's design was an age ahead of these Rohirrim.

She made her way around the tent, whispering in the ears of a few others who seemed about to burst. They all saw the sense and convenience of Silendris's design once she was done with them.

Zôrzimril wandered back to where Zarâm stood sentinel. "That should do." She was quite satisfied with her work and felt confident that Silendris had the support of the full-bladdered among the crowd. Now, to wait for all these questions and answers to wrap up . . .

The final presentations for each contestant passed by nearly in a blur as Taeth listened, and asked questions, and listened some more, and wrote so many notes that she was fairly writing a novel. However, the encounter with the mysterious woman (Allacan) was more than memorable.

It all seemed to culminate with a single question.

"When one is responsible for the fate of a nation. how far should the rules be forgiven when they are broken?" Taethowen asked, unaware of the storm that was about to be unleashed.

Gwai quickly followed up with her question, "I believe you are indeed correct that there would be fewer heroes if they were judged solely on the intent of their actions, and vice versa. You quoted Marshal Malorn saying dying heroically saves no one if who you are dying for die anyway. While I would agree that is oftentimes an accurate assessment, are there circumstances which would change this?"

The air nearly rippled as the woman approached the table, hands held carefully out from her body, and bent low to meet Taeth's gaze, but Taeth couldn't quite decipher what she wanted of her. And there was still that damned familiarity about her that kept teasing her mind and then slipping away.

As the woman spoke, Taeth tried to figure out her intentions by any means necessary. There was obvious frustration flickering through the woman's gaze, then a wink, and also some subtle, specific glances with Gwai.

When the woman finally stood back from the table, lifting her hands, and Taeth immediately noticed the insignia tucked under their papers, but she didn't dare reach over and pull it away.

"Now I have answered your question, if it please you both, may I be excused?" the woman asked, and though her tone made Taeth want to grit her teeth, she had just begun to nod when Thali spoke up and nearly inflamed the situation further, but they had stated they would take questions from the audience, so Thalionwen was not completely out of line. Just oblivious in that moment.

Before the woman turned to address Thali, Taeth saw her hand move, and her eyes widened at the old, familiar signals that pæthfindians used in the field. She took advantage of the distraction that Thali caused for the crowd, and reached forward. While she appeared to be shuffling and rearranging her notes, Taeth swiftly dropped the insignia into her lap.

As the woman chewed out Thalionwen, just a little--and what little Taeth caught of the reaming she found herself agreeing with--Taeth reached over and tapped Gwai's elbow. She displayed the insignia, making sure to keep it out of the eye of the audience.

The High Councillor of Military Affairs. It was an emblem that Taeth had not seen in a very, very long time, but as such it was also one of the memories that remained to her. Once she heard Gwai's quiet gasp and knew that her fellow pæthfindian had seen it, Taeth carefully tucked the badge away into one of the hidden pockets on her skirt.

Second Marshal Rowena must have sent her in.

And by Bema, Taeth was sure now that she knew the woman. Or had known the woman. For the thousandth time since returning to Edoras, Taeth cursed the illness that had stolen so much of her memories.

But for now, there was a contest to finish.

---

It had taken at least an hour to sort through all the scores and notes that Taeth and Gwai had taken during the whole competition, and the whole while the HCMA's insignia sat in her pocket like a burning brand. She'd tried not to be distracted from the task at hand by tracking the other woman (Allacan) through the audience, but had failed more than a few times.

She'd also caught sight of Frost and his companions moving through crowd, more than a little bit shiftily, but she simply rolled her eyes and looked back to the judge's score sheets. These were what would be the deciding factor.

After much whispering and scribbling and conferring, Taeth quickly jotted down the final standings, then took her place on stage.

"Westu hal!" Taeth called across the tent, drawing people's attention to her. "Thank you all for being here, whether you are a participant or a supporter, or merely an observer. I have here" --Taeth raised the sheet of paper in the air-- "the final results for the pageant.

"First up, if I could ask our participants from the final round to come forward, please!" Once they were assembled, Taeth smiled at each of them, then turned back to the audience.

"We've decided the winner of the M. Meduseld title based on the total number of points accumulated throughout the entire competition. However, those standings are the same as the final placings for Round 3. So, without further ado, in third place, we have...

"Jakiewyn Ellenweorc (@Veowyn! Jakie, you scored 68 points for the final round, and 138 total points for the competition.

"In second place, we have Amethyst Copperpick (@Elarith! Amethyst, you ended up with 79 points for the final round, and 150 total points.

"And our new titleholder for M. Meduseld ended Round 3 with a total of 84 points out of a possible 90 points. For the entire pageant, out of a total possible 170 points, they had 161.





Taeth stepped back to the judge's table and pulled out a figurine out from beneath it. The figurine turned out to be a carved wooden horse with M. Meduseld engraved across the side, and an odd looking cut across the horse's back. Taeth grabbed a different slip of paper off the table.

As she climbed back up onto the stage, she gave Silendris a smile, and held out the figurine. "See, if you lift the tail, candies come out. There's licorice balls, sherbet fountains, and Bema Bars* inside. And there's also a gift certificate for my shop, Awesnis Gærwe Nædleprica, worth 5 gold. I would also love to collaborate with you on starting a line for the Rohirric Freedom Jumpsuit."

Stepping down from the stage, Taeth couldn't help but share a smile with Gwai. It had been quite the adventure, but she was glad it was done.

*Totally Not Snickers

---

The Complete Final Standings:
Popular Vote:
1. Silendris (Sil)
2. Jakiewyn Ellenweorc (Veowyn)
3. Amethyst Copperpick (Elarith)

Round 3 Standings:
1. Silendris - 84 points
2. Amethyst Copperpick - 79 points
3. Allacan and??? Burnt Toast (as non-participants??? IT'S CONFUSING OK LOL) - 77 points
4. Jakiewyn Ellenweorc - 68 points
5. Aelorco - 65 points

Total Points (across all rounds, for the finalists)
1. Silendris - 161
2. Amethyst Copperpick - 150
3. Allacan as Allacan and Mx. Shadowfox - 147
4. Jakiewyn Ellenweorc - 138
5. Aelorco - 122
6. Burnt Toast - 63

Amethyst, seething slightly

Waiting at the side, trying not to bounce on her toes in anticipation, Amethyst stood breathing deep breaths. This was it! Her moment of triumph! She was ready!

There was Jakiewyn getting third place, clap clap clap, well done to her. And in second place was - wait, did they say her name? There, Taeth had said it again! And people were clapping her so she must've heard right. Only second! Gah. Amethyst unclenched her jaw and pretended to be surprisingly pleased to be second, doing her regal wave to the crowd and suppressing a strangled scream of frustration. She would've gotten away with first place too if it weren't for that meddling Silendris and her bum flap.

Still, the dwarf consoled herself as she continued to applaud Sil, she had been victorious in the fashion round. And she had lots of ideas to take back to Aglarond now... She spent a few minutes congratulating and thanking, then Amethyst beat a retreat before the shady-looking spectators could start whatever they'd be threatening to start since round one.

((Thanks to @Taeth and @Gwai for judging all of this insanity! And to all the other competitors and spectators for a great competition))

Taeth's eyes widened with... concern as Silendris attempted to shake her and Gwai's hands, as apparently their hands were glued together. Before she could ask if they needed any help, though, Silendris had managed to take all their prizes and bounded away, winking at the crowd while blabbing something about candy.

She knew something was up, and Thali and Frost and apparently the HCMA (Allacan) were all getting tangled into it, which meant probably her and Gwai would as well. It had been a very, very long few days, and it was likely to be a very long night as well.

But first, it was time to clean up, and she joined Gwai at the table, letting herself ignore the crowd for a few moments. Taeth laughed weakly at Gwai's comment on hazard pay. "Bema's horn, I hope we won't have a pageant this... eventful ever again."

As they finished organizing the papers--most of them could be discarded, honestly--Taeth watched the crowd, still wary. It was beginning to disperse, which she was grateful for, but then she remembered that there was one more announcement.

Still standing at the judge's table, Taeth called out to the crowd one more time. "May I have your attention! After the final Edoras Summer Festival event--the Campian Tournament--concludes, there will be a celebration for the winners of M. Meduseld and the tournament champions held back here at the tent. We'd love to see any of you who wish to attend back here in a few hours time. Thank you!"

---

As of now, for in-character purposes, the M. Meduseld Pageant has finished, the crowd is dispersed, and several are now competing in the Campian Tournament melee.

Non-mayhem participants, you are welcome to unfollow this thread at this time unless you just want to watch the story!

In the meantime, the Mischief Makers (@Frostbite, @Thalionwen, @Sil, @Dimcairien Luiniel, @Dwarrow Elf, @Tarawen, and @Moriel) are welcome to begin RP-ing any preparations within the tent that they wish. You should probably keep your actions NOT dependent on responses from others, since we're gonna get this ball rolling fairly quickly. For those also in/at the melee, you're welcome to muddle up your own personal timeline if you want and make yourself be in two places at once, LOL.

(OOC @Allafyrefleorhtlig - I think I got all the mischief makers tagged? If I missed anyone let me know, LOL.)

Allacan, in disguise, remembering her duties and rushing off to get the Campian tournament set up. Yay for fixing the time-line!

Allacan wasn’t paying much attention to the judges as the winners were announced, which it turned out was rather lucky otherwise she might have balked at the name of the winner Silendris and lost much of her nerve.

As it was, her attention was focussed closely on tracking the movements of various individuals about the tent while at the same time attempting to appear like she wasn’t watching anyone at all. It was quite a skill and required a lot of rolling of eyes and sideways glances as though bored and looking for someone or something to entertain her. She applauded lazily as prizes were handed out and instead started pacing through the crowd, looking uncomfortably behind some spectators and snarling menacingly at others, which resulted in their rushing from the tent at an accelerated pace; in her mind she had realised that if something nefarious was about to go down, the less of the common citizens in the tent, the better.

Her ears did prick up, however, at the final announcement, and it took every ounce of her professional training to keep her face neutral as her stomach suddenly clenched and an ear-pounding wave of adrenaline overcame her. Her own thoughts were like a screaming in her head.

Bema’s horn, the Campian tourney! She was supposed to be running that, and yet here she was in disguise driving the crowds ahead of her towards the still locked-up Campian grounds. She hadn’t even decorated the arena, and she would need to get changed!

Mercifully at least a few of the more suspicious individuals seemed curious at the idea of a tournament and looked like they would be heading in that direction. Perhaps they would try their mischief at the tournament, although they would be an idiot to do so when she had called in every possible favour she had left to get every soldier and healer she could find to attend. Or they might save their mayhem for later when the Mx Meduseld tent filled up again for the after-party, making their move after nightfall so that it would be easier to cover their tracks and slip into the night afterwards.

Either way, she couldn’t afford to hang around to find out. Any moment now someone would notice her absence at the tournament and come looking for her. She’d established her cover as best she could for now, and if she dawdled and got caught out for not turning up to run Campian then all that would be lost. She’d have to take a gamble and hope they didn’t make their move while she was gone.

She started to wander towards the door, her steps carefully measured so as to not appear hasty, while commenting loudly “Well this has been exceedingly droll and not anywhere near as exciting as I had hoped. Perhaps watching people beat on each other in a tournament sounds much more entertaining, and maybe if we’re lucky someone will die. I bet half the well-muscled people here are too cowardly to give it a try for themselves.” she said with a challenging glance towards Zarâm.

She paused as she passed Taethowen on her way out and sneered ”If you have any skills at all beyond judging pretty dresses and asking foolish questions, I’d like to see you pitting yourself against some real champions, and showing you’ve got the tenacity to back up that sharp tongue of yours.” She gave a sly wink to Gwai and turned for the door.

Allacan exited the tent with the last of the stragglers and forced her feet to walk a normal pace for at least the first few streets. She then slipped into a side-street and jogged swiftly along a quite route that took her not to the front of the Campian grounds where the crowd were likely already gathered, but round the back toward the part of the city that housed the cavalry buildings. She slipped into the porch of the same derelict tavern that she had changed in earlier that day on her way to the pageant.

Hastily grabbing her backpack from under the loose step, she produced a key from her cleavage and opened the door. Once safely out of sight inside, she hurriedly ripped off her knives and leathers, grabbing the shirt and trews from her bag and shoving the rest of her assassin kit deep down inside the backpack and out of sight. She could only tie a kerchief over her hair to draw attention away from her usually-blonde hair now dyed black hair, and hurriedly powdered her face with concealer to mask the worst of the tattoo; it would hold up only as long as she avoided being within conversational distance of everyone, which was unlikely but not impossible. As referee and announcer for the event, she could easily spend the entire contest standing on a mounting block or something and not getting involved. And after the quick costume-change and moving once again with the warm, welcoming air of the cavalry veteran, she certainly appeared at cursory glance to be a different person to the mysterious lurker from the pageant. Most had failed to recognise her in the tent, and would see only the ex-Marshal in the arena. If she had learnt anything from her assassin training, it was that people saw what they wanted to see, if you gave them half a chance. With a smile Allacan pondered for the first time the possibility that she might just pull this off.

She threw her backpack over her shoulder and slipped out the side door of the tavern, which was only across the back-alley from the rear door of the Campian arena. Grateful that she remembered the trick to opening this particular door, she slipped inside and broke into a mad sprint towards the stores where weapons racks, training dummies and pennants were waiting for her.

OOC @Taethowen (I think you got them all, well done and thank you to both you and @Gwai for facilitating this glorious madness!)

Zôrzimril, Hanging Out in the Tent and Fields Alone

In an instant, the contest was over, and the crowd had cleared out (some had practically sprinted for the outhouses, much to Zôr's delight). Her two mischief-inclined companions (Frost and Zarâm) had rushed off for the tournament, and she was left leaning against a tent pole, breathing in an unfortunate combination of smells: horse and sweaty Rohirrim and glue.

If she ignored the odor, it was quite nice in the tent: cool, silent, and shady. Zôr unsheathed her dagger and idly scraped some caked blood and dirt from underneath her fingernails. Once each nail was pristine, she returned the dagger to its place at her hip, stretched her arms overhead, and walked a few laps around the tent. As she went, she inspected the discarded items: the judges' papers, bales of hay, bottles of glue, and scraps of fabric. She added a spool of thread to her bag when she spotted one backstage and took all the fabric scraps she could find for good measure. She scooped up a handful of sequins and let them fall, sparkling, back onto the table. It was too bad they weren't of value, or she'd have taken them, too. Sequins bounced from the table and onto the floor, but Zôr didn't care that she was making a mess. It all would be ash soon enough.

Zôrzimril noticed, as she turned to emerge from behind the stage, that several of the shiny things had become affixed to her palms (no doubt with leftover glue). She slapped her hands together as she walked, trying to rub the useless things away, when SMACK: she walked into a tent pole. Her vision went foggy for a moment, then snapped back into focus. "And what do you think YOU'RE doing, getting in my way?!" she snarled, rubbing her head and accidentally depositing a sequin or two into her black hair. She gave the pole a swift kick and marched offstage. She hoped she was imagining things when she heard the tent pole clap back, "Watch where you're going next time, you little witch."

Forehead still smarting, she refocused on maximizing the mayhem ahead. She and Frost had been poised to wreck the tent before everything had become so accursedly complicated, and it seemed like the next stage of their plans with Zarâm was up to her for now. She walked out of the tent and into the fields nearby, throwing her hood over her head to keep the sun out of her eyes.


Zôr returned to the tent less than an hour later, her bag and arms full of long, dry grass. She inwardly thanked the merciless summer heat for drying out the horselords' fields - this was the good stuff, the stuff that would catch easily.

Humming a melancholy tune, she set to work in the back corner of the tent, gathering bunches of grass together with the thread she'd found backstage. She made thirty puffy bunches, and walked around the tent yet again to space them out evenly along the tent's border. As she went, she sprinkled a trail of more dead grass and fabric scraps to connect the dots. Within hours, she hoped that the fires would rise up and catch the tent's fabric walls, encircling the party goers in a ring of flame for equal opportunity roasting. Her work done for now, she found a hiding place between two overlapping tent flaps and sat down cross-legged on the ground.

Zôr swung her bag from behind her and began searching for her tinderbox. She had a moment of panic when she couldn't see it among the other objects tossed haphazardly inside - stray bits of grass, some silver bangles she'd picked up in Umbar, a few remnants of food from her journey, an oval-cut onyx as big as a robin's egg - but she found it in the end. The flint and firesteel rattled around their compartments in the little wooden box, promising billowing flames to come. "Excellent," she whispered.

Zarâm - hanging out in the tent with Zor

The melee over, Zarâm was still very angry about how quickly Frost got knocked out and her subsequent elimination. Orc's shouldn't be eliminated by humans! They were clearly the better fighters. Not to mention some crazy person had been wearing skirts, SKIRTS! Her part of the fight over, she made her way back to the tent where to her great joy, Zôr had already begun to prepare for some ensuing mayhem. She looked around and nodded in acceptance. The dry grass was a worthy kindling. Once lit, it would go up in flames and hopefully catch the fabric walls and if they were lucky, the wooden tent poles as well.

Sidling up to the woman, Zarâm said, "Impressive setup. The grass adds a lovely touch. It will be quite the spectacle when it all goes up in flames in a few hours. Once everyone has gathered, had a bit of wine, then boom! A lovely fiery display to remind us of home. There is fire where you come from?"

Zôrzimril, Reunited with Zarâm

Footsteps outside her hiding place alerted Zôr to the arrival of ... someone. Hoping it wasn't the cavalry, she peeked out from behind the canvas that concealed her. To her relief, it was only Zarâm.

"Hello, darling," Zôr said. "I hope the tourney wasn't too cruel to you." She scanned her orcish companion from head to foot. Fortunately for their plans, Zarâm looked relatively unscathed. She closed her bag and stood up, brushing stray bits of grass from her dress. "Hopefully we'll see Frost and Silendris soon, eh?"

She opened her tinderbox and removed two pieces of flint. She pressed them into the orc's large hand. "Of course there's fire where I come from, love." After explaining her vision for a ring of fire, she moved on to giving some direction. "We'll each need to light one fire, and on different sides of the tent, when the time comes." Zôr gestured to where two particularly large bundles of grass sat on opposite sides of the tent. "For now, though, we should stay hidden. And maybe later once there's a crowd, we can have a bit of drink-fueled fun while we're at it."

The sound of approaching voices carried through the tent walls; it seemed a group of horse lords was inbound. The two plotters scattered and disappeared behind tent flaps, eagerly awaiting the party that was sure to be lit.

Allacan, returning in her cavalry gear, after having run the Campian tournament and dropping by the Dragon Room

Sperewigends and Dryhtgumas were much noisier these days than she remembered them being, thought Allacan to herself. And they complained more. This rowdy bunch spent the whole walk from the Dragon Room to the M Meduseld tent, burdened with supplies, loaded carts and a trailer, whining about being chosen for watch-duty and how they were never going to be able to enjoy the festivities and how frustrating it was going to be not being able to drink and join in. One particularly spotty young woman kept talking about how she had planned to meet 'her boy' at the tent and now she would miss out on spending the evening with him when it had clearly promised to be a wonderfully romantic night for them both. By the embarrassed and conspiratorial looks between the others, Allacan guessed that she might not be as well missed by her lover-boy than she would have liked.

She had to bite her tongue from telling them all to shut up, remembering that she shared their rank now and had no authority to do so. She could, however, walk a short distance ahead of them; her rigid exercise regime was clearly more comprehensive and rigorous then these new recruits had been, and she had been canny and had taken up an easier burden of a the few precious prizes for the special awards. So it was they that were now struggling through the long grass with the trailer and carts, carrying tables, chairs, lanterns and candles, while she stepped out ahead with her less heavy cargo. They had managed to keep pace with her only a short time, but then their tirade of complaints had them panting and, unwatched by any more senior commander, they had eventually dropped back a goodly distance.

So it was that, moving with a natural stealth born from rigorous training and some way ahead of the group, she stepped beneath the shade of the tent just in time to spot the figures of Zarâm and Zôrzimril as they took cover. She glanced about, spotting the piles of straw and hey bundled about the tent poles. Her eyes narrowed as she grinned mischievously, glancing back to check they were, for a moment, still alone.

In a quiet voice too low to be overheard by the raucous youngsters behind her, but that all the same projected enough to carry across the empty tent, she said with a smile and a gleam in her eye "I'll keep the soldiers posted away from your plottings. Wait for my signal before setting light to the tinder, you will know it when you hear it.” The soldiers arrived a short time later and, spotting a new demeanour in her bearing and a stern look in her eyes, swiftly set about re-decorating the tent for the Festival After-Party, and under her supervision they completed their tasks in record pace, all the while not having noted Zarâm or Zôrzimril, or the groundwork they had laid for the grand finale tonight.