Bells were ringing in the distance, but came only faintly to the ears of young Haril. She kept her footsteps light and a straight poise holding a tray with steaming contents, walking through the very middle of the wide, empty hall. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of green trees outside, and through the clear glass of tall windows, closed to the chill air of spring. Dust motes were suspended in the still air, and Haril paused to admire the detailed embroidery of a tapestry depicting the line of the Lords of Dale.

She'd be up there one day. Her name would be woven in bright colors. Haril the wise, or Haril the steadfast? No, everyone's called the wise or the steadfast. Haril the improver. Doesn't have quite the ring to it, but it'd be true, no doubt. The current Lord wasn't doing a very good job at being a Lord, and Haril refused to ignore it. Being a part of the staff of the Lord's residence, she knew the inner workings of the great house. She overheard the arguments that the Lord and his lady had, she overheard the meetings with the other town officials who put it in as soft terms as possible that things were looking pretty dismal. The Lord's young grandson, Girion would do a better job at ruling, for the Power's sake.

Haril liked to stay in the hall when all was quiet, the songs and chatter in the evenings only the faintest of echoes in the darkest corners, remembering the lively nights. Haril preferred the late afternoon sunlight. She fantasized about taking a while to sit on the paisley upholstered dark cherry wood bench, closing her eyes, and letting the tales of old come to life before her, but alas, the Lord needed his tea.

Haril didn't look behind her as she propped the tray on her hip and opened the door to the council chamber.

"The dwarves have been more generous with us than we've been with them, and they know it." An old official waved a hand palm up. He used to be a friend of the Lord, and had been around since the beginning of Lord Gelion's rule, but differing views drove them apart. Now he was the most vocal in these debates.

Haril casually set the tray with tea to the side of the Lord. He barely took notice of her and reached a frail hand for the pottery.

"I don't suppose you've considered inviting them over and letting them take everything we have?" Gelion let the aroma of the tea settle under his nostrils before taking a loud sip.

That's not what was said at all, Haril thought. If only he would listen to what the councilmen had to say instead of taking every suggestion as an affront to his failing abilities.

These past couple generations of Lord's had been long lived, for better or for worse. For Lord Gelion's father, for better, for Lord Gelion, for worse. Though he'd grown feeble of mind and body of late, he refused to step down and let Theron, his son, take up rule. Everyone in the council was frustrated, and the air was oppressive with it.

"My Lord, if you could perhaps consider decreasing the price..." The words drained away as Haril slipped back out the door, tray under her arm.

She scowled as she made her way back through the peaceful hall. Her mind wasn't peaceful at all. She skipped down the stairs to the kitchens where preparations for dinner were just beginning.

"How goes the council, my politically inclined companion?" The cook, a plump woman named Bewin inquired, slitting the underside of a quail and neatly scraping out the innards.

"Frustrating, as everything is." Haril huffed, sitting at the end of the large table, picking through a bowl of sweetmeats. "See this almond?" Haril held up the small nut.

"Is it an almond? I could have sworn it was a hickory." Replied Bewin, not looking up from her work.

Haril smirked at the quip, continuing. "They were arguing about whether or not to increase stores sent to the Mountain, and when I say 'they', I mean the Lord versus everyone else."

Bewin snorted and started cleaning another bird. "Someone should just assassinate him already."

The only other occupant of the kitchen was Morema, (since it was only the Lord and his family dining tonight, only a small staff was necessary) a quick young girl with more cheek than a chipmunk's full of acorns. "I know a guy," she added.

"A lovely idea. All we need is a perfect execution and we'll have a work of art. Who wants to cast it into verse?" Haril said over a mouthful of nuts and dried fruit.

"Ha, you said execution," Morema flashed a toothy grin.

Bewin, the oldest (and by default) wisest of the trio shook her head as she liberally sprinkled salt and herbs over the meat, readying it for roasting. "Is the baste ready yet?" She inquired of the youngest, Morema.

"It will be by the time they're on the spit." She replied, stirring the rosemary baste with increased fervor.

Haril rested her elbow on the worn, well used boards that made up the table. "You know, believe it or not, my mind's gone down that rabbit trail as well." She mused. Haril had been mulling over how to improve life in Dale ever since she was young. When improving the Lord's rule was out of the question, deposing him was where her mind leapt. A simple clean assassination sounded more and more appealing.

"Assassinating the Lord?" Bewin didn't bother to keep her voice down. There was nobody around.

"He's really of no use to the town at large, senile old man that he is. I wish he would just finally drop curtain and drink his tea in his private sitting room instead of the council chamber."

Morema spoke up, "Don't tell anyone my mother said this, but she said that he should have just died five years ago," she said solemnly, "And saved us the trouble of having to consider such a thing." she added under her breath. "I must say I agree with her, that does seem to be when things started to decline."

Bewin laughed. "How would you know? You were a baby back then. What were you, six?"

Morema straightened. "Seven. I was born early in the year and I'm eleven and a half now and can have opinions of my own now, thank you very much."

"An important milestone for us all," Haril remarked dryly.

"You're only six years older than I am, I don't see how you know that much more," Morema stuck out her chin at Haril.

"Oh I don't know, how much more do you know than other five year olds?" Haril shot back.

Morema glowered into the baste.

"And at thirty and feeling fine, I say that opinions can be formed at any age. My young niece is three, and she has opinions. For example, she thinks I'm better to hug than her uncle who's a few missed meals away from becoming a beanpole."

The other two laughed.

"But anyway, we really should assassinate the Lord. He's practically asking for it at this point." Morema continued.

"Quite. Let's overthrow the government entirely. Monarchy is failing; I'll make an excellent Queen." Haril declared

"A queen is part of a monarchy, dear," Bewin said gently.

"I mean I'd be a good ruler. What other forms of government are there?"

"Democracy," Bewin said.

"Socialism," Morema added.

Haril shook her head in distaste, "I don't know if I trust the rest of the people in this town for either of those."

Bewin shrugged "You'd make an excellent dictator."

Morema rolled her eyes, "Or maybe it's not the monarchy that's failing, but these particular monarchs."

Haril snapped up a finger. "Good point, Morema, I've always thought there should be a Lady of Dale." She rested her chin in her hand. It's all playacting at this point. If we could only agree to be serious in considering this. I've been thinking about it for years. She dug her fingers into the sweetmeat bowl, brow furrowed. We're the Lord's staff. We have access to everything he eats, drinks, and touches. He's old, we could make it look like an accident. Her train of thought went down dark paths.

Bewin noticed Haril's faraway look and mindless wandering fingers. Haril inhaled slowly. Morema had left to throw the innards of the birds out.

"Bewin, do you know what sort of plants can kill people?" She asked steadily.

Bewin stopped in her adjustment of the birds over the fire and sent a shrewd glance. Straightening, she put her hands on her hips and chewed the inside of her cheek.

"I'm no expert in communication, but are you asking me if I'd be down for murder?"

Haril nodded.

"Whew," Bewin exhaled, "I was worried I'd have to be the one to bring that subject up in earnest."

Haril sat up "Wait, sweet Ea are you serious?"

Bewin shrugged. "Well, my girl, I'm sure we'll have a fine scheme cooked up in no time, but I'm afraid I'm busy all this week; my little sister's getting married."

"Best wishes to the happy couple. Assuming they're happy, of course." Haril clapped.

Morema dashed through the door. "What's the celebration about?"

"Bewin's sister is getting married," Haril told her.

Morema made a face, "Ew."

Haril snorted, secretly inclined to agree.

Bewin sighed, picking up the conversation. "They're happy alright, but she could do so much better. Ah, a poor farmer who loves her is better than rich lord who doesn't, I suppose."

Haril scoffed. "Nonsense. Why not both? Love and money. Goodness knows we all need lots of both."

Bewin smiled. "Mm, but it doesn't always work like that now, does it?"

"Another flaw with our society." Haril settled back into her seat, a glower taking over her features.

"A flaw that will doubtless be fixed with the installment of our new Lady of Dale, the Lady Haril," Morema declared with an upwards sweep of her arm.

"Hey now, I never said I was actually ready for the political intrigue of overthrowing the government." Haril laughed while tying on an apron and reaching for the risen bread dough that was sitting by the fireplace.

"But the plans to overthrowing a government take long in the making. You might want to sprout your schemes now," Bewin mused as she withdrew a large bowl from a shelf under the table.

"Good point, Bewin, I'll make you my second in command when we finally do get around to it." Haril said, liberally sprinkling flour over the table.

"What about me?" Morema piped up from her station of spreading the baste over the roasting quail.

Haril thought as she kneaded. "Hmm, I suppose I could use a court jester."

Morema thinned her lips. "Perfect, I'll have my jingled cap ready to go whenever you say the word."

Bewin smiled, tossing greens together and dribbling dressing over them for a salad. "It's heartfelt conversations like these that make me glad we've all found each other in this turbulent world."

It was several moments until Morema and Haril could straighten up from laughing and continue their tasks.

~~

That evening, Bewin and Haril were alone in the kitchen. Bewin was deep in thought as she set the dough to rise for tomorrow's bread. Haril read by the light of the fire. They were the last two in the servant's place. Bewin was the resident cook, Haril hadn't gone home yet, and the Lord's family's personal servants slept nearer to their master's quarters.

"Haril, I've been thinking." She said at last.

"An admirable occupation," Haril remarked, turning a page.

"I know where to find hemlock in the woods, but you're the one who delivers his tea. How will you keep it from being traced to us?"

Haril placed a ribbon marking her place and slowly closed the book, resting her chin on the top of it. "We'll keep it gradual. His health has been declining, let's speed it up."

Bewin nodded, "I'll get the hemlock."

Their plan would come to fruition. It had to.

~~

Bewin found the time to deliver the fateful bottle. Haril tucked it deeper into her girdle as she came away from the butcher's shop, basket of meat tucked into the crook of her elbow. First dose today. This was all up to Haril. In the case that they were discovered, they needed as little information as possible to be able to spread.

Haril was preoccupied as she fetched the pot of tea that had been brewing. She almost bumped into several people on her way out of the kitchens.

The great hall was quiet as usual. She gently set the tray on a bench and uncorked the bottle she'd withdrawn. This was for a whole pot of tea, but she didn't want it to move so quickly. Bewin had said this stuff was as condensed as it got. She steeled herself and let a few drops fall into the steaming pot.

~~

A week later, Lord Gelion had been looking grayer than usual. Nobody commented on the decline of an old man.

Haril had just opened the door to the library where the Lord was supposedly looking over the records of the city. Instead, a volume on the flora and fauna of Rhovanion was open on his desk. He seemed not to notice Haril as she plunked the tray down beside him.

Right as her back was turned, he spoke.

"You know, girl, I've not much time left."

Haril stopped. Obviously.

He sighed. "I suppose the council may be right in some matters. I'm not as young as I once was."

Obviously! Haril gritted her teeth to keep from exclaiming.

He sighed again. "I would rather like a quiet rest of my life. I've been thinking about getting a house away from the city. Maybe the peace would calm my soul," He finished softly.

Haril peered over her shoulder at him. He sat relaxed in his chair, teacup in his hand. A slight bow, and she was out of the room where she let a scowl take over her features. Imbecile! A house away from the city, the council is right in some matters, I'm not as young as I once was. Who did he think he was that he could make the entire city wait for him? Retire and be done with, nobody's asking you to stay. Haril wanted to march back into the library and deliver her thoughts to him.

But that wouldn't do. He would respond poorly to being talked down to by a young serving girl. The dosage would be upped tomorrow.

~~

Bewin woke in the middle of the night to a stir in the great house. She thought about ignoring it and going back to sleep, but with her involvement in the risky scheme, she thought she'd better know all that was going on in the house. Yawning, she slipped her chubby feet into slippers and wrapped a shawl around her shoulders against the chill. Shivering, she cracked open her door. One of the older servants was hurrying down the hall.

"Gredda," Bewin called.

The woman stopped.

"Is there something going on?" Bewin asked, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Gredda took a breath. "The Lord is dead."

The shock banished any sleepiness out of Bewin. So soon?

"He awoke with a hacking cough that brought up blood. By the time the doctor arrived, he said there was nothing to be done." Gredda delivered the information and scurried down the hall.

Bewin drew back into the welcoming darkness of her room, and sat on her bed. Wasn't this too soon? Haril had only started a week ago. Bewin lay down and tried to calm herself to sleep. Was this too quick? The poor Lady. Would Theron make as good a Lord as they all hoped? She was asleep.

~~

Haril was as startled as Bewin. He was more senile than she'd thought. She carried heavy thoughts as she made her way through the hushed chattering of a city recently bereft of their Lord.

Bewin met her on the road and drew her aside into a dark sidestreet.

"Too quick, Haril," Bewin admonished.

Haril held up the only quarter empty bottle. "Guess he needed even less than we thought."

Bewin took the bottle from her grasp. "I'll dispose of it."

"Why? Lord Theron might not be so complementary as we hoped." Haril replied drily.

Bewin frowned, uncorking the bottle and pouring it over a garbage heap, throwing the bottle down and shattering it into pieces. "No evidence."

Haril smiled grimly. "No evidence."

~~

Haril delivered tea to only the Lady now. She still took her time studying the tapestry of the Lords. Her name would never be up there, but she would have to learn to be alright with that. And also learn how to pave the way for other Lady aspirators. Surely she wasn't the only young serving girl with dreams of wielding more influence than she did. A smile crept up Haril's lips.

The young woman took her time walking down the long hall. Sun peeked through the clouds, suddenly alighting upon the usual places at late afternoon. She walked in and out of the shadows, the tray bearing steaming, aromatic contents. Bells were ringing in the distance.

2934 words.

I hoped to make the characters interesting in their interactions and ways of thinking.

-GadSul