[Child of the 7th Age]

Ealasaide’s post

As Airefalas completed negotiations with the saffron merchant, he felt pleased. The price had not gone quite as low as he had hoped, but it was still lower, several times over, than the price the spice would fetch at market in Gondor. Mithadan would be able to turn a very handsome profit. He smiled as the merchant extended his hand.

"The name's Korpulfr," the man said warmly. "It has been a pleasure doing business with you."

"And with you," answered Airefalas. "I am Airefalas."

"If you seek to lighten your purse further, you and your friend may be interested in seeing our fine selection of hand spun silks." Korpulfr gestured toward another table that was strewn with various hues and textures of the fine material.

“Thank you.” Airefalas followed the merchant’s gesture with his eyes. He had already purchased a few bolts of silk at Umbar’s marketplace, including one for his fiancée Isabel in the exact shade of blue that matched her lovely eyes, and one in deep green for his mother. Upon seeing Korpulfr’s offerings, he wished he had waited.

He looked around for Mithadan, repeating to himself like a litany, “Furs, fine cloth, herbs and spices...” The silks would definitely qualify. He had just begun to move in the direction of the colorful fabrics when a fanfare sounded at the end of the courtyard. The doors swung open and Lord Falasmir himself appeared, accompanied by a host of attendants and courtiers. Finding Mithadan amongst the crowd of merchants, Airefalas moved in his direction and took up a position just behind his captain’s right shoulder. As for what happened next, he would wait for Mithadan’s cue.

He watched as Lord Falasmir made his way down the courtyard, greeting with a smile each of the merchants with whom he already shared a personal acquaintance, passing by those with whom he did not. It wasn’t until some minutes had passed that Airefalas noticed the squat, older woman who walked at Lord Falasmir’s right hand. Her iron-gray hair was pulled tightly back from her square-jawed face, upon which lay an expression of austere determination. All about her rested an aura of power.

Airefalas whistled under his breath. “I’d hate to have her for a mother-in-law,” he said softly to Mithadan. “Who do you suppose she is?”

Silently, Mithadan gave his head a slight shake, communicating to Airefalas either that he didn’t know or that Airefalas should be quiet. Since Airefalas wasn’t quite sure which Mithadan meant, he fell silent.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Child’s post – Rama

The great fanfare of horns announcing the arrival of Falasmir momentarily lured Ráma a few feet out of her hiding place. She stood against the wall on the far side of the room, staring across at the entourage which was making its way to the center of the floor. For one moment, her eyes fixed on the regal Lord who was surrounded by a bevy of admirers, some bending low, others respectfully inclining their heads. Ráma's direct dealings with this gentleman had been few, and she intended to keep it that way.

Quickly surveying the advisors who now stood at Falasmir's side, Ráma felt her heart thump furiously against her chest. For, next to Falasmir, just a little to his right, stood the one individual whom Ráma truly hoped to avoid. Yet she should not have been surprised, since Thorn had warned her of Wyrma's presence earlier that afternoon.

Seeing the familiar ramrod features, Ráma instinctively pulled back to the safety of her porch. A host of memories flooded through her mind. A clan gathering long ago, when she had been but a child..... Her mother had taken her by the hand and pulled her to the side of the crowd where she could get a clear look at the great Wyrm. And then Ayar had leaned over, whispering in her ear, Do not let her see you, child, for someday your safety and even that of our clan may depend on it. But press the Wyrm's face into your mind, and do not let it go. Then Ayar had led her out through a secret passage at the back of the tent and explained that neither she nor any other Eagle would be returning to this place again.

That was the last time Ráma had seen the Wyrm. But the face had seered into her brain, and still haunted her dreams at night, and now they both stood in the same room again. All thoughts of trying to find out why Wyrma had come speedily fled. Ráma abruptly turned about and began walking towards the door, intending to leave the palace and retreat to the safety of the Cat's Paw, perhaps even packing up her belongings and leaving the city in the middle of the night.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:42 AM January 21, 2004: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]