Note:

The birds are chirping, the sun is high in the sky and the air is full of pollen trickling from the trees like snow cotton. The wind carries the scent of apple blossoms through the open windows and...

ANYWAY, Summer is upon us and with that, holidays! Which means more time to translate. (Who am I kidding, which means more time to read other fanfictions – and real books too! - and occasionnally ride my bike to a friend's place to watch any Miyazaki or Harry Potter movie.

Why am I even pretending people read that section? (Like... I'm just the translator.) Well, if anyone had the patience too, kudos to ya!

Here's the new chapter, the sixth.

I only have one more left to translate and then I'll have to wait for inspiration to hit my friend Lynn (...metaphorically, preferably).

Now get youself some snacks, cuddle up and and enjoy the read...

VI

Moonlight filtered through the clouds and enshrouded everything in a silver sheen when Gandalf roused them awake. Olympe suspected the old Magician had waited for them to fall alsleep to wake up them minutes later. Luckily it was impossible to know for sure without a watch.

She would have done anything for a steaming cup of tea with toasts and scones but for now, lembas and water would have to do.

The wind was icy as the group broke camp and cut effortlessly through their thick cloaks. The young witch could not stop trembling and would would not have frowned upon a muggle's way of transportation, even. They rode all night. At one point, Olympe clandestinely took a picture of Gimli sneaking some hours of sleep behind Legolas, swearing to herself that when time came, she would not hesitate to use it. Putting her magic camera away, she pressed her hands to the mare's neck to warm her numb fingers.

When the first rays of sun broke across the horizon and gilded the edge of the clouds, Olympe shivered with pleasure under the soft warmth. Her lids fell closed, all of her muscles relaxed and her weariness melted away. She sighted happily. She noticed excitedly that she was not as tired as she thought.

However, the monotony of the travel dimed her good mood little by little. They did not speak or stop to rest anymore. They just kept going on the never-ending trail and riding in silence was dull. When the witch's boredom reached its peak, she took out her wand and distracted herself with simple charms, summoning birds who circled around her for a few moments before vanishing with a popping sound.

This amused Gimli enormously and put smile on everyone's faces. But after some time, even this could not cheer the young girl up and she started counting clouds.

While she got to the fourty-fourth, Aragorn broke the quiet :

- 'When you revealed your magic, you conjured a animal of mist. I had never seen anything like it before. What was it?

- Ah, it's a panther... a sort of large wild cat. It's my Patronus.

- Your what?

- My Patronus. It's works like a shield. The opponent will fight it rather than the wizard. Actually... I was pretty surprised too! Corporeal Patronuses are the hardest to cast, it was only my third time summoning it this well: Most of the time, it's only indisctinct blue fog. It must have been the relief of finally seeing another wizard.

- So your state of mind affects your magic as well...' Gandalf pondered.

- 'Yeah, for the Patronus Charm, it does. It's a kind of positive force and the incantation only works if you are concentrating with all your might on a single, very happy memory. Producing one is already an achievment in itself... and using one in real life is not like in a classroom. Not anyone can focus on a happy memory when they're in mortal danger.

- But you are not just anyone, are you, young lady.' Gandalf pointed out with a smile.

- 'I had a very good teacher... and as I said, I've only produced a corporeal Patronus three times in my life. One important fact though: We do not choose the shape it takes. Most people have more common animal, like cats and dogs. It gave me a shock the first time I saw mine.

- Those … panthers, they are not common?

- Panthers? No, at least not where I am from. I only saw one in my life. I must have been about nine years old. My parents and I were on vaccation in Africa. It's a very warm place, far from home. We were visiting a wizarding community there... My father was really into any kind of exotic magic and as soon as he'd heard that African wizards didn't use wands, our bags were packed. It was gorgeous there. The village was nestled in the heart of the tropical forest. One day, I was bored. My parents were busy with their studies and I don't know what I was thinking but I went on a walk, out of the village. For a while, I played in the forrest. And all of sudden, it was there. The panther. I hadn't heard it approach, of course. It was crouching in the ferns only a few feets away and it looked huge. I mean, it was probably a normal-sized panther, but I was nine so everything looked huge. She stood still and stared at me. We were so close I could here her breathe. I was absolutely petrified! I was on my own, facing a creature which could kill me in a blink.

- 'But you could have used your magic, then, couldn't you?' Gimli asked, fascinated.

- 'No, we get our wands at our eleven's birthday. I couldn't do anything. I don't remember how long we stayed like that. It could have lasted minutes or hours. But the villagers had noticed I was missing and a wizard stepped in and positioned himself as a shield between me and her. I closed my eyes for a second and when I looked again, she'd vanished. I can't remember many times in my life when I've been that frightened. My parents were very angry, of course.' Olympe added with a fond smile. 'I can't tell you how surprised I was when I conjured my first corporeal Patronus and it turned out to be a panther!

- 'Tell me, do you have no restrictions to your magic?' Gandalf inquired.

- 'What do you mean by 'restrictions'?

- 'A limitation in its use, a line that you must not cross, a rule to ensure you do not use it for vain reasons.

- No, of course not! We don't have anything like that. The wizarding world is almost entirely dependant on the free use of magic. We use it as light, as a means of traveling, to build houses... We do whatever we want with it. Well, almost. There are some things that are forbidden, of course. For instance, the Unforgivable Curses. Using one gets you locked up.

- And, what are the effects of those 'curses'?

- One of them is to inflict terrible pain, to torture. Another allows a wizard to control another being. The last one kills.

- You know these spells?

- Yeah... I do... But they're forbidden.' Olympe had difficulties following his train of thought. 'You're not going to ask me to demonstrate them for you?!

- Of course not. Your magic intrigues me. I wonder where its limits lay.

- Life, money, knowledge, food and love. Those are the limits. And nothing that is created through magic is eternal. Anyway... I think that's enough about me! Tell me some more about yourselves! Do you guys have 'bethrotheds awaiting you home'?' They all stared at her, baffled. 'Hey, you asked me yesterday. Fair's fair.' The girl petitionned.

- 'Well then, I fear that you will be disappointed. There are no women awaiting our return.' repplied Aragorn sofly, his gaze absently fixed on the horizon.

As far as disappointments went, that sure was one gossip would have been a great distraction.

- You're right, I very disappointed. This is a lot less fun than I'd hoped... « O rage! o despair! o age, my enemy! Have I thus lived this long to suffer infamy ? »*' She declared, lifting her arms to the sky in a theatrical fashion. 'I'm bored to death here!'

It was only a small exageration. Olympe was tired of the endless monotony. Unfortunately, none of her travel companions seemed inclined to give her anything to offer any means of entertainment. She went back to counting clouds until Gandalf called out:

- 'Quit complaining. You want to hear something good? Well, we're almost there.

- YES! Wait,... 'Almost' as in a few hours or a few days?

- We can be there in less than an hour if we hurry.

But that was enough for the young woman to send her horse into a gallop, challenging: 'Want to bet who gets there first?'

In the distance, the harsh outline of ramparts was becoming clearer. The rest of the group quickly reached the witch. Then passed her.

- 'WAIT FOR ME!' She yelled with laugh.

The wind tangling her hair and whipping her face felt exhilarating. She began to grasp how to sit better on the saddle, in order to allow the mare to go full speed. Once that was understood, she quickly caught up with the others and focused on staying ahorse.

Gandalf decided on one last break, before entering the city. He declared :

- 'Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Théoden, King of Rohan, whose mind is overthrown. Sarumane's hold over King Théoden is now very strong. Olympe, do you possess a means of sealing your bag?

- I do... but why?

- Then close it. They will not let you enter otherwise. Conceal your wand as well. Moreover, be careful what you say.' He added for the group. 'Do not look for welcome here.'

Wouldn't be any fun if we did, would it?

They reached a heavily guarded door and Olympe's gaze instincively rose up to a green embroided flag depicting a white steed, floating above them. It had most likely just ripped from it's staff and the cloth danced on the wind before settling miserably on the grass.

The Fellowship walked into the city. For the first time, Olympe became truly aware of how different this world was from hers. Her surroundings screamed Middle-Ages movie set.

The sight might have been breathtaking, the horizon bordered with mighty mountains crowned with shimmering snow but the villagers were silent and bore expressions of gloom.

- 'You'll find more cheer in a graveyard' Gimli remarked, upon their cold reception.

I'd probably look this sulky too if I lived here.

They dismounted at the foot of the castle entrance, entrusting the horses to a guard. Olympe reajusted her bag on her side then pointed her wand at it and whispered « Collaporta ». The spell sealed the purse with a small suction noise and after making sure that it was fastened, the young witch hid her wand in her sleeve. They climbed the white steps up to a gigantic locked door.

A guard stepped in to block their passage.

- 'I cannot allow you before King Théoden so armed, Gandalf Grayhame. By order of... Grìma Wormtongue.

Olympe snickered upon hearing that ridiculous name but quickly disguised her laughter as a cough when she caught Aragorn's warning glance.

Gandalf's behavior made it clear that they were to follow through and a thousand weapons passed before her eyes: swords, bow, daggers, arrows, knives... Her companions seemed to own every single weapon ever invented. Olympe could never have imagined that they were armed this thoroughly and she saw how upset Gimli was as he handed his axe away.

A Rohirim who seemingly did not appreciate to see her stand still stepped closer to the young girl and grabbed her shoulder with the open intention to search her for weapons. Olympe was startled by the strength of the hand that held her in place. This man was so tall that she was forced to bend her neck to look him in the eyes. His face was hard and something akin to disgust twisted his lip. He scowled and glowered at the girl.

- 'Is there a probl...' She started.

- 'What exactly are you doing?' Legolas challenged coldly, having suddenly appeared by her side.

If the guard's frown had unsettled her, it was nothing compared to the frost in the Elf's eyes. All her companions stood still and glared icely at the Rohirim.

- 'Let go of my ward, right now.' Aragorn warned.

Faced with that much hostility, the guard loosened his hold.

- 'She could be hiding things.' He justified gruffly.

- 'I am not hiding anything.' Olympe offered smoothly, holding her hands up.

- 'I need to see the contents of your bag.

- You're not going to examine the personal belongings of a young woman, are you?' She cried out with well feigned outrage.

The Rohirim glanced at his superior, plainly at a loss on how to handle the situation.

Wow, I should totally become an actress!

- 'Oh well... I suppose I can leave it here under your watch, if it conforts you.' She sighed dramatically, holding out her purse and lowering her eyes then took the arm Legolas was presenting her with like a high society lady from her favorite movies.

The guard looked away, embarrassed and the Elf pulled her to the side. All clear. In any other situation, she would have burst out laughing by then but she remained grave and solemnly thanked Legolas for getting her out of there.

- 'Your staff.' The Rohirim shortly demanded as the Magician reached the threshold.

Swiftly, Gandalf took the contrite air of one burdened by the unimaginable weight of countless years. He really look like a granddad as he quavered in a singsong voice:

- 'Eh? Oh. No, you would not part an old man from his walking stick.

Aragorn hurriedly took his arm, corroborating with his role.

And it looks I've already got a rival for the Oscars!

The guard gave up, throwing Gandalf one last knowing glance before stepping aside.

They entered a throneroom which reflected the village's atmosphere : cold, dark and sinister. They walked across a long alley of sculpted pillars. A few keen courtiers whispered in the shadows but Olympe took no notice of them. Her gaze was fixed on the man crouching on the carved throne. His hair and beard were as white as his skin was wrinkled. His pale blue eyes stared lifelessly ahead, caked with yellowish crusts which flowed down his cheeks. But a crown rested on his snowy head so Olympe could only presume this old man was the King of Rohan.

Like a shadow falling over him, a man crouched closely by his side. His ghastly face was framed with a mass of black oily hair. His waxy skin only empathized the dark circles aound his heavily-lidded eyes. But more than his physical appearance, there was something strongly disturbing in his gaze.

Snape?

Olympe instinctively tightened her hold on the Elf's arm and put herself behind Gandalf to avoid the sight of this man.

- 'My lord. Gandal the Grey is coming. He is a herald of woe.

- 'The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late, Théoden King.' Said Gandalf in a strong voice.

- 'He is not welcome here.' The shadow whispered in the King's ear.

Theoden spoke:

- 'Why should I welcome you, Gandalf Stormcrow?

- A just question, my liege.'

The shadow stood and walked up to the Wizard.

- 'Late is the hour in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is in an ill guest.'

His mad eyes sweeped over the Fellowship, fastening on the blond girl who turned away, feeling nauseous.

O how desirable she seemed, the delicate flower among her guards of thorns. Out of reach... like the white Lady of Rohan who would soon be his.

'Be silent!' Gandalf yelled. 'Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death to bandy crooked words with a witless worm!' He cried, pointing his staff threateningly at the shadow.

- 'His staff! I told you to take the Wizard's staff!' Shrieked the retreating figure.

At the first sight of danger, the snake slithers back into his hole...

In a flash, they were encircled by a dozen guards. Her companions threw themselves into the fight to protect the Magician.

- 'Théoden, Son of Thégel. Too long have you sat in the shadows.'

As a guard appeared in front of her, his features twisted into a mad, perverse grin, Olympe managed to grab her wand. She smiled back.

- 'STUPEFY!'

The man flew across the room and crashed against a column with a sickening crack before sliding unconscious to the ground. Olympe, stunned with the force of her spell, tripped and landed on her behind.

Whoa...What the heck just happened?!

Still disturbed by the unexpected strength of her Stupefy, she contented herself with casting Full Body-Binding Curses on anyone who came too close. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Grìma, knocked down by the Dwarf.

- 'I would stay still if I were you.' Gimli growled.

- 'Harken to me!' Gandalf called out to the King. 'I release you from the spell!'

The old man let out a sinister cackle:

- 'You have no power here, Gandalf the Grey!'

Suddenly, the Magician threw aside his cloak and the blinding light of his white robes filled the throneroom.

- 'I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from the wound.' He promised, tackling the King to his seat with his staff.

A woman with long blond hair ran to the King but Aragorn caught her and told her to wait. Olympe look at the her more closely : She had fine features, encased in a platinum river of hair, flowing around a lith frame in a splendid white and gold-embroided dress. She was absolutely stunning; the perfect representation of a Middle-Ages princess.

- 'If I go... Théoden dies.' Threatened the King with a voice that was not his own.

- 'You did not kill me. You will not kill him.

- Rohan is mine!

- Be gone!'

In stead of an answer, the King threw himself on the Magician who could only defend himself with his staff. Lighning exploded across the room. The crowned man leaned dangerously forward and was only caught in the last moment by the beautiful blond who kneeled down in front of him.

Olympe thought she was hallucinating as Théoden's hair filled out, turning a soft light brown and his wrinkles vanished. Where an old King had fallen, there stood a proud man, in the prime of life. His hair and beard were streamed in a golden blond and his blue gaze was sharp and lively.

- 'I know your face.' He murmured, looking at the young woman in front of him. 'Èowyn... Èowyn!' Turning to the Magician, he called in recognition: 'Gandalf!

- Breathe the free air again, my friend.'

With Èowyn's help, the King of Rohan slowly stood up, until is height allowed him to overlook the throneroom.

- 'Dark have been my dreams of late.

- Your fingers would remember their old stength better... if they grasped your sword.'

A squire carefully approached the King and handed him the prized weapon. Théoden let his fingers slide over the hilt before grasping and holding out the blade. His memory seemed to reassemble when his gaze fell to his adviser, who was still being held down by Gimli.

Upon an order from the ruler, the guards took over and dragged him outside. Her step still unsure, Olympe did her best to blend in with the rest of the crowd following the King. The Rohirim threw Grìma unceremoniously down the white stairs that only moments ago, the fellowship had climbed. Folded on himself in the dust and the dirt, Wormtongue then looked like a beggar. The young witch would have enjoyed the sight of his demise. After all, he was a monster with mad, obscene eyes. However she could not help the pity that flowed through her heart in that moment.

At the great doors, Olympe looked around for her purse. She spotted it in the hold of a guard who was trying to force its opening, without success. She ripped it out of his hands.

- 'Hey! Don't mind me!'

The man looked at her apologetically. All around them, the threshhold was filled to the brim with a curious crowd who did not want to miss out on whatever was happening with their ruler. She had to elbow her way through to Gimli and Legolas.

- 'I've only ever served you, my lord!' Grìma pleaded, cowering in front of the furious King.

- 'Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!' Theoden yelled.

- 'Send me not from your side!'

The King stepped forward and raised his sword. The verdict was clear : The snake was to be executed. Olympe looked away.

- 'No my lord!' His blade cut threw air before it was stopped by Aragorn, who had hurried to face the ruler. 'No my lord. Let him go. Enough blood has been spilt on his account.'

Théoden's rage dimmed and little by little, he lowered his sword then looked to his fallen adviser. Aragorn generously offered Grìma a hand. The fallen shadow's features were disfigured with anger and he spit on the help that was extended towards him and fled, shoving the agglutinated farmers out of his way.

- 'Hail, Théoden King!' Aragorn exclamed loudly and a lot of voices enthusiastically echoed his cry.

But Théoden's face showed neither joy nor relief as he turned and asked :

- 'Where is Théodred? Where is my son?'

Sitting atop of the great white castle stairs, her hood pulled up, the young witch gazed upon the sorrowful sight that laid ahead. The Prince's funeral. She had attended the opening of the ceremony from as far away as she could. Aragorn and Gandalf had not tried to persuade her otherwise when she had told them she wished to be some distance away from the burrial. She had followed the first onlookers as they made their way back to the city and she had been waiting for her friends since.

She did not went to attend the funeral. She would have felt out of place. A lost girl attending the departing ceremony of someone she did not know, just for the sake of appearances. Her principles forbid it. To her family, a funeral had been a moment of intimate gathering, of sharing the pain of a passing with close ones.

When her father died, only the close family members had attended the funeral. If total strangers had then invited themselves to the ceremony, she would not have been able to stand it.

'It's a whole other culture.' She muttered to herself.

From where she sat, she could glimpse Èowyn, Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas standing by the King, the somber procession threading deeper in the crowd then disappearing in the crypt.

After some time, the mass of people dissolved. Her friends started back towards the great door, all but Gandalf who remained by Théoden's side.

- 'Miss?' A woman's voice called out from behind her.

A girl came forward, one barely older than Olympe. Her dark hair was braided into a bun at the back of her head, revealing a delicate neck. She wore a dress of thick linen with a round collar and a deep green surcot, ajusted with rough lacings on either side of her bust.

- 'Yes?

- Do you wish to see your room? We have poured you a bath.'

With a quick glance, she spotted her companions who were crossing the city's threshold then nodded. The young woman lead her through the castle, through countless halls and corridors. The walls were carved stone encrusted with wood decorations; the pattern of a horse came up quite a lot. The servant guided her with a confident stride, the thick folds of her dress rippling with each movement. Only her steps echoed in the large space, Olympe's feet being still wrapped in cloth, allowing her to progress silently.

The young witch was about to try making conversation when her guide finally stopped in front of one of the many doors of an endless corridor and bid her in. The room was warmly lit with a set of colorful stained glass window and in the middle stood a metal bathtub, filled with still steaming water. A white cloth spread in it came up on each side of the tub. A dressing table with a mirror had been placed in one corner, as well as a chest of drawers. A large crakling fire place heated the large space. Olympe gazed longingly on the double bed while the servant unfolded a screen right next to the tub.

- 'You can leave your things here.' She explained, pointing to a chair. 'I'll go now and fetch you some clean ones.'

- 'Uh... and what will you do with my clothes?' Olympe asked, suspicious.

The young woman's eyes widened and a clear laughter erupted from her before she answered:

- 'Clean them, of course!Come now, hurry before the water gets cold.'

Olympe stepped behind the folding screen and quickly undressed, leaving her clothes on the indicated chair. The servant took them, laid several towels in their place and turned to leave.

- 'Excuse me?' Olympe called after her, her senses already delighted with the sweet-scented steam.

- 'Yes, miss?

- What is your name?

- Fréa, miss.

- Fréa, thank you for everything.

- You don't have to thank me, miss.'

Olympe heard a door close and slowly stepped the water. She kept her eyes closed for a long time, enjoying the effect of the warmth of her body. It felt like this was the first time she was not cold since she had arrived to this crazy world. Rider folks, day-long horse rides, women wearing only dresses... All of that seemed so anciant, so ...unrealistic. And yet, there she was.

She had to cast a dozen charms on her tangled hair to bring it back to an acceptable state. She then dove underwater.

Several small soap bars lined the edge of the tub and she set about meticulously cleaning her body. The soap kept sliding through her fingers and sinking in the water.

She was weary... So weary and numb. There she was and yet it was as though she was just a witness, as though she felt nothing, as though it was all happening to someone else. She had neither the strength nor the will to do anyhing anymore... but was probably just exhaustion talking.

She laid her head back against the tub.

What would have happened, had she not come across Aragorn? Or rather, had he not come across her? She would probably be dead.

Starved, frozen... or killed by an Ore. Or worse, kidnapped!

A tremor went through her, an unstoppable momentum of horror drowning her and she dove underwater did not help to still the shivering so she decided to step out.

She wrapped herself in the towels. These were so thin she had to use three just for her hair. She discovered the clothes Fréa had laid out for her. She had not heard her bring them.

She put on the cotton undergarments and bandaged her breasts with a large strip of cloth. There was a red sucot and two dresses, both white. One was of a thin embroided material, the other one thicker, apparently warmer.

Was she supposed to choose one to wear? The former was not much to go around in...

Unless...

She put on the light embroided one, then topped it with the thicker dress and grabbed the wool chausse from the backrest. These went above her knees and were fasten with bootlaces. She donned the surcot and tied the laces on either side of her waist. The pair of leather boots under the chair completed the look. She gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She was dressed like Fréa, only with carmin instead of emerald.

She stepped closer to the polished surface and for the first time since she had gotten there, she took the time to examine herself. Her hair was still damp from the bath and dripped lazily over her back and shoulders. Her lips were chapped and cracked in many places, her skin gleamed red from the cold and the constant wind. She did appreciate the absence of dark circles under her tired eyes. It was not as bad as she had thought it would be.

The hairdresser table was lined with combs and several small jars. She opened one and smelled the white paste it held. Honey! She thought happily. Another was scented with lavender and the last one, she could not identify. She took a little of the flower smelling paste and rubbed it on the red blotches of her face.

Once she had combed her hair, Olympe grabbed her bag and exited the room. She had no notion of how long she had stayed in it, but the sun was already high in the sky.

So, where are my friends now?

After a small moment of reflection in the corridor, she decided to go back to the throneroom. After all, Gandalf had had urgent things to discuss with the King.

She went back the same way she had been with Fréa, and got the wrong door a few times before finding the passage leading to the royal hall. She encountered but two or three guard, recognizing them by the metallic clink that caracterized them so often.

Olympe strode confidently towards a door, ignoring the stare of the two Rohirims guarding it, their hands casually resting on the hilts of their swords. She was raising her hand to the doorknob when a loud voice startled her.

'Stop right there!' The first man warned. 'The King is having a war councel. He must not be interrupted. You do not have the right to enter.

- I am a friend of Gandalf and his three companions. I have to go to them.'

The man guffawed.

- 'Naturally! And I am Lady Èowyn's suitor! Come on now, little girl, be on your way!

- My friends are expecting me! Let me in!

- Go back to work and let us do ours.' He repplied with a conniving glance in his partner's direction.

- Beg your pardon? And what work would that be? Cooking? Cleaning?

- Good! You do know your pla...

- That was a rethorical question.' She interrupted with a glare, raising her voice.

- 'Listen hear, little girl, you are starting to get on my nerves. I'm warning you, go on your way or we will have to use force!

- Oh, I'd like to see that! Olympe challenged, brandishing her wand, its end already producing small angry sparks. 'Trust me, I can hurt you far more than you can hurt me, with those shoddy primitive baboon weapons!

Her tirade ended as the doors opened on Legolas, his eyes wide with astonishment. At her attire? At the threat she had just delivered with her wand raised? He composed himself again before she had a chance to guess any further.

- 'I thought I'd heard you.' He sighted, laying a hand on her shoulded and leading her inside. 'Come. I believe you have traumatised them enough for today.'

The guards gaped at her and without a look back, Olympe entered the great room.

* This is a famous quote from Don Diègue in the illustrious 17th century play Le Cid by French playwright Pierre Corneilles.

There you go guys!

Before anyone starts commenting on Olympe's new getup, as a specialist in the matter, I would like to clear some stuff up. It's about a common mistake that you'll come across in most fictions that feature a Middle-Age dressing scene. Someone sent a review about this on my French account so I wanted to set this straight.

- Is it just me or is that head o' yours swelling?

- My head's just fine, Olympe. Now hand me back the mic. Time for a little Costume History lesson...

Hum hum, the piece of clothing called a corset as most picture it made its first appearance in the 1860s, during the Second Empire. From the 16th to the 18th century, women wore corps baleinés and later on corpiqués. Those give the body an upside down cone shape and they are not corsets.

Middle-Ages costume do not cram and constrict the woman's body. The ideal silhouette of a young lady at the time is slim and small-breasted (which is why Olympe wraps her chest tightly with cloth) but not drastically modified.

- Now I feel lucky I didn't travel to a later Age! I can't imagine how annoying it must be to wear a corset...

- You can't imagine how annoying it is for me to constantly encounter an item of clothing which is to be invented centuries later in Middle-Ages placed fanfics! Especially when the women put it on by themselves, which suggest a corset with that special lacing that was created only in...

- Stop! You'll scare them all away! That was enough costume explanation for one day, I think.

- But... hey, you're my character! How can you cut me off?

- I can because you've already lost half the readership with that extra part... I know you're passionate but you'll go on for hours if I let you.

- Oh, sorry... At least, it cleared things up! (*embarrassed laughter*)

- There are times I'm ashamed of you... (*shakes head and sighs*)

So, what do you think of this chapter?

What of Olympe's reaction with the Rohirims? Think she should calm down or get angry?

What do you think will come next?

Are you hoping for a romance? With whom?

Come on, please review!

xoxo