Of Wraiths and Kings, and Friends and Rings (Calling All Nazgul)

[Lotesse]

Buzukhumarz the Fifth was upset. He was fed up, and no amount of dulling the senses with cheap wine and mortal distractions was going to calm him down. Not this time. Enough was enough. How dare she give him the blow off? Who did she think she was, treating him like another one of her stupid sexual lackeys? He was going to get to the bottom of her duplicitous shenanegans, once and for all. No longer was the Fifth going to be her patsy, oh no. Or so he fumed, as he angrily paced around his room and quarters at Orrodel House, flinging his clothes hither and thither, and at one point even angrily jabbing his side dagger into the thick mahogany desk in his little office alcove, next to his bed. He had pretended to go to the Star of Elendil, after leaving the girls at the University entrance, but instead he had opted to go back home and think. He needed to figure a few things out for himself.

"Why is no one straight with me," he thought bitterly and furiously. "They think I can be easily fooled, and HER, her especially. I am tired of being made a fool of at her gorgeous expense," and then, as his mind got sidetracked thinking of Lilaenwen's long, creamy thighs and intoxicating green eyes, and that silky, flame-red hair, that hair...

"Dammit!" he cried. He quickly composed himself after saying that out loud, and darted his eyes around his own room, as if there might have been someone in the shadows hearing his tantrum.

Annoyed with himself now, in addition to being annoyed with his girlfriend and his NazFamily, Buz decided to dress himself in his best clothes, and girt himself with his nicest weapons and tall, polished black boots, and go out and - do something. Yes, he was going to find that damn sewing circle, or wherever it was that Lil had said she and Vivvie were going to. He wanted to know what was going on. He felt like he was being left out of the loop, and that, he thought smugly to himself, was going to end, now.

Before leaving his room, after having dressed to the nines, he polished off a bottle of his finest Umbar rum, to prepare himself for an evening of discovery and personal conquest. He wondered if Viniglaen would mind if he borrowed her new magnificent horse.

Downstairs, as he donned his crimson cloak which had been hanging on the cloak-stand in the coatroom, he heard Silla, one of the new housemaids, shuttling around, making housekeeping noises.

"Miss!" he called. "Ah, miss - miss Silla, is it?"

The shuttling noises abruptly stopped, then after a beat, she shyly emerged from a side room, feather duster in hand.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Who was this man from whom you received correspondance earlier this evening?"

"My lord, I'm sure I do not know who that gentleman was. I merely received a letter from him -"

"A letter for the Lady Lilaenwen, correct?"

"Y-Yes, yes sir."

"Can you describe the man to me?"

"Um, he was - he was - it was difficult to tell, really, sir; I think he was a bit dark-looking, and of medium, tallish build, and - and sort of formidable seeming, I suppose, but other than that sir, I couldn't say."

Irritated, Buz cut the conversation off completely, and left the house, shutting the huge door behind him firmly and a bit loudly, for emphasis.


******************


Outside, the wind was really making everything confusing. Bits of leaves and whirlygigs of tiny windstorms were whipping up, making Buz even crazier with irritation. His cloak flapped up, and momentarily stuck to his face, and he whacked his arms around, trying to get the cloth out of his eyes. Finally getting himself sorted out, he tugged his front tunic down, and patted his breastpocket, where he kept his silver emergency flask of rum."Good thing I brought THIS," he thought;"It's going to be a long night."

In the stablehouse, his first obstacle was Frankie Gladheart, the goodest goodboy that Buz could remember having run into in the last hundred years or so.

"I need you to saddle and ready this black Mearas for me, boy," barked Buz as he bustled his way in and struggled to shut the door behind him.

"Good evening, sir!" responded Frankie, forgetting to smile through his nervousness.

"I disagree," said Buz gruffly, brushing the bits of twig and leaf out of his face and hair, "it is by no means a good evening. Now, saddle that horse for me, boy! Time's a wastin'."

"Yes, sir," said Frankie uncertainly, knowing full well that the horse was Vivvie's prize mare. He was getting to know the Lady Viniglaen, well enough to know how close she was to her mount. But Pengolod was a Lord of Orrodel; what a quandary! What could he, a lowly stableboy, say?