[Mnemosyne]

There was a commotion outside, enough to awake Brinn. She pushed her husband awake. "Is it dawn already? Or past? We're losing time!--go out and see what the matter is!"

Rollan sighed. His wife was feeling her confinement already. He rolled out of bed and blearily stepped out of the cart--they'd gotten a room at the inn, but since Brinn's injury decided it would be better to stay with the carts so she wouldn't have to move nearly as much. "There's talk of the Master of the Revels," he said. "And some guards. I think they're here for us, and not for good, either."

Brinn groaned. "Well, someone will have to go out and meet them. They'd better not have started charging for the right to make folk smile! Tell them--tell them that we're not official, we never have been, and if they're going to make a fuss about it we'll move out to the Pelennor where he can't say anything about it." In recent years Minas Anor had grown too small to house everyone who came for the festivities. "And if it gets to be too much trouble, bring them to me."

Rollan frowned in thought. When had he become that "someone"? "But don't you need help getting dressed?"

"I'll be fine, go! Would you rather have Branor be our spokesman?"

She had a point there. Still, before leaving, he went through the trunk and pulled out one of Brinn's overdresses. "There," he said. "Now you won't hurt yourself even more for your stubbornness."

He dressed himself hastily, ignoring Brinn as she told him to put more care into his appearance for the Master of the Revels, and stepped outside. There were horsemen outside the inn, and a very pompous-looking mule of a man standing just inside.

Rollan bowed. "My lord?" he said. "Is there aught we can do for you?"