Lesser Ring

The Morning of the Hunt

       “With whom will you hunt?” asked the taller of the two Men.

       The shorter and younger looked over his shoulder at his half brother and steward of his house.  “With Lord Maruset.”  He was going through the collection of throwing sticks, looking for the best with which to hunt the ducks that populated the marshes that were so common a feature of the delta region of the River.  At the noise made by the other he paused, turned more fully.  “And why do you make that sound?”

       The other simply shrugged, and continued to stand at a disapproving attention, fixing his gaze on the brilliantly painted far wall, refusing to meet his lord brother’s eyes.

       “You do not approve of me hunting with Lord Maruset, Amonrabi?”  

       “I can hold no opinion one way or another,” Amonrabi said evasively.  “Lord Maruset is a powerful Man, and is in favor with our lord father.  And who am I, Sohrabi, as the son of the concubine and not of a proper wife, to pass judgment on your choosing?”

       “You have more sense in your little finger than all of the rest of our brothers among them,” Sohrabi sighed, “which is why I chose you as the steward of my house.  If you do not have a good feeling, then I would do well to listen to your advice.”

       “He is a devotee of the Dark Ones and their dread Lord is all, Sohrabi,” his brother finally responded.  “I have never had a good feeling about the Dark Ones.”

       Sohrabi turned back to his collection of throwing sticks.  “The Eastern Lord holds sway over us and our lands, and Maruset is in his favor.  I cannot ignore the Man, particularly when he has singled me out for attention.”

       “And why is it that he does so now, Sohrabi?”

       Sohrabi set aside the eight sticks he’d chosen and slipped the remainder back into the wide mouthed, pot-shaped stand in which he kept such things as he gave an elaborate shrug.  Picking up his throwing sticks and turning to the small table where he’d set his short hunting bow and quiver of darts, he placed the sticks with them.  Finally he turned to his brother.  “Our father is Farozi, not I or any of our brothers.  There is no reason I can see for Maruset favoring me over the rest, particularly as Ma'osiri is principle heir.  But I cannot afford to offend him--as I said, the Eastern Lord favors him.  I wish to live, Amonrabi, so that I can provide a home for you and those of our brothers and sisters who deserve to be comfortable.  Our lord father has taken so many concubines that the lower river valley crawls with our brethren, and he ignores the most of them.  Am I to allow them all to sink into degradation?  I do not wish them to come to the attention of the followers of the Dark Ones and find their ways to the Eastern Lord’s altars.”

       “So you will accept the invitation of the leader of them all to hunt with him--alone?"

       “He will do me no harm--I am, after all, proper son to the Farozi.”

       “And when has he offered our father the respect due to the Farozi, Sohrabi?  He acts as though he were ruler of our land, giving our father orders from the Nameless One, ordering altars to That One built and the slaughtering of life upon them with no thought to Amon or Ra, Osiri or Isiri or any of the rest of the pantheon.  No, only the Death Eater has he ever worshipped.”

       “To appreciate the Light, we must have the Dark as well, Amonrabi.”

       Amonrabi snorted.  “And if the Eastern Lord once again holds full sway, will he realize that the opposite is true, that to appreciate the Dark properly we must also have Light?  I doubt it.  Ever the Death Eater demands more horrible deaths on his altars, and grows in power as they are offered him.  He would cover the entire world with his darkness, and would make it terrible again, obliterating even the stars if he could.”

       “I cannot oppose him alone, Amonrabi.  And if I offend his agent, I will draw attention here and to the Valley of the Sun, and I would not have such happen.”

       Amonrabi gave a deep sigh.  Finally he asked, “Will you not take at least Bherevrid with you?”

       “Am I to draw Maruset’s attention further to him?”

       “He is one of the few who keeps Maruset’s followers in check, and who has not fallen to offering sacrifice on the Death Eater’s altars.”

       “I have not offered sacrifices on the Eastern Lord’s altars.”

       “Do you think that Maruset will not seek to set that aright if you hunt alone with him this day?”

       “I offer proper worship to Annubi----”

       “And do you truly believe the Death Eater to be a form of Annubi, brother?”

       Sohrabi almost snapped, “Of course not, Amonrabi.  Annubi is the guide of the dead, not the one who devours them.”  He calmed his anger and fear, then sighed.  “I would see our land freed of the power of the Nameless One and his servants.  But those who read the omens say that it is not the people of our land who will accomplish this.”

       Amonrabi gave his brother a closer look.  “And how do you know this, brother?  The Dark Ones have forbidden the reading of omens.”

       Sohrabi did not respond, merely looked at his brother with a carefully schooled blank look.  Amonrabi finally nodded.  “No, you do well not to confide further in me.  What I do not know I cannot betray.”  The steward walked to the doorway and looked out it at the teeming street beyond.  “I would dearly desire to see the downfall of the Death Eater.  I hate what he does to our land, our people--our father.”  He turned back to Sohrabi.  “But you must be careful.  Do not turn your back upon Maruset.  Do not trust him.  Give him no chance to slay you.  You are the best of us all, brother.  On you and Bherevrid lie the hopes of our people for proper leadership if the Nameless One is ever cast down.  The one good thing about this day is that none of the Dark Ones are here now.”  Both of them shuddered at the thought.

       Sohrabi took up his quiver and put it over his shoulder, carefully fixed his chosen throwing sticks in his belt.  “I will watch my back,” he said.  He reached out to clasp his brother’s forearm, gave him what was intended to be an encouraging nod, and after making certain his knife was properly seated in his belt, he picked up his bow and left the house, headed for the outskirts of the city and the day’s hunting.

       His land and Far Harad and the lands surrounding them had long lain under the shadow of the Nameless One and his dark servants.  It had been so for so long most didn’t even care.  He cared, however.  He would see it otherwise, see the peoples of the lands again freed to worship the old gods, Amon and Ra, Osiri and Isiri, Neryet of the Stars, Annubi and Bhat and the others.  They were supposed to primarily worship the Lord of the Sun in his might and his many forms, not this one who had long claimed to be a form of kindly Annubi and Osiri the Judge, but who was worse than Seti himself.  Seti had been put back into his place, it was said, long ago after he attacked the other gods, when they had banded together to stand against him and bested him, thrust him back into the darkness he was said to have once set over all the world.  No, Sohrabi did not think the Death Eater was indeed a form of Osiri or Annubi.  The others did not come near the mortal lands any more, save for Ulmë of the Waters who saw to the annual rising of the River itself; but it did not mean that they were in any way less beloved than when they freely visited the mortal lands.

       As he reached the farmland at the edge of the river, he saw Maruset awaiting him.  He noted with dismay that Maruset had not come alone, that he was attended by Virubat, Virubat of the Smile.  Virubat had fought before among the forces of the Death Eater, and a cut to the side of his face had left that side looking since as if he were caught in a perpetual smile, one which delighted in evil and destruction.  His father, Sohrabi knew, was terrified of Virubat. Sohrabi merely detested him, detested him with all his heart and soul.  But he would not show this to him now....

       “You have come a full quarter mark early,” Maruset said.  “That is good--the ducks will be calmer and easier to be killed.”  

       Sohrabi kept his gaze on Virubat.  “It was not known to me, Lord Virubat, that you hunted duck.”

       “I do not,” agreed the scarred one.  “I was merely keeping Lord Maruset here company until your arrival.  I will go on my way now, and trust him to see to it that you hunt well.”  He straightened and stretched, then turned back into the city.  

       Maruset looked after him with mingled distaste and concern, then turned back to Sohrabi.  “So, it shall be but you and me.  Shall we go, then?”  And he led the way into the tangle of channels that characterized the delta.

The Wanderer

       He was hot, and the only blessing was that this was such a dry heat.  The sweat did not lie on the skin and smother it, but evaporated away quickly.  The negative part of it, however, was that his skin was ever dry and tasted of salt, and needed always to be bathed frequently and rubbed with unguents two or three times daily if it were not to split and form sores. 

       He dressed in the flowing white robe suggested by Meriti, the trader from Harad who traveled twice a year between his homeland and Minas Tirith to bring the exotic fruits and products of his land to trade for the fine porcelains and metalwork and foodstuffs of the North which were craved in Harad.  It was said that there were mines in the southern reaches of Far Harad and smiths of unparalleled skills; but he’d not gone that far.  He’d made it into Far Harad, but had begun to turn his feet back North again, realizing that if he didn’t, he would miss his expected rendezvous with the ship at the harbors of Risenmouthe, which could easily be disastrous.  If Hardorn didn’t see him on the great quays when the ship arrived at the port, he’d undoubtedly leave it and go through the city and single-handedly tear it apart.  And the wanderer did not desire to see that happen.

       He’d made it back to the heavily populated delta region far more swiftly than he’d made it to Far Harad, for on the way South he’d stopped constantly to look, examine, learn.  He’d found each settlement had its own patois, but the Trader’s Tongue, which was a mixture of full Haradri with many words he recognized as from Westron and even Sindarin of Gondorian influence, served him well enough. 

       He wondered what Ecthelion and Denethor would think of him now, of what he’d done with the warehouse-full of goods which he’d purchased during the years of service he’d given Gondor.  He didn’t know if Ecthelion was aware of the warehouse he’d leased on the Harlond, but knew Denethor had learned of it and had even had it searched more than once, not that he’d ever found anything of question there.  Fabrics of wool, many from the North of Arnor, even some from the Shire which had been purchased for him in Bree; linens from Lebennin and Belfalas; fine porcelains from Lossarnach and the White City; metalwork from Erebor, the Iron Hills, and the Dwarf holdings in the Northern Misty Mountains; turned and carved wooden items from Lebennin and the North; fine embroideries and tapestries; and a great number of tanned hides from Rohan and Dunland and Arnor as well as Gondor, for the leathers of the North were considered of great value here in the Southern reaches of Middle Earth.  When Denethor had questioned him obliquely about this wealth of goods, he’d answered honestly enough that he was of a mind one day to see the lands of those who were the greatest foes of Gondor, to learn of them; and the best disguise for this would be to travel as a merchant.  Denethor had looked at him askance, but had not been able to find anything more suspicious in this pronouncement than he’d already found in the one known as Thorongil, the mysterious Captain thought by some to be Denethor’s illegitimate brother.

       It was not until many months after he’d left Gondor after the victory in Umbar that a ship had come to the Harlond and had filled its holds from the items in that warehouse.  By the time Denethor had realized what warehouse it emptied it had already sailed, and he missed his chance to slip one of his own agents aboard it.  The Harbor Master had not recognized Captain Thorongil in the shaven-faced merchant who dressed in fine green and who oversaw the loading of his ship.  Some of those who’d manned this ship had spoken Westron as it was spoken in the north; a few appeared to have come from Belfalas and even Anfalas, while six were obviously from the Pelargir.  They saw to the loading of the ship, had paid their fees and export taxes without undue grumbling, and sailed away; and when Denethor came with his Men to search the warehouse one last time they found it empty save for great green leaves of a sort he’d not seen before, leaves which appeared to have been wrapped about packets of some form of travel bread. 

       The wanderer didn’t care.  He’d leased beasts of burden and purchased a horse for himself on his arrival in Risenmouthe, advised by Meriti’s son, who had bargained also with the camel drivers and master and caravan guards who’d traveled with him.  He’d been advised as to which folk he’d need to bribe, and which not to bribe as well.  He’d been given maps to follow, advice on which routes were to be avoided due to the known presence of bandits, and had finally been turned loose to examine Harad and Far Harad. 

       He’d examined the guards, swiftly tested and weeded them out, and in their camp two days southeast of Risenmouthe had worked on training them to follow his orders.  Some had resented him at first, until they realized this was a swordsman like themselves--only far better than all of them, and with a grasp on tactics none of them could match.  After a week of intense practice under his eye, they finally set off southwards, moving slowly from village to village, holding to holding, selling and buying, then selling and buying again until they were far South indeed. 

       Twice their caravan had been attacked, but each time he’d been aware of the watch kept on them, had laid his plans, and both times they’d come away unscathed while the bandits had in each case been quickly defeated.  The first time half those attacking them had been killed; the second time all had been captured alive, and they’d been completely stripped and left in a small, deserted oasis to be found by the next caravan through, their bravado as completely stripped away as their clothing and weapons. 

       He’d finally left the caravan himself three days North of the mines of Ephir, and had given orders to Khafiramun, the overseer for the caravan, to do what trading they could there, then return as directly as possible to Risenmouthe with what goods he’d purchased, and that his ship would be waiting when they arrived.  By this time he was certain Khafiramun would follow through on his orders, for he’d proven himself several times over and had even managed to save the caravan master’s life three times.  Yes, Khafiramun would follow through, and Bhatfiri, captain of the caravan guards, would further see to it that his orders were followed to the letter.

       He was still one to two days from Risenmouthe, but as his ship was not due for another fortnight that was no great problem.  As a single rider of a horse with little to distinguish him he’d not been given much notice.  He’d stopped at the camps of family groups, had admired their flocks and herds in their own tongue and with appropriate words, had been accepted as a welcome guest, had paid for their hospitality with wonderful tales, songs sung in languages they for the most part didn’t know, and in one case with aid for a sick child.  Three days he’d stayed with that group until the child was clearly recovering from the fever which had looked to claim his life, and the boy’s parents had been loth to let him depart, had insisted in the end on giving him one of their best camels to lead away with him.

       He wasn’t positive what he’d do with the camel.  He had enough experience with the beasts by this time to realize this camel was of superb breeding, and knew also that if he hadn’t accepted the animal he would have insulted the family past bearing.  He contemplated sending it to Minas Tirith with a ribbon about its neck, and a label marked To Lord Denethor, with the compliments of Captain Thorongil.  He was imagining the response likely to such a gift when he heard the quiet confrontation going on nearby.

       “You do not go before the altars of the Eastern Lord,” a voice was saying in formal Haradri.

       “I offer proper worship to the lords of the Dead, to Osiri and Annubi,” was the response, a younger voice, a wary voice.  “And I properly fear the wrath of Seti.”

       The listening wanderer’s attention was caught immediately.  The young speaker was being cautious in what he said and how he stated it.  It was the equivalent, he knew, to an admission of being respectful to those who governed the Halls of Mandos and dreading Morgoth.  He knew that here in Harad Sauron claimed to be a form of the god of Death, and most accepted him as such.  It was the only way that those who would not follow Sauron were able to avoid actively supporting him, for they could insist--rightly--that they were indeed respectful to the lords of Death and prove that they attended worship services in their temples.  Sauron and his servants had not as yet managed to have his own altars placed in the older temples, where respect for the old ways was still heavily entrenched.  There were enough who were eager to placate the Eye who would put up new buildings and altars elsewhere that he did not seek to desecrate all the older temples.  Even Sauron realized--at times--that to do so would lead to loss of following over time, would increase the realization he was not what he pretended to be.

       So the wanderer dismounted his horse, fastened the camel’s lead rope to the saddle’s pommel, slipped the leather hobbles about the horse’s legs, and quietly followed the voices, for once wishing his robe were grey or dun rather than white, for he feared it would give him away.

       As he climbed the slight ridge, he came at last into sight of the delta and its channels, and there, below him, were the two he’d heard.  The older was tall and lean.  The smaller Man was slight, with the darkened skin of one who was born in this land, who’d spent his entire life beneath the glare of Amon, as they called the Sun here.  Both were dressed in the formal white kilts worn by nobles here, with fantastically detailed pectoral collars of the animal forms the folk of Near Harad ascribed to the Valar.  Both wore sandals which were expensive, and heavy amulet bracelets on their wrists.  The taller Man also wore a formal cape over his shoulders, one which, the watcher realized, hid a dagger caught in a sheath high on the Man’s left side, just below the shoulder.

         They were approaching the reeds which marked one of the marshy areas where the nobles of Harad tended to hunt waterfowl, and they had stopped their talking as they checked to see if any prey swam in the shallow water amidst the papyrus stems and the great white and smaller blue water lilies.  The younger carried a short bird bow and a light quiver which held the bird bolts preferred by hunters of this land, and carried several shaped wooden sticks in his belt--throwing sticks, the wanderer recalled they were named.  How one would hunt with such things he had no idea, and he almost wished he could see them in use; but his attention was drawn to the taller Man, who had allowed the shorter to draw ahead of him.  Neither carried a sword, and the taller carried no visible weapon other than the throwing sticks in his belt.  He’d had one in his hand, but now he was silently slipping it back into his belt, was reaching up to the dagger high on his side, the one hidden from the eyes of the youth with whom he hunted. 

       So intent was he on the youth, whose own attention had been drawn to a drake paddling in the shallow water, that the wanderer was able slip down the ridge undetected.  The dagger was now unsheathed, and the taller Man was stepping forward, reaching--the intention, the watcher realized, was not yet to wound but to disarm--for now, at least.  He reached forward and expertly caught the leather of the quiver’s strap, sliced it across so that it slipped from the younger Man’s shoulder.  At the sudden loss of its weight and sound of its fall the younger Man straightened, turned, surprised and shocked, his eyes focusing on the one facing him as the startled drake left the water with a quack of alarm.

       “What do you do?” he asked.

       “Oh,” said the other, “I simply desire to disarm you for now.  So, you would honor Annubi and Osiri, but say nothing of the Eastern Lord?”

       “Does he not claim to be the Lord of Death in one of his forms?  If so, then surely the honor offered to the other forms would be received by him, would it not?”

       “Perhaps.  But it is in the form of the Eye of Fire he prefers to be honored.  And, I think, it will be to his honor I will dedicate your death.”

       “And why do you do this now?  I am but a lesser son to my father--I am not even his heir.”

       “It is Ma’osiri I now seek to impress, Sohrabi.  I would have him realize that I do not flinch from offering even his father’s proper sons when their deaths are demanded.”

       “The Death Eater has demanded my life?”

       “No, he himself has not done this, but Virubat has seen that your death would be both acceptable and expedient at this time.”

       “And why do you tell me this?”

       “For our master is best pleased when the one offered is in proper despair and fear.  Do you deny being in fear for your life?”

       The wanderer now spoke.  “So, you would strengthen the Dark Lord, would you?”  Both whirled to face him, uncertain how this other had come to be there with them.  “I find I have an intense dislike for those who support the aims of the lord of Mordor, and I think I will stop this if I can--and I know I can stop it.”  He drew from his belt a dagger he’d been given by Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth, carefully crafted, seemingly plain yet full of subtle beauty, deceptively simple in design.  “I am no callow youth, my friend.  Shall we see how well you fight with one who is properly armed?”

       The taller Man was no longer looking particularly alarmed, was smiling, even.  “I do not know who you are or where you come from, pariah,” he said through gritted teeth.  “But I know that you will die this day.”

       The fight was short and intense, and the wanderer was full glad for the hours spent with his brothers practicing with daggers, for his opponent was wily and skillful.  Those who had taught him, however, had known millennia in which to hone their skills, and had packed all they had learned of fighting with knives into the time they spent teaching him.  The Man he faced was tall for his people, but the wanderer was taller still, his reach longer and better directed.  He didn’t manage to disarm his foe, but in the end managed to drive his weapon into the Man’s shoulder, then rip it downwards through the ribcage and the heart, and with a look of shock and disbelief the Southron stumbled to his knees, then pitched forward, dead.

       The wanderer had pulled away as the Haradri fell to his knees, knowing the wound was mortal, but found his eyes drawn to the other’s hand, where the Man wore a great ring, a ring with a motif he’d been taught to recognize, though he’d never actually seen one before.  Here was the reason this one had thought he’d prevail--he wore one of the lesser rings crafted by Sauron within the Sammath Naur.  He gave a deep, shuddering sigh as he leaned down, lifted up a corner of the Man’s cape, and used it to wipe clean the blade of his dagger.

       The youth looked up at him, his face pale beneath his dark skin, his eyes wide with surprise.  “Who are you, and how came you here?” he demanded.

       The Northerner looked down at him and examined him coolly.  “It matters little who I am.  I am a visitor to your land, one who has traveled through Harad as a trader and merchant, and I am headed back to the harbor of Risenmouthe where my ship will soon arrive to return me to my own people.”

       “Where is your caravan?”

       “It is now on its return trip north from Ephir.  I took so long going southwards, I left early to return so as to be in Risenmouthe when my ship arrives, that my kinsman coming with it does not worry for my safety.”

       “You do not believe he could possess his soul with patience until your return?”

       “I know he would not possess his soul with patience if I were not there to welcome him.  He is not known for great patience, and I fear that the city of Risenmouthe would suffer for his concern for me.”

       Sohrabi surprised himself by laughing.  His companion, however, was looking down again with concern at the corpse of the one who lay before him.  “Why bother for him?  He would have slain me.”

       “I know, and I’d gladly leave him to your carrion beasts.  However, I must see to the disposal of the ring he wears.”

       “You recognize its device?  Would others recognize him by it?”

       “This ring was not crafted for recognition, young Lord.  It was crafted for authority.  It must not fall into the hands of others.  I must see to its destruction.”

       “I would feed it to the crocodiles with his body.”

       The tall Man shook his head.  “No, for even then there is the risk someone some day might find it, which even were Sauron no more would lead to great evil.  I have been taught what must be done for it.”  He knelt by the body, started to reach for the hand, then on touching it he drew back, his face suddenly pale and his eyes open as if with unexpected pain.  “I cannot touch it,” he finally said with surprise.

       “Why not?  Will the gods of death take you if you try?”

       The other shook his head, his face grimacing.  “No, it is not that.  Adar told me that with my breeding I would most like not be able to tolerate the touch of such a thing, and I find he is right.”  He reached beneath his white robe, pulled out a pouch of worn green leather.  He untied the cord that sealed it, brought out a small bag of silk.  It was too small to place entirely over the finger.  Finally he looked at Sohrabi and sighed.  “I hate to ask you to do this for me, for no one ought to touch this thing any longer than necessary.  Will you remove it for me, place it in this?  It must be destroyed as soon as possible.”

       Sohrabi looked up into the earnest face, sighed and shrugged, then reached down.  He found he did not like touching the dead hand, but he did what was necessary, stretched out the finger, grasped the ring and removed it.  He shuddered as he held it, disgusted in some way at its touch, for he felt as he would being forced to hold some eyeless, slimy thing from far beneath the surface of the ground; but as he held it over the mouth of the small silk bag he felt a reluctance to let it go.

       “Drop it now,” the other said with a voice of deep authority.  Sohrabi found himself obeying immediately, and saw the sagging of the bag in the other’s hand as it fell to the bag’s bottom.  In a second the tall Man had it twisted, drew tight fine drawstrings he’d not noticed, saw them wrapped about the mouth of the bag and tied together.  Dangling the silk bag from his fingertips, he opened the worn green pouch and dropped it inside, slipped the pouch back inside his robes.

       “What will you do with it?”

       “I will not tell you, other than that it will be destroyed.”

       “Why destroy it?”

       “Because it is one of the Enemy’s traps, intended to utterly enslave the wearer while convincing him he is a power to be dealt with.”

       “You have seen one before?”

       “I have seen pictures of them done by those who have seen them, and have been instructed as to how to destroy it.”

       “You call the Death Eater the Enemy?”

       The tall Man facing him shrugged.  “It is the first time I have heard him referred to as the Death Eater, although he has been long known as the Necromancer, which means much the same thing, I suppose.  It is how he has rebuilt his power until he is now almost as great as he was before he was vanquished by Elendil, Gil-galad, and Isildur.”

       “I do not understand--he has been vanquished before?”

       “Yes, almost three thousand years past.  But he was ignored too long, and he returns as he was before.”

       “How was it done?”

       “It was after ten years of besieging him within Mordor with mixed troops of Elves and Men--finally the forces of the Free Peoples broke through his walls and drove his people back to Orodruin itself, where he faced Gil-galad and Elendil the Tall.  They gave themselves to throw him down, and Isildur, taking up the hilt of his father’s broken sword, was able to cut from his hand his great Ring of Power before he could rise again, which broke his strength.”

       “If he was vanquished, then how has he risen again now?”

       The face of the Man facing him had grown bitter.  “Isildur did not destroy the Ring when the chance presented itself--instead he allowed himself to be taken by It.  And eventually It betrayed him to his death, as It undoubtedly would do to any foolish enough to try to claim It.  Until Sauron’s own Ring is destroyed, he will be ever able to rise again--particularly when he is allowed to feed on the deaths of so many.”

       “You speak as one who knows.”

       Sohrabi looked deeply into eyes that spoke of bitterness and much grief.  “I am one who knows, my friend.  All my life I have seen the works of Sauron, heard the tales of Sauron, have spoken with those who fought and continue to fight Sauron, and have fought his creatures myself.  Now, would you betray me to his people?”

        “You have saved me from one of his--do you think I would help them now?”

       “Is there any other who knew you were with this one, who would know he marked you for death?”

       Sohrabi sighed.  “Virubat.  The Smiling One knows....”

       The one with him sighed.  “Tell me about this Smiling One.”

Emissary’s Capture

       Virubat was not of Harad, for he had been born in Umbar, descended from the Black Númenoreans.  His family had carried the burden of hatred and jealousy of the descendants of the followers of Elendil the Tall for the past three thousand years, for in coming to Middle Earth these had usurped the rule Virubat’s ancestors had begun to wield over the Men and lands they’d found there, leaving them only the land of Umbar left, only a portion of the tracts they’d commanded before the foundering of the Island of the Star.

       As had many from Umbar, Virubat had sworn himself to the service of Sauron and Mordor, for he’d accept any ally that offered assistance in gaining vengeance on Gondor for the many victories that land had known over Umbar over the years.  But he had never agreed to wear one of Sauron’s gifts of rings, fearing rightly that such would cause even more changes in himself than he wished to experience.

       Maruset had accepted such, however, and had begun to be recognized as powerful in Harad.  He’d set up altars to the Dark Lord throughout the land of Near Harad, had sought to drive many to sacrifice at them, had insisted that the Death Eater was a manifestation of the lord of Death, had even tried to suppress the worship of Osiri and Annubi.  Yet, in spite of the growing recognition, fear, and power Maruset had begun to know in Near Harad, he still listened when Virubat spoke, still went after the targets Virubat pointed out, recognizing that Virubat had been sent by the Death Eater himself and wanting to ingratiate himself the more.

       Virubat had seen that the current Farozi was a dissolute enough fellow who mistook virility and fecundity for strength, and had encouraged him in his predations on the womenfolk of the Risen’s valley.  That gave Maruset a great pool of royal blood from which to choose victims for the Death Eater’s altars--victims the Farozi appeared to ignore completely.  Instead he had made quite the ceremony of taking his conquests, formally recognizing the children born of these assignations, then forgetting their existence.

       Sohrabi, however, had been actively working to stop Virubat and Maruset’s own predations, having convinced his father to allow him to establish a great house, and here he’d been gathering as many of his illegitimate brothers and sisters as he could identify.  This level of responsibility was not a welcome phenomenon, for those who lived in the houses of the nobles were considered out of bounds for those who collected victims.  So it was that Virubat has suggested the hunting party, one in which Sohrabi himself should become the prey.  Thinking of the young prince of Harad being hunted himself by Maruset pleased Virubat, particularly as the young Man’s expression whenever he must look upon Virubat had always been somewhat disturbing.  To realize that Sohrabi saw him as wanting made him angry as well as shaking his certainty that none could hurt him.  Knowing that the young prince's death could be useful in intimidating his older brother was pleasing to Virubat.

       Virubat decided not to go to the Farozi’s house after all, but to repair to his own place within the city.  He would attend on the Farozi later, after the word had come that Sohrabi had not returned to his own house, after it was realized that Sohrabi was dead in a tragic hunting accident.  Virubat hoped only that Maruset would wait until he’d spotted a nearby crocodile before killing Sohrabi.

*******

       “What is your name?” Sohrabi asked his companion.

       The tall, pale Northerner shrugged as he thought.  Finally he said, “In your tongue you may call me Horubi’ninarin.  There is no exact translation, I fear.”

       Sohrabi laughed.  “Falcon of stars?  A sun figure and the stars in the same breath does sound incongruous--yet, I think it fits you well enough.”  When the taller Man looked at him in question, Sohrabi explained, “Horubin is one of the symbols of the Sun, after all, the high flying golden falcon who appears out of the sunlight to the consternation of its enemies.”

       “I see.  I am only now coming to understand the beliefs of your people.”

       “You have the golden falcon in your land?”

       The other smiled.  “You do not appear to have here the great Eagles, which are high fliers as is the golden falcon, are hunting birds also, but are far greater in size and majesty than the falcon is.  They make their nests high in the mountains at the top of ledges, while the lesser eagles nest near them and at the tops of the greatest of trees.  Long have our peoples seen them as the messengers of those you call the gods.  We do not see them as manifestations of their masters, however.

       “We do have falcons and hawks of several types, from the merlins of the far northwestern downs to the peregrines and gyrefalcons.  But from what I have seen, the golden falcon is native to this land, and is well suited for it.”

       “You are a hunter.”

       “Yes, among other things.”

       “The dagger at your belt is deadly, and you use it well.”

       “It was a gift, and those who are as my brothers have ever seen to it that I know how to wield my weapons.”

       “Then you know the use of the sword that is tied to the pommel of your saddle, also?”  He indicated the horse which the taller Man now led.

       “Yes.” 

       “How came you by the camel?  She is a particularly fine beast.”

       “I was given it in thanks for assisting in the care for an ill child.”

       “You are a healer also?”

       His companion nodded.  “Yes.”

       “It is not a common combination, to be warrior, hunter, and healer all three.”

       The other simply shrugged.  Then he asked, “Have you a stable where my horse and camel can be hidden?”

       “Yes.”

       “Good.  Thank you.”

       “You are from Gondor?”

       “I have sojourned there, but am not of that land--not yet.”

       “You intend to be so?”

       The tall, pale Northerner again shrugged noncommitally.

       “Who taught you the art of healing?”

       “I learned it from my youth.  It is common to my family to practice healing.”

       “Who taught you the warrior’s way?”

       “Many.”

       “And who taught you hunting?”

       “Again, my brothers.  I would like to see how the throwing sticks are used, though, for such are not used among the peoples among whom I’ve moved to date.”

       “Perhaps we will have a chance to see such in the days to come.”

       “I have almost fourteen days yet ere my ship is due and my cousin comes to claim me.  I think we may indeed have time.  Where is the house of Virubat?”

*******

       Amonrabi heard the back door open and close, then two sets of footsteps in the rear entranceway.  Alarmed that his lord brother might have brought Maruset here, he hurried to look out, then found himself almost face to face with a stranger, pale skinned naturally, he thought, but tanned by exposure to the Sun of Harad, his eyes a clear grey with only a hint of blue and green, as sometimes the surface of the sea or the River might show.  This Man was exceptionally tall, making Sohrabi look quite short by comparison.  His build was difficult to tell, for he wore the loose white robe and headcloth of a trader.

       “I did not bring with me Maruset, my brother,” Sohrabi assured him.

       “The hunting did not last long, and I see no ducks.

       Sohrabi’s face hardened.  “You were right, Amonrabi--it was intended that I was to be the prey this day.  However, this one heard the words of Maruset as he threatened me, and saw to Maruset’s death.”  He set his quiver with its cut strap on a table, then his bow as well, and at last his belt knife.  Amonrabi looked at the evidence of treachery grimly.

       The stranger untied the cord for his headcloth, then the cloth itself.  His hair was dark, as was common also with the people of Northern Harad; but it was finer that that of their people, and gently waved where the hair of their people was usually tightly kinked or unmercifully straight.  He’d pulled it back into a tail at the nape of his neck, and it appeared to fall below his shoulders.  He was one who raised a beard, Amonrabi noted, although he’d obviously been shaving it daily.

       He then removed his white outer robe, and beneath it wore a loose shirt of unbleached cotton, and bloused trousers of slightly heavier cloth of the same source dyed brown.  He wore over it a belt of dark green leather, from which hung a fine sword of Northern pattern, a dagger in its sheath, and a belt purse of worn green leather.  He wore a chain of silver about his neck under his shirt, but what hung from it could not be seen.  On his feet he wore boots of a soft leather, finely tooled although well worn.

       The stranger was slender and well-muscled, of indeterminate age, obviously intelligent and capable; and he walked as does one who is equally at home on a horse or his feet, although there was the roll also one often saw in those who had spent time on the sea.  His expression at the moment was mild enough, but Amonrabi sensed that it would be best not to press him hard or question his authority too deeply.

       Sohrabi said by way of introduction, “He is to be called Horubi’ninarin.  He is a trader, and is come back from Ephir so as to be here when his ship returns to Risenmouthe.”

       “You have a caravan?” asked Amonrabi.

       “Yes--it should now be returning from Ephir under the supervision of my caravan master and guard captain.”

       “Who is caravan master?”

       “His name is Khafiramun.”

       The two Haradrim looked to one another.  “Khafiramun is highly respected by our people,” Sohrabi commented.

       “And with good reason,” Horubi’ninarin agreed.  “He wasn’t certain at first I would do as a client, but finally accepted me and has proven both loyal and trustworthy.”

       “And who did you choose as captain of your caravan guards?” asked Amonrabi.

       “Bhatfiri of Kostos.”

       “One of the best.”

       “He knows his business, I found,” the trader commented.  “We have come to respect one another.”

       “If you handle your sword as well as you do your dagger,” Sohrabi said dryly, “I’m certain Bhatfiri would respect you indeed.”

       Horubi’ninarin smiled, then grew more serious.  “I would like to go to this Virubat’s house, for it would be easier to take him from there where he feels safe and is himself less likely to keep a close watch, where he believes the eyes of others watch out for his safety, rather than on the street.  You see, I do not care greatly for those who incite the murders of others.”  He looked to Amonrabi.  “Is there a room in this house where he could be kept securely?”

       Sohrabi’s steward looked to his brother, then turned back to the guest of the house.  “There is one inside room which is intended for the keeping of wine which could be put to that use.”

       “Let me see it.  And is there anything which I could wear that would make me look to be a bodyguard of your people?”

*******

       Virubat of the Smile was reading a communication from Umbar which had arrived with several from Mordor while he was with Maruset.  So far no one had been able to find out what had become of the mysterious Captain Thorongil who had served first Thengel of Rohan and then Ecthelion of Gondor.  He’d been injured in the assault on the fleet of Umbar, but how seriously no one knew.  The injury had not impeded his handling of his sword, that was certain.  However, after leaving the harbor and ships in flames, he’d separated himself from Prince Adrahil’s Men, and disappeared with his aide de camp. 

       The horses the two had been riding had been found in the paddock of a farm belonging to the government of Gondor six miles north of the Pelargir, but no others were missing from there or anywhere else any had heard tell of.  Their uniforms had not been found, nor their weapons.  A letter had been delivered to Ecthelion by a messenger from Lebennin, a letter reportedly written in Thorongil’s distinctive hand, in which he resigned his commission, explaining that he had received information he was needed on the business of his own people, that his uncle who had seen to the welfare of his kindred had been killed along with several others close to him, and that he must return to the needs of those who had depended on the leadership of his uncle; but that when the time was right and if the people of Gondor would accept his return, he would come in the future at need to fight again with her forces.

       Reports from Eriador in the ruins of Arnor indicated that a major push by legions of orcs backed by forces from what had been Angmar had cut deeply into the territory of the Northern Dúnedain, and that it appeared that several of the commanders of the Rangers had been killed.  Was this Thorongil related to them?  It certainly appeared probable.  Virubat considered the name Thorongil had used in Rohan and Gondor--the Eagle of the Star; and star cloak brooches were the symbol of the Northern Dúnedain Rangers.

       It had been believed that Arvedui of Arthedain had left no living heir; yet that had proven false.  Far more recently it had been reported that Arathorn’s son had died of fever when still little more than a babe in arms.  Could that, also, have been misreported?  Certainly a young commander of what appeared to be an appropriate age had taken over the forces of the Rangers of Eriador some years back, and had coordinated with forces elsewhere throughout what had been Arnor.  No one had seen this commander for some time in the field--not in the Northlands, at least, although his dispatches had continued to be circulated and a few had eventually fallen into the hands of Virubat’s agents.  His dispatches within Eriador were written consistently in Tengwar lettering, were written in a clear, scholarly hand, and signed always with a distinctive A glyph.

       The dispatches and letters of the Captain Thorongil, on the other hand, had always been written in Westron lettering and signed with the entire name.  Again the writing was always clear and well educated, but could not be identified as having come from the same source as the dispatches of the unnamed Northern commander.

       Virubat’s apparent smile was definitely only one-sided at the moment.  If the unnamed commander in the North was indeed the son of Arathorn, and if he was also he who had been known in Rohan and Gondor as Thorongil, it did not speak well for the future.  Sauron was not pleased with the intelligence he’d received, and the Nazgul and the Mouth of Sauron were letting it be known that all efforts were to be put into effect to identify precisely who this Thorongil was, and the parentage of the commander in Eriador.  Specific demands had been made to seek out information as to what had become of a woman named as Gilraen, reported to have been the wife of Arathorn, as well as what children she’d given birth to during and since her marriage to her late husband.  Information was also desired regarding any children born to Rangers known as Gilthorn and Halbaleg.

       The side of his mouth which truly responded to Virubat’s mood was distinctly frowning.  Why he should always be the one to find out the information desired by Mordor he had no idea.  Why didn’t Sauron send one of his own agents, or even one of the Nazgul north to learn what he wished to know?  Virubat had none who could pass for a member of the Northern Dúnedain at his disposal; and in Bree, where his people might be accepted as travelers, no one seemed aware of the fact the Rangers who traveled through the region were the descendants of Númenor.  No, Virubat was not happy.

       Then there was the worry that the folk of Gondor or Arnor might send spies here to Harad, another of the observations contained in the dispatch he was perusing.  Word had come to Mordor and Umbar that apparently at least one individual from Gondor had been reported as having visited with the d'Bouti clan.  With decision, Virubat turned to the messenger who'd brought the notes and who now stood by as he read. 

      "Let those keeping watch at the harbor at Risenmouthe keep watch for any carrying tokens of stars," he commanded.  "If any from Gondor or Arnor should seek to spy out our activities here in Harad, they will undoubtedly carry such tokens, as brooches for cloaks, as decorations for weapons, in rings or pendants.  As for the rest, return here tomorrow, and I will have a response ready then." 

       The messenger bowed deeply, murmured, "As you command, my lord," and left.

       Not having further reply he could make now to the correspondence he’d just been pondering, Virubat decided he would now go the the palace of the Farozi.  True, no word had as yet reached him from his spies in the Farozi’s household that the reports had yet come that Sohrabi had died in a hunting accident, but it was only a matter of time.  He carefully packed the dispatches into the secured chest in which he kept such things, locked it, then secured it with the closing spell he’d received from one of the lesser servants of the Eye.  He then clapped his hand to summon his body servant.

       A tall figure entered the room and approached him with the silence Virubat had always required of his servants and slaves, then bent low in obeisance.  “Bring my blue court robe--I will be attending on the Farozi.”

       He turned to the stand on which he usually laid his personal effects when disrobing or changing and began to set his belt and knife and such there, then realized that the servant had made no move toward the dressing room where his court robes hung.  Angry, he turned on the Man.  “What do you wait for, cur?  Did I not give you an order?”

       Only then did he realize that this was not any of his slaves that he knew--this was a stranger he’d never seen before, a tall Man with a tanned, shaven face, and eyes of a clear, piercing grey.  Those eyes were now examining him dispassionately.  “I do not believe you will need your blue court robes,” the intruder said in a low voice in slightly accented Haradri.  “You will not be attending on the Farozi right now, after all.”  Realizing a rather deadly knife was now at his throat, Virubat backed up against the wall.

       The ensuing struggle was brief.  A blow to Virubat’s temple from the hilt of that deadly dagger stunned him, and shortly he was bound with his own belt and gagged with one of his own head scarves.  One of the voluminous robes he kept to wear when he was going abroad in disguise through Risenmouthe or Thetos was brought out of his dressing room and pulled over him, with face cloth pulled across his mouth to shield the fact he was gagged.  He was then guided out of the room and to a side door.  The guard of that door lay sprawled on the gravel, as did both assigned to the side gate.  Outside was a rather fine horse, but not one of his.  Virubat was lifted easily onto the saddle, but his feet were bound under the horse’s belly so tightly he could not direct it.  The horse was not happy with this situation, but followed the lead offered by the one robed as a bodyguard who’d taken Virubat prisoner.  No one seemed to notice anything odd in the pair of them as they made their way through the streets, and certainly no one appeared to give the least attention to the one who led the horse and carried the secured chest.

       A half an hour after Virubat was taken, he found himself imprisoned in a stone room with no windows in the interior of a house he did not recognize.  He realized he was not going to be going home to his house here or to Umbar any time soon.

Destruction of a Ring

       Once Virubat was imprisoned and his relative comfort and immediate needs were prepared for, the more welcome guest of the house indicated he would be working in a far section of the stableyard, and that it would be best none disturb him.  Sohrabi thought for a moment, then gave a delayed nod of acquiescence, and walked out with him to give orders to stablemaster and grooms.  His last glimpse of the tall trader (and who knew precisely what else?) was of him kneeling, facing West, away from the house and stables, arranging the wood and other items he’d requested.  If he could think of a way of seeing what the Man was doing without him knowing, Sohrabi would most probably have spied on him in spite of the warnings Horubi’ninarin had given him, but as he could not see how this could be accomplished he went back to the house and saw to it that all of the house servants and slaves were busy away from the roof and rear courts.

       It was quite some time before all within the house seemed to hear a great sigh from the back court, and then it seemed as if somehow there was a lifting of a weight from the spirits of the inhabitants of the place, and a lightening of the sky.  A cleansing breeze sprang up and entered in through window openings, cooling and refreshing all.  The small boy who turned the spit in the kitchen could be heard singing a camel-counting song as he worked; the newly acquired woman slave purchased to assist with the laundry actually smiled as she bent over her hot irons and the baskets of linens she was to press.  Sohrabi straightened from the scroll which he had been reading and looked back toward the rear courts, but refrained from exercising his curiosity.

       It was still some time later before the rear door opened, and the servant stationed there received the headcloth their guest removed and led him to the prepared bathing chamber, then ordered the basin of boiling water requested of him taken to the room.

       Ma’annubi was a body servant who had been assigned to Sohrabi since the Farozi’s younger proper son was ten.  A level of trust and mutual respect had sprung up between them, particularly as Ma’annubi realised that he was not called upon by the Farozi to spy upon the youth and report back on his doings as he’d had to do for former masters regarding their sons’ activities.  At first Ma’annubi had been amazed at the apparent trust given the youth by the Farozi, only with time realizing that the ruler of their people simply lacked the imagination required to fear the possible machinations of his sons.  Somehow this lack of anticipation of possible treachery managed to work to the good with the Farozi’s two legitimate heirs, while a good number of their near peers appeared inspired by the watch put on them to become even more treacherous than their parents had anticipated.

       Ma’annubi looked with suspicion on the guest of the house, and when this one asked the white bag from his goods be brought to him from the room given him, the servant opened it before he left the bedchamber assigned for the Northerner’s use and rifled through it quickly and efficiently.  Nothing of note there--bottles of ointments, most of which Ma’annubi recognized by smell as common soothers for the skin used throughout upper and lower Harad; a small folding razor of the type used by many Haradrim to shave their heads; changes of what were obviously small clothes worn by the Northerner’s people; a scroll of the work of the currently popular poet Khafirosiri; a portrait of a woman whose resemblance to the Northerner indicated this was likely a kinswoman--possibly his mother; wrapped in silk and paper a particularly fine carving in ivory of a horse which must have come from Nestor near the borders with Far Harad; a set of green beads of fine glass strung on silk; extra headcloths and cords; a store of papyrus sheets and travel bottle of ink, quills, and brushes; what appeared to be a comb carved of wood; a pottery jar which was easily recognized as containing the soap used in their land; twigs to clean the teeth; and packets of the leaves of a strange plant.  Lying on the bed was the Man’s sword, a heavy set of saddlebags, and another, larger bag of scarlet material fastened with an elaborate knot Ma’annubi realized he could not duplicate; the stranger had laid out for himself a clean set of trousers and loose shirt, this time of raw silk and of exquisite workmanship.  Ma’annubi carefully replaced the items he’d taken from the bag just as he’d found them--nothing of which save the leaves that appeared suspicious or unknown.

       On receiving the bag, their guest opened it, examined its contents, and gave Ma’annubi a prolonged stare, then finally removed the packet of leaves, took out one of the leaves it contained, and after rolling it between his fingers dropped it into the bathwater, then did similarly with a second, which he dropped into the basin of steaming water.  After inclining his face over the basin for some moments he stood, looking much refreshed.  He then took out the razor and jar of soap and worked a lather between his hands, finally applied it to his face and used the razor to shave away the stubble of his beard. 

       Realizing Ma’annubi intended to remain in the room, the tall Man gave him another evaluative examination.  “You were told to attend on me?” he finally asked.

       Ma’annubi bowed.  “I am body servant for the Lord Sohrabi,” he explained, “and it is my duty to assist his guests who do not bring such servants with them.”

       “You went through my satchel,” the stranger commented with no hint of blame or anger.

       “It is also my duty to make certain others do not bring into this house that which might be used to harm my master.”

       “Were you to enter my own quarters, I suspect Hardorn would do the same to you.”

       “He is your body servant?”

        “He is my cousin, and has oft served as my companion and to watch my back while I watch his and do what is needed.”  The tall Man scooped up water from the basin with his hands and rinsed his face, finally taking up a towel and drying his skin.

       “I had thought that Northerners usually went about wearing beards.”

       “I have done so, and will undoubtedly do so again; but it would be too hot in this climate.”  He again looked at the servant.  “I will ask you now to leave me, for I prefer to bathe myself.”

       “You are accustomed to privacy when you bathe?”

       “Most of the time, yes.”

       “If it is what you desire....”

       “Yes.”

       The steaming bath water filled the air with the scent of growing life in far woodlands as Ma’annubi reluctantly left the chamber.

       Knowing that the servant might well have a private peephole through which to keep an eye on those in the bathing chamber, Aragorn held the Ring of Barahir in his closed fist before he drew it out from his clothing, and after slipping the chain over his head thrust his whole hand deep into the bag before releasing it.  He had no desire for any to see, much less possibly recognize, the ring he carried.  After finishing his undressing he slipped himself into the water of the bathing tub and relaxed in it.

       Indeed Ma’annubi did have a peephole, and he made use of it.  Not that there was much to see of interest.  However, it was clear this was one who was a swordsman, even without the witness of the sword in its sheath lying on his bed.  His arm bore the scars of many nicks, and he had a scar that was still relatively new on his lower abdomen, with other, older ones here and there on his torso.  What token he wore on the chain about his neck he’d not seen, and the body servant had the feeling he wasn’t likely to see it no matter how carefully he spied. 

       He was oh, so definitely a Northerner, though:  his skin where the clothing covered it so very fair.  What surprised the servant, however, was the song that the Man in the bath began to sing as he lay relaxing in the water.  What language it was being sung in he had no idea; but it was definitely one which caught at the heart and soul of the listener.  It was a song of a land that was no more, a land once filled with great trees and greater rivers and streams and lakes, a land in which great cities had risen and fallen, great kings had risen to power and then died, their cities and people dying with them.  Ma’annubi pulled back from the peephole, sat upright, listened with awe to the power of the voice, experiencing the images the unknown words yet conjured in his mind.  By the time Ma’annubi again applied his eye to the peephole the Northerner had already washed and rinsed hair and self, had risen and wrapped himself in the great towel left for his use, was gathering his things and folding them neatly.  The guest then carried them back to his room where he closed his door against further prying.

       Sohrabi went out to the area Horubi’ninarin had worked, saw there indications a hot fire had burned on the stone flagging, but saw nothing else save scattered ashes.  There was no indication of how the Northerner had destroyed the ring taken from Maruset save for the enigmatic evidence of blackened limestone and ashes blowing on the wind.

An’Horubi

       The next day Sohrabi went to attend on his father, as he did once each ten-days.  An’Horubi, Farozi of Harad, smiled at the arrival of his younger proper son.  “Welcome, Sohrabi.  And how was your hunting with Lord Maruset yesterday?”

       “It was fruitless.  We found ducks, but he spoke out of turn and they were alarmed and flew away.  It disgusted me, and I returned to my own house.  Where is Ma’osiri?”

       “Meeting with the envoy from Ephir, who has brought tribute in terms of a mamuk and a triple ten of spears and another of swords.”

       “Does Virubat attend with him, then?”

       An’Horubi shrugged and appeared aggrieved.  “Virubat did not come to attend on me yesterday as he’d promised.  Why not I do not know.  He received a number of dispatches from the Eastern Lord yesterday--I must suppose he must deal with orders received from that one.”  He straightened.  “Let us go into the garden.”

       As they walked past the lotus pond An’Horubi commented in such a low voice that even Sohrabi had difficulty hearing him, “I am as glad that Virubat has not attended on me.  I find he grows increasingly proud and presumptive, and he offends me.”  Not knowing if this was heartfelt, or perhaps a trap to get him to admit to an indiscretion, Sohrabi merely looked toward his father as if in question as to what had been said.  An’Horubi gave his younger proper son a sideways look, then looked away.  “You do well enough, Sohrabi,” he said, louder than before.  “Did Maruset accompany you when you returned to your house?”

       “No, my father.  I left him there in the channels of the delta.  I am not certain why he considers himself a hunter, for he speaks beforehand and alerts the prey, so losing it.”

       “So I have found when I sought to hunt with him.  His voice is often overloud, and his tread overheavy.  Nor does he cast his hunting spear or throwing sticks well.”

       Sohrabi gave an elaborate shrug.  “I prefer to hunt alongside Ma’osiri.”

       “Yes, your brother is an excellent hunter.  Although Maruset is excellent with knife or sword.  A fine fighter, he is.”

       “As I am primarily an archer, my father, I fear I do not appreciate how good he might be.”

       After a time of silence as they ambled through the flowering shrubs, An’Horubi commented, “Several of the great crocodiles were seen in the delta area yesterday afternoon, one a great beast indeed.  Their presence was reported by the river wardens.  One appears to have taken a boy, and there was sign that one may have taken another person as well.  Certainly two cattle were lost near dusk.”

       Sohrabi looked at his father with interest.  “Would you have me seek such out, my father, to relieve the delta of the danger they pose?”

       “Yes, my son.  If you will look into it tomorrow.”

       “Would you have me kill them, or capture them and transport them elsewhere?”

       “Capture them if you can do so without losing Men.  If you cannot, then kill them.”  He paused to caress a blossom of jasmine.  “There has been word from the herding families on the edge of the desert--a stranger, apparently from the North, has been among them.  Several days ago he was among the Bahtsi clan and assisted in the care of one of the sons of their tents, one who had caught the sand sickness.”

       “The sand sickness?  That is bad.”

       “Yes.  The boy was far taken with it, yet this stranger was able to soothe him, and the boy both survived and now appears to thrive.  He spoke of being a trader, returning before his caravan so as to meet his trader’s ship early.”

       “I see,” Sohrabi said.

       “If you find any word of this one, let me know.  I would show him honor.”

       “Even if he were to be found to have come from the people of Gondor?”

       “One skilled in healing is ever to be respected, no matter what land saw his birth, my son.  Although if he is from the people of Gondor I suspect Maruset and Virubat will demand him.  Too bad, really.”  He looked to the East.  “I grow tired, I find, of Maruset and his altars, and Virubat and his constant talk of war and the Eastern Lord.”  He finally led off again.  “I had thought of looking for another maiden to rejoice in, but find less joy in the thought of it than I’ve known before.  Perhaps it is because Virubat has not been there last night and today to encourage me in it.”  Finally, as they walked again about the lotus pool and he looked down at the fish which darted through the water below him, he paused and murmured, “I find my health is beginning to wane, my son.”

       Alarmed, Sohrabi looked into his father’s face.  His father’s eyes were steady enough.  “In what way, my father?”

       His father shrugged.  Finally he said quietly, “There is a lump in my side.  I had the priest of Baht to look at it, and he fears it is a growth of the crab sickness.  If it is the crab growth as he fears, I will most likely not live more than a year or so longer.  Such a growth, after all, took my mother.”  Noting Sohrabi’s expression of concern, he smiled.  “Do not worry for me, my son.  I am growing old and must soon go to my rest.  My tomb is already completed, and all is in readiness.”  Suddenly he looked into his son’s eyes with an intent expression.  “Not that Marusat and Virubat wouldn’t prefer it if I were to end my days weeping and crying out for mercy on one of the altars of the Death Eater.”  Both of them shuddered.  “That is what they would prefer, after all--that all in this land end so.  I grow tired of the Eastern Lord and his ways and his constant demands for the deaths of our folk, either on his altars to his glory alone or fighting in his wars.”

       Sohrabi said quietly from between clenched teeth, “Then why don’t you throw them from our land?”

       “We have no strength of arms to do so.”

       “Do we have so much less than Gondor?  Mordor holds no sway in Gondor.”

       “But Mordor has held sway here for many, many lifetimes.  Were we to attempt to cast them out, they would come upon us in force and destroy our land and our people.  The Eastern Lord knows our strengths and weaknesses, and knows how to take advantage of latter and how to overcome the former.  Too much experience with us do he and his commanders have.”  The Farozi of Harad looked out at the sky over the walls of the compound.  Very quietly he said, “Believe me, Sohrabi, if I could cast them out, I would.”

       Sohrabi was shocked, for never had his father said anything of the kind.  Had his father in some way perceived the death of Maruset and the destruction of his ring, or the capture of Virubat?  But how could that have been?

       An’Horubi sighed.  “Once I am gone, your brother will need you to stand beside him.  Those sent by the Eastern Lord would see him and you slain if they could.  He will be a worthy enough one, I suppose.  But if you are by him he will be stronger, for your discernment will serve him well.”

       Sohrabi nodded.

*******

       After he returned to his own house he asked after their guest.  Amonrabi looked down the hallway to the guest wing.  “He is within his chamber.  He has made certain that the prisoner was given food and water and allowed to cleanse himself, but has not questioned him as yet.  Says he will not do so until you and I are ready to stand by him and hear what that one says.”

       “What does Ma’annubi have to say regarding him?”      

       “That he is muscular and is scarred as one who is a swordsman would be expected to be scarred.  That he has a scar on his abdomen that is not old.  That his voice when singing is particularly pleasing.  That he carries a scroll of the poetry of Khafirosiri and a picture of the face of a woman who may be his mother.”

       Sohrabi was impressed that Horubi’ninarin would have the scroll of poetry.  “I will go to his room then.”

       The door was open, and he could see that his guest sat at the writing table within the room and had in his hand a scroll which he was clearly studying.  Sohrabi clapped his hands to announce his presence outside the door, and the Northerner rose, calling “Enter” as he bowed low. 

       Sohrabi noted sitting on the table were a flagon of the sort used for water and a second of date wine, a goblet, a dish of figs and dates, and part of one of the flat rounds of bread commonly served with meals.  “You have what you need for the sake of comfort, then, my friend?”

       “Yes, Lord.  Your people have been fully hospitable to me.”

       He was dressed, the Farozi’s son noted, in the garb he’d worn the previous evening, in the exquisitely finished shirt and trousers of raw silk, his feet bare.  “I have not seen such workmanship before,” Sohrabi commented. 

       “A few years ago I bought bolts of the cloth from traders from Harad, and took it to the home where I lived as a child.  The ladies who served there wrought it into these garments.  They seem well suited to your lands.”

       “We trade for the cloth with those who live far to the east of here, along the shores of the Eastern Sea.”

       “Then there is indeed an Eastern Sea?”

       “Oh, yes.  Many of our traders go there regularly by ship or by land caravan.  What is it you read?”

       “The works, I am told, of Khafirosiri.  His skill at weaving words is pleasing.”  He rolled to a particular place.  “Here especially he has caught the beauty of a woman at the dying of the day....”  He began to read, and his voice as he read was clear and pleasing, reflecting the beauty of the words he spoke.

       “Beautiful you are, my love, as the light of Ra as he sets in glory
       is caught in the strands of your dark hair.
       Beautiful you are, my love, as the breath of desire
       lifts your sweet breasts.
       Beautiful you are, my love, as the light of stars
       is reflected in your clear eyes.”

       “I am surprised that you can read our writing,” Sohrabi commented.

       His guest looked up at him, surprised.  “I read several languages.  Haradri is more difficult than many others, for it is based on pictures rather than alphabets as are most other languages I know.  However, I have found it worthwhile to learn it.  Your literature is very beautiful.”

       “Do you yourself have a woman you love?”

       Horubi’ninarin sighed, “Yes, there is a woman I love.  However, at this time there is nothing I can do about it.  But this poem might have been written of her beauty.”  He gently rolled the scroll, tied the ribbon around it, and set it on the table.  “How did your morning’s visit go?”

       Sohrabi himself sighed.  “My father is ill, it appears.  He has found a lump under the skin on his side.  Such illness killed his own mother.  The priest of Baht has apparently told him it is the crab growth.”  He examined the Northerner more closely.  “My father wishes to do you honor, by the way.  Word that you have helped heal a child has come to him.”

       “Your father would honor a Northerner?”

       “He says that one who is a good healer of any land deserves honor.”  After a moment’s thought he asked, “Do you know ought of the crab sickness?”

       “You would have me examine your father?”

       Sohrabi shrugged.  “He is my father, and I would not lose him before his time.”

       “I have been taught to deal with many of the illnesses common to my own people, and to deal with the injuries suffered by warriors.  I have delivered infants, and assisted in the removal of growths.  I have not removed any on my own, however.”

       “Growths can be removed?”

       “Yes, but if it is not done properly or if any is left behind the growth is likely to return.”

       “Would you go with me to see him this evening?”

       After a time of thought, the Northerner said, “If you ask it of me, my Lord.”  He straightened.  “Will you and your steward stand by me as I question Virubat?”

       “Certainly,” Sohrabi said.  “What will you do with him afterward?”

       “Oh, do not worry.  He will not remain here in Harad.”  Horubi’ninarin’s face had grown stern.  “I will not have such as he in any land if I can manage it.”

*******

       Two hours later they saw Virubat replaced in his room.  Sohrabi had been impressed by the questions asked by his guest, and at how in the end Virubat ended in answering him even when it was obvious it was the last thing he wished to do.  There was a quality of command in the Man’s voice that even Virubat couldn’t ignore.  The plot to have Maruset murder Sohrabi was confirmed, along with the tactics to be used in threatening and coercing Ma’osiri to do their will.  That the Farozi was deliberately encouraged to take as many women as they could urge on him and that the resultant children were targeted whenever possible to go to the altars of the Eastern Lord was also made plain, and Sohrabi found himself becoming increasingly full of fury.  He watched the replacement of the Umbari in the storeroom with a degree of relief.

       Horubi’ninarin’s face was set.  His anger was there, Sohrabi realized, but was well under control.  Finally he said, “To see such a deliberate program of corruption is--disturbing.  When my ship returns, I will consult with my cousin as to what should be done with him.  But I will not see such as this left to continue to cause such destruction here.  Nor will I leave him to tell of such as I having taken and questioned him.”

       Amonrabi nodded.  “It is rare that the world is the better for some to have left it, but in this case....”  He left the sentence unfinished.

       The meal was eaten in relative silence, and after the Northerner went back to his room and brought out with him the large scarlet pouch tied with the elaborate knot, once again the robes of a bodyguard were given him to disguise his nature, and they left for the Farozi’s palace.

       An’Horubi was surprised when his body servant came to say that his son had come a second time that day, but bade Sohrabi be admitted.  He was a bit surprised when he saw the bodyguard with him, but kept his silence until they were alone.

       “Twice in one day, my son?”

       “There was a thing which you asked of me earlier today, my father, that I find myself able to grant.”  On making certain that they were alone, he signed to his companion to remove his headcloth.  “You said that you wished to show honor to the Northern stranger who assisted the child of the Bahtsis.  Well, this is the Man.  As he is indeed a Northerner, he wishes not to reveal himself to the Death Eater’s folk.  His people, after all, are seen by the Eastern Lord as his greatest enemies.”

       An’Horubi examined the stranger with great interest.  “You are a healer?”

       “I have been trained to the healing arts since childhood, my Lord.”

       “You have experience with the crab sickness?”

       “Some.”

       “Who trained you in the healing arts?”

       “He who was as father to me.”

       “Is he any good?”

       “Yes.”

       “Are you any good?”

       “Shall we find out, my Lord?”

       “What would you have me do?”

       “Are you willing to remove your robe and let me touch the affected area, my Lord?”

       “Yes.”

       Sohrabi helped his father to remove his robe.  The stranger examined the flesh over the lump first, then gently reached out his hand to touch the skin.  In time he began to sing, and his eyes grew more distant as the song continued, as if he were paying more attention to what he felt than to what he looked on.  When the song was done, he remained in the same posture for some moments, then finally took a deep breath and became alert again. 

       “I do not believe that this growth is breached as yet--if we can remove it now, then it is likely you will know several more years of life.  If it is not, it is likely to breach and you will most likely be dead in a year’s time.”

       “I do not understand what you mean by ‘breached’,” the Farozi said, examining the face of the healer.

       “That which causes the growth to grow is still contained within the membrane that covers it.  If that membrane is breached, then it will spread, and quickly.  If it is removed now, then it is most likely the membrane will not be breached.  However, we will need much care, for such things seek to draw the blood to themselves, and so there will be many blood vessels which will need to be cauterized or their beginnings and endings changed that you not bleed to death.  It is not a simple thing to do.”

       “You have done this before?”

       “I have assisted the father of my heart to remove such.  I have not done so by myself.  I have done the cauterizing of larger vessels, and I have sewn a few vessels together in different routes, but not without his supervision.”

       An’Horubi thought deeply.  “Will you remove it for me?”

       “And if I make an error and you die under the knife, what will become of me?  I am responsible to others and do not have the freedom to spend my life for the chance you might live but that you might also die, and then I would die as a result.”

       “And if I give you my pardon ahead of time?”

       “What good will there be in such a pardon?  It is your heir who must uphold it or deny it.”

       An’Horubi and Sohrabi looked to one another.  The Northerner continued, “There is also the matter of the Necromancer’s spies here within your house.  If word is passed through them to any other agent of the removal of the growth by a Northern stranger, it would go ill for both of us.  Sauron would have you killed before you recovered from the removal, and my ship would most likely be assaulted by the pirates of Umbar before it could carry me from this land to the mouth of the great River.”

       “Yet here we lie upon the great River.”

       The stranger looked on them steadily.  “Each land, I find, has its own great River.”

       “I see,” An’Horubi said drily.  “I would wish to know for certain which in my household are the spies of the Eastern Lord.”

       Sohrabi said, rather tentatively, “We have learned the names of some of them, and some who serve in the house of Ma’osiri as well.  The two named in my house we were already aware of, and have been rendered useless at the moment.”

       “How did you learn this?”

       “What you do not know, my father, cannot be prised from you to be used against you.”

       “That is true enough, I suppose.  Who within this house besides E’remseti serves as spies for the Eastern Lord?”

       E’remseti had indeed been identified as one of Virubat’s spies, and the names of two of the three remaining didn’t appear to surprise the Farozi, although the fourth did.  “Pe’elisiri is an agent, also?  She was a gift from Ba’alamon.  What this says of Ba’alamon I cannot say.  I’d always thought of her as his own eyes within my house, so was circumspect as to what I do and say around her that what I do not wish him to know would not get back to him.  She has only just returned an hour since from the Valley of the Sun.”

       Sohrabi was alarmed.  “She goes to that place?”

       “She has gone there often, my son.”

       “Then the Death Eater may have other agents there in the sacred precincts as well.”

       “That has always been true, Sohrabi.  He has woven himself deeply into our ways, after all.”      

       Sohrabi again felt anger rising in his heart.  “I would see them all cast out,” he said with a low growl.

       “That may not be now.”

       “You must find a way to use the spies amongst you to your advantage,” Horubi’ninarin indicated.

       The discussion went on for a time, and it was decided that in three days they would all meet in the Valley of the Sun with Ma’osiri in attendance that Horubi’ninarin could remove the growth.  “In the meantime,” the trader continued, “I would have you breathe the vapors of the leaves of a healing herb which my people steep in boiling water.  It will served to ease you.  May we have boiling water brought?”

       “Yes, but you must veil yourself again, for it would be Pe’elisiri who would bring the water.”  The Farozi accepted his son’s assistance in replacing his robe.

       The tall Northerner nodded his understanding, and drawing the robes and veiling headcloth of a bodyguard around him slipped back to the proper place for such, standing in such a manner the eye seemed to slide over him and take no other notice.  An’Horubi summoned his body servant and sent for his maid, and gave her the needful order.  Within a quarter mark the water had been brought, the maid had been dismissed, and at last the trader, swordsman, and healer untied the elaborate knot and brought out a packet of leaves, drew out two and bruised them, breathing on them, then dropped them into the water.  He inclined his own face over the steam, then smiled as he straightened. 

       Reassured, the Farozi followed suit, and after a moment breathed deeply.  When at last he straightened his face seemed less lined.  He looked with interest at his son’s guest.  “This is a healing herb indeed,” he commented.  “I feel much assured.  If you will send the word to your brother to meet us at the proper time, Sohrabi?”

       “Gladly, my Lord Father,” the younger lord assured him.  “And tomorrow I will see to the crocodiles.”

       At his father’s nod Sohrabi and his companion left.

The Valley of the Sun

       The Northerner, now garbed as a river warden, accompanied Sohrabi and a number of his other folk to the delta channels the following morning and took part in the hunt for the crocodiles.  The place where the unknown individual was taken by the crocodile was identified, in one of the side channels.  The movement of a great crocodile could be clearly seen, as well as a wide smear of blood.  

       A dagger was found lying on the ground.  The warden who accompanied them picked it up and displayed it.  “Apparently the victim thought such a thing would be of use against one of Seti’s beasts.”  He shook his head at the folly, then tossed Maruset’s dagger into the river channel in tribute.

       They hunted all the day, and found four of the animals, one of them extraordinarily large indeed and one obviously still young.  Only one needed to be killed, a medium-sized female.  The other three were carefully caught with loops of strong rope inched carefully over snouts and tails, and then other ropes tied elsewhere.  It took the effort of all to capture them and load them onto the barge that would bear them far South and upstream where they would be released in areas teeming with more proper prey for their kind.

       Relieved to find that apparently they’d found all the beasts that were in the area, at last all relaxed.  One of Sohrabi’s Men had been injured, one of those identified by Virubat as an agent of the Nameless One.  Horubi’ninarin saw to the bandaging of the wound; and after all shared some date wine provided by Sohrabi’s folk, they finally parted, having seen the barge begin its journey southward.

*******

       Ma’osiri was not certain why his father would wish him to attend him in the Valley of the Sun.  Did the Farozi intend to take a new concubine there in some new, elaborately imagined ritual?  How many illegitimate children did the Man intend to leave behind him?  He would go, but he would bring with him Bherevrid and his young son.  He would not leave the warrior and his child where Virubat’s folk could find them apparently unprotected by the heir’s attention.

       The journey took the better part of a day, so it was near sunset when at last they rode over the last ridge to look down into the Valley and approached the house of the Farozi there.  Servants took the horses ridden by Ma’osiri and his attendants, and accompanied by the general and his son Ma’osiri entered into the edifice and approached the quarters assigned to the Heir and those who accompanied him.

       They were met by Pe’elisiri.  “My master arrived earlier today,” she said as she bowed deeply before them.  “He asks that you bathe and join him, and bids me tell you that a meal will await you at that time.”

       Soon after arrived Sohrabi and members of his household, including a tall figure dressed in the robes of a bodyguard.  Ma’osiri didn’t recognize the stance of this one--he must be a new addition to the attendants employed by his brother.  He was quiet and observant from what could be seen of him, his eyes examining thoroughly each of those to be seen.  Well, if he was efficient and true to his brother....

       He went to the bathing rooms with Bherevrid and young Rustovrid and all bathed away the dust of the road, accepted the white robes of pilgrims, and went to the dining room given to the use of the Farozi.  They were followed closely by Sohrabi and his bodyguard, who now was also dressed as a pilgrim and who’d obviously also just bathed as they had.  A Northerner as a bodyguard?  Ma’osiri was intrigued.

       All took their places about the table, including, Ma’osiri noted with surprise, the Northerner.  At last his father entered accompanied by his scribe Belstedrabi, one who had been his attendant, friend, and close confidant for years, and joined them.  The Northerner rose at the entrance of the Farozi and bowed deeply in respect, which amused and touched all.

       “You may take your place, Horubi’ninarin,” his father directed, and as he sat the bodyguard did the same.

       The food was brought, and the taster checked each dish, then all servers were dismissed.  Tonight all would serve themselves, an unusual liberty not given them often.  When all were gone and the doors closed, Belstedrabi rose and went about the walls, probing certain places to make certain no spies watched on them from the spyholes.  At his final approval, they prepared to begin the meal.  The one his father had addressed as Horubi’ninarin rose again and turned to the West, this obviously being a ritual of his people, then after a moment of silence resumed his place reclining beside the low table near Sohrabi.  

       The Farozi and his sons and Belstedrabi were darkly tanned, with long, straight noses.  Bherevrid and his son, who were from Far Harad originally, had broader noses and lips, dark skin, and the boy’s hair was tightly kinked in its natural growth--his father had shaved his head in keeping with the usages of Haradri nobility.  The stranger was paler skinned but deeply enough tanned, his hair slightly beyond shoulder length but pulled to the back of his head and braided, the braid neatly finished with a silver cord.  He carried now but a belt knife in deference to the customs of the sacred precinct of the Valley of the Sun, but he had stood as did one accustomed to the presence of a sword; and what could be seen of his arm indicated he was indeed a swordsman.  A slight indentation about the base of one finger showed he usually wore a ring as well, although there was no white place to indicate he’d taken it off recently.  No, he’d not worn a ring for some time.  His expression was wary enough, but also indicated he was educated and probably considered important among his own people.  There was the air of one accustomed to warfare about him, something in the stance; but this was no mere bodyguard, for he looked as much given to command as he did to receiving such.

       “Welcome, Bherevrid, Rustovrid, and Horubi’ninarin to the Valley of the Sun.”  The Farozi’s voice was calm and respectful to these guests.  He turned to Ma’osiri.  “You did well to bring these two with you.  What will be happening in the capital I am not certain, for it appears that both Maruset and Virubat have disappeared.  You have heard that the other day four of the great crocodiles were found in the channels of the delta and they took at least two people and two cattle?”  At Ma’osiri’s nod, he continued, “The dagger of the unknown Man was found by a river warden and shown to Sohrabi here before it was thrown as is proper into the river--your brother recognized it as that belonging to Maruset, who had earlier been left there after his talk frightened away the ducks they had been hunting.  Apparently one of the crocodiles took him, along with the boy and the two cattle we know they also took that day.  What has become of Virubat no one as yet knows.  His servants only came last night to say he could not be found, and that it appeared someone had abducted him from his own rooms unseen.  They swear he disappeared only yesterday, but I suspect he has in truth been gone longer.  That leaves us with no publicly known agents of the Eastern Lord in the capital, and no one to take the commands of the Death Eater or transmit them to me.  That suits me well enough at the moment.

       “Your brother’s guest here, Ma’osiri, is a healer from the Northlands, and by report a good one.  A week past he aided a child far gone in the sand sickness to recover fully.”

       The Farozi’s heir examined the tall Northerner with interest.  “You have aided one given to the sand sickness to heal?” he asked, unbelieving.  Few recovered from the sand sickness.

       “In the North we call it the lung sickness or fever.  It is not an easy condition from which to recover, but I have treated it often enough, and only two have gone on to die, both of them individuals who had suffered massive brainstorms beforehand.”  The tall Man’s expression was contained, and his eyes, Ma’osiri noted, were clear and grey, and notably competent. 

       “What child was this?”

       “The boy was a son in the tents of the Bahtsis, my Lord.”

       An’Horubi added, “I had heard a report from the Bahtsis regarding this before I knew this one had accepted the hospitality of your brother.”

       Ma’osiri turned to Sohrabi.  “Do you believe him?”

       “Yes, I do, for he brought with him a camel that is clearly of Bahtsi breeding and has their notches cut into its ear.”

       The Farozi nodded.  “Yes, they told me they had given him a camel, and their description matches him well.”

       Ma’osiri considered the Northerner closely.  “There are not likely to be two within the land with his description, as tall as he is and with eyes grey as the river under cloud, who would bring with him a camel of the Bahtsis.  What do you in our land?”

       “I had it in mind to try being a merchant.  One from your land spoke of his experiences as a trader, and I became fascinated by the descriptions he gave me.  He offered to give me introductions within Harad to those who would be able to aid me in the enterprise.  My caravan reached just this side of Ephir, and I realized that if I myself did not turn back to Risenmouthe and its harbor soon my ship would return for me ere I could return myself, which could be disastrous.”

       “Disastrous?”

       The Man smiled ruefully.  “My cousin was loth to allow me to follow through upon the project.  He comes upon the ship to collect me and those new goods I have collected to sell in the North, and if I am not upon the pier when the ship arrives, he has promised to destroy the city in search of me.”

       “Then you have brought goods from the Northlands to sell here in Harad?”

       “Yes, cloth and leathers and ceramics most especially.”

       “Have you done well?”

       “Oh, yes, particularly in Far Harad.  The leathers I brought have proven especially popular, although many of the ceramics I brought have also attracted many buyers, for they are quite different from those used here and their decorations are very unusual for these lands.”

       “What fabrics have you brought?”

       “Linens and woolens mostly.  And I have a ready market for many of the cotton fabrics I have purchased here, especially in the far North.”

       The story he told sounded logical enough.  “What is your position in the Northlands?” Ma’osiri finally asked.

       The tall Man shrugged.  “I have become a wanderer upon the face of Middle Earth.  I must report back from time to time to my kindred, who sometimes despair of me settling down to any one thing.  I have tried my hand at many professions--hired sword, hunter, scholar, teacher, breaker of horses.  My father died when I was quite small, and a healer took my mother and me into his household and taught me his arts, much as my father had been taught beforehand.  The members of my family appear particularly apt to the skills of healing, or so my uncles and cousins have told me.  The healer’s sons are as brothers to me, and have ever been indulgent with the flights of my fancy and my changes in interest.  When I told he who was as father to me I had a mind to try trading, he sighed deeply.”

       “Did he finance the venture?”

       The Northerner looked shocked at the idea.  “Finance the venture?  I should say not.  I have been working toward this for many years, and it is my own earnings in other capacities I have invested in the buying of fabrics, leathers, and other goods.”

       “You break horses also?”

       “Yes.  It is one of the activities I have come to prefer.”

       “Why has my father asked you to come here?”

       Horubi’ninarin’s face became grave.  “He asked me to come here as a healer.  He has a growth beneath the skin on his side which, if it is not removed very soon will breach the membrane and spread, and will rapidly kill him.”

       “You speak as one with authority in the subject.”

       “I am one with authority in the subject.  He who was as my father taught me about such growths and tumors, and showed me the way in telling whether or not they have breached and spread.  He also showed me how to remove them and to cauterize, tie off, or reroute the blood vessels, but it is tedious and painstaking work.  I have assisted him in the removal of such things in others and have rerouted the blood vessels and so on; but I have not done a total removal myself.”

       An’Horubi cleared his throat.  “I have asked him to remove this growth.  He has warned me that if he makes an error it is likely to kill me, and I have offered to give him a pardon ahead of time that he not die if I do.  If I do not risk it, I will yet die--and with great pain--within a year at most.  If I do, then I will most like live several more years to the service of our land and people.”

       “So why did you have me attend on you here?”

       “That you might support the pardon I give him.”

       “I have no intention that you will die,” the Northerner said quietly.

       “When will you do this?” Ma’osiri finally asked.

       “At dawn, my Lord,” said the tall, grey-eyed Man.

       All looked at one another with concern.  Finally the Farozi explained, “I would rather die now cleanly than in the pain of the crab disease, my son.  I saw how it took my mother.  Will you agree not to hold him responsible should I die now?”

       Reluctantly Ma’osiri agreed.

       Late in the evening the tall Northerner brought to the Farozi a goblet of a drink that one of the priests of the complex had watched him brew.  This priest, who was one of those himself skilled in herblore and healing, approved of what he had seen done, and explained that this drink would serve only to ease tension and to encourage sleep.  The Northerner himself drank a smaller amount, as did the taster.

       “I must not sleep as long as you do, nor as deeply,” Horubi’ninarin explained, “but it would be good for me to sleep deeply for a time that I be steadier in the morning.”  The healer priest agreed.  The grey-eyed Man also gave to the priest a list of items he needed, mostly strands of silk for the stitches, a basin in which to place the removed tumor, freshly cleaned white cloths for draping the figure, certain herbs to assist the Farozi to sleep during the time of cutting, basins in which water could be heated over a brazier in which they could keep a hot fire going....

       After a time An’Horubi became extremely sleepy, and the tall Northern healer sat by him speaking softly, calming him, aiding him to relax, until at last the Farosi fell into a deep sleep.  Certain that all was well with his patient, the taller Man started to rise and wavered with the effects of his own dosage, accepted aid to the room given to him, and soon was sleeping also.  Ma’osiri felt better about it knowing that this healer would accept the draughts he gave others, and saw to it that none would bother either his father or the healer for the rest of the night.

       An hour before dawn Ma’osiri and Sohrabi went together into the healer’s room.  He was already awake, was sitting up and shaking his head clear.  They brought with them a stimulant drink make from the ground, crushed berries of a certain bush of the east, and he sipped at it tentatively, grimacing at the bitterness of it.  However, there could be no question it aided him to throw off the effects of the draught he’d taken, and soon he was up, dressed, and readying his kit for the day. 

       He carried the elaborately tied bag he’d brought with him into the room in which the healer priests indicated he could work, and opened it under the supervision of the one set to watch the procedures here.  He set out a number of tools and described the use of each to the priest; then set out a fine, curved needle, and a set of different knives.  He then asked that a bit of bandaging material be cut sufficiently long to tie about his lower face.  “For some reason breathing directly on the wound has been found at times to increase the chance of infection, and so he who was as my father had me always to breathe through bandaging, as do he and those who serve with him when he must do a cutting on a person.”  

       In all he did, they saw that the healer priest approved of what he was shown and told, and both Ma’osiri and Sohrabi appeared better pleased at what their father faced.

       Finally they went to their father’s room, and with him Horubi’ninarin carried a cup full of another draft.  An’Horubi was also just beginning to waken, and seemed just a bit confused.  He was aided to relieve himself, then was seated back on the bed. 

       “I give you another draught now,” the Northerner told him.  “It will aid you back to sleep, but it will also aid me to direct your dreams that I be able to ease the pain and discomfort.  If you will drink it now, in half a mark’s time I will begin to direct your dreams and will take you to the room where we will work.  I cannot tell you how long it will take, for I do not yet know how large the growth is or how deeply it involved your other organs or the vessels for the blood.  But I will do all I can to make certain you are as little hurt as possible.”

       An’Horubi sighed, but obeyed and drank all the cup.  Horubi’ninarin felt the pulse in his wrist and then on the side of his neck, examined his eyes and his tongue, then began to speak to him softly and seductively, drawing the Farozi’s attention to the tip of his finger, gently aiding him to relax and ease the concerns of life from his mind.  Finally he nodded and directed An’Horubi to rise, and supported him into the nearby room where several helped lift the Farozi onto the tall table.

       Gently the tall Man continued to talk.  “You lie in a bath of cool water, cool and refreshing.  You will feel pressure on your side, but what pain you note will be little enough, no more than an inconvenience.”  And so the talk went, and they could see the smile on their ruler’s face.  

       The healer priest aided the Northerner, held the knives over the fire until they glowed and laid them on the clean cloth, directed those who served the chamber to keep the coal renewed, the basins of water filled, to bring him a basin of freshly boiled water from time to time, to hand him the squares of clean cloth as required.

       Amon stood near the zenith when at last the Northerner set his last stitch.  He straightened and stretched, his face pale with exhaustion from the hours of intense labor.  Now, however, once again he turned to the patient and began to speak.  “You are now coming out of the pool of cool water, are being lifted gently to your feet.  We will sit you up, wrap you about with bandages, then will take you to your own chamber within this place.  You feel lighter, for a burden of fear and growth has been taken from you.  You will know peace as you awaken in your own time, and you will be able to tell us if the removal has been complete.  There will be pain, but no more than you can bear, and the draughts will aid without confusing your mind.  Now, we will aid you to sit....”

       Soon the bandages were in place, and at last the Northerner nodded to the priest who’d assisted him and they removed the bandages from before their mouths and noses.  One last time the foreign healer signaled for a fresh basin of water and dropped into it the leaves he’d used from time to time during the time of cutting, and now leaned over it himself, breathing in its fumes as the tension in his face eased and his shoulders relaxed.  Smiling, he held it for the Farozi to breathe the vapors as well, and all saw his face, too, ease and grow more alert.  He looked into the eyes of the Northerner and smiled.  Then they were aiding him to the floor, supporting him back to his room.  The Northerner, however, was cleansing his tools, then gently replacing them in the silk roll in which he kept them.  Finally he rethreaded the small curved needle after seeing it cleaned, and slipped it through the weave of the cloth to secure it.  Once all was ready, he set all back into his bag, replaced the packets of herbs he’d brought out of it, and tied the complex knot with which he secured it. 

       Finally he turned.  “I could do happily now with a bath,” he said, and the priest nodded.  He put his bag into his own quarters, then followed the servants to the bathing chamber and immersed himself gladly, then finally returned and laid himself down and was soon deeply asleep himself.

       A couple marks after all was finished the Farozi awoke and demanded food.  He was allowed to sip broth and a light wine, but soon he was demanding more, insisting his belly felt quite empty and needed something more substantial.  He was alert and clearly himself, and there was no sign of confusion in his eyes.  He asked to relieve himself, and showed little pain when he rose and went to the room of refreshing.  He drank the filtered water brought to him, and generally complained until at last word came that the Northern healer had awakened at last and would be there soon to check on him.

       A strip of clean fabric had been left within the wound to allow the seepage of what fluids might gather where the tumor had been removed, and this was carefully checked and given approval.  Then the stranger laid his hands over the stitched wound and began to sing, letting his fingers feel deep....

       At last he straightened.  “My Lord, do you feel we were able to remove all?”

       The Farozi thought on it.  “I believe so,” he said at last, rather slowly.  “I don’t feel anything jarring there.”

       “Nor do I.  But be advised that such will sometimes return.  In this case, however, I believe we have removed it completely.”  The two Men nodded their mutual understanding.

       Ma’osiri and Sohrabi looked into their father’s eyes with interest.  “It is good to see you less stiff in the posture of your body, my father,” his older son said.

       “That may be, Ma’osiri, but I would still wish to eat something of weight for my belly.  I feel quite hollow.”

       All looked with question at Horubi’ninarin, who laughed.  “Yes, he can eat if he wishes.  Poultry would be best, I think, something with little fat.”

       It was some hours later, about an hour after sunset, that Ma’osiri went outside and found the Northerner staring off to the West at the stars.  He was singing softly to himself in a language the Haradri didn’t recognize.  His voice was very beautiful.

       When at last the song was over, Ma’osiri asked, “What did you sing of?”

       It was several moments before the other answered.  “It is an ancient song in praise of the stars.”  

       “My father appears to be in no pain.”

       “I am glad.”

       “Why did you speak to him of being in a pool of water?”

       “By directing his dreams, I was able to assist him to avoid the pain, and to ease the fear of the knife.”

       “Sa’Amonri has told me he has never seen any with your skill with the healer’s knife.  He said that each time you came upon a blood vessel that would bleed you would already have planned out which other vessel to match it to that the blood continue to flow properly.  He said that he does not know any with the understanding of the vessels for blood that you show.  He said that the removal of the growth in my father’s side was masterful.”

       “I am honored he sees it so.”

       “Why did you choose to do the removal here instead of in my father’s home?”

       “This was his choice.  I believe he feels closer to your gods here than in his house.  Also, there is less chance that word of the presence and the removal of the growth will be given to the agents of the Eastern Lord.”

       The two stood looking up at the stars together for quite a time.  Finally Ma’osiri pointed to the brightest of stars.  “Osiri in his bark, upon the River of Night.  What do the peoples of the Northern lands call him?”

       After a long time of thought when the Haradri had almost come to believe his companion would not answer, he finally did.  “Eärendil he is known as in our lands.  The sign ever of hope and guidance.”

       “Is there a story told of him?”

       “Stories of Eärendil?  Oh, of course--many stories.  A mariner he was when he dwelt in Middle Earth, one who delighted ever to sail upon the seas.  His wife had the gift of shapechanging, and could become a seabird with white wings.”

       “How did he go from sailing upon the seas to sailing in the heavens?”

       “He sailed to Aman to beg the gods themselves to come to the aid of the free peoples of Middle Earth, to come to aid in the fight against the great Enemy of the time.  However, that which was mortal in him was burned away by his quest, and he could not return to his people.  Instead they set his ship to sail the heavens, and he alone crews it, the Silmaril bound to his brow.”

       “Did they come?  The gods, I mean?”

       “I have heard even here the tale told how the gods came to assist in the war against Seti.  The tale is basically the same there as it is here.”

       Ma’osiri was surprised.  “I did not know we shared the same stories.”

       “We do not share all, but that is one which it appears we do hold in common.”

       After a further silence, the Haradri commented quietly, “It is not a story the Nameless One likes to have told.”

       Horubi’ninarin shrugged.  “No, I suppose he would not like it told.  He is, after all, less than was--Seti.”

       Ma’osiri turned to look directly at his companion.  “Less?”

       The Northerner examined him as well as he could under the light of the stars.  Finally he answered, “Seti was of the same order as the rest of the gods.  The Eastern Lord is of a lesser order, although he would set himself up as being as great as he who was his master.  But that one cannot come back, for the rest cast him out beyond the Gates of Night.  The Eastern Lord, however, is yet an immortal, and has learned to gather strength from the lives offered for his pleasure.  Very great has he grown once more.”

       Shivering softly, Ma’osiri turned back to look at Osiri’s bark.  “You appear to have much knowledge of the ancient lore.”

       “As I said, I have been many things, including a scholar.”

       “I wish I could do as you do--travel to distant lands, see strange sunsets, see rivers that flow other directions than North, know folk of other lands.”

       The Northerner sighed.  “It is long since our people have been able to freely travel abroad as well.  But, as I have found the means to satisfy my curiosity about other lands, I have exercised those means.  As the Nameless One grows once again to full power, however, the time will come--and probably soon--when no one will be able to move freely and easily from one place to the next.  He fears such freedom, for then folk will realize that more is lost in following his policies than in opposing them.”  He straightened to his full height.  “Let us go in."

*******

       Two days later the high priest of the Valley of the Sun summoned the Northerner to him.  He led the stranger out of the community of living quarters, temples, and schools for the priests and scribes and pilgrims to the grounds of a small temple at the West end of the valley.  A single still pool of lotus and white water lilies stood inside its low walls; the temple itself was deceptively simple, without the grand statues and painted figures common to the rest.  A single acolyte with shaven head and heavily kohled eyes swept the forecourt with a carefully made broom of palm leaves, a white robe about him.  The high priest gave him a sign, and he went back into the temple.  A burst of white doves rose out of the court and circled overhead three times, then flew further West; the priest watched their flight with great interest.  

       The priest looked back to the stranger from the North and examined him closely, but the Man showed no impatience or undue curiosity to know why he had been called away as he had or why he had been led to this place.  He looked about the courtyard with interest, but then turned his eyes back to his companion and waited.  Pleased with this indication of self control, the priest finally spoke.  “The doves flew about you three times.  That is a good sign, and an unusual one.  They do that only for those of royal blood.  You are one who rules and will rule more strongly in the future.  But, as they flew West and North but not East, your rule will not reach into our lands, although it will influence us in the future.”

       The face of the stranger had become carefully neutral, and behind that studied neutrality was an intense watchfulness.  The priest looked down into the pool and examined the flowers that bloomed there.  “Seven lotuses lift their heads for your coming, Lord.  Unusual--very unusual.  Rarely do we see more than three.  And nine of the white lilies as well, one golden, and three red.  Unusual numbers.  Rarely do the golden lilies bloom at all, yet you are greeted by one.  All seek to do you honor, Lord, at your coming here.”  

       Again there was no answer from the one who called himself Horubi’ninarin, who simply kept that intense, watchful, neutral gaze on the priest.  There was a cry of a hunting hawk that flew down out of the light of the Sun to kill a lone vulture circling slightly to the south of the temple.  The vulture fell onto the slope of one of the nearby hills, and the hawk lit upon its body, turned to look at the two Men in the temple compound, gave another call, then took flight, carrying away the body of the vulture.  The priest grew quite still as he watched the hawk fly away with its kill; when it was followed by another of the white doves rising from near where the vulture had fallen followed by a large number of other smaller birds his face paled notably.  He looked again at the Northerner.  “Never,” he said, awe filling his voice, “have I seen such a thing.  A most unusual omen, my Lord.  Most unusual indeed.  Who and what are you?”  Still the stranger did not answer.

       “The Deatheater fell to the hawk, Lord; and the pure rose up and flew to the West.  Never have I seen such.  What it foretells....”

       Again there was no answer from the other.  “A healer you are of skill such as we have never seen here.  The wound on the side of the Farozi is already healing well, and he shows no sign of any loss of vigor or ability.  The omens do not speak of a return of the growth.  He will not live a great time longer; but he will also not die within a year; and although he and his sons will send troops to the service of the Eastern Lord at his command, they will take steps to prepare us for the day when no longer the Nameless One holds power over any.”

       Finally the Northerner spoke.  “Sauron will not be pleased to hear such foretellings.”

       “No, he would not, which is why we came here.  He cannot enter this place, for never has any within it welcomed him or invoked his presence.  Neryet is lady of this temple, Neryet who gives us the light of the stars.”

       “In the Northern lands she is known as the Lady Elbereth, or the Lady Varda.”

       The priest nodded.  “She is hated by the Eastern Lord, for he cannot rise up high enough to destroy the light she has given us; he cannot totally veil the beauty she reflects.”

       The other gave a brief nod.

       “Your brothers come, Lord; your brothers come to fulfill their function.  It will cost them much, perhaps all they have.  But their sacrifice will not be in vain.”

       The stranger gave him a searching look.  “My father has been dead for many, many years, and my mother will not take another husband.  How am I to have brothers?  Or do you speak of the sons of he who has been as a father to me?”

       “No, not those who are and have been; I speak of those who would have been but who were deemed lost.  They come, will be there when the time of need arrives.”

       Horubi’ninarin looked troubled and uncertain, but did not speak further.

       “There is one more thing, my Lord.  The Lady desires a sign in earnest that you will indeed follow the path of opposition to the Eastern Lord.  She asks of you the star you bear.”

       “What star do I bear?”

       “You know that, Lord.  I do not.  But she asks that you cast it into her pool here.”

       The grey eyes of the Northerner bored deeply into the eyes of the priest.  “I thought you were a priest of Amon,” he finally said.

       “All of the pantheon are represented here, save Seti alone.  There are those who would change that, and those who come here to seek to hide from Seti’s servant who has chosen to follow his master’s way.  But we have been able to keep Seti’s people out--so far, at least.”

       “I see.”  Long the stranger stood, his grey eyes looking first West, then turning in a slow circle until he had looked all ways, ending again facing West.  His hands were open at his side, the wind blowing from the West causing his hair to flow behind him, his robe to mold tight to his body in front and  billow out behind.  A spark of green was briefly revealed at the throat of his robe, and he seemed to be encircled by a clear Light as of the light of stars.  There was no question now in the priest’s mind that this was indeed a great lord of Men.

       There was again a great cry from the air, but not, this time, from a golden falcon or hunting hawk.  The cry was similar, but far deeper; and a shadow came between them and the sun.  The priest was awed and fell to his knees, but he saw that his companion smiled with surprise and recognition.  “One of the great Eagles!” the Northerner said, awe and delight on his face.  “Why does it come here, so far from its own place?”

       “Only for your sake, great Lord,” the priest said.  “I have heard tales of such--long ago; but never had I thought to see one!  You know them?  You have seen them before?”

       “Yes, for their place is in the North of the Northern lands, in the heights of the Misty Mountains.”

       Three times the great Eagle circled overhead, then flew north, followed by a hawk, a dove, and one of the golden falcons, and then a great grey gull, the tips of its wings white in the sunlight.  The priest looked after with even greater awe.  “I cannot interpret this,” he said at last.  “It will perhaps have meaning to your people, but not to mine.  Again, however, he recognizes you as one of the blood of royalty.  I believe he summons you home.”

       The Northerner watched after with a look of loss.  “Yes,” he said at last.  “I must indeed look to return to my own lands.  The time of learning is passing.  Now comes the time of doing.”  He gave a great sigh as he watched after to the North.

       Finally the priest asked, “What of the star, my Lord?”

       Grey eyes looked down at the kneeling Man.  “You say this is asked of me?”

       “Yes, that you cast it into her pool here.”

       Long the other examined him, then turned his attention to the pool.  Finally he opened the green pouch that hung from the corded belt he wore, and he reached inside, bringing out a silver brooch in the shape of a star.  He looked West once more.  “Lady Elbereth,” he said softly, “I do not know why you ask this of me.  It was worn by my father, and before him by his father.  But as it is desired of me, I will give it with no further delay.  May it shine brightly in your hand.”  And so saying he turned and tossed it into the pool.  He bowed to the West, then turned and left the compound.  A few moments the priest looked down at the spreading ripples, and smiled with relief.  Somehow this small sacrifice would work to the good, he knew.  He rose to his feet and followed after the lord from the North, assured that in time Seti’s servant would follow his sworn Lord out of Middle Earth.

(A private note to Ariel--you will find that a comment you made before has been dealt with in a more realistic way in this story.  Thanks for the feedback on keeping details real!)

Heading Home

       Three more days they stayed in the valley.  Each day the tall Northerner would check the healing wound, and on the fourth day after the cutting pulled out the wick of cloth as he said the look of the drainage indicated it was no longer needed.  On the last morning he brought small scissors and fine tongs and removed the outer stitches.  Each day he laid his hands over the wound and sang over it, then went quiet for a time.  On the last day as he finally straightened he smiled.  “It is very well, my Lord, and you will bear only the faintest of scars for eyes to see only with difficulty.”  The Farozi smiled with satisfaction.

       The last evening that they remained in the valley Pe’elisiri came to her master.  “Lord,” she said quietly, “I would wish a great boon from you.”

       “What is it?” the Farozi asked.

       She stood still, her eyes fixed on his sandals as was expected of one of her station, but finally she raised them to his face.  “I was set in your household to be a spy, Lord.  I do not like being a spy.  As a girl I had wished to serve in the temple of Isiri, but my father, seeing my beauty, thought to advance himself by giving me to become a bondservant.  Virubat accepted me, and after using me brutally for a time, lost his taste for me and at last gave me to Ba’alamon to spy in his house.  When Ba’alamon realized my function there, he approached Virubat, who directed I be placed in your household to continue to spy for him.  I have passed little enough information to him--nothing that was not openly known.  As you thought I was set to spy for Ba’alamon you were being circumspect already.”

       The Farozi nodded his understanding.

       She drew a deep breath.  “Word came to you before we left Thetos that Virubat was missing, and Maruset is also no more, my Lord, apparently taken by Seti’s beasts.”  At her master’s further nod, she continued, “That being so, I now have no one to report to any more, and am relieved.  Should another be sent by the Eastern Lord, however, once it is learned what my purpose was within your house, I suspect I would again be forced to spy upon you.  I do not wish to do this.  There are also those within your house in Thetos who would do with me as Virubat did, and I would not undergo such again.  Part of the reason I have come here so often is to seek cleansing from the taint I have known from being used so.” 

       “What is it, then, you would ask of me?”

       “To be given to the temple of Isiri here, where none can easily convince the priests to send me out again as bondservant or slave, Lord.”

       “I will think on it, Pe’elisiri,” the Farozi said thoughtfully.  “Return now to your quarters.”

       After she was gone he sent for the high priest and told him of the request the girl had made of him.

       “We would accept her, for what was done to her was not of her will and her love for Isiri and Osiri is very obvious to all.  But, to ascertain she is indeed desirous to leave forever the service of those who bow to the Eastern Lord, I would question her before you and the one called Horubi’ninarin.”

       “Why him?”

       “He is one, we have seen, to whom it is almost impossible to lie, Lord.  If she seeks to come here as an agent for the Eastern Lord, he will, I think, be able to detect it and so advise me.  I will not willingly let Seti’s folk enter this valley.”

       So it was that an hour later Pe’elisiri was brought to be questioned before her master, the high priest, and the Northerner.  Finally the wanderer indicated to his hosts his belief that she would be true, and it was done.  She entered the service of the temple of Isiri as one of those who remained outside the eyes of men, and she and her former master were both pleased with the arrangements.

*******

       Bherevrid had been surprised that he and his son were asked by Ma’osiri to come with him to the Valley of the Sun, particularly as many of the usages and beliefs of the home for Bherevrid and his wife were very different from those who lived along the River Risen.  Once he realized, however, that the reason was to keep them safe from the agents of the Dark Lord, Bherevrid was reassured, particularly for his son.

       Bherevrid was a born soldier and tactician.  Due to the fearlessness shown typically by the warriors of the region where Bherevrid was born, many of the most elite guards and soldiers recruited for the Farozi’s own troops were drawn from among their number.  Bherevrid had come to Thetos when still young, and had, due to his intelligence and skill with weapons, risen swiftly through the private forces of the Farozi.  However, once he was approached by one of Maruset’s agents about perhaps leading a palace revolt against the Farozi, he’d swiftly proven faithful to the hereditary lord of his people.  Maruset had been forced to foreswear his own agent, indicating he’d had no knowledge of the Man’s actions, and had seen to his swift execution.  However, from that day Bherevrid and he had found themselves mutually distrusting one another.

       In an uprising in another section of Far Harad, Bherevrid had gone with Ma’osiri and had assisted in putting down the revolt, managing to save the Farozi’s heir and earning his thanks.  Soon Ma’osiri was noting a series of rumors being put out to destroy the reputation of his savior, rumors he was able to track back to Maruset’s people, and he was able to counter them and discredit those charged in spreading them.  Warned of the enmity of Maruset, Bherevrid had managed to foil three assassination attempts on himself and one on Ma’osiri.  The two Men became increasingly dependent on and responsible toward one another, and Bherevrid had become head of Ma’osiri’s own bodyguard.

       As the two of them had become increasingly aware of how the attacks on themselves were originating from the top agents of the Eastern Lord, they’d begun to distance themselves from Mordor’s people and policies.  As he was given more responsibilities by his father to see to the forces of Harad, Ma’osiri had increasingly worked keep his best troops from direct service to the Death Eater.  He and Bherevrid had begun sorting through the armies of Harad, and effectively created two forces, one of the brutal and thoughtless elements which they made available to the Dark Lord’s service, and one of the more capable and responsible soldiers, who provided the bulk of internal security.  So skillfully had Bherevrid formed the two forces that Virubat and Maruset had only recently realized that the best troops in Harad were not being made available to the service of Mordor.  However, before they could decide on how to make this information available to Sauron, Maruset was dead and Virubat captured; and now no one of authority to pass on the intelligence was aware that this was true.

       Bherevrid’s father had arranged a marriage between his son and the daughter of the headman for another village, and it had been fairly successful.  However, his wife had developed a fever after the birth of their son and had died, and so Bherevrid had used wet nurses to see his son through infancy and had, after that, kept the boy close by him.  Now six years of age, Rustovrid was already learning to handle sword, shield, and spear. 

       The boy was fascinated by the Northerner, by his pale skin, his grey eyes, his singing voice, and, one morning when he went out before his father had risen, with the skill with which he saw the Man wielding his sword as he went through a series of forms with it in the courtyard set aside for such practice.

       When Horubi’ninarin sheathed his sword, he noted his audience and gave the child a bow before he went to the fountain to lave water over his neck.  “You are very good with your sword,” the boy said.

       “Yes, I am.”

       “How old were you when you began to learn how to use a sword?”

       “Perhaps the same age as you now.  I think I was about five summers when I received my first practice sword.”

       “I am six years.  I have my own practice sword and shield, too.  Who taught you?”

       “My foster brothers, my foster father, and those who guarded the surrounding lands at first.  Who teaches you?”

       “My father and his lieutenants.  Can you use a spear?”

       “I know how to do so, but am best with a blade.  Can you handle a bow?”

       “I never tried.  Can you?”

       “Yes.”

       “Can you fight with a knife?”

       “Yes.”

       “Have you killed many enemies?”

       The tall Man looked down on the little boy, and sighed.  Finally he answered, “Yes, I have had to kill enemies at times.”

       “Are you really a healer as well as a warrior?”

       “Yes.”

       “Which do you like better?”

       The Man’s voice was very certain.  “I prefer healing to fighting.”

       “Do you have your own horse?”

       “I have one here and two more at home.”

       “Where are they?”

       “My cousin’s family takes care of them.”

       “Do you like riding?”

       “Yes.  Do you?”

       “I’ve only ridden a pony a few times.  Sometimes I ride before my father, but he does not care to ride a horse.  When did you begin to ride?”

       “I cannot remember not riding.  I would ride my pony alongside my mother and my foster father and brothers when I was still yet a small child.”

       “Your mother rode?”

       “Yes.”

       The boy was deeply impressed.  “Women here do not ride.”

       “That is too bad.  My mother rode a mare named Alladia and a gelding named Bestor.”

       “What was your pony’s name?”

       “Gerontius.”

       “Gerontius?  What kind of name was that?”

       “A friend of my father named it, and this was the name of one he’d admired exceedingly.”

       “I will have a camel when I grow up.”

       “I see.”

       “Have you ever ridden a camel?”

       “Yes, I have, but I am not as skilled in doing so as I am with a horse or a pony.”

       “What is it like where you live?”

       The Man sat on a bench and drew a towel over his shoulders, and indicated the boy should sit by him.  “What is it like?  Oh, very different from here.  It is far to the North, so we are much cooler even in the summer; and in the winter it can be very cold indeed.  There are many trees, and many hills and valleys.  The sky is a softer blue than here, and the land is green and the soil rich.”

       “Do people look as you do?”

       “Most have paler skin as I do; but the color of hair can vary greatly from pale gold to black; and eyes can be almost any color--black, grey, blue, green, hazel, different shades of brown....”

       “I don’t believe eyes can be blue.”

       “I am sorry you don’t believe it, but it is true whether you believe it or not.  Have you ever seen eyes grey as mine are?”

       After thinking a moment the boy conceded, “No.”  Then he asked, “Can you read and write?”

       “Yes, many languages.”

       “Why do you know many languages?”

       “There are many languages spoken by the various peoples of the North, and my foster father wished me to know as many as possible.  He felt being able to speak languages was an advantage, and would stand me in good stead as a healer.”

       “Who taught you to sing?”

       The Man laughed.  “I can’t remember not knowing how.  I’ve learned many songs of many peoples, but to sing--that is simply part of me.”

       “Will you sing to me?”

       After looking at the boy for a few minutes, Horubi’ninarin began to sing a song whose words Rustovrid did not understand but whose tune was rollicking.  When at last the song was over, the boy asked, “What was it about?”

       The Man smiled.  “It is the song about a frog who loved a mouse and sought to take her to wife.”

       “A frog can’t take a mouse to wife!”

       “I know, but this foolish frog didn’t know it.  The frog is describing the loveliness of his home in the pond, and the mouse is telling of the comfort of her home in the walls of the house, and neither thinks the other’s home would be pleasant at all.”

       Rustovrid laughed, and at that moment his father came out.  “And what do you here, my son,” Bherevrid asked.

       “I was watching the Northerner practice with his sword, Baba.”

       The general among the Haradrim gave the stranger an evaluative stare.  “Would you like to spar, merchant?”

       “If you wish.”

       The stranger set down his towel, then stood opposite the Haradri.  They bowed, took their stances, and began.  Bherevrid quickly realized that his opponent was an excellent swordsman, and quickened the pace.  Always the parry was there, the countermove made expertly.  Bherevrid broke off, and they began to circle one another.  Again the Northerner let Bherevrid lead off, responded swiftly and effectively.  Then they were circling again.  The Haradri changed his tactics, and the stranger shifted as readily.  Then, suddenly, Bherevrid was disarmed, his wrist stinging as he watched his sword skittering across the ground.  Seeing the Haradri step back, holding his wrist, the grey-eyed Man leaned down and scooped up Bherevrid’s sword, then presented it, hilt first.

       “Do you wish another round?” asked Horubi’ninarin.

       “No, I think I have done enough.  You are very good.  Who taught you?”

       “It started with my foster brothers; but I’ve studied under many over the years.”

       “Do you fight with knives as well?”

       Sohrabi had come out in time to see the last few moments of the sparring, and he answered for his guest: “Yes, he does, and he is very good at it.”

       “You’ve matched one another?”  Sohrabi gave an elaborate shrug, and Bherevrid laughed.  “You are not that great a one for fighting with a blade, actually, my prince.”

       “No, I am not.  However, I can appreciate this one’s skill.”

       Again Bherevrid considered the Northerner.  “You said you have served as a hired sword?”

       “Yes, I have.”

       “If you would wish to do so again----”

       But the Man was shaking his head.  “No, my kinsmen have given me this last liberty, with the understanding that when I returned it would be to serve the needs of our own.”

       “You need not return.”

       “I must return.  I may no longer indulge only my own curiosity and desires.”

       Bherevrid sighed.  “Well, if ever you tire of serving the needs of your people, you will be welcome to serve under me.”

       The taller Man shook his head.  “Not as long as your people lie under the rule of Mordor.”

       “My own troops are restricted to the needs of Harad, not to serve the whims of the Death Eater.”

       “That may be, but the agents of Sauron still have influence; and although the two greatest of this time may be missing or dead, others will replace them, and undoubtedly the Nazgul themselves will come here in time.  You could not hide the fact that you have one from the Northlands where his greatest enemies live fighting for you, and eventually they would seek to kill me, and you for recruiting me, or your son to punish you for doing so.”

       Bherevrid could not deny such logic.  “I can still wish it, however.”

       The other nodded.  “Then let us hope for a time when North and South no longer are in enmity with one another.”

*******      

       Ma’osiri went to the stables early on the day on which they were to leave to find Horubi’ninarin already there, grooming his horse and crooning to it in a language he did not recognize.  Examining the animal, the Haradri realized it was of excellent breeding.  “Did you bring this with you from your own lands?”

       The Northerner looked over his shoulder and smiled ruefully.  “No, our ship had no facilities for the carrying of animals.  I purchased it here after my arrival.”

       “A fine steed.”

       The response was a nod of agreement.

       “Will you take it with you?”

       “Again, our ship has no facilities for such, for this or the camel.”

       “Where is the camel?”

       “In your brother’s stable.”

       “What will you do with it?”

       “I suppose I must sell them ere I leave your land.  Although I have a mind to gift the camel to Khafiramun, whom I believe will rejoice to receive such a fine addition to his string.”

       “A worthy thought.”

       Horubi’ninarin’s mouth twitched.  “I would like to send the camel to my last lord’s son, simply to confound him.  However, it would not be particularly happy there, for he would not know how to appreciate nor care for such an animal.”  He sighed.  “No, it would be far happier, I think, in the hands of Khafiramun.”

       The horse, bored with the talk, thrust its nose hard against its master’s chest, demanding more attention.  “Now wait, my brother.  Always you wish for all to look on you and praise your beauty, do you not?” the Man said indulgently.

       Ma’osiri laughed, and came closer to examine the animal more closely.  “He has the look to him of Perdui breeding.”  He reached out and stroked its nose.  “He is definitely good spirited.”

       “When I purchased him, my advisor was not happy with my choice.  But he was a fine beast in the possession of one whose hands were too heavy for such a one, and needed care and love to bring him to his full promise.”  He produced a date from their breakfast and offered it to the horse, who accepted it gently.  “Again I would love to gift this to the son of a former lord, who would look on him with pleasure and add its bloodlines happily to the lines of his herd.  Although one of my kinsmen would also be pleased to have him.  He and his family have bred and trained horses for many generations.”

       “How much would you accept for him?”

       The Northerner looked with surprise at the Haradri.  “You would wish to have him, Lord?”

       “To have such a fine stallion of Perdui breeding--he would be a good addition to my own stables.”

       Examining Ma’osiri’s face clearly, Horubi’ninarin finally said, “I would gladly gift him to you.  It would be pleasure enough to see him in the hands of one who would care for him as he deserves.”

       “No, such a valuable animal I could not accept as a gift.”

       “Then, my Lord, I paid eighteen sisterces for him.”

       “He is worth more than that now.  I offer you twenty-two.”

       “You have an odd manner of bargaining, Lord, offering more than is asked.”

       Ma’osiri smiled.  “You have asked no return for the healing of my father, and I would not be surprised to learn that it is in part due to your efforts that both Maruset and Virubat are not at liberty at this time to lord it over our folk.”

       There was no response in the face of the Northerner.  Ma’osiri shook his head.  “Neither yea nor nay?”

       Horubi’ninarin smiled, but still did not answer.  Finally he responded, “I will accept twenty sisterces.”

       Ma’osiri shrugged expressively and smiled in return.

*******

       Sohrabi watched as Horubi’ninarin, now dressed again as a bodyguard, carefully gathered up his white bag, the larger red one they now knew held his healer’s kit, and at last his saddlebags, preparatory to leaving.  The tall Man carefully scanned the room, making certain he’d left nothing.  His sword was suspended from the belt he wore under his robes, along with that deadly dagger of his; his green pouch he wore there also.

       “You appear to be ready now,” Sohrabi commented. 

       “And you, my Lord?”

       “Ma’annubi has all in readiness.”

       “I am somewhat surprised he has not gone through my quarters here.”

       “Are you so certain he has not?”

       The Northerner laughed.  “If he can have done so, then I am certain my cousin will wish to recruit him.”

       Very quietly, Sohrabi asked, “What will you do with Virubat?”

       “With your permission I will leave him in your wine closet for two more days.  Tomorrow I will seek a means to carry him unseen to the harbor at Risenmouthe.  My cousin will wish to ask his own questions.  If I learn any more of import for your land, family or those close to you, I will see to it you receive word of it.  Mostly, of course, we will be concerned about the Enemy’s plans for the Northern Lands, and I will see what information these might have regarding such.”

       “My father does very well.”

       “Yes.”

       “He draws further from the policies of Mordor.”

       “Then I will pray he continues to do so, my Lord.  Now, however, I must return to your house, recover my trader’s robes, and go to the caravansary in Risenmouthe to learn whether word has come from Khafiramun, then to Risenmouthe harbor to await my ship.  I must return now to my own people and lands with the goods I have traded for here.”

       “Yes, you do have a life separate from ours.”

       “That I do.”

       “I will pray you and I do not face one another on the field of battle one day.”

       “It would distress me to do so, but I will do what I must for the needs of those I serve.”

       “You could enter our service--you said you have been a hired sword before....”

       But the shake of the head said it all.

       A half hour later they were out in the stable yard.  A groom brought out the Northerner’s steed already saddled and bridled.  All watched amused as the tall Man examined all, recinched the girth, reseated the bridle, checked the comfort of the animal before he finally swung himself up into the saddle.  The Farozi’s party set out first, followed by that of Ma’osiri, and finally that of Sohrabi.  Sohrabi was pleased to see that now that they were leaving the Valley of the Sun again Horubi’ninarin fell into the role of bodyguard most effectively. 

Road by Sea 

       The tall Man in trader’s robes walked confidently down the way of the harbor toward the pier where foreign vessels might dock.  The guard set by the agents of Mordor watched him with suspicion.  The stranger was inordinately tall.  The stranger had eyes of grey.  The stranger’s skin was paler than that of those native to this land.  The stranger had a look of a swordsman, the walk of a warrior. He did not move or hold himself as did those of Harad. 

       The guard had been told to watch for spies from the Northern lands, spies who would come in the guise of traders but who actually came to examine how Mordor held power over the people and government of Harad.  He had been told that such would carry about them tokens of stars, either rings set with stars of gems or silver or gold, or cloak brooches in the shapes of stars, or pendants of stars.  He was to stop any who appeared to be from Northern lands and search them for such things; and any who carried about them such tokens was to be held for the coming of the Dark Ones.  So it was that the guard stepped out before the one in trader’s robes and ordered him to halt.

       “Why must I halt?” asked the tall stranger.

       “I must search your person,” the guard replied.

       “Search my person for what?”

       “I will know when I find it.”

       Aragorn looked on the guard with concern, not certain what he might have been told to look for.  He did not carry his sword--he’d been warned to place it and any weapons from Gondor or further North in a case to make it look as if it were among the goods he traded for and let them be brought to the ship when it was loaded for the voyage north, and to carry instead a dagger or long knife of Haradri manufacture; and this he’d done.  He’d bought a long knife in Far Harad, one which was of excellent steel, and this he carried in his belt.  He carried the license to trade he’d purchased on his arrival in Risenmouthe, and the tokens of Khafiramun and Bhatfiri as signs he’d employed legitimate caravan masters and guards.

       There was one thing which he carried he did not wish seen--the ring he wore now on the chain about his neck.  He’d not dared leave it in his quarters, hadn’t shown it to any in Harad, had guarded it within the house of Sohrabi and that of the Farozi, even in the Valley of the Sun.  Was this what the guard sought for?

       “And if I do not wish to be searched?” he asked.

       The guard smiled with a level of satisfaction and gave a gesture; others came out to join him.  “I will have help in searching you, then,” he said.

       Realizing that refusing the indignity of the search would draw too much attention to himself, Aragorn straightened and held his hands, plainly empty, out for them to search him.  They were quick about it, soon had taken his belt pouch and had it open, saw the license signed by an official whose name, signature, and seal were all well known; found the tokens of caravan master and guard, both of them of good repute; found a snake carved from bone which he’d purchased that morning to bring to his foster father, who’d ever been enamored of serpents; found the cord of ring coins he carried; found a smaller bag containing twenty sisterces. 

       “Where did you get this?” demanded the guard.

       “It was paid me for a horse I purchased on my arrival and which I’ve now sold again for I cannot take it aboard my ship with me.”

       They found thrust into his belt the long knife of Haradri design, again one which happened to have a figure of a snake curled about the pommel.  The guard directing the search was growing more uncomfortable.  A carving of a snake in his bag, and a knife which also was decorated with the same animal.  Ghanset was the name given the goddess of Far Harad who wore the snake’s aspect, and she was often seen as consort for Seti.  For all he answered to the servants of Mordor, the guard held a healthy fear of Seti and his bride.  True, Ghanset was one of the patrons of rebirth; but rebirth indicated that the one who was being reborn had died first; and that was not an experience this one looked forward to.  He shuddered as he returned the knife to the trader, looked for signs of items hidden in pockets or hems....

       The silver chain about the trader’s neck was seen, and the guard reached quickly to pull what hung from it into view.  He held it cupped in his hand, paled, and quickly thrust it back into the neck of the stranger’s robe again.  Once more, serpents--this one must be a member of the fabled Ghansi cult, which it was said took individuals whom they found alone and flayed them alive in imitation of snakes losing their skins in honor of Ghanset.  Of course, the priests said such cults did not exist, but the guard was not so certain.  Too many stories had he heard.

       “Well, have you found ought of interest on this one?” asked an officer emerging from a nearby building.

       Aragorn was surprised by this, for it was asked in the form of Adunaic spoken in Umbar.  He quelled his response to it, not wishing the other to realize he understood the language, realizing that his knowledge of Adunaic would be seen by many as more suspicious than whatever he might carry on his person.  So far the only thing returned to him had been the long knife, which had obviously frightened the guard who’d led the search; everything else was still in the hands of those who had aided him, and one of the guards had been slipping ring coins off the strip of cord on which he’d secured them, and another had slipped the bag of sisterces into his shirt.  These guards had been told to look for certain things, but what exactly those certain things were he had no idea.  The main guard had been upset by the carving of the snake and more so by the long knife; and at his glimpse of the ring he carried on the chain had thrust it back inside the shirt with a decided grunt of distaste and fear.  Aragorn turned to look at the officer--yes, this one apparently bore some blood of the Black Numenoreans, although he had the darker skin common to Harad.

       In the trader’s tongue he asked, “What must I do to get back the profits of my trading from those two?” pointing to the one who’d pocketed his sisterces and the one involved in stealing ring coins from the cord.

       The officer looked at the two Men in question, who looked at him from under their brows, uncertain whether they’d be able to keep that which they’d just taken.  In the same dialect, the officer asked, “What have they taken?”

       “A pouch of heavy cotton tied with a silken cord containing twenty sisterces paid me for the horse I just sold, and several ring coins taken from the cord he holds in his hands.  I had twenty-eight upon it, nineteen of silver and nine of bronze.”

       The officer took the cord and quickly counted the coins upon it.  He held out a hand, commanding, “All the coins you hold--now!”

       In a moment he had restored the cord and coins to Aragorn, who did a quick count, restored those which had been removed, and made to return the excess to the officer.  “No, keep them as recompense for the dishonesty of this one, who will suffer for thinking to profit at the expense of the goodwill of those who would trade in this land.”  He turned to the other guard.  “The pouch?”

       His eyes frightened, the guard brought out the pouch; the officer poured the coins out into his hand, counted them back into the bag and again saw them restored.  In Adunaic he quietly asked the one who’d led the search, “Does this one carry any star token?”

       “No, my Lord.”

       Aragorn was surprised to realize what particularly they searched for, and suddenly was grateful he’d made the sacrifice asked of him in the Valley of the Sun.  So, they looked for signs of agency from Gondor or Arnor, did they?  He kept his face schooled to look wary and confused, doing his best not to let it be seen he had understood what was said privately between officer and guardsman.

       The officer continued, “Any sign at all of any allegiance?”

       The guardman answered, “Indications he has an interest in Ghanset--carvings, sword, and on a chain about his neck.”  He indicated the long knife he’d returned and the green belt purse lying on the ground.  At a gesture from the officer he lifted the purse and handed it over, and the officer quickly went through it, examined the carving of the serpent.  After making certain it didn’t contain any hidden compartments, he put it back into the pouch, looked at the tokens given by Khafiramun and Bhatfiri and replaced them also, then the license to trade and replaced that as well.  After going through all items sitting there, he asked, “Did he have anything hidden in hems or pockets?”

       “No, captain.”

       The officer examined the trader for a moment.  In Adunaic he asked, “Are you from Umbar?”

       Aragorn kept his face neutral and asked in the trader’s tongue, “What did you say?  Did you speak of Umbar?”

       In Adunaic the officer commented, “Your mother must have mated with a camel.” 

       Aragorn stifled the impulse to laugh aloud at this attempt to identify his possible roots by means of insult, looked questioningly at him.  In Westron accented as it was spoken in Rohan he asked, “Are you willing to use a tongue others understand?”

       Finally deciding the trader was not of a culture that spoke Adunaic, the officer again addressed the leader of the guard.  “No signs of stars, then?”

       “None, sir.  Just snakes.”

       “Where are you from?” he asked of Aragorn directly in the trader’s tongue.

       “From Dunland, sir.”  This was in keeping with the information on the trader’s license he’d purchased.

       “Where does that land lie?”

       “In the lands immediately north of the Gap of Rohan.”

       “What kinds of goods did you bring to Harad?”

       “Mostly woolen cloth from the far northern lands and tanned hides.  Some ceramics and wooden items.”

       “What kinds of goods will you take back to the North?”

       “Bolts of cotton cloth of various weights, carvings of your wood, bone and ivory, camel felt, camel saddles, brass work and bells, knives from Far Harad--the workmanship will be much appreciated my homeland; dried figs and dates.  I hope to purchase some bolts of silk before I leave, for such materials can fetch a good price in Gondor as I travel north and west again.  And I have a buyer for medicinal herbs.”

       The responses were in accordance with a trader’s thoughts, and the officer lost interest in this one.  “Return the rest of his goods.  And you two,” addressed to the two who’d tried to steal the coins, “you will report for discipline in an hour’s time.  There will be no more stealing from traders while I am captain here.”  He turned back to the trader.  “Have a pleasant return to your land, sir.”

       “Thank you, captain.”

       As the Man started to walk away, Aragorn spoke again.  “Sir, to keep this from happening again....”

       The officer turned, only mild interest in his eyes.  “What is that?”

       “I may have to return here several times ere my ship returns to retrieve me and my goods.  I do not believe any of these will stop me a second time--” this he said knowing that it was all too likely they would indeed do so unless their resentment at having been overruled and disciplined by their commander were forestalled now, “--yet if others are on duty they may yet again search me, and others who are willing to enrich themselves at my loss may again seek to pocket my profits.  If I may have proof I have already been searched and passed by you and this group, it will keep me from having to disrupt your work in the future.”

       The officer thought it over.  “You are correct.  Stop by my office when you leave the pier and I will have it ready for you.  What is your name?”

       “Peredrion of Dunland, sir.”

       “‘Half-son’?”

       “I did not know my father, sir.”

       “I see.”  The officer gave a sardonic smile.  “Well, Peredrion of Dunland, stop by my office when you are finished on the pier and I will give you the writing you desire.”

       “Thank you, captain.”

       Aragorn watched the officer leave, gave a bow to the sullen guards who knew now that they’d best not disturb this one in future, and went down to look for signs of the coming of his ship.

       From other ships’ captains he heard news his ship had been sighted along the coastline of Belfalas, and thus was due at any time.  He thanked them, remained watching for the day, and finally an hour after sunset reported to the captain’s office in the building for the guards.  Advised a trader waited without, the officer came out and, having assured himself it was the trader who’d caught everyone’s interest, he signed for him to enter.

       “So,” the captain said as he retook his seat, “your ship is not yet here.”

       “I am assured it comes, sir.  It was sighted off Dol Amroth a few days past, apparently having come from further north.”

       “Do your father’s people sail it for you?”

       “As I told you, sir, I knew not my father.  It belongs to my mother’s family.  They were not happy my mother stayed away from them for so long, but they have accepted me as a son of their house.”

       “You are likely enough.  You have the stance of a swordsman.”

       “I have worked as a hired sword.”

       “Yet now you try your hand at trading?”

       “It is less likely to lead to my early death than serving as a mercenary.”

       “You appear to have done well at trading.”

       “I believe I will have made a clear profit when all I take back with me has been sold.”

       “Would you like to enter my service?”

       Aragorn paused.  Sohrabi and Bherevrid had understood his unwillingness to enter any service likely to fall under the commands of Mordor, but this one would not.  He’d best tread lightly.

       “As I said, working as a trader is less likely to lead to my early death than working longer as a mercenary.  I’ve been injured too often, and the last could have been deadly had it been only slightly one way or the other.  I do not wish to tempt fortune any further in that manner.”

       “Yet traders and their caravans are often the targets of bandits.”

       “Indeed my caravan was targeted, and I fought alongside Bhatfiri and his Men.  However, I do not wish to do more than that.  It is one thing to defend against those who hope that surprise and violence will win them the prize; another to willingly walk onto a battlefield knowing the enemy has many as trained as I am, or better in the end.”

       “You carry a long knife from Far Harad.  Why not a sword?”

       “I was told that doing so would make me appear suspicious to those who serve in Harad.  But I will not go without a weapon of some sort.”

       The officer seemed to accept this, and nodded.  He pulled toward himself a roll of parchment and wrote out a quick note, signed it, then drew out a stick of sealing wax and marked it with his signet ring.  He handed it to the trader, who looked at it, then asked, “What does it say, sir?”  Aragorn could read it well enough, but still did not wish the captain to know he knew Adunaic.

       The captain sighed.  “It says simply that you have been already searched and cleared of carrying contraband.”

       “Thank you, captain.”  With a loose salute of the sort used by those of Dunland, the trader pocketed the small scroll as he turned and walked toward the door.

       “Oh, Peredrion----”

       Aragorn turned and looked at the officer as if only half interested in what he might say.

       “If you change your mind, my commanders have a place for clever fighters.”

       “Thank you, captain.  I will keep that in mind.

*******

       Relieved, Aragorn returned to the caravansary to learn that his caravan had been reported a day away and should be arriving by tomorrow’s eve.  He went into the room he’d hired, saw to it his goods hadn’t been disturbed--the urchin he’d hired to watch them smiled at him as he received his final payment for the day, and with the promise he’d be back tomorrow the boy disappeared into the darkness of Risenmouthe.  Aragorn closed and secured his door and settled down to sleep.

       His ship didn’t arrive the following day before sunset, and again he headed for the caravansary, to find his caravan just beginning to unload into the warehouse he’d hired.  Khafiramun nodded his recognition.  “You did well, trader,” the caravan master said.  “And I see you followed my advice about the warehouse as well.”

       “So far all of your advice has proven good, my friend.  I would be foolish to go against it at this late date.”

       “I am pleased enough, for so many from the North fail to listen and so must pay for their lack of trust in me.”

       “You have proven worthy of trust, Khafiramun.  Oh, and I have a gift for you.”

       Khafiramun followed his employer to the paddock where the camel obtained from the Bhatsis was being kept, and looked on it with delight.

       “This is a wonderful beast, Master Peredrion,” he declared.  “You cannot just gift it to me!”

       “Think of her as a bonus for the advice and good trading you have helped me to do.  But I cannot take her with me--she would not be amongst her own kind, and neither the climate nor the vegetation would be familiar.  Know this--I cannot think of anyone who would care for her as well as you save for those who gifted her to me.”

       Only after the one he thought of as Peredrion explained how he’d come by the camel did Khafiramun agree to accept her, but he did not cease thanking his employer for her for the rest of the evening.

       Aragorn assisted in the unloading, speaking to several of the camel men, then to Bhatfiri and his guards about the return journey.  Only one group had followed them for two days, but had never attacked them, word having come that this group had a fierce trader as well as being under Bhatfiri’s protection.  Aragorn nodded his satisfaction and paid Bhatfiri the agreed-upon price, adding another substantial bonus for himself and his men.  “You have done more than I’d imagined, my friend.  If you ever choose to come North, I think my people would be willing to accept you and your services, although I would be loth to see the unwary traders entering your land lose your able protections.”

       Bhatfiri nodded, smiling.  “Now, if you were to desire to enter my troops, I’d make you full partner.”

       Aragorn laughed.  “You are the fourth in these lands to offer me a position.  No, my heart is of the North, and there I must return.  Besides, if I were to seek to remain, my cousin would strike me over the head, tie me up and carry me off by force.  He’s one of the few I do not wish to match weapons with.”

       “Well, Peredrion, if you enter these lands again, you will be welcomed.  Know this, that I will ever turn away other custom to serve your needs.”

       “Thank you, Bhatfiri.  The welcome of such as you and Khafiramun means much.”

       “Now, one last thing--I will set Ba’alrabi to watching your warehouse alongside the guards here.  He will see to it that not too much will find its way into local hands.  No, you do not need to pay more--you saved both our lives, and you’ve paid us both well already.  It is the least we can do in your honor.”

       Aragorn bowed deeply in respect, and went to help in the last of the unloading, managing to slip the box from his room and his northern sword and dagger into the mix.

*******

       Two days later the officer stood in the shadows of one of the customs sheds, and watched the tall trader, who sat on a great coil of rope, his knees drawn up, his hands about them almost as would sit a boy, watching out to sea.  Suddenly the trader straightened, becoming more alert as a ship rounded the hook which broke the fury of the further waves before they entered the protected waters of the harbor.

       The captain of this ship was a master, the officer recognized, as the ship approached the pier in a stately manner, the sails being expertly tilted to slow its progress as it neared the pier.  The harbor master was now upon the quay, signalling where the ship must tie up, and swiftly heavy straw mats were thrown over the side of the ship and heavier buffers set into place on the quayside.  Slowly the ship turned sideways, ropes were tossed from both sides, caught, fastened, reeled rapidly in to draw the ship against the dock.  Meanwhile the waiting trader had dropped a foot to the dock, still half sat, waiting for the docking to be completed.  When the last rope was fastened and the gangplank was being set into place he stood upright expectantly.  A similar tall figure now stood beside the captain of the ship, attired as a hand, but with the air of command.  He looked at the one on the dock, and called out in Westron, “So, there you are, then?”

       “Of course, cousin--here I am indeed.  My caravan has returned, and my goods have sat in the warehouse awaiting your return for two days now.  What took you so long?”

       “Contrary currents and winds a day out, and helping another ship caught in them.  Good trading?”

       “I certainly think so.  We will be ready to load the ship in an hour’s time.”

       “We will be ready, then.”  A mutual nod, and the trader turned back to the shore to order the loading.

       The captain of the guards soon learned that a full inventory of goods had been given to the customs officer, and he now stood watching as porters began carrying boxes and bundles aboard.  Each article had Westron numbering upon it, and as it was carried aboard, customs officer and trader both marked it off on their sheets. 

       “What is in this crate?” asked the customs officer as a narrower box was carried aboard.

       The porter stopped, watching the two Men for permission to proceed.  The trader checked his inventory.  “Swords and knives from Far Harad, sir.  We have a ready market for such in Dunland, for we have few sources of metals without trading for it, and fewer swordsmiths than Gondor or Rohan.”

       The customs officer signed for the case to be lowered to the dock, and indicated it should be opened.  The trader had it undone quickly, and stepped aside so the officer could see.  The officer leaned down to rifle through it, then picked up a particularly fine weapon, decorated with a crocodile and serpent on its sheath.  He drew it and checked out the blade.  “Fine metal, this,” he commented.

       The trader nodded.  “I believe I have already a buyer for it, in fact.”

       The captain of the guard smiled, remembering that the guard who’d initiated the search had indicated this one had shown a marked interest in Ghanset.  Perhaps a Ghansi, then.  Interesting.  The customs officer nodded, returned the sword, and indicated the crate could be refastened, and signalled it was to be taken on aboard.  Aragorn, meanwhile, was breathing relief that he’d not searched toward the side of the crate where his own sword lay among the rest.  The star set in its hilt would have caught the attention of the guards captain who stood watching from the shadows, and would perhaps have ended in his arrest.  Hardorn would have seen him freed, but it would have been a messy business at best.  Better it not be seen.

       Three more crates and bundles were opened, and as each contained precisely what the inventory indicated, the customs officer seemed to be pleased.  He then drew the trader to his office while the sailors took aboard some ships stores and barrels of fresh wather, figured the fees owed, adding in a small amount for his own troubles; and after accepting the payment offered and giving the receipt, he indicated the trader and his ship were free to go at any time.

       It was with regret that the guards officer watched the trader finally go aboard the ship, saw its gangplank withdrawn once captain had also paid his fees and gone aboard.  They’d not even stay through the next changing of the tide.  He wished he’d been able to find some reason to keep the trader, thought either he’d make a good Man to have under his command, or would possibly have interesting intelligence to offer the Dark Ones on their next visit.  But he had no reason.

       As for the guard who’d stopped the trader, he was glad to see the back of him at last.  Two of his folk had been lashed for stealing, and he resented the fact.  The captain would be watching them more closely for similar graft in the future, he knew; this trader had robbed them of the chance to fatten their salaries using that ploy.  Well the damage was done, and the trader gone before he could find the other ways the guards had of of making profit from their service.  Lucky they hadn’t tried more on him, for he’d have alerted the captain to more....

*******

       Hardorn looked with interest at the loosely constructed crate which Aragorn had instructed was to be placed in a secured place within the forward hold.  “An agent of Mordor, you say?”

       “Yes, one of two I encountered on my arrival in Thetos.”

       “How did you get this one past the customs officer?”

       “He was told this contained a crocodile for the entertainment of Lord Veleri of Dunland.”

       “Veleri would love to have a crocodile to feed with his rivals.  An apt description for the agents of Sauron, I must say.  What happened to the other agent?”

       “He died under my knife, and fed a crocodile himself.”

       “Excellent end for him.  Once we are in the open sea we will bring this one out and question him.”

       In the early morning hours the crate was opened, and then the inner crate, and at last a much thinner and paler Virubat was lifted out by a couple of sailors who brought him to the captain’s cabin.  In the captain’s own chair sat the one who, dressed as a bodyguard, had taken him prisoner and had questioned him alongside Sohrabi and Sohrabi’s steward.  Nearby on a table stood Virubat’s own wooden chest, open and the papers it had contained neatly stacked near it.  How had they managed that? Virubat wondered.  Beside him stood another who looked remarkably like the false bodyguard, only bearded, carrying a knotted cord.  Virubat looked at that knotted cord and paled further, for he knew all too well to what uses it could be put.  Another chair was brought and he was seated in it, his hands and feet bound to it.  And the questioning began again.

       At the end the one with the cord looked down on him.  “Will you take this back to the Lord Elrond?” he asked his fellow.

       The seated Man looked up with surprise.  “Do you think he will welcome one such as this in his land?  No, cousin, I would not do such a thing.  No, I think we’d best end it here.”

       “I’ll take him up on deck, then, and finish it.”

       “No, I will do it.”

       “My cousin....”

       “I am the chieftain of our people, and the captain of our Rangers.  No, it is for me to do, not always to burden you with executions.”

       The bearded one sighed.  “If you say so, Aragorn.”

       “I do say so, Hardorn.”  He came forth with the reclaimed dagger given him by Adrahil, cut the prisoner’s bonds, drew him to his feet.

       As the two sailors supported Virubat to the deck, the tall Northerner followed, checking the seat of his sword in its sheath.

       “So,” Virubat said as he knelt at last on the deck of the ship in the growing dawn light, “you would kill me.”

       “How many was it you said you killed by stealth, poison, treachery?  Thirty-eight, was it not?  Do you question you deserve death yourself?”

       A flicker of his eyes to the dagger in the Northerner’s belt, and Virubat lunged.  His hand, however, was gone before he could touch the other.  Stupidly he clutched at the bleeding stump, looked up, saw the descending blade....

       Hardorn lifted the corpse, head, and hand and threw each in turn over the side, watched as triangular fins broke the surface.  “Nothing will wash ashore, I believe,” he commented, and he signed for one of the sailors to draw aboard sea water to wash the deck.

       “It was easier, him having lunged for the dagger,” Aragorn said heavily.

       “Is that why you carried it so obviously there in your belt?”

       Aragorn didn’t answer, went below to his own cabin.  Soon after Hardorn followed him.  “The cook’s boy will bring steaming water in a minute.  Let me have one of the leaves.”

       Aragorn waved at his white bag.  Hardorn sighed, opened and rifled through it till he found the athelas, and finally, when the cook’s assistant had brought the required basin, held it out to his cousin.  Aragorn straightened, breathed on the two leaves handed him, rolled them and dropped them into the water, finally leaned over it and inhaled deeply.  He sat back in his chair at last, and Hardorn took up a cloth and saw to the cleaning of his cousin’s face and hands, helped him out of the stained garb he wore, into a clean shirt and trousers, then aided him into the bunk.  Seeing the basin lying on the edged table by Aragorn’s head, he finally left him to take what rest he could, smiled down at him from the doorway.  “It is good to have you back, my Lord cousin.”

       “It is good be heading home at last, Hardorn.”

       Hardorn smiled again, and closed the door behind him.

*******

       A month later Amonrabi entered Sohrabi’s study with a highly carved chest and set it on the table before his brother.  “A trader came to the door, indicated this is intended for you.”

       Sohrabi examined it closely, then smiled.  “A falcon and stars.”

       “From the Northerner, then.”

       “Apparently.”  Sohrabi opened it.  Inside were bolts of fine northern woolen and linen fabrics, and in the midst a keen dagger of a design neither had seen before.  He unrolled one of the bolts of fabric to find that inside was a thick packet that, when opened, contained letters in Adunaic and Haradri addressed to Virubat, letters which the Farozi was likely to find very interesting, for they detailed several courses of action aimed at gaining further power over the peoples and forces of Harad and Far Harad, as well as plans for another assassination plot against Bherevrid, and a listing of thirty-eight slain directly or indirectly by Virubat of Umbar. 

       Sohrabi and Amonrabi smiled at one another.  “It appears,” Amonrabi commented, “that Horubi’ninarin also wishes to assist the people of Harad to become self-governing, then.”

       Sohrabi nodded.  “Whoever he might be, he has proven honorable, brother.”

“To the King of Gondor and Arnor, from the Farozi of Harad...”

       It was the eighth day of May, three days after the birth of Eldarion, first son and second child of the Lord Elessar and Lady Arwen, King and Queen of Gondor and Arnor.  Rustovrid of Harad, ambassador to Gondor from the Farozi, watched as the guard approached him where he waited near the door to the Citadel of Minas Anor. 

       “Our Lord Elessar has asked me to bring you to him, Lord Rustovrid.  He is working in the herb garden.  If you will follow me....”

       Rustovrid followed the Man around the Citadel of Gondor.  He tried to think of any of the three Farozis he’d known working in an herb garden, and laughed at the idea of it.  An’Horubi would have been affronted at the idea, An’Ma’osiri would have been unable to imagine such an activity, and An’Sohrabi would have simply looked at anyone making such a suggestion with such scathing dismissal that the one foolish enough to speak of it would have wilted into the floor.  Yet the great King Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar did so regularly.  What a difference between rulers!

       As they neared the garden he heard a voice singing, singing a song he’d heard but once in his life, many, many years ago in the Valley of the Sun in Harad, one which had made him laugh with the idea of it.  He now understood the words, and it was every bit as whimsical as he’d been told then.

       As he knelt weeding his herbs, the King of Gondor and Arnor was singing to his daughter and to the other children who either sat nearby or knelt working beside him.  Behind him stood his bodyguard, today the Pherian Peregrin Took, his sword Troll’s Bane held at the ready.

       “Oh, Miss Mouse, if you will come with me,
       Lady of the pond you will surely be.
       Soft the mud which will make your bed,
       White the lilies to wreathe your head!”

       One of the older children of the Pheriannath sang the response from the mouse.

       “Live in a pond?  Oh, surely not!
       Life in the walls shall be our lot.
       Soft lint shall we lie on, cotton and silk;
       Corn shall we eat, our drink shall be milk.”

       Rustovrid stood looking down on the kneeling King with new understanding, his face alight.  As the King looked up, he caught the look of recognition and noted it.  But he and the girl from among the Pheriannath finished the song between them, and all the children laughed and applauded it as it was completed.  A last few weeds were flung into the basket that lay in the midst of them, and the King arose.  “Now, go with Lady Avrieth and see if you can get your own milk and biscuits.  I must speak now with Lord Rustovrid.”

       The nurse for the King’s children came forward to lift up young Prince Eldarion in his shaded basket that sat by his father, and with a curtsey she carried him off to his mother, followed by the rest of the children.  The King wiped his hands on a kerchief he took from his pocket, then indicated the bench Avrieth had just vacated.  A page came out with a tray set with a couple of goblets and a flagon and set it on the small table that sat nearby, withdrawing with a bow, accepting the smile of his Lord.

       Rustovrid bowed before he sat, and he looked at the Man who sat now beside him, who was courteously pouring out wine for him.  “Pardon me for asking, my Lord Elessar, but just how old are you now?”

       “Ninety-eight.  You look as one who has recovered a memory long treasured but then forgotten.”

       “One other time I heard that song, Lord, when I was about the age of your daughter.”

       The King paused, looked on him for a moment, then smiled.  “Yes, the small boy has become a worthy Man in his own right.”

       “Then you are the one we called Horubi’ninarin?”

       “Yes, I am.”

       “You bested my father with swords.”

       “I have bested many in my life--I have needed to, just to survive.”

       “I believe the Farozi will be pleased to see you once again.”

       “Does he come here, then?”

       “No, my Lord, he does not.  He is now old in the ways of our people, and does not seek to leave our land.  However, he has sent this, and had asked I translate it.”

       “If it is in the writings I learned when I was in your land then there is no need.  I learned to read Haradri, you see.”

       Rustovrid handed the King of Gondor the missive and watched as the Northerner took out the belt knife to lift the seal, unfastened the ribbon, and ran his eyes over the contents of the scroll.  He nodded.  “It seems hard to realize at times so long a time has passed since I saw him last.”  He straightened.  “He wishes me to come to join in the celebration of his seventieth birthday, then.”

       “Yes, my Lord.”

       “I will think on it.”  He turned to the Perian on guard.  “What think you, Pippin?  Would you wish to accompany me to Harad?”

       The Hobbit turned his head, interest lighting his eyes, although he remained on guard.  “You know, Aragorn, how I’d love to do just that!  But what about Diamond and my Faramir?  Or Merry?”

       “I don’t believe that Merry would wish to go.  He has, after all, far less of the Took in him than you or Frodo ever held.  But we will discuss it this evening.”  He turned to Rustovrid.  “Did you tell your lord what I said about saving the life of Sohrabi of Harad many years past?”

       “Yes, I did, my Lord.”

       “Then he has known for six years whom I have become.”

       “I would think so, my Lord.”

       “I will discuss it with my advisors this evening, and will give my answer within three days.”

*******

       “You’re going where?” asked Merry during dinner.

       “To Harad.  The Farozi An’Sohrabi has asked me to attend the celebration planned for his seventieth birthday.”

       Merry looked at his cousin.  “I suppose you’re planning on accompanying him, then.”

       Pippin smiled.  “Of course, if Diamond will agree.”

       Diamond looked at her husband and shook her head in wonder.  “I know you wish to go, and it would be a great honor for you to do so, I’m certain.  But I don’t wish to be gone from the Shire that much longer.  Would you mind, beloved, if I went home with the rest?”

       Lord Eregiel smiled.  “We will see your wife and son home safely, Captain Peregin, along with the others who are returning.”

       “Who will be accompanying you from your guard here?” Merry asked the King.

       “Hardorn has already let me know he will do so, as will Mablung and Hildigor.

       “I will be going also,” indicated Lord Faramir, “and of course Beregond and Damrod will be attending me.”

       “And of course,” Gimli added, “Legolas and I will be going along.  Aragorn will be properly attended and well guarded.”

       “Will your ladies be attending?” asked Merry.

       “I intend to accompany my husband,” the Lady Éowyn announced. 

       Aragorn looked to his wife with question.  Arwen smiled.  “I’m not certain how comfortable Avrieth will be, but I do intend, my love, to go with you.  And, if I go, the children will go with me.  I will not leave them behind.”

       Merry thought for some moments.  “I don’t think we both ought to go, Pippin.  I think I’d best return to the Shire and do what I can to assist Sam.  Also, I had indicated that I’d only be gone for four months at most, and this would extend my absence for--how much longer?”

       “An additional month at least,” the King indicated.

       Merry shook his head.  “You don’t mind, do you, Pippin?”

       Pippin smiled.  “You know I understand, Merry.  Estella, that’s fine by you, isn’t it?”

       Estella sighed.  “He will be miserable with concern for you, sorry the moment he gets home he didn’t go with you, but really doesn’t want to go if I know my Merry.”

       Merry laughed.  “Yes, my love, you do know me all too well.”

       The others looked at one another.  There was a low-voiced conversation going in the corner through much of the remains of the meal, and as dessert was served Pearl Took commented, “Bard and I have been talking it over, my Lord Aragorn, and we don’t wish our Thain’s heir not to have a proper escort of his own.  Do you mind if he goes, too?”

       “You are comfortable with this, Mistress Pearl?”

       “Yes.  I just don’t want my younger brother to be the only Hobbit attending, and Isumbard is keen to see a bit more of the world, I think.”      

       The King searched the face of Pippin’s cousin and brother-in-law, who simply straightened and indicated, “It’s been a while since we Tooks saw another of our own off on an adventure.  This time I think it will be my turn.”

       “If you are certain, it will be an honor to have you come with us.”

       The next day the impending trip was discussed with Prince Imrahil and King Éomer, who’d spent the preceding evening with his wife’s family in the house the Lords of Dol Amroth had held in the Fifth Circle for several centuries.  Imrahil laughed.  “I have no intention of going to Harad, which, I suppose, leaves me in charge here, does it not?”

       Éomer and Lothiriel discussed the situation for some time with Prince Faramir and his wife before the young King of Rohan finally indicated, “If you think we will be welcome, brother, we would be glad to see Harad as well.”

       And so it was that a party of twenty-five planned to attend the seventieth birthday of the Farozi of Harad.

       Three days later those from the North who were not going on the trip to Harad took their leave of the King and Queen and began their trip back toward the Shire, Rivendell, and Annúminas.  Merry almost changed his mind, then shook his head.  “No, Pippin, I think this time it is your turn to go without me.”

       “It will feel odd,” Pippin said.  “We’ve almost always been together on our jaunts out of the Shire.”

       Arwen and her grandfather held one another close, and Elladan and Elrohir held niece and nephew one last time before they prepared to accompany the party Northwards.  Elladan smiled at his foster brother.  “The last time you went there your knife fighting stood you in good stead.  I hope you’ve not forgotten all we taught you.”

       A last series of embraces, and the northward journey was begun; Pippin rode with the King’s party that escorted them to the gate in the Rammas Echor, kissed wife, son, sisters, and beloved cousins one last time, then waited, his face somewhat white, as he watched them draw away.  All were quiet on the ride back to the city.

       Miriel of Lebennin was working feverishly on light-weight garments for those who would be going south, as were the Lady Arwen, her maids, and Elise wife of Ruvemir.  Her husband had included himself amongst those to attend the Farozi’s birthday celebration.

       “How will we travel?” Isumbard asked.

       “We will go by ship, aboard the Harthad uin Dún.”

       Ruvemir gave a sigh of acceptance.  “I hope that I do not embarrass myself, my beloved Lord King.  I very much fear I am not a good sailor.”

       Isumbard looked quite shaken.  “We will go upon a ship?  Will we sail upon the Sea?”

       Aragorn smiled.  “It will be much quicker than if we were to go by land, and in the end more comfortable as well.  When I went that way before it took us seven days to make the crossing.  This time it will be less of a journey, for the Harthad is both bigger and swifter than the merchant ship we sailed upon before.  We will not take our horses, for we’ll not need them there.”  He examined the Hobbit with compassion.  “Would you rather remain here, or be taken north to join the party heading back to the Shire?”

       Isumbard took a deep, calming breath, and looked at his cousin and brother-in-law.  “You are going to go even on a ship?”

       Pippin nodded.  “One of our great, great uncles was supposed to have served as a cabin boy on a ship from Gondor, you know.  It’s not as if no Hobbit ever went to sea before, after all.”

       The King took Bard’s hand and held it reassuringly in his own.  “If you will allow it, I can offer you soothing drafts to aid you in making the voyage, or even aid you to sleep through most of it, although you will regret that, I suspect, once you begin hearing the tales this one has to tell.”  He looked sideways at Pippin.

       Bard nodded.  “The draughts would help, I think.  But I don’t really want to sleep through the entire voyage, or at least I don’t think I would wish to do so.”

       So it was, five days after the majority of those from the North left to return to their own lands, the King and his party went to the Harlond to take ship for Harad.

Guest List

       An’Sohrabi, Farozi of Harad, examined the missive which had just been presented to him by the messenger.  It was not a scroll, but apparently was written on sheets of the thinner paper used in Gondor, carefully folded and secured in an envelope of undyed silk, that envelope sealed with dark green wax which had been impressed with Lord Rustovrid’s distinctive seal of sword and gazelle.  An’Sohrabi absently dismissed the messenger, broke the seal and carefully lifted out the enclosed sheets and opened them to read.  His son and his son’s wife stood nearby where they might hear what was sent by Harad’s Ambassador to Gondor.

       The Farozi read silently to himself for a time, then finally gave a nod and looked at the two who stood nearby.  “The King An’Elessar has agreed to come to take part in the celebration,” he said.  “and with him will come twenty-four others.”  Rather dryly he added, “The King hopes that this will not be too large a party for our guest quarters.  Also, as his gift to us he sends ahead of the ship carrying his party another carrying twenty head of cattle and twenty crates of fowl.”

       His son Anhkrabi straightened with surprise.  “That is a generous gift,” he commented.

       “What quarters will be needed for slaves and servants?” asked Ankhrabi’s wife.

       After rereading the entire missive twice, the Farozi looked into Nefiramonrani’s eyes, his own brows raised.  “Apparently, none.”

       Nefiramonrani was stunned with the idea.  “None?  They bring no servants or slaves?  Are ours to do all for them--dress their hair, help them dress, apply their kohl and other paints, assist them with their jewelry?”

       “A woman comes to keep watch over the four young children who come with their parents, but that is all.”  He cleared his throat and began to read aloud.

       Gracious Lord Farozi, the Lord King has asked me to advise you that he is honored to accept the invitation to take part in the celebration of your seventieth birthday, and looks forward to seeing you again at that time.  As you know, the invitation arrived at the time of the birth of the second child born to the Lord King and Lady Queen of Gondor and Arnor, so there are many notables present in the King’s court at this time to witness the birth and do honor to the King’s family.  Several of them have agreed to accompany the Lord An’Elessar and his wife and family, desirous of doing honor to you and to attend on their beloved Lord and Lady.

       He asks that I advise you of the race and derivation of each who will come:

From Gondor and Arnor:

       Himself, his wife (who is of Elven heritage), their young daughter who is five years old and newborn son.

       The Envoy from Arnor, a Man.

       Three Men of Arnor and Gondor to serve as Guard of Honor.

       A Lady of the Court to attend to the needs of the royal children when their parents must be busy.  Lady Avrieth has agreed to care for the other two children who will attend as well as for the King’s children.

       The King’s sculptor and his apprentice, both Men of Gondor.

       The Lord Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor, his wife, and their young son.

       Two of the Prince’s guard, both Men of Gondor.

From Rohan:

       The Lord King An’Éomer, his wife, and their young son.

       The envoy from Rohan to the Court of Gondor

       A member of the King’s Guard.  All Men.

From the Woodland Realm:

       The Lord Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgolen, son to An’Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm, an Elf, friend and companion to the King An’Elessar.

From Erebor:

       The Lord Gimli son of Gloin, Lord of the Glittering Caves, a Dwarf, friend and companion to the King An’Elessar.

From the Shire:

       Peregrin Took, Heir to the Thain of the Shire, also a Captain of the Guard of the Citadel for Gondor and Arnor, a Hobbit, friend and companion to the King An’Elessar.

       Isumbard Took, cousin and daughter’s husband to the Thain of the Shire, a Hobbit, escort for Captain Peregrin Took.

This comprises thirteen Men, three women from among Men, four children from among Men,  one Woman from among Elves, a second Elf, a Dwarf, and two Hobbits or Pheriannath.  He hopes that this will not put too great a strain on the guest quarters of whatever place you might put at their disposal.

       He also sends a gift ahead of the party, for by a separate ship capable of carrying such things he sends twenty head of cattle and twenty crates of live fowl to the increase of your royal herds and flocks. 

       The King An’Elessar and his wife would prefer to share a room together, as would the King An’Éomer and his wife, as would the Prince Faramir and his wife, as would the Lord Berevrion and his wife the Lady Avrieth, who cares for the Queen’s children.

       A single room with two separate beds (preferably low beds) may be prepared for the Pheriannath.

       A single room with two separate beds (one of them preferably low) may be prepared for Master Ruvemir and his apprentice.

       Rooms adjoining their parents’ rooms should be prepared for the children, who are all quite young.

       Each of the rest should be given separate rooms.

       Be advised that the two from among the Pheriannath will need to eat at least five meals a day, that being in the nature of Hobbits.

       Every member of the party is of great importance in his homeland, and all are well beloved of the King An’Elessar and the Lady Arwen.

       There is no need to assign body servants to these, for they are all accustomed to assisting one another when journeying.

       There will be no slaves attending on these--slavery is illegal in Gondor, Arnor, Rohan, the Shire, and among Elves and Dwarves.

       All prefer to have access to bathing rooms at least once daily.

       None will be comfortable with our headrests.

       I know of no dietary restrictions for any, although none is likely to enjoy eating the meat of monkeys, goats, or camels.

       When they must sit at tables, the two Pheriannath and Master Ruvemir will require thick cushions to sit upon, and probably behind them as well, particularly Master Ruvemir.

       None will be likely to accept cones of scented fat during feasts or celebrations--such is not done among any of their peoples.

       All are accustomed to cooking for themselves and to preparing meals for others at times.  The Pheriannath particularly are likely to offer to assist not only in preparing food but also in cleaning after meals.  Such is considered polite behavior among their people.  Be advised most of such are excellent cooks, even the greatest among them.

       All will carry the type of utensils used by their peoples during meals that they not embarrass themselves by being clumsy with ours.

       All of those indicated to be friends and companions to the Lord An’Elessar tend to be familiar in their speech to him, and he to them.  This is not an indication of lack of respect, but of the level of friendship and mutual love they share.

       The nature of Dwarves tends to make their speech quite blunt at times--they are not prone to be subtle.  This is not a sign of disrespect.

       All speak Westron; all those of Gondor and Arnor and the Elves speak Sindarin and most speak Adunaic as well.  The King, the Queen, Prince Faramir, the Lady Lothiriel, and Prince Legolas all speak Haradri with some fluency.  The rest have learned such phrases necessary to give greetings, to offer thanks for services rendered, and to make simple requests.  There has not been ample time to aid them to learn a great deal of our language, although the King and Queen intend to aid their practice during the voyage.

       All are from cooler climates than our land.  Some may find themselves very uncomfortable in the heat of Harad.  The King intends to keep watch on their health.

       The King and Queen are both skilled in healing and herblore.

       The King, Queen, Prince Legolas, Captain Peregrin, Lord Hardorn, Lady Lothiriel, and Captain Damrod are all gifted singers, and several are gifted with instruments of music.  Master Isumbard Took is a gifted dancer and skilled in the dances of his people.  Master Ruvemir is a truly gifted artist.  The Lady Arwen is one of the most talented embroiderers yet born.

       All will seek to honor our ways; be aware their own ways also should be respected.

       All are accustomed to riding horses or ponies (in the case of the Hobbits and Master Ruvemir as well as the Princess Melian).

       Those who serve as guards, both the King An’Elessar and the King An’Éomer, Prince Faramir, the Lord Gimli, Prince Legolas, and the Lady Éowyn will all wish to practice their skill with blades at least three times per ten-day.  Master Isumbard and several others will also wish to practice their skills with bow and arrow at least two times per ten-day. They are all likely to welcome the chance to spar with any willing to try their skill against them.

       All are highly literate.

       Do not underestimate the Pheriannath.  Their appearance belies their wisdom and experience, their skills, and their sheer determination.  Great ambition is not a common failing of Hobbits; but they are renowned for their demonstrated capacity for responsibility, reliability, and their hardy nature.  Be forewarned, however, that they are also remarkably curious and prone to be somewhat unpredictable.

       The King, Lord Gimli, two of the Northern Lords, and the two Pheriannath all take part in an activity called the smoking of pipeweed.  I cannot describe it so that you will understand--it must be seen to be understood.

       Please understand, my Lord Farozi, that these who attend on the King and Queen of Gondor and Arnor and who accompany them to Harad are among the most unique individuals I have ever met.  Almost all took part in the fight against Sauron and have survived experiences we can barely appreciate.  I have come to bear each a respect that grows deeper by the day, and the respect and love shown them by the people here cannot begin to be measured.  We would do well to have each as an ally to our land.

       I remain ever your most devoted servant,
                            Rustovrid, Captain of Harad, Envoy to Gondor

       When the reading was finished Nefiramonrani looked at her husband’s father somewhat blankly.  How much of what he’d read had penetrated her mind was questionable.  “They bring no servants or slaves?  And they will assist one another?”  She appeared to be in shock.  She looked at him, shaking her head.  “Do they not have servants at least in their own homes?”

       “Yes, they do have servants there,” her husband said, “for Lord Rustovrid has described them to me.  The Citadel of Minas Anor is, after all, quite large and no private home.  But apparently when they travel they do not feel the need to take their servants with them, and even those who serve as guards of honor tend to be Lords of the realm in many cases, or so Rustovrid has written.”

       “And even the one who cares for their children when they must be about other business is the wife of the Envoy from Arnor.  That is interesting.”  The Farozi considered  thoughtfully.  “They do indeed appear to be shockingly self-sufficient.”  He smiled.  “But then, on his last visit to our land he who is now King of Gondor rode alone on his return from near Ephir, visiting the tents of herder clans.  And I was assured at the time he did well as a merchant, and would undoubtedly make a very clear profit once the goods he traded for and purchased here were sold in the North.”

       “He served as a merchant?”  It was unclear how much more Nefiramonrani would be able to accept.

       The Farozi laughed.  “Ah, yes, he worked as a merchant.  Unusual individual, the Lord An’Elessar.  He told us that he’d worked as a hired sword, as a breaker and trainer of horses, as a scholar, as a teacher, and as a healer; and I can attest that as a healer he was well skilled indeed, and that I can think of no one likely to best him with sword or knife even then.”

       “He must be quite elderly now,” noted Ankhrabi.  “Do you think he is indeed the father of his child?”

       An’Sohrabi shrugged.  “It is said he fought like a demon breaking the siege of Minas Tirith, and later before the Black Gate.  Those who returned from those two battles state he was yet dark of hair and looked to be of middle years and full of majesty.  He is not a normal Man, though Man he is.”

       He read through the letter one more time.  “So, it is to be four married couples who prefer to sleep together in one room, at least when sojourning abroad, two pairs of the menfolk who will prefer to have separate low beds in shared rooms, three rooms for children alongside their parents, and the rest each in his own room.  You will see to it such are prepared, my daughter?  And, what is said about the headrests--that is likely to be true.  Such are not used in Northern lands, or so he assured me before.”

       Somewhat numbly Nefiramonrani nodded.  “I will see it done, my Lord.”

       “Good.  And we will have a chance to evaluate for ourselves the leadership of the lands of the North, apparently.  But what are these Hobbits?  I’ve not heard of them before now.”

       All looked to one another, none knowing the answer to that.

Ankhrabi

       Ankhrabi, son of the Farozi An’Sohrabi, stood upon the pier at Risenmouthe dressed in a formal kilt and a pectoral of a great golden falcon clutching an ankh in each talon, an arm ring decorated with other Sun symbols above his left elbow, the dagger recently given him by his father tucked in his belt.  By him stood his twin sons, Amon’osiri and Ma’osiri, the two nine-year-old boys solemn as they watched the great ship from the North near the dock where they stood.

       “Is that the ship of the great King An'Ellessar of Gondor, Babari?” asked Amon’osiri.

       Looking at the black banner decorated with White Tree, Winged Crown, and Seven Stars which depended from the main mast, the Prince of Harad gave a single nod of his proud head.  “Yes, my son,” he answered.

       Ma’osiri peered up at his father.  “Does king mean that he is farozi for his people, Baba?”

       “Much the same, Ma’osiri.”

       “Does he have a son?”

       “I believe he does, but that his son is but a babe in arms.  He has a daughter who is older.”

       They watched the ship come closer in and the sailors tossing and catching the great cables to be used in fastening it to the quay, watched great fenders be dropped over the side to lie along the pier.  Amon’osiri asked, “Will there be many with him?”

       “Twenty-five altogether, Rustovrid has written.”

       “Are they all of Gondor, Babari?”

       “No, not all of Gondor--they reportedly represent several of the Northern lands and peoples.”  He looked to both boys, who’d managed to maintain their neat appearance for quite some time now.  Each wore a fine linen kilt, waist belt, fine leather sandals, and a pectoral collar, Ma’osiri’s depicting the Feather of Truth and Amon’Osiri’s the Solar Disk with the Eye of Amon overlaid on it.  Their hair was long and pulled over to the right side of their head in the boys’ style, held in place with a special clip.  Yes, they looked well enough.  He glanced about them at their attendants--personal guard, the steward of his house as Prince of Harad, fan-bearers, his personal scribe, the Priest of Amon, four of the nobles of Thetos, three of the granddaughters of An’Horubi with great trays carrying decanters of date wine and small cups from which to drink, the ambassador from Gondor and his wife.  Yes, there was enough for the honor needed to meet the King of the Northlands and those who attended him.  He hoped that he would be understood by the Man.

       Sailors on the ship were coming forward and setting into place the gangplank, and all in the greeting party straightened to attention.  Now they would begin to see....  The deck of the ship seemed crowded with folk who began to drift apart into parties.  Finally the first five disembarking stepped on the gangplank, crossed to the dock, bowed as they stepped off followed by one of their guards.  “My Lord Ankhrabi,” said Rustovrid.  “I greet you with gladness.”

       “It is good to see you return, again, Lord Rustovrid, Lady Ghansaret, you and your daughters.”  All gave the ambassador to the court of Gondor and Arnor respectful bows.

       “I am to introduce the rest as they step from the ship, Lord.”

       Ankhrabi nodded his satisfaction.  “That is a good plan.”

       “The Lord Gimli son of Gloin, Lord of the Glittering Caves, a Dwarf of the Iron Hills and the realm of Erebor beneath the Lonely Mountains.  The Lord Legolas Greenleaf of Eryn Lasgolen, Prince of the great Woodland Realm and one of those who has been seeing to the recovery of the lands of Ithilien.  Both are friends and long-time companions to the Lord An'Elessar Telcontar of Gondor and Arnor, and assisted in the battles against the forces of Mordor.”

       Dwarf and Elf moved across the gangplank and onto the dock, then bowed low to the party on the dock, giving their deepest reverence to Ankhrabi and his sons before moving to the side.  The Elf was dressed in a long, loose tunic of soft silver silk over trousers of the same color, a long robe of soft green and silver over it, dark grey shoes of soft leather, a woven silver coronet set about his brow, his golden hair caught back from his face in two carefully wrought braids hanging free down the side of his face, a delicately wrought silver bead finishing each plait.  The Dwarf’s thick, red-brown hair was caught in a single great braid at the back wrapped in golden ribbons, and his forked beard and moustache were also braided, held with golden beads.  He wore a shirt of bloused green silk under a harness of worked leather; he wore finely worked leather boots, carried a throwing axe at his belt, and leaned on a great war axe as if it were a walking stick.  He was examining those on the dock with alert brown eyes, although he leaned now on his axe indicative of the fact he did not intend to use it.  The sons of Ankhrabi examined these guests with interest, and at a sign from their father, bowed toward them.

       “Isumbard Took of the Shire, cousin to the Thain of the Shire and husband to the Thain’s daughter Pearl.”

       A small figure now crossed the gangplank, his face showing relief to leave the ship.  He was dressed in dark silk trousers that ended mid-calf, a loosely bloused shirt of cream-colored raw silk finely embroidered, and a long vest of green.  His red-brown hair capped his head with short, close curls.  Although he was no taller than Ankhrabi’s two sons, there was no question of him being a boy himself, with his mature face, pointed ears, his large bare feet with the carefully brushed hair on top, the intelligent grey-green eyes, and responsible stance.  He approached Ankhrabi with dignity, bowed low and announced in a pleasant voice, “Isumbard Took, at your service my Lord,” said carefully in Haradri.  After the bow was returned he moved back to the side of the Dwarf, who set a hand on his shoulder.

       “Faramir, Prince of Ithilien and Steward of Gondor.  His wife Éowyn, sister to An'Éomer of Rohan, the White Lady of the Shieldarm, once Shield Maiden of her people.  Their son Elboron.”

       A Man robed in silver, his long ebon hair caught back from his face with a circlet of mithril, crossed the gangplank carrying a small boy in his arms, his wife tall and slender at his side, dressed in shining white with a dark green girdle from which hung her own sword to match that carried by her husband.  Her long golden hair was pulled back from her face, and a circlet of golden flowers, each with a garnet in its center, circled her brow.  They gave their reverences together, husband and wife, while their small son examined Ankhrabi and those attending him with eyes as piercingly grey as those of his father.  They moved smoothly to stand beside Elf and Dwarf and the small individual identified as Isumbard Took.  Two guards in white and silver crossed to stand on either side the couple. “Captains Beregond and Damrod of the White Company as guards to their lord and lady.”

       A tall figure in brown and green in an embossed leather gambeson, a rich green mantle hanging from his shoulders, crossed and bowed, a helmet crested with a black horse tail under his arm, a great sword with pommel decorated with horseheads hanging from his belt.  “Lord Elfhelm, Envoy of Rohan to the Court of Gondor, and kinsman of the King of Rohan.  An'Éomer King, Lord of Rohan, his Lady Lothiriel of Dol Amroth, Queen of Rohan, and their son Elfwine.”  The royal couple from Rohan were dressed in greens and golds, the golden-haired King wearing a golden circlet adorned with emeralds, double horsehead over his brow; his wife with a circlet of golden leaves also set with emeralds over her dark auburn hair.  The small boy carried in his mother’s arms had hair as dark as his mothers, but eyes as blue as those of his father, and was dressed also in dark green.

       “Haleth son of Háma, as guard to his lord and lady.”

       The tall young guardsman slipped behind the royal family of Rohan. 

       “Peregrin Took, heir to the Thain of the Shire and a captain of the Guard of the Citadel for Gondor and Arnor.”

       Another of the small beings, feet bare, hair a bright auburn, eyes green, black and silver tabard worked with White Tree, Seven Stars in a circle, and Winged Crown over a shirt of silver-grey silk, a belt of linked leaves enameled with green from which hung a sword appropriate to his stature, trousers of black silk again stopping mid-calf over his bare feet, crossed the gangplank.  He bowed to Ankhrabi and his sons, then stood aside.

       “Ruvemir son of Mardil, Master Sculptor, and his apprentice Owain of Minas Anor.”

       Another small figure crossed the gangplank accompanied by a young Man who was much taller.  This small figure was dressed in light blue tunic over darker blue trousers, and was shod in dark grey; his hair was dark, as was his short beard.  The youth was yet slight, his hair a rich brown, his eyes the color of his hair.  He carried a satchel filled, apparently, with books of some sort.  They bowed deeply, but the smaller figure straightened, his dark eyes examining them with interest.  He held out his hand to the youth who accompanied him, and he was quickly given one of the booklets and a tube.  The smaller figure took from the tube a drawing stick, opened the book, folded back its pages, and was already beginning to draw as he stood there.

       “The Lady Avrieth of Eriador, nurse to the children of the King of Gondor and Arnor.  The Lady Melian, daughter of the Lord An'Elessar and Lady Arwen.”

       A tall woman accompanied a slender girl child over the gangplank.  The girl was dressed in a soft gold, her hair pulled back into a single braid of dark gold.

       “The Lord Aragorn An'Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar and Lady Arwen Undomiel of Gondor and Arnor, and their son Eldarion.  The Lord Hardorn of Arnor, Lord Hildigor of Arnor, and Lord Mablung of Gondor, as the King’s guard of honor.  Lord Berevrion of Arnor to represent the court of Arnor.”  And so the party was complete.  Lord Berevrion had dark hair, a shaven face, eyes again a clear grey, similar to the Lords Hardorn and Hildigor.  Hildigor was a young Man, yet appeared competent and watchful.  Hardorn was apparently much of an age with the King himself, although what age that might be was not clear--middle years, strong and skilled and wary, his dark hair silver at the temples, his beard also shot with silver.  Mablung’s hair was lighter and also touched with grey, and his eyes a blue to match those of the King of Rohan.  Those identified as guards were dressed similarly to the small one identified as Peregrin Took, but their hair was longer and they wore boots where the small one was unshod.  The Lord Berevrion, on the other hand, wore trousers of a dark grey, and shirt and robes of silver and white.

       As for King and Queen--how could one tell how old they might be?  Their hair was sleek and very dark brown, although there was again silver at the temples of the King and in his neatly trimmed beard; their faces were full of majesty; their grey eyes shone with wisdom and long experience.  The face of the King was lined with years of care, but with no sign of it having ever known despair.  Humor and competence were both to be seen, an ability to know austerity along with a feeling of great contentment.  There was a hint of the griefs he’d known there, but they were griefs accepted and acknowledged, nothing to be used to distract him from the joy of the present.  As for the Queen----  Ankhrabi looked into her eyes and was lost with awe as he saw reflected there the light of stars, the wisdom of at least an age of the world.  He bowed deeply.

       As Rustovrid now identified the notables of Harad who stood on the dock, Sa’Amonri, the priest who attended on Ankhrabi, found himself feeling he recognized the one who stood as King of Gondor and Arnor--something in the stance and the eyes.  But, no, surely not?  Could this be a son of that one who’d come here so long ago, who’d removed the growth from the side of An’Horubi?

       Sailors were now bringing trunks and caskets and satchels off the ship and setting them in a careful set of piles on the quay.  One of the guards for the King reached down and lifted up a red satchel and handed it to the Lord Elessar, who accepted it and slipped it in a familiar manner over his head and under one arm, a red satchel tied with a remarkably complex knot....

       Then the King was moving forward, catching the arms of Sa’Amonri before he quite tottered, was looking into his eyes with the look of a competent healer, the look he’d used in examining An’Horubi so long ago.  “Are you ill?” he asked in only lightly accented Haradri, the voice and tone identical to fifty years past.  Then his eyes widened with recognition and a degree of humor.  “I am sorry, my lord priest,” he said quietly.  “I’d certainly not thought any I knew from that time would be here to welcome me.  An’Sohrabi did not warn you?  No, obviously not.”

       “He knows?”

       “I would certainly expect so.  Rustovrid has told me that certain information was relayed to the Farozi that he would recognize and so know who I was and am.”

       “But how?”

       The small bearded one was moving forward.  “Is there ought I can do, beloved Lord?” he asked in Westron.

       “No, no illness,” the King answered in the same tongue, “but you have another tale of recognition to add to your count, Ruvemir.”

       The small one gave a chuckle of amusement.  “Even here, then?” he commented.  At a look from his King he moved back to his place, but did not look chastened.

       The Lord Elessar turned back to the priest, and spoke again in Haradri.  “I will explain in a moment how it is.”  He helped the priest to straighten, gave a low bow, and stepped back.  Seeing the three maidens carrying the trays of goblets, he asked, “Is this intended for us, Lord Ankhrabi?”

       “You speak our language?  I had no idea you were so fluent, Lord An'Elessar,” Ankhrabi answered.  “Yes, it is intended for the refreshment of all on your arrival.”

       “Thank you.”  He addressed the nearest of the maidens, “If I may?” and at her nod took one of the pitchers and lifted the lid, gave a sniff to it, smiled, and poured some into one of the cups, set down decanter and capped it again, and finally lifted the cup and formally presented it to the priest.  “If you will drink this, I believe it will assist you in your recovery.”  The Man accepted it with a word of thanks and drank, then returned it with a smile and shallow bow.  Assured all was well with the priest, the King turned again to his host.  “You will forgive me, I pray.  However, as a healer my first concern is ever to see to those who might need my services.  How will we be going upriver to Thetos?”

       “There is a barge waiting closer to the shore.  If any of your people would wish to refresh yourselves----”  He indicated the waiting women with their trays.  The King translated for those with him. 

       At a quiet question from the one called Isumbard the King smiled and turned to their host.  “He asks if we shall we carry our own trunks?”

       Ankhrabi looked shocked at the idea.  “There are porters there,” he said, indicating where a group of Men waited orders, “to carry your goods to the barge.”

       Several of those who had traveled with the King of Gondor were stepping forward to catch up personal satchels, packs, or saddle bags from the pile and slinging them over shoulders.  The two boys watched with great interest to see that elsewhere even great lords and ladies might carry at least some of their own goods.  Others were approaching the maidens with the trays of drink, and with words of thanks were filling cups with the date wine and drinking from them.  The King offered a filled cup to his wife, who accepted it with pleasure, the King reaching out now to take his infant son into his arms, his daughter leaving her nurse’s side to come to that of her parents, looking with curiosity at Ankhrabi’s sons.  Finally all finished their drinks, and with more words of thanks to the servers set their cups back on the trays the maidens still carried, and all stood waiting.  The one identified as Prince Faramir turned to their host and said in heavily accented, careful Haradri, “We thank you for your welcome, Lord Ankhrabi, and for your courtesy toward us.”

       Ankhrabi nodded.  “If you are all ready, then....” and he turned to lead the way down the pier to the steps down to the barge.

       Most of the guests appeared to appreciate the shade of the canopy which had been set over the deck and found seats on the benches gratefully.  The King was watching his own folk with obvious concern, and once he was certain all were well he turned to their host.  “I am afraid that some may become ill with the heat, for the climate here is quite different from that to which they are accustomed.  We have tried to make certain that their clothing is appropriate, but it is still likely one or more may find themselves overcome.”

       “You said that you are a healer?”

       “Yes.  My family line has ever proven apt to healing, and I was trained to it from early childhood.”

       “Yet you are also a warrior.”

       The tall Northerner smiled.  “I was trained to that also from childhood.  I remember comparing with Rustovrid when we received our first practice swords, and we both began training when we were five or six years old.”

       The Ambassador from Harad laughed.  “Ah, yes, we did discuss that, did we not?  I’d forgotten.  The day you first sang to me the song of the frog who would marry the mouse.”

       The small warrior who stood guard by the King looked over his shoulder to meet the King’s eyes with curiosity.  The Lord Elessar smiled and translated, then added, “Yes, I sang it to him.  He was but six years at the time, if I recall correctly.”

       Ankhrabi looked at the King with even more interest.  “How is it, my Lord, that you were able to know Rustovrid when he was a child?” he asked in careful Westron.

       The Northern Lord looked at him with consideration.  Finally he asked in Haradri, “How much do you know of the history of the Northern lands of Middle Earth, my Lord?”

       “Little enough.”

       “You have heard of Númenor?”

       “That is the fabled island nation that once was far to the West across the great Sea?”

       The King nodded.  “Elendil the Tall, the first High King of Gondor and Arnor from whom I am descended, was born on the Star Isle.  Those from whom he was descended commonly lived for three hundred years or more.  The Northern Dúnedain have intermarried seldom with those not of Númenorian ancestry, and so although none have reached three hundred years for most of the last Age of Middle Earth, yet we still may approach two hundred years, if we are not slain otherwise.  I was almost fifty years of age when I visited Harad before, over fifty years ago now.  I am now almost a hundred years, and if I do not die in battle or at the hands of an assassin, I will very likely reach two hundred years of age.

       “I served in Rohan and in Gondor when I was younger, and then I traveled into Rhun and Harad.  I was here as a trader, and took a caravan far to the South to near Ephir.  I returned ahead of the rest of the caravan, and met your father, at least two of his brothers, and your grandfather, as well as Lord Rustovrid when he was a boy and his father, and Sa’Amonri here as well.”

       “Your wife is the same?”

       The Lord Elessar smiled as he shook his head.  “Oh, my wife is older than I--far older than I.  She is daughter to Elrond Peredhil and was granted the life of the Eldar until she chose to cleave to me.”  And when he looked to her there was still a look of wonder in his face as if even after this time he could not believe that such a woman would come to love him.

       “And your son?”

       “He and his sister will possibly live longer than I, for in them flows more clearly the blood of the Peredhil and the Eldar.”

       Lord Hardorn had overseen the loading of the chests from the ship, and now that all was at last loaded he gave thanks to the porters and boarded the barge, sitting not far from his King.

       The King looked at the small figure of the one called Isumbard, then turned and addressed the other.  “Pippin, do you think he can stand this additional trip by barge?”

       The small one looked at his kinsman, then replied, “I should think so.  He’s been much better about things the last two days, and this is very similar to the Buckleberry Ferry, although much larger.  I think it’s the heat more than the fact we are on water that is bothering him now.”

       “How are you holding up?”

       “It’s not as bad as standing before the Black Gate was.  And what I’m wearing is much more suited to the climate than the mail and helm I wore then.”

       The King examined the small one’s eyes, then smiled.  “Yes, you will do well.”  He turned to their host.  “Is there cool water which can be offered to Master Isumbard?” he asked.

       “Of course.” the Farozi’s son indicated, and he turned to one of the attendants and ordered that a drink of water be offered to the other beardless small one.  The drink was accepted with relief, and the recipient drank deeply of it, then pulled a square of cloth out of a pocket and wiped his brow with it.

       Ankhrabi turned with interest to the Lord Elessar.  “I have not heard of the lands spoken of by Lord Rustovrid,” he said.  “These two--” he indicated Pippin and Isumbard,”--are from a land called the Shire?”

       “Yes,” the King said, and smiled down at his companion, then looked back to meet Ankhrabi’s eyes.  “The Shire is a small land far to the North and West in Arnor, not far from the coast of the Sundering Sea.  The folk call themselves Hobbits, and as you can see they are both similar to Men and quite different at the same time.  Captain Peregrin and his cousin Meriadoc are the two largest Hobbits now living, owing to their friendship with the Ents of Fangorn Forest.  The three most influential individuals within the Shire are the Thain, the Master of Buckland, and the Mayor, all three of whom I have come to know, and in the case of the Mayor I know him well indeed.  They are a great hearted people, and are remarkably hardy and resilient.  And it is to two of their own that Middle Earth owes gratitude as those who brought down the might of Mordor.”

       “And is one of these....?” began the Haradri.

       The one the King had called Pippin answered.  “No, the two who were responsible are not here.  One was my kinsman Frodo Baggins, who has left Middle Earth, almost destroyed himself by what he suffered in his quest to destroy Sauron’s Ring of Power.  The other is Samwise Gamgee, who was his servant and friend and who was made his heir, and is now Mayor of the Shire.”

       “I see,” Ahkhrabi said.

       The King added, “It is to Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee that I owe the rule of Gondor and Arnor restored, and due to their sacrifice that I was able to at last marry the woman I’ve loved since I came of age.”  The King had straightened, and placed his free hand about his wife’s shoulders.

       Sa’Amonri listened to this.  He’d learned Westron in the years since the coming of the one he’d called Horubi’ninarin as he had studied the healing texts from the Northern Lands he’d asked traders to find for him.  He didn’t understand every word he heard, but enough to catch the gist of the conversation.  He looked again at the small figure who sat by the King, saw the mutual respect and love that was openly between them, saw the shared look of grief at the mention of the name of Frodo Baggins.  He wondered what kind of person this Frodo Baggins had been.  Well, he would undoubtedly learn.

       The daughters of Rustovrid and Ghansaret ranged in age from ten to seventeen, slender girls with the dark skin of their tribe, the wide nose and lips, the shining white teeth, their black hair long and tightly curled, drawn tightly back from their faces and then allowed to fall past their shoulders.  The eldest was smiling broadly as she looked again on the land of her birth; the others seemed somewhat uncomfortable.  Each wore a white dress of Haradri design and a collar of golden beads enameled in blue, scarlet, and white.  The middle girl, who appeared to be about fourteen, asked her mother in Westron, “Why does it seem so much hotter, Mamani?”

       “It is only,” her mother answered in Haradri, “that you have been so long in a cooler climate.  You will become accustomed to it again, beloved.”

       Ma’osiri appeared at last to have overcome his initial uncertainties and began to allow his curiosity to be expressed.  “What language is it you speak?”

       The Lord Elessar smiled down on the boy.  “We are speaking among ourselves in Westron.  We speak primarily Westron in Gondor and Arnor, although we also speak two different forms of Sindarin.  I have learned many languages over the many years of my life, however.  My people of the Northern Dúnedain speak Adunaic and Sindarin amongst themselves.  I grew up in the Elven haven of Imladris where I was raised to speak Adunaic, Sindarin, Quenya, and Westron.  I served amongst the Riders of Rohan as a young Man and learned Rohirric from them.  I traveled through Rhun where I learned Rhunish, and then here to Harad where I learned both Haradri and the Trader’s Tongue.  I’ve also been in Angmar where they speak a different tongue that is similar both to Westron and Adunaic, but is different from both.  With my friend Legolas I primarily speak Sindarin, but also the Sylvan tongue used amongst his people.  I know only enough Khazad to translate some place names and some of their more common curses and blessings.”  The Dwarf gave him a meaningful look, and he laughed.

       Amon’osiri looked impressed.  “That is a great number of languages to know,” he said.

       “Once you know two tongues well, it becomes easier to learn more, for you begin to find similarities and appreciate how the usages apply.”

       The two boys considered this and looked at one another.  The idea that learning more than two tongues could be easy was a new one to both of them.

       Ankhrabi turned again to the Hobbit.  “What is your land like?” he asked in Westron.  With the King’s and occasionally the Queen’s assistance as well, he was able to learn much about first the Shire, then the land of Rohan, and eventually of Ithilien.

       Eventually the King addressed Lord Amrahil and Lady Anidril who served as ambassadors from Gondor to Harad.  “Your cousin sends his love.  He’d hoped perhaps his youngest, Amrothos, might accompany me, but he was just accepted to serve with the Rangers of Ithilien and did not wish to come.  Elphir and his bride are very happy, and are serving in Dol Amroth while his father serves in Minas Anor.”

       “And Erchirion?”

       “He rides now in Rohan amongst the Rohirrim, learning to appreciate the life his sister has chosen and the ways of the people of his brother-in-law.”

       “At least I represent the family, cousins,” smiled the Lady Lothiriel.

       “Well, since your father is busy and your brothers likewise, at least we have one representative of Dol Amroth here in you,” Lady Anidril said.  “I hope that you and Lord Éomer will enjoy your visit.”

       Food was set out for a meal, and Ankhrabi saw relief in the eyes of the Hobbit Pippin, although his cousin did not seem to eat much.  The King was watching this with concern.  “Something disturbs you about the small one?” the Haradri prince asked.

       “When a Hobbit does not begin filling a plate as soon as food is presented, I grow worried.  They eat considerably more per meal than does the average Man under normal circumstances, and more meals per day than we as well.  Their need for nourishment is far greater than ours.”

       “The other small one is not a--Hobbit?”

       “In Gondor they refer to those similar to Ruvemir and his sister as mannikins.  Here I believe they are called ‘dwarflings’.”

       “Then they are not a different people from yourselves?”

       The King laughed again.  “Well, as I and my kindred are a different people from most Men, I must suppose he is at least some different from myself.  But he is indeed of the normal race of Men, as you and your people and most of those of Rohan and Gondor and Arnor are--those who are not Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, trolls, orcs, giants or Ents, at least.”

       “You say that he is a sculptor?”

       “Yes, that is his profession--and he is quite a good one.  We have known one another for six years now, and he has done a variety of statues in Gondor and Arnor and even one for the Ghan of Mundolië.  His sister is one of our Master embroiderers, as is my beloved wife as well.”

       The Queen, who was nursing her son under the cover of a light blanket, gave a small laugh, which the King returned.  He looked back at the Hobbit, his brow creasing slightly, and said quietly, “If you will excuse me for a moment.”  He rose, gave a slight bow, and went to Isumbard’s side, went gracefully to one knee to speak to him, set his hand on the small one’s shoulder.

       “He is ever the healer first,” commented the Lady Arwen Undomiel.

       “You are one who embroiders cloth?”

       “Yes, I am, and one who prepares clothing as well.  I have sewn and embroidered much of what those who came with us wear, for we sought to prepare clothing comfortable to the wearers but also fitting both for the climate and to do honor to the court of your father.  Ruvemir’s sister and his wife, who has also taken up sewing and embroidery, worked also in the project.”

       “Is his wife also a dwarfling?”

       “No, she is not tall, but she is not a dwarfling or mannikin.  There is much love between the two of them.”

       “The--Hobbits--are they wed?”

       “Yes, to women among their own people.  They came south with a party of their own people to attend the celebrations of the tenth New Year since the fall of Mordor and my husband’s acclamation as King of Gondor and Arnor, and all stayed to see the birth of our second child.  The invitation from your father arrived during their stay, and when Captain Peregrin decided to accompany us, Master Isumbard and his wife decided that he should accompany his cousin as well that Pippin not be the only Perian in the company.  The love of the Periannath for one another is very strong.”

       “‘Periannath’?”

       “That is the Sindarin name for the race of Hobbits, my Lord.”

       “How did two of them bring down the might of Mordor?”

       “That is a long tale, Lord, and is best told once--and well.  Let you wait until it is told unto the full court of your people.  It is enough for the moment simply to know that they did, and that we all grieve for the passing of Frodo Baggins into the West with my father and grandmother.”

       “Then he has died.”

       “It is not believed he has died, my Lord, only that he has gone to the Undying Lands with my father and grandmother and others of my Elven kindred who have chosen at last to abandon the mortal lands of Middle Earth.  There he is offered the healing he cannot know here, for the Ring almost destroyed both his body and spirit.  He will in time die as is proper for all mortals, but at least it will not be primarily due to the scouring of his very soul by the Enemy’s works.”

       “If the love of the Periannath for one anothers is as great as you have said, then how is it he was convinced to leave?”

       “His elderly cousin Bilbo accompanied him, and we hope that when the time is right Samwise will join him that he not be alone at the end.  Yet now he must at times feel very lonely, for all the beauty of Aman that surrounds him and the honor given him by Eldar, Maiar, and Valar, for he is most like but the one mortal in all that land at this time.”

       The Hobbit Peregrin looked at her.  “Then, you also believe Cousin Bilbo has already died?”

       “You have heard the reports of Estel and your cousin Ferdibrand, Pippin.  Yes, I suspect he has finished his time as is right for your people.  He was very old, after all.”

       “Stubborn old Baggins,” Captain Peregrin said softly and with a level of reverence, a sad smile on his face.  “I pray for comfort for Frodo.”

       The Queen Arwen nodded solemnly, and laid her hand on the shoulder of the Hobbit as a single tear ran down his face.  Yet he remained at attention and watchful as was right for his office.

The Farozi’s Hospitality

       They arrived in Thetos some time after sunset.  All were tired with inactivity, it appeared, but bore the ride with good humor.  As the evening cooled with the sinking of Amon’s disk into the West the other Hobbit Isumbard began to recover, finally eating more and drinking deeply of the water offered him.

       The children had begun to talk, and Ma’osiri and Amon’osiri approached Rustovrid’s younger daughters and the King’s daughter and began to ask them questions about the voyage and what their homes were like, eventually beginning to describe their own home and quarters.  The Princess Melian knew some Haradri, and with Rustovrid’s daughters translating for her she appeared to be not only following the conversation but adding to it at times.

       At one point when the Lady Éowyn was attempting to lull her son into taking a nap when the child, who was about a year in age from what Ankhrabi could tell, became fussy, at last the King had intervened, speaking in a mock commanding voice at first that put a halt to the whining and evoked a giggle; then he looked at his Steward and suggested something in a different tongue, at which Prince Faramir had nodded, smiling.  Together they began to sing a song which was apparently a lullaby, and the Elf joined in the song, his high, clear voice blending with the lower tones of the two Men.  The little boy smiled with delight, calmed, and eventually closed his eyes, turned slightly on his side, and drifted off to sleep, as did the son of the King and Queen of Rohan as well.

       When at last the barge reached the Farozi’s dock below the royal compound all stretched with relief, and again took up their personal bags over their shoulders, the three mothers lifting their sons into their arms, and all began to disembark.

       The King had the Hobbit Isumbard by him as they left the barge, his hand again on the small one’s shoulder, while the Elf walked behind the bearded dwarfling.  They climbed the stone stairway up to the water gate in the compound’s wall, and were allowed entrance by the guard.  Servants carrying torches greeted them and led them across a court to the door into the house of the Farozi, where they were met by his steward.  This was a tall man for a Haradri, and although now elderly was clearly alert and capable.  He saw the party admitted into a larger antechamber and turned to address them; then, as his gaze fell on the King of Gondor and Arnor he stopped, his intended speech of welcome and lecture on protocol forgotten.

       The Lord Elessar broke the stunned silence.  “My Lord Amonrabi?  It is long and long since I last saw you.”

       “Then----”  Amonrabi’s mouth appeared to have gone completely dry.  “You were called Horubi’ninarin,” he finally managed.

       “Yes, long ago that is what I asked your brother to call me.  It was a rough translation of the name I bore in Gondor and Arnor--Thorongil, which means the Eagle of the Star.”

       “But you appear to have barely aged!”

       “I assure you I have, but in keeping with the aging of my own people.  Indeed I am older than you, but am but in middle years for my own kindred.  Obviously your brother did not warn you any more than he did Sa’Amonri.”

       “I doubt they would have believed me, An'Horubi’ninarin,” said a new voice from the far door.  There stood a shorter figure, not as slender as he’d once been, perhaps, but still straight of body, his dark eyes still clear as were those of his half brother, his face far sterner than it had been when he who was now King of Gondor and Arnor had seen him last.  He stood straight, his head lifted proudly as he examined the form of the Man who years before had saved him from Maruset’s blade.  His face was heavily lined, and he looked to be austere.  Finally he smiled.  “My brother is correct--you have barely changed.  To be of the blood of your lineage must at times be difficult as those who were of an age with you begin to fail while you must continue on.”

       “It is a mixed blessing.  It will serve to the good for my peoples, but is not always comfortable.  Unless I am slain betimes, most of my closest friends will precede me, as so many I have known over the years have already done.”  The Lord Elessar bowed deeply, and all of his party followed his lead.  “I greet you, An’Sohrabi.  You have done well in ordering your realm and in keeping the peace since the fall of Sauron.”

       “My brother An’Ma’osiri and I worked with Bherevrid and later Rustovrid to prepare for the day the Death Eater no longer held power over our land.  And the messages which slipped past the watchers from Mordor aided us to keep up our hope that the day of freedom would at last come.  You must tell us in full how it was done.”

       “So we shall do indeed, but we do ask to be allowed to do it tomorrow at the earliest.  It is a long tale, and most of my party are worn with travel and with having to remain still during the journey on the River Risen.”

       An’Sohrabi nodded his understanding.  He turned to his brother.  “Let you show them to their quarters and then bring them back in a full mark to meet the rest of the company and for a light meal ere they go to their rest.  Do not worry about proper protocol for the time.  The Lord An'Elessar I know to be courteous enough, and I trust those with him will be the same.” 

       They were led to guest quarters in the south wing of the place, and soon were assigned rooms for sleeping.  Here they shed their satchels and bags, freshened themselves as they could, received the trunks and chests brought in from the barge, and in some cases changed completely before assembling to return to the Farozi’s presence.  Three small boys and one small girl were fed and put to bed under the eye of the Lady Avrieth, who kissed her husband Berevrion gently and with no envy as he went to meet with the notables of Harad assembled that evening.  Hardorn indicated he’d keep watch on the rooms given to their use, and the King smiled his thanks at his cousin.

       The room they were brought to was large.  It was not the throne room, apparently, but appeared to be intended for formal gatherings and celebrations.  Low tables surrounded by lower couches stood around its edges; more couches, benches, and cushions stood at strategic points in the inner areas of the room as well.  Ranks of green plants stood here and there, many of them about small square stone tanks of water in which colorful fish swam and green water plants grew.  A number of nobles, both male and female, and their attendants awaited them, mostly standing or seated on the far side of the room where they might see the visitors to their realm as they entered.  Amonrabi entered and announced Lord Rustovrid and his family, then allowed Rustovrid to introduce the guests from the north.  Rustovrid kept to much the same order he’d used before, and as each was introduced he or she would bow deeply to the company and move aside for the next. 

       Lord Amonrabi then did similarly for those within the room.  “Sa’Bhatrabi, high priest for Bhat.  Sea’Neryeni, priestess of Neryet from the temple in West Thetos.  Lord Afraim, leader of the warriors of the herding tribes of the southwest.  Kafra Antipatha of the Bhatsi clan, who as a child was treated for the sand sickness by a northern trader who was also a healer.  The Lady Nefiramonrani, wife of Lord Ankhrabi and mother of his children.  Her daughter Nefirnerini.  The Lady Ankhsarani, sister to the Lady Nefiramonrani, and her husband the Lord Sherfiramun of upper Ghant.  Sa’Re’amonosiri, priest of Osiri from his temple in West Thetos.  Kafra Ba’alrabi, chief of the guild of merchants.  Lord Ghants’pa’amon, whose lands hold the greater part of our fields of cotton and corn.”  The introductions continued through about ten more individuals. 

       Most of those in attendance on the Farozi that night were stiffly courteous to the visitors from the North.  It was obvious from the way they stood away from the presence of Kafra Antipatha that he was not a regular courtier, and his rather rigid posture indicated he was aware of the avoidance and was himself uncertain why he’d been invited to attend.  He was an individual with broad shoulders and chest, and wore a dark beard reminiscent in the eyes of those from Gondor of the nomadic tribes of Rhun.  Once it was indicated the introductions were over and the Farozi indicated a late dinner would be served shortly but that they should mingle and greet one another, the Lord Elessar approached the Man, and bowed courteously.  “Do your people still breed the finest camels in all of Harad?” he asked in Haradri.

       Kafra Antipatha was slightly taken aback.  “Yes, my Lord,” he said with a deep bow.  “I am surprised that you know of my family and that we have camel herds.”

       “I had the honor of receiving one of your people’s finest females at one time.  She was admired by all who saw her.”

       “You received one of our camels in the Northlands?”

       “No, I received it here in Harad.  I am sorry to say I could not take her back to my home, and in the end gifted her to one I knew would respect her lineage and your people’s skill in breeding fine beasts.”

       “But how did you come by her?”

       “Did you notice how you were introduced?”

       “Yes, although I do not understand why the fact I recovered from the sand sickness when a child would be of any interest to those here.”

       “It is of no interest to the rest, but it is to me, as I was the trader and healer who visited your father’s tents when you were ill.  An’Sohrabi and his father were both advised of my visit and your recovery from such a dread disease; and I am certain you were asked here for my sake.  It is heartening to see you have become a fine Man of your people and have followed your father in leadership to your kindred.”

       “But----”  The Man searched the face of the King of Gondor, shaking his head, then looked deep into the grey eyes and stilled, then began to smile in recognition.  “Yes, your eyes; even then they were full of long memories.”

       “And now they must be even more full of such.”

       Northern King and herder chieftain found themselves clasping one another’s shoulders, sharing  whole-hearted smiles.  “Do you still sing songs of frogs wishing to wed mice, great Lord?” Antipatha asked.

       “Ah, yes, I do.  Ask Lord Rustovrid.”

       Rustovrid, who stood nearby, laughed.  “He sang it to me, also, when I was but a boy; and the day I carried the Farozi’s invitation to him he was singing it to his own daughter and the children who were with her that day.”

       The interest of the great Northern Lord in Antipatha raised his status in the eyes of the other guests, and when at last the King turned to speak to others the desert Kafra found others questioning him politely and with growing interest about the doings of his clan and the wealth of its herds.

       Isumbard, Pippin, and Ruvemir were all given a good deal of attention, and with Lord Rustovrid’s oldest daughter standing by to serve as translator they found themselves answering many questions about where they came from, their position in the court of the Lord An'Elessar, their place among their own people, and so on.  Lady Ghansaret stood in the company of the lords and ladies of Rohan, Ithilien, and Arnor, translating for them as they described the rule of their lands, their locations within Middle Earth, the sources of wealth for each, their relationships to the Lord Elessar and how they stood within the ranks of power in the Northern lands.

       Lord Hildigor stood by the King while Mablung did the same for the Lady Arwen.  Haleth did the same for his lord and lady, as did Damrod for Prince Faramir and the Lady Éowyn.  Owain stood by his master as he spoke with the priest of Osiri about the new figures being raised in front of his temple; the Lady Arwen spoke now with Lady Nefiramonrani and her sister and the priestess of Neryet, discussing motherhood, comparing the births of their children, comparing serving as hostesses at formal gatherings and dinners, dealing with overseeing the running of their homes, their service outside the palace, the proper forms for honoring the Lady of the Stars.  Finally the meal was served and all were shown to their places at the low tables. 

       Reclining for the meal was obviously new for almost all of the Northerners, who nevertheless were gracious about the situation.  The Farozi saw to it the meal was cut relatively short, and indicated to the servers that they ought not to offer the guests from Gondor, Arnor and Rohan cones of perfumed fat to wear in their hair, (although two offered them anyway, which caused the two Hobbits to look alarmed).  After a time of talk afterwards, the court was dismissed and the King’s party were shown to their rooms where all happily looked forward to rest.

       The King was returning from the privy when he heard his name from the room assigned to Pippin and Isumbard.  A woman servant stood there, obviously confused as Pippin looked out for someone to translate.  “Aragorn?  Could you help us, please?  How do we ask for pillows?”

       Isumbard was looking at the wooden head rest provided with even more uncertainty than he’d shown at the offer made him earlier of the cone of perfumed fat for his hair.  He looked up at the King with a level of frustration.  “I know that in other lands things are done differently than they are in the Shire, my Lord, but I had never dreamed of the possibility of being asked to sleep with my head on wood!”

       Aragorn laughed.  “In the larger of the chests I brought are pillows of various sizes and thicknesses.  I, too, found Haradri headrests both unusual and uncomfortable, although I will tell you that they do keep one cooler than pillows do.  I ended up having a cushion made and carried it with me much of the time and used it as a pillow, although I left it behind when I left my caravan to return to Risenmouthe.  I finally emptied my personal satchel of all but my headcloths and filled it with one of my trader’s robes, and used it as a pillow while I stayed in Lord Sohrabi’s house.”

       Soon the scandalized maid found herself removing the wooden headrests, and all were coming to the King’s chamber to obtain pillows.  These might not be as wide as they were accustomed to in their own homes, but all were grateful for them, and to the King for foreseeing the need for them.  With insect netting pulled around their beds and their pillows hugged to them, Peregrin and Isumbard Took finally gave themselves to sleep.

*******

       “Those of the North do not use headrests--I told you that when I ordered the rooms made ready,” explained An’Sohrabi to his son’s wife and the head of the maids who prepared the bedchambers.  “To allow yourself to be offended is foolish.  And, yes, they each carried their own eating utensils with them as well, as Lord Rustovrid indicated they would.  Again you must not take offense--they are not accustomed to our ways and have done their best to be polite to us and yet not to appear incompetent at using our utensils and eating in a manner so foreign to that to which they are accustomed.  I am told that when the Lord Elessar hosts a feast he makes certain utensils common to the usage of each guest’s people are provided.  Having traveled as widely as he has, he has more full knowledge of such things than we do.”

       “But why should anyone wish to sleep with their heads on cushions?” asked the maid.  “To sit on it and then lie on it....”

       “They only lay their heads on them ordinarily,” explained the Farozi.  “It is much cooler in their lands than it is here, and so they do not need for passage of air under their heads.  An’Horubi’ninarin explained it to me when he stayed in my house when he was here in Harad before.”

       “They are very--unusual,” his son's wife commented.

       “But of course.  They are from other lands.  But do not allow yourself to think of them as barbarians, for I assure you they are not.  Their ways are not ours, but are yet are highly cultured.”

       “Why did they stand facing the West together before the meal?”

       “I do not know, but know that when he was with us before An’Horubi’ninarin did so.  Ask him if you wish to know.”

       “Most do not even speak a language we can understand.”

       “Do you think ours is the only one?  Never have most been south of Umbar before.  That so many have tried to learn enough of our tongue to greet us respectfully and indicate they are grateful for our hospitality is more than I expected.”

       “Yet the Lord An'Elessar speaks our tongue, as does his wife.”

       An’Sohrabi sighed.  “Of course he does--he has visited our lands before, after all.  And his wife and the Prince Legolas are of the Elvenkind, who are gifted in tongues.  The Lady Lothiriel and Prince Faramir also are able to understand us and speak sufficient of our language to make themselves understood in return.”

       “But, An’Babari----”

       “Daughter, I think that in the coming year my son and you need to go North for a time.  Harad and its ways are not all that there is in this world.”

       Shocked at the idea of leaving her homeland, Nefiramonrani bowed her farewells and retired to her chamber.

       Ankhrabi watched the leaving of maid and wife with a sigh of his own.  “They are different than we are, most assuredly; but there is no question they are indeed cultured, my father, and most courteous and patient.  What you told me of the King being a healer is certain.  When Sa’Amroni recognized him I thought he might faint.  The Lord Elessar immediately caught him, saw to his condition and his comfort, gave him to drink.  And on the barge he saw to the easing of the small one called Isumbard, who finds the heat oppressive, although he was watching all for signs they might be overborne by our climate.  He appears to be very mild in nature.”

       His father sniffed.  “Do not let his mild manner fool you--he is one of the greatest of warriors you will ever meet.  And when he is faced by one he wishes to remove from a position of endangering others, he can be absolutely ruthless.  I will have him describe to you his taking of Virubat.”

       His son raised an eyebrow, then looked toward the way to the set of chambers he shared with his wife when they stayed in his father’s house.  “I will see if I can make her see that we cannot expect all to be as we are, my father.”

       “Do so, my son,” the Farozi said.  “I think I will walk out in the gardens.  Will you join me?”

Under the Light of Stars

       Not long after King and Queen retired to the chamber given them, Eldarion awoke; and after he was changed and fed resisted returning to sleep.  “I will take him out into the garden then, my love,” Aragorn said quietly to his wife.  “Rest now, beloved.”

       “You are not tired, Estel?”

       “Perhaps it is only the excitement of having arrived at last, but I find I wish to go out and look upon the stars, for they are very bright in the desert lands.”

       Arwen looked at the window, then sighed.  “I would join you, but I sense the Farozi is in the gardens now, and I do not believe he would be comfortable if I joined you this night.  But do show our son the stars, Estel.”  They kissed, and he took his son loosely wrapped in a blanket and went down to find the way outside.

       Followed by Hildigor, Aragorn made his way down the hallway, and finding a guard asked for directions.  Noting the visitor carried nothing of greater threat than his son and that he was followed as was proper by one of his own guard of honor, the guard summoned one of the servants on duty that night and had the Lord of Gondor led to the door to the gardens.  There he thanked his guide and went out, followed by the faithful Hildigor. 

       For a time Aragorn walked quietly, murmuring to the infant, but at last found a place by the wall where he could look Westward and began to sing, lifting the infant up until it also could look that way.  It was not a song of Elbereth he sang this night; he remembered instead one of the songs sung by the Lady Galadriel during his last visit to Lothlorien alongside the Ringbearer and sang that. 

       I sang of leaves, of leaves of gold, and leaves of gold there grew.
       Of wind I sang; a wind there came and in the branches blew.
      
       Why he missed the Lady of the Golden Wood particularly at this time he couldn’t say, save that now his memories of her were inextricably entwined with those of Frodo, whom she’d accompanied away.  He missed Frodo at the moment, as happened often even now.  In his heart, Frodo had become the brother Estel of Imladris had so deeply longed for during his childhood, as had Sam as well.  He saw Sam so rarely, although they exchanged frequent letters.  The latest letter, which had arrived the day of Eldarion’s birth and which carried the particulars of the birth of Goldilocks on April sixth, had also told of the flowering of the mallorn tree in the Party Field, down and across from Bag End and the New Row, at the same time as the birth of Sam and Rosie’s fifth child.

       Did Frodo walk beneath mallorns on Tol Eressëa?  Did he and Arwen’s grandmother twine the leaves and elanor into coronets of living gold?  Did they look Eastward together toward the memory of those they’d left behind?  Did Gandalf stand with them in his proper form at such times?  Could one such as Gandalf miss the presence as such as he was?  (Ah, but of course Gandalf's nature would not have changed that much once he resumed his original shape and identity!)  And did his adar caress the dark hair of Frodo, remembering the small boy he’d comforted in his spells of loneliness years earlier when he’d bewailed the lack of companionship of those of his own kind?

       Tears ran unheeded down Aragorn’s face as he stood and sang, as he held his son to him in love and longing, wishing he’d been able to see Frodo married and happy, wishing he could have rejoiced with him at the birth of another set of Hobbit children, the children Frodo had so desired to father.

       At last the song was at an end, and he stood in silence, the white robe to which was pinned the Elessar brooch, and which had been embroidered with lines of stars about neck and placket, sleeves, and down the front to its hem, rustling around him as the night breeze blew off the desert and over the River and about him.  Behind him stood Hildigor in the black and silver of the Guard of the Citadel, Hildigor who would most likely follow his father as Steward of the North as Faramir was Steward of the South.

       “That was very beautiful,” said the voice of An’Sohrabi of Harad as he and his son approached out of the darkness of the garden, the light of the stars reflected from their eyes.  “You still have the power of evoking images with your voice, my friend.”

       Aragorn shrugged.  “It must be my Elven heritage making itself known,” he said quietly.

       “You weep, friend.  Did you know one here who moved you so that your memory was stirred by the stars of Harad?”

       “It is the view of stars alone, in no matter what place I might be, that sparks the memories.  What was said earlier this evening of the disadvantages of being the Dúnedan, the Man of the West, is all too true.  So many am I separated from whom I’ve loved, either by death or the Sea.  But it is a Sea I cannot cross in my lifetime to come to those I would still delight in.”

       “What is your true name?”

       “Which one?  I think each and all are true names, each it its way.”

       “You were not born Horubi’ninarin.”

       After several moments of silence, the tall Man sighed.  “My parents named me Aragorn, the Valorous King.  My father, as I told you, died when I was but two years of age, and the great Lord Elrond, Lord of Imladris, brought my mother and me into his land and home for my protection.  It had been told abroad I’d died of fever--and I’m told that it was nearly true.  Adar gave me the child’s name of Estel, which means hope.  He it was who trained me as a healer, another part of my Elven heritage, and who saw to it I was trained also as warrior and commander.  When I came of age I was told my true identity, and the place I was to know among my own people of the remnants of Arnor was opened again to me.

       “I became chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain and captain of the Rangers of Eriador, commander of the growing forces of the North that still held true to the heirs of Elendil, Isildur, Valandil, and Arvedui.  In the Breelands I was given the names of Strider and Longshanks.  Then, after our forces were ordered I went South to Rohan and Gondor to learn of the Southern Dúnedain peoples, their lands and allies and concerns.  I rode among the eoreds of Rohan, serving Thengel King, called by him Ælric and by most of the rest of his people Thorongil, the Eagle of the Star.  And it was as Captain Thorongil I served later in Gondor as well.

       “After I left the service of Lord Ecthelion I went first back home to see again to the leadership of our forces and to appoint my cousin Halbarad to take the place of his father, my mother’s brother Halbaleg, as Steward of Arnor--such as Arnor was at the time.  I then returned South and went Eastward, examined the empty lands before the Black Gate of Mordor, ventured into Rhun.  Mil’rapthor they called me there, Star Eagle.  Then I returned to the Pelargir to take command of the merchant vessel that one of my kinsmen had made available to me, and I became Peredrion, the Half-Son, allegedly of Dunland.  We sailed to the Harlond to take aboard the goods I’d been collecting for so long and then sailed down the River Anduin, through the Mouths of the Sea, at last here to Near Harad.  Then I met you and fought the one who bore the lesser ring, and I told you to call me Horubi’ninarin, the Falcon of the Stars, for I had not heard anyone speak of eagles here and knew not the word for it as yet.

       “It was foretold that if Sauron was indeed cast down and I came into my own I should be known as Elessar, the Elfstone.  It is the Elessar stone I wear now, the gift of my beloved Arwen.  Elven smiths wrought it long ago, gave into it the power of renewal and regrowth.  It enhances my own gifts of healing, command, discernment, and judgment.  When I came again to Minas Tirith they saw it upon my breast and called me by its name, and so it was the people of Gondor who gave me the name foretold.  And so I have taken the throne name of Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar, the Elfstone and Renewer and Far-Strider.”

       “You have borne a spate of names.”

       The King nodded, now smiling.  “Oh, yes; and even more titles.  Master Ruvemir has been keeping a count, and the other day was commenting he’d found it standing at twenty-six.  There are a few others I’ve not told him as yet, but they matter not.”

       He sighed and shifted his son to his left arm, caressed the child’s face with his forefinger.  On one finger he wore a great ring set with stones which even under starlight shone green, as did the stone of the great brooch he wore.  “And who as yet can foretell what our children will know or come to; how many identities and roles they may be called upon to shoulder?” 

       For a time none spoke.  At last the Lord Elessar looked at the Farozi and his son.  “Your son is a fine Man, and will do well when he follows you.”

       Ankhrabi finally spoke.  “Thank you, my Lord,” he responded with great dignity.

       “I see that one of your own sons was named for your uncle.”

       “I did not know him, for he died before my birth.  Yet I know the deep love and respect which my father held for his brother, and I could do no more honor than to name my son for him.”

       “He was a fine Man.  I remember him well, the suspicion he gave me when we first met, and the growing respect, and the offer to accept me as one of those who fought under him.”

       “It would have been quite an honor as well as being ironic, having the future king of Gondor fighting for the security of Harad.”

       “I had already fought for the security of Rohan and Gondor.”

       “Yes,” An’Sohrabi said, “you told all you had been a hired sword.”  His voice held amusement.

       Aragorn laughed softly.

       Ankhrabi asked, “And for whom did you name your own son?”

       Now the King of Gondor and Arnor sighed.  “We named him in honor of his Elven ancestry, which is far closer on his mother’s side than on mine.  Eldarion means ‘son of the Elves.’  In him and his sister is the blood of the line of the Kings renewed and strengthened, for now the blood of both of the sons of Eärendil and Elwing runs through them.”

       “I do not understand.  I thought Eärendil was only the name for the star we call Osiri.”

       “Only the name of a star?  Eärendil is not simply a star scattered by the hands of Elbereth, or Neryet as your people call her.  It is indeed the ship Vigilot in which my wife’s grandfather Eärendil sailed to Aman at the end of the First Age, gone to summon the Valar themselves to come to the aid of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth in their struggles against Morgoth whom you call Seti.  His mortality was burned away by his quest, and the cost of the quest was that he might not return to the comfort of his people or his sons, but that he must have bound to his brow the Silmaril he bore with him to bring back to the land of its making, and he must each night sail Vigilot upon the Seas of Night for our comfort and guidance and reassurance.

       “Two sons did Eärendil leave, twin sons, Elrond and Elros Peredhil, the Half-Elven.  After Morgoth was vanquished by his fellows among the Valar with the assistance of the Edain and the Eldar and those Dwarves who fought with them, an irrevocable Choice was laid upon the sons of Eärendil and Elwing, who both were themselves the children of marriages between mortal Men and immortal Elven maidens:  either they might choose the life of the Eldar and live as do the Elves, as long as the world of Arda itself remains; or they might choose to accept the Gift of Iluvatar the Creator for themselves and their descendants, and accept mortality, knowing that they will live a limited span and in the end die and allow their spirits to pass outside the bounds of Arda to whatever disposition Iluvatar has made for us.  In the end the brother Elros chose to accept the Gift of Iluvatar while his brother Elrond chose to live as one of the Eldar.  When Elrond’s children were born this fate was laid upon them--they might live the life of the Eldar until the time came their father chose at last to abandon Middle Earth to go to Aman, to the Undying Lands, which is the birthright of those of Elven blood, and then they themselves faced the same Choice offered their father and his brother.

       “When Arwen bound herself to me to become my wife, she made the Choice of our ancestress Lúthien Tinúviel, to accept the Gift of Iluvatar.  She made this Choice freely long before her father chose to leave Middle Earth, in fact; and as a result of this free choice certain graces were granted--that three mortals who had borne that which ought not to have been borne were granted the right to sail to the Undying Lands in her place, that they might know healing for their bodies and spirits from the wounds they bore from exposure to such a thing ere they, too, accept the Gift; and that her brothers might remain in Middle Earth with the Choice yet before them past the sailing of their father.

       “He who was Elros Peredhil was the founder of my line, was the first of the Kings of Númenor, who took the throne name Tar-Minyatar.  Now our children bear the legacy of both of the sons of Eärendil.”

       An’Sohrabi straightened.  “You then are telling us that the tales told of the coming of Osiri are not simply tales for our spiritual instruction----”

       “I am telling you that in your land they have been changed from the strict truth of them, but that, yes, at heart they are based on reality.  Only in the far Northern lands have the lingering Eldar continued to mix freely with mortal Men so that we hear the tales not solely as tales but as the histories they began as, with the details remembered by those who lived them.  My wife’s father fought alongside his brother against Morgoth, saw Morgoth’s defeat at the hands of the rest of the Valar, stood before the Valar beside his brother and received the Choice.  Three thousand years later he followed Gil-galad to Mordor when Morgoth’s servant Sauron sought to set himself up in Morgoth’s place, and he saw the defeat of Sauron at the hands of Gil-galad, Elendil, and Isildur.  Then over the last three thousand years he has watched the rebuilding of power by Sauron, and once again did what he must to see to Sauron’s second and final defeat.  But this time finally the weariness came upon him, and when the victory was won and he knew his daughter’s Choice was made and he must lose her as he had lost his brother, he sailed at last for the Undying Lands.”

       Both the Farozi and his son looked to the star they knew as Osiri with a prickling of their scalps, realizing that for the one alongside whom they stood this was not but a star, but in truth an ancestor, whose wife looked upon it and saw not but a star but her grandfather....

       Finally the King Elessar gave another sigh.  “This one is ready to again sleep,” he said quietly, looking down into the face of his son.  “I will bear him back to his mother and again seek sleep for myself.  I wish you a good night.”  And followed by his guard he returned to the guest wing and went back to his wife’s side.

---

The song quoted is indeed from The Fellowship of the Ring.

The Queen’s Choice

       On entering the room of his wife where he usually slept when they stayed in his father’s house, Ankhrabi found she lay, still awake, her eyes reflecting the glory of the stars as they shone through the high windows near the roof.

       “You took long enough to come to me, beloved,” she sighed as he slipped out of his kilt and laid it carefully on the stand set to receive it, and as he reached behind to undo the clasp of his pectoral.

       “My father asked me to walk with him out in the gardens, and we found there near the Western wall the Lord An’Elessar with his son in his arms, singing as he looked to the stars of the West.”

       “He carried an infant outside at night?” she asked, amazed.

       “Yes.”

       “He is an unusual Man.”

       “Oh, indeed so, Nefirani.”  He slipped himself into the wide bed beside her.

       “What did you speak of?”

       “Of his names, of his grief for those who have gone before him from whom he is separated, and of--of Osiri.”

       “Of Osiri?  Do those of Gondor believe in Osiri?”

       He shrugged elaborately.  “It is a long story.  They do not call his star Osiri, but Eärendil, and the story is told differently there than here, although it was again in response to him the rest of the gods came to fight Seti, whom they call Morgoth.  Only, it was not for the reason of the loss of him, but because he went to seek their aid instead.”

       She shrugged a single shoulder.  “He told you the story as it is told there?”

       “Yes.”  He decided not to tell her of the claim to be descended from Eärendil, however--it would only serve to confuse her further at this time.

       “Did he tell you how he knew your father?”

       “Yes.  He has Elven blood in his heritage, and his family lives longer than do most Men, and appear younger longer.”

       “You are certain he is the same one who was here before?”

       “Yes.”  He reached to caress her shoulder.

       “His wife is so young and beautiful, for all she wears no kohl about her eyes.”

       “His wife is not young, beloved.  Indeed, she is far older than he.”

       She turned to look at him, more amazed.  “How is that possible?”

       “She is an Elf.”

       “You are certain of that?”

       “You heard the letter Rustovrid sent my father--she and the Lord Legolas are Elves.”  When she would have protested further, he set a finger against her lips.  “It appears that many strange races have remained in the far North, Nefirani.  What we see here seems strange because our people have been so long estranged from those of the North.  The Eastern Lord hated those races he could not dominate easily, so he destroyed them where he could.  No Elves have remained here in Harad or Far Harad, possibly, but they lingered in the North where those who opposed him and before him Seti remained and had their strongholds.”

       “She is an Elf, yet she married a Man?”

       “Apparently.”

       “Our sons had much to say on their arrival back here about the greeting, how he claims to speak many languages, of how Sa’Amonri started to faint with surprise.”

       “He recognized An’Elessar from when he was here before.  Amonrabi also recognized him.  And he recognized both of them.”

       “The small ones--they have the faces of grown men.”

       “They are men among their people, and are married.  Their wives did not accompany them.”

       “And they have no slaves.”

       “True, they have no slaves.”

       “I wonder how a Man loves an Elf.”

       He smiled.  “Probably much as a Man loves any woman fortunate enough to be his wife.”  He drew her to him and kissed her.

*******

       In the morning Nefiramonrani woke early and slipped out of her bed, went to her dressing room and was dressed and painted by her personal slave, then went out into the garden shortly after dawn.  The Lady Arwen was sitting on a bench, her son lying in a basket before her as she drew a brush through her hair.  Behind her stood the small one who wore the uniform of the Guard of Gondor, obviously attending her, singing in a clear, sweet voice for her enjoyment.

       Beside her was a goblet of juice, from which she sipped from time to time as she paused in the brushing of her hair.  She looked up at Nefiramonrani with a smile of acknowledgment, but did not interrupt the song of her guard. 

       At last he was done, and she smiled.  “Thank you, Pippin.  It was beautifully sung.  Not exactly one of the comic songs popular in the Shire.”

       “No, we do sing some love ballads as well.  You can’t go strictly by what Merry and I always used to sing, for we were quite young and foolish when we first met you, you know.”

       She then looked at their hostess, and said in Haradri, “I apologize, my lady, for speaking in Westron.  However, Captain Peregrin’s Haradri is most basic at best.”  Quickly she translated what had been said between them.

       “How long have you known one another?” Nefiramonrani asked.

       Again the Queen translated, and the Hobbit smiled, answering by way of the Queen.  “Almost eleven years now.  I was still quite young by the reckoning of my people, for I turned twenty-eight years old only a few days after we left Rivendell.”

       “When I was twenty-eight years old I’d been married to Ankhrabi for eleven years already, and the boys were already five while Nefirnerini was nine.”

       After the Queen translated, the Hobbit responded, “We don’t come of age until we reach thirty-three.  My father was terribly upset I left the Shire with Frodo and Merry and Sam, and without permission at that, when I was still but a lad.”  He shook his head.  “What I’d feel if it were my Faramir I don’t know.  However, he’s still years from putting me into such a situation.”

       “You have children?”

       “One so far.  A fine lad he is, too, if I must say so myself.”  He smiled with obvious pride.  “And he’s the apple of his grandda’s eye, let me tell you.”  He laughed.  “Not that they aren’t all four the apples of their grandda’s eye.  I have three older sisters, you see, and Pearl and Isumbard have two children while Pimmie and Ferdibrand have one, young Piper.  Or, that’s what we call him--his full name in Peringard.  We’re hoping that Pervinca will be able to carry this one to term.  She’s miscarried two.  Pervinca is expecting in the fall.”

       “To lose two children, but to continue to try for another, that is to show great hope.”

       The Hobbit smiled sadly.  “Yes, we do tend to be given to such hope, there in the Shire.  But she’s carried it this far--hopefully she will make it to full term this time.  Aunt Esme lost two before Merry was born, and Frodo’s parents lost two before him and two more later on.  But then there’s the likes of Rosie--she and Sam have five already now, and it sounds as if young Goldilocks will be a great beauty.  How many they’ll have before they’re through, Sam and Rosie, is anyone’s guess.  Well, Frodo did charge them with filling Bag End with life, after all.”  He gave a glance to the West, then turned again to his attendance on the Queen as the Lady Arwen finished translating. 

       His right hand lay on the hilt of his sword.  His face was now a bit solemn and thoughtful,  The Queen gave him a gentle smile, then turned back to their hostess.  “He will be quiet now for a time,” she said softly in Haradri.  “Speaking of Frodo has put him back in mind of his duty at the moment.”

       “Who was this Frodo?”

       “His beloved cousin.  A most, most unusual soul of any race, and perhaps the most responsible individual Eru ever placed on the face of Arda.”  The Queen laid her brush beside her on the bench, then leaned down to lift up her son, smiled into his eyes.

       “Your son is a fine infant.”

       “Yes, he is.  His eyes are so wise.”  She held him close, kissed his cheek, then lifted a blanket to cover her as she prepared to nurse him.

       “You do not use a wetnurse?”

       “Why ought I to do such a thing?  I produce milk and to spare, and I’ll not give over the raising of my children to others who might have quite other ideas as to what is important or not to know.”

       “You do not use paints on your face.”

       “No, I do not.  Such are little needed by those of us who are of the blood of the Eldar.”

       “They will have the morning meal ready soon.”

       “Thank you.  We were able to get a light meal for Pippin before he started his duty, so he will wait now until it is done before he eats again, although he will most like seek to make up for those meals he missed at that time.  The Periannath need more food than Men twice their size, we’ve learned.”

       After a time of quiet between them, Nefiramonrani asked, “How old are you, my Lady, if you do not take offense at such a question?”

       “Take offense?  Why ought I to do such a thing?”  She sighed.  “Let me see--I was born in the year 241 of the Third Age, and this, if we went still by that reckoning, would be the year 3031----”  She smiled and gave a slight shrug.  “Two thousand, seven hundred ninety years this year, I suppose.” 

       “But--how could you be that old?”

       The Lady Arwen’s face became solemn.  “My father is Elrond Peredhil, the son of Eärendil the Mariner and the Lady Elwing.  My mother is the Lady Celebrían, daughter of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.  My brothers and I were also born Peredhil, Halfelven.  I knew the life of the Eldar until I chose to cleave to Estel.  In doing so, I accepted the Gift of Iluvatar, and now must face death in my time.”

       “But you do not look that old----”

       “You have known any that old to compare me with?  Elves do not look any particular age, you realize.”  She shook her head.  “My mother’s mother came to Middle Earth from Aman during the First Age of Middle Earth.  She lived in the time of the Trees.  She saw Mankind awaken in Middle Earth.  Yet when she left Middle Earth she did not look to be any older than I do.”

       “How long ago was that?”

       The Queen’s face grew sad.  “Eight years ago, in the fall of the year in the Northern Lands.  She, my father, and many others of our Elven kindred chose to leave Middle Earth at that time.  The time of the Elves is past.  It is now the time of Men.  There are relatively few Elves still remaining in Middle Earth--my Anadar Celeborn, father to my mother; the Lord Glorfindel; my brothers and a few of those who considered themselves my father’s people or my grandparents' people; rather more of the sylvan Elves of Eryn Lasgolen and a few others; some who remain in Mithlond with Círdan....”

       “Why did they leave?”

       “With the destruction of the Enemy’s Ring the power of the three great Elven Rings was also curtailed, for Sauron tied their might to the Ring he crafted in Orodruin.  With the loss of that power, the weariness and grief that can strike even the immortals came upon them, and they left to enter the Undying Lands, taking with them the Ringbearer.”  She straightened.  “They had done much in their years in Middle Earth, and they knew that if Sauron’s Ring were to be destroyed the greater part of what had been done with the Three Rings would begin at last to decay.  Yet better that than that the entire world lie beneath the Darkness of the Enemy again.  And now all of the Great Rings are no more, and all of their bearers are gone from Middle Earth.  All save Samwise.  He bore It but a little time, but that was long enough to scar him.”

       The Pherian guard looked to her.  “You spoke of Sam?” he asked.

       “Yes.  I told her that he alone of the ringbearers is left in Middle Earth.”

       “When he is gone from it, too, I don’t know that I would wish to remain.”

       Nefiramonrani looked at her in question, and the Lady Arwen translated for her.

       “But why would he not wish to remain beyond this Samwise?”

       The Queen gave her escort a quick glance.  “I suppose because that would be to lose the last strong tie to Frodo that he recognizes.” 

       A gong sounded and Nefiramonrani looked up.  “The dawn meal is prepared.  Let us go in.”

       Nefiramonrani led the way back into the palace, and through the room where they’d spent the previous evening, where they found the King An’Elessar in debate with An’Sohrabi, Ankhrabi, Lords Sherfiramun and Afraim regarding the benefits of cavalry in battle, Prince Faramir translating the argument for his wife and An’Éomer and Lord Berevrion.  In the room where the morning meal was to be served the Lady Lothiriel was translating a discussion on architecture between Master Ruvemir, Lord Gimli, Lord Elfhelm, Master Isumbard Took, the youth Owain, Sa’Bhatrabi, and Lady Ankhsarani, with Khafra Antipatha listening with interest.  Lord Legolas was patiently answering questions put to him by Ma’osiri, Amon’osiri, and Nefirnerini, holding in his arms the Steward’s son, the King and Queen’s daughter standing nearby.

       The Princess Melian touched the Elf’s arm indicating she was leaving him, and came to join her mother.  She and her mother both wore sleeveless dresses of green so pale as to appear almost white, embroidered with bands of golden flowers.  She wore also a girdle of linked green leaves similar to the Hobbit’s sword belt, but of much smaller links, a single strand hanging down the front of her dress from where it fastened, and about her brow wore a circlet of enameled golden flowers, each centered with a pale green peridot.  She reached up to touch her brother’s basket, her smile lighting the room. 

       As the Lady Arwen leaned down to allow her son to look into his sister’s face, it could be seen that her ears were distinctly and delicately pointed, as was true also of Prince Legolas.  The ears of her children, on the other hand, were rounded as was the way with those of most children of Men.  The eyes of mother and daughter, however, were identically grey, their smiles also identical.  When she came at last to womanhood, Ankhrabi’s wife realized, the Princess Melian was going to be as startlingly beautiful as her own mother. 

       Those who’d been involved in the discussion with An’Elessar now entered, still caught in his orbit, their attention still fixed on him.  He wore a smokey blue robe embroidered with a great raptor--not a golden hawk such as Horubin, but an even greater bird of browns and golds, over its head an embroidered eight-pointed star set with a great shining crystal in its center.  On his brow he wore a circlet of what appeared to be silver set with a great, shining jewel, also like a star.  He wore a ring set with a great emerald on his right hand, on his left a carved gold band on the third finger, and a great signet ring of black onyx in which was imbedded a single diamond on his index finger.  Amonrabi met them and began pointing out their places for the meal, and soon all stood near their couches awaiting the coming of the Farozi.

       Why those from the North stood by their couches Nefiramonrani didn’t know--meal times were one time when those of Harad did not stand on such ceremony.  However, as her husband’s father had made it plain they were to allow their Northern guests to follow their own customs when they were obviously intended to be courteous or were simply different, those of the court found themselves waiting alongside those from Gondor to take their places on their couches.

       The small sculptor had been placed at the same table as Nefiramonrani, as well as the youth identified as his apprentice.  They bowed to her and her daughter as they approached the table and then stood patiently; and when the youth leaned down to ask a question the dwarfling answered back equally quietly, shaking his head and smiling.  Amonrabi returned with Lady Ghansaret, who was to take the couch between Nefiramonrani and the sculptor, for which Ankhrabi’s wife found herself grateful.  To have to eat a meal by these and not understand what they were saying would have been extremely difficult.  Again they bowed politely, but remained standing until the Farozi entered, at which time all of the Northerners bowed deeply to him.  Then, after they’d greeted their host, they all turned to the West and stood quietly for a moment, then took their places on their couches.  The Haradri looked to one another in question.  Noting the unspoken question on Nefiramonrani’s face, Lady Ghansaret smiled.

       “There are few practices which we would recognize as honoring the gods in Gondor, my lady; but the Standing Silence is one of those that is widely practiced.  Before each meal all turn to the West in respect to the gods, whom they call the Valar, and their servants, whom they call the Maiar, and the great Creator God who is over all.  The Valar and the Maiar dwell to the West in the Undying Lands, to which the Elves may go in their bodies, to dwell there until the ending of Arda.  Many feel great respect for these also, and honor them along with the Valar and the Maiar.”

       She then apparently repeated this in Westron for the benefit of the dwarfling and the youth, who nodded their agreement.  The dwarfling added, “The Undying Lands have been appointed the proper, final home for Elves.  We do not  honor the Eldar who dwell in Aman in the same manner in which we honor the Valar, Maiar, and those of the Ainur and Maiar beyond the bounds of Arda who dwell in the presence of Iluvatar the Creator--it is more respect we feel for the Elven people who dwell in Aman--the Elves and the very few of those of other races who have, on very rare occasions, been allowed to enter those lands.  Also, it is believed that the Halls of Waiting lie within those lands, the great Halls of Mandos in which the spirits of those who have been slain among Elves rest while awaiting rebirth in Aman, and the spirits of those among Men who die may remain for a time before leaving the bounds of Arda.”

       After Ghansaret translated that last, Nefiramonrani reclined thinking on what had been said for some time.  “Elves may die?” she asked.

       “Yes, my Lady,” he answered her.  “They may be slain, or may die of wasting of the spirit, usually as the result of great grief or lasting pain.  Their spirits, however, are tied to the bounds of Arda and may not, under ordinary circumstances, leave those bounds until the End of Days--or so we have been taught, and told by those among Elvenkind we have had commerce with.  Lord Legolas and the Lady Arwen may tell you more of that, for it concerns them directly as they are indeed Elves, and High Elves at that.  The spirits of mortals, however, must pass beyond the bounds of Arda, although they may rest for a time in the portions of the Halls set aside for mortals, or so we have been told.

       “However, the Lady Arwen, in cleaving to our Lord Elessar, has accepted mortality, and her spirit will be free to go to whatever place Iluvatar has set aside for our mortal spirits to dwell in, once we are free of the body.”

       “What is Aman?”

       The discussion of the Undying Lands went on for some time.

       “You say that some few of those with mortal blood have been allowed to go there?”

       “A very few.  The great Lord Eärendil was finally allowed entrance there, but at great cost.  The mortal half of his nature was burned away by his quest, and he might not return to Middle Earth.  And it is said that his father, the Lord Tuor, a mortal Man who married the Lady Idril, a maiden of High Elven blood, was allowed to go there in the body after his marriage.  Whether he still dwells there, however, we do not know.  And now two of mortal heritage have been allowed to go there, but only, we are told, until the end of their natural lives, to find there healing for what they have endured, Master Bilbo Baggins and the Lord Frodo Baggins; and it is believed by some that in his time the Lord Samwise Gamgee also may pass over the Sundering Sea to come to his friend.  But they do not walk abroad in Aman proper--they have been allowed to come to the Isle of Tol Eressëa, which started as part of Middle Earth and now lies at the entrance to the Undying Lands, and may go no further.  Although it is most likely Master Bilbo has already died, for he was ancient of days for his kind before he sailed.

       “To the twin sons of Eärendil and Elwing was granted the choice to live as Elves or mortals; but if they chose mortality they chose it for their children as well as themselves.  Lord Elros chose mortality; his brother Lord Elrond chose the life of the Eldar.  To his three children again was offered the same choice; his daughter has at last chosen mortality; his sons have yet to make their final decision.”

       “Then his children yet live in Middle Earth?”

       “Yes, for I have met all three--the Lady Arwen Undomiel--" with a nod toward where the Queen sat, "--and her twin brothers the Lord Elladan and the Lord Elrohir.  Their father has at last abandoned Middle Earth and sailed to the Undying Lands eight years past.”

       “So the Lord Elros will die?”

       Very gently the small one answered, “The Lord Elros died already my lady, almost six thousand years past.  Our Lord Elessar is his descendant.”

       The Lady Nefiramonrani suddenly began to realize that what the Queen had told her and what the small artisan was telling her was the same thing.

Understanding Differences

       Nefiramonrani did not later remember what she ate in that meal.  The Lady Arwen had told her she was almost three thousand years old, but she’d not believed it.  How could one live so long?  But her uncle, her father’s brother, had died almost six thousand years ago, while her father had only recently left Middle Earth, and sailed to the Undying Lands?

       She looked at the King and Queen of Gondor again, thinking hard.  The King was of middle years and no more--yet he said he was near a hundred years of age.  And the Lady Arwen....

       Standing near the King and Queen was the small figure of the Hobbit guard.  How could someone so small serve to protect his lord and lady?  It must be a position of honor alone.

       Finally she turned to the dwarfling again, interrupting the discussion going on between his apprentice and her daughter.  “How long has the Hobbit Peregrin been a guard for the King?”

       Once the question had been translated, the dwarfling answered, “For the last ten years, but only in those times he has actually been in the same place as the King.  He is his father’s heir, after all, and his father is Thain of the Shire, the hereditary agent standing for the authority of the King of Arnor before their people; and Captain Peregrin must prepare for the day when he himself will become Thain and the Took.  He has responsibilities, therefore, to his family and to the folk of the Shire in general.  He served as one of the King’s Guard after our Lord Elessar was crowned King until the time came for the Lords Frodo and Samwise to return to their homeland, and he was granted leave to serve as their guard of honor--or so it is noted officially.  His cousin Merry is also a warrior, and he is sworn to King Éomer of Rohan.  He, too, officially is supposed to be only on leave, although he, too, has preparation to make for the time his father dies and he succeeds him as Master of Buckland and Brandy Hall.  In actuality they dwell in their homeland.  They’ve traveled twice to Minas Anor to attend on the King, and when the King went north four years past to a conference of the leaders of the lands of Arnor they both attended the conference with their fathers, and Captain Peregrin took his place amongst the King’s Guard during that time.  He’s a highly capable guard, by the way.”

       “And how old is Prince Legolas?”

       “I’m not certain, but I suspect he was born sometime in the Second Age.  Well over three thousand years.  He remembered the search by the Ents for the Entwives.”

       “How old are you?”

       He appeared taken very aback by this.  “I am thirty-nine years, my lady.  And Owain here is fifteen.  As for Captain Peregrin, he is thirty-eight, which is still considered young for his people.  I am not certain about Master Isumbard--he was older, I believe, than Lord Frodo, so that would make him somewhere in his sixties, I suppose.  And the King is nearly one hundred years.”  He smiled.  “If you are trying to understand how long a life different folk might know, where Men typically live to be seventy years if they live to old age, and a very few will reach near a hundred, the King’s kindred typically approach two hundred years if not slain else, the Dúnedain of the Southern Kingdom live to be around a hundred ten to perhaps a hundred thirty, Hobbits usually live to be about a hundred years, and Dwarves live to be about two hundred fifty.  Elves, once they are born, if they do not know critical injury in battle or great grief or strain, will live to the end of Arda; and even if they know physical death will remain at least in the Halls of Waiting or perhaps be reborn so as to live within Arda until the End of Days.  I have known one Elven Lord who was reborn so, the Lord Glorfindel, who physically died during the war against Morgoth and who dwells yet a time now in Imladris.  He was one of those who schooled the Lord King in weapons and the history of the world.”

       “How do you know all this?”

       “First, my lady, I have had to study the history of the Ages of Middle Earth and of the lands and peoples of Númenor, Gondor, Arnor, Umbar, and Rohan in my studies to become a sculptor, and about the races which I might depict.  I’d not heard of Hobbits save as legendary folk until the War of the Ring, at which time it became known they were a real people who dwelt in near isolation in Eriador.  As my first commission for the Lord Elessar was to do a memorial for the four Hobbits who aided in the war against Sauron, I made shift to learn as much as I could about them, traveling to their lands and meeting there with Captain Peregrin and Sir Meriadoc and Lord Samwise, their families, and their friends.  A distant cousin of Captain Peregrin has married my sister Miriel, the first union between Men and Pheriannath that we are aware of.”

       “Oh,” she responded, and then leaned back, thinking.  Then she asked, “The hawk upon the King’s robe----”

       “That is not a hawk, my Lady--it is a depiction of one of the great Eagles, which by tradition are considered by our people to be the messengers of the Valar, particularly the Lord Manwë, chief of them within Arda.  It was made for him by the Queen, I understand, last year, and was made in memory of the time he served Rohan and Gondor as the Lord Captain Thorongil, which means the Eagle of the Star.”

       “The Farozi calls him Horubi’ninarin, the Falcon of Stars.”

       “It must have been as close as he could come to the name he bore in Gondor at the time.  In Rhun they called him Star Eagle.  The gem in the great green brooch he wears is the Elessar stone, an Elven-forged jewel of healing and renewal.  It is from that the people of Gondor gave him his throne name of Elessar.”

       “Thank you,” she said absently as she contemplated this information.  The differences between their guests and the folk of Harad were becoming more evident.  She looked at King and Queen with their small guard behind them, and shook her head, wondering if she’d ever take it all in.

Sparring Practice

       After the meal many of the Northerners went out to practice with their weapons while it was still fairly cool.  The King had a great crate brought out in which those weapons not worn were carried, including bows, arrows, daggers and long knives, and his own great sword; and a second crate carried padded practice wear.  Many of the court went out to the practice grounds to watch, saw the King remove his outer robe and hang it on a peg within the salle.  Under it he wore loose dark trousers and a shirt the same color as the robe with a line of stars embroidered down its front.  He found his padded shirt, then took from the larger crate sword and belt and donned them, checked the seat of his sword in its sheath, pulled from the crate a fine curved dagger and thrust it, too, into his belt.  Drawing his sword, he began to move through forms with it.  Others also were doing the same, those who had not borne their weapons taking from the crate their own, seeing to their condition, and then finding a cleared space to work through the forms for whatever weapon was proper to the individual.

       Ankhrabi entered the salle and prepared to do the same, as did some of the other Haradri nobles.  Nefiramonrani watched her husband work through his own forms, which were different from those used by the King of Gondor.  Both, she thought, were supremely graceful.  Finally, as the Lord Elessar sheathed his sword, Ankhrabi turned to him.  “Would you care to spar?” he asked.

       “With practice foils,” the Northern King suggested, and her husband agreed.  They both put aside their swords, and her husband took two practice foils from an attendant and tossed one to his guest, who caught it handily.  The King took a stance with it and worked through a couple forms to acquaint himself with its length, weight, and balance, then nodded to Ankhrabi and prepared to spar.

       It was fascinating to watch.  Both he and Ankhrabi moved with grace as they worked with their weapons, as they turned and circled, thrust and parried.  Always he let Ankhrabi make the move, and then would be there to counter whatever assault the Haradri made.  Both seemed well matched--until suddenly the King slipped gently sideways and touched a point on his opponent.  He then pulled back and gave a slight bow of his head, allowed Ankhrabi to recover, and it began again.

       Each time it was the same through the four rounds they did, although Ankhrabi was changing his tactics each round.  After the fourth touch he straightened.  “My Lord An’Elessar,” he suggested, “this time let you lead the attack and let me respond.  Otherwise I shall not have an idea as to how to counter you.”

       The King gave a nod to his head, then started the circling.  He led slowly, almost languidly, allowing Ankhrabi to realize how he would move, allowing him to realize the proper defense, let him practice it several times, then quickened the pace.  Suddenly the sparring was in earnest, and within two minutes Ankhrabi was disarmed and stood holding a stinging wrist, a look of great respect and surprise on his face.

       Lord Elessar stepped back and straightened, and gave his host a look of question.  Ankhrabi gave a laugh as he finally lifted his foil from the ground and reached out his hand for the other.  “No,” he said, “I see now why my father named you a great swordsman.”  He turned to Rustovrid, who had joined the party and stood now near Nefiramonrani and her children.  “My lord ambassador, shall you try it next?”

       “Na, my lord Prince--I’ve matched swords against him many times in the salle and practice grounds in Minas Anor, and know I am no more fit an opponent for him than you or my father.”

       Ankhrabi was surprised.  “But your father was the greatest swordsman I’ve ever seen.”

       “Yes, and it saved his life and that of your uncle and father more than once; but he was quickly disarmed by Horubi’ninarin when they sparred together in the Valley of the Sun.  Nay, I might spar against Lord Mablung or even Captain Peregrin, but not the King.”

       The Dwarf had pulled from the weapons crate a war axe of different design than the one he carried.  “I take it,” he said in Westron, which Rustovrid translated to those who stood by him, “that Lord Rustovrid has declined to spar with you, Aragorn?”  At the King’s nod, he said, “Well, since the prince has had the chance to wind you a bit, we’ll try the defense against axes again.  No, let you not use Anduril--your weapons master will pluck my beard out hair by hair if its blade should be nicked, or if it should nick this one.  Use Gilui-estel instead.”

       As the King exchanged the sword he’d already taken out for another, slightly shorter one from the case, he asked, laughing, “Would you truly pluck out your own beard, Gimli?”

       “I’m no Elven smith to repair Anduril if it’s needed.  And besides, you’d most likely notch this instead, and I’m away now from my forge and don’t wish to use another’s.”

       Prince Legolas laughed also.  “You mean to tell me the greatest Dwarf smith of the Age feels inferior to a mere Elven smith?”

       “First, my father’s yet a better smith than I am.  Then, I’m but a mortal, Elf.  Lord Elrond’s smiths have had two and perhaps three Ages of the world to perfect their craft.  And the runes they’ve put on Anduril’s blade are counter to the powers and runes of Dwarves.  No, I’ll not touch it unless I must.”

       Rustovrid smiled with recognition at the sword now girt about the King’s waist, at the star set in its pommel.  “That is the sword you carried when you sparred with my father.”

       The King looked up from where he was adjusting the hangers for it and smiled.  “Yes, it is.  It was wrought for me when I approached manhood, and was given me the day I came of age.  I bore it until Anduril was reforged, and when he is of an age to bear a sword undoubtedly Eldarion shall carry it after me.”

       The King of Rohan examined the axe Lord Gimli was preparing to use.  “This is a war axe from Mundolië.”

       “Yes.  Aragorn asked Ghan Peveset for one so we could practice with it.”

       “But the people of Mundolië are now at peace with Gondor, are they not?”

       The King drew his sword and ran through a couple of forms with it.  As he finished he commented, “Yes, Mundolië is currently at peace with Rhun and Gondor--but only until such time as Ghan Peveset dies.  His current heir is his brother’s son, who is young and ambitious, which is not always a promising combination.” 

       He and the Dwarf took their stances, and after a mutual salute, they began to circle.  It was a match which beggared imagination, which enthralled all.  Nefiramonrani had watched a few practice matches now and then, usually between her husband and other nobles or officers of the Farozi’s guard; but what she saw now was fascinating even for those who did not appreciate the technical aspects of what was being done.

       For better than a quarter mark Man and Dwarf circled, struck and parried, ducked and sidestepped, each seeking to get the advantage of the other.  In the end the King managed to get a touch on the Dwarf’s arm, gently slapping the sleeve of the mail shirt Gimli wore today with the flat of the blade; but then he lost the sword and had to roll out of the way before Gimli was able to halt the arc of the axe’s swing.  The King held the knuckles of his right hand, which apparently had been grazed lightly.

       Prince Legolas laughed.  “And how do we account as to which won that match, Aragorn?” he asked.

       The one named Lord Hardorn was there immediately, was examining the wound with concern followed by relief.  “Strictly a flesh wound, my Lord Cousin,” he reported. 

       “I could have told you that,” the King responded, checking it over.  Hildigor held out the red satchel which had accompanied the King to the practice yard, and the King unfastened the complicated knot and drew out bandaging, went to the fountain at the side of the yard and dampened the cloth, then laid it over the knuckles.  Hildigor brought out another roll, gave the King’s hand a quick evaluation, then drew out scissors and cut off a length, brought it over and bound three fingers together.  After an appreciative nod of approval, the King saw everything else returned to the bag, and its flap closed again.

       The Elf had retrieved the sword and examined the blade, and now returned it to his friend, who also examined it, sighted down its blade, brought out a polishing cloth out of the case, and wiped it down before returning it to its sheath.  He looked to the others gathered there.  “I will sit and take a rest, then, and watch others spar for a time,” the Lord Elessar announced, and accepting a cup of water from one of the attendants, he sat upon a bench, one foot up on the bench beside him as he sipped.

       Éomer of Rohan matched himself against Faramir of Ithilien; Rustovrid against Lord Hildigor; Captain Damrod against Elfhelm; Haleth against Beregond.  Several more came out of the palace, including the Queen of Gondor and Arnor carrying her son and accompanied by daughter and the Hobbit guard, Lord Sherfiramun, Lady Ankhsarani, and three others, one of them Lord Sherfiramun’s personal guard.  They watched the sparring between the young golden-haired Rohirrim and the older captain of Ithilien, saw how well the two appeared matched, the older far more controlled and experienced, but more conservative in his movements; the younger more aggressive and bold, but certain of his control.  They sparred for slightly better than a quarter mark, first one and then the other leading the attacks, each countering competently, occasionally one slipping from defensive to offensive in an instant as opportunities presented themselves.  Finally both stepped back, bowed, and saw their weapons back into their sheaths.

       Sherfiramun put himself forward.  “Would any wish to spar with me?” he asked.

       Lord Mablung looked to the helmed figure who stood opposite him, with whom he’d obviously intended to spar.  “Do you mind, Lady?” he asked in Rohirric.

       The slighter figure shrugged.  “I can spar with Pippin,” came the muffled reply.

       Mablung turned to him.  He looked to the King, who nodded his intent to translate.  “I will be glad to match swords with you, my lord,” he offered.

       Sherfiramun nodded, threw off his formal cloak into the hands of his attendant, and stepped into the practice ground.  Looking at the Haradri’s short sword, Mablung turned to the chest and chose out a weapon closer to its length.

       “You do not trust to face me with your own sword?” asked Sherfiramun, Prince Faramir serving as translator.

       “The sword I usually wield is far longer than yours and gives me an unfair advantage in length, my Lord,” Mablung explained.  “I would prefer to be more closely matched in weaponry to you.”

       “Do not think you need to do this,” Sherfiramun said, his head raised in disdain.  “I can match you no matter what the length of the blade.”

       The King straightened.  “No, my lord,” he said in Haradri.  “I do not wish either of you hurt.  I will not allow him to fight you with live steel.  Use foils, or I shall not allow it to go forward.”

       At last the match began, both armed with foils.  The Gondorian soldier let the Haradri noble lead, kept up his defense with ease.  Again and again Sherfiramun saw an opening, sought to take advantage of it, only to find the move was already foreseen and the counter in place when the blow fell.  He was a good swordsman, but impatient; and finally he grew reckless, taking too wild a swing.  In an instant he was disarmed, his foil spinning on the ground.    But where all the rest had taken their defeats in good humor, Sherfiramun grew angry, seeming to take the loss of the foil as a personal affront.  His face darkened with rage, and he would have begun to splutter if Ankhrabi hadn’t come to his side and placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. 

       “No, brother, it was eminently fair.  Several have I seen disarmed this day, including the King An’Elessar, and yet none has become enraged.  Those of Gondor have fought for their lives for many lives of Men and have had to grow highly skilled with their weapons.  Feel honored it took this long to disarm you, and seek to learn what skills you can from what you have done.  Now let us clear the ground that another pair might take their turn.”  He drew Sherfiramun to the side of the enclosure, and watched as the one wearing the helm entered the open space, drawing a fair sword from its sheath.

       “I’ll take over for you,” Lord Hardorn said to the Hobbit guard, who nodded, removed his tabard and hung it near that of the King, moved to the crate and drew out a smaller padded shirt to wear, unfastened his swordbelt, quickly donned the shirt and took out his sword, hung belt and sheath from another of the pegs, then turned to face his opponent.  The two bowed, then took their stances and began the sparring.  Again it was a match which roused great interest, as the Hobbit and the helmed warrior each tried to turn the situation to his advantage.  For a quarter mark the two circled, struck and parried; the taller warrior had the advantage of a longer reach, but the Hobbit was able several times to slip inside that reach and offer a serious threat to his opponent, causing that one to have to draw the sword inward to do an effective guard.  It could not be decided by the onlookers which would have held the advantage had the match been for real.  They were remarkably well matched for skill, and finally the King gave a shrill whistle to indicate it was enough.

       Both drew back, and the one in the helm quickly unfastened the strap and drew it off, revealing this one was the Lady Éowyn.  She was laughing.  “A good match, Pippin,” she called out, accepting a cup of water from her brother.  “You must give your cousin a true fight when the two of you practice together.”

       Captain Peregin nodded, accepting a drink from the Dwarf.  After taking a deep draught of it, he wiped his face with his sleeve.  “I’m glad Strider called time, though.  I can truly feel the heat now.”  He handed the cup back to Gimli, checked his weapon and sheathed it, fumbled at the fastenings of the practice garment.  The Elf was there swiftly to undo the lacings, helped him shrug out of it.  He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, then reached once more for the water.

         The two of them moved to the side, and now Legolas moved forward, drawing his white knife.  “Well, mellon nin,” he said to the King.  “Shall we try long knives?”

        Aragorn laughed, drawing his dagger with his bandaged hand as he stepped back into the ring.

       The moves this time would be slow and languid at one moment, then swifter than lightning the next.  They were the best matched yet, and both clearly deadly.  At last the King slipped sideways, almost scored a touch, then was watching again as his weapon left his grasp.  He shook his head and laughed merrily.  “I almost never best you or my brothers, Legolas,” he said as he reached to pick the knife up again.  Both he and his friend checked their weapons, replaced them, smiling and bowing to one another.

       “You are improving,” Legolas commented.  “That last sidestep almost had me.”

       “Do you wish to practice with your bow?” the King asked.

       “No--it grows indeed warm.  We archers will practice tomorrow morn early.”

       Practice garb was replaced in the smaller crate, weapons in the larger one; it was fastened shut again, and Lords Hildigor and Damrod carried it between them back to the suite put at the King’s disposal.  The weapons master for the Haradri court indicated they could leave the crate of padded practice gear in the cover of the salle.  The Lord Elessar thanked him, carefully drew over himself again the figured robe and slipped the red satchel over his shoulder, then approached his wife, leaned forward and kissed her.  Taking his son on one arm and reaching down to take his daughter’s hand with his bandaged hand, he returned to the palace, now followed by the Lord Hardorn on guard.

       Captain Peregrin commented to the Lady Éowyn as he reached up to take her helm from her, “I believe I am now ready for a good second breakfast,” to which she answered with laughter, drawing him near to her as they walked, then releasing him to walk by her husband, smiling happily into his eyes.

Slave Market

       Late in the afternoon the great Ladies of the courts of Gondor and Rohan went out with Ladies Ankhsarani and Nefiramonrani and their children and a few of their attendants to go through the city of Thetos and examine its markets.  Lords Mablung and Bergemon and the Hobbit Captain went as guard to the ladies, striding watchfully alongside and behind as the women and children chattered and laughed, Queen Lothiriel accepting the role of translator for the adults while Lady Anidril did the same for the older children as they spoke.  The Lady Arwen wore a sling of sorts in which her son lay against her breast, allowing her hands to be free, while the Lady Avrieth pushed a sort of shaded wheeled chair with a handle before her in which the small sons of the Princess Éowyn and the Queen Lothiriel rode, a belt carefully secured about each ones waist to keep them from falling.

       Ankhsarani examined the chair with interest.  “A clever thing,” she commented.

       Lady Avrieth nodded her agreement.  “Lord Gimli designed it, based on the chairs in which those who lost their legs in the war often sit so they might move freely about their homes and the city and not be confined ever to their beds.  He made it somewhat lower, and wide enough for at least two children to ride in, and it folds up to be carried in a crate when we travel.  It has proven handy when the Lady Arwen or other mothers of the court wish to travel through the White City to visit the markets or those in the guest houses in the Sixth Circle or the Lords' mansions lower down in the city.  Now it is being copied by various craftsmen within Minas Anor and is becoming highly popular among the parents of small children.”

       All examined the wares of the different stalls and booths with interest, Ankhsarani and Nefiramonrani giving the names of the fruits unfamiliar in the Northlands and encouraging their guests to try them, describing the uses of various items they saw.  Amongst the whites of the clothing of civilians moved the scarlets and golds of the soldiers of Harad in their uniforms and cloaks, watching for thefts or troubles, occasionally hurrying to stop arguments which might break out.

       The Lady Éowyn was drawn to a stall of fabrics with fascinating patterns stamped upon them.  “They are from Far Harad,” explained the Lady Ghansaret.  “The dyes are drawn from various plants and even shelled creatures that live in the streams, and are stamped upon the cloth with carved wooden forms which are dipped into the dyes.  The designs on this one are of animals seen in the grasslands of the southwest.”  She named the Mumakil, the Giraffil which ate leaves from the tops of trees, the gazelles and lions, and Rhinorils with their odd horns on the ends of their great muzzles.  Another was stamped with waterbirds; a third with the forms of cats playing.

       “Two of the cats from about the palace came to sleep with us last night,” commented Queen Lothiriel as Éowyn, advised quietly by Anidril as to what the expected price for the fabrics might be, began haggling for two bolts of the cloth, one with the animals and one with the cats.  “They appeared to be very comfortable.  I think that my lord husband was surprised, for he’s never had a cat sleep with him before.  The cats of Edoras prefer to sleep in the stables where they can find mice and rats more easily.  Although Princess Melian’s cat Glorien sleeps with her at night.”

       “Are you telling them about Glorien?” the Princess asked.

       “Yes, my Lady.  I was telling them that she sleeps with you.”

       “Yes, she usually does, although she also loves my ada.”

       Lothiriel translated that.  Ma’osiri asked, “Has she always lived in your palace?”

       “She has for several years.  Elanor Gamgee sent her to me, and Glorien’s brother lives with Master Ruvemir and Mistress Elise and their son Samwise and daughter Gwineth.  They came all the way from the Shire.”

       “Where’s the Shire?”

       “Far to the North and the West.  Ada says it is not far from the Sundering Sea and the Havens from which my anadar sailed to Tol Eressëa.

       Amon’osiri asked, “What is it like in the Shire?”

       “Elanor says it is very lovely, and that there are lots of fields; and hills and ridges where they dig their homes into the hillsides.  Her father is a gardener as well as Mayor for the Shire, and there are lots of flowers about the Hill, and blossoms of elanor and niphredil and athelas and white lilies from Imladris and Lorien under Mr. Frodo’s window and in a circle at the top of the Hill under the oak tree that grows there.  Their cat came from the Cottons’ farm in Bywater.  She’s Glorien’s mother.  Elanor says the father lives with the Proudfoot family.”

       “Have you ever been to the Shire?”

       “When I was very small we went to the Brandywine Bridge.  But we Big Folk aren’t allowed to enter the Shire itself--only Master Ruvemir and those who travel with him.  This is to protect all.”

       “How do you know what it’s like?”

       “Elanor Gamgee sends word of it in her letters, and Master Ruvemir has done pictures of it for my adar and naneth from his visits.  He’s been there several times.  Master Ruvemir’s son Samwise is named for Elanor’s father.  Elanor sends me letters also for Rosie-Lass, who was born the same day as me.”

       “Do you have a hound?”

       “My ada has at home.  Lord Eregiel brought it to him the last time he came.  His name is Caravel.  Do you have hounds?”

       “Yes, coursing hounds.  We will begin to learn to hunt, and the hounds will hunt with us.  Lord Sherfiramun helps in their training.”

       “Where do you hunt?  And what kinds of beasts?”

       Once the Lady Éowyn had satisfactorily completed her purchase, Nefiramonrani explained that one of the attendants would carry the fabric for her.  The Lady of Ithilien graciously thanked the indicated attendant, who appeared both surprised and flattered at the notice given.  They continued on through the markets, and soon found a place where an entertainer had a small monkey performing tricks for the pleasure of the crowd.  The small princess Melian was enchanted, while the eyes of Elboron and Elfwine watched avidly as the small animal leapt and bowed, accepting small coins for its master.  Captain Peregrin at one point turned a glare on one he apparently felt was coming too close to his charges, and surprised at the ferocity of expression from one so small the Haradri drew back.  One of the Haradri guards laughed.

       “You did well to warn that one away, small Captain,” he commented.  “I suspect he’d intended to slip a necklace from the neck of one of the ladies in the press while they watched the monkey.  Such are a constant danger here in the market areas.” 

       Once the Queen translated the quiet warning, Captain Peregrin looked up, his eyebrows lifted expressively.  “Things like that don’t happen in our markets, but then we usually know our neighbors well.  But I’ve seen some try it in Minas Anor, although they generally don’t get much chance to get very good at it.  Our Lord King frowns on things like that.”  He looked at the crowd.  “One tried it once on Frodo during our stay, and was rather surprised to find Merry’s sword and mine at his middle, while Sam had caught up a stone to use if it were necessary.  I can’t remember what punishment he got....”  He smiled.  “Of course, had he tried anything on any of our royal ladies he’d have been terribly surprised.  Lady Lothiriel and Lady Éowyn, having lived in Rohan, are both capable of defending themselves; and after the wounding of their mother by orcs years ago our Lady Arwen’s brothers saw to it she was trained in the use of sword and knife as well.  She doesn’t use them often, but our Queen is fully skilled with both.  I’ve sparred with her only once, but it was enough to be certain she knows full well what she is doing.”

       Nefiramonrani looked at Arwen with shock.  “You know how to use a sword?”

       “Oh, yes, my brothers were adamant I learn.  I traveled a good deal between Imladris and Lothlorien, and they didn’t wish me to be helpless if my guards were hurt.  And I believe even Lady Avrieth is capable of handling a long knife.  It was much in Eriador as it was in Rohan--the knowledge that those who do not wield swords can more easily die on them.”

       “Actually,” Lady Avrieth said quietly, “my father and brother saw me trained with a bow--they didn’t wish for enemies to make it close enough to possibly touch me.”

       “Have you had to defend yourself?” a scandalized Lady Ankhsarani asked.

       Lady Avrieth nodded solemnly.  “Twice--once from those of Angmar and once against Orcs.  I saved my brother’s life that time.”

       They found themselves at a stall which sold carved alabaster jars and bowls, and they stopped to admire them.

       Eventually they found themselves in a portion of the market few ladies of quality within Harad tended to enter; when a string of nearly naked slaves were led past them the Hobbit guard stopped still, his mouth opening in shock and horror.  Most were typical Haradri with darker skin than the Northerners; but some were from Far Harad with darker skin still.  Two caught the attention of the Lady Arwen, however--one a delicate girl from Near Harad in her early teens who looked to be in shock, her eyes searching the crowd examining her with entreaty; and the other a tall Man of skin so dark as to appear almost black, broad chested and muscular, his face defiant, a scarred pattern of a star on his chest.  The Queen of Gondor and Arnor looked into his eyes, and stopped.  Looking between the two of them, she announced in a low, determined voice, “I will have those two.  Now.”

       “But, my Lady,” Mablung said quietly, “slavery is not allowed in our lands.”

       “I know it.  But I will not see these sold now into hands who will abuse them.”

       A nod, and Mablung went forward to speak to the vendor of human chattel, accompanied by Lady Ghansaret.  The auction was to begin soon, and the slaver was not willing to allow two such desirable slaves to be withdrawn from it; but suddenly recognizing the signs that the Haradri guards were from the Farozi’s own palace, he had a change of heart.  “Of course,” he said, “if it is for the foreign visitors....”

       He signed to his helpers, and these two were freed from their bonds and given into the guard of those who surrounded the two princesses of Harad and the Northern noblewomen.  The Queen signed to Mablung, who carried her purse of money for her in accordance with Haradri custom.  She turned at last to the slave merchant and addressed him personally.  “I wish to know the particulars of these two, how they came into your hands,” she said with a note of authority he could not ignore.

       “Of course, great Lady,” he said obsequiously.  He indicated the great Man.  “He is from the far South and West, beyond even Far Harad.  His people were conquered by another tribe, and those who survived were enslaved and sold North and West; and he eventually came to us.  As for her--” he nodded dismissively to the girl, “--her father died recently leaving great debts.  She was sold into slavery to recover them.  All within the house fell into the hands of those to whom her father owed money.”

       “Has she brothers, sisters, or a mother?”

       “No, she was the only member of her family left.  The servants were dismissed--they held but one slave of their own.”

       “I will require a bill of sale for each.”

       “But of course, my Lady.”

       The Queen waited with the steadfastness of stone until the bills of sale were written and examined, then finally indicated they might leave.  She looked into the eyes of the tall Man and gave him a long, appraising look, then a slight nod of the head as she turned to the girl.  This one she reached out a gentle hand to, lifted her face, and said softly, “You need weep no more, youngling.  Only come and all will be well for you.”  She indicated to her companions she wished to return to the palace.

       As they passed back through the markets, however, they passed a stall that handled second-hand goods, and the face of the girl looked stricken as she saw some items she obviously recognized.  The Lady Arwen stopped, and again examined the face of the girl, who as yet had not spoken.  Her eyes softened, then she turned to the items in the stall.  Six things she indicated--a hanging of obvious value, a figure of Neryet carved of alabaster, an inlaid game table and pieces, a flagon set of glass enamelled with lotus blossoms, a set of jars in a leather case intended for cosmetics, and a worn doll.  She offered the Man a price for all six items, and he agreed readily, saw to it they were pulled out of the jumble and readied for the others to carry.  Gently the Queen herself took up the doll and the case of cosmetics and handed them to the girl with a reassuring smile--she looked at them amazed and with a look of gladness that lit her features.  With various of the attendants carrying the remaining items, Mablung lifting the game table under his arm, they turned back to the palace of the Farozi with their purchases in hand.

To the Service of the Queen

       Benai followed after the tall woman with the pale face and her small daughter at her side and infant in the sling at her breast with all the dignity he had.  He realized she had just saved him from the agents of great families who stood in the crowd, eager to purchase such as he to serve as a bodyguard or heavy laborer.  He had been the chieftain of his village and one of the great ones of his people; but their enemies had planned their raid well, falling on them on a night of celebration when even the village guards were distracted.  His own bride had died in the raid, his people caught up and taken this way and that.  He’d failed his people--failed even she who was to have been his wife.  Now only he was left that he knew of, and he’d thought to be sold into full degradation until the woman with the eyes filled with stars saw him and chose him out to save. 

       He sensed she was gentle and desired no ill for him or the girl she’d bought alongside him, saw that she desired to give the girl back her freedom and a place in the world once more.  This girl was not born to slavery;  he sensed she was the daughter of a free Man, one who’d fallen by mischance into the hands of the slavers.  She did not deserve to be a slave, and would have survived only a short time.  She would have had no idea as to what was expected of her; she’d have been beaten repeatedly, would have been ridiculed by the least of those in her new household.  She would soon have sickened and given herself to death, not certain when her release came what it meant even as she embraced it.

       That was no longer to be her fate, though, now that the woman of stars had seen her and singled her out.  As the woman of stars recognized the significance of certain items in the market stall and purchased them for the girl, Benai felt even more relieved.  He’d thought once that if the chance fell him, once he was freed of chains he would flee to freedom.  But now he realized that he would follow one such as this woman anywhere.  When she had finished her purchases and they resumed their way back to whatever was her place while she sojourned in this land, Benai followed steadily.

       The guards at the gate admitted them, and they walked in silence through the grounds and into the palace, and the woman of stars led her folk into the guest wing given to their use.  Benai continued to follow her until they reached a large room intended obviously for a number to meet within, stood before her as she stood examining both himself and the girl, as a Man even taller than Benai himself approached her to stand by her side.

*******

       The King had been attending an audience given by the Farozi when Legolas straightened as if listening, then nodded slightly and returned to his respectful attention to the case the Farozi was considering.  Two landholders from some fifteen miles south of Thetos were quarreling about the boundaries between their adjoining properties.   It was obvious the markers had been moved, and probably multiple times, most likely by agents from both sides.  The arguments and testimony by various witnesses for both parties were lengthy and beginning to grow tedious.  Aragorn had decided after the first half hour how he would decide the case, but as he didn’t have authority here (for which at the moment he was grateful), he waited to see how An’Sohrabi would decide the quarrel.

       After three hours of arguing and listening even the two litigants were beginning to tire; and although he himself wouldn’t have let things drag on so, Aragorn recognized that An’Sohrabi was allowing this deliberately, realizing that when all were totally bored with repeating arguments they would be more open to what the Farozi might decide.  He realized that An’Sohrabi was quietly enjoying the show, that he’d also already decided what to do, and was amusing himself by seeing how long they’d draw it out.

       The decision that the corridor of contested land would be measured and the new boundary would be placed right down the center of it was exactly the finding the King of Gondor would have arrived at had it been his kingdom where the argument was being presented, and by that time the two landholders were both grateful to have it finished.  When the Farozi added that they would have to pay his surveyor to come to measure it out, and that if the argument was broached before him ever in the future both would lose their lands to the crown, they didn’t quibble further, and both bowed deeply and backed from the room grateful he didn’t charge both with substantial fines for wasting so much of an afternoon.

       Éomer shook his head as he watched the two of them and their followers and various witnesses and such finally clear from the Farozi’s throne room.  “Wise decision, Lord Farozi,” he said.  “Although had it been I who was asked to make such an obvious ruling I might well have required a good stallion or brood mare from each for my trouble.”  Faramir laughed aloud.

       Once Aragorn translated this, the Farozi laughed also.  “I will have to consider such a strategy in the future, my friend.”  A servant approached and murmured to him, and he nodded his understanding as he turned to his guests.  “Your ladies have returned, my lords.  And I understand, my Lord An’Elessar, that you have additions to your household.”

       Raising his brows with interest, the King of Gondor and Arnor rose.  “Then I suspect I ought to attend on my wife to learn what changes these additions will lead to.  With your permission, my Lord....”  He rose and bowed respectfully, then turned and left the room to seek out Arwen and find what had been done that afternoon.

       A formal sitting room had been given to the use of the Northerners, and it was to this room that the Lady Arwen had led her new acquisitions; and it was here Aragorn found them.  He examined the two individuals whom his wife faced with curiosity and growing understanding.  At last he said, “I see you found the slave market.”

       “Yes.”

       “How did these come there?”

       With a nod toward the tall, muscular black Man, “Capture,” and toward the delicate girl, “To resolve her father’s debts.”

       Aragorn son of Arathorn could feel the fury that his wife kept under rigid control.  Looking to the girl, he asked in Haradri, “What is your name, child?”

       “I am called Hasturnerini,” she said in a low voice.

       “Where were you born, Hasturnerini?”

       “Here in Thetos.  My father and I had a small house not far from the river.”

       “Your mother is dead?”

       “Yes, Lord, many years ago.”

       “How did your father lose his wealth?”

       “We never had great wealth, Lord.  He was ill, and the healers must come often.  He sold jewelry we once owned to pay.  Then he was dead, and the healer and another came with papers and officers of the guard to say that the debts were too great, that all we’d had was theirs now, that I was a slave.  I’ve never been a slave.  I don’t know how to be a slave.”

       “Yes, I can see this is so.”  He looked at the doll and the case, then looked at his wife.

       “We found some of her family’s goods in the marketplace.  I purchased some of them for her.”  Arwen’s voice was still low and controlled.

       “We cannot leave her behind with no family to care for her interests--they’d only take her again and sell her once more before our ship was well clear of the harbor at Risenmouthe.”  Aragorn sighed as he looked on her again.  “We will see about clothing you suitably.  We cannot keep you as a slave, Hasturnerini, for such is not lawful among our people.  Will you accept working for our family until you are of an age to live on your own?”

       “What would I do?”

       “Can you sew or weave?”

       “I’ve never done either.”

       “Would you like to learn?”

       “I don’t know.”

       The King shook his head.  “Ah, the honesty of childhood,” he commented.  Again he looked into the girl’s eyes.  “Are you willing to try to learn sewing and weaving?  And other languages than Haradri?”

       “Yes.”

       Relieved, Aragorn nodded.  Others were now coming down the corridor to the salon in which they stood.  Arwen asked, “What do you think to do, Estel?”

       “She’s not apt to be a maid, my love; so I thought perhaps she might be apprenticed to you.”

       “Apprenticed to me?”  The Queen sounded amused.

       “You are a master embroiderer, after all, beloved.  And it would fit both their laws and ours, once we settled the articles of indenture.”

       Ruvemir entered with Gimli, Isumbard, and Owain, having spent a good part of the afternoon in the company of the Priest of Amon, who’d taken them to the temple areas to examine the sculpture and architecture of Harad.  “What is this about indentures?” asked the sculptor.

       “Not to you this time, Master Ruvemir,” the King said, smiling.  “No, this time it would be my lady wife who would hold the articles.”

       “This child?” asked Ruvemir.  “Is she old enough?”

       Aragorn sighed, and turned to the girl, addressing her again in Haradri.  “How old are you, Hasturnerini?”

       “Fourteen in a ten-day, sir.”

       The King smiled.  “Barely,” he reported to his sculptor.

*******

       Benai had learned a few words of Haradri, but not much.  The indications were that this Man who’d come to the side of the woman of stars was her husband, for certainly he was her match--tall, muscular (though nowhere as broad of chest and shoulder as himself), obviously intelligent, calculating, and as full of controlled anger when confronted by the girl and himself as the lady was.  And, as with the woman, he was infinitely kind and gentle with the girl.  As he asked his questions, the girl had answered, speaking for the first time since she’d been added to the string of slaves three days previous, her voice sweet and tremulous but increasingly confident as hope was restored to her. 

       His robes were rich and figured with the image of one of the Messengers crowned with a star.  At the neck of the outer robe was a brooch also in the shape of a Messenger bearing a great green stone which had shone with his anger when first he arrived but whose light was now steady and soothing as he spoke with the girl.  One of the three rings he wore was figured with the shapes of two serpents and set with a great emerald, with smaller emeralds for the eyes of the serpents, one crowned with flowers which were being eaten by the second.  The second ring he wore held a great stone of black onyx which had been cut into a device Benai could not see, but had a single diamond in it again like a star.  The third ring he wore was reflected in the match to it worn by his wife.

       Lord and Lady they were, and full of majesty they were as well.  Then had come the small one, whomever he might be, bearded, intelligent himself, his eyes as given to calculation and kindness as the tall lord, who questioned the lord’s decision, and smiled when apparently the question asked of the girl confirmed the decision was acceptable.

       Behind the woman of stars had continued the guard of three bearing the image of a great silver Tree with white blossoms, two against a black background and one against white.  Over the Tree on the outer garment of each were a winged shape whose meaning was unclear to Benai, for it was plainly no bird, and seven stars, set in the shape of a circle for the smallest of the three.  Almost he appeared to be a child, save the face was mature for all he was beardless compared to the other Men Benai saw in this company.

       Another tall, dark-haired Man with a short, neatly shaped beard joined them, his white outer garment again richly figured with a great star set in the center with a great gem.  He joined the tall woman whose hair was as golden as the sun itself,  put his arm familiarly about her shoulder.  Behind him came another in greens and golds in a garment figured with the head of a hornless white grazing beast, its muzzle raised.  His hair was as golden as that of the tall woman, as was that of the two who accompanied him.  He approached one of the other women whose hair was dark but held a distinct reddish tint.  He reached down to the wheeled chair, unfastened a belt, and lifted out a small child he handed to the golden woman, then did the same for the other child whom he held in his own arms.  The woman whose dark hair appeared almost red put her arm about his waist.  One in grey and silver whose robe was figured with the circle of seven stars came to stand with the woman who was behind the wheeled chair, on either side two more marked with the image of the trees, winged shape, and stars.  Another of the small beardless folk moved to stand by the smaller guard; a youth stood near the small bearded one.  Behind them were two more figures who stood together, one beardless, with sleek pale hair well past his shoulders, slender, yet, Benai sensed, deadly; the other shorter, infinitely strong, his hair and thick beard plainly reddish, leaning on a great war axe.

       The tall Man was the focus of all, as he reached out a reassuring hand to the girl and smiled upon her, quietly speaking to her, outlining what he felt should be done for her.  The hope on her face strengthened, and tears of relief began to fall from her eyes.  The woman behind the chair moved forward, she who held no small child, and enfolded the girl in her arms in comfort.  All were smiling now, then turned their attention to Benai.

       The tall Man reached down and lifted the little girl who stood by the woman of stars into his arms, raised her up so she could look more levelly at Benai’s face.  It was plain she was as much his daughter as she was that of the woman of stars.  She, too, held stars in her eyes as did her mother, but the brows were a feminine form of her father’s, the cheekbones also inherited from him.  Briefly she looked into her father’s face and smiled, that smile filling the room, then she turned to Benai and her face grew solemn and considering.

       The Man asked him a question, but Benai did not understand.  He asked it again in the tongue of this place, but Benai understood only the word meaning you.  Then he asked again in the trader’s tongue, little of which Benai could understand; but it appeared he was asking for his name.  “I am called Benai,” he answered.  The tall Man repeated the phrase, question written on his face, and Benai repeated, “Benai.”

       “Benai,” the Man echoed, and Benai allowed himself to smile briefly.  “Good,” he continued. 

       The golden woman suddenly appeared startled, then looked at her small son and laughed.  She said something, and Benai, smelling the scent of urine, realized the child had wet himself in the way of such young things, and all others laughed, distracted.  Now they were beginning to disperse.  The lady of stars said something and leaned forward to kiss her husband.  He set his free hand momentarily on her shoulder, then slipped it free, allowing her to go off with the rest, leading the girl whose life she’d bought. 

       The tall Man moved to one of the chairs and sat in it, indicated another opposite him, indicated Benai should sit there.  Uncertain, for his rough loin garment was, he realized, filthy with sweat from having been worn so many days without washing or changing, Benai shook his head uncertainly.  Apparently the Man divined the source of his discomfort; he rose and moved to a wall where stood another chair of unpadded wood, brought this to sit opposite the chair in which he intended to sit, and set it for Benai, and with a nod of thanks the tall black Man dropped into it, suddenly aware of just how weary he felt.

       The father let his daughter slide to stand upon the floor, went to one knee in front of Benai, put his hand to the pulse at his neck, called over his shoulder to the small guard and gave him instructions.  With a nod and word of respect that one disappeared, followed by his short fellow.  Soon the other returned with a vessel of water and a glass to drink from, filling the glass and handing it to the Man, who offered it to Benai.  Benai accepted it readily, drank deeply, then stopped lest he grow ill with too much too soon.  He closed his eyes, savoring the relief of his thirst; when he opened them again, he saw the approval in the bearded Man’s eyes.

       “Good,” the tall Man said once again.  He again examined him, then spoke to another of the guards, who went off to bring to him a Man who resembled the woman whose dark hair was touched with red, only older.  He spoke with this Man, who nodded and went off once more.  Benai sipped at his glass of water, and soon a tall Haradri entered followed by the Man who’d most recently left him.  The tall Lord rose, spoke to the Haradri in his own tongue; the three discussed things at length.  Finally the Haradri left, nodding and giving a bow, which the tall Lord returned.

       The small one in the black and silver was approaching now, carrying a tray on which lay bread, fruit, and a slice of meat, and a goblet of some drink.  As he came, Benai made a startling realization--he was barefoot and his feet had thick hair atop them, and his ears were slightly pointed.  The small one looked between Benai and his lord, and the Lord took the tray with what must be thanks and held it out to Benai, saying something over his shoulder to the small one.  That one looked about, chose a nearby small table, and brought it over so that the Lord could place the tray atop it.  Realizing this was for himself, Benai again looked at the Lord, inclining his head in thanks.  The Lord nodded, indicating that Benai ought to eat.

       It was so good to have more than the poor fare he’d been given by the slavers, although he had to school himself to keep from bolting down this.  He ate slowly, appreciating how good it tasted, then smiled with the relief he felt.

       After he’d eaten the tall Lord again felt the pulse at his neck, indicated he wished to look into his mouth, examined his eyes carefully, checked over hands and fingernails, finally smiled again.  The tall Haradri returned with a black slave, one in far better health than Benai felt himself, dressed in scarlet and gold over a white kilt.  The tall Lord offered him thanks and apparently asked him to remain, then turned to the black slave and began to speak.

*******

       “We do not know from where he comes, save that it is from far South of Far Harad,” the foreign lord said in lightly accented Haradri.  “Lord Amonrabi has told me that you speak several dialects from South of Harad.  Can you help me speak with him, do you think?”

       “I do not know, mighty Lord,” Gefferel said.  “There are many tongues spoken in the Southlands.  However, with his size and breadth of chest, I suspect he might be from Matswali.  I know two of the tongues of that land--I am willing to try.”

       “Good enough,” the King said.  “Please try.”

       “Are you from Matswali?” Gefferel asked in one of the dialects he knew. 

       Benai felt relieved--he understood this tongue, for they’d often traded with the Matvania peoples.  “I am not from Matswali,” he answered slowly.  “I am from Camaloa.”

       Gefferel was pleased to realize his first choice was understood, and translated to the foreign lord.  “He says he comes from Camaloa, but he speaks some of the tongue of the Matvania language.  Camaloa is a small land, far South and West, near the Western Sea.  They are a strange people, much given to fishing and sailing upon the waters.  Their Men train to fight with long swords, similar to yours.  It is said they worship the stars, and you can see--” he indicated the star pattern of scars on Benai’s chest, “--that it appears to be true.  Many have star patterns carved into their flesh.

       “They do not take slaves or sell them, and when they find slavers in their lands they will kill them and free those they have taken.  Their language is very different from that of most of the peoples here in the southern lands.  They are said to be fierce warriors; that they have taken this one is unusual, but not unheard of.”

       The King nodded his thanks, then turned his attention back to the other.  Indicating Gefferel should translate, he began to  question his wife’s acquisition.  “Your name is Benai?”

       “So I have been called, but I have disgraced my name, allowing enemies to come upon our village and take all.”

       “I am told you are a very careful people, and fierce in your hatred of slavery.  How was it they came upon your village?”

       “There was a wedding, and even those on guard about the village were more intent on the wedding than on watching for enemies.  We ought to have been on guard--we’d been warned the G’bani people watched for a chance to take slaves.  We kept watch very hard for several weeks, but did not see them.  Somehow they appear to have learned of the wedding, and they came as we prepared for the wedding feast.  All were watching the preparations.  I ought to have been on watch as well--they would have been seen if I’d been on watch.”

       “Why were you not on watch that night?”

       “I was the bridegroom.”

       The King took a deep breath, and shook his head.  “Sweet Valar,” he murmured.  “Your bride?”

       “They killed her.”

       The questioning went on for some time as the details were slowly brought out.  It became increasingly evident that Benai had taken all guilt upon himself.  He’d been in the place of gatherings in the midst of the village, had been led to his place of honor by his father and one brother and four of his friends and the bride’s brother, had been made to sit.  The binding of hands was over and the bride had been sat beside him, and they were opening the cooking pits to bring out the food for the feast when the assault came.  He had no idea what had become of the guard on the approaches to the village; only suddenly a great number of Men from the G’bani tribe were there.  They were speaking the language of the G’bani people, and wore the cloth of the G’banis over their shoulders and had the peculiar squashed nose of the G’banis, so it was on this that he was certain they were indeed G’banis.

       Benai had been seated and had found at least five Men piling themselves upon him, and when he sought to struggle one struck him on the temple with what felt like a club or a stone.  He was stunned, and when he awoke at last the assault was over.  The leader of the assault was furious with those who had fallen on the bride--she, too, had been struck to stun her, but it had killed her instead.  Then the prizes were divided amongst those who’d taken part in the raid--it appeared at least four villages of the G’banis had been involved.  Eight of his folk fell to the group who were given himself, three of them women.  What befell the women----  His face was stricken with the horror of it.  Two of the Men were led Eastward; one was killed when he tried to escape; he and the remaining one, one of the bride’s kin, were brought to the north coast and sold to some who had a slave ship, who had brought him to Thetos.  His fellow had died on the slave ship, and so it was that only Benai had come to the slave market.

       “Where were you struck on the temple?”

       Benai indicated the place, and Aragorn placed his fingers there, let them feel deep----  He sighed as he at last straightened.  Benai had not lied--there had been a small fracture there on the edge of the hollow, although it was knitting well at this time.  He saw a distinct look of surprise and relief in Benai’s face.

       It was then that Hardorn came into the room.  “I’ve had a bath readied for him, Aragorn,” he said in Adunaic, “and it appears that the white robes you brought will fit him--they are loose enough.”

       Benai straightened with shock.  This had been spoken in a tongue so closely related to his own that he’d understood it.  He turned to the newcomer.  “How do you know our speech?” he demanded.

       Hardorn and Aragorn were taken aback, Aragorn rising from where he’d crouched before Benai and looking at his cousin in amazement.  In Adunaic himself, Aragorn asked, “I could ask the same thing--how it is you speak Adunaic?”

       Benai rose and looked deeply into the face of the Lord opposite him.  “We are of the Sea People’s descendants.  Long ago--very, very long ago--a ship came upon the shores on the wings of a great storm, and it foundered upon the rocks.  Our fathers and mothers came upon that ship.  The local tribes took in the survivors, welcomed them, aided them.  We became one people.  But we honor Rendil, who was father to the first King of the Sea People from whom we are descended.”

       He saw understanding on the face of the Man opposite him.  Again the Lord looked to the one who’d called him Aragorn, then looked back at him.

       “Tell me about this Rendil you honor.  Who is he?”

       “He is now the star of morning and evening.  But a great sailor upon the seas he was, once on a time.”

       The Lord nodded, his face smiling.  He allowed himself to fold into the chair behind him, and indicated Benai ought to do the same.  “Sit yourself down, cousin,” he said.  “This explains a good deal.”

       Amonrabi looked down on the face of their guest.  “You can speak his language?  Did you learn it on your journey here before, An’Horubi’ninarin?”

       Aragorn looked up at his host’s brother, his face still alight with surprise.  “No,” he said in Haradri, “I never made it even to Ephir.  But the tongue he speaks by nature is the same as that which we--” he indicated himself and his cousin, “--were raised to speak.  His people are also descended, apparently, from the refugees from Númenor.  We had thought all the ships accounted for, but apparently they were not.”  He turned to Gefferel.  “You have said they fight with long swords such as we bear, and often bear with them star tokens and marks?”

       “Yes, great Lord.”

       “And they do not tolerate slavery?”

       “That is true, great Lord.”

       “And they build boats and sail upon the sea and fish?”

       “Yes, great Lord.”

       “Do they keep horses?”

       “No, great Lord.  Horses are not native to that area.”

       “What is known of their fathers?”

       “They claim their fathers came from the Sea on a great ship.”

       King and cousin were both nodding as the King translated this to Hardorn in Westron.  Aragorn looked once more on Benai.  “Who was it who it is said led the ships away from the land of the Sea People?”

       “His name was Lendil, Lord.”

       Both Aragorn and Hardorn were smiling now.  “Elendil the Tall,” Hardorn commented.

       “Yes, it was said he was marvelously tall.”

       Aragorn looked into Benai’s eyes.  “I am the heir to Elendil through his son Isildur, through his son Valandil.  I was born Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am the King Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar of Arnor and Gondor.  It is a wonder to greet kinsmen here, from South of Harad.”

       “The lady of stars, your wife....”

       Aragorn smiled gently, the love he felt for her obvious in his eyes.  “She is the Lady Arwen Undomiel, now Queen of Arnor and Gondor.  And she is the granddaughter, through his other son Elrond, of Eärendil the Mariner.”

       Benai went very still, and then looked closely at Aragorn.  He rose and bowed deeply.  “Then it is that at last all has come to pass, and the children of the two sons of Rendil have indeed married and renewed our peoples within Middle Earth.  You are, then, my rightful lord.”

       “So it is, my brother.  Sit and be glad.  I cannot give you back what was lost, but can help you to bring about what will be.  Are you willing to go with us so that in time we may bring you back to the remnants of your people, let them to know that they are not alone in the world?”

       Benai gave a full smile.  “Oh, yes, my lord--that I will do gladly.”

       “What is it he says?” asked Amonrabi.

       The King looked up at him.  “He has acknowledged me as his kin and his Lord.  He is willing to return to Gondor with us when we go.”  Again he turned to Benai.  “Tomorrow we will go to the practice ground that I might test your skill with swords.  If you will, I shall make you part of our guard and particular guard to the Queen’s person for the time you are with us.”

       “That would please me.”  He looked to the Tree on the small one’s tabard.  “Then, that is descended from Nimloth?”

       “You know that story?  Yes.”

       He looked at the King’s daughter.  “And this and the other are your children.”

       “Yes, our daughter Melian and son Eldarion.”

       Benai smiled.  “Melian--she of the girdle.”

       The King smiled indeed.

       “And Eldarion means?”

       “Son of the Elves.”

       “There are many Elves left in the world?”

       “There are yet some left in Middle Earth, but most have sailed to Aman, to what is their rightful, proper land.”

       “Is the one of golden hair and no beard an Elf?”

       “Yes, Legolas is an Elf, and he lingers in Middle Earth yet a time, for my sake and for the sake of his great friend, Gimli son of Gloin, who is a Dwarf.  And my wife’s brothers and grandfather, and some of the folk of Lorien and Rivendell, of the great Greenwood and of Mithlond yet remain, but they are but few compared to the number that once dwelt in the mortal lands.  They leave Middle Earth to such as you and me, our brother.”

       Benai gave a great sigh, and his head rolled back on his shoulders.  His relief was plain to see.  “We are not alone.”

       “No, brother, you are not alone.  A bath has been prepared for you, and robes you can wear for the present.  Arwen will delight to craft clothing for you in keeping with that of your own people, and in keeping with your new status as her guard.”

       “Thank you.  To bathe--it will be a blessing.”

To Market, to Market

       “We’re to get what?”

       Legolas looked down at his friend and smiled.  “Sandals for our new companions, and fabrics for appropriate clothing.”

       “Now, what am I, as a Dwarf, going to know about fabrics?  And why did he send us?”

       Legolas chose to answer the second question.  “I believe he felt that, as close as it is now to the time for closing the shops and stalls, fewer would be likely to close them in our faces than in the faces of his Men.”

       “I suppose this is true, but I don’t even speak enough Haradri to make myself understood.”

       “Oh, I think you will make yourself understood in spite of your poor command of Haradri.”  They’d entered the market area and were looking about for such stalls as they needed. “There, Gimli--there’s one who sells sandals.  I will go and search for the fabrics.”

       “If you are certain....”  But Legolas had already disappeared further into the maze of lanes between the structures, tents, and open pavilions that marked each merchant’s space.  Muttering something under his breath about the lack of help displayed by some Elves, Gimli pushed his way into the open area where the seller of sandals sold his merchandise.  The merchant had just been ready to pull closed the wooden flaps that covered the cart from which he sold his wares, from which many pairs of sandals hung for display, when Gimli arrived and with a wave indicated he wished the merchant to leave them be.  Surprised and somewhat intimidated, the merchant stepped back, wondering just what this strange customer desired, and whether he intended to pay for them.

       It was fairly easy to find sandals fit for the girl, and very good ones at that.  But finding ones which would fit that giant of a man--he wasn’t as tall as Aragorn, but was broader, and his feet were enormous. 

       Then he found them--the sandalmaker had made a pair strictly for demonstration’s sake, to show what was possible, and they hung from one end.  They were very finely made and well finished.  Gimli checked the quick tracing Aragorn had done and laid it against the sandal--yes, a good fit indeed, and they were even rich looking.

       The sandalmaker looked with amazement at the tracing this odd, bearded customer held against his display pair and saw the fit they made, and felt a bit faint.  This odd dwarfling or dwarf had a need for sandals that large?  What kind of giant was in his charge?  When the Dwarf indicated he wanted the display pair as well as the one for a woman with small feet the merchant tried to protest, then gave it up as a bad job.  No, if he wanted those sandals, he’d sell them to him.  He named an exorbitant price, and held up his fingers to show it.  The Dwarf raised his brows and gave a great snort, apparently of astonishment and disgust, held up considerably fewer fingers in return.  Suddenly heartened, for here was a stranger who yet appeared to know the delights of bargaining, the merchant began to haggle.

       They were still at it when Legolas returned.  They’d begun to cast insults at one another now as they happily argued the proper price for the two pairs of sandals.

       “Why, you son of five dogs and a frog!” the merchant declared.  “I’ll take no less than eight silver ring coins for them.”  He held up both hands with the thumbs folded in.

       “You’ll accept five and like it, you impatient gnat of a Man,” Gimli grunted, holding up a single hand of fingers.

       They finally settled at six, and with a great show of grumbling Gimli drew out the cord of ring coins Aragorn had given him and counted them out.

       “You are certain he wants silver coins?” Legolas asked.

       “First words of Haradri I learned, after all, were those for silver, gold, brass, bronze, and copper,” Gimli said distractedly.  “Here, you greedy son of a camel, take them then.”  He handed them with almost convincing reluctance to the other, then added another of copper.  “It was a pleasure bargaining with you.”  He looked to Legolas for a second.  “Tell him that.”

       Legolas laughed and translated the last comment, and the sandalmaker looked surprised, and then immensely flattered.  He unfastened the desired pairs and presented them, then held up a hand for them to wait, rummaged through a small casket and handed Gimli two extra pairs of laces.  Now both smiling, Man and Dwarf bowed to one another, and taking his purchases and the extras Gimli turned to accompany Legolas back to the palace.

*******

       Arwen took possession of the bolts of fabric brought her by Legolas with pleasure, and Aragorn had his daughter take the sandals to their intended recipients.  There were several rooms intended for slaves and servants along the corridor closer to the main wing of the palace, and Lord Amonrabi had instructed the housekeeper to prepare two of these for the Queen’s acquisitions, with instructions one was to be fitted with a proper headrest while the other should be left with none.  Mollified that at least one of the new servants used a proper rest while sleeping, and that these were finally obtaining servants in keeping with their stations, the housekeeper did as instructed.

       Benai had dried himself with the provided towel, and now with small clothes and a white robe lent him by the King Elessar upon him he left the bathing chamber and followed the waiting slave to the room provided him.  It wasn’t commodious, but was comfortable.  He examined the room with interest, nodded his appreciation to the slave, and entered in to take his possession of it.  Then, as soon as the footsteps of the slave disappeared down the corridor there was a knock at the door, and a small face framed with dark gold hair peeped in.  In soft Adunaic she said, “Master Benai?  Ada asked me to bring you some shoes.”  At his nod she came in and held the sandals out to him.

       “Thank you,” he said solemnly as he bent to accept them.  He sat on the bed, lifted one foot to fasten one of the sandals to it, then the other.  Finally he stood, and smiled.  “You may tell your lord father that they are a good fit and are comfortable.”

       “Very good,” she said, sounding very like her father at the moment.

       “Is there ought else I can do for you, my lady Melian?”

       She shook her head, but still lingered.  Finally she said, “Ada says you are another of our people.  I didn’t know the Dúnedain could have dark skin as you do.  I am glad, though.”  Her voice was high as one would expect of a child, and quite sweet.  “I think you look very handsome.”

       He felt touched by this speech, and bowed deeply to her.  “I thank you deeply, princess,” he said.  “You are yourself beautiful beyond telling.”

       “Not as beautiful as Nana,” she said with a sigh.

       “Ah, but you are as beautiful indeed.  Not more so, but as beautiful.”

       Her eyes shone with the compliment.  “Thank you,” she said.  “Ada says that when you wish you may come to him in the sitting room.  We will go soon to eat with the Farozi, although Nana says she supposes the Haradrim shall wish you and Hasturnerini to eat separately.  Well, as Hildigor is on guard this evening, he must eat separately, too, so he will probably eat beforehand with you.”

       “Melian?”  A woman’s voice down the hall called the child, and she looked away, then back.

       “Lady Avrieth is calling me.”  She smiled, then disappeared.

       A few moments later Benai walked down to the great room where he’d been brought first.  The King stood there with other Men and three women about himself, all of them talking quietly.  The King turned at his entrance and smiled his welcome.  “Gentlemen, my ladies,” he said in Adunaic, “may I present Benai of the true Southern Dúnedain.  He has agreed to enter our service as Arwen’s personal guard for a time.”  He then translated what he’d just said to Rohirric for Éomer, Éowyn, and those of the King of Rohan’s escort.

       “Welcome,” the other tall Man who wore the symbol of a star on his robes said.  “I am Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien.  It is a pleasure to find more kinsmen here so far from our homes.”

       “It is an honor for myself as well, Lord Prince.”

       He was quickly introduced to the rest, all of whom treated him with respect and honor.  King and Queen of Rohan; Prince and Princess of Ithilien; envoys from the courts of Rohan and Arnor; ambassadors from Gondor to Harad, husband and wife; escorts, all lords and captains; Captain Peregrin and Master Isumbard Took from the Shire, both Hobbits; Master Ruvemir and his apprentice from Gondor, sculptors; Dwarf and Elf.  He looked at them with interest, then bowed with respect to them.  “It is my honor,” he repeated quietly.

       Lady Avrieth came with young Elfwine in her arms to deliver him to his father, whose eyes lit with pride as he reached to accept him.  Melian followed behind with Hasturnerini on one side and Elboron on the other.  The Haradri girl certainly looked different now, her hair carefully washed and brushed, her slender feet in new, elegant sandals, a new gown about her which was sufficiently similar to Haradri styles to make her feel comfortable, but sufficiently different to make it plain she was no longer under Haradri protocol.  Aragorn was amused to recognize that one of his daughter’s looser night gowns had been carefully and swiftly redesigned for the use of the girl.  Yes, Arwen was making it plain this was not just another slave to be counted among those of the palace, to be bullied and given the lowest errands.  All inclined their heads courteously to her, and Melian demonstrated to her how she ought to curtsey in return.  Once she’d managed to copy the smaller girl, she accepted the smiles of all before they turned back to their own discussions of how they would deal with the situation for the moment. 

       Finally Lady Anidril said, “I’ll take her in hand for the next two days, until the day of the festival.  She will need instruction on protocol for all three courts, and on what it means to be indentured.  My maid Aldarieth will be able to help her as well.”  At the King’s nod of agreement, she turned to the girl and began to explain in Haradri.

       “So, I will be alongside you for two days?” Hastunerini asked.

       “Yes, for two days, starting tomorrow.  We will see you more properly prepared for the remainder of our time here in the Farozi’s palace.  The folk of the palace will find it hard to understand your new status, for they will not understand the differences between guild indentures and slavery.  Nor do they fully understand as yet how our protocol differs from theirs.  You will need to learn much in two days that you might attend on our Queen as your mistress in a manner they will accept, but which reinforces that you are not a slave in the manner in which their slaves are.”

       Meals had been sent for Benai, Hasturnerini, Avrieth, the two small boys, and those Arwen had indicated earlier in the day to Amonrabi would stand as guards of honor during the meal.  They were allowed to sit at a table on the far side of the room to eat together.  Benai was able to use a Haradri eating knife and spoon well enough, and watched in fascination as the Northerners dealt with forks.  He ended up shaking his head with disbelief.  Hasturnerini found sitting up to eat a matter over which to giggle, but accepted it well enough.  When the meal was over she returned to her room for the night, and looked about it with interest, gratefully running her hands over her restored family possessions, finally undressing carefully and lying down happily with her doll.  She was too old to sleep with dolls, really; but it was reassuring to have this part of her childhood restored, to know she was among those who wished her well.  She stroked the doll’s wooden head for comfort as she slipped into a deep and restful sleep.

The Tale of the Ringbearers

       When the summons came for the evening meal, Benai, a blue cloth bound about his brow, a blue sash about his waist into which he’d thrust the long knife from Far Harad Aragorn had carried home with him after his last visit, walked with the others guards of honor and stood behind the Queen’s couch.  Even for Harad he appeared now so exotic that he was treated with deference by the slaves and servants of the palace, and the nobles found themselves eyeing him with approval.  He stood, his hands on his waist, feet apart, behind the Lady Arwen, his eyes watching all as did the Lord Hildigor, who stood as the King’s guard that night, or Haleth behind the couches for the King and Queen of Rohan, or Beregond behind Faramir and Éowyn.

       Discussions this night centered on the coming festival set for the Farozi’s birthday and how it was to be organized.  Tonight the small Princess Melian had been allowed to attend the meal, along with Rustovrid and Ghansaret’s daughters and the Farozi’s grandsons and granddaughter.  Each was to be allowed to take part in the procession, and the twins were very excited about their part in it, to walk one before and one behind their grandfather carrying torches.

       After the meal the party rose and moved to the other end of the room where all could mingle more informally.  The Farozi sat in his great chair, while his royal guests sat on couches in couples, their guards behind them, the rest of the company about them.  The Farozi spoke.  “You had promised that this day we should hear the tale of how the Death Eater was cast down, my Lord An’Elessar.  Will you tell it now?”

       The King of Gondor looked levelly at the Farozi and slowly nodded his head.  “Yes, we will tell you; but we warn you it is a long tale, and somewhat complicated.”  He turned.  “Captain Peregrin, will you come forward, please?”

       Pippin, who as he was not on guard tonight had dressed in a tunic of figured green rather than his livery, came from his place by his cousin and the Lady Anidril, who’d been translating, to stand at the King’s hand.  “Yes, my Lord King?”

       “As this is as much your tale as mine, I would have your aid in telling it.”

       “As you wish, my Lord.”  He bowed deeply.

       The King turned to Legolas.  “Will you please translate into Adunaic, Legolas?”  At the Elf’s nod, he turned to Lord Amrahil.  “If you will translate into Westron, or from Westron to Haradri when it is needed, my Lord....”  Again, with the agreement of the Ambassador, he gave a sigh, bowed his head for a moment, then raised it.

       “It begins, my lords and ladies, with the story of Seti, which most of you know, how for the sake of Osiri the rest of the gods came to throw Seti down and cast him out.  In the Northlands we name them differently, and the stories of how the Valar came to fight Morgoth is told somewhat differently as well, but it comes to the same thing.

       “He whom you called the Death Eater we called Sauron, the Accursed....”

       And so the story was told.  Servants came and went, brought wine and juices, plates of cakes and pastes of fowl and fish on thin bread baked crisp.  Sometimes Aragorn spoke, sometimes Pippin, and sometimes the Lady Arwen as the oldest one present, who knew much seen through the eyes of her grandparents and father.

       Éomer and Éowyn described the coming of the Three Hunters with Gandalf to Edoras, then the fight at Helm’s Deep, the parley with Saruman, the despair of Éowyn and her taking Pippin’s beloved cousin before her on her horse as she rode, disguised as a Rider in the murk of the Enemy’s cloud of ash, amongst the forces of Rohan to the lifting of the siege of Minas Tirith and the destruction of the Lord of the Nazgul.

       Hardorn told of the ride of the Grey Company to Rohan in search of their kinsman and Lord, and the ride through the Paths of the Dead, the taking of the fleet of Umbar, and the sail up the River to finish the Battle of the Fields of the Pelennor.

       Pippin related the crossing of the Dead Marshes, the crossing into Mordor, and the climb up Mount Doom as written by Frodo and as described further by Sam.  Faramir told of meeting Frodo and Sam within Ithilien, the realization of the nature of Frodo’s burden, and the decision to aid him as he could.  Aragorn spoke of the flight of the Istari on the back of the great Eagle Gwaihir to seek the Ringbearers in the ruins of the Mountain.  Gimli spoke of the finding of Pippin beneath the body of the great troll he’d killed, Beregond of seeing his death in the troll’s face, and his realization Pippin had saved him, but at the cost of having been crushed by the troll’s fall. 

       Aragorn spoke at last of the healing of the Ringbearers, the realization that the healing of Frodo was physical only and tenuous at best, of the nightmares all four of the Hobbits endured and continued to endure from time to time as a result of their experiences.

       Then Pippin described their return home, the Scouring of the Shire, the selection of Frodo to serve for the Mayor, the relinquishment of the office after only a few months, the final fifteen months of increasing discomfort his cousin  endured, his final decision to leave Middle Earth altogether.  He described the ride to the Havens as Sam had described it in the Red Book.  “Of course, it wasn’t all that simple, or so Sam will now admit, who was beside him along the way.  Frodo was once again approaching death, and he knew it.  He didn’t speak when we arrived at the Havens--I don’t think he could do so at that point.  He embraced us and kissed us, but said not a word--finally went aboard the ship, and it sailed West.  Our Lady Arwen’s father sailed with him, and her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel, and many others of the greatest Elves who had remained in Middle Earth.  Now so few remain--Lord Celeborn, the sons of Elrond, Lord Glorfindel, King Thranduil who is Prince Legolas’s father and many of his people, Círdan at the Havens who builds the greatest of the Elven ships--some few others.”

       The King Elessar finally took up the tale, one arm about his wife.  “The Third Age of Middle Earth is over, and with it passes the Eldar Days.  Now is the Time of Men truly upon the mortal lands of Arda, and it is up to us to decide whether we will follow the lead of most of the Elves and deal well with the world and one another, or whether we will continue to follow the policies of Mordor, and before it Angband.”

       The solemnity of each one who added to the tale impressed all, and Ankhrabi found himself again examining the King of Gondor and Arnor anew in light of what he’d just learned.  No, he’d not been King long, but he’d been preparing for his accession for over sixty years, had indeed fought Mordor and its creatures and policies for all that time....

       And the respect they felt toward the Hobbit warrior was now openly expressed, along with the grief all seemed to feel for this Frodo.

       Ankhrabi turned to the dwarfling sculptor.  “What is your place in all this?” he asked.

       Ruvemir laughed as the question was translated.  “Six years ago I was finishing up sculptures of Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth and the mysterious Lord Captain Thorongil for the city of Casistir, and Prince Adrahil’s son Prince Imrahil rode with a party from the capitol into Casistir, including one very tall individual cloaked in the black and silver of the King’s service.  None in Casistir had seen the King before, and so we all thought this one was but an officer under the new King.  Garbed as a Ranger of Arnor, he came to me the next morning to offer me a new commission, to do a memorial for his friend who’d left Middle Earth.  And--and so it started. 

       “It took me some weeks to realize this was the King himself, and that the subject of the memorial was the Lord Frodo Baggins of the Pheriannath.  And so I was sent to the land of the Shire to meet Captain Peregrin, Sir Meriadoc, and Lord Samwise, and to learn all I could of them and the beloved Lord Frodo so I could complete my memorial.  It stands now before the Citadel of Minas Anor, before the Court of the White Tree.  I’ve done others now near Mithlond and in Annúminas, the Northern capitol.  But my love and admiration for the Hobbits of the Shire has grown each time I must meet with them.  I regret I never had the chance to know Lord Frodo himself, but am glad I’ve had the chance to know and come to honor and respect the other three and their families.”

       Lord Sherfiramun stood up, shaking his head with disgust.  “I went with the troops that were sent to serve the Death Eater.  I have seen trolls.  How can this one have killed such a beast?  They are two to three times the size of a tall Man!”

       At the translation of that, the Hobbit Peregrin’s face went stark white, and his body rigid with shock.

       The Farozi looked at his niece’s husband.  “You doubt the testimony of those who were there?  You doubt the testimony of the Dwarf that he rolled the body of the thing off of the Hobbit?”

       “How can I believe such things?  How can I believe the tales of being carried by orcs across Rohan, of beatings?  Orcs do not leave such weak prey alive!  They will kill and eat those they capture!”

       “Not,” the King Elessar said, “if their orders from the highest of their masters were to bring them halflings alive and unspoiled.”  He stood now.  “I myself put Pippin’s hip back into its socket, wrapped his chest, reinflated one lung.  I called him back from death, as I called back Lord Faramir, Lady Éowyn, Merry, Sam, and Frodo himself, not to mention many, many others after both battles.”

       But Pippin was stepping forward, his face very pale.  “Do you doubt everyone’s word?  Almost the last thing I remember of the battle was the black blood of that thing pouring over me as it started to fall, then the call that the Eagles were coming, and the realization I was probably dead.”

       Sherfiramun looked down at him.  “How am I to believe it all?  All we have are the words of these, and how do we know they are not making fools of us?  You are no warrior for all you carry a sword.”

       The Lady Éowyn stood up, her own face set, once his words had been translated for her.  “Did you not see him spar with me this morning?  Or do you think that the sparring was only in jest?”

       “Let me see the scars of the wounds he tells of,” Sherfiramun said coldly.  “How can I tell the skill of one who will spar with women?”

       All those in the King’s party straightened at the insult.  Lord Mablung stood now.  “I would have sparred with her, my Lord.  I only changed partners because you challenged those of our party, and I was the one Man available who had not yet sparred with others.  I have sparred with Princess Éowyn many times in the past ten years, and I tell you she is a worthy opponent who has managed to disarm me several times.”  The King translated this, and Ankhrabi nodded his surety that the King had translated truly.

       Pippin took another step forward.  “You wish to see my scars?  I didn’t even show my family my scars for over two years after the battle.  But if you must see them....”  He reached up to slip the tunic over his head, and his fingers were trembling with his anger.

       “No, Pippin,” the King said.  “You do not have to prove yourself to anyone.”

       The Hobbit looked at his King.  “If they doubt my honor and honesty, Aragorn, are they going to believe anything else you tell them?”

       King and Hobbit looked at one another for several moments, and then the King went down on one knee, reached out and helped Pippin out of his tunic and the soft shirt he wore beneath it.  He rose and stood aside, and said quietly, “You do not know what you have asked of this one.  Hobbits, unlike Men, are not proud of the scars they have earned in battle.  But I tell you this--every scar he bears is an honorable one.”

       Lord Amrahil translated that to Westron, and Pippin shook his head.  “Except the one on my lower right leg on my calf, the one where I tore my leg on a fence fleeing Farmer Maggot’s dogs when I was a very stupid teen.”  Pippin’s voice was even, and suddenly all in the King’s party were laughing, and even the King himself smiled as he translated what the Hobbit had said to Haradri.

       The Farozi stood and walked to the side of Lord Sherfiramun.  “Well, my Lord, you have demanded to see his scars, and he bares them to you.  I will go forward, also, and see them as well, and bear witness you have seen the scars described.”

       The whip scars could clearly be seen on Pippin’s lower back above his trousers and the lower legs below the trousers’ cuffs.  The scars where his hands had been tied could be seen still, although those on his ankles were clearer.  There were the nicks of one who trains with swords on his torso and arm, and the development of his right arm and shoulder was that of a swordsman as well.  But clearest were the knobs on his chest where his broken ribs had healed.  The Farozi gently touched these, ran his hand down the Hobbit’s chest, looked deeply into his eyes.  He then straightened.

       “You have spoken truly, Captain Peregrin.  I no longer doubt your word.”  He returned to his chair and sat again.  He looked at Sherfiramun.  “Well, Sherfiramun, are you satisfied as well?”

       The King again knelt to assist the Hobbit to dress.  No longer was Pippin shaking--indeed he was quite still, his face still set.  When his tunic was again in place, he turned to face the court.  “Of the four of us, I have the fewest scars.  Merry has one on his forehead, which he hides by letting his hair grow longer over it.  For years after we went home, every time anyone mentioned Black Riders or Nazgul his right arm would go numb and physically cold.  It was rather eerie.  It still does that from time to time, mostly when he is very tired or stressed.  I believe the Lady Éowyn can tell you a similar tale.”  That Lady nodded her head.

       “Sam has a couple on his forehead, and another on his temple.  He’s the only one of us who wasn’t bound at one time or another, so he doesn’t have any rope marks anywhere; but he was beaten, and when they found him his lower legs and the palms of his hands and his wrists were all torn up from crawling on the rough stone on the side of Mount Doom.  Gandalf brought me a bit of it Aragorn took out of one of Sam’s wounds below his knee.  It was black and very rough.”  The King nodded.  “He has bite marks on both shoulders from when Gollum bit him and tried to get to his throat to tear it out.  Gollum bit him ten years ago now, yet he still has the scars to this day.  The whip weals on his backside and legs have faded more than mine have, but you can still see and feel them.

       “But Frodo--Frodo had the worst.  He’d been tied as tightly as we had, and he’d apparently struggled the most.  They beat him on his back trying to find out why he was going into Mordor--it was awful, looking at his back while he was recovering.  He had the scar where he was stabbed by the Morgul knife on his shoulder.  When he and Sam were caught and forced to run with the orcs through Mordor the slave driver whipped him repeatedly on his legs, too, like they did Merry and me in Rohan.  Seems to be a favorite thing for the troop drivers to do--keep the slower ones running in fear of being whipped.  Sam had at least seven lash marks on his legs--Frodo was evidently slower--I couldn’t count them all.”

       The King interrupted here.  “Frodo had fourteen.”

       The Farozi looked at him, surprised.  “You counted?”

       Aragorn stood very straight.  “I was the one who tended to his wounds the most--yes, I counted.  He had indications of having been struck at least five lashes with a whip with multiple cords across his back and side.  We assume that occurred in the Tower of Cirith Ungol.  He had bite marks from having been poisoned by the great spider that guards that pass.  Where the chain on which he wore the Ring bit into his skin was a long line of a wound, as if it had been pulled deliberately into his neck and shoulders.  He and Sam both swore this was due to the weight of the thing, which grew heavier and heavier as they traveled closer and closer to the Mountain where It was forged.  Where the Ring lay against his chest it was like a great burn.  I have never seen such in my life.  Both Sam and Frodo were burned repeatedly by falling ash from the volcano.  Both had crawled up Orodruin, although Frodo collapsed partway up and had to be carried most of the way by Sam.

       “Had they been Men, they’d have died probably long before they made it to the Mountain.  But Hobbits are hardier than Men are--so we have learned through experience.”

       “And then,” said the Hobbit Isumbard, “there was where his finger had been bitten off.”  It was the first time this Hobbit had spoken in this conversation, and all turned to him with interest.  “He would try to hide it, but we could see it was missing if we really watched.  Most of the time no one noticed, though.  Then one day I found myself holding that hand, felt the scar.  What Frodo went through out here in the outer world scoured him to the core of him.  It took the most wonderful, intelligent, responsible, delightful Hobbit ever born to the Shire and emptied him of his innocence and his joy.  The last time I saw him----”  He shook his head, pain in his eyes, obviously unable to finish.  Finally he said softly, “He apparently almost died several times after he left the Shire.  And he almost did again before he left it the last time.”

       “He is a lord among your people?”

       Isumbard snorted when he understood the question.  “Most of the folk in the Shire have no idea what he did out here.  He couldn’t speak of it most of the time.  I think it must have been almost all he could do to write about it, and I still haven’t had the chance to read the story, although the Thain has read it, of course.

       “We don’t have nobles in the Shire.  We have family heads, the Thain, the Master, and the Mayor.  That is it.  For those of us who know what happened out here, mostly family members of the four, we honor Frodo and Sam as the Lords they are to the rest of the Free Peoples.  But most folk, when they look at Sam, they see just the Mayor, the master of Bag End, and the best gardener ever born anywhere.  Frodo was head of the Baggins family and master of Bag End for nineteen years, and acting Mayor for eight months.  What else he did for the Shire all during his life there few know; and fewer care what he did while he was gone.  Although more now are coming to understand what they did--what Frodo did for all of us.”

       The Dwarf now spoke.  “Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee were made Lords of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth by acclamation by representatives of all races.  The King first made the open acclamation, and we Dwarves have ratified it.”

       Legolas stood straight and tall.  “The Elves of the Great Woodland Realm have ratified it.”

       “Those of Imladris, the Golden Wood, Mithlond, and the wandering tribes as well,” said the Queen, her head held high.

       “We Dúnedain of the North recognize it,” said Lord Berevrion.

       “As do we of the South,” added Lord Amrahil.

       “And those of the White City and surrounding lands,” Faramir avowed.

       King Éomer stood proudly.  “We of Rohan have also ratified it, as have the Ents of Fangorn Forest.”

       “The Great Eagles have also proclaimed it,” added Legolas, “and the first to offer them honor was one of the Istari, who were sent to Middle Earth to teach us to stand against Sauron.”

       Pippin nodded.  “Yes, Gandalf honored them, as does Radagast.  We still don’t know what happened to the two blue Wizards who went East, do we?”

       The King shook his head.  “No, we don’t.”  He turned to Sherfiramun.  “We would not be able to speak today if Frodo and Sam hadn’t done as they did, offering themselves for all.  I would still possibly be alive, but in no condition to speak coherently.  Sauron would have loved to have taken me captive.  He certainly tried often enough to have me killed or captured, both when I was but a baby and he had an idea of who I was and what I might be one day, and when I was but the name of a captain in Eriador, the ruins of Arnor, in Rohan, or in Gondor; or when I was described as a tracker out of the Northwestern wilderness.  Now, you have doubted Pippin’s word.  One thing you should know is that Hobbits don’t often lie, unless they are seeking to hide a stand of mushrooms they’ve discovered.  As this matter has nothing to do with mushrooms, I can assure you he is not lying.”

       He sighed and sat again by his wife.  “That, my friends, is the story of how Sauron was defeated.  You may accept it or not as you please; but if you come North this is what you will hear.”

       The Lady Arwen then spoke.  “One thing alone I will add--my father forbade my beloved husband to pursue his love for me unless he should become King of Gondor and Arnor.  Then and only then would he be allowed to marry me, or I him.  For no less a person would my father allow me to give up my Elven birthright.  Were it not for Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, I would not remain in Middle Earth to sit in your court this day.”

       After that all sat quite still and quiet for some time.  Finally the Farozi rose.  “You were right, An’Elessar--this was a most long and complicated story.  You and your people have given us much to think about.  I believe it is now time for us to retire and rest, for much of tomorrow will be given to the priests and priestesses who will direct the celebration.  I wish you all a good night.”

       All rose and bowed deeply as he withdrew to his quarters, and afterwards the rest went back to their own quarters, all very thoughtful.

A Pipe in the Night

       They were headed back to their rooms when Pippin said suddenly, “I’m sorry, Strider, but I think I need a pipe after that.”

       Those who’d served in the Northern Kingdom who smoked looked at one another, and all indicated the feel for the same.  The King said quietly, “We will see the ladies to our wing, obtain our pipes, and go out then, gentlemen.”

       The guard who opened the door was surprised to see so many going out together, including the two Hobbits and the Dwarf, but allowed them to enter the gardens, where the King, checking the direction of the wind, led them to the Eastern wall where they stood or sat half on and half off the wall and lit their pipes.  And here Ankhrabi, accompanied by Rustovrid, found them some time later, their speech quiet, the King with his hand on the Hobbit Peregrin’s shoulder, the Dwarf glaring from under his brows.  The ambassador to Gondor explained quietly, “They are smoking pipeweed, my Lord Prince.  It is a practice of the far Northern lands, to breathe in the smoke of certain leaves as they smolder through the stem of what they call their pipes; and they find it is soothing.  I suspect that Captain Peregrin is still upset and wished to calm himself.  I am told almost all men of the people of the Pheriannath do this, and that they have taught the menfolk of surrounding lands to do the same.”

       “I see,” the Farozi’s son said, and he came forward to join his father’s guests.  They all looked at him somewhat warily, while the King examined him briefly in the dim light, then looked back to the East again.  “I apologize, my Lords,” Ankhrabi said quietly in careful Westron, “for the behavior of my wife’s sister’s husband.  It was unconscionable.”

       The King looked down to meet the uplifted eyes of the Hobbit, who turned then and said with considerable dignity, “I, at least, accept your apology, and recognize that you offered no offense.  Please don’t feel embarrassed on my account, my Lord Prince.”

       The King said equally quietly to the Haradri prince, “None are angry with you, my Lord; nor do we blame you or your Lord Father.  But to believe we would all lie about what Pippin had done--that was a shock to all of us.”  He puffed a few more minutes on his pipe, then finally sighed and set it on the wall beside him.  He sat looking down at his hand as illuminated in the starlight and at the glint of light reflected from the turn of the pipe’s bowl.  Finally he looked again at his host’s son.  “When I was here before, Lord Rustovrid’s father told me that he’d divided the forces of your land, setting the most honorable in the troops that provide internal security, and those whose ambitions or appetites would likely lead them to ill actions against others in those troops which were put at the disposal of Mordor.”

       Slowly Ankhrabi and Lord Rustovrid looked to one another, then indicated agreement.

       “I notice that the Lord Sherfiramun was among those who fought for Mordor.”

       “Yes.”

       “I see.  Then be advised all of us will remain on guard when we must be around him.”

       “It is understandable, my Lord An’Elessar.”

       The King knocked the contents of his pipe out against the wall, then rose and stretched.  “I believe, gentlemen, I will seek out my wife.  I wish all of your wives were with us this night.”

       There was a general round of agreement as others followed suit.

       “We wish you a good night, my Lords,” Captain Peregrin said respectfully as he gave a graceful bow.  The party from Gondor and Arnor went quietly back into the palace and to their own quarters.

       Ankhrabi and Rustovrid stood looking after them.  Rustovrid said very quietly, “It was very badly done by Sherfiramun.  He does not know what he has done by forfeiting their respect.  None will trust him.”

       Ankhrabi sighed and said, equally softly, “And it is well they do not.  He is not trustworthy--which is indeed why he was set in those forces that went North to join those of Mordor.”

       They, too, went back into the palace.

Birthdays and Policies

       The next two days were a whirl of activity.  Early the next morning those who were archers, including the King himself and Isumbard and Peregrin Took, went out to practice, which left many of the attendants amazed.  All were good, even the smallest.  But never had they seen such accuracy as they saw from Lord Hardorn--until Legolas bent his bow....

       The King then tried himself against Benai, and smiled when he was through.  After they’d returned to the guest quarters he opened the weapons crate and took out his sword from before the Quest.  “I will let you wear this until we can have a sword crafted specifically for you,” he said quietly.  “This was made for me in my youth.  It’s name is Gilui-estel, Star of Hope.  As a child, Estel was the name I answered to.”

       Benai accepted the sword with surprise and honor.  “I will care for it well, my Lord King,” he said, bowing deeply.  A blue sword belt was hung beneath the blue sash, and both sword and long knife now were prominently displayed. 

       Much of the rest of that day was spent with various ones being checked by the Queen for the fit of their festal garb.

       After the morning meal the next day the priests prepared all for their parts in the solemn activities to occur the following day, and all found themselves being instructed in what they must and must not say and do.  They were taken out to walk the route they would follow the next day, and their parts in the ceremonies rehearsed several times over.  All were happy after the evening meal to return quietly to their rooms and fall into their beds.  Benai set himself to watch out for all, as his room lay nearest the main halls, but he heard nothing that night save when Captain Peregrin was relieved by Lord Hardorn on the official watch.

       On the day of the birthday all rose early, took a light meal brought to their quarters, then dressed carefully.  The Lord King wore a robe of pale green embroidered with the White Tree and Seven Stars; the Queen wore a matching gown of pale rose.  All who served in the Guard of Honor wore their uniforms, and the Princess Melian wore pale gold and her coronet, while young Prince Eldarion was dressed in a long shirt of the same color.

       Both the Prince and Princess of Ithilien wore white embroidered with the Tree of Gondor in silver, and their coronets.  Again, Elboron was dressed similarly to his parents.

       Éomer King wore a robe of darker green, the White Horse on his breast, while his Lady Queen Lothiriel wore a gown of the same color, both of them wearing their crowns, Elfwine similarly garbed in green.

       Those from Arnor wore grey and silver with the circle of Seven Stars, simple fillets set with single gems on their brows.

       At last the King took the Star of Elendil and placed it on his brow, took out his sword belt and donned it, and hooked Anduril to it.  Lady Avrieth assisted the Queen to don her coronet of woven mithril.

       Legolas came out dressed in silver robes over soft green, stylized renditions of the Two Trees embroidered on his long outer robe, his own coronet about his brow.  And none could find offense in the dress of the Dwarf (not that any would think to object).  Ruvemir, Owain, and Isumbard seemed relieved to be allowed to dress in more simple garb, for they, at least, would not be part of the processions.

       When they began to form as they would walk in the procession, Benai was surprised to find himself asked to carry a red bag tied with a complex knot of black cord.  “You would bring this worn bag, my Lord?” he asked.

       The King smiled.  “It marks the third of my major functions as King of Gondor and Arnor--ruler, guardian warrior, and healer.”

       “This is...?

       “It is my healer’s kit.”

       “Then you bear the healing hands as did Lendil?”

       “Yes.”

       Benai smiled solemnly and held the bag with honor.  The King nodded and smiled, then turned to take his place by his wife.  Behind her and beside Benai was to walk the girl Hasturnerini carrying a bag of clean garments to change the various young children into between the processions from temple to temple.

       Pippin looked at the Sceptre which he was expected to bear.  “You are certain, Aragorn, you wish a simple Hobbit to carry this?”

       Aragorn laughed.  “First, I’ve learned there is no such thing as a ‘simple’ Hobbit amongst those I’ve met--not even the bully of Westhall was totally simple.  Second, the Lord Elrond would never have surrendered that to me had not Frodo and Sam done what they did.  It is in their honor as well as your own that I ask this of you, Pippin.  Just be glad I didn’t bring the Winged Crown also, or you’d be carrying that instead.  I do not relish the day when my son must don it.”

       “It’s that heavy?”

       “Yes.”

       “You had Frodo carry it to you.”

       “Yes, for it was a light burden compared to what he’d carried through Mordor.”

       Pippin nodded solemnly. 

       Benai looked at the two of them, for Lord Hardorn had translated the conversation to him.  He saw how closely the expressions of Hobbit and Man matched, realized both missed this Frodo.

       Then they were all ready and in line, and with Isumbard, Owain, and Ruvemir walking behind they left their quarters to join the procession, Sa’Amonri watching to make certain all was in proper order.

       The morning went by swiftly enough, although all were nearly wilting with the heat by the time the solemn processions and visits to temples of the gods were finished at last.  Even the King was looking palid--only Benai, the Lady Arwen and Legolas did not appear to be the worse for the experience.  At last they re-entered the palace, where a lavish feast was being prepared.  On looking on his guests, however, An’Sohrabi smiled and suggested they return to their quarters and change their clothing to something lighter, and they gratefully agreed.

       The King asked that several large ewers of cool water be brought, and soon all were cooling their necks and combing out their hair, changing to cleaner, dry clothing still suitable for the solemn feast.  The Lady Arwen had seen to it all had near duplicates for the garb they’d worn in the procession, and once all were properly clad and the small ones changed once more and fed and laid down in their cool rooms to sleep with Lady Avrieth and Hasturnerini to watch over them, the rest finally prepared to go to the feast room for the noon meal.

       Even Pippin ate lightly, but drank a good deal of juice and water, at the King’s suggestion avoiding the beer and date wine.  Talk was light for a time.  “You are quiet, An’Horubi’ninarin,” the Farozi said finally.

       “I think I have aged more than I’d believed,” the Northerner said smiling ruefully.  “I do not appear to bear the heat here as well as I did when I was younger.”

       “It is worse, perhaps, because you are within the city and walking the streets.  It is ever cooler near the River and in the countryside than it is in Thetos.”

       “Perhaps.”

       “Also, today you have had to walk slowly and stand great intervals of time where you are more accustomed to moving more swiftly, changing from places in the sunlight to places of shadow frequently, and where the breeze of your own passage might cool you.”

       “That is so.”

       “There was one thing you wished to do when you were here before, Lord An’Elessar, which if you wish my son is willing to share with you tomorrow.”

       “And that is what, my Lord An’Sohrabi?”

       “To hunt ducks and learn the usage of the throwing sticks.”

       Aragorn looked startled, then pleased.  “That would be very welcome, my Lord.  I sorrow only that it is not with you as I’d hoped before.”

       “We had not the time then.  It is still strange to me to know that time does not treat you as it does others.”

       “Oh, it treats me as it does others, only more slowly.  But, as we discussed the other day, it comes at a cost.”

       “So I understand.  So, among those separated from you by the Sea whom you would wish remained here is the one you call the Ringbearer.”

       “Yes.”

       “Great love you bear for him.”

       “Yes.  He is one of the gentlest beings born in Middle Earth.”

       “That such as he should find himself having to deal with that thing....”  The King nodded solemnly.  “Could you have taken It from him?”

       Aragorn nodded.  “Oh, yes, I could have taken It from him--but It would have taken me far sooner than It did him.  It called to me constantly as we traveled together, seeking to convince me to take It from him.  I dared not touch It.”

       “But, as great a lord as you are--certainly you could have mastered It?”

       “But at what cost, my Lord?  Would you have been any better off under the rule of myself armed with that dread power, as corrupting as It was, than you were under Sauron himself?  For It would have corrupted me, you know.  I would in the end have become as tyrannical as he was--if I could have withstood him long enough to finally cast him out and take his place. 

       “Far greater than I also felt the same temptation--Gandalf also refused It when Frodo offered It to him, as did the Lady Galadriel.  The Lord Elrond, who is the father of my heart as he is father to my beloved wife and Elrohir and Elladan--he would barely look at It when It lay before all at the Council, for he saw It take my ancestor Isildur, saw It betray him to his death, saw that Sauron could continue to recover strength and try again to take control of all of Middle Earth if It was allowed to remain--which he did. 

       “And that is another thing which we all must remember--that even though he would have been cast down had any other with the strength to master It taken possession of Sauron’s Ring, yet he would still be able to return again, for he had tied his own existence to the thing when he crafted It.  And the fight, once he again gathered power through deaths wrought for his own benefit alone, would perhaps have finally torn Middle Earth asunder.”

       An’Sohrabi turned to Elf and Dwarf.  “You traveled with Lord An’Elessar here and the one called Frodo?”  At their nods he asked, “Did the Ring call out to you as well?”

       The Dwarf gave a shudder once he understood the question.  “Yes, It did, but couldn’t catch at me as easily as It could a Man.  Actually, though, It wasn’t that interested in me, for Sauron had already learned about all he could do through their Rings to our great ones who bore the Seven was to increase their greed and suspicion--not that this wasn’t bad enough, mind you.”

       Legolas looked with consideration at his companion, then turned to the Farozi.  “Yes, It called to me also.  But I could see what It was doing to the Ringbearer, and recognized It would do far worse to me if I sought to take It.  I fought Its call constantly until he left us.”

       “What caused him to break away from you?”

       Aragorn answered this one, very slowly, “There was one more of our party to that point, my Lord An’Sohrabi; and the Ring was calling out strongly toward him, seeing him as the most vulnerable of the party to Its influence.  We all realized he was being tested hardest; and when It almost broke his honor Frodo finally broke away, seeking to protect us from Its power.”

       “He did not accompany you here?”

       Prince Faramir sighed and straightened on his couch.  “The ninth of the Fellowship was my brother Boromir, Lord Farozi.  The Ring sought to take him through his concern for our land and peoples, sought to convince him if he were to take It he would become a general who would command hosts of hosts against Mordor, and then could perhaps do more, and draw all under Gondor’s rule--or so, knowing Boromir as I did, I must assume It would have sought to catch him.

       “He tried to take the Ring from Frodo by threat of force, and Frodo fled his Ring-induced madness.  Frodo also told me, however, that as he fled he heard the madness leave my brother’s voice, heard him calling out for forgiveness.

       “That was when Frodo made the decision that to keep the rest from the temptation of the Ring he must go on alone.  After he fled, my brother returned to the rest just before the orcs of Saruman fell on those they found.  He stood by Pippin and Merry and sought to protect them, was struck by several arrows, and died at the last from his wounds.  My Lord Aragorn Elessar did not go into detail so as to spare me the grief of hearing of it once more.”

       “You could not heal him, my friend?” the Farozi asked Aragorn.

       “There are some wounds I cannot heal.  He bore many arrows, and several of the wounds were mortal.  How he remained yet alive when I came to him I do not know--through sheer strength of will, I think.  Perhaps one or two of those wounds I might have healed--but as I healed those, the others would still have been taking him.  All the athelas in the world could not have restored his life.  He drew on my strength solely to remain long enough to tell what he could, to be assured I would do my best for the needs of Gondor and all the Free Peoples.”

       “I saw my brother’s body as the River bore his funeral boat down to the Mouths of the Sea,” Faramir added quietly.  “His face was one which had seen great strain, but had known it relieved ere he quitted his body.  And he appears to have bequeathed to me the friendship of Pippin here.”  He smiled at the Hobbit guard who reclined on his own couch on the other side of the King’s.  Captain Peregrin but straightened further and smiled sadly.

       After a time of contemplation, the Farozi asked, “Will you accept my son’s invitation to go hunting with him tomorrow?”

       “Yes, my Lord.  And I am flattered you remembered my curiosity about how the throwing sticks are used.”

       An’Sohrabi smiled.  “You saw the one other hunt, but it was--interrupted.”

       Aragorn nodded.  “Oh, interrupted indeed.  The hunter spoke too soon and startled the prey.”

       Ankhrabi looked at his father surprised.  “You spoke and frightened the ducks, my father?”

       “It was not I who did this, my son, but my companion.  And he was not hunting ducks that day, or so it proved.” 

       Something in the eyes of Farozi and King discouraged others from asking the details of the aborted hunt.

       “I must take guards with me,” Aragorn finally said.

       “Of course.  Once I followed my brother I, too, found myself no longer able to hunt unattended.”

       “I had wondered, my Lord, what happened to An’Ma’osiri.  Your love and respect for him were so apparent.”

       It was the Farozi’s turn to become solemn.  He took a deep breath and sighed.  “He married one of our cousins, as is customary among our people.  I married her sister.  He and Mara'rani came to actually love one another deeply.  She conceived, but developed a fever of the womb, and she and the child died.  Afterwards he became despondent--and careless.  Finally one of the assassination plots set against him by Mordor bore fruit--he was poisoned.”

       “Did you learn who poisoned him?”  The King’s face had grown still with contained anger at the wrong done so long ago.

       “Not for certain.  I have had my suspicions, but could prove nothing.  Mordor had forced a guard officer under their strict control into his household.  I was able to reassign him to another’s house, one whose family Bherevrid and An’Ma’osiri had already assigned to the forces that were set aside to assist Mordor.  He is yet alive today, although he is now elderly.  But he is one of those who simply appears ageless and whose face shows little of the heart of the Man.”

       “I see.  And so, without proof, you could not pursue him, particularly as you knew him to be an agent of Sauron’s.”

       “Yes.  The Dark Ones met with him frequently.  He was one of those who rose to fill the gap left by Virubat and Maruset.”

       “And he remains alive to this day?”

       “I have survived as Farozi by balancing needs and those lords of Men under me, Lord An’Elessar.  I was too wary to fall to his machinations; he has proven too wary to fall to mine--so far.”

       The two rulers nodded their understanding of one another.

A Hunt

       That night many of those who’d stayed in the Farozi’s house, including Sherfiramun and his folk and Rustovrid’s family, returned to their own estates or homes, although Lord Ghants’pa’amon and Lord Afraim remained.

       The King and those who would attend the hunt with him rose before dawn.  The invitation had been extended to all the nobles, but only Faramir and Berevrion accepted from those among the Northerners.  Why the King asked Peregrin Took to serve as guard alongside Hardorn no one could say, but he indicated both were to wear their mail beneath their surcoats. 

       Benai was concerned and privately asked to attach himself to the party, but the King disagreed.  “Lord Sherfiramun is to be part of the hunt, and I wish some to be here to the protection of those remaining in the palace and city on whom I know I can depend.  Who or what Sherfiramun might set in motion here I don’t know.  However, I sense he is ambitious and has been developing agents.  Please remain here and cooperate with King Éomer.”  Reluctantly Benai agreed.

       Aragorn then sought out Mablung and Legolas.  “Have you your Rangers’ gear?” he asked Faramir’s former lieutenant from Ithilien.

       “Yes,” came the reply.

       A nod from the King, and he explained.  “I do not know to what this day will come.  Sherfiramun has attached himself to the hunting party, and we know he is not to be fully trusted.  I would have you both slip out of the palace and the city, and watch at the edge of it.  Then, if there are difficulties, we will most likely take shelter in the house where An’Sohrabi lived when he was younger, which I believe to be empty at this time.”  Quickly he outlined the way that the hunting party was likely to take to the marshes of the delta, then the route from the edge of the city to the rear approach to the house, and asked them to keep a surreptitious watch on the happenings.  “You are to make your presence known only if you detect treachery.  At first signal only that you see it; interfere only if it is obvious we need assistance or if one who proves untrue seeks to flee.  Any who proves treacherous I wish taken alive if at all possible.  Is this understood?”

       With quiet acquiescence, Man and Elf went to dress themselves appropriately, drew their bows and quivers from the weapons chest, and went to slip past the guards at the gate.

       He then met quietly with those of Gondor and Arnor remaining in the palace.  At any sign of untoward moves toward their quarters they were to get the women and children, Ruvemir, Isumbard, and Owain out of the palace compound and to the temple of Amon in West Thetos.  All were to carry their arms and be prepared to use them.  He then advised Éomer, Lothiriel, Avrieth, and Éowyn of the orders he’d given his own folk, and let them take precautions as they saw fit.

       Aragorn dressed in his blue riding leathers over silk shirt and trousers.  When Arwen raised her brow in unspoken question, he sighed.  “If anything is to happen, this will offer me the only protection I can be expected to carry for my person.  However, I will carry a long knife as well as a less obtrusive dagger.  I do not wish to be totally unable to defend myself.”

       Faramir and Berevrion, seeing the King’s garb and realizing he had a reason for such a choice, followed suit, Faramir donning the leathers he wore when he scouted abroad amidst the Rangers of Ithilien, and Berevrion in the green leathers of Eriador.  All carried a hidden knife as well as a displayed long one, and their bows and quivers.  With Hildigor and Damrod attending Berevrion and Faramir as Hardorn and Pippin attended the King, all were as prepared as could be expected.  Aragorn sighed in relief, and led the way to where they and their guards partook in a morning meal with  the Farozi, Prince Ankhrabi, and the others staying in the palace who’d chosen to attend before they set out for the hunt.

*******

       Merdirion watched after as he saw Sherfiramun out of his house to join the hunting party which was to leave the palace soon.  The situation was excellent--the King of Gondor and the heir of Sohrabi both would be attending, as would, he understood, the Steward of Gondor and the envoy from Arnor as well.  The King of Rohan was remaining in the city; but that was not a great problem.  Reportedly he utilized no taster, and one could always resort to poison.

       They were foolish, these Northern Lords--gathering so many great ones here in the capitol of one of the traditional enemies of their lands.  And bringing their heirs and wives as well?  It was a situation ripe for exploitation!

       He’d found the disappearances of Maruset and Virubat so many years ago to be the boost up he’d needed to move from officer of guards on the docks of Risenmouthe to become one of the primary agents of Mordor within Harad.  He’d found in himself a degree of cunning and ruthlessness of which he’d been only mildly aware before his promotion; and he’d gone from being one who had felt helpless to promote the ambitions of his own land to one of the best suited to assist Umbar to gain control over the rest of the world.

       Since his nephew Landrion’s capture and death a few years back there’d been few left in Umbar itself with the courage and canniness needed to wrest control from Lord Marcipor.  True, Merdirion was not yet placed to take the rule of Umbar itself into his hands, but he could possibly take over Harad; and by destroying the rulers of Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan and taking their heirs and queens into his own hands he could disrupt and then control the rule of those lands as well.  He did not truly wish the crowns of these lands, for he’d seen the uses of puppet rulers as had been practiced by Mordor.  Once he was the power behind the thrones of Harad, Gondor, and Rohan and held control of their armies and cavalry and the fleets of Gondor and Harad, he could then move on Umbar itself, barricade its harbor, capture and dispose of Marcipor, and take the Lordship there.  And, as long as he controlled the education and training of the rightful young heirs for the lands of Harad, Rohan, Gondor, Arnor, and Ithilien, he would have no problem bringing Umbar to control of all of Middle Earth that mattered.

       He rubbed the ring he wore on his hand.  Once it had carried his orders to him, and allowed him to report back on what was being done in Harad and Far Harad.  Now that link had been severed; but still he felt powerful with it on his hand, knew that it somehow amplified his thoughts, aided him to find the means to take advantage of opportunities that presented themselves to him.  One of the Nazgul had brought it to him, offered its aid in dealing with the Haradrim, and he’d accepted it.  At times he’d regretted doing so, but no more.  He allowed himself a small smile at the idea of what would be happening over the next few days.  He’d not been able to dispose of An’Sohrabi as he had An’Ma’osiri; but the Farozi was now elderly and no longer physically capable as he once was.  Once his heir was dead, it should prove easier to gain control of Ma’osiri and Amon’osiri and begin their proper training as decadent sycophants to Sherfiramun and himself.

       He then sent for his personal slave and sent him to bring him word of the other forces he was beginning to set into place.  They should all be ready tomorrow, at which time he’d move on the palace itself.  Sherfiramun had his orders and the men at his back to see to the deaths of all from the palace in the hunting party.  The next two days would be crucial to his plans.

*******

       The Farozi examined the worn hunting bow and quiver carried by the King of Gondor and Arnor with interest.  “These have seen much use,” he commented.   

       The Lord Elessar smiled noncommitally.  “I have carried them on hunts most of my life,” he said.  “The bow was made first for my father, and brought to my foster father to be held in trust for me after his death.  One of my brothers wrought the quiver for me when I was fifteen.”

       “You are a good hunter?”

       “For my people, yes.”

       “The leather garb is rather formal for hunting gear.”

       Now the smile broadened.  “Again, I still possess the leathers I wore as a Ranger of Eriador; but my beloved wife objects to me wearing them, considering them so well worn as to be disreputable.  She would not allow me to bring them with me.”

       An’Sohrabi and Ankhrabi laughed openly.  The Farozi shook his head with his mirth.  “So my late wife would have done as well.  So often favorite kilts or cloaks would disappear, and all the royal orders in the world would not effect their return.”

       “I wish I could have met her,” Aragorn said.

       “She died of age four years past.  We were never as close as you are to your queen, yet she was a good mate for me.  And our son is one of whom to be very proud.”

       “Between you there was but one child?”

       An’Sohrabi’s face became saddened.  “There were two more born, but our daughter died of a disease of the lungs when she was yet a child.  Ankhrabi’s brother died seven years ago, in an uprising begun near Nestor.  He left no child, and his wife has entered the temple of Neryet in West Thetos.”  He looked at his remaining son.  “Ankhrabi was the youngest of the three--and he is a wise one.”  He looked at the King.  “I found myself wishing we had your skills here as we watched Bhatnefiri sicken.  None in Harad was able to aid her more than a little.”

       “I grieve for your losses, my Lord An’sohrabi.”

       “Your peoples have also known their own, my lords.  You lost your father when you were yet a small child; Prince Faramir here lost his brother to orcs; from what we have heard of the Shire miscarriages appear to be common there....”

       Lord Berevrion nodded.  “The year our Lord Aragorn here--” with a nod toward the King, “--was taken to the safety of Rivendell there was a great pestilence across our lands.  It killed so many, and almost took him as well.  It was due to his known severe illness that it was believed so long he had indeed died.”

       “You are certain he was the child?”

       Lord Hardorn looked to his cousin for permission to speak.  At a nod from his King he said, “We are certain.  My father was one of the few privy to the knowledge of his survival, as were certain other lords of our people.  They made regular visits to Imladris to check on him as he grew and reached maturity.  There is no doubt.  Also, his mother remained with him over the years of his childhood and youth.

       “And then, there is the testimony of his possessing the gift of healing, which has ever been the sign of the rightful heirs of Elendil, and before him of the great Lord Elros Tar-Minyatar of Númenor--the gift Lord Elros shared with his brother.”

       Faramir nodded solemnly.  “So it was that our people in Gondor accepted him as our rightful King, for he healed so many in the wake of the battle of the Pelennor--including me.”

       “Also, I was able to pass unscathed through the Paths of the Dead and command the army found there, to wrest control of the Palantir from Sauron himself, and both Anduril and the Elessar stone answer to me.  All of these are signs by which the rightful heir of Isildur would be known,” Aragorn added.

       “And glad I am for it, Lord King,” the Farozi responded.  “Obviously your own peoples find you worthy.  There is no greater praise than that.”

       He straightened.  “How I wish I were yet agile enough to move quietly among the marshes with you.  I pray you have a pleasant hunt, and that nothing disrupt it.  And, that if ought does,” he added, “you are prepared to deal with it.”

       The King stood up, smiled at his host, and bowed deeply; and followed by the rest of his folk prepared for what was to come.

*******

       An’Sohrabi had also given quiet orders for increased guard in his house, which Amonrabi saw deployed carefully and judiciously about the palace and grounds.  The Farozi then invited the King An’Éomer to join him to learn how to play jackals and hounds, and was secretly pleased when he realized his guest wore his sword as he joined him.

*******

       The hunting party was near to the delta channels when they were joined by Lord Sherfiramun accompanied by five of his officers armed with long knives, and bows and darts a bit more substantial than bird bolts, or so Aragorn and Ankhrabi both noted.  They pretended they’d not caught this detail, but both stiffened enough for their own folk to notice, increasing the wariness they already felt.  As Aragorn noticed a particular movement of wind through a stand of palms near the beginnings of the marshlands, he made a motion of his hand which during the quest had become recognized as indicating the need to watch abroad.  Trusting Legolas to understand the signal, he followed as the party entered the marshes. 

       But when Sherfiramun would have had them turn right, the King indicated he wished to go left and cross the nearer channel to a marsh which was more difficult to approach.  “We are more likely to find ducks further in,” he said in the soft murmur of a good hunter.  Reluctantly Sherfiramun shrugged and acquiesced, particularly as Ankhrabi agreed with the foreign King.

       Ankhrabi was pleased with his companions from the North, for they obviously were all accomplished hunters and trackers, moving soundlessly, obviously familiar with the ways of moving amongst marshes.  Only the small Hobbit captain seemed uncomfortable, yet he moved soundlessly and surely enough, following the steps of his Lord.  The Haradri nobles who had chosen to come as well were all far less adept than the Northerners at moving quietly and surely.  He gave a swift smile to the Lord An’Elessar, who nodded briefly in return, obviously keeping alert to all sides.

       They found a small flock of ducks swimming in one of the broader shallow pools, and reassured his back was being watched, Ankhrabi pulled from his belt a couple of throwing sticks; and giving a call to rouse them to flight he let the sticks fly, one after the other, felling a bird with each.  One of his servants then waded out to retrieve sticks and birds, bringing them to his master with a smile of triumph. 

       A few quiet words of congratulation, and the King turned to lead them further into the maze until they quietly approached another pool where six birds floated and dabbled, one contentedly preening itself.  With a nod from Ankhrabi that his folk would be granted this pool, the King drew an arrow and prepared it, as did the other two Lords with him.  Damrod, at a nod from the Prince, picked up a reed and threw it into the pool, at which the ducks rose.  Three fell, each pierced by the arrow of one of the three Northerners.  At a sign from the King, they’d each drawn a second arrow as soon as the first flew, though none yet nocked his.  Pippin waded this time to get the prey, and Lord Faramir took them, removed the arrows and made certain each was dead, then slipped a cord over their feet and hung them from his belt. 

       Sherfiramun was this time granted the right to lead them to another pool, but he couldn’t lead them where he’d originally intended, so far off his intended track had they already gone.  This time the other Haradri nobles were granted the right to hunt.  An ibis waded through this pool alongside three ducks;  Sherfiramun readied his throwing sticks as did the two others; one duck fell and the rest flew to safety, none touched by Sherfiramun’s weapon.

       An odd bird call was heard, but none of the Haradri save Ankhrabi seemed to notice; he realized that at a quiet signal from the King the Northern guards were moving apart.  Only Captain Peregrin stayed near his Lord, who had moved more to the side of the party, closer to Sherfiramun.

       They went on to another pool, and again the right to hunt it was granted the Haradri nobles.  Again a single duck was felled, its wing broken by a throwing stick.

       They were moving toward another pool when the King stopped, signed all to stay still.  He looked at the tracks in the mud, then turned to the others.  “Crocodile,” he said shortly.  He looked about, then followed the tracks intently until they neared a bank to one of the channels, then stopped.  He pointed with his arrow, and all could see it, a great long brute at least eighteen hands in length.  Captain Peregrin looked at it, momentarily fascinated with horror, then turned back to his wary watch on his Lord.  The King led them then away, then indicated another Haradri noble should choose the way to go.

       A second foreign bird call, nearer this time, and the King’s party again moved apart, seemingly casually, yet their guard actually more intense in the eyes of the aware Ankhrabi.  They had scouts posted, he realized, and signals already arranged.

       They were coming up on another shallow pool in which a single rough log floated, and the King pulled the unwary noble leading the way back by the shoulder, then thrust out a hand to stop Pippin from going forward.  The log appeared to be drifting with the current, until they realized the current actually flowed the other way, that it was actually another of the crocodiles.  Aragorn quietly pointed out the spoor of the animal, where it had come through the reeds and slipped into the pool, then indicated they ought to go the other way. 

       Again Ankhrabi was aware of how quiet all of the Northerners were compared to his own people, and remembered how his father used to complain about overheavy steps.  When asked if he was a good hunter, the King had indicated he was.  Well, obviously he had not spoken vainly.  He was seeing the tracks of the crocodiles when Ankhrabi’s own people, who ought to recognize them, didn’t notice, and he appeared to be hunting his own prey right now.

       At last they approached a pool that was apparently clear of the crocodiles, one in which a mated pair of ducks and a second hen drifted, and the King, Faramir, and Berevrion again started forward with their arrows already at the string, when a signal from one of Sherfiramun’s Men was given, and they started to raise their weapons.  A whistle, and the leader of the small troop suddenly dropped his sword, an arrow standing in his shoulder.  Meanwhile the three hunters had turned and now each held his bow aimed at one of those who’d accompanied Sherfiramun, and their guards held their own weapons ready, Captain Peregrin Took holding his sword at the Haradri lord’s own belly.  The King said in a voice of deadly calm, “I would not move, any of you.  If you raise your weapons you will rue it.  Drop them--now.”

       Sherfiramun’s face was pale as he let his sword drop--only he was reaching beneath his arm for the dagger hidden there when he found an arrow in his hand, and stopped in shock.

       One of the remaining three Men had made a show of dropping his sword, but then was reaching forward with one of his darts and thrust it at Ankhrabi, wounding his side.  It was like being burned with a brand, and Ankhrabi dropped his own drawn dagger as he clutched at the wound.  “Poisoned!” he managed to gasp out.  A move from one of the Northerners caused the soldier to pull back, but he’d drawn a dagger and was moving on one of the other Haradri nobles.  Pippin leapt between him and his intended victim, his sword already in play.  The action was fast and fierce--suddenly the knife was flying through the air, accompanied by three severed fingers, and landed in the pool.

       The ducks had flown immediately on the first noise from the hunters, and throughout the marshes and channels round about birds had burst upwards, crying the alarm.

       Hardorn had taken on a second individual, and had him disarmed and down on the ground with his sword at the Man’s throat at about the same time Pippin’s opponent was clutching at his maimed hand.

       Damrod brought forth a coil of light line from his belt, and between himself and his lord they soon had the six Men disarmed and bound.  Hardorn had given the red bag he’d carried over his shoulder to the King, who was bringing out bandages, and instructing one of the Haradri lords to bind the hand of the one who’d lost fingers to Pippin, and the shoulder of the captain.  Pippin himself broke off the arrow through Sherfiramun’s hand and pushed the remains of the shaft through it, and taking bandages from the King’s bag packed it to stop the bleeding, bound it tight.

       Aragorn himself was working over the Haradri Prince.  Hardorn was now standing over the soldier who’d wounded Ankhrabi, demanding in accented Haradri to know what poison had been used.

       “Asp venom,” he finally gasped out. 

       The King grew pale.  “We must get him back to the city immediately,” he said.  He sucked on the wound and spat out the blood to remove what he could of the poison,  hastily bandaged it, then indicated Berevrion and Lord Ghants’pa’amon should carry the wounded Prince between them.  The rest of the guards and those lords who were sufficiently armed saw to it that Sherfiramun and his Men were placed in a line and roped together with a second roll of rope brought forth by Hardorn, then prepared for the journey back to the city.  “Is the house in which your father once lived now inhabited?” asked the King of Ankhrabi.

       “Not at this time,” Ankhrabi murmured.  “My brother dwelt there until his death.”

       “Then we shall go there rather than the palace now.  We know not what other mischief these and the others who sent them might have set into play.  Let us go.”

       The King set the route for the rest to follow, a different one from that they had used in entering the delta marshes.  They came out some distance from where they’d entered them and took a sheltered route through fields of cotton plants back to the outskirts of Thetos and through a couple of quiet streets to the alley which led to the back of An’Sohrabi’s youthful estate.  The King let them into the stable from the rear, saw it closed and barred behind them, led the way across the court to a door.  It was barred, but Lord Hardorn had it unfastened in short order, and they entered in.

       Aragorn led them through the place until he found a bed chamber still with a bed and other furnishings in it.  “We will take him in here.  Hardorn, did you note the well in the courtyard behind the house?”

       “Yes, Aragorn.”

       “Fetch me water.  Do any of you know the ways of this house?”

       One of those who’d served as Ankhrabi’s guard said, “I served his brother for a time.”

       “Take Captain Peregrin to the kitchens.  Find fuel to heat the water, and basins to heat it in.  I will need water heated to near boiling as quickly as possible.  Then, is the wine closet still off the second sitting room?”

       “Yes, my Lord.

       “Untie the ropes about their necks, and secure the prisoners within it--after they have been gagged.  If possible, secure each to a separate wine stand or post.”

       “You know of it?”

       “I have used it for similar purposes in the distant past, Captain.”

       The Haradri guard gave the King a long look, then bowed with more respect than he’d shown before. 

       Lord Afraim had been part of the group, and as with those from the North carried a long knife in his belt.  “You expected an attack today?”

       “Did the Farozi ever tell you how he and I met, my Lord?”

       “No, Lord An’Elessar.”

       “It was the day on which Lord Maruset was taken by the crocodile.  Maruset had made a point of inviting the younger son of An’Horubi on a trip to hunt duck alone with him in the channels of the delta.  He allowed the young Prince to begin to make his approach to a pool of ducks near the edge of the channels, and disarmed him of all save his throwing sticks.  To purposely heighten his fear, he began to tell him what would happen to him, of the death he would die to the glory of the Death Eater.  The boasting was overheard--by me.  I will tell you what few others know--he was already dead when the crocodile found him.  He and I fought, with daggers.  I killed him, left his body for the crocodiles and then came away with the youth here.

       “I do not trust any who served among the armies of Mordor, my Lord.  Did any of the others here today serve so?”

       “No, Lord King.”

       “Good, then.”

       The Prince was now stripped to his loin cloth, and the King carefully undid the bandage he’d hastily wrapped about him in the marshes, took out the packing.  He examined the wound carefully.

       Damrod had remained in the back courtyard as the rest had entered the house.  He now entered the house and found the room in which the others were gathered.  “Prince Legolas has come near, Lord King,” he said in Westron.  “He says seven others were sent after us in the hunting party, and you did well going as you did through the marshlands, for they could not find you that way.  Mablung led them into the channels, and one has fallen to the crocodiles.  Mablung will soon lead the remaining six this way, and into the stable.  He asks we have an ambush ready when they arrive.”

       The King translated.  The Haradrim straightened and looked to one another.  The King looked to Afraim.  “Will you lead the ambush, Lord?”

       The Man’s smile was twisted with fury.  “Oh, yes, I will.”  He signed to the rest who were properly armed, and they went out. 

       Lord Ghants’pa’amon was left to aid the King of Gondor and Arnor as he worked over the Prince of Harad.  The King looked up.  “Please hand me my healer’s kit.”  After it was handed to him he set out several items in readiness, including a couple of leaves from a packet and some other herbs and a roll of tools with a fine curved needle threaded with silk thrust through it.

       “Can you find an oil lamp and light it for me?  If you have no striker and cannot find one, Captain Peregrin will have his with him and can light it for you.  I will need it set there----” and he indicated a place nearby.

       A lamp sat in a niche on the wall, and it still held oil, although the oil was much congealed.  The Haradri found the striker and soon had it lit, although the light it threw was fitful.  The King held his hand over the flame until it steadied, then turned back to Ankhrabi, finally setting both hands over the wound, beginning the ancient invocation he’d been taught, let his fingers feel deep....

       The guard brought in a basin of water, and the King came back present, rolled the leaves between his palms and blew on them, then dropped them into the steaming water.  He took some of his bandaging material and dipped it into the water, drew it out and wiped the wound with it; then after dropping the cloth back into the basin he again laid his hands over the wound and focused his attention on it.

       The Haradri Prince began to sweat, and suddenly there was a drainage from his side.  The King’s face grew paler and more intent.  For a moment there was an expression of great pain on Ankhrabi’s face, then an easing.  Not knowing what else to do, Ghants’pa’amon took the cloth which the King had used, wrung it out, and began to clean away the effluent from the wound.  The air of the room which had been stuffy now was clean, smelling of the sweetness of jasmine and the lotus blossom and the cleansing, life-giving scent of the River Risen as it flowed through their land.  Again Ghants’pa’amon rinsed the cloth and sought to cleanse away more of the bloody fluid from Ankhrabi’s side--and he realized that the wound was closing even as he washed it.  He pulled back, shocked.

       Ankhrabi relaxed, and his eyes opened with surprise and consideration.  He was beginning to smile, and took a deep breath.  At last, with a deep sigh the King of Gondor straightened, dropping his hands to his side.  He, too, took a series of deep breaths, then let all out.  He leaned over the Prince, looked into his eyes.  “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice particularly deep and gentle.

       “Well, my Lord An’Elessar,” Ankhrabi said, his voice glad and puzzled at the same time. 

       With a nod, the King started to take up the cloth again, saw it was fouled, looked a question at the lord kneeling at his side, then smiled.  “You cleansed his side?”

       “Yes.”

       “Good.  Very good.”  He rolled his shoulders back to ease them, tilted back his head, his eyes closed.  Finally he straightened, once more set his hand over the already healing wound and let his fingers again feel deep----

       He smiled.  “You should be well now, my Lord,” he said.  “I should cleanse you.”  He straightened and called out, “Pippin?”

       After a moment the Hobbit guard peered into the room.  “Yes, Strider?”

       “Another basin of water, please, and some clean cloths if you can find them.  I don’t wish to use up all my bandage material on cleansing.”

       “Yes, my Lord--I’ll bring it right away.  It’s almost at a boil now.”  He disappeared down the hall, then came back with a new basin and some cleaning cloths he’d found.

       The King carefully cleaned Ankhrabi’s entire body, and asked the lord beside him to see if he could find a sheet or blanket to wrap about the Prince as he recovered.  In a low chest Ghants’pa’amon found a blanket of soft wool, which the King accepted with thanks. 

       Once wrapped in the blanket, Ankhrabi smiled again.  “I cannot believe how well I feel,” he commented.

       “You responded quickly.”  The King rose to his considerable height, and stretched.  Then he sighed.  “You should do well enough here until you feel you can rise.  Now I must see to what is happening elsewhere.  Pippin, stand guard over the Prince.”  Accepting the bow of the Hobbit, he bowed to the two Men and left the room.

******

       The Men of Merdirion followed the shadowy figure through the fields outside Thetos.  Almost they lost him, but then Pelseti spotted him slipping into a quiet street on the edge of the city.  They found a scrap of fabric caught between two bricks indicating he’d gone over a low wall; then saw him peering back around a building from a narrow alley to see if any followed him.  When they looked down a second alley they saw him struggling to open the doors of a nobleman’s stable.  Unable to force it open, he leapt up and pulled himself up and over the wall--a much higher one than before.  They had him now!  No one now lived in that house, and he couldn’t get out of the back courtyard, for the house filled the whole of the space within the walls.  They had him--if they themselves could get in.

       He’d led them quite the chase, and had lost them Argeb’rabi as they followed him through the pool where the floating log had proven to be a crocodile instead.  Tutankhrabi as leader of this small squadron intended to have him--if for no other reason then for the loss of a good soldier.  Pelseti was good with locks, and came forward to check the manner in which the stable before them had been secured.  He frowned in concentration as he worked the point of his knife into the gap and lifted.  The bar inside was poorly seated, it appeared, and was easily lifted and the doors swung open.  They slipped inside, to one side or the other where they wouldn’t remain silhouetted against the light, then set out to make their way out the further door where they hopefully could find their quarry.

       Only once the last of them was inside the barn and away from the door first the door behind them swung shut, and then the one before them.  Caught in the dark, they froze.  A voice said softly, “If you will drop your weapons, all may yet be well with you.”  The flap of a dark lantern was lifted, and the glare of its light fell on them....

       A whisper of noise beside him, and Tutankhrabi turned to find a swordhilt descending on him, and he fell, stunned.  The rest were as easily overcome, and when at last Tutankhrabi roused fully he found himself seated on the floor of the stable, his arms tied behind him to a support post.  The door to the inner court was now open, and a tall figure now strode into the stable through it.  He looked at the six figures secured now to posts or stable doors, appeared to be counting. 

       “All of them?” he asked in Haradri.

       “Yes, Lord An’Elessar,” grunted the voice of another of the stable’s occupants.

       “Good.  Strip them completely, and bring their clothing inside.”  He came closer, examined each in the dim light of the stable.  He paused as he examined Pelseti, then again at Tutankhrabi.  As he turned away, he commented, “You will have to watch that one well, for he is too clever by half.  This one is their leader.  Bring him into the house with the clothing if you will, my Lord Afraim.”

       Afraim indicated his agreement, and those who’d ambushed the troop which had followed Mablung through the marshes of the delta and the fields set to stripping their prey with a will, leaving them without even loincloths in the end.

       Two Men, one Haradri and one a Northerner, propelled Tutankhrabi across the court and into the house.  Four chairs had been set facing a fifth, to which he was led.  He was made to sit down and tied to the chair hand and foot.  He felt at a distinct disadvantage, sitting there naked before his enemies.  Then one of the Northerners who looked a good deal like the Northern Lord himself came, a carefully knotted cord in his hand, to stand beside him.

       The Northern Lord took the seat at the end of the line of chairs to his left, and a second figure, younger, also darker haired and with eyes grey as the sea under storm, took the chair at the other end.  Lord Afraim took the chair by An’Elessar, and Lord Ghants’pa’amon took the last one, his usually self-satisfied expression grim and determined.

       “So,” Afraim said, his voice hard, “we were to die beside Ankhrabi, were we?”

       Tutankhrabi took a deep breath, and set himself to withstand their questioning....

       Amon had begun to fall in the sky when the questioning was over.  The one with the cord had known what to do to elicit answers; and something in the voice of the King commanded other answers Tutankrabi hadn’t intended to give.  A great deal had been learned from him, including the fact the Umbari who dwelt in Sherfiramun’s house had been the one who had commanded all.

       All now looked to Afraim.  He in turn looked at the Northern Lord.  “You may command in this,” Lord Afraim said.

       “You are one of the commanders of the forces of Harad, not I,” the Northern Lord returned.  “You command and hold the authority here, my lord, although you have allowed me to lead in that which I know best.  Here you know the mind of the Farozi better than I.  What is the right thing to be done with these?”

       Afraim rubbed the side of his nose as he considered, looking back at the one before them.  “Let them be kept until they can come before the Farozi’s justice.  The intent was obviously to slay us, particularly Ankhrabi and yourself and those in your party, An’Elessar.  Certainly had you not been wary as you obviously were, most or all of us would have fallen or been taken. 

       “I must assume the intent was to destroy the leadership of your people, after which an attack would be made on the Palace of the Farozi to sieze power over all.  Those of your people who did not come on the hunt are there, including the wives and heirs of yourself, Lord Faramir here, Lord An’Éomer, and Lord Berevrion as well as the children of Ankhrabi.  It would give Merdirion much leverage should he hold them in his power.  He would not need to sieze the crown of any of our lands if he were to make himself regent for all the younglings; and with him in command of their raising, he would make certain all were suitably decadent that they would only pass on his laws and judgments and strictures so that in the end he would be ruler of all in all but name.  So it was that the Death Eater held us in control for many lives of Men.”

       The others nodded.  The King of Gondor looked at the Man before them all, then back to Afraim.  “I fear you are right, and if so then the palace may well be under siege as we speak.  We have left our folk forewarned, however, and I suspect that once again Merdirion and Sherfiramun have underestimated the astuteness of An’Sohrabi.  He has not remained Farozi this long without having developed great sensitivity to intrigue.  I suspect he already has defenses set to counter moves against him, for that I was ready for treachery was not lost on him when we left his presence this morning.  A quick learner he was as a youth when I saw him last; he will not be taken without a significant struggle likely to be highly damaging to the power base of his opponent.  And Lord Amonrabi is at his side, one his enemies have always overlooked.”  He gave a small smile.

       “Obviously the next step for us will be to gain control over this Merdirion.  In order to do this, we will need to know how the household in which he hides himself is structured.  Sherfiramun can aid us in this, I think.  Another chair, think you, my Lords?”

       Sherfiramun blinked as the door of the room in which he and his fellows were secured was opened and the light of day fell inside.  They came first to him, and untying him from the ring in the wall to which shelves for wine were intended to be secured, they drew him to his feet and led him out, into the presence of what was obviously a tribunal that he’d never thought to face.

       Tutankhrabi sat naked in a chair, bound to it hand and foot, gagged, his entire aspect drawn and tired.  Sherfiramun was settled next to him and bound as he was.  He began to shake with terror.  And the questioning began.

       Afterward the King tended briefly to his hand, then sent him back to the closet and had him again secured.  The leader of his troop and the other who’d been injured in the struggle in the marshlands were brought out, questioned in their turn and then given attention for their wounds, and they, too were once again gagged and returned to the small stone room and again secured.  It appeared no one would aid them more than that.

       Pelseti found himself goaded to his feet.  Without any word to him they changed his bonds, raised his hands over his head so that he all but hung from them, secured to a loop above him in a manner from which he could be expected to escape only with greatest difficulty.  And the golden-haired archer opposite did not take his eyes from him long enough to allow any escape at all, his bow kept at the ready with an arrow loosely nocked.  Pelseti stood, his breathing forced to be shallow by his posture.  For the first time since the ambush as they entered the barn he began to fear his cleverness would not aid him to effect his own escape.

       And between them Lord Afraim, Lord Hardorn, and Lord An’Elessar began to plan how they would enter the estate of Sherfiramun to gain custody of Merdirion of Umbar.

Arrests

       “I suggest, my Lords,” the King said with a sigh, “that we see to a meal for ourselves.  I will tell you that Captain Peregrin, being a Hobbit, will be able to take the ducks we have taken this morning and make a passable meal of them.  Lord Ghants’pa’amon, may we send your guard out in more normal gear to the market to bring us some vegetables to eat with them?  I’m certain Pippin will be willing to give him a list of what he would require.  And I am certain he will have carried the cord of ring coin I gave him a few days ago so that we can pay for the provender.”

       Pippin did indeed carry the coins with him in a hidden pocket the Lady Arwen had sewn into his surcoat, and he gladly contributed them to the project, along with a list of items he’d found on his thorough search of the kitchens they would need.

       Fresh oil for the stove and lamps; freshly baked bread; some vegetables and fruits; flour; perhaps some rice to have with the duck (“I’m glad Frodo isn’t here so we don’t have to listen to his complaints about it,” he said with a rather sad smile which the King mirrored); some juice; something for later for dinner if they intended to remain here through the evening; something for tea?  Lord Ghants’pa’amon’s guard smiled at the list, and promised he’d remember all and bring something extra.  They’d found a relatively plain kilt, belt purse, and cosmetics kit in a kist in the room where Prince Ankhrabi still lay recovering; and so garbed and properly kohled, the Man slipped out through the back alley and headed for the market district. 

       He returned just over an hour later laden with provisions, with the report that some of the troops which had been assigned to Mordor’s interests were gathering in various places throughout the city, although none was as yet showing itself openly.  Afraim’s face became stern, and he had his own Men dress down and sent them out, one to reconnoiter and the other to carry word to the desert forces to begin gathering quietly to the aid of the Farozi, carrying his signet as a token these orders indeed came from himself, and the suggestion he get a horse from the Lord Afraim’s stable from his city house to ride, if he could get to it undetected.  The soldier might have been inclined not to care about city intrigues had he himself not been one of the party targeted for death this morning, and had he not listened to the interrogations of the prisoners.  He now gave his salute to his commander and slipped out alongside his fellow to follow the orders given, knowing he would let the desert captains know this was a serious matter indeed, if they didn’t wish to bow to Umbar.

*******

       Noon passed and no word came from the hunting party.  By mid-afternoon Isumbard was pale with strain.  Then finally came word that Legolas had slipped back into the palace grounds with word for Captain Beregond and the rest, and all gathered in the sitting room assigned to their usage, Gimli’s face stiff with concern and wariness.  Before the Elf would speak, however, he paused to listen, then gave a rather savage smile as he rose from where he lounged sideways on a chair.  Drawing an arrow, he quietly approached a decorative panel on the wall, listened again, then shoved the tip in through a break in the pattern and thrust it rather viciously down at an angle.  A muffled exclamation could be heard from behind the walls, along with a scuttling noise retreating away from the room.

       “Spy hole?” asked Gimli as Legolas withdrew the arrow and checked its point.

       “Apparently,” said Éomer, reaching out his hand to take the arrow and examine in turn the blood that marked it.  “Whoever it was will be relatively easy to identify.  Do you hear any other sign of us being watched or overheard?”

       “No, my Lord Éomer.”

       “Good.  Then tell us what we face so we can prepare adequately.”

*******

       Lord Amonrabi had noted the passageway to the spyhole on the guest wing had been opened.  Unwilling to face whoever had entered it within its confines, he sent for the captain of the Farozi’s personal troops to attend him in watching for the spy to come out.  This was the son of another of An’Sohrabi’s half brothers, one who had been rescued from Maruset’s own Men as they sought to take him to one of the altars to the Death Eater.  He was grim as he waited by his uncle, certainly as intent as Amonrabi himself to see who would come out.

       The door opened, and Gefferel emerged, clutching at his left ear where he was bleeding.  Seeing those waiting for him he froze, and was easily taken.  They conducted him to a quiet room with very thick walls and no windows beyond the Farozi’s own quarters, and having stripped him to his loin cloth they left him there.  After a time An’Sohrabi himself came, his face grim, accompanied by Amonrabi and another of his nephews who attended on him, to question the slave.  Gefferel himself was surprised at how much he told before they were through with him.

       “You will remain here,” the Farozi finally said, “until all is over and done with.  The Lord An’Elessar, if he has survived--as I suspect he has--will wish to question you himself.  And you will be surprised, Gefferel, how difficult it is to keep from responding to his questions.”  He turned to his attendant.  “Bind and gag him.  See to it he is allowed to relieve himself regularly, and that he gets bread and water at intervals.  But he is not to die or leave this room, and no others are to know where he is kept.”

       After they returned to An’Sohrabi’s own quarters, Amonrabi paused, looking at the transcript of the interview he’d made.  “The seven names he’s given here--what do we do with those?”

       The Farozi looked at the scroll in his brother’s hands, his face thoughtful.  Finally he suggested, “Leave Pelscarabri in place.  If he were to disappear, it would be too obvious we are aware of the plot against us.  Take the others one by one--find some excuse to call them away, and treat them as has been Gefferel.  If you can keep them in separate rooms it might be better, although you may simply make use of the rings set into the stone of the room he is in to keep them from approaching and aiding one another.

       “Set one by Pelscarabri to keep an eye on him.  Let him be ordered to note every possible signal to which Pelscarabri might respond, each individual he speaks to privately.  Gebankhsamun would, I think, be a good choice.”

       At his brother’s acknowledgment of his orders he nodded and left to go to his dinner.

       Three servants and slaves from the palace were called away from their duties, and others were set to complete their work so that no one would note they’d not returned.  Two of the day guard were also separated from their fellows; and when the evening guard went on duty two did not report with them.

*******

       Pelscarabri looked up as Gebankhsamun approached him and saluted.  He returned the salute, and asked, “Where is Ma’amonri?”

       Gebankhsamun shrugged.  “I am told that Lord Amonrabi sent an escort to Lady Ankhsenrani to bring her to the palace.  The word in the house is that Lady Nefiramonrani has become convinced this day that her womb has been blessed once again, and wishes to have her sister by her this night to rejoice with her.”

       Pelscarabri nodded his understanding, and was secretly pleased.  To have the wife of Ankhrabi and her sister both together would make it better for his true master, he knew.  Ma’amonri was known to be close to the family of Sherfiramun and had served with him among the troops sent to fight for Mordor; he was a good one to entrust with the securing of Sherfiramun’s wife.

*******

       The word that the hunting party had not returned to the city had spread throughout the palace, and many were beginning to become tense and anxious.  So far as the courtiers of An’Sohrabi knew, there had been no indication of what had happened to any of those who’d gone to the delta area that day.  Their own remaining royal prince was among those who were now considered missing, as well as his wife’s brother-in-law, the Northern King and two of the officials of his court, Lord Afraim and Lord Ghans’pa’amon, and those servants and guards who had attended on them. 

       The Lord King An’Éomer of Rohan, accompanied by Lord Amrahil to serve as translator, sought out the Farozi to learn if he had heard any news of the hunting party, only to be told that the Farozi had been advised of a difficulty with one of his personal slaves who’d been found in a compromising position, and that he needed to take care of the situation that the one he’d been wronging not slay him out of hand before they could learn how he’d managed to place himself where he ought not to have been.  The Northerner had looked plainly discontented on hearing the explanation from Lord Amonrabi; but when he returned to the room where the others waited he was holding in his laughter. 

       “I believe they have already managed to capture the spy,” he commented after he reported what he’d been told.  “Lord Amonrabi was so very careful as he explained the situation--I think the indication is that they intend to hold him until he can be questioned by Lord Aragorn.”

       Benai sighed with relief.  He was coming to admire the Farozi of Harad and his brother.

*******

       Those waiting in the house which had once housed Prince Sohrabi and many of his half-brethren and later his older son all agreed that the meals prepared by Captain Peregrin were excellent.  Shortly after sunset the King, Lord Hardorn, and Lord Afraim all prepared to go on their quest to capture this Merdirion of Umbar.

       Carefully folded into a kist that had remained in one of the rooms assigned ordinarily to servants were found several robes of the sort used by bodyguards, while Legolas had brought back with him from his visit to the palace the King’s cloak from Lothlorien and Hardorn’s Ranger’s garb as well as both Men’s swords.

       Legolas had also paid a visit to the house of Rustovrid, slipping into it unseen and alerting the ambassador to the plotting which had been identified; Rustovrid had thanked him for the warning, and had set his personal guards on watch, glad these had all been proven true to him several times over the years.  He sent a noble’s formal cloak and headcloth for Lord Afraim’s use, and indicated he would contact those military leaders he was certain remained true to the Farozi and see to it that they were advised of what had been learned so that their forces could help to break any siege found being placed on the palace.

       Feeling properly armed and prepared, the two Northerners dressed in bodyguards’ robes and Afraim as a noble on whom the others were attending, the three intent on entering Sherfiramun’s house made their way to the waterfront.  Sherfiramun had been induced to tell one detail of which his Men remained in ignorance--there was an escape tunnel from the wine closet of his house that led to the River; and he’d also told of how to find the hidden entrance from the riverbank as well as how to open the wine closet from the inside.

       A small punt was found tied to a wharf near the market district, and in moments it had been appropriated and was being poled upriver to the house of Sherfiramun.  The section of the bank where the tunnel was supposedly hidden was finally reached, and Hardorn disembarked to search for the opening while the others lifted the punt onto the shelving of the bank.  Finally he gave a soft grunt of satisfaction and signaled the others to join him.  They managed to open the way, and quietly entered in, Hardorn finding and lighting the lamp which Sherfiramun had admitted stood in a niche just inside the doorway. 

       They had to be careful in the last scrabble up through a trapdoor into the wine closet, and both the King and Hardorn had to assist Afraim up out of the narrow tunnel.  It was crowded, the room filled with stands of sealed jars filled with wine.  It was obvious that either Sherfiramun or Merdirion considered himself a connoisseur of fine wine.  The King found the hidden catch that allowed them to open the door from the inside, and opened it just enough to look about.  A slave was finishing cleaning the room, which appeared to be a dining room, after a meal.  They waited, and at last the Man’s work was done.  He left the room, carrying away with him his cleaning supplies.  When they heard a door closing behind him in the distance they at last emerged, found their way out of the room.

       Sherfiramun had explained that after his evening meal Merdirion would ordinarily go either to his own quarters or the library, although he would at times go out into the gardens and look out over the River as he drank his evening wine.  The dining room would not be entered again after those cleaning up after the evening meal were finished, not until mid-morning of the next day; and Merdirion almost never spoke with anyone during the evening hours.  Afraim and the King remained where they were while Hardorn checked the house.  Lady Ankhsarani really did not care for the Umbari officer, and without her husband present would be likely to seize on any chance to stay elsewhere, usually attending on her sister who had remained in the Farozi’s house.  If she were not at home, she would undoubtedly have taken with her the five slaves who accompanied her everywhere, which would significantly help keep them from detection.

       Hardorn found his quarry in the library, where he was working over a map of Middle Earth, North and South.  Beside the map lay a scroll and a goblet.  Once he’d identified where Merdirion was, he returned quickly to where the other two waited and informed them.  The King was dressed, as was Hardorn, as a bodyguard, and he carried his cloak from Lorien along with materials to serve as gags and blindfolds rolled in the thick sash he wore about his waist over the robes he wore.  They’d had their plans made; now they must find Merdirion’s personal slave.  Here the King went forth quietly, found the Man as had been predicted, reading a scroll of poetry of questionable virtue in the room just off the entrance where he was to greet any with reports to make.  He appeared surprised to look up and find the tall stranger beside him, and even more so when the scroll was firmly removed from his hand and laid on the small table, neatly rolled.

       “Who are you?” he asked stupidly.

       “I’ve come with a visitor for your master,” the unknown bodyguard said.  “Lord Afraim desires to see him.”

       “Lord Afraim?”  The slave sounded even more stupid than he had originally.

       “Yes, Lord Afraim.  He wishes to know what it is that is going forward in Thetos this night.  You had best take us to him.”

       “But----”  He was not given the chance to continue, was goaded to standing, then out of the room.  Waiting nearby stood the desert lord wearing a fine cloak and headcloth, a second bodyguard behind him.  They appeared to have been waiting for some time, the bodyguard with the patience of his kind, the Lord probably with none.

       “My Lord?” said the slave as he bowed.  “How did you get in without my knowledge?”

       “Perhaps had you been less intent on your scroll....” suggested the one who’d brought him to the lord’s presence.

       “You did appear very--involved,” Afraim added, improvising.  He caught the flash of approval in the King’s eyes, and gave a small smile.  “I’ve come to see your master.”  He looked up at the one behind the slave.  “You had best remain where you can watch for other messengers to Merdirion.”

       The slave saw the typical salaam of respect given, and the inclination of the head from the desert lord.

       “Yes, my Lord,” said the slave, confused as this was one lord he’d not thought to see approach his master.  The desert troops tended to be very independent and had always shied away from past attempts by Merdirion to recruit them.  Perhaps they were now finally seeing sense?  He led them through the house to the library where he clapped his hands respectfully outside the door opening.  “Lord Afraim, Master.”

       Merdirion looked up, startled, although he quickly mastered his surprise.  “Lord Afraim?”  He stood.  “I’d not thought to see you this night.  I’d heard you were to hunt ducks this morning.”

       Afraim shrugged.  “I’d intended to,” he said without elaborating.  “Those who bring information to me tell me that your troops are forming here and there throughout the city.”

       Not certain where this would lead, Merdirion raised an eyebrow.  “And why should such a thing come to pass, my Lord?”

       “This is what I would wish to know, Merdirion.”  The desert warrior sat heavily on the chair facing the desk.

       The absence of the title was not lost on the Umbari.  His tone grew more chilly.  “And on what evidence do you base the assumption any troops which gather are mine, Lord Afraim?  I am not Haradri and do not command here.”

       “No, Haradri you certainly are not.  But to imply you have not known authority in our land is--misleading.  You and I both know that you served the Death Eater.”

       “It is a far from respectful title for one of the gods.”

       Afraim snorted.  “One of the gods?  Yes, he ever claimed to be such, did he not--the only one who remained in Middle Earth while the others withdrew into the West after the defeat of Seti?  An immortal, certainly he was--until he sowed the seeds of his own destruction in tying his own existence and power to the work of his hands.”

       Merdirion grew more wary and still.  “What do you mean by that?”

       “Did not Sherfiramun tell you?  The Northerners related to us how it was that the great Eastern Lord was thrown down--by the destruction of his own Ring.”

       Merdirion closed his hand over his own ring, his throat going somewhat dry.  Forcing himself to sound disinterestedly polite, he said, “Oh, truly?”

       “So they tell us.  Only he lost it long ago and was diminished, rising to power again only because of the shortsightedness of our ancestors who fell to his blandishments, who desecrated the halls of Annubi and Osiri by placing his altars there alongside theirs.  Had we not been so quick to seek his favor through offering the lives of slaves, captives, and eventually our own upon them, we would probably have remained free of his tyranny for a good time longer.

       “Enough of that.  I wish you to tell me of these troop movements and what their intent is.”

       While Afraim kept Merdirion distracted, the King went through the house to the entrance to the slaves’ quarters.  In keeping with many of the older homes in Thetos, not only did this one have an escape tunnel and passages between walls to allow spying upon certain rooms and the guest quarters, but its slaves’ quarters were in a wing which had but one door leading out, with a great bar which could be fastened down to keep slaves from seeking to escape in the night.  Aragorn had ascertained that now both slaves and paid servants (of whom there was at least one this time of night) were retreated to that wing, and carefully he checked the seating for the bar and found it still firm and sound, then quietly dropped the bar into place, then closing the latch over it that would keep it from being released easily from inside. 

       He then efficiently ransacked the Umbari’s quarters, and gathered certain items into his own possession, including a mate to the small chest he’d taken with Virubat years ago.  The locking spell apparently was no longer working since the fall of Sauron, which was pleasing.  It had taken little enough to undo its effects before, but such a spell hadn’t been comfortable to confront. 

       There was also a secret drawer in the desk and a panel near the door behind which a good amount of information was found.  He scanned it carefully, then paused and reread a few pages more carefully, then smiled.  Placing the papers he’d found in the chest and taking it under his arm, he went back to the main door, saw it, too secured, and returned to the library.  Let all wonder how it was that this one had disappeared.

       The slave still stood near the door to the library, looking in, his face filled with a growing sense of discomfort as he watched the confrontation between his master and Lord Afraim.

       “...And there are the thirty pikemen seen beyond the horse market, and the sixteen bowmen near the temple of Scarab.”

       “I am certain I have no idea of such troops.”  Merdirion’s voice was even more chilly.

       “You do not?  Then why was the leader of the bowmen seen coming out of this house this morning?”  This was a fact wrung from the leader of the troop which had been led into ambush by Mablung, and it was one which gave Merdirion pause, as this one had not entered the house to receive his orders until after Sherfiramun had himself left the house.  The idea that he was being spied upon was quite unsettling, although as was usual he continued to try to hide it.

       When Merdirion chose not to answer that, Afraim gave a theatrical sigh, slapping his hands on his thighs as he stood up.  “So, you do not answer?  Perhaps a wise move, as you do not as yet know my plans or motivations.  However, I find that I shall need for you and your slave to come with me.”

       Merdirion had been surreptitiously removing the dagger he kept loosely fastened to the underside of his desk, although the manner in which he did so was not lost on either King nor the cousin who was chief of his own bodyguard.  Hardorn had moved to the side of the desk and had taken out of his own belt sash the stocking he’d filled with sand.  Now as Merdirion started to lean back so he could bring the dagger up and possibly into play Hardorn swung the stocking and caught the Man on the temple, at which the dagger fell from his suddenly nerveless hands, bounced off his leg, and hit the floor. 

       Aragorn had a dagger to the slave’s ear at the same time, a tactic he had found to be even more unnerving than holding it at an opponent’s throat.  “I would not move, were I you,” he said conversationally.  “You will slowly remove the rod from your waist sash and allow it to fall.”  The Man did as he was told.  “Now the small yet sharp knife that is there.”  Paling slightly, he again obeyed.  Aragorn reversed the dagger and gave a single judicious blow intended to stun only, then set the chest he carried on a nearby table, removed the slave’s belt sash and began to bind him with it.

       Hardorn paused in the gagging of Merdirion to look at his cousin and King critically.  “What have I told you of the foolishness of threatening an opponent while holding items in one hand?”

       Aragorn laughed.  “I stand appropriately chastised, my beloved cousin,” he answered as he finished binding the slave.

       They soon had the two Men appropriately incapacitated, and the King left them side by side under Hardorn’s guard as he went through this room as thoroughly as he had the bed chamber.  Among the items he added to those he would carry away with him were the map and scroll, and a few papers he found under the cushion of the chair in which Merdirion had sat.  He then pulled that chair out into the center of the room and had Lord Afraim bring the other to face it, facing sideways away from the window.  Merdirion had roused, and at a sign from the King he was prodded to his feet and made to sit down in the other chair, his bound hands in his lap, his gag removed. 

       It was as Aragorn sat opposite him that he saw and recognized that which his new prisoner wore on his hand.  He paused as he looked on it, then gave a deep sigh.  He raised his own eyes to the Man’s face, and paused again, then gave a bit of a laugh.  “So,” he said, “this is why you have thought you could become a power within the world.  I will tell you this--Landrion was far wiser than you, for when he was offered that which you wear now, he declined it.  Not even Sauron could force another to wear such things, for it is part of their nature that the spells that bind their bearers to them require that the recipient voluntarily choose to wear them or the spells intended to bring about their corruption afterwards will have no effect.  Being a lesser one than Morgoth, Sauron could not change the nature of the spells he’d learned when he’d studied the making of Rings of Power.  And these lesser rings are indeed that--lesser rings than any created by Celebrimbor and his folk under the tutelage of Annatar.  It was a part of the reason Sauron took that identity and sought out the Elven smiths, you know, for save in creating a master Ring and such cheats as these he could not do more.  First, he was not one of the great Powers of Creation as are the Valar; second, in turning from the Creator’s will to self-worship he forfeited the ability to imbue the rings with the empathy necessary to command obedience.

       “You accepted a lesser ring from a lesser power.  Do not be surprised that the power you were promised proves to be lesser as well.  It is not for nothing that he was ever known to the Wise as Sauron the Liar and Accursed.”

       “Who are you?” asked Merdirion.

       “Do you not know?” asked the Man seated across from him, dressed as a bodyguard.  He removed the headcloth he wore, his dark hair, grey eyes, neatly groomed beard, and wide brow now clearly seen.

       “The King of Gondor, then,” sighed the lord from Umbar.

       The Lord Aragorn Elessar did not speak, merely held his gaze.

       “So, the one I knew as Peredrion of Dunbar was your father?”

       Aragorn laughed, throwing back his head.  “You still do not understand,” he finally said, gazing steadily at Merdirion again.  “‘Half-son’ is only half the translation of Peredrion--to truly translate it, it comes to ‘son of the Half-Elven’.”  I am direct descendant not only of Elendil, Isildur, Valandil, and Arvedui, but of Elros and Eärendil and Elwing Peredhil.  Now, how long did the descendants of Elros typically live?  Far too many generations lie between myself and the founder of my line, and I will not live three hundred years or more as so many of the Kings of Númenor did--but I am already older than most other Men in Middle Earth, and am but in my middle years.”

       “Then--you were Peredrion.”

       “I am Peredrion--Peredrion, Aragorn, Estel, Elessar, Strider, and so many other identities.”  The look he gave the Umbari lord continued to be level, then began to go stern.

       “Are you going to take the ring from me?”

       “Take it?  If you will not take it off voluntarily as you accepted it and put it on, then it will remain on your finger until you are dead.”

       “But while I wear it....”

       “Maruset also believed he could not die while he wore one of the mates to that which you wear, as have two others.  Maruset died by my hand, as did the other who would not remove his ring.”

       “And the third?”  Merdirion’s throat felt dry.

       “He is dead, but at least he died free of its enslavement.”

       “And what happened to the rings once they were dead?  Or did the crocodile get the one which Maruset wore?”

       “They have all been destroyed.”

       “Do any of the great Elves remain in Middle Earth to destroy them?”

       “Actually, there are a few left; but, no, I did not wait with the things.  I was taught how to destroy such atrocities.”  He straightened.  “Now, tell me the placement of all the troops you have committed to the siege of the Farozi’s palace.”

       “I will not do so.”

       “So be it.”  He inclined his head to the slave.  “Force him to his feet.  I will question him.”

       Hardorn pulled the Man erect.  Afraim pulled out his long knife and laid its blade to Merdirion’s throat, causing the Man to draw back, realizing he was helpless, and he listened as the slave began to spill out those details he had refused to give.

Defense

       Pelscarabri waited impatiently and with some level of anxiety.  The two who were supposed to aid him in taking the wives and children of the Northerners had not reported for duty, but he ought to be able to do so with the aid only of Gebrabi who watched at the door nearest the guest quarters.  The signal was supposed to come shortly before dawn.  Well, he would be ready.

       He looked across the garden at where three of the Northern King’s party sat: the Dwarf sitting on the wall with a strange device in his hand which glowed as some substance smoldered within it; the dwarfling with his stunted legs and arms seated on a low stool; and the youth of the party who appeared to attend the dwarfling, seated on the ground.  Two lanterns stood on the ground near dwarfling and youth, both of whom were busy with tools, apparently shaping stone with fine chisels and mallets.  The Dwarf had on a shirt of metal links under a leather harness of sorts, and leaned on the great war axe he bore with him almost everywhere he went, his helmet lying on the wall beside him.  They spoke as the two artists worked on their small sculptures, now quiet and sounding somewhat concerned, now voices rising with laughter as apparently some jest was told.  The Dwarf breathed in the smoke of his device from time to time, and occasionally would refill the bowl of the thing with what appeared to be crumbled leaves and relight it using a striker he carried with him.  Then the youth apparently asked a question, and the Dwarf answered at length, the other two listening intently, occasionally making a comment or apparently asking another question, nodding their heads from time to time, but both industriously working as they listened.

       At last the Dwarf was finished with the tale he told, and the others smiled and apparently made some more comments on it.  Then they put down their tools and examined the work they’d done, the Dwarf taking the pieces and examining them critically as well.  They restored their tools to the rolls of fabric each carried and stowed them in bags they shrugged onto their shoulders.  The Dwarf knocked his device against the stone and placed it into a pouch he wore at his belt  The dwarfling rose and moved his stool, and the youth, after brushing off his own clothing and his master’s, moved aside and lifted a cloth from the pavement, took it to the wall and shook it out over the side which looked down on the river.  The youth folded up the cloth and laid it at last over his arm as the Dwarf blew out the two lanterns.  With the dwarfling carrying both figures and the youth carrying the tarp and two lanterns, the Dwarf lifting his great axe, they returned to the palace as Gebankhsamun returned from the palace to again take up his duty at Pelscarabri’s side.

*******

       Ruvemir had been growing restive, and had suggested that perhaps if he and Owain went outside into the garden and worked some of the alabaster gifted to them by Sa’Amonri during their visit to see the carvings at the temple of Amon they would appear (and feel) as if they weren’t completely worried about what might be going on with the King, wherever he might be.  Neither Hildigor nor Éomer would agree, however, until Gimli indicated this would be an excellent means of him perhaps identifying which of the guards might be numbered among the suspected traitors.

       When they returned Benai looked on the figures they carried with them.  One was a figure of a horse; the other appeared to be of a person, although it was not yet far advanced.  Benai smiled at the two artisans.  Neither appeared to speak his language, although both seemed pleasant and courteous enough.  The small one had created statues of the small warrior and his kinsmen, or so he’d said the other evening, Benai remembered, and the youngling was apparently his student.

       Lord Hildigor came to meet them and spoke quietly for a few moments with the Dwarf, then nodded his head and approached the sculptors.  The small one looked between Benai and the Lord a few times as they spoke, and at last Hildigor turned to translate.

       “Master Ruvemir asks if it would be acceptable, time permitting on the morrow or the day after, to do studies of you.”

       “Studies?”

       “Drawings of you, perhaps to serve as the basis for a sculpture at some point.”

       “He has done this of others here?”

       “Oh, yes--he is a gifted artist.”

       “May I see a few of these--studies--that he has done?”

       The request was translated, and Ruvemir smiled, and apparently sent the boy off to the room they shared.  Soon he was back with a booklet which he presented to his master, who thanked him and opened it, turned pages, and finally presented it to Benai to examine.

       The portrait was of the King, his face solemn and noble, the Star of Elendil on his brow.  Benai was highly impressed.  He indicated he’d like to see some more of the pages, and the small one shrugged and smiled, let it be known he was free to look at whatever he chose.

       Benai saw pictures of several who had come on the visit to Harad, one of the Farozi and two of the Farozi’s son.  Then he flipped back to an earlier page in the book  and stopped.  The face here appeared to be one of the small ones like the small warrior and his kinsman, but the hair was darker, the face highly intelligent and noble.  It was done in a moment when this one was just beginning to smile as if in response to a remark made.  He looked up in question, and the artist himself smiled.  “The Lord Frodo Baggins,” he said.

       So that was the one they called the Ringbearer.  He was impressed.  Benai nodded his appreciation and returned the book.  “Thank you,” he said in Westron.  “I had wondered what that one had looked like,” he added in his own language, and the Northern Lord translated.  The others smiled and nodded.  The sculptors went to their room, and Benai and Hildigor looked after them. 

       Once their door closed behind them, the Lord turned to Benai.  “What Gimli has learned will be shared with us in the sitting room.  Will you come and assist us in the making of plans in case there is fighting?”

       Benai again smiled, but a different smile this time.  He was ready to fight, he knew, if fighting was needed.  “Certainly,” he said.  Together they went to the Queen’s chamber and knocked on her door, and she came out, cradling her sleeping infant in her arms.  The Lady Éowyn came out with her, her own son on her right hip, a sword on her left one.  Benai looked at the sword with interest.  He had the feeling any seeking to attack their party would be very surprised to learn that even the women from the North were willing and able to protect themselves and their children.  When he realized the Queen had the handle of a long knife over her shoulder, his smile widened with satisfaction.  Together they went to the sitting room.

*******

       Gagged and blindfolded, Merdirion was lowered slowly from the wine closet to the waiting Lord Afraim who’d dropped first (and somewhat painfully) into the tunnel below.  Aragorn went second, and stood to receive the slave, who was made to carry the chest of documents; finally Hardorn came after them, after closing the door to the closet firmly.  He made certain that the trap door was carefully set into place, then indicated Afraim should lead the way, as there was not room for them to change positions in the narrow passage.

       At last they emerged onto the low bank at the edge of the river, and King and cousin carefully launched the punt.  The cloak from Lorien was wrapped about Merdirion and its hood pulled over his face, and he was lifted into the craft with the ease of one seating a small child, which he found disconcerting.  Afraim sat behind him, the King in the prow looking back with the slave before him, and Hardorn stood in the center and plied the pole as Afraim directed them to a point closest to his own house within the city.  Once they arrived, Afraim carefully gave directions to the rear entrance to his house; and once he and the King were certain Hardorn understood them they took the two prisoners and led them that way themselves while Hardorn returned the punt, leaving a single sisterce where it would be found by whoever went to untie it from its mooring.

       Within an hour Hardorn had joined them, and Afraim was coordinating plans for the defense of the palace and the city with Lord Rustovrid, who had accompanied Hardorn back to the desert lord’s home.  Merdirion, meanwhile, had been secured, still blindfolded and gagged, in the secure room within Afraim’s compound.  The slave was bound hand and foot to a chair in the room from which the two Haradrim and the two Northerners made their plans.  Afraim’s servants, rejoicing to have their lord home again, swiftly saw to it that all orders were followed.

       Two hours before dawn the troops of the defenders were all in their places.

*******

       It had been fairly easy to identify who was involved in the coup.  All the troops within the palace grounds had become concerned when their prince did not return; only a few, however, could visibly be seen to be elated when the continuing absence was discussed; and both the Farozi’s folk and the Northerners were watching for such signs.  There were but a few of the rebels within the palace, however; and one of them was among those who watched the gates to the palace compound during the night.

       As dawn approached Pelscarabri was seen peering over the walls in search of a signal.  Suddenly a torch was kindled near the temple of Scarab, then lifted three times.  Pelscarabri straightened.  He turned to Gebankhsamun.  “I must go to use the water closet.  You will remain here.”

       “Your command, sir,” Gebankhsamun replied as he gave his salute.  He watched the identified rebel officer head for the entrance to the palace not nearest the water closets but near the guest wing, and smiled.  Once he was out of sight, he signalled to the Farozi’s nephew who was part of the watch further down the walls, and when he came near he told him precisely what signal and where it was that Pelscarabri had reacted to.  As that one headed off to Amonrabi’s quarters, Gebankhsamun told off three Men to follow quietly after Pelscarabri, and to arrest him if it was seen he offered any offense against the Northern guests.  However, they were not to draw their swords unless they were needed, which was probably unlikely.  They gave surprised looks at their orders; but understanding what was feared they nodded, and they left looking thoughtful.  Gebanksamun smiled, realizing they had come to admire the strangers and to appreciate their courtesy.  That these guests of the Farozi might be offered violence within the Farozi’s own house they found highly offensive and would see put right.

       One of Pelscarabri’s own Men was on duty near the door nearest the guest wing, and as Pelscarabri approached it he opened it for him and followed in.  The two of them turned to the rooms assigned to the Northerners.  Half the Northern guards were missing with their King, Prince, and envoy, so this ought not be too difficult.  Doors to quarters, however, stood open, indicating that the Queen of Gondor and her son and daughter were not in the rooms assigned; and apparently the same was true of the wife of the envoy and the Princess of Ithilien.  The doors to the quarters of the Rohirrim were closed, as were certain others.  Well, their orders were first to secure the Lady Arwen and her children, so that was to the good if they were within the sitting room of the guest wing.

       The three ladies from Gondor and Arnor could be seen sitting on couches with their backs to the door to the sitting room, the Queen’s unmistakable thick, dark hair clearly seen there and the Princess’s golden locks easily recognized.  Only the dark slave from the far South appeared to be with them, and his attention was on the ladies.  The two Haradri drew their weapons and slipped within the room, approached their prey.  Then they heard the noise of a throat clearing behind them, and they whirled to find that the Dwarf had slipped out from his place just inside the doorway behind them, axe in hand, a determined smile on his face.  Another cough, and they saw the small, beardless one who’d remained in the palace rising from a seat, his bow aimed, his eyes those of a competent archer.  The three women rose, the Princess laughing; one of them lifted a bow and aimed it at them, while the others split to walk about opposite sides of their couches, the one with golden hair unsheathing her sword with the smile of an experienced swordsman on her face, the Queen casually pulling from a scabbard on her back a white knife.

       “You are, I believe, outnumbered, and would do well to drop your swords and the daggers from your belts,” the Queen advised in Haradri.  Her eyes were focused on them with an expression that somehow, for its very mildness, terrified them.  Behind her paced her huge guard, his eyes determined.  By the time the guards sent by Gebankhsamun arrived, the two rebels were disarmed and obviously under guard by the large black Man and the solid Dwarf.  They smiled with pleasure at the sight.  When a cough behind them caused them to turn to see that they’d been quietly followed by the King of Rohan and his guard, they bowed courteously, raising their hands to indicate they offered no offense.  Their leader said, “We were sent to arrest those,” and pointed at the two who stood between war axe and straight sword.  The Queen laughed and translated into Westron, then advised them that the King of Rohan and his Men would accompany them to the Farozi with their prisoners.

       Before they left, Benai searched both prisoners, and found a strangling cord in the belt sash of one, a poisoned dart in the sash of the other.  The Queen looked on these items with interest.  She then turned to Pelscarabri.  “What signal were you to show to indicate you had us.”

       Something in her voice compelled him to answer, “To lift a torch once, then move it across and back.” 

       She looked deeply into his eyes, then nodded.  She described the signal to the guards.

       “We will need to tell Captain Gebankhsamun,” the leader of the three said.

       “I will see to it he is so advised,” she said.  “Go and bring these to your lord.”

       They bowed and led the way off, Gimli going with them.

       Captain Gebankhsamun was startled a few minutes later when a small child materialized out of the dark beside him, her face solemn.  “Gebankhsamun?” she asked slowly.

       “Yes, small Lady,” he said.

       “My naneth sent me.  The two are taken, she says to tell you.”

       “The two are taken?”

       “Yes.  To the Farozi.”

       “I see.  Thank your lady mother for me, then.”

       “There is more.  A signal.  A torch raised, then moved back and forth.”

       “I see.  Thank her again for me.”

       The girl smiled her dazzling smile, then disappeared again back into the darkness.  Gebankhsamun had one of his Men bring and light a torch, and he then raised it once, moved it across and back, then extinguished it again and waited to see what would happen next.

*******

       At the signal from the palace, the troops from beyond the temple of Scarab started to move out to secure the approaches to the place, while those from the area of the horsemarket set out to take over the main approach to the city.  Other troops also began to move.  Once they changed positions, however, they each found themselves surrounded.

       Lord Rustovrid’s forces took the rebels in the northern reaches of Thetos, while those from the desert moved in on those who were south of the palace grounds.  The Farozi’s own guards moved upon those who had begun their staging from Lord Agamun’s estate west of the palace grounds.  By the time dawn had broken fully and the people of Thetos rose to look with gladness on Amon shining in a clear sky, the rebellion was already quelled with barely a stroke struck.

       Four of the lords of the city had complied with Sherfiramun and Merdirion, and all were arrested just as they were rising from their beds.  The leaders of the troops which had taken part in the coup attempt were all brought under heavy guard to the palace, as were two Men of business who’d thought to improve their profits by financing the arming of the rebels in hopes of being granted certain trade routes held by rivals in return. 

       Only a few of the rebels sought to fight when they realized they’d been outflanked and the revolt failed; those few who raised their weapons rather than dropping them when so commanded did not live to harm anyone.

Trial and Justice

       Legolas had gone several times between the house of Rustovrid and later that of Afraim and the not-so-empty house which Sohrabi had once inhabited.  Not long past midnight Prince Faramir had ridden with Mablung and one of Ankhrabi’s guards and that of Lord Ghants’pa’amon on horses sent by Lord Afraim to watch the road north for messengers expected to be sent to Risenmouthe once the revolt started in Thetos.  They’d captured the expected message riders right at dawn and had brought them back to the Farozi’s house.  Three hours before dawn Aragorn had returned himself, had checked on the condition of Ankhrabi, and had fallen onto a bare bed in another chamber and had fallen deeply asleep.

       Pippin managed to put together a breakfast for those in the house, and took a serving of bread, dried fish, and juice to each of the prisoners.

       About an hour after dawn Afraim sent several of his servants and guards to bring Ankhrabi and the prisoners back to the palace.  The King woke and took a hasty meal, straightened his garb as best he could, and walked beside the Haradri prince’s sedan chair, hunting bow and quiver over his shoulder.  Pippin walked with Hildigor and Damrod behind Lords Berevrion and Ghants’pa’amon, glad to have turned the guarding of the prisoners over to Afraim’s Men.  Rustovrid and Afraim, accompanied by Hardorn, Legolas, and several of the captains of the defending troops, awaited them near the temple of Scarab, and joined the growing procession back into the compound of the Farozi’s palace. 

       They were met and admitted by Amonrabi, who advised them that the Farozi had commanded a good meal and baths be readied for them, advising them that a trial was set to commence an hour after noon for the rebels.  Aragorn entered the guest chambers to see his wife and daughter and son waiting for him; a smile broke on his lips, and he came forward to gather the three of them into his arms, then went gladly to bathe, accompanied, to the scandal of the Farozi’s servants, by his wife who stayed by him, unwilling to let him out of her sight.

*******

       After the noon meal, the Farozi of Harad, fully painted in keeping with his status and in full regalia, crook and flail in his hands, the high mitered Crown of Harad with the insignia of Amon and Osiri upon it on his head, took the high seat in the great outdoors pavement area, many of the notables of the city and realm nearby.  A great chair was set on his right where the Lord King An’Elessar of Gondor and Arnor now sat; on his left a similar chair had been placed for the Lord King An’Éomer of Rohan.  Both Northern Kings were also in full regalia: the King of Gondor with the Star of Elendil on his brow, his blue riding leathers with embossed Tree, Stars, and Winged Crown plainly displayed beneath a white mantle fastened with the green glory of the Elessar brooch, the Sceptre of Annúminas in his hand, his great sword Anduril across his knees; the King of the Horselords with the White Horse of Rohan on the breast of his green robes, his golden crown on his head, his drawn sword also across his knees.  Ankhrabi sat on a lower chair between and before the chairs of the Lord An’Elessar and his father; Amonrabi stood on his brother’s left.  Opposite them against the wall were set two chairs to which Sherfiramun and Merdirion, both gagged, were led and bound.  Finally many of the folk of the city who’d learned of the attempted revolt during the night now filled the court to witness for themselves what was going forth.

       For the sake of those who’d accompanied the northern Lords to Harad the Lord Amrahil, ambassador from Gondor and Arnor, now stood to translate the findings of this tribunal to Westron.  The Lady Arwen herself stood by Benai to translate for him, for which he was grateful.

       Lord Amonrabi came forward to speak for his brother.  Striking the staff of office he carried three times upon the pavement, he called out, “Behold, the Farozi sits in judgment.”

       The people of Harad gave a short cheer.

       A general under Afraim’s command came forward and bowed deeply to the Farozi.  “Great Lord,” he announced, “I rejoice to tell you that a plot against your sovereignty and the peace of Harad was exposed yesterday, and those who would have changed our rule by force have been halted and taken prisoner.”

       “Let the captains of the troops who would have led the revolt be brought forward,” said An’Sohrabi.  At a signal, an escort, half from the forces of Thetos and half from the desert armies, brought eight officers of the rebellion through an archway from the prison area into the open square of the pavement of justice.  They all wore halters about their necks in token that they’d been involved in treasonous matters, and their hands were tied behind them.  When at last they stood before the Farozi a signal was given and six fell to their knees, the other two slapped behind theirs with a rod to force them to follow suit.  Lord Ghants’pa’amon, who’d agreed to take part in the trial, read the charges.

       “These eight were found, each leading one of the troops set to take part in the rebellion against your rule.”  The name of each was read, and the description given of where his troop was found, how many had been in it, and what kind of force each consisted of.

       When the reading was done, the Farozi pointed with his flail at the first.  “Who was it who asked or commanded you to lead your Men against the peace of Harad?”

       With a sigh, he said, “Lord Sherfiramun, my Lord Farozi.”

       “Did you know this was intended as a revolt against me as Farozi of Harad and Far Harad?”

       “Yes.”

       “Who was to become Farozi after myself?”

       “Lord Sherfiramun.”

       “Who supplied you with arms to fight against me?”

       “Serbhatosiri and Merforim of this city.”

       “Did you know that if you were unsuccessful the penalty for your actions is death?”

       “Yes.”

       “Has my rule of Harad caused you any loss?”

       The Man looked up, surprised.  “My Lord?”

       “Have you suffered because I was Farozi of this land?”

       “No, my Lord.”

       Each of the other prisoners was asked the same series of questions, and all had similar answers, although two swore they did not realize that the revolt was against the Farozi himself and another two said that the one to recruit them was Merdirion.

       At last all had been questioned.  The Farozi looked to the lords of the realm.  “My lords,” he asked.  “Can any of you think of any other questions you would ask of them?”  None could.  “Is there any who believes any of these did not know what he was doing?”  All the lords shook their heads.  “So be it then, my lords.”

       He looked back to the eight Men.  “This day you are found guilty of fomenting war within the realm of Harad and Far Harad for no other reason than to help place one of untried leadership upon its throne in my stead.  The penalty for such is death.  You will be taken tomorrow to the wall outside the city and will be slain with arrows.  And may Annubi find reason to bring you before Osiri, and may Osiri treat you with mercy.”  He watched the eight led away.

       The next group to be led in were the two merchants who had helped to arm and finance the fight.  Again names and charges were read.

       The Farozi pointed the flail at Serbhatosiri.  “You chose to assist in financing this rebellion?”

       “It was a business decision only, my Lord....” the Man began.

       An’Sohrabi cut him off.  “A business decision only?” he asked, amazed.  “The unmaking of the Farozi is no longer a sacred trust for the benefit of the realm, but is merely a matter of business?”

       “But----”  Confused, the merchant found he could not answer, and looked to the ground instead.

       “Several days ago was my seventieth birthday, and all the temples were decorated with great cloth rosettes.”

       “Yes, my Lord,” he responded dully.

       “From whom were these decorations purchased?”

       He raised his head, his face solemn.  “From me.” 

       “From you.  I see.  Did the ones negotiating with you for their purchase pay you less than you paid for the cloth originally?”

       “No, dread Lord.”

       “Did they insist they pay no more than you did originally?”

       “No, dread Lord.”

       “Was the profit you made on the sale of the things too little?”

       “No, dread Lord--it was a decent profit.”

       “Much of the cloth used in the making of new robes for courtiers and priests was purchased through you.  Did you suffer losses through the sale of this material?”

       “Of course not.”

       “Did any of those in your employ suffer losses due to the custom you have done with the palace of the Farozi?”

       “No, my Lord.”

       “Have you been limited in the profits you have been allowed to make?”

       “At times.”

       “And what reasons were given at those times for the limiting of those profits?”

       “That the profits I would have commanded would have impoverished the people, and you would not allow that.”

       The Farozi let all think on that for several minutes.  Finally he asked, “Then why did you choose to finance this revolt?”

       “I was promised better trade routes....”

       “By whom?”

       “By Sherfiramun and Merdirion.”

       “Who holds the trade routes you would seek to have?”

       “Bestgebpelrabi of Nestor, my Lord.”

       “How is it he holds those trade routes?”

       “He inherited them from his father.”

       “How long has his family held those trade routes?”

       The merchant shrugged.  “Perhaps eight generations, my Lord.”

       “Did I have any part in them receiving those trade routes?”

       “No, my Lord.”

       “To whom would you have granted your current trade routes?”

       Serbhatosiri looked affronted.  “I would have surrendered them to no other than myself.”

       “So, you sought only to enrich yourself at the expense of others?”

       “Of....”  Once he realized how close he had come to agreeing with the Farozi he went silent and his face went totally white, then a brilliant, angry red.

       The Farozi just looked at him steadily for several long moments, before finally giving a sigh and turning his attention and the pointing of the flail on the other.

       Merforim did not answer all the questions asked of him.  He was of the desert people from the South of Harad originally, and his people had held pasturelands and farmlands first, had made their fortune in the sale of their produce and the meat of their herds of cattle.  He had expanded into the trading of metalworks, eventually into the sale of weapons.  His profits on the sale of weapons had begun to fall off since the fall of the Death Eater, although his sales of food had indeed risen.  But he had heard that there were profits to be made in the sale of weapons to Umbar and many in the lands East and South of Umbar and Rhun and Mundolië....

       “To whom do you sell most of the weapons you now trade?”

       “To the Crown, my Lord.”

       “You do not make a decent profit from these sales?”

       Merforim did not answer, merely looked at the pavement before his knees.

       “Would you increase your profits so much if Sherfiramun were Farozi in my place?”

       “There would be wars again fought.”

       “And when wars are fought, then your weapons trade would increase.”  The Farozi again sighed.  At last he looked to the lords and asked for questions.  This time there were a few, and the answers added to the realization these sought only to build themselves up at the expense of the peace and the profits of all rivals.

       “Hear the judgment against you, then,” An’Sohrabi said at the last.  “You are found guilty of assisting in the fomenting of rebellion so as to only continue to profit in the disruption of the peace finally known by the people of Harad and Far Harad.

       “When the Eastern Lord held sway over our lands, ever he promised us that the deaths of our soldiers would work to our benefit in terms of profits, slaves, lands, booty, and power.  Yet ever the one who benefited was himself and not us.  Our land was diminished, and was filled with the lamentations of parents, wives, and orphaned children.  Better than half of the children of this city alone for generations knew not their fathers because they had died in Sauron’s wars.”  There was a general growl of agreement throughout the assembly.  “Power and profits were concentrated into the hands of a few, who as long as they supported the Death Eater and his aims received riches and power over all, but at the cost of their own integrity and the continued losses to our people.”  Again the growl of agreement.  “My brother, An’Maosiri, sought to expand on the improvements made under our father, and Mordor grew to hate him for his honesty and his caring for our people, and in the end had him murdered.  The poison used was from the om flower which grows only in the South of our land, in the lands administered by your family, does it not, Merforim?”

       Through gritted teeth, Merforim answered, “Yes, that is true.”

       “We usually use the poison of the om flower’s sap to kill ants in the kitchens of our homes.  To protect our children, it must be sold only in special containers of metal which only the ants can enter, find the crystallized sap amongst crystals of sugar, carry them home to their queens and so destroy the nests, is it not so?”

       “Yes.”

       “Yet enough of the pure syrup was sold to the agent of Sauron to kill a Man, and other Men as well.”

       Merforim did not speak, his face was full of the realization of what was to come, his eyes filled with fear, but also with the determination to face it without showing that fear overmuch.

       “The two of you are now condemned to death.  Of old you would be taken out into the desert and buried to your necks in the sand and left to a slow and lingering death of thirst, starvation, heat, and the attacks of the creatures of the desert.  We will give you this mercy:  you, too, shall die tomorrow against the wall under the swifter points of arrows.  And may Annubi find reason to bring you before Osiri, and may Osiri be merciful unto your souls.”

       Serbhatosiri had to be carried from the pavement area.

       The six who had followed Mablung through the marshlands of the delta were brought next.  That they had been under the command of Sherfiramun and had been commanded what to do by both Sherfiramun and Merdirion was made plain.  The tale of the run after a single Man from the North and how one of theirs had fallen to the crocodile was described.  That their orders included the order to kill Sherfiramun himself if it could be made to look like the action of one of the Northerners caused the onlookers to gasp in surprise.  That they had been given arrows and darts which had been dipped in asp venom and the poison of the om flower was also brought out, and the physical evidence of the darts from their quivers was spilled onto the pavement before them, the tell-tale blue-green glint on the surface of the metal tips obvious to all who were familiar with the effects of the poisons on metals.

       They, too, were condemned to death before the wall.

       Those who had been held in the wine closet of the house in which Sohrabi had gathered his illegitimate brothers and sisters as a young Man and in which his older son had dwelt until his death were brought out.  Pelseti admitted he was from the region near Nestor, that his father had been part of the revolt which had drawn the Farozi’s older heir south, that orders had been to see to it that Bhatgebamun son of An’Sohrabi was to die in the uprising before the other captains and generals put it down.  There was a growl of anger from the crowd, for the Farozi’s older son had been popular with the people of Harad.

       That Tutankhrabi had used a dart poisoned with asp venom on Ankhrabi was brought out, as was his surprise that the Prince was alive and looked as well as he did, considering what he’d undergone.

       One of the Lords asked, “If he did indeed use asp venom on you, my lord Prince, then how is it you are yet alive?”

       Ahkhrabi stood and turned toward the Man, drew aside the cloak he wore to show the bandage on his side.  “The Lord King An’Elessar of Gondor and Arnor is, among other things, a healer of great skill and gifts.  He treated my wound and effected my healing.”

       Ghants’pa’amon nodded his head in agreement.  “I saw this happen, saw the King heal our Prince.  The wound was cleansed of the poison, and began to heal even as I wiped away the expelled poison and blood.”

       Prince Faramir, who stood with his wife at his side amongst the nobles, stepped forward.  “During the battle between the forces of Mordor and the defenders of the city of Minas Tirith, I was also wounded almost to the death.  My Lord King Aragorn Elessar healed me and brought me back from the Gates of Death, as he did for she who is now my wife and many others in the wake of that battle and the next.  Long has it been said among us that the Hands of the King are the Hands of the Healer.  Thus was he recognized by our peoples as the rightful King of Gondor and Arnor.”

       The Farozi turned to his guest.  “Our land owes you yet another debt of gratitude, that my remaining child and the heir to the seat of the Farozi not be taken again betimes from us.”

       The King of Gondor nodded solemnly.  “I would not see a companion to whom I owed so much honor die of such treachery, my Lord An’Sohrabi.”

       That Sherfiramun and Merdirion were the hatchers of this plot was again brought out, and that they had been told secretly that should Sherfiramun die and it look as if he’d been killed by either Ankhrabi’s Men or the Northerners that would be desirable.  The lords of the realm had no further questions, and again the sentence of death before the wall was spoken.  Those who led them away looked on them with great anger.

       Those identified within the palace of the Farozi were now brought out save for Gefferel alone, and their part in the conspiracy was told.  All of these were condemned to death by beheading.

       Those soldiers who had been part of the revolt were then led out in groups of ten.  Their part in the revolt was told, and all bowed their heads, expecting they, too, would die.  But to them a mercy was granted.  “Your lives will be spared, but only under a condition.  You will swear fealty to the rightful Farozi and be scattered among other troops, never more than one to a troop, and will fight ever at the forefront of your troops faithfully for the protection of our land and its people; or you will appear before the executioner and forfeit your sword hands and be released from the service of our land.”  That almost all would seek to accept the first condition was obvious.

       The messengers who had set off toward Risenmouthe were brought out, and it was identified to whom they had been sent.  To them was given the same choice as the common soldiers.  The names of other messengers sent other directions were elicited, and they were sent off to wait the night in prison before being allowed to express their choices the following day.

       At last four soldiers approached each of the two chairs on which Sherfiramun and Merdirion sat, and lifted them bodily and brought them before the tribunal.  One of the generals of the hosts of Harad now stepped forward to remove the gags from each.  At a sign from the Farozi each of the bound Men was given water to drink.  There was a general growl that this was too good of treatment to be offered to such traitors, but the Farozi ignored it, and he noted that those whose respect he valued most were looking on him with approval.

       Sherfiramun was almost fawning as he expressed his apologies and tried to explain there was nothing personal in his decision to accept the offer to make him Farozi in place of An’Sohrabi and his son and grandsons.  He kept on for several more moments before finally An’Sohrabi silenced him with a wave of the flail.

       “Nothing personal in your decision to see me dead and yourself in my place?  Nothing personal in allowing your Men and agents to carry illegally poisoned weapons to use against me, my son, and my guests?”  Sherfiramun’s face went pale. 

       “Have you not heard the testimony of those who took part in the assaults on the hunt in the marshes?  Ankhrabi, An’Elessar, Lord Faramir, and Lord Berevrion and their guards were not the only expected targets--you, too, were expected to die there.  Even as his late master ever lied to us of the benefits we would receive from serving him, even has Merdirion lied to you as to his making you Farozi once my remaining heir and I were dead.  He intended to work through the sons of my son, serving as their regent, corrupting them that it might look to all who did not desire to look more deeply that they were indeed rulers of Harad when instead it would be he who ruled all.”

       Sherfiramun looked at the one next to him with fury in his eyes.

       The weapons taken from those who’d taken part in the revolt within the palace grounds itself were now brought out, including strangling cords carried by soldiers and slaves, poisoned darts and knives.  Merdirion’s slave was brought out, also, and was made to kneel before the chair on which his master sat, facing the Farozi.  Again he was questioned at length, and his role in coordinating the movements of troops, in aiding in the recruitment of the merchants, in aiding his master to decide how Sherfiramun and his wife would in the end die, was elicited.

       At last the Farozi pronounced the slave’s doom.  “Death is too easy an out for you.  I cannot do this with all of those who took part in this revolt, for so many concentrated in a few places would only increase the probability of another revolt, a slaves’ revolt in the future.  But for you--you shall go to the quarries of Ghantser, and shall labor there for the rest of your life.”

       The Man’s face went pale.  “No my Lord--I beg of you----”

       The slave was dragged away still weeping and pleading.

       Sherfiramun looked after with a look of satisfaction until the Farozi pointed the flail against himself.  “And you, my former lord, will join him.  You would have made yourself this ones slave--let you become a slave indeed.”  Sherfiramun looked at him stunned, his jaw dropped in disbelief.  The Farozi turned to the chief of the guards.  “Let him be stripped of his finery, and let it and all the clothing and jewelry that were his be given to the beggars before the temple of Neryet for their comfort.  Give him the loincloth of a slave, brand his shoulder in token he is and will ever remain a slave, and tomorrow let him go to the quarries with he who was slave to Merdirion.”  The soldier bowed in obedience, and drawing his belt knife saw to the cutting of Sherfiramun’s bonds.  He signaled one of his Men to assist in leading Sherfiramun to his fate, and the three of them left the pavement area.

       Gefferel was now led out and was made to sit in the chair which Sherfiramun had quitted, and was bound there in the former lord’s stead.  The Farozi looked on him with regret, for Gefferel had been in his service for eighteen years, and he’d liked the slave, had given him favor and gifts.  Gefferel had been born to slavery and had yet been given preference over many of the paid servants, and had even been given a salary equal to those of the paid servants for the past fifteen years.  The Farozi and others had taken Gefferel’s unwillingness to use this to buy his own freedom as a sign of devotion to An’Sohrabi himself.  Yet now it was made plain that Gefferel had been working with Merdirion to bring about the death of An’Sohrabi and the enslavement of Harad to one from Umbar.

       The questions began, and this time the Kings of Gondor and Rohan joined in the questioning, wanting to know what was to have been done with their wives and children and their people.  The answers were enlightening:  the women, including Ankhrabi’s and Sherfiramun’s wives, were to be given to any lords who might be brought to support the Umbari’s aims; given to serve as concubines, once their royal children were weaned.  When she began menses the same was to happen to the Princess Melian.  The boys were to be raised in isolation and brought up to obey Merdirion in all things.  If they obeyed him they would be rewarded with food, pleasures, small gifts.  If they defied him they would be punished.  The small ones would have all three been sold as slaves for the entertainment of their new masters, who would undoubtedly have enjoyed seeing such thinking of themselves as equals to Men of proper stature.  The soldiers were to have been forced to join the forces of Harad under Merdirion’s command or would have been killed outright.  The Lords were to have been tortured for information if they survived the assassination attempts.

       The more that was said, the more indignation was shown by the lords and people of Harad, and the more stern grew the faces of the Northern Lords.  “You would not only have agreed to the degradation of my friends and the enslavement of our wives,” An’Elessar said, “but to the enslavement of our children and all of your people as well.”

       “When have I been other than a slave?” Gefferel spat out.  “Those who took my grandparents kept me as a slave in the far Southlands, then sold me North when An’Sohrabi sought one with the knowledge of languages used beyond Harad to serve him here in Thetos.”

       “I have given you my favor,” the Farozi said.  “I would gladly have given you the right to buy your own freedom.”

       “What is freedom here in Thetos, here in Harad?  I do not know how to use freedom.  But I would be avenged on those who allowed my family to be made slaves.”

       He turned to glare at the King of Gondor.  “And then this one comes, and he takes slaves also.”

       Aragorn looked at him blankly, then laughed.  “Benai,” he called, “please come before this one.”

       Once the call had been translated, Benai came forth to stand before the slave.  In Haradri the King made his questions, and they were translated to Adunaic by the Queen.  “Benai, who took you to enslave you?”

       “The G’bani tribe.”

       “Are you now a slave?”

       “No, for you have presented me with the articles of mannumism, and have embraced me as your kinsman.”

       “What makes me your kinsman?”

       Benai opened his robe to show off the star-shaped scars cut into the flesh of his breast.  “Your fathers and mine were both refugees from Númenor when it foundered.  The ship of my fathers and mothers was driven ashore South of Far Harad.  The ships of the fathers and mothers of the rest of our peoples were driven ashore far to the North, in what are now Gondor and Arnor.  We are all Dúnedain, the folk of the West, all descendants of Elros Tar-Minyatar and his followers, all descended from the kindred of Lendil, all blessed by Rendil.”

       “In what capacity do you now serve me?”

       “It was your wife who recognized I was not born a slave and who bought me out of such degradation.  I have accepted the right to serve as her guard until the day I can return to my own folk and let them know that the promise has been fulfilled, that our kinsman Aragorn Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar sits as King, and has reunited our line with the other line of descendancy from Rendil, that he is married to the granddaughter of Rendil the Half-Elven.”

       “And the girl who was purchased along with you--what has become of her?”

       “She also was not born to slavery, but was made so on the death of her father leaving debts.  She also has been freed, but is bound now to see if she is able to learn the skills the Queen may teach her, that when she comes to adulthood she may be able to support herself and her family, and know honor and respect as a weaver and seamstress and embroiderer of Gondor.”

       The King of Gondor finally turned to Gefferel.  “Now, have I indeed taken slaves?”

       Gefferel simply looked at him dumbly.

       “Slavery has ever been illegal in the lands of our peoples.  My wife has bought two out of slavery.  And, from what I hear told in testimony of you, you, too, were given more than ample chance to do that for yourself as well.  Yet you failed to do so, and none here understood, not even your lord,” he added, indicating the Farozi.

       The Farozi sighed.  “Much love have I felt for you, but no more.  You have betrayed the trust and love shown you.  You have chosen to remain a slave, and so it shall be.  But no longer will you serve my person--you shall labor in the laundries of the palace, less than the lowest slave there, who are yet freer than you.  No longer shall I willingly look upon your face.”

       Gefferel was untied and led away to be branded as a perpetual slave.  The second chair was removed.

       At last only Merdirion was left to judge.

       “Bring out the chest of papers taken with this one,” the Farozi commanded.  It was brought out by Lord Afraim and laid with the weapons before the assembly.  Lord Afraim now stood before the court.  “You have gone through this chest?”

       “Yes, with the assistance of Lord Amrahil and others who know the languages Merdirion used.”

       “What does it contain?”

       “Lists of folk from here, Umbar, Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan targeted for death.  Indications of the ones who have been successfully eliminated and what means were used to effect their deaths.  Lists of those who must be taken and enslaved.  Lists of those likely to support Merdirion in his attempts to gain power over the lands of Harad, Umbar, and Gondor.  Information about various folk such as yourself, the Lord King An’Elessar, the Shkatha An’Moritum of Rhun, the Lord Marcipor of Umbar, and others, and what is known of your strengths and weaknesses.

       “There are descriptions of previous attempts to unseat various lords, including An’Théoden King of Rohan, Denethor Steward of Gondor, An’Éomer King of Rohan, An’Moritum of Rhun, Lord Marcipor of Umbar, An’Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, Arathorn of Arnor; and what caused the disruptions to the plots that failed--which were almost all of them.

       “There are communications with former leaders in Angmar and Dunland, and notations of how Merdirion’s agents in the Northern Lands have been found out or converted to service to Gondor in recent years.  There is a description of what is known of the capture and death of Landrion of Umbar, who was Merdirion’s nephew and leader of their people who remain in that land.

       “There is also a map of Middle Earth and how it shall be controlled by Umbar, and with it a long scroll on which Merdirion has described how he shall control the lands of Arnor, Gondor, Rohan, Umbar, and Harad through the control of their child-heirs; how he will wrest control of Umbar from Marcipor to himself; how he will seek to do the same in Rhun, and possibly one day in Mundolië as well.

       “All shall fall into the web of Umbar as it once lay so overwhelmingly in that of Mordor, and he shall be the spider at the center of its web.”

       All fell silent.  At last the King An’Elessar of Gondor and Arnor began to ask questions.  All saw that he used no torture, no threats, only the great power of his voice and personality--and although it was plain that Merdirion did not seek to answer, yet he did, again and again.  The history of his place as one of the Black Númenoreans was given, of his acceptance of servitude to Mordor.  His time as captain of the guards at the trading docks of Risenmouthe was given.

       “In those days you were yet not totally corrupt,” the King pointed out.  “When I appealed to you about the theft of my legitimate profits as a trader, you overruled your Men, saw to it they were punished for the wrong done, made them return my money and even make reparations.”

       Merdirion looked at him warily, but now did not answer.

       “Why did you accept that which you wear on your hand?”

       Merdirion glared at him.  He spat, “I would see my people again leaders in Middle Earth rather than ignored by the world at large.  My people once ruled most of Middle Earth that was not ruled by Mordor.  We were partnered with Sauron, and shared in the glory of that time.”

       “The glory of that time you say?  The time spent below the dark which Sauron lay over all of Middle Earth to veil himself within?  Your folk worshipped him, helped to begin the worship of him by which he realized he could grow in power by means of the deaths of others.”

       “And so?”

       “You taught him the way by which he might regain his strength should he ever be cast down.  You set up altars to him, he who is less than the Valar even, he who is certainly below the only One who deserves all worship.  You made of him who was created to be messenger and servant a false god.

       “Life is a great gift, and death is meant to be a great gift also, by which we can leave behind the griefs of our lives as they pile up and find release and the delight of what is to come when we quit the body.  It is not meant to strengthen the powers of such as Morgoth and Sauron.”

       “Death is annihilation,” Merdirion said dully.

       Aragorn shook his head in disbelief.  “So you believe in truth?  How poor you are in spirit, then, believing such a lie!”

       “You know better?”

       The King rose, set his sheathed sword across the arms of the chair he’d quitted, came forward to stand before Merdirion.  “I have seen the deaths of many over the years, and have caused many of those myself, for I am the warrior King as well as the healing King and the judging King.  I slew both Maruset and Virubat.  I knelt over the body of Boromir as he died, spoke with Gandalf when he was sent back from death.  Oh, I have reason to know that death is not the end, but merely another beginning--for those who will accept it.”

       The great King Aragorn Elessar shook his head.  “Death claimed the brothers who would have been born to stand beside me, the other sons of my parents.  Yet Iluvatar did not allow their spirits to languish, and the promise of their lives has been fulfilled.  I will die myself one day, and perhaps will spend a time in the portion of the Halls of Waiting set aside for mortals--but I doubt I shall remain there long, when the promise of the Presence is there for me beyond the bounds of Arda, when I shall know reunion with all whom I have loved, including the brothers I so desired and the cousins and other relatives and friends I so sorely miss.”

       His eyes bored into those of the Umbari.  “You have a chance to know that freedom, Merdirion, but to have it you must remove that,” and he pointed to the ring Merdirion still wore.  Aragorn looked at Afraim.  “Untie his left arm only that he might do this, but do not stand near enough he might grab your belt knife or sword.”

       Afraim looked at his own Lord, and after giving his guest a long, searching look, An’Sohrabi nodded confirmation.

       “But it will give me life....”

       “As I told you, this is not true, Merdirion.  Sauron lied to you as he did those who before you have worn such things, as he lied to those who bore the Nine wrought by Celebrimbor and corrupted by himself.  Do any of the Nine yet remain?  And while they did remain, did they remain as they were, and grow greater?  No, they became wraiths of horror instead.  Does Sauron himself yet hold any power outside the hearts of those who, like you, believe that they can know absolute power over others?”

       Merdirion’s face was white.

       “You have but one choice left--to die enslaved to that and know the final annihilation you fear, or to remove it and have a chance at a future beyond death.”

       “And what judgment will be given me there?”

       “I am to tell you that, who must stand before that justice with all the blood I have borne on my own hands?”  The King held Merdirion’s eyes with his own as at last Afraim untied the final knots on Merdirion’s left hand.  “Will you remove it?  If you do not, you tie yourself to Sauron’s own end, which was mean.”

       Merdirion looked at his hand, at the great ring he wore.  He reached out to cover it with his left hand, to clutch at it.  At last he looked up, his face set and ugly with hatred and fear.  “I will not remove it.”

       Aragorn closed his eyes in acceptance.  Finally he looked at his host.  “I ask permission to do what must be done, then, my Lord An’Sohrabi.”

       “What will you do?”

       “I will behead him here before all, then ask one to remove that which he bears from his hand.”

       “You would have me do this again?”

       “No!”  The fullness of the King’s negation took the Farozi by surprise.  “No, not again would I ask such a thing of you.  I would ask it of one who is of a race shown far more resistant to such evil than we Men.  Pippin?”

       The Hobbit guard came forward, and stood, white-faced.  “For Frodo’s sake and yours, yes, I will remove it.  But don’t let me hold it any longer than necessary.”

       An’Sohrabi would almost believe it was the same belt pouch as he’d seen so many years previously, were it not clean and shiny green instead of worn as he remembered.  The King opened it and took out a small silken bag with fine drawstrings, opened it.  “Isumbard, will you come forward, please?”  The other Hobbit came forward with uncertainty in his face, was given the bag to hold by the drawstrings.  “Do not hold it by the body.  Do not allow any more contact than you must.”  The Hobbit nodded, his expression determined. 

       The King unfastened the Elessar brooch and removed the mantle he wore, took up his sword again, gave his Sceptre into the hands of his Steward to hold. 

       An’Sohrabi of Harad, Farozi of that land, spoke the sentence.

       “Merdirion of Umbar, you have sought to foment rebellion in this land, and have sought to take control over all lands of Middle Earth, betraying even your own lord in the bargain.  You are condemned to death.  The Lord King An’Elessar of Gondor has claimed the right to your execution, and it is granted him.”  He turned to three guards.  “Unfasten the bindings on his ankles and waist, and at lastly that on his other hand.”

       They came forward and did as they were bade, and when at last Merdirion stood upright they slid the chair away from behind him and retreated a distance to watch.

       “You would kill me in cold blood, Ranger?” asked Merdirion.

       “Do you seek to insult me as you did when you suggested my father was a camel?” asked the King.  “I was a Ranger for more years than I’ve been King, and I have nothing to be ashamed of in that.  And at times I am still a Ranger.  Ask Velkor or Sestor of Angmar.”  He unsheathed his sword and handed the sheath into the hands of his cousin Hardorn.  “This is your last chance to remove it.”

       “Will you not give me the chance to defend myself?”

       The blow was swift and certain--and remarkably clean.  The King stepped back and accepted a rag handed him by Hardorn, cleaned his sword.  After he returned Anduril to its sheath and hung that sheath in its place upon his belt, he signed to Pippin, who with his cousin by his side went to the body, stretched out the finger, removed the ring, and dropped it into the bag.  The King came forward and fastened the bag as he’d done so many years before, and dropped it into his belt pouch.  The faces of both Hobbits were strained, and he laid his hands on both heads, then drew them to him, held them tight as he lowered his head and took in great cleansing breaths.  He knelt by them and laid his head on their shoulders, his face turned to Pippin’s.  What the Hobbits said could not be heard by the onlookers, but both put their arms about his shoulders.  At last he stood again, bowed deeply to both of them, then turned to retake his seat.  His face was pale but steady, and the others looked on him with curiosity. 

       Finally An’Sohrabi looked away from his brother Lord and the two small figures who now stood protectively before his seated figure.  He signed for soldiers to remove the sprawled body and head.

       “Do all agree justice has been done this day?” he finally asked.

       The assembled lords nodded, and the populace gave calls of agreement and approval.

       “So it is done, then.  Let us go from this place.”

       As the King of Gondor and Arnor, his folk clustered about him, left the pavement area, his pale face lifted, soldiers came forward with sand to cover over Merdirion’s blood.

Recovery

       Ankhrabi walked slowly and stiffly into the palace alongside his father, his father’s arm protectively about his shoulder.  Amonrabi had taken the crown, flail, and crook to place back in the case where they were kept, and the Farozi seemed more--real--somehow without them.  His face was rather drawn under the cosmetics he was expected to wear, and Ankhrabi realized his father was indeed aging.  It was a rather frightening thought, particularly when he realized how close he had come to dying the preceding day.

       He watched the back of the tall figure of the King of Gondor and Arnor thoughtfully, realizing that one was actually older than his father, for all he looked and functioned as one far younger, and expected to live far longer.  He felt his scalp prickle again at the thought of experiencing life in that manner, knowing he would outlive almost all save his closest kinsmen and his wife, who was, in an odd manner, also a kinsman.  He suddenly shivered, and his father looked at him with concern.

        “It’s nothing, Baba--just a thought.”

       “I’m glad I did not allow the boys or their sister to attend after all.”

       “Did you realize to what this day would come?”

       “Not for certain, although I will admit I had considered it possible this might happen.”

       Again Ankhrabi looked after the King.  “He does not enjoy killing.”

       “No.  But what needs to be done he will do.”

       The younger Man nodded.

       They gave the party from the North an hour to settle somewhat, and then the Farozi did something he had never done before--he set off to visit his guests in their own quarters, inviting his son to go with him. 

       The King of Rohan was there in the sitting room for the guest wing, changed to silk trousers and a loose green tunic, drinking from a goblet, his handsome young face thoughtful, a crease between his eyebrows.  He looked up at their entrance, was obviously startled they’d arrived unannounced in this manner, rose and bowed.  “I welcome you, Lord Farozi,” he said respectfully.  “Lord Prince.”  His wife entered leaning over to lead in their small son who walked with unsteady steps, obviously only recently awakened from a nap, and she and the small boy stopped at the sight of their guests, uncertain as to proper protocol.  She prompted her son to give a bow, which was quite unsteady, and she herself gave a curtsey in keeping with her Gondorian upbringing.  Both of the Haradrim were touched, finding it lovely and very flattering.  Both bowed in return. 

       “Please, sit and be comfortable,” the Farozi directed.  “At the moment we are the guests here in what are your quarters.”  The Lady Lothiriel translated for her husband’s benefit, and with an indication the Haradrim should take their own advice, An’Éomer resumed his seat, taking up his goblet again, examining it carefully.  The Farozi continued, “An’Elessar is not here?”

       “He has gone again to bathe,” the younger monarch explained via his wife.  “It is never an easy thing to kill a Man in cold blood, and it is not an act that he enjoys--not at all.  The Lady Undomiel is with him, and has undoubtedly set athelas leaves to steep in the water for him for the easing of his heart.”

       His wife added after translating that, “I am almost surprised his cousin Lord Hardorn did not seek to relieve him of the duty as I understand he has done before.”  Her husband looked at her with one eyebrow lifted in question and she spoke to him in Westron as she settled herself in a nearby seat with their son in her lap. 

       “This was one case,” said a voice from the entrance behind them, “that I would not think of seeking to relieve him of the responsibility.  Not when the works of the Nameless One are involved, and in such a public situation.”  They all turned to see the named Lord standing there, his own face tired looking.  The Lady Lothiriel again translated almost absently, her own attention fixed on the warrior from the Northern Dúnedain.

       “You are indeed kinsmen?” asked An’Sohrabi in slow, careful Westron.

       “My father was elder brother to his mother.”

       “You have executed others for him before?”

       “Yes, when he will allow me to do so.  He does not like to share the responsibility for such deaths, particularly as he must feel the loosing of the spirit as the condemned one dies.”

       “It is one reason I am glad I do not have Elven blood in me,” said An’Éomer.  “To feel the deaths of others would be most uncomfortable.”  He looked at his son critically.  “And I certainly hope that this one doesn’t bear enough to experience that.”

       “Your son has Elven blood?” asked Ankhrabi.

       The Lady Lothiriel gave a small smile as she translated, then answered, “Long ago the folk of the Elf Lord Amroth of Lorien passed through our lands in Southern Gondor where I was born, and my family bears Elven blood as a result.  It is not as strong as the High Elven blood borne by our Lord Aragorn Elessar, but it is there.  However, I do not know of the King’s Gift ever being expressed as strongly in my family as it is in the King.”

       “Not even the Lord Arathorn had it as strongly as it is in his son, according to what our father and the Lady Gilraen told us,” said Lord Hardorn.  “But then Aragorn spent almost all of his childhood in Imladris among the folk of Lord Elrond, and they definitely helped to strengthen the Gift in him.”

       “I do not understand this ‘King’s Gift’,” commented the Farozi.

       Lord Hardorn explained, “It is a heightened awareness of his lands and peoples, as well as those he must deal with.  Many among our kindred bear it to one extent or another, for we are of the lineage of Elendil and Isildur.  In my cousin it is very strong.  To understand better you must ask him or the Queen’s brothers, for they can wax poetic about it.  It can be a good thing to have in a ruler, for he tends to be more responsible in his actions and rulings as he realizes how they will effect his folk.  However, for the bearer it can also be at times a burden, particularly when he must order an execution, or there is a famine or pestilence in the land that he can do nothing to relieve.”

       “I can imagine.”  The Farozi thought for some minutes.  “Where are the rest of your folk?”

       An’Éomer smiled.  “Lord Benai has attended his lord and lady to the baths where they are further scandalizing your servants, who cannot understand how husband and wife might enjoy the sight of one another’s bodies in such a place; my sister and her husband, after seeing to my nephew and then giving him decidedly into the hands of Lady Avrieth, have gone into their chamber and closed the door after them; my cousin and Haleth are gone into the city to look for gifts for their womenfolk; Lord Hildigor attends on the Lady Melian and young Mistress Hasturnerini as they continue to visit with your daughter and sons and the daughters of Lord Rustovrid and Lady Ghansaret in your daughter’s chambers; Legolas and Gimli have gone out into the gardens with the Hobbits and Master Ruvemir and Owain; Captains Damrod and Mablung are sleeping the sleep of the just; Captain Beregond stands watch down the corridor as you must have seen as you passed him; and Lord Berevrion is with his wife and my nephew and Prince Eldarion.”

       “I see.”  An’Sohrabi was amused.  “And what do the Hobbits and the sculptors do in the gardens?”

       “Master Ruvemir and Owain are undoubtedly working on their figures while the Hobbits and Gimli enjoy their pipes and all tell stories on one another.  Master Ruvemir is quite a collector of stories.”

       “Figures?”

       “They are sculptors after all, my Lord.  Sa’Amonri gave them each samples of local alabaster, and so they each must shape it.  It appears to be almost a physical need with them.  They went out at the same time as did my friend Aragorn----”

       “He has already been out?”

       The young King looked surprised at the interruption.  “Already been out?  Yes, almost as soon as we had reentered the palace.  He said he needed to see its destruction immediately, or it would disturb his thoughts.  And he was grateful, he said, for what you had left for him here, great Lord.”

       Ankhrabi looked at his father with question.  “What did you have left for him, Babari?”

       “A large basket with the items he stated he needed when he destroyed the ring Maruset wore so long ago.  He was remarkably swift to see it destroyed.”

       “When he destroyed the one worn by Abdurin of Rhun it was much the same,” An’Éomer sighed.  “He picked it up and carried it away immediately----”

       “Picked it up?”

       Lord Hardorn nodded.  “He did not touch it--he tells me he cannot bear to do so physically.  I gave him an arrow, and he picked it up with that.  I made him swear to burn the arrow along with whatever it is that he must do to see the rings destroyed and the spells binding them broken.”  He sighed.  “Most of the spells wrought by that one fell to nought when his own Ring went into the fire in Mount Doom; but those of these lesser rings appear to be more tied to those who might wear them.  I wonder how many he created in all?”

       They all went quiet in the thinking on that.  The King of Rohan refilled the goblet he had been drinking from, took more goblets from the tray on the table and poured out for all of them, saw the goblets distributed.  It was from the wine An’Sohrabi had ordered sent at the same time as he’d ordered the basket brought here, and he looked at the ewer thoughtfully as he sipped.  He had an odd thought and looked to his guests.  “Considering the talk earlier today of the usages of poisons by Sherfiramun and Merdirion, I am surprised you would drink from a pitcher you found here on your return.”      

       An’Éomer shrugged once he understood.  “Both the King and Legolas checked it and said that it was pure.”  He smiled wryly.  “We do display some caution in foreign lands, you will note, and it is useful at times to have those of Elven blood along.”

       Lord Hardorn drank about half of what he’d been given, then set it down with a sigh.  “I find I am beginning to feel my age.  I can no longer remain awake several days in a row as I once did.  I wish so Gilmorien were here with me.”  He stretched, then bowed to his host.  “I find I need to join Mablung and Damrod in sleeping the sleep of the just.  If you will excuse me....”  He smiled and withdrew from the room.

       Not long after he disappeared An’Elessar and his wife entered, their arms about each other.  The King wore a loose white robe, and his face looked somewhat drained still.  On seeing the Farozi and his heir before them, Lord and Lady paused and bowed deeply, then sat together on a couch nearby facing the door.  “My lords,” the King said quietly.  He accepted the wine offered him by An’Éomer and sipped at it, and when the child in Lothiriel’s lap held out his hands to him, set down the goblet and reached across to take him from his mother into his own lap, looking down on him and murmuring in Rohirric to him, a smile lighting his features. 

       Lady Avrieth entered behind them, the Queen’s son in her arms and Hasturnerini behind her with young Elboron on her hip.  The girl was arrayed as a young woman of substance, the Haradrim lords noted, and they automatically smiled at her as she dipped into a Gondorian curtsey.  The young Princess Melian followed behind the Haradri girl, a smile at her parents on her face as she gave proper reverence to the Farozi and his son.  She quickly skipped to her father’s side and slipped her arm about him while her mother reached out to take young Eldarion into her arms.

       “It is good to see the love here between parents and children,” An’Sohrabi said.

       The King lifted his steady gaze to his host’s face, then nodded gently.  “I find I enjoy so being a father, and love to hold children in my arms.”

       “You looked so much like Frodo just then, looking down into Elfwine’s eyes,” commented Peregrin Took from the doorway where he stood with his cousin and the two sculptors.  “He used to have just that expression when he’d hold Elanor.”

       The smile that the King gave lightened his features even more.  “I take that as a great compliment, Pippin.”

       “He’d have made such a wonderful father,” Isumbard said with regret as all entering bowed deeply to those within the room.  “I take it you finished with--that thing fairly quickly.”

       The King’s expression became tired.  “Yes, as quickly as I could.”

       Pippin shuddered.  “I don’t know how you could bear to carry it even in the two pouches.  It was like touching a rotten apple full of worms.”

       Once Lothiriel had translated, the Farozi considered.  “When I touched Maruset’s I felt much the same, although I almost could not let it go.”

       The Hobbit shuddered again.  “I couldn’t wait to drop the thing.  I wonder if Frodo and Bilbo felt the same about It?”

       The King sighed.  “I don’t know.  Adar would barely look at the thing, and Gandalf told me he only touched It twice and forced himself each time to drop It as quickly as possible.  It was bad enough feeling It calling to me--knowing how quickly It took Isildur I was terrified at the thought of actually touching It.

       “And when I think of what It did to Frodo....”  He shook his head, the pain evident. 

       Isumbard nodded as he reached to accept the goblet handed him by the Lady Lothiriel.  “Thank you, my lady.  When we worked together in the Mayor’s office you could see hints of him as he’d been, the quick humor and sensitivity, how quickly he’d go through one of Lotho’s contracts and start spotting the problems with it.  He’d catch things that those of us who’d actually studied the law of the Shire wouldn’t notice.  Then someone would say something and his face would close up, and he’d reach for the jewel he wore or for Sam’s tea--usually both.”  He sipped thoughtfully at the wine.  “But he could still smile--that smile that would just open your heart right up and fill it with starlight.”

       “I rather miss him giving the Look,” Pippin said.  “Even as we were going through Hollin he’d give it to us when Merry and I’d said or done something outrageous.”

       “Like the time you put pinecones under my bedroll while I was on watch?” asked the King.  “Which reminds me, Peregrin Took--I have a quilt to discuss with you.”

       The Hobbit threw back his head and laughed.  “I have been wondering when that would be brought up.  Did you like it?  When we get back may I see it and see how it turned out?  And I’d love to see the faces of your Men when you cover yourself up with it!”      

       “They don’t dare laugh out loud, you know, not when the King is using it.”  He turned to the Farozi.  “This one, Took that he is, is much given to practical jokes, from filling bathing tubs with strawberries and cherries to having my blanket from my bedroll replaced with a quilt containing very prominent patches of pink.  Of course, the pink is from one of the dresses small Elanor had outgrown, and the silver from one of Frodo’s shirts, and some of the dark blue ones from a gown my beloved used to wear.”  He looked up as Dwarf and Elf entered, and smiled at them.  “All within the Fellowship were represented, as well as their wives and the children already born, our Adar and brothers, and even my parents and Hardorn and his brothers....”  He gave a gentle laugh.  “At least his jokes now are intended to express love as well as to lighten care.”  He looked down on his smallest guard, the Farozi realized, with a great deal of love, a love which was returned in kind. 

       “You didn’t notice the contributions from Rohan?” demanded Éomer with mock severity.

       “Your cloak as Third Marshall of the Mark, your uncle’s shirt he wore under his armor, your sister’s shirt she’d worn under her mail--oh, I noticed.  And those from a certain Elf and Dwarf I know as well as from Faramir’s tunic and Ruvemir’s wedding shirt.  I still regret that was damaged so.”

       “At least I know it lightens your heart when you must be away from your wife and children,” the sculptor smiled.  Legolas laughed, and Gimli gave a snort.

       “Let me see what you’ve done,” the King directed.  Dwarfling and apprentice offered the figures they’d been working on.  “Gwynhumara,” he said, smiling at the figure of the dog.  “Eregiel will be most flattered.  Excellent depiction.”  He returned it, and the King accepted that offered by the boy’s master.  His face softened markedly.  “Yes,” he said gently.  “You have caught his expression so well.”  He held it out to the Farozi.

       It was the figure of a Hobbit, with cap of curls, the bare feet, the slightly pointed ears.  But the face was quite fine and cultured, the lips just parting in a smile, the eyes bright with intelligence even in the colorless stone.  The face had been worked most, and much of the rest of it needed finishing, but there was no question that the small Man who stood before the King, a look of satisfaction on his face at seeing how his work had moved his Lord, was very gifted.  It was decidedly odd to see a statue that looked so strongly like a real individual, as accustomed as the Haradri lord was to the stylized monuments of his own folk.

       He looked at the small sculptor.  “The Lord Frodo?” he guessed.

       “Yes.”

       He handed it to his son, who looked on it in wonder and respect, who in turn handed it to the small daughter of King and Queen.  Melian looked at it with a smile to match that of her father.  “Ada has a figure of him in our rooms, sitting with his pipe.  It’s my ada’s brother,”

       Isumbard gave the child a thoughtful look, while Ruvemir smiled at the girl.  “Yes, I carved that one for him, a few years ago, when I first went to the Shire.”

       Pippin asked his King, “Your brother?”  The King simply smiled in an enigmatic manner and returned Elfwine to his father.

       Ankhrabi looked at the Lord An’Elessar with understanding.  “You have come to love this one very much.”

       “Yes, indeed as if he were my brother.”  He reached out and slipped an arm about his daughter’s shoulder, drew her close to him.

       “You miss him?”

       Slowly the King nodded.  “My heart will not be fully restored until I can come to him again, until I enter into the Presence with him on one side, Arwen and Sam on the other, and two other Hobbits I know--” with a sudden twinkling glance at Captain Peregrin, “--at a respectful distance behind us.”

       “Behind you?”  The Hobbit guard looked shocked at the idea.  “Oh, you can be certain, Aragorn, Merry and I will be there long ahead of you or Lady Arwen.  Frankly, I’m just as glad to be a mere Hobbit and no Dúnedan, myself.  And I’ll greet you with more than a quilt this time!”

       The King laughed as the Queen translated this into Haradri.  “I’m certain you will, you woolly-pated rascal, you--you and Diamond and all your progeny about you.  And I’ll rejoice.”

       He stood and stretched, and as he did a series of pops could be heard, apparently surprising even himself.  He looked to Farozi and son.  “I regret to say this, but my age is again making itself known.  Once I’d travel a trail for days on end; but after yesterday, last night, and this day so far I only wish to rest for a time.  I will dine with your court this night if you wish, but what I’d truly prefer would be to take a light meal and retire.”

       An’Sohrabi nodded his understanding and also rose.  “Yes, An’Horubi’ninarin, I can certainly understand.  It was a full day today, and will be such a day again on the morrow as well.”

       “You did not deal with the nobles that were arrested last night.”

       “No--that is not politic to do before the general populace of the land.  But until we find out precisely who else might have been involved in the conspiracy elsewhere, I am unwilling to do more.  I have those taken last night secure in the lords’ cells in the prison.  It is actually quite comfortable there, and they want for nothing save their freedom.  And Ankhsarani is here within the walls of the palace where we may keep an eye on her dealings and keep her safe as well.”

       “It might be better not to have us as foreigners present during the trials of the nobles.”

       “I agree.  However, I would wish you to be beside me when we examine Ankhsarani, for I believe your presence and that of your Queen will soothe her and aid me to discern the truth.  I do not believe she was party to what Sherfiramun did, but there are those who will wish to see her punished for his actions.  And she may know something she does not realize is important that may be useful to know.  However, tonight I will let her rest in her sister’s presence, and will question her almost privately tomorrow.”  The Farozi inclined his head.  “Rest well, and we will see to it food is brought to you here.  We will be pleased if you will join us for the dawn meal.”

       The Northerners all rose and gave their respectful bows, and watched Farozi and heir return down the passage back toward the main body of the palace, returning the salutes of Benai and Beregond as they passed where they stood on watch.

The Sins of the Husband

       Nefiramonrani was, she knew, very fortunate.  Because of her relationship to the Farozi it was expected that when she married it would be to a nobleman.  That the nobleman who would capture her interest first and whose interest she herself caught should be Ankhrabi was unexpected.  The Farozi’s younger son was handsome, very close to her own age, and definitely a decent Man.  He was a good charioteer, intelligent, good with languages, and interested in all kinds of things that had never crossed the minds of the daughters of Bestamonri and Isirani, for all that they, too, were were of the nobility of Thetos.

       Curiosity had never been rated highly by her father, who’d felt his children ought to be as highly respectable as possible if they were to survive in a land so overshadowed by the Eastern Lord.  By the time Nefiramonrani had reached the age of ten her curiosity had at last been mostly schooled out of her--or suppressed.  It had been brought home to her that those who asked too many questions or who managed to bring too much attention to themselves in other ways almost always seemed to be the ones who disappeared, somehow.

       Her parents had been thrilled when the agents of the Farozi indicated that Ankhrabi had indicated an interest in their daughter.  For their younger daughter to have caught the attention of the Farozi’s younger son was highly fortuitous.  She would be shielded from the attention of those who fed the altars of the Death Eater; she would live in a fine house with proper service offered her; and they, too, would most likely fall more closely under the protection of the Farozi as well.

       The marriage had been definitely successful.  Her husband was attentive, gentle and thoughtful, a caring lover as well as a generous provider, and one who had shared his many interests with her.  Not only that--once their first child was born he had proven a loving and devoted father as well, fostering in their daughter the very curiosity that had been so beaten down in the child’s mother.  And when the twins came he’d been plainly elated, particularly as their birth had come just in the wake of the fall of the Death Eater.

       So careful had father and sons both been that until the darkness fell away Nefiramonrani had no idea that all three had loathed Mordor and its rule.  Many of the common folk hated it; but then it was from among them that most of the ones were taken to serve in Mordor’s wars and to die on the Death Eater’s altars.  But to learn that the current ruler of Harad and his sons detested Mordor and had prepared for years for the day when it was overthrown and Harad given its independent sovereignty was a shock--albeit for most a welcome one--to all.

       In the south of the city of Thetos had been built a great temple to the Eastern Lord many generations ago; it had once been a pristine white as were the temples of most of the gods of Harad; over the years, however, the white of its walls had gradually gone a dull blackish red, like a scab over an ulcer.  Those who served in this temple had tried again and again to cleanse away the darkness from its surface, only for the stone to begin dulling again almost as soon as the cleansing was completed.  Then they’d tried to paint it; but that only served to make things worse, as sandstorms would hit this building worse than any other, and the paint would peal away, leaving its surface looking more scabrous and corrupted than ever.  When they tried doing mosaic work over it, the mortar holding the tiles would dry and turn to sand, and the ground about it was littered with broken ceramics.  Over the years the building had become increasingly hideous.

       Finally they’d tried to distract from the walls by putting up statues; but no matter how wonderous the depictions started out, somehow they always came to reflect the truth of what went on within the building, as poses of adoration came to look more like expressions of horror; as figures represented in processions of honor would fall over so that it would appear more than half were being dragged by those against whom they fell.

       The sign that the liberation had come was a great earthquake that shook the entire land.  All of the temples that had housed altars to the Death Eater had suffered major damage to their roofs over those altars dedicated to the Eastern Lord, and all of the altars themselves had fallen, their very foundations cracked and broken.  But the ground had opened under the great temple dedicated to the Death Eater in the south of Thetos, and it had been swallowed up by the very earth itself.  Only a gaping pit had been left, and immediately on the realization of Mordor’s fall the troops for internal security of the land had been sent throughout the city, from temple to temple, to drag out the remains of the altars to Sauron and dump them into that pit.  Orders had gone to each village, city, town, settlement, and camp throughout Harad that the altars to the Dark Lord were to be eradicated, and almost everywhere those orders were followed joyously, if the folk hadn’t already done so spontaneously.  Only in a few places had any resisted those orders; and such places had been identified and barricaded until proof was given that those who had resisted the orders were dead and the altars destroyed.

       The command posts for Mordor’s captains within Harad had been quickly surrounded, and those within them given a choice--to swear loyalty to the Farozi and turn to the service of the land, to leave Harad and return to Mordor, or to accept death.  Some had tried to fight, but they found that their Men no longer listened to orders; whole squadrons would disappear into the darkness, many of their own soldiers appearing with the light of the new dawn among the very armies besieging them.

       Those who returned from the war came home to a land totally changed.  Many rejoiced to realize that their land was now free, their people allowed to resume the old ways; others had been bewildered, not certain how to live without the utter control Mordor had always exercized over their lives.

       The Farozi had prepared for this day:  schools suddenly were being opened where boys were taught to read and write rather than to wield swords; to name the stars and constellations rather than to repeat the names given the Dark Lord; to learn the languages of Gondor and Rhun rather than the Black Speech; to learn to honor Osiri and Annubi in the old manners so as to forget the horrors of the murders offered to the Death Eater.  Men skilled in farming, building, sculpting, the raising of herds, writing, music, dance were sought out to offer instruction to young men who had thought only to take up arms for Mordor.  Successful traders were encouraged to assist others to learn how to analyze markets so as to prepare for increased trade with what had been formerly the nation’s enemies.  Those skilled in diplomacy replaced generals in the councils for the land, and merchants took the ascendancy over spies.

       And the studies An’Sohrabi had made of the lords of the land were put into play, as he used traditional rivalries between clans and territories to distract warlords from attacking his sovereignty, often manipulating whole territories into competing so against one another he could slip his new laws and reforms past the leaders before they realized they’d been sidestepped in the process of consolidating rule and power.

       Nefiramonrani was amazed to find herself thrilled with the changes she saw, and was beginning to become more curious again herself.  When correspondence began arriving from Gondor she’d begun reading it herself, even began to study the written languages in the books her husband and father-in-law began to receive, some as gifts, some as purchases, from that land.  When his sons were small An’Sohrabi had secretly taken into his house a former merchant who’d traded regularly with those in Gondor and who’d learned Westron and some Sindarin to serve as a teacher for Bhatgebamun and Ahkhrabi, knowing that if Mordor ever fell it would be this land his country would deal with most.  Ankhrabi had begun to share this education with his wife, who’d not realized for years just how parched her mind was for knowledge. 

       And so it was that when at last the Farozi invited guests from Gondor to visit Harad the people of Thetos had been prepared to see them not as enemy spies but simply as newcomers--newcomers with odd and often ridiculous ways, perhaps; but still merely newcomers, and increasingly as honorable newcomers--a term that hadn’t had meaning in Harad in generations beyond count.
      
       Ankhsarani, on the other hand, had been drawn from her early adolescence to the dashing captain of the troops who was Sherfiramun.  Bestamonri and Isirani hadn’t been as happy with their older daughter’s marriage as they’d been with that of the younger, although they couldn’t say precisely why.  Sherfiramun’s family had given faithful service to their overlords for centuries, and had been rewarded.  They had many slaves, a large and imposing house on the river bank itself, and many signs of wealth and prestige.  But it soon came to be recognized that Ankhsarani was not as happy in her marriage as was her sister.  Her parents came to realize a great deal of the unhappiness seen in their older daughter stemmed from the presence in her husband’s house of the Umbari.  So far none had been able to find any way of having the Umbari expelled from Harad, and many of the officials of the realm who had gladly cooperated in the reforms put into place since the destruction of Mordor shied away from confronting the Man.  It was rumored he knew many secrets, and every Man had secrets they did not want exposed to the light of day.  So it was that no one was willing to seek to prise him out of the hole into which he had entrenched himself since the death of An’Maosiri.

       In the wake of the defeat of Mordor, those who’d gone North at the Death Eater’s command to fight against the forces of Gondor and Rohan had returned home mostly in disarray.  An’Sohrabi had made a show of welcoming them home, giving speeches which praised their courage but which had managed nonetheless to indicate that the cause for which they’d fought was no longer honored in their land.  Most were released from service to the realm, many with a small pension and a parting gift of trade goods on which to base a new life. 

       It had proven harder to find replacement activities to reduce the potential threat of those in the nobility who had served Mordor; and so it was that An’Sohrabi had kept some troops of those who’d served the Death Eater willingly active, but had given them duties which had hopefully kept them out of mischief--many times quelling the recurrent troubles with tribes along the borders of Far Harad; and those he felt impelled to keep in Thetos so as to keep a closer eye on whatever intrigue they might devise were given duties in ministries where the underlings had been instructed to allow them to believe they were in charge, but where it was to An’Sohrabi or Ankhrabi themselves they reported and who truly made the decisions.

       And so the situation had stood at the time of the arrival of the party of the King of Gondor and Arnor in Thetos.

*******

       Nefiramonrani wasn’t certain how she managed to get through the ceremonies of the morning of the Farozi’s birthday.  She’d awakened feeling nauseous every morning for days, and now it seemed her breasts were very sensitive.  Somehow something felt very familiar, but exactly what it was and how it was familiar didn’t come home to her until the procession approached the temple of Neryet and she realized--the last time she’d felt like this was just ten years ago, when she learned she was expecting the twins.  Was she once again, after so very long, pregnant?

       She’d made a point after the noon meal that day to go to the temple of Neryet in West Thetos to be examined by those priestesses who had made extensive studies of pregnancy, and had returned home excited and hopeful.  They’d taken some of her urine and would look for the signs; and the following day after her husband had gone to hunt ducks with their guests she’d returned to the temple and had returned exultant.  She’d begged Amonrabi to send an escort for her sister, who would be thrilled for an excuse to return to the palace so quickly, she knew; and he’d complied immediately.

       But their husbands hadn’t returned for the noon meal; and by mid-afternoon it was plain that all were concerned as to what had become of the party.  Three of the Northern lords had taken part, including the Lord An’Elessar himself, as well as four of their guards of honor.  Lords Afraim and Ghants’pa’amon had gone also as well as Prince Ankhrabi and three of his Men and two each of theirs--and Sherfiramun.

       Shortly before the evening meal An’Sohrabi had come to his son’s quarters to speak to Ankhsarani.  “How many did he take with him on the hunt?” he asked, his face intent.

       “I’m not certain--five or six, I think.”

       The Farozi had looked alarmed.  “Why so many?”

       “Is that many?”

       Realizing she was ignorant of what a hunt for duck entailed, he asked, “Has he gone on such hunts before?”

       She shrugged.  “Two or three times, I think, mostly with Lord Bhatsamun.”

       “How many did he take then?”

       She had to think, trying to remember.  “Three, I think.  But I think he said Bhatsamun took two with him.”

       “Did any go out after Sherfiramun and his party left?”

       “Not sent by Sherfiramun.”

       “Did you or Merdirion send any out?”

       “I certainly did not, save an hour later one to go to the market for lamp oil.”

       He sighed.  “Did Merdirion send any out?”

       “Yes, I think he did--about five or six, I think.”

       “Were they servants?”

       “No, my Lord--they were guards.”

       “Were they armed?”

       “They carried bows, I think.”

       The news Sherfiramun had taken so many with him had rung alarm bells.  The Farozi straightened.  “You will have to remain here with your sister, and there will be guards set about your quarters.”

       Nefiramonrani was shocked.  “But why, my Lord?”

       He looked at the two women sternly.  “Neither of your husbands has returned or sent any word; nor have we heard from those of our guests who went with them.  We must suspect treachery.”

       Both looked after him shocked, both certain the treachery must have come from the Northerners.

*******

       No word came from any in the party all that day or evening; and all within the ranks of the nobility were on edge, particularly when it became known so many had gone with Sherfiramun and that a second party of armed Men from Sherfiramun’s house had followed after the party of hunters.  Many had guessed accurately that this indicated treachery, and angry words were now being spoken against both Sherfiramun and his wife, who was now known to remain under guard in the Farozi’s palace.

       The news the next morning that in the night an attempted revolt against the Farozi had been put down and that many had been arrested spread swiftly throughout Thetos; and Sherfiramun’s part in it had been quickly reported.  Hundreds had gone to the court of justice and had heard the testimony given by those who’d taken part in the coup attempt.

       That An’Sohrabi had chosen his questions well was quickly apparent--these had not sought to overthrow him based on unfairness, but on simple greed.  They’d wished to engage Harad in renewed wars with Gondor not to defend the land, but to consolidate personal power and wealth.  They’d acted not out of concern for the common folk, but out of contempt for them.  And it had been made plain that the uprising in which Bhatgebamun had died had been intentional, and had been part of an elaborate and successful plot to see him dead.  Now it was known that Sherfiramun’s folks had tried to kill Ankhrabi as well, and had tried to do so using poison.  Had the weapons taken from the conspirators not been shown forth in the court perhaps that might have been disbelieved; but many of those who’d fought for Mordor had sufficient knowledge to recognize these were not shams but truly signs of the treachery reported.  And the final confrontation between Merdirion and the great and powerful Lord King An’Elessar of Gondor was quickly made public.

       Sherfiramun’s punishment was highly applauded; but now public sentiment was against his wife, the last symbol in the public mind of his treachery.  And Nefiramonrani, who’d resented the guard put on her chambers the evening their husbands were missing, was glad for it on the evening after the trial.

*******

       “Best beloved,” An’Sohrabi said gently to his granddaughter, “I wish for you to invite the Princess Melian, the girl Hasturnerini, and the daughters of Lord Rustovrid to come to your quarters this afternoon and to entertain them--have a party for them and your brothers.  I’ve given orders to the kitchens to send to you for orders of cakes and sweets and fruits to be served, and you may have all you desire.”

       The girl’s mother was dismayed.  “But the small princess is but a child, and the girl Hasturnerini was purchased in the slave market!  You wish my daughter to become familiar with slaves?”

       “She was purchased by one who lives in a land in which slavery is illegal.  I have been asked already to countersign the articles of mannumism for both the girl and the Man.  They will seek to teach the girl a trade by which she can support herself when she is a woman grown.  And she is of an age with Nefirnerini, Daughter.”

       “But why do this now?”

       “There will be a public trial of those taken in the revolt this afternoon.  I seek to give the children--and you and your sister--some other focus of interest.  This will not be a spectacle suitable for those so young.”

       “Ma’osiri and Amon'osiri will not attend?”

       He’d straightened and slowly shook his head.  “I have considered it, daughter of my heart, but have decided not.  Merdirion will be judged amongst the others, and what he will reveal is likely to be horrifying.  No, I will not have them see what happens this day after all.”

*******

       “Welcome,” Nefirnerini said to her guests as they entered.  Rustovrid’s daughters had entered first, straight and beautiful with their dark skin and their closely curled hair pulled back from their faces, dressed in Haradri dresses of white belted with colorful sashes, their enamelled collars about their necks.  Together the three bowed low, hands crossed over their breasts.  She inclined her head graciously as she’d been taught.

       Then Hasturnerini had entered with the Princess Melian, both dressed in dresses of yellow silk to mid-calf.  The taller girl had given the same bow as had Rustovrid’s daughters, then had sunk into a graceful curtsey as did the small princess.  Not certain which was expected, she’d decided to do both forms of reverence.  Nefirnerini stifled the impulse to giggle.  She looked to her mother for guidance, and her mother made a nodding gesture, so again she inclined her head and both Princess and her companion straightened. 

       The twins entered next, obviously freshly bathed and dressed, their hair carefully combed to the side as was proper.  They looked at their sister’s guests and sighed, wondering if they were about to be bored stiff for the next few hours.

       “Thank you for inviting us,” said the small Princess in careful Haradri.

       “Will Baba come, too, Mamari?” asked Amon'osiri.

       “No--he has had to go to the trial with your grandfather,” Nefiramonrani said quietly.

       “How about your babari?” he asked of Melian.

       “He went out, too.  He is solemn.  He is not fond of trials,” she answered.

       “Did he wear his sword?”

       “Yes.  He always carries it when there are trials, that and the Sceptre of Annúminas.  Ada carries them when he must be the King first.”

       “Our grandfather wore the crown and carried the crook and flail.”

       “I saw them.  Are they like a sceptre?”

       Not certain how this question was answered, the boys looked to their mother, who also wasn’t certain what to say.  At last she ventured, “Very much so, I suppose, as they indicate he is the Farozi.”

       The small girl nodded as if that indeed answered her question.

       “Would you like to have some cakes and juice?” asked their young hostess.

       Soon all were reclining properly on their couches, but as she tried to take a bite of the cake she’d accepted Melian dropped part of it on the couch by her head, and looked at it with frustration.  Finally she looked at her hostess.  “I am sorry,” she said.  “May I sit up?  It’s easier for me and I don’t spill so much.”

       Rustovrid’s youngest daughter looked relieved.  “I’ll sit up, too, Lady Melian--then you won’t be the only one.”

       Her sisters rolled their eyes at her, but said nothing as she sat up to match the smaller girl.

       Ma’osiri looked at her with curiosity.  “Is that how you eat at home?”

       Melian nodded.  “Yes, we eat sitting in chairs.  Do you always eat lying down?”

       Hasturnerini giggled.  “Will I have to eat sitting up in Gondor?”

       “You’ll probably be able to lie down if you want to, but not at formal dinners.  There wouldn’t be room.”

       “Your babari eats sitting up, too?”

       “We all eat sitting up!”

       The boys looked to the oldest of Rustovrid’s daughters, who sighed.  “Yes, everyone eats sitting up there.  The King will recline if he eats at the embassy; but if it’s a feast everyone sits up at the table.”

       “Is it very elegant?” Nefirnerini asked.

       “Oh, it can be very elegant indeed.  The ladies are always so beautifully dressed, and the King is so regal!”

       They looked at the one standing at attention against the wall.  “Is he a slave?” asked Ma’osiri.  His sister kicked at him from her adjacent couch, and he glared back.

       “Lord Hildigor?”  Melian looked shocked.  “Of course not.  He’s our cousin.”

       “Your cousin?”

       “Yes.  His father is Steward Halladan of Arnor, and Lord Hardorn is his uncle.  We don’t have slaves in Gondor.”

       “What will you do in Gondor?” Amon'osiri asked Hasturnerini.      

       Nefiramonrani had been reluctant to include the girl purchased from the slave market in the party, but now she was glad she’d done so.  It was quickly obvious this child had not been born to slavery and was fully trained in proper decorum as was expected of minor nobility.  She was shy at first, but quickly warmed up to the company and was swiftly popular among all.  And it quickly proved she was educated and had learned tales of many lands, which made her popular even with the boys.

       The daughter of the King and Queen of Gondor might be young, but she was also very intelligent, and had been learning much of their language.  The older girls had quickly set up a small school with five teachers and a class of three, with the boys and Melian as the pupils learning new words and meanings, both in Haradri and in Westron and Sindarin.  That Nefirnerini and Hasturnerini were also learning words of other tongues was ignored by the children in their pleasure.  Then they went out into the walled garden off their quarters and lay in the grass there, asking questions about the Northern lands.  Even Rustovrid’s oldest daughter was shocked to realize that she was homesick for Gondor and the White City.

       Ankhsarani and Nefiramonrani both were listening with interest as well, finding themselves imagining the tall city on the spur of the mountain, looking down on the Pelennor and the valley of the Great River Anduin; seeing at times the great Eagles sweeping over the city in flight.

       At last they heard a rise in the noise from the judgment area, and the boys looked that way with longing.

       “I wish I knew what is happening,” Ma’osiri sighed.

       “Maybe you don’t,” Rustovrid’s oldest daughter said with a sigh.  “One of the prisoners is from Umbar, and tried to have everybody killed.  They might have to execute him.”

       “He wanted your ada and mine to die,” Melian said to the boy.

       “No one would try to kill my baba,” the boy insisted.  “He’s too good a fighter.”

       “They’ve tried to kill the King,” Rustovrid’s middle daughter pointed out.  “They haven’t ever managed, but they’ve tried several times.  And they’ve tried to kill my father, too.”

       Nefirnerini looked at her mother seriously.  “Was it Lord Merdirion, Mamari?”

       “Yes, sweet one, it was Merdirion.”

       The girl looked at her aunt and smiled.  “Oh, I’m glad.  Now you can go home and not be afraid of him any more!”

       Ankhsarani blushed furiously.

       Their questions were soon answered.  The door opened and Ankhrabi entered the room, limping slightly, then came out into the garden.  He pulled off his formal cloak and handed it to his wife.  Ma’osiri noted the bandage and paused, his face paling.  “Baba, what happened?”

       The Man shrugged.  “One of the traitors tried to hurt me, is all.  The Lord An’Elessar has treated it, and it is healing quickly.”  He leaned down over them, smiling at each of them.  “I’m glad only to be back with you.”

       Amon'osiri asked, “Was it exciting, to be attacked?”

       His father winced.  “I pray only none of you ever knows such excitement.  No, it was not exciting--it was confusing and rather painful.”

       “Is it over now?”

       “Except for the trials of the nobles.”

       Ankhsarani asked, “Sherfiramun?”

       His face hardened.  “He was sent to the quarries.”

       She sighed with some relief.  “Not condemned, then.”

       Nefiramonrani asked, “Merdirion?”

       “Dead.”

       “Who did it?”

       “An’Elessar.”

       “Why?”

       “Merdirion was corrupted with evil magic.  You will not believe all he has done.  He ordered the death of my brother, too.”

       “Then it was not just a result of the fighting.”

       “No.”  There was a great deal of anger and grief in the single word.  “My father will wish me to go with him soon.  He wishes to see the reactions of the Northerners, to make certain we are not blamed.”

       “Will they eat with us tonight?”

       “I doubt any will wish a formal dinner, Nefirani.  All will wish only to recover, I suspect.”

       “When you know for certain, let me know and I will give the orders.”

*******

       The dawn meal was subdued.  As usual, the Northerners stood by their couches until the Farozi entered and stood by his couch.  The Northerners then turned to make their quiet reverence to the West, and at last took their couches as well.  The King was dressed this day in dark trousers of heavy silk and a cotton tunic embroidered only with a stylized tree, the Elessar stone holding the placket closed.  He was markedly quiet.  His daughter sat on his couch with him, and he quietly asked that her plate be placed by her, explaining it was easier for her to eat this way, and the servants quietly complied.  The Hobbit was on guard this day, his face dignified as he stood near his Lord.  As usual the tall black Man stood behind the Queen’s couch, wearing a new tunic of dark blue adorned with a single great star on its breast, the King’s red bag over his shoulder.  All gave him even more reverence in light of what had been said yesterday.

       Hasturnerini took a couch at the table Nefirnerini shared with her brothers and Rustovrid’s daughters.  She ate decorously and took part in the quiet conversation.

       As the meal drew to its close, the King looked at Ankhrabi.  “I would like to examine your wound after the meal is done, my Lord.  I would be assured it heals properly.”

       “I would be glad to have you examine it, great Lord,” Ankhrabi said.  “It feels a bit tight, but not particularly painful.”

       “Would you mind if we observed?” asked the Farozi.  “It would reassure all if we could see with our own eyes that all is well with my son.”

       “If it is acceptable with the Prince,” the King said, and all indicated agreement.

       After the meal was finished they moved down to the other end of the room of entertainment, and the King indicated Ankhrabi should sit on a couch while he undid the bandage.  He asked that a basin of hot water be brought and cloths for possibly cleaning the place, and they arrived as he settled the prince on his side, gently easing down his belt sash slightly to expose the entire wound.  All looked at it in surprise, seeing how long it had been originally, how much had already healed.  First the King held his hand over it, letting his fingers feel deep, and all saw Ankhrabi take several deep breaths, saw him smile a bit, saw the expression of intent concentration on the King’s face as he softly sang the words of the invocation.  At last he relaxed and straightened, smiling as he accepted the cloths offered him with quiet thanks, wiped at the wound, washing away much of the scab, and all could see that more of it had healed, that more of the skin was fresh and new.

       At last he examined it one last time.  “I do not believe, my Lord, that you will need to wear a bandage further.”

       Ankhrabi sat up and looked down at his side.  “If I’d not experienced it myself, I’d not have believed it.”

       Sa’Amonri leaned over the Prince and examined the wound.  “This was inflicted but two days past?”

       “Yes, Holiness,” Ankhrabi agreed.

       The priest looked up at the King’s face.  “Your gift is even stronger now.”

       The tall Man nodded.  “Yes, it has strengthened.”

       After contemplating Ankhrabi’s side for some moments, the priest said, “I have been the last two days in the Valley of the Sun.  The High Priest of Amon wishes for you to come there, great Lord, to speak with him.”

       “Is it the same High Priest?”

       “Yes, great Lord.  He cannot travel now, for he is now very old and frail.  However, his mind remains as clear as ever.”

       The King looked to his host.  “We will go there in two days’ time, if that is acceptable,” the Farozi decided.

       Sa’Amonri nodded solemnly.  “That will be well.”  He looked at the ruler of his land.  “You will question the wife of Sherfiramun now?”

       “I had wished to do it quietly.”

       “I suggest that this company will be right for it that none question afterward what was said and what it means.  You have witnesses who will be honest in their reporting, and yet whom she may trust to speak for her if it is warranted.”

       The Farozi thought for a moment, then nodded his agreement.  “So be it, then.  Let Ankhsarani be summoned.”

       He took his great chair and indicated the rest should be seated.  A stool was brought on which Ankhsarani might sit.

       She was quiet as she was brought into his presence, crossed her hands on her breast and bowed deeply.

       “Be at ease, daughter, and sit.  We must question you.”

       “I know.  My husband was a traitor....”

       “Yes.  Sit.”

       The questioning was quiet.  “Did you know your husband conspired with Merdirion against me and the peace of Harad?”

       “No.”

       “Did you know that Merdirion provided poisoned weapons and strangling cords to his Men?”

       She looked shocked.  “No!”

       “Did any of these come frequently to the house:  Merforim the arms merchant; Serbhatosiri the cloth merchant; Bergannubi of Nestor....” going on to name six more.

       She nodded.  “Merforim and Bergannubi were there very often; Serbhatosiri several times in the last month, but not before--his brother, however, often attended on Merdirion in the library before that, but they had a quarrel three months ago and he hadn’t returned that I am aware of.”

       The interrogation continued on for almost a full mark, and at last the Farozi sighed and straightened.  He looked at the King of Gondor in question.

       “From what I can tell, she has been honest.”  He looked at his wife, who nodded, then at Legolas, who also agreed.  When he looked to the Hobbit Peregrin who stood beside him, all were mildly surprised. 

       The Hobbit, aware his opinion was being sought, asked, “Were there any others who often came to attend on either your husband or this Merdirion that you didn’t like, and you can't truly say why?”

       When the question was translated, the woman thought, then answered slowly, naming at least four more individuals, two of them soldiers, one of them a lord of Harad who had already been arrested, and one a trader.  Several of those in the room shared looks as if this was not unexpected.

       The Farozi looked at the Haradri nobles within the room, all sharing nods of agreement.  He looked at Ankhsarani.  “Child, I will ask this.  Have you been happy being married to Sherfiramun?”

       She looked at him with grief in her eyes.  “I was, at first; but that hasn’t been true for many years.  We rarely have been together as husband and wife since the first year of our marriage, and the looks given me by Lord Merdirion were such that I am certain that he was pleased that this should be so.”

       “Would you be free of your marriage to him?”

       She looked at him with an uncertain gaze.  “Will he ever return from the quarries?”

       “No, Ankhsarani.”

       Her eyes began to tear.  “Then what point is there to carrying on with what has been a sham marriage for years, my Lord?”

       He held out his hand to her, and she took it; he drew her to her feet and toward him, then she knelt and he held her to him in comfort.  “I am sorry, child, for your parents and I never desired anything but the best for you.  So deeply did you desire him, and for so long....”

       “I didn’t know what he would become then, Uncle.”

       “No, I didn’t either.”  At last he released her.  “I will see to it that your marriage is dissolved.  You deserve the chance to know happiness with one who loves you as you deserve.”  He sighed.  “I will see to it that the house stays in your name----”

       “No, I do not wish that!  There is no pleasure in that house for me,”

       He nodded.  “Then we will leave it at that.  When you are ready, you may return to that house and take from it all you desire.  And we will find another that will not be tied to that grief.”

       “Thank you.”

       He looked around him.  “Does any dispute this?”

       None did.

Archery and Shire Cooking

       Many of the Northerners went out after the interrogation of Ankhsarani to the butts to practice at archery once more.  This time the Farozi went out to observe as well, watching with interest.  Two were now attending on An’Elessar, each with bow and quiver over their shoulders as well as sword at hip, the Lord Mablung and Captain Peregrin. 

       On their arrival the King signed to both Hobbits to go forward first.  They went further forward than was usual with Men, but still further from the butts than would boys their size.  Each strung his bow, and here the Hobbit Isumbard appeared to be more accustomed to the skill than the small Captain; then checked the wind.  Captain Peregrin took his stance, and Isumbard came behind him to look along his side (for the one called Peregrin was considerably taller than his older cousin) and gave him advice on adjusting stance and aim.  Isumbard returned to his place, and at a signal from him the two began to let fly at the target.  Both were good, although the older Hobbit was plainly better, easily compensating for distance and breeze, now and then advising his cousin on how to adjust his stance or angle to improve his aim.

       Amon’osiri, who with his brother had accompanied his father and grandfather out to watch, smiled with delight.  “Can you teach me to do that?” he asked Master Isumbard.

       On the boy’s father’s translation, the Took looked slightly startled.  “I can’t do so all in a day, of course,” he said.  “I’ve been using a bow since I was eleven, so have had well over fifty years to become good at it.  Pippin here, though, didn’t grow up primarily in the Great Smial, and so didn’t get the regular practice the Smial Tooks have.  It’s only been since he returned from the quest he’s shown much interest.  In the Shire our primary weapons are thrown stones and our bows.  Pippin and Merry are unusual in that they’ve gone in for swords, but that’s mainly because they needed some form of protection as they traveled, and they were traveling  among swordsmen predominantly.  Not that our Lord Aragorn isn’t good and Prince Legolas superb with a bow.  But if you’d really like an introduction, I believe my bow is about the right size for you.”

       With the child’s father on hand to translate, the Hobbit led the boy forward to where boys would stand, showed him how to place his feet and turn his body, then the angle to hold the bow, how to nock the arrow and draw.

       Amon’osiri was surprised at how difficult it was to draw the bow, and realized the Hobbit was much stronger than he was.  It was the first time he’d actually been close to one of the two of them, and he realized this was indeed an adult, and a very kindly and patient one at that.  Again and again Isumbard corrected the stance, helped him angle the bow; and at last one of the arrows actually sprang from the bow rather than falling from his clumsy fingers, managing to hit the target.  He was elated.

       “Very good!” Isumbard said with pleasure.  “Now, let me have it.”  He took the bow, checked the tension on the string, and taking one of the arrows the child had dropped he nocked it, aimed casually and let fly, his arrow almost in the center of the target.  He smiled as he grounded the bow and looked at the still quivering arrow.  “Keep up your practice, young Man,” he said with a nod to the boy, “and you will be a good archer one day, and with a much bigger bow than this.”

       Ankhrabi asked if he could try the weapon, and after a brief moment of thought, the Hobbit agreed, handing it and another of the arrows he’d scooped from the ground around where the boy had stood to the Man.  The bow itself, the Haradri realized, was a thing of beauty, well crafted and intricately decorated, wrapped with what appeared to be horsehair.  He tried the draw and was surprised at how much force he needed to use--it was almost what he’d expect from one of the bows he himself used.  He thanked the Hobbit for the arrow, nocked it, and took careful aim.  His arrow went a bit to the right, and he hadn’t the feeling of control he’d have known from his own weapon; but he was pleased. 

       “Thank you very much, Master Isumbard,” Ankhrabi said with a bow.

       “It is my pleasure,” the Took replied.  “You must be good with a bow proper to your stature.”

       “I am decent.”

       He and Pippin finally went down to the butts to retrieve their arrows, discussing how much better Pippin was doing lately.

       Ankhrabi looked after them with interest, and then realized the King stood beside him, watching also after them, fondness in his eyes.  An’Elessar turned his gaze, and shared a grin of pleasure with him.  “Their bows have quite a draw, don’t they?”

       The Haradri nodded.  “I’m surprised Amon’osiri did as well as he did.  That is a man’s bow for all it is made for a Hobbit.”

       The King nodded.  “Yes--to realize that the Hobbits had almost a Man’s strength in spite of their size was a bit of a shock when we traveled together through Eriador.  And their endurance is beyond belief.  They’d tire more quickly than I, but then they’d have been having to take two or even three strides to each of mine when we had to hurry, so I was amazed that they’d go as long as they did before they’d begin to complain.  At first glance one thinks ‘children’ with the natural response to treat them as such.  But they are not children.  Sam could chop wood tirelessly for longer than I; and both Merry’s and Pippin’s determination to learn to wield their swords decently was amazing, and at times almost intimidating.  Boromir was always wanting to carry extra equipment for Sam, which of course Sam found to be insulting.  All of the Hobbits carried packs almost as heavy as those of us who were much taller, while Sam carried one that even Gimli at times would wonder at.  All of them hear things I wouldn’t, and for a Man I have excellent hearing.  Frodo would freeze and make just the slightest sign with his hand, and the other three would melt right into the brush as if they’d never been there; and I’d still be straining my ears trying to figure out what he might have heard.  And their ability to find foodstuffs, and particularly mushrooms, along the way was amazing.”

       “You keep mentioning mushrooms.  What are they?”

       “A fungus growth that tends to grow in slightly damp soil.  Hobbits are experts at recognizing the edible ones from those which are dangerous, and can think up hundreds of ways to prepare them.”

       “What about mushrooms?” asked Pippin as he returned.

       “He was wondering what they are.”

       “I can show him, if he’d like,” Pippin offered.

       The King looked surprised.  “How did you come up with mushrooms here?”

       “Oh, I didn’t find any here, Aragorn.  Isumbard and have some dried ones in our trunks.  For when we get peckish, you know.  We gathered them there in Minas Anor and dried them in our quarters.”

       “Where did you find them?”

       “Well, you know we told you we’d gather them in the yard of the house that was empty....”

       “It’s not empty now.”

       “Oh, I know.  But we’d slip over there and get some almost every day we were there.  The ones who live in the house don’t even realize they’re edible.  They’ll never miss them, and it’s a shame to let them go to waste.”

       The King was laughing, and Ankhrabi found himself laughing, too.

       Mablung, Damrod, and Hildigor went next.  Their skill was excellent, and again Ankhrabi asked to try their bows.  These were much larger than he’d ever used.  He quickly appreciated the suppleness and draw of the weapons, and when he fired that of Mablung he easily found the target.  Hildigor’s was lighter than that of the others, but no less deadly.  It was curved somewhat differently, but had a good spring to its action.

       Prince Faramir, the King, and An’Éomer went next; and it was amazing to watch them.  The bow of the Lord of Rohan was smaller than that of the others, a horseman’s bow, Ankhrabi realized, for it was very similar to his own he used from his chariot.  But the arrows were longer than those used in Harad and differently fletched.  The King’s he’d examined the morning of the hunt, and was intended, he realized, for the hunting of grazing beasts.  That of Prince Faramir was similar to those of Mablung and Damrod, but slightly longer and, he realized, older, although superbly maintained.  All showed the wear of much use; and remembering the tales of returning soldiers of ambushes in the woods alongside the walls of Mordor, Ankhrabi realized that very likely these very bows had been used on his people, and these very Men had drawn them.  It was a sobering thought.

       An’Éomer was swift in his nocking and draw, and arrow after arrow he’d send down the course to the butts.  Both An’Elessar and Prince Faramir were slower, a bit more thoughtful, but excellent nonetheless.

       Then Berevrion, Hardorn, and the Elf Legolas stood on the firing line, and all his admiration for those who’d gone before was forgotten, for there was no question these three were the best of all.  All three carried bows that were supremely graceful in spite of their apparent simplicity.  “Elven made,” An’Elessar said quietly, as the three paused to discuss how they would shoot.  “Berevrion’s and Hardorn’s are from Imladris.  That which Legolas uses is of Ghaladrim design and make, a gift to him from the Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien.  He has again his bow from Mirkwood which he carried through the first part of the quest, for the Lady and Lord Celeborn brought it to Minas Tirith when they accompanied my beloved to our wedding.  But he has come to love this bow and all it represents of his heritage within Middle Earth.”

       “I am surprised you do not wield an Elven bow, my Lord An’Elessar,” commented Ankhrabi.

       “I have three now.  Long ago I was given one by the Lady, just after Arwen indicated she would bind herself to me.  It is not as great as the one given to Legolas, but is a most elegant and deadly weapon.  I have the one made in Imladris that I used before this one, before I came of age.  And I have one given to me by Adar before he sailed from Middle Earth, one from Lindor which was his own and had been given him by the great King Gil-galad.  I’m not certain why he gave it to me and not to Elrohir or Elladan, but he told me he wished me to have it.  But this is the one I’ve ever used most.  It has the look of quality, but is not as easily remarked as an Elven bow; and as I ever had to hide myself when I was thought to be only a Ranger, this offered the better disguise, for it is plainly a bow of Men.  And, I love it for it is one thing I have and use regularly that was once my father’s.”

       “So, four bows you own, then.”

       “Oh, no, I have more than that.  I have a Rohirric horse bow from when I rode with Éomer’s grandfather, and two bows from Gondor from when I served as a Ranger in Ithilien.  I also was given a Rhunic bow when I sojourned there and visited with the Shkatha’s grandfather, although I suspect he was upset I actually bore it away with me.  It’s a thing of beauty, but a temperamental weapon, I’ve found.”

       “Shall I add a Haradri bird bow to the collection?” asked Ankhrabi.

       “I would be honored, Lord Prince,” said the King with a brief bow and a broad smile.

       Just then the three carrying the Elven bows finished their discussion, and strung them.  At a quiet signal, all three aimed almost casually and three arrows left the string simultaneously, all three points side by side in the target.  Again and again they drew and fired.  “Aragorn--your ring!” called out his cousin.

       “Why is it always my ring you want to use?” the King called back.

       “Don’t argue--go down range and throw it up!”

       “Use your own!”

       “I can’t be down range to toss it up and aim from here at the same time.  Even I’m not so swift!”

       With a snort of laughter the King turned to his companion.  “He likes to show off always with my ring--of course, it has proven a useful ploy in taking some by surprise--we did it with Merdirion’s nephew, in fact.”  When Hardorn called out again, he turned.  “All right, I’ll go, but if you don’t catch it with the arrow, you’ll have to search for it, if it takes all day in the full Haradri sun!”

       He walked in a leisurely manner far down range, removing the emerald ring from his hand.  Suddenly the toss was made, so swiftly Ankhrabi almost missed it, and an arrow was loosed--then a second.

       Hardorn’s and Legolas’s arrows both went through the circle of the ring at almost the same time, and they fell, their flight disturbed by the sudden intersection of two arrows.

       The King fetched the odd tangle back, and it could be seen the Elf’s arrow had reached second and had scored that shot by Hardorn.  All examined this as he worked the ring off the two shafts.  “This is an awful manner in which to treat an heirloom such as this,” he commented as he finally replaced it on his finger.  “From now on, we’ll have to use another ring instead.  I do wish it to last to be worn by Eldarion and his son in their turn, you know.”

       The last to come forward were the Queen, the Lady Avrieth, and small Melian.  The bow given into the child's hands was in keeping with her size, and was gently offered by the Elf Legolas.  Yet it was plain this was no toy.  She had to have his help getting the loop of the string about it, but checked the tension and draw as would one well accustomed to doing such things.  With the Elf kneeling in the dust of the firing line, she received similar instruction to that Master Isumbard had given Amon’osiri, although only one arrow fell from her hand as she went to nock it.  Five shots she made, and the Elf proclaimed himself well pleased with each.  He then helped her undo the string and replace it in its cloth roll.  Once her mother and Lady Avrieth were finished with their practice, which indicated both were also good shots, Melian went with them down the course to recover the spent arrows, gave them into Legolas’s hands so he could check their condition, then saw them replaced in her small quiver.

       “I did not know you used a bow, Lady Arwen,” Ankhrabi said as she unstrung her bow and entrusted it to the Elf.

       Her smile lit the world as does the light of the star of Osiri when it lifts to shine over the desert.  “I have only recently taken it up.  Lady Avrieth has convinced me that it is useful to know the use of a distance weapon as well as a blade.”

       Captain Peregrin had again taken his place as the King’s escort, and followed respectfully behind as they went back to the palace.

*******

       The cooks in the kitchens for the palace looked at the small individuals who, accompanied by a bemused Lord Amonrabi and a very large bag, had found their way into their domain.

       “They wish to do what?” asked the head cook.

       “They wish to be able to cook a meal.”

       The Man looked down at the two visitors from the North and then back to the Farozi’s half-brother and steward and shook his head in disbelief.  “But they are strangers to our land and visitors to the palace....”

       Amonrabi looked sideways at the two, trying to hide his own misgivings.  “The Lord Farozi has told me that if they wish to do that which is courteous, we are to be as accommodating as possible.  Lord Rustovrid has told me that for their people, the greatest courtesy is to serve fine meals, and apparently they have become convinced that they wish to do this.  And Lord Ankhrabi has informed me that Captain Peregrin fixed the food for them while he was recovering and proved to be an excellent cook.  It is their way, I understand, of repaying us for our welcome of them and their people.”

       “So,” the cook hazarded, “we ought to humor them?”

       “Apparently,” the Steward said.  “It would not hurt, I suppose.”

       “The taster would have to try each dish that they prepare.”

       “That is understood.  Hopefully it will not be too difficult a trial for him.”

       Once they learned that they were being granted the privilege they desired, Pippin and Isumbard smiled.  “Now,” Pippin said, “I’ve been able to get some supplies purchased from the market which ought to be arriving about now; can we get some poultry?”

       The arrival at that moment of a large quantity of vegetables and several bags of rice not ordered by the cooks threw all into confusion at the door where goods were received, and soon the rest of the kitchens was equally upside down.

       After the anxiety of the last several days both the Took cousins had agreed that they needed something familiar to do to help settle them; and Pippin had decided the needful thing to do was to cook up a proper meal.  Last night he’d confided his plans to the Lady Éowyn, and had given her the money Aragorn had given him to replace that he’d donated to the needs of the group hiding in An’Sohrabi’s more youthful home, asking her if she would go to a particular stall he’d seen in the market that he’d noted had excellent vegetables and order enough of those he’d written down to serve about fifty people, and to another to purchase sufficient rice.  She’d been amazed by his audacity, but had agreed to do as he asked, arranging for them to be taken to the kitchens of the palace. 

       Then this morning as he was dressing for his duty, Isumbard had pointed out that he’d not taken the precaution to get permission to use the kitchens for the proposed project.  Once his duty was over and they’d finished with the noon meal, Pippin, trailed by his older cousin, had sought out Lord Amonrabi to explain the difficulty to him.  The Steward had been ready to refuse until he realized that this odd pair had already arranged to purchase at least part of the provender necessary and have it delivered to the kitchens for their use in preparing this proposed meal.  Overwhelmed by the situation, he’d finally just led the two of them to the kitchens to deal with the cooks themselves--only to find himself drafted into translating for them.

       Once he realized these two actually knew how to work in a kitchen, and that they were willing to allow those who worked there to do their jobs under supervision, the chief cook felt better about it.  The Hobbits allowed the kitchen boys to clean the vegetables, and, under Bard’s direction, cut them up properly.  Pots were examined and finally one was approved for the fixing of the rice as the Hobbits were accustomed to do; and Pippin found the perfect pot in which to fix a mushroom sauce.  When he opened the large bag and exposed the oddly shaped objects with which it was filled, all pulled away with disgust.  He looked at them with a pitying expression, popped one of the dried mushrooms into his mouth with all signs of relish, and began asking for various ingredients which the cook found himself surrendering to him out of sheer fascination.

       Poultry was roasting in an oven; a salad was being prepared; quantities of loaves of bread were checked and approved of; fruits were attractively cut and displayed on serving dishes; the stewed vegetables were simmering nicely; and with the addition of meat from a fowl previously roasted, the mushroom sauce for the rice was coming along well.  The honeycakes prepared earlier in the day by the bakers were added to the menu, and finally came the moment that the Hobbits declared they were satisfied this was ready for the Farozi’s table.

       An’Sohrabi did employ a taster; but when the Farozi was in his own palace this individual spent his time in his office near the kitchens, mostly watching the preparations of the food there, and tasting dishes as they were prepared to be placed before his lord.  Today he stood in the middle of the kitchen watching all with a feeling of unreality.  This could not be happening--that the kitchen should be invaded by these foreigners with their high voices and indecipherable language.

       Yet order came out of the chaos, and all found themselves watching as the meal was made ready to serve.  The two small ones appeared somewhat confused at first as the head cook looked at the dishes and then at the man who had done nothing to assist in the preparation of the meal.  Seeing their confusion, Lord Amonrabi leaned down to explain, saw the surprise, then the understanding in the eyes of the taller one.

       “What is it, Pippin?” asked Isumbard, uncertain what this latest halt meant.

       “It’s their custom--probably because Sauron held power here for so long--but he has to taste everything that goes on the table.”

       “To make certain it isn’t overcooked?”  Isumbard couldn’t think of another reason for such an employee.

       Pippin’s face was solemn.  “No, to make certain nothing has been poisoned.”

       His older cousin looked appalled.  “No one would do that!”

       The Thain’s heir turned to look down into Isumbard’s face, a look of sadness in his eyes.  “You really think that, Bard?  After what I saw he did to the very land itself around Mordor, I would put nothing past him or those he controlled.  And the worst he did was to destroy the trust those within the lands have for one another.”

       Bard’s face also went solemn.  “Yes,” he said quietly, “I can see what you mean.  It’s what led to the last few days, the trial and all.”

       Pippin reached out and took a platter.  He examined the taster’s face and gave him a look of question.  With an expression of concern, the Man looked at the food which was laid ready to go to the dining rooms, and slowly he went down the rows and randomly chose samples of each dish.  When they got to the rice with the mushroom sauce worked into it, he paused for several moments, certain that if anything might be dangerous to life and health in this meal, it would be this.  Finally he nodded his head fatalistically, and Pippin carefully spooned out a portion onto the platter and offered it to him. 

       The Man took out his eating knife and spoon and fussily poked at the rice to expose one of the bites of mushroom, looked at it sorrowfully, carefully speared it with his eating knife and slowly brought it to his mouth, as reluctantly as if he expected himself to fall dead on the spot once it touched his lips.  All took a half step closer, watching the Man with fascination and anxiety; finally he closed his mouth about it, and tasted, opened his eyes in surprise, looked more carefully at his plate, swallowed, and immediately reached forward to take another bite, then another until all was gone.

       “Well,” Pippin said with relief, “obviously I haven’t lost my touch for the mushroom sauce.”

       Bard gave a snort of laughter and a shake of his head.  He turned to the gathered servers, then flapped his hands at them in token all was ready and they should get busy, then carefully removed the linen towel he’d wrapped about his waist as an apron, wiped his face with it, and recognizing a laundry basket when he saw it, dropped it with other used cloths.

       Together the Hobbits turned to the head cook and thanked him in their limited Haradri, gave bows of thanks to the rest of the staff, nodded to the taster, and headed off to make a hasty preparation for dinner, thanking Amonrabi once again for his assistance as they left.

*******

       The Farozi met the King of Gondor in the room of entertainment where the evening meal would be soon served.  “An’Elessar,” he said, “you seek something?”

       “I appear to have mislaid Captain Peregrin,” the tall Northerner said.  “I’ve not seen him or Master Isumbard for quite some time.  I’d thought perhaps they were resting, but their room is empty.”

       “I’ve been looking for my steward,” An’Sohrabi commented.  “We were to go over the accounts for the stables today, but he did not come at the appointed time.  It is most unlike him.”

       “When was he last seen?”

       But at that moment Amonrabi appeared, wiping his forehead, his face uncharacteristically flustered.  “I am sorry, my brother, but the small ones came to ask my assistance, and have kept me so busy I forgot I was to assist you with the accounts.”

       “The small ones?  Captain Peregrin and Master Isumbard?”

       “Yes, great Lord.  They wished my aid in the kitchens.”

       “The kitchens?” asked the Farozi.

       “Yes, my Lord Brother.  They wished to prepare tonight’s meal for you and your guests.”

       “And Nubiranabri allowed this?”  The Farozi sounded totally out of his depth.

       “We did not see any way to stop it.  They had purchased the vegetables and the rice....”

       The King’s expression was arrested, and he stood with his head back, his mouth slightly open, amusement growing behind his eyes.  “They took over the kitchen?”

       “Yes.  And the cook....”

       An’Sohrabi was still with the anticipation of a great blow.  “Nubiranabri does not seek to leave the service of the palace, does he?”  It had taken two years to woo the head cook from the employ of Lord Ghants’pa’amon--his cooking was legendary throughout Thetos.

       “Oh, no, Brother--he wishes to get their recipe and find out where he can obtain more of these ‘mushrooms’.”

       The laughter of An’Elessar filled the palace of the Farozi of Harad.
      

Sharing Memories

       After a dinner all praised that night, an evening of song and tales was proposed, and so they gathered at the other end of the hall of entertainment and called upon various ones to sing.  The children of Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani were there, and the King sent for the Lady Avrieth to bring the children of the Northern party there also.  When they had come, it was asked what song all wished to hear.  And so it was that the grandchildren of the Farozi opened the evening with a song in praise of Neryet, often sung when children were put to bed to lull them to sleep.  The Elf Legolas responded with a hymn to Elbereth, one Pippin had heard first in the wilds of the Shire.

       Seeing the sadness in Pippin’s face, the Farozi asked, “What is it that grieves you so, Captain Peregrin?”

       “I was remembering the first time I heard that, my Lord,” murmured the Hobbit.  “It’s a sweet grief, though a grief it is.”

       “What happened that time?”

       And so, simply, Pippin recounted the night he, Sam, and Frodo had left Bag End, the realization the following day they were being followed by Black Riders, how one had approached where they were hiding in the sunset hours and how it was driven away by the singing of Gildor Inglorien and his folk, how Frodo had finally told afterwards of the mad compulsion he suddenly felt to put the Ring upon his finger.

       “He didn’t realize till later that the Ring had sensed the coming of Its Master’s darkest servants, that It Itself was trying to get him to do this to reveal It to them so It could be found and reunited with Sauron.”  He shivered, looking off into the distance.

       “What were they?” asked Nefiramonrani.

       Pippin had looked at her, his face far too stern for a Hobbit.  “They were the Nazgul, Lady.” 

       The King added, "The ones you knew as the Dark Ones."  Her face blanched.

       Pippin looked off again.  “Sauron had never given us Hobbits much thought for so long--he never even thought to have a Ring made to try to control us.  But, then, how could we be expected to be taken seriously by such as he?” he asked, looking again into her face.  “His chief Nazgul had thought our land destroyed along with the kingdom of Arthedain at the last.  He’d driven Arvedui North, and his ship foundered in the ice after he thought he was rescued, and he was lost.  His wife and son and the bulk of his forces were helped across the Shire by our folk, and the hosts of Angmar followed them, setting fires to those of our homes and fields they could recognize as they came.”  He sighed.  “Gondor came then, but too late to truly save the North Kingdom--too late for Arvedui; and his son wouldn't call himself a king any more, as there was no North Kingdom to speak of left.  It was written down afterwards what had happened and how we Hobbits of the Shire had helped, and copies of the records given to our folk; and I finally found them, hidden in the vaults of our archives.  None of the Thains have sought them out for generations, not for over seven hundred years, from what I can tell.  We preferred the tales of things we knew hadn’t happened, or had happened to other peoples.”  He shook his head and looked to the floor.  “And we forgot, along with everyone else, what Mordor was and what it could do, and so were vulnerable when Saruman came.”

       Never had the Farozi and his son seen such solemnity in the Hobbit Captain.  Pippin straightened and looked steadfastly in front of him.  “We won’t forget again,” he said with purpose.  “We won’t be so vulnerable again.  A knowledge that evil is there and that we are vulnerable is needed if we are to be kept from being taken again by such as Saruman and his folk, if we are to keep the Lothos from rising from within our fields.”

       “How will you make certain that you don’t forget?” asked Ankhrabi, fascinated by this glance into another world hidden within his own.

       The Hobbit gave a one-sided smile.  “I’m the Thain’s heir and will be Thain myself all too soon, I fear, and a Captain in the King’s guard.  Merry’s now Master of Buckland and a knight of Rohan, and Sam’s now Mayor of the Shire and the King’s Friend.  The schools Frodo endowed are established, and they are spreading into even the furthest villages.  Our children are learning more than how to plant, manage, and harvest our crops, more than how to dig smials and raise barns, prepare meals, and distinguish between edible and poisonous mushrooms, my Lord.  The Hobbits of the Shire are realizing there is more to the world than us and the Breelands and the hints of other things and peoples far away.  We are once again part of Arnor and Gondor, are privy to the councils of kings.

       “Sam, Merry and I--we’ll see to it that the schools must teach the history of all of Middle Earth so we don’t again grow complacent, certain the rest of the world will be willing to ignore our small corner of it.  Those who aren’t aware evil is and can be made manifest are always its first and worst victims.”

       Ankhsarani objected, “But Mordor is fallen, and cannot touch us again.”

       The Hobbit looked at her with eyes that were too wise from experience.  “Do you think, Lady Ankhsarani, that the voice of Morgoth doesn’t still whisper in the hearts of those of us who live in Middle Earth?  Merdirion wore Sauron’s ring--such a little thing, and it rang in his heart which grew empty to all else.  But you don’t need gifts of rings to desire power over others.  No one gave anything like that to Lotho, after all.”

       To break the solemnity, Haleth of Rohan started a song about horses and the wind, in which An’Éomer, his sister, wife, and envoy joined, with the Lord An’Elessar joining in the chorus.  When it was done, the King said thoughtfully, “Gandalf warned us that Sauron, great as he made himself at the expense of all others, was yet but an emissary himself, began and remained ever the servant of Morgoth.  Even though he has been exiled beyond the Gates of Night, yet Morgoth would enter into Middle Earth again if he is allowed but the smallest gateway.  Well, my friends, the smallest gateway is through the greed to which we are all vulnerable.”

       King Éomer nodded slowly.  “We are told that Saruman came from the West with Gandalf and Radagast to help us ward against Sauron and the threat he posed.  Yet he studied Mordor too deeply, and sought first to emulate the Nameless One as the Dark Lord had sought to emulate Morgoth, then came to the point of seeking to take his place.

       “My sister and I--we saw what Saruman did to our uncle and King, what he sought to do to all our land; and then when they returned to their own land Merry and Pippin, Sam and Frodo found he’d fled there and sought to again poison and destroy, taking their Lotho as he’d taken Gríma, using each as his agent, not recognizing he was but himself Sauron’s agent, and that of Morgoth in the end.”

       Pippin shivered.  “It was bad enough seeing what Saruman and Lotho had done to the Shire--the houses burnt and the holes dug out, trees murdered and fields and vineyards ravaged and laid low, the spirits of our folk beginning to be corrupted.  And then--then we saw his end, like what the King and others told us of watching the end of Sauron, but as if reflected in a bent mirror, small and petty.  To imagine what it must have been like when the Valar themselves came to Middle Earth to throw down Angband----”  He shuddered once more, and shook his head.  “Listening to the voice of Saruman there in Isengard and later in the Shire, seeing the envy and hatred that was all he had left to him, once the symbols of the power he’d thought his by right were washed away and exposed as empty and bare, then comparing that to the mind of Sauron--he never realized just how petty he was.  I wonder if Sauron had any idea he was to Morgoth as Saruman was to himself?  None of them capable of anything but lust and envy and fear and hatred any more, but each only a shadow of the one before him?”

       “How do you know what the mind of Sauron was like?” asked Lord Afraim.

       The Hobbit looked up at him as though what he said next was but a triviality.  “He showed it to me, in the Palantir.”

       Aragorn rose and crossed to Pippin, stood behind him, placed his left hand on Pippin’s left shoulder, his right on his head.  He looked at the Haradri Lord.  “Six of his people had the experience of hearing the echoes of Sauron’s mind.  Pippin looked into one of the remaining three Seeing Stones from Númenor while Sauron held another, and Sauron could not hide all his thought from this one.  Merry twice suffered from the Black Breath, the last time as he stabbed the Witch King of Angmar behind the knee with the mate to the sword Pippin carries, and felt the hatred and overweening pride of him, for the Ringwraiths had become only extensions of Sauron’s will in the end.  Frodo and Sam carried the Ring awakened, and before them Bilbo carried It quiescent for sixty-one years while Gollum had carried it five hundred years since the day It was first found again at the bottom of the Anduin where Isildur had lost It.  For far too long had Gollum carried it to remain unaware of the dreams the Ring still held and offered, those dreams being ever those of Sauron himself; and Bilbo was himself close to being taken by It as had happened with Gollum when he finally left It to Frodo at Gandalf’s insistence.”

       Pippin twisted to look up at the Man standing over him.  “Sam said that Bilbo was the only one to give It up voluntarily, that only because Frodo snatched It from him could he let It go.”

       “In that case, then in reality none did so, for Bilbo was close to pocketing It again when he dropped It.  It was Gandalf who scooped It from the floor and placed It on the mantelpiece--Bilbo admitted this to me himself, and Gandalf’s story was the same.”

       Isumbard said, after a little thought, “Then, in reality the only one who ever willingly gave up the Ring from his possession was Gandalf himself, for he held It then.”

       Pippin laughed, suddenly delighted, his light-heartedness restored.  “Which shows he was greater than Sauron in the end--for he gave It up twice!  He also threw It into the parlor fire in Bag End to reveal the fire lettering of the Ringspell Sauron wrote on It, then pulled It from the hearth with the fire tongs and gave It to Frodo to look to see if the heat was enough to reveal them.  And then, realizing how easy it would be to begin guiding us to our best interests in spite of ourselves, he left Middle Earth with Frodo so he wouldn’t be tempted to stay and find himself becoming as bad as Sauron in the end.”  He laughed in sheer relief.  “Ah, if I’d have had to follow one of the Istari, it would ever have been Gandalf!” 

       Isumbard smiled.  “Sounds as if you did, Pippin.”  Peals of Hobbit laughter filled the room.

       Pippin began to sing as the King took his place by his wife again, singing a portion of the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers, the exultant portion from its ending, and the King and Legolas sang it with him.

       When they were done, Ma’osiri asked, “What does eglerio mean?”

       The King smiled.  “Praise them.”

       “Praise who?”

       Pippin said, “Frodo and Sam.”

       “For what?”

       The boy’s father answered, “For carrying the Ring of the Death Easter to Mordor to its destruction so that he is no more.”  He reached down and lifted his son, as big as he now was, into his lap protectively.  “You do not grow up with the fear we knew, best beloved, because of what they did.”  He held the boy close to him, the boy’s head against his shoulder.  “I so rejoice this is so.  I am so grateful.”

       Nefirnerini leaned against her mother.  “I remember the day the red temple fell, the moment when it seemed lifted up above all others, and then it sank.  We watched from the wall.  And I remember Babari singing with joy.”  She turned to Pippin.  “Did you sing with joy?”

       He laughed when the question was translated.  “No, I didn’t--I was busy being terrified and struck dumb with grief at first, for the Enemy tried to convince us Frodo had been captured and was being tortured; then we were fighting, and then I don’t remember much of anything else from the day because I was unconscious underneath a troll.”

       Once he understood what the Hobbit had said, Amon’osiri said, “That was a foolish place to hide, under a troll.  Sherfiramun told me they are huge--almost as big as a mumak.”

       “Oh, I saw the oliphaunts from the walls of Minas Tirith, and I can assure you a troll is nowhere near as big.  However, he was right--they are very still very big, especially compared to a Hobbit.  And I wasn’t hiding--it fell on me when it died.”

       His father looked down on Amon’osiri and explained, “He killed it when it tried to kill his comrade.”

       “Oh!”  The eyes of both boys widened, and they gave the Hobbit captain a look of deep respect.

       There was a short time when all were quiet, and then the King began to sing the Lay of Lúthien, with the Queen joining in.  Their eyes were often on one another as they sang, and the love was clearly expressed between them.  The King had his son now cradled in one arm as he sang, his other about his wife.  When at last they were done, he smiled at her for quite a time, his eyes full of wonder.  “I still marvel, that after an Age of Middle Earth, you would choose me, beloved.  You could have gone to Aman with your father and been reunited with your mother and so many others, or chosen any among your father’s people, and have known bliss that lasted as long as Arda.”

       “We do not choose those who stir our hearts, Estel,” she answered.  “Of what use is immortality if it is without the fulfillment of loving the proper person given us by Iluvatar?”

       He sighed, smiled again, and kissed her tenderly, murmuring quietly to her in Quenya.

       Master Ruvemir at that moment gave a grunt of satisfaction and set down the cloth with which he’d been polishing his figure.  The Farozi looked over at him with interest.  “Is it finished, then?” he asked in accented Westron.

       The small sculptor, his expression now rather serious, nodded, looking at the work he held in his hands.  He stood slowly, and leaning on his cane he came forward to present it to the Farozi for his examination.

       The figure was now complete indeed.  The Hobbit stood upon grass in which small flowers bloomed about his bare feet with the indication of hair on the tops of them.  He wore trousers similar to those worn by the two Hobbits who were guests of the palace at this time, a shirt with loose sleeves and cuffs fastened with some form of jewel; and over the shirt were straps from the back of his trousers up to where they crossed, then over the shoulders and down again to the front of them.  Under his right arm he carried a large book.  He stood comfortably, the left foot slightly forward of the other, his face turned just slightly as if he’d just been called by name, that smile beginning on his lips. 

       The Farozi turned it over in his hands with interest, fascinated by the detail in it.  He then gave it into the free hand of his son, who held it where he and Ma’osiri could both examine it.  The boy’s eyes grew wide with surprise, and held out his own hands for it, then gently turned it around and around to look at it from all sides.  He handed it to his brother, who did the same; he handed it to his sister, who passed it to her mother, who gave it in turn to her sister....  And so it went from one to another throughout the room.

       Ankhsarani asked, “This is not an image of you, Captain Peregrin?”

       Catching the gist of the question, Pippin didn’t wait for translation.  “No, not of me, or Isumbard.  It is of our cousin Frodo--Frodo Baggins.”

       “Why didn’t he come with you?” asked Nefirnerini.

       Pippin’s face grew quiet.  “He is no longer in Middle Earth, my Lady.  Carrying the Enemy’s Ring hurt him, hurt him very, very badly.  He was also severely wounded several times while we were on our journey.  That he lived at all is the miracle.”  He reached out to accept the figure, which now had come to him.  A small, sad smile played across his face.  He examined the right hand which held the book.  “You did this of him before the quest, then,” he said, looking up at Master Ruvemir.

       The sculptor nodded.  “Yes, I did.”

       “This is the figure you intend to give Merry, then?”

       Another nod.

       “Who’s Merry?” asked Amon’osiri.

       “Another of our cousins.  My first cousin.  His mum is my da’s sister.  His da was nephew to Frodo’s mother.  After Frodo’s mum and da died in an accident, Frodo stayed with Merry’s mum and da for several years in Brandy Hall, even though they were Brandybucks and he was a Baggins.  Frodo lived there when Merry was born, and it was as though Merry was his little brother.  He’d have done anything for Merry, he would.

       “Then another of our cousins, our Cousin Bilbo Baggins, decided it was time for him to become Frodo’s guardian.  He was family head for the Bagginses, after all, and he’d thought perhaps to take Frodo earlier, but Aunt Esmeralda and Uncle Saradoc wouldn’t let him go.  Now they finally agreed.  I was born a few months later, and Merry was there for me as Frodo had been there for him.

       “I have three older sisters, but no brothers of my own.  Maybe if my folks had chosen to live in the Great Smial it would have been different; but because we lived on the farm instead for most of the year, I became closer to Merry than to my proper Took cousins.  Merry felt I was the little brother he’d always wanted; and so Frodo, who was almost a grownup by then, treated me like his baby brother, too.”

       He sighed, and handed the little statue to Isumbard.  “Bilbo was much older than any of us, and older even than our parents.  He didn’t look it, though, and no one could understand why, not even Bilbo himself.  They used to call him Old Mad Baggins, because he’d stopped worrying what the neighbors thought of what he said or did.  When he was fifty a group of Dwarves came to the Shire, one of them Master Gloin, Gimli’s father.”  He nodded toward the Dwarf.  “They wanted to go to the mountain where their people used to live until a dragon came to take it away from them, where they hoped to get back part of the treasure the dragon stole from them; but they needed someone sneaky and quiet to go with them to act as a scout and burglar.  Gandalf the Wizard told them Bilbo could do it, and he ended up going with them.

       “While they were traveling Bilbo found a magic ring that could make him invisible when he put it on, so he kept it.  He never thought to ask anyone where it might have come from.  He had no idea it was what was making him stay young looking.”

       He looked at the girl.  “Even though we’re smaller than Men, we age more slowly.  We aren’t grown up until we’re about thirty-three, and we usually live to be around a hundred.  When Bilbo turned eleventy-one he still didn’t look old.  He looked younger than my da, in fact.  He didn’t look old, but he was starting to feel old.  He decided to leave the Shire again, and he did, for Frodo had just come of age and could inherit Bag End, which is the name of his home.  So he left, and named Frodo family head after him; and Gandalf the Wizard convinced him to leave the Ring behind for Frodo, too.”

       Again the story of the Ring was told, in simpler, more intimate terms this time, while the small figure was passed from hand to hand and all examined it.

       “When the Ring finally went into the Fire in Mount Doom, Sam got Frodo out of there.  They got onto a little hill and then were stuck there, as the volcano was tearing itself to pieces and they couldn’t escape.  They thought they were dead at last.

       “Gandalf and the Eagles found them and brought them to safety and to the King, and he brought them to the field of Cormallen in Ithilien until they awoke.  All of us who were hurt in the last battle were brought there.  Gimli found me and Captain Beregond.”  He indicated one of the two guards of honor in the white livery.  “We were both trapped under the troll, and a few others as well.  Beregond was the friend the troll was trying to kill when I killed it.”

       He sighed, and looked at where the figure had been passed to Beregond, who examined it, his attitude as if he were all but saluting the little statue.  “Aragorn kept Frodo in healing sleep for two weeks.  He was so much better when he woke, but he would never really be well again.  At last he was allowed to leave Middle Earth with our Lady Queen’s father and grandmother and go to Tol Eressëa, the island that is now the entrance to the Undying Lands, to spend the rest of his life there.  They can give him the healing there he couldn’t find here, healing for both his body and his spirit.  We miss him.  We miss him terribly.  But we are glad he was granted the grace.  He was tearing himself apart every day he stayed in Middle Earth, and he hurt so, so much of the time.”

       “Why was he tearing himself apart?” asked Lady Nefiramonrani.

       Isumbard answered her.  “Guilt.  In the end he couldn’t either throw the Ring into the Fire, or jump in with It.  It took him at last, there in Orodruin itself.  Gollum finally left his home under the mountains to go find the Ring again, and he followed Frodo and Sam all the way to Mount Doom.  He knocked Sam on the side of the head with a rock and stunned him, then attacked Frodo.  He bit Frodo’s finger off to get the Ring back, but he was too close to the edge of the platform over the Fire, and he fell into it, taking the Ring with him.”

       He shook his head, looked at where Berevrion now held the statue before he passed it on to Lord Afraim.  “He felt guilty because he felt he should have taken the Ring into the fire instead of Gollum, and because he still felt that he shouldn’t have let It take him.  He felt guilty so many died because it took him so long to get there while he’d managed somehow to survive.  He felt guilty because the Ring had taught him to feel guilty--guilty about everything.  He felt guilty because when he got back he found that our country had been taken over by his own cousin Lotho and an evil wizard while he was gone, and if he’d only come faster he might have stopped at least the wizard from hurting us.  And he felt guilty because, in spite of knowing what It was at the last, in spite of working so hard to get to the Mountain so It could be destroyed, he found he still wanted It.  It had wound Itself so closely into his mind that it was like a part of him went into the Fire with It.  And he felt guilty--just because he knew he shouldn’t feel guilty!”

       Lord Ghants’pa’amon had accepted the figure, was turning it over.  Ruvemir had returned to his seat and now had out one of his sketch booklets, was drawing rapidly in between glancing to see the progress of the statue around the room.

       “What was it you sang earlier?” asked Nefirnerini.

       Pippin smiled.  “It’s part of the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers, which was written by one of the bards of Gondor.  It was sung for Frodo and Sam when they first awoke and were brought to be shown to all those who’d gathered there in Cormallen.  It tells the story of the quest, and how Frodo became Frodo of the Nine Fingers.  Sam was thrilled to hear it, and Frodo was so glad for Sam to be able to hear it.”

       “Wasn’t he glad to hear it, too?”

       Pippin shook his head slowly.  “No, not really.  I don’t think he’d fully taken in that he was still alive after all--and then--then, he felt guilty.”  His smile was twisted.

       The King added sadly, “We found that the Ring was as much a burden after It was gone as when he carried It on a chain about his neck through Mordor itself.  I hated the thought of It, when I was a child and must first learn of It, of how it sundered Gondor and Arnor and betrayed my ancestor Isildur to his death; but as I saw what It did to Frodo and Boromir--” his voice became filled with a rage even more terrible to realize because it was so extraordinarily controlled, “--I came to bear for It a hatred beyond passion, and an even greater one for he who wrought It an age and a half ago.  It was no longer an idea in my mind, for now I saw, with my own eyes, what it did to two of the greatest people I knew.  And then I learned to what the father of Boromir and Faramir had come, having been fed the lies of the Enemy by way of the Palantir of Minas Anor for so very long, and my wrath was even greater, for I had known him when we were both young, and I had ever honored him.  No longer did I think of Isildur as weak for having been taken by the Ring so swiftly.  How very strong Its will must have been, so freshly come as It was from the heat of Sauron’s hand, and so close to the seat of Its power.  And I found myself wondering if, once he realize how much enslaved he was to It, if he did not bear an even greater burden of guilt than did Frodo?”

       The statue had come to Sa’Amonri.  “What arguments did you hear in the ear of your spirit from It?” he asked.

       Aragorn shrugged and was still briefly.  Finally he spoke.  “At first, it was the promise that with It I could use Its power to reunite Gondor and Arnor and subdue forever all of those who had been their enemies--and my own.  I could somehow free the power of the Elven Rings from It’s awareness, allowing those who bore them to remain in Middle Earth to spread the bliss of the Eldar throughout the lands.  I could compel those who had ever fought and distrusted one another to work together in amity.  I could speed the day on which I would finally take to wife the only woman I had ever loved or desired, and could please her so that she would never regret her choice of me.  I could command the respect and adoration of Denethor son of Ecthelion.  I could compel the respect of all toward the Periannath, for whom I already bore love and honor, and I could bring them to Mordor to make of it a blooming garden.  Gandalf and my Adar would come to me for counsel.”

       He shook his head.  His voice grew softer.  “In the end, however, as It perceived my great hatred for It growing, It used the argument solely that I could take It from him, ease him of Its great weight, take from him the tortures of the mind and spirit It exercised in his heart.”  His face contorted in his grief as he looked at the small figure lying in the priest’s hands, then raised his face to that of the Man.  “And so It sought to plant in me also the burden of guilt, that I allowed the one I loved as a brother to continue to be torn apart by It.  But had I taken It from him, that would not have freed him from the lust for It, and would not have given him the relief It promised.  I knew that--he would hate me then, and the more because he would know I kept It from him.  And the love we bore, one for the other, would come to rivalry; and in the end would a new type of kinstrife to sweep Middle Earth.

       “The Ring proved as great a liar as Sauron himself.”  He watched as the priest handed the figure to Benai, who in turn gave it into the hands of Hasturnerini.

       The Haradri girl asked, “What does he carry in his hand?”

       Pippin smiled more freely when he understood the question.  “A book.”

       “Why does he carry a book?”

       His smile broadened into a grin.  “Because it was Frodo.  Frodo and Bilbo both.  You hardly ever saw them without a book in hand.  They were always either reading a book, or copying a book, or studying a book, or making notes on a book, or binding a book, or showing someone else a book, or giving someone a book, or writing in a book.”  He smiled across the room at the figure, then looked at the girl.  “They were both scholars, Bilbo and Frodo.  Always curious, always looking for more knowledge and understanding.  They studied history, languages, about healing, about the land itself, poetry....”  He straightened.  “That’s how Merry knew him best, other than when Frodo was into Farmer Maggot’s mushroom patch.  That’s how he wants to remember him.  Of course, Merry’s a bit of a scholar himself, I suppose.”  Hasturnerini handed the figure to Afraim’s guard, who seemed surprised to receive it.

       Isumbard looked at the Man who now examined the figure before handing it to Lord Ghants’pa’amon’s body servant.  “I’m glad he was allowed to go there, where he can meet the greatest minds among Elves, and know healing at last.  To know he’s able to see the stars so closely, to be surrounded by the beauty that would overwhelm us but be meat and drink to his soul, to know he can learn and sing and dance again....”

       “I’ve always had this imagining,” Pippin said, “that there, somehow, he might be able to meet Eärendil himself.  I know it’s not likely, as he’s limited to the island and Eärendil has to sail each night so can’t stay away from Valinor for long, but....”

       Legolas threw back his head and laughed in sheer delight, and all others had to smile in response.  “I can see it now--the great Eärendil the Mariner and the great Frodo Baggins the Hobbit together.  They would love one another, I’m certain!” he finally said, his eyes fond as he looked at the Hobbit whom he’d accompanied through Eriador.

       “Two shining souls side by side,” Pippin agreed, smiling back at him as the statue was handed to the Princess Melian, whose own face shone in delight as she touched the blossoms about the feet of the figure.

       “Elanor,” she said, raising her eyes to those of her parents.  “He carved elanor about Iorhael’s feet!  Elanor Gardner will be so happy when she sees it, to know her flower is there with her Uncle Frodo.”

       Her mother reached to draw her nearer, looked with a gentle smile at the figure in her daughter’s hands.  “Yes, she will be delighted indeed, as will her parents.”
      

The Temple of Neryet

       A few more songs were sung.  The Lady Arwen now held her son, had discretely nursed him beneath the cover of a light blanket, while the King An’Elessar had gathered his daughter into his arms, where she had fallen trustingly asleep.  Amon’osiri and Ma’osiri both sat the floor on either side of their father, leaning against his legs, doggedly doing their best to stay awake.  Nefirnerini and Hasturnerini sat where they could watch the drawing being done by Master Ruvemir and Owain.  Lady Nefiramonrani looked at her husband with a hand on the head of each of their sons, and found herself smiling.  Perhaps it was time....

       “Husband,” she said quietly, “I should like it if you would go with me tomorrow to the Lady Neryet’s temple.”

       “If you wish, light of my heart.  The Lady of Stars is worthy of all honor.”

       “Yes.  I wished to have your help in placing white blossoms on her altar....”

       He looked stunned, and his eyes widened with growing delight.  “You are certain?” he asked.  She nodded, relieved and even more elated.  “How soon?”

       An’Elessar looked her over carefully, then commented, “I should suppose in about six and a half months more.”

       “How do you know this?” demanded the newly expectant father.

       The Northern King shrugged.  “It appears to be part of the family gift of healing.”

       “Boy, or girl?” asked Pippin when he understood.

       The King gave him a severe look.  “First, that will be revealed in its own time.  Second, it’s still too early to know for certain.  Third, my beloved friend but most curious of Tooks, it is none of your business!”

       The Hobbit laughed but did not look in the least abashed.  “As I told Gandalf as we rode for Minas Tirith, I won’t be satisfied with less than the whole history of Middle Earth, the Sundering Seas, the Undying Lands, Elbereth’s stars, and Overheaven itself!”

       Nefiramonrani looked at the ladies present, including her sister.  “I would ask you all to accompany me with your children, if you will.  It is generally done to bring others with one at such times to share in the joy and the blessings.”

       Lady Lorieth looked uncertain.  “We from the Northern Lands are not of your faith....”

       “It does not matter at all--it is the general rejoicing that is important, not how you honor the Lords and Ladies of Creation.  We already know you do this.  And all the children can go to be blessed.”

       Soon after the time for this was fixed, all gave their wishes to one another for a peaceful rest, and they began to disperse for their quarters.  The King and Queen indicated they would go out and look on the stars for a time before retiring, and accompanied by Legolas and Gimli, and with Benai on guard, they went out to do so.

       After a time the Farozi, having sat for almost a mark and found himself not tired enough to take to his bed, went out into the gardens himself.  He heard the song of Queen and Elf as he came out the doors, followed by his own guard.  As had been true of the King on the first night, they stood near the Western wall, looking out over the Risen and the desert beyond, a cool breeze blowing their hair behind them.  Both Elf and Queen seemed to glimmer in the light of moon and stars as they sang, and An’Sohrabi felt the back of his neck prickle, although not, he realized in fear so much as awe.

       The song changed, and the King, who apparently held his son in his arms, joined in, his deeper tones running a marked counterpoint to that of the Elves.  Then another, still far deeper voice was added, and An’Sohrabi realized that the Dwarf had also joined the song.  Gimli sat further down along the wall, the child Melian on his lap.  The song continued, flowed and changed, grew light and then deep and firm.

       At last it was done, and the Farozi drew near at last.  He looked at them, examining them as the light permitted.  “Never have I heard such a song before,” he commented.

       “It was written by the same minstrel who wrote The Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers,” the King smiled.  “He has called it The Song of the Children of Iluvatar.  He is the first to realize that in Minas Anor we have a unique environment where Elves, Men, and Dwarves have come to work side by side in cooperation and peace; so he wrote a song to be sung by all the voices.  There is even a section to be sung by Hobbits that is a part of it, but only Pippin has ever sung it so far, and but a portion of it.”

       “And so the promise of the Ring has come true for you, but without the need for Its power,” commented the Haradri in his accented Westron.

       Gimli gave a brief nod of his head.  “Yes, so much of what It promised has come about since It was destroyed.  As if what It promised would have happened had he sought to take It!”

       “Oh, It would have begun to make it appear that the promises were kept, before It took each and turned it inside out, destroying where It had promised growth, sowing disruption behind the facade of quiet--it would not have been the quiet of peace, but of distrust,” the King answered.  He looked out on the star of Osiri and smiled.  “Dear Pippin--Eärendil and Frodo meeting one another.  I hope the Valar find a way of making it come about.”

       The Elf gave a small laugh.  “If anyone could bring it to pass, I suspect that Lord Elrond could do so--mayhaps convince his adar to come to Eressëa with him to meet this unique individual with the Light of Stars in his soul.”

       “You all seem to think of this Frodo Baggins as a blessed individual who is somehow beyond the mere mortal,” the Farozi commented.  “He is a Hobbit, and I have seen Hobbits here--how any such as they could be seen as belonging to a land more natural to Prince Legolas and the Lady Arwen here....”  He realized he could not find words to more clearly express the thought.

       An’Elessar nodded, sharing a look with the Elven Prince.  Legolas gave a solemn smile.  “Of the mortals I have met over the millennia, which I admit were relatively few until the birth of Aragorn here, few have reflected the Light of Being so clearly as to be easily discerned.  Among those few are Aragorn himself, Gimli--and it is a rare thing to find it clearly seen by Elves in the Children of Aüle, and in Frodo.  It can be seen in Sam, also, but it is a lesser Light in Sam.”

       The King shook his head.  “Frodo’s is the Light of Stars; Sam’s is the Light of Anor.  I think it more that you, as an Elf Lord, are merely more in tune with the Light of Stars.”

       “The Light of Being in Samwise Gamgee is very strong,” the Queen agreed.  “It waxes now, perhaps, as Sam continues to grow in understanding and compassion; but it has ever been there and discernible to those who would see.”

       The Elf shrugged, then turned back to the Lord of Harad.  “We of the Eldar have ever been mostly attuned to the stars; and certainly in many ways Frodo is a most Elvish Hobbit.  In any event the one who would be able to carry the Burden to Its destruction would ever be honored by us.  I rejoice, Lady,” he said, turning to Aragorn’s wife, “that you set in motion the petition for the grace to be offered him.”

       “You spoke of brothers who died,” the Farozi continued, looking to the King.

       He sighed.  “Yes,” he said finally, “it appears that my mother conceived two other sons who were lost before the time for their birth.  I had always desired brothers, growing up the only mortal child within Imladris--and having yours at hand much of the time while I matured is not the same, my lady wife.”  He smiled at her, and she looked at him indulgently.  “I so wanted brothers, and my mother expressed her own grief more than once she had not been able to give such to me.”

       “When you make friendships, they appear to be very strong.”

       An’Elessar shrugged.  “So it has proven.  As I grew, more and more did Elrohir and Elladan become as my brothers, and we speak of each other so.  Certainly we feel the strength of our relationship through Eärendil very intensely at times.  The sons of my Uncle Halbaleg, the brother to my mother, and especially the eldest of the three, Halbarad who trained as a Ranger at the same time as did I, have ever been close to me since first we met when I returned to the Dúnedain of Arnor after I came of age; and I mourned his death before the walls of Minas Tirith as we fought together in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.  Halbaleg was Steward for me among our people while I grew up, and remained so until his death.  Halbarad I named so after his father’s death; and Halladan took his brother’s place after his death in Gondor.  And so it is that Lord Hardorn’s brother is now officially the Steward of Arnor as Prince Faramir is that of Gondor.”

       “I could see the strength of his relationship with you this day as he called for you to throw up the ring you wear for him to catch with the arrow.”  Again the King laughed, and An’Sohrabi found himself joining in the laughter.

       The King finally sobered some.  “After Hardorn and I went to Rohan, I found Thengel King a kindly Man, and I warmed to him.  A determined warrior he was, and fierce in the protection of his land and people.  I watched the growing of his son, and saw how intensely he loved the child.  But Thengel matured so swiftly compared to my own people, and at last I knew the time had come to go to Gondor to serve there.

       “Ecthelion was the first among mortals I could have loved as a father, more so than my uncle, who was ever a bit stern.  And Denethor was one whom I wished had been born brother to me--at the first, at least.  Wise, discerning, a fine mind capable of deep logic, a love of lore and philosophy and languages and poetry, with as deep a love for his land and people as showed Thengel.  He was almost as devious a strategist as an Elf, and was as excellent an archer as is his son.  He was a competent swordsman, but nowhere as good as myself or his son Boromir.  It was that which, first, brought about friction between the two of us, for I ever bested him in practice, and he was competitive to a fault and could not bear being bested in anything. 

       “Then arrived the family of Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth, and all fell further apart.  Finduilas of Dol Amroth was very reminiscent in many ways of my beloved Arwen here, and I was much drawn to her, although I could not love her as I do she who is now my wife.  She found herself much drawn to both Denethor and myself, but in different ways.  I learned that many mistook our friendship for love, and that some believed that Prince Adrahil would seek to marry her to me.  The idea was laughable--no one knew for certain who I was or from whence I came.  Indeed, many accused me of being the illegitimate son of Ecthelion, ignoring the Northern bow and sword I carried when I arrived in Gondor and my varying pronunciation of Sindarin.  The only ones who realized who I might be were Ecthelion and Denethor--and even more did Denethor come to distrust me and my motives as a result.

       “I developed a friendship both with Prince Adrahil and with his son Imrahil, who was newly come to manhood at the time.  But there was never a thought on the part of any of us that I would ever be admitted to the family as the husband of one of the daughters of the house.  Denethor developed love for Finduilas and saw my friendship with her as competition for her regard.  I could not reassure him that this was untrue.

       “At last word came that increased assaults on our lands in Eriador by orcs from the Misty Mountains and incursions from Angmar had cost us my Uncle Halbaleg and many others, and Hardorn and I must return North to see to the reordering of our defenses and the establishment of a new line of command.  It was after that I went first to Rhun and then came here and met you.

       “There have been few other close relationships I have developed until the time came for me to lead Frodo to Rivendell and the quest began.  That I would come to love Frodo as a brother has taken all by surprise, including me.  But such was his nature that all who came to know him well came to love him and bind themselves to him.  Legolas and Gimli, Merry and Pippin have come to be close to me, but the quality of our friendship is different--it is friendship--intense friendship; but never have we seen the closer emotional bond I felt from the first with Frodo and which I’ve come to know also with Samwise.”  He laughed again.  “And who would imagine that such a kinship should grow between myself and the gardener of Bag End, with trustworthy, simple, rustic Samwise Gamgee?  Yet it has.  And we have learned he is anything but simple.

       “Boromir I came to admire and love, but as we saw the working of the Ring on his heart and mind I held myself somewhat back from him.  It was easier for me to come to love his brother Faramir.  Poor Théoden--too young when I was in Rohan when he was a child for us to develop a relationship; and elderly when I returned during the quest.  Young as he was, Éomer has yet ever been more a fellow to me than was his uncle.

       “And now there is Ruvemir.  As you can see, he is a gifted artist, and has a warm and compassionate heart.  It is his gift that he can come to see the faces of those he himself has not known and can give life to them through his pictures and even more so through his sculptures, large and small.  The sculptures he did of Prince Adrahil and of me as Captain Thorongil for the city of Casistir were eerily accurate.  He’d seen portraits and even a sculpture done from life of Adrahil, and had seen Imrahil personally and his sons and daughter and cousins such as Amrahil; but never had Ruvemir met me or any of my kindred.  Yet all who have been in Casistir and have seen the memorial to the assault on the harbor of Umbar who have seen me as well have recognized me in the figure of Thorongil and Thorongil in me.

       “I’d thought once I might become close to the minstrel who wrote the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers, but it has not happened--not as yet, in spite of the shared love for song we have.  I cannot say why this has failed to come to be.  He is as compassionate as is Ruvemir and certainly as gifted; but it is as if he holds himself back from me, afraid to allow himself to come too close.”

       “I see,” An’Sohrabi said.  He thought for a time.  “Amonrabi and Ma’osiri alone among our brethren did I come to be very close to, although many of the other sons of my father’s concubines as well as their sons have proven themselves intensely loyal to me.  Bherevrid did we all honor and love, and Rustovrid I’ve watched grow from childhood into a competent, watchful Man, full of integrity and wariness both.  But few friends have I had beyond that, save when I took Mertirion into my home to teach my children.”

       Aragorn straightened.  “You took Mertirion of Risenmouthe into your home?”

       “You knew him?”

       Aragorn laughed.  “His father Meriti taught me what I knew of Harad and Far Harad and trading sufficient to come here as a trader.  When I arrived Mertirion took me in hand and saw me introduced to Bhatfiri and Khafiramun.”

       The Farozi smiled.  “Obviously you and I both came to honor the family.”  He turned to look out at the desert beyond the River under the light of stars and moon.  “I often wished you had remained here in Harad, for I did come to honor you.  When Ma’osiri was killed, and later as Amon’nerini and I watched our daughter die, so often I found myself wishing that Horubi’ninarin were here, either to assist or to ease our grief if nothing could be done.  And when I suddenly found myself Farozi, a development I certainly never foresaw--I found myself wishing your counsel, for I sensed you would understand my fears and needs better than any others I’d ever known.”

       “You have done so very well by your land and people.”

       “Thank you.  It was your example that ever inspired me.  And now I find you yet in middle years while I am aged, and I see you inspiring my son as you once did my brother and myself.”

       The two rulers looked to one another, and into one another’s eyes in the dim light of the night, and for the first time An’Sohrabi recognized that the eyes spoke of the true age of the Man he faced, and the memories they shared.  And as the Lord King Aragorn An’Elessar finally bowed his good night and turned with wife and children and still silent guard to return to the quarters given to their use, he watched after and saw suddenly the hint of Light surrounding the King, as clear as the stars he delighted in so.

       As the Man disappeared back into the palace, Legolas spoke, also looking after him.  “As with Frodo, Aragorn also binds to him those who are honorable, my Lord Farozi.  And the two both share the Light of Stars.”

       “Will he one day be granted entrance to the Undying Lands?”

       The Elf shook his head.  “No.  He will live and die here in Middle Earth, and gladly go beyond the bounds of Arda when the time comes, and I shall lose him until the End of Days.  And it is unlikely I shall see Frodo again, either, for I will not seek to sail from Middle Earth until Aragorn himself is gone, although the Sea Longing is upon me and will remain with me until at last that day comes.  As a Hobbit Frodo is unlikely to live that long, even in Tol Eressëa.”

       The Dwarf, rather ostentatiously, rose and stretched.  “Well, Elf, I am off to my rest.  Will you come, or stand admiring stars all the night again?”

       “I will see you in the morning then, Gimli,” said the Elf.  He gave a bow and disappeared into the night, singing softly as he went.  Dwarf and ruler watched after him, then turned back to the house, parting as they approached the doors.

*******

       At breakfast the following morning the Farozi indicated he had his own tribute he wished taken to the Temple of Neryet.  He was to meet that morning with those sent to follow up on the other messages sent out from Thetos the night of the attempted revolt and so could not go himself; and as Ankhrabi was the expectant father he would not dream of seeking to delegate the meetings to him.

       “We would gladly take it for you,” offered Aragorn, indicating his wife and himself.

       “I would appreciate that,” the Farozi said, smiling.  “There is another thing--tomorrow early we will start for the Valley of the Sun.  Are all of your people going to accompany you there, An’Elessar?” 

       There were a number of glances exchanged by the Northerners.  “We have discussed the proposed visit a little, Lord An’Sohrabi,” Prince Faramir said quietly, “but there has been little chance to understand what all would be involved.  The Valley is one of your places of refuge and spiritual retreat, is it not so?”

       “Yes, that is so.  It is usually a place of pilgrimage, although requirements are few.  We take little in terms of servants or retinue when we go, and there is no need to bring fine clothing, as those who come, slave and freeman alike, wear the same pilgrim garments. 

       “There are times of the day when all are quiet and speak as little as necessary to do what must be done and no more.  There is no reason to attend the worship, study, or discussions offered by those who dwell there; but if you are interested you may freely attend what you will as long as you are courteous to the others who are there.  Although I will warn you that some of the discussions have been known to become--lively--especially since the fall of the Death Eater.  I will tell you this--much of what you have had to tell of the nature of that one and the one you have called Saruman would be of great interest to many there, as would much of what has been said here of the need to be vigilant that evil not take us again.  All of your party would be welcome, adults and children, Hobbits, Dwarves, Elves, and Men.

       “Husbands and wives are still free to rejoice in one another; children are free to be the children they are and are not forced to be unduly solemn or artificially well behaved.  Those who must practice with their weapons may do so during the appointed hours and in the proper places.  Music, singing, and dancing for joy or grief are encouraged; artistry of all kinds is welcome when it depicts reason for honor and love; writing and recitation of what has been written is encouraged.

       “They have the most extensive archives in the land, for the Death Eater was not able to enter the Valley to destroy them as he caused to happen elsewhere.  Many come solely to read the ancient histories of our land and the old tales.”

       “How would we come there?” asked An’Éomer.

       “It would be necessary to ride.  However, I do not keep an extensive stable here, here in the center of Thetos.  It would be better if we left from the Western Palace--which would necessitate staying there this night and the night of our return.  I would suppose you would wish to take with you your weapons chest that those accustomed to do weapons practice may do so?”  At the general indication of agreement, he continued, “You would need undergarments for up to three nights in the Valley, and such toiletries as you feel necessary.  You may carry with you the regalia for your positions for their safekeeping, but may not wear crowns or carry swords or rods of office outside our quarters while in the Valley unless you attend one of the solemn celebrations, which will not occur, to my knowledge, during our proposed visit.  You will need appropriate undergarments for the young ones, and those things which will amuse them.  You may bring any books or works of your hands you please.”

       “May we carry our pillows?” asked Master Isumbard.

       The Farozi smiled, and his son laughed aloud.  “Yes, Master Isumbard, you may bring such.”

       An’Éomer asked, “So we will need clothing for two days.  What type of clothing would be best for the ride through the desert?”

       “Loose trousers and shirt and an outer robe that is loose that covers the entire body, including the head.”

       The King advised, “For those who have their Lorien cloaks, I would suggest using those as an outer garment.”  He turned to their hosts.  “May we borrow the robes of bodyguards for Lord Benai and those taller ones who travel as our guard of honor?  It would be more meaningful to your own folk.”

       “That would be simple enough,” agreed Ankhrabi.  “Those on duty alone may carry their swords, but only while they follow their lords abroad.  To do otherwise would not be seemly.”

       “So I would have advised them.”  The two shared a smile.

       “The rest of your things seal into your personal chests for while we are gone.  Amonrabi will assign a guard to see that your quarters are not violated during our absence.”  The Farozi straightened.  “It will be good to enter the Valley of the Sun again.  I find it ever restful.”

       “One other thing,” An’Elessar added to his folk, “when we arrive all are required to bathe, women in one place and men in another.  You may wear your small clothes in the bath if you wish for the sake of modesty, although such is not necessary.”

       “It is a communal bathing room?” asked Isumbard.

       “Yes.”

       “Babari,” asked Nefirnerini, “if we stay in the Western Palace tonight, may we go swimming then?”

       “Of course, Lotus Blossom,” answered her father.  “Now, go with your Mamari and gather your things you will need, for when we return we will go aboard the barge immediately.”

*******

       The party of those going to the Temple of Neryet was a merry one.  The King, trailed by Lord Hardorn, carried his son in his arms, while the Queen carried a great sheaf of flowers, and Benai carried with him a great wreath of white blossoms as well as the King’s healer’s bag.  Melian walked with the older girls, listening as Nefirnerini and Hasturnerini chattered about what kinds of homes they hoped to have when they grew up, and how many children each hoped to have one day.  The twins walked alongside Master Ruvemir and Owain, who carried their sketch booklets with them.  Today their father walked beside the sculptor as well, asking him to tell him how it was to meet the King, and laughed to hear the details of how the rough stranger dressed in worn green leathers had come to his worksite, accompanied by one with a bow to sit, smoke, and examine the work in progress, and how annoyed but increasingly intrigued he’d been at the time.  Then Pippin had described meeting Strider the Ranger in the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree, and how terrified and thrilled he’d felt at the time, and laughter grew among that small party.  Aragorn looked across at the group and shook his head, smiling.  When Éomer added how Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had appeared to rise out of the grass of Rohan itself and had told of three days spent following Uruk-hai across the miles from Amon Hen, and how close all three came to being skewered on the ends of lances, the laughter spread.

       “What are Uruk-hai?” asked Amon’osiri.

       “The greater of the trugdels,” their father answered, his smile fading at the thought of them.

       Nefirnerini shivered.  “They chased after trugdels?  Whatever for?”

       Pippin sighed, looking across to catch the King’s eyes.  “They’d captured Merry and me, and were carrying us back to Isengard, my Lady,” he said.  “They were trying to save us.  In the end it was partly the Rohirrim and partly dumb luck and the ability to escape into Fangorn Forest unseen that saved us.  They ran all that way, and found we didn’t need saving after all--instead they found Gandalf returned while Merry and I met Treebeard.”

       “We yet chose the right path in the end,” the King added, smiling.  “When we reach the Western Palace, will you swim with me, Pippin?”

       “Will it be safe?  None of those crocodiles we saw in the marshes?”

       “None,” promised Ankhrabi.

       “What of those we saw in the delta marshes?” asked the King.

       “River wardens were sent to capture them yesterday.  They found six, two of them quite young.  They are already on their way back south to the marshes of Ba’alset.”

       “That’s good,” Pippin said.

       “It was rather enjoyable hunting them when I was here before,” Aragorn said.  “And satisfying to know they wouldn’t be killed, but taken safely where they belonged instead.”

       Isumbard looked at his cousin.  “You won’t go swimming, will you, Pippin?”

       The taller Hobbit looked on his cousin with pity.  “I can swim quite well, and you know it, Bard.”

       “It’s just so--so unnatural, is all.”

       “Just because you’ve always been a Smial Hobbit....”

       Ma’osiri, when the interchange had been translated by his father, asked, “Don’t smiling Hobbits swim?”

       Both Pippin and Isumbard roared with laughter, as did several others about the group.  Master Ruvemir had to stop still and lean on his cane as he laughed.  Even Ankhrabi was nonplused.

       At last Captain Peregrin calmed his mirth.  “I called him a Smial Hobbit, not a smiling Hobbit.  We live either in long, low houses, or in homes tunneled into the sides of hills and ridges.  Those homes that are dug into the earth we call smials.  The largest complex of smials in the entire Shire where we live is in Tookland, the Great Smial, and that’s where I live now.  I grew up mostly on a farm that the Tooks own, however; so although I live in the Great Smial now, I’ve not always been a Smial Hobbit.  And my cousin Merry is a Brandybuck who lives in Brandy Hall by the Brandywine River.  All the Brandybucks tend to learn to swim; and he and Frodo taught me how to do so when I was a very small child.”  He sighed.  “Frodo was always such a graceful swimmer as well as a dancer.  Never took any chances, especially with the River; but he never lost his love of swimming until the quest.  He didn’t resent the River after his folks drowned, but he respected it, he did.  Mostly, of course, we’d be swimming in the Water, the lake near Hobbiton, during our visits to see him and Bilbo in Bag End during the summers.  But I’ve seen him swim the across Brandywine a time or two.”

       “Sensible Hobbits don’t swim,” Isumbard sniffed.

       “Sensible Hobbits like Cousin Drogo tend to drown if they fall into rivers, too,” pointed out Pippin.

       “Primula could swim, and it didn’t help her.”

       “She bumped her head coming up under the boat and stunned herself.  Had she come up alongside it instead, she’d probably have managed to save both herself and Drogo.  It’s hard to see what might be above you when you’re surfacing in the dark, and Uncle Sara said there was no moon that night--just starlight.”

       “Well, I’ll not be swimming.”

       Pippin shook his head pityingly.  “As hot as it is, I’ll be glad to.  Haven’t been swimming since Merry and I were teaching Elanor and Frodo-lad and Rosie-lass last summer.  Oh, and Aragorn--you’ll never believe it, but Sam asked Merry to teach him at least how to float.”

       “Did he?  He’s always been eminently sensible.  Did he ask you to teach the children how to swim?”  Pippin nodded.  “He’s determined they won’t be as vulnerable as he was.”

       “Elanorelle is almost as accomplished a swimmer as Frodo was.  It was hard for Sam and Rosie to get her to stay out of the Water for the rest of the summer.”

       Again the King laughed, but gently.

       They reached the barge that served as a ferry to the temple complex West of the River, and all filed aboard, Isumbard moving as far to the center as he could get.  Soon they were across and disembarking, and the King signed to Hardorn to drop coins into the bargekeeper’s hands with words of thanks.

       The Temple of Neryet was the most graceful--and perhaps the oldest--which they’d yet seen.  “Oh,” said the Lady Éowyn, “but it is so very beautiful!”

       Nefiramonrani nodded, glad to enter its coolness.  All quieted with respect as they entered the building.  They could see that there were tables set about the room, where sat cages of white doves and banks of flowers of all sorts.  Husband and wife led the way, Ankhrabi having taken the great sheaf of white flowers his attendant had carried in his own arms, and together he and Nefiramonrani approached the central table where they bowed deeply, then set their offering on it respectfully. 

       A priestess appeared from behind the table, and looked on them serenely.  “You may set the flowers into the water,” she said quietly.

       The two smiled in return and stepped forward, then began removing stalks of flowers and greens from the sheaf and setting them into a long tank of water that ran all along the length of the back of the narrow altar.  The others watched.  Lothiriel, Éowyn, and the Lady Arwen had been advised they ought to bring flowers predominantly of blues and reds to mark they were the mothers of sons, and now the Queen of Rohan and Princess of Ithilien accepted from other attendants the bouquets they’d brought, and the three moved forward with them, uncertain as to which table they ought to approach.  The priestess saw their uncertainty, and in Westron advised them, “Over at that table you may place them.”  They inclined their heads in thanks, and moved to the indicated altar where they curtseyed deeply, then moved forward to set their offerings also into place.  Avrieth reached out to take Eldarion from his father’s arms, and he let the child go reluctantly, then took the wreath from the Farozi from Benai, and stood, waiting patiently.

       “This is not from yourself?” asked the priestess.

       “The Lord An’Sohrabi sends it in thanksgiving for the advent of another grandchild,” the King answered in Haradri.

       She smiled in appreciation for his courtesy.  “He has ever been a generous Lord,” she commented.

       He examined her.  “Then you were wife to Bhatgebamun?” he asked.

       “Yes.”  She smiled.  “You have heard the story.”

       His face had become solemn.  “Yes, I have heard it and more.  I grieve at the loss of your husband.  All appear to remember him with honor.”

       “Yes, all do.  And, having lost him, I could not think of perhaps taking another and finding myself less happy in the future.  So, I came here, and the Lady of Stars has eased my loss and given me purpose.”  She examined him.  “You are the Lord An’Elessar, and the one my husband’s babari knew as Horubi’ninarin?”

       “Yes.”

       “A Man devoted to the Stars of Neryet.  Yes, I can see that is true.”  She searched his eyes.  “Older than most you are already, and yet you will remain years yet.”  She turned to look at the Queen where she set the last of her blossoms into the trough behind the table where her offering had been made.  At last Arwen straightened, stepped back, and gave a profound curtsey, then turned to meet the eyes of her husband.  The priestess straightened as she saw the Queen’s eyes and face, her eyes widening with surprise.  “She is no mere mortal.”

       “No, she is not.  She is the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven, the granddaughter of Eärendil and Elwing, descended from kings of Men and of Elves both.”

       “Osiri’s own grandchild?” she asked, her awe deepening as Arwen approached.

       “Yes,” Arwen said gently.  “Undomiel am I, the Evenstar of my people, the sign our time in Middle Earth is now over and our folk must sail at last West or fade at the end as the Day of Man brightens.”

       “Yet you have taken as husband a mortal.”

       “He, too, is descended from Eärendil, as are the most of those from among Men who attend him, including that one,” she said, indicating where Benai stood patiently with the other guards of honor.

       “And you have sacrificed your immortality for his sake....”

       “And accepted the other form of immortality, that which is granted to your people.  I will not willingly leave his side.”

       “Yet you shall be sundered when one or the other of you goes,” the priestess said.

       “For but a short time,” the King said, his eyes on those of his wife.  “For but a short time, and then we will be together again and may enter the Presence together.”  He looked into the eyes of the priestess again and smiled softly.  “As it will be true for you, also.  He awaits you with all patience, you will find.”

       She smiled a woman’s smile this time, tears of joy filling her eyes.  “I will wait equally patiently, then, until that day comes.”  He reached forward to cover her hand with his own, and she felt an odd thrill of joy fill her, looked up into eyes where she saw the confirmation he was indeed descended from the Lord of the Star of Hope.

       Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani now stepped back from the altar where they’d worked together, each placing their flowers just so.  As they bowed deeply, the King inclined his head gracefully to the priestess, then turned to take the Farozi’s gift to the same altar, to set it there with deep respect, then stepped back to bow with the singular grace he bore.

       Other priests and priestesses had come forth, and among them the high priestess, who uttered the blessings over those who now knew they awaited the birth of a child in months to come, and to the children born already and brought before her.  Arwen had taken back her son, and Melian now stood close beside her, and all the women bent over the two of them in honor and respect and the simple pleasure all women of good will feel in the presence of children. 

       Then at last the high priestess looked up into the eyes of the Northern Queen and saw there reflected the Light of Stars--and she paused.  “You do us great honor, Lady, deigning to come to a temple of Men honoring She whom you know so much better than we do.”

       “Yet my lot is now cast among those of your kind.  But the Lady Varda has ever blessed my people.”

       “You will find, child of the evening, that she has but given you into the hands of her own for your cherishing, to prepare you for when you find your way further than she can come again for many ages of Middle Earth yet.  Then it will be you who will greet her.”

       The Queen’s face fairly shone with the glory of her solemn joy and delight.

Desert Ride

       The party distributed alms outside the temple as they left, a process Pippin and Isumbard particularly found uncomfortable.  That those who were blind, lame, or otherwise incapacitated would be expected to live by begging was simply unfathomable to those from the Shire.  Once they were again on the East side of the Risen Pippin finally spoke on it.  "Imagine if we’d forced Ferdibrand to go out and beg once we learned he’d been blinded.  He may not be able to hunt any more, but he still fishes; he can’t read to himself or write down himself what he wants written, but he can analyze what’s read to him more clearly than many who can read and write easily but never give any conscious thought to whether it’s likely to be accurate, true, false, or just a tale for entertainment’s sake; and he’s better at remembering where things are than many folks who can’t find what they laid down two minutes ago.”

       “Like you, Pippin?” asked his older cousin dryly.

       The Hobbit Captain ignored that.  “Or what if someone had insisted that because he was a mannikin Master Ruvemir couldn’t become an artist, but had to hang around the entrance to a building like that all day instead, waiting for people to feel sorry for him?”

       The sculptor’s face was uncharacteristically solemn.  “Do you truly think it doesn’t happen at times in Gondor, my Captain?  Maybe we don’t have temples where we force those who are different to beg; but so many families treat other mannikins I’ve met as if they remain children all their lives, and never take their questions or interests or even their needs seriously.  Miriel and I were extremely fortunate to be born to our parents, who never let our size become more important than our abilities or personalities.  At least here the belief someone who is crippled must therefore be helpless is openly expressed rather than hidden behind glib words and locked doors.”

       Pippin was surprised at Ruvemir’s almost bitter response.  “Does it really happen that way in Gondor sometimes?” he asked.  At the mannikin’s decisive nod he looked thoughtful.  He thought of the very few times he had heard of such children being born among Hobbits, and thought how the children were treated, and realized he rarely actually saw such children.  He decided he was going to make an effort to find out what type of lives such children experienced when he got home.

       The King commented, “In Minas Anor and throughout much of Gondor we have done our best to find means to allow those who were crippled or blinded or deafened in the battles against Sauron to continue to work afterward; as a result more children born that way and more individuals who become so as the result of accidents are beginning to receive thought and training and aid to live as normal in spite of their conditions--but it is likely we are unaware of far more who have been hidden away.”

       He looked now at his sculptor and continued, “And now that we are more aware such happens, I will begin making even more of an effort to find such children and have their families and neighbors made aware that it is no shame to have them within the family.”

       “It is the entire community that needs to be so educated, my beloved Lord,” Ruvemir commented.  Aragorn nodded thoughtfully in response.

       As they passed the market they paused while the King and Queen found desert robes fit for three of the four ladies and Hasturnerini as well as Isumbard, Ruvemir, Owain, Elfwine, and Elboron, and trail food proper to the needs of the Hobbits.

       On their return to the palace they went immediately to their rooms and gathered their personal satchels to them.  A single chest had also been readied for each group, which had been taken to the sitting room before they left for the temple.  While those who’d gone were absent Hardorn had gone through each room and seen to it their other goods were properly stowed and their chests banded in such a way he would be able to tell if they’d been gone through later; and when the porters came to carry the goods for the King’s party to the barge he and Mablung oversaw its removal, with Mablung remaining on the barge with it while Hardorn returned to the palace to await the return of the rest.  Now ready with their personal satchels over their shoulders and the robes or cloaks they would wear during the ride over their arms, all followed the Farozi’s servants down the water stairs to the barge.

       They were closely followed by Ankhrabi’s family and the Lady Ankhsarani; then Lord Rustovrid’s family and three attendants arrived with Sa’Amonri.  At last the Farozi himself came down the steps, accompanied by two of his nephews to serve as his personal guard and followed by Amonrabi to see them off.  The two brothers spoke quietly, then surprised all of the Haradrim by openly embracing one another before An’Sohrabi embarked and took his place in his great chair.  As the barge finally was untied and began on its trip upriver to the Western Palace Amonrabi watched after, the care he felt for his brother obvious on his face.

       Pippin had brought his flute tucked into his belt, and as the barge made its way began to play it, mostly marching tunes timed for those who manned the poles.  This new skill shown by the Hobbit Captain enthralled the children.  When he began to play the tune for the hymn to Neryet they’d sung the preceding night, the Haradri children laughed with pleasure, then, one after another, began to sing along, joined at the last by Lady Ankhsarani, who proved to have a pleasing voice.  Cooling drinks were offered to all, and as Pippin took a break to appreciate his own drink, Benai began to sing.  Half familiar and half alien it seemed to the Northern Dúnedain, for the words and tune were those of a song telling of the coming of the Valar to fight Morgoth, but the rhythm was that of the jungle land where Benai’s own people lived.  All watched the tall black Man with fascination, and Rustovrid’s eldest daughter felt as if, for the first time, she were truly seeing him.

       A meal had been prepared for them on their arrival at the Western Palace, which was indeed on the West bank of the River some five miles South of the city of Thetos.  All were glad for the plates of melon and cold meats and cheeses and bread, all served them on the shaded lawn between the house and the river.  Again Hardorn oversaw the removal of the chests to the cart which would carry them on the morrow, and he and Damrod and the Lady Lothiriel saw to the assignment of rooms given to their use and brought personal satchels in and distributed them appropriately.  Hildigor now remained on guard in the guest wing while the rest of the party relaxed outside.

       Elfwine accompanied his father, the King of Gondor, and the Prince of Ithilien out to the stables with Lord Ankhrabi as they looked to see what animals were available so that they could be assigned to appropriate riders.  The stable master led them into the depths of the structure which was made of carefully wrought mud bricks baked hard by the desert sun, and began to describe the strengths and special traits of each of his charges.  Ankhrabi had begun to think the child was mute, for he couldn’t think of a time he’d heard the small boy speak; but at the sight of the residents of the stable that changed.  Elfwine broke into a spate of words that appeared to be full Rohirric which his father answered in kind, when he could find a break in his son’s communication to make an answer. 

       At last An’Éomer put his hand over the small child’s mouth and spoke in Westron.  “Sa, sa, softly, my son.  You’ve said naught in the hearing of the Haradrim since our arrival, and now you won’t be still?  What is this, then?”

       “I thought they didn’t know horses, Papa.”  Ankhrabi found himself laughing in spite of himself.

       A number of ponies had been obtained over the last few days at the Farozi’s request, and now the two Northern Kings had them led out into the paddock and examined them carefully.  Elfwine was drawn to one, and reached up and patted its nose.  At first it drew away, then changed its mind and leaned down over the small boy as he spoke to it in that special singsong a good horseman seems to use naturally as he speaks to his steed.  “Papa!” the child said, turning away from the pony, through whose mane he now had his fingers threaded, “lift me up!”

       Shrugging, the King of Rohan did as his son asked, casually setting the child upon the pony’s bare back.  Quickly Ankhrabi realized that this child, as small as he was, was indeed from a culture devoted to horses, for when the pony tried to run, taken by surprise to find a weight on its back with no saddle, the child held on with delight, automatically leaning forward to hold the mane more tightly as he called out encouragement.  Somehow reassured, the pony slowed and steadied, then allowed the boy to choose the way, coming back to the adults in good time.  There was no sign that An’Éomer had experienced any concern for the safety of his son; although there’d been an expression of anxiety in the eyes of Prince Faramir, who now shook his head as if telling himself he ought to have known not to worry. 

       Proper steeds were chosen for the use of each Hobbit, Gimli, Master Ruvemir, and the Princess Melian as well as Rustovrid’s youngest daughter, while it was obvious young Elfwine had chosen his own mount and already had come to an understanding with it. 

       The Northern lords again wandered into the stable itself, looking at the horses nearest the doors.  None of the horses seemed shy at the presence of the Northerners, and particularly responded positively to the King of the Mark.  For himself he found a fiery grey. 

       “He’s temperamental, that one is,” the stablemaster commented.  “Trained to war.  His former master once served in the forces of Mordor, but has taken to raising horses now.  All of his horses are trained to bear warriors.”

       When An’Elessar translated this, An’Éomer smiled.  “Then we ought to get along well enough.”

       Legolas had found his way to the stables after them, was looking at the horses with them, and nodded.  “Yes, my lord, that is a good match for you.  He will be glad to find a warrior born and bred upon his back.”  He continued to examine other animals, and then paused at a stall holding a bay mare.  He paused and smiled.  “And I believe I’ve found one willing to bear me,” he said gently.  He walked forward and stood where he could see her more clearly.  She put her head over the low gate to the stall, pushed her nose at the Elf’s chest, and he soon had his arms about her neck, speaking softly to her, speaking her praise and winning her allegiance.  He looked to the stablemaster.  “I shall ride this one, and she’ll need no tack when you bring her out.” 

       The stablemaster looked in question at his lord, who shrugged in return.  An’Elessar explained, “When Elves ride with saddle and bridle, you will find they are more for show and to carry soft bells for the pleasure of both than for any practical purpose.  She may be surprised to find herself ridden Elf-fashion, but I assure you she will adapt quickly with Legolas on her back.”

       Ankhrabi turned to the stablemaster.  “Bring Hirvuiloth and the three with him out to the paddock.”  He then suggested to Aragorn, “Let us go out and see these brought out into the open.  They will show better there.”

       Intrigued, Aragorn agreed and they went out.  Soon the stablemaster and two grooms led out four horses, somewhat larger than the rest.  The King smiled.  “Perdui breeding,” he said.

       “Yes.  They are descended from a stud my uncle once bought.”

       “Yes, for twenty sisterces.”  He reached forward as the greatest came within reach, a dappled grey stallion.  “Grey Hawk that translates to, does it not?”

       “Yes.  My father named him, and now I know in whose honor.  We both thought of him as the proper steed for you.”

       “I am honored.”  He examined the other two, and quickly the other stallion was assigned to Benai and the two mares to Arwen and Faramir.  Faramir was caressing both mares with an expression to show he, too, was a good judge of fine horseflesh.  A lovely white mare was chosen for Queen Lothiriel, and then at an exclamation they found that the Lady Éowyn also had found her way to the presence of the horses and was examining a roan gelding with delight, stroking his head and quickly winning his affection as she fed him a date she’d brought with her.  Ankhrabi shook his head.  “It is obvious that all of your people are indeed horsemen, my Lord An’Elessar.”  He turned to watch where the small child, still on the back of the pony, rode alongside his father as his father looked at more of the denizens of the Farozi’s stables as they were let out to graze in the fenced field that glowed green alongside the river, a small line of verdant color between the river and the starkness of the desert further West.

       When they returned they found that many of those present has stripped to loincloths or small clothes and were swimming in the stone-lined pool fed from the river itself.  Arwen and Lothiriel had pulled short chemises over themselves, and lay in the shallows with their naked son and nephew held close to their chests.  Pippin had the close shirt he wore usually under his mail and his drawers on him as he swam, while Isumbard, fully clad, sat under the shade of a date palm and watched with obvious discomfort.  Aragorn and Faramir looked to one another.  A screened roofless structure, their host indicated, was where most would disrobe and hang those clothes they chose not to wear into the water.  Both nodded, disappeared into it, and came out wearing only small clothes and entered into the pool themselves.

       Benai was watching with obvious longing in his eyes when Mablung jabbed him in the ribs.  “You can’t remain on duty at all times, Man,” he said carefully.  “I’m on duty now.  Go join them.”

       Benai looked uncertainly at the King, who on being made to understand what the matter was about indicated Benai was to give over his duty, and at last with a flashing smile Benai handed his sword into Mablung’s keeping, disappeared behind the screen himself, and clad in a loincloth joined the rest.

       All went to their quarters early that night, and almost two hours before dawn were roused, took their morning meal, donned their robes or cloaks, and walked to the stables where master and grooms had been busy for the past hour and a half readying the animals.

       The saddles were different than the Northerners were accustomed to (save for Aragorn himself), but with the aid of the grooms stirrups were quickly set at the right length, and they all mounted.  Only Benai seemed totally uncertain what to do; but with the guidance of the King he was finally mounted as well, and the King himself took his reins to lead him until he became more steady in his seat.  With a single groom to drive the cart, they set off.

       By the consent of the Farozi they were all armed, that the arms chest might be lighter on the cart and not cause its wheels to bog down into the sand.  The Rohirrim particularly seemed lighthearted this morning.  Half a mark out into the desert Éomer paused his horse and laughed in sheer delight.  “This is the means to travel, friends!” he declared.  “In the half light I can almost believe I’m riding across the fields of the Mark itself.”

       “You will think differently when the sun has risen fully,” warned Aragorn.

       “Perhaps, but for now I am free and with a horse between my legs as is right and proper.  Aragorn, my brother, will you spar with me?”

       Shaking his head and laughing himself, Aragorn unsheathed Anduril, and there as the dawn brightened in the swift sunrise of the Southlands he and the King of Rohan laughed and sparred, their horses turning and sidling as the swords clashed over the two of them.

       The horse An’Éomer rode was indeed accustomed to this, but it was plain that Hirvuiloth was not fully comfortable with the exercise.  That he stayed alongside the other grey was solely due to the control kept over him by his rider.  At last a final thrust was made just as Hirvuiloth sidestepped, and two swords flew from hands and fell to the sand.  Both kings looked down on them and laughed once more, An’Éomer dismounting to retrieve the weapons and return Anduril to its lord.  “Not a war horse, that one--not like Roheryn or Harthad or Olórin.”

       “No, but a good riding horse nonetheless,” Aragorn returned, checking his blade and wiping it on his cloak before returning it to its sheath.

       The rest of the party had watched with interest, Ankhrabi watching the sidling of young Elfwine’s pony with concern.  The Lady Lothiriel, who rode nearby, smiled.  “Do not worry for the safety of my son.  First, you will note Elfhelm is just beside him--should the pony lose its head he’d have Elfwine off the pony and before him before you realized it had happened.  Second, for all that he is but three years of age, Elfwine is his father’s son and born to be Lord of the Mark one day.  Almost before he was dry from the birthing my lord husband had him out to the field where the Mearas graze, giving him to the recognition of the Lords of Horses who share our lands with us and allow our folk to ride and care for theirs.”

       She laughed.  “It is our land I now say, I who was born to the seacoasts of the South of Gondor.  Yet the Mark is now my home, also, and with the birth of my son has accepted me as its own.”

       As they rode on, those of the Rohirrim raised another song in praise of horses and wind and grass, or so the Lady Lorieth explained to the Haradrim.  An’Elessar, Hardorn, and Faramir sang along with those from Rohan.  Master Ruvemir had a small sketch booklet in his hands, capturing the turn of a head, the angle of an arm as they rode and sang.

       Master Isumbard came alongside Lord Rustovrid.  “My lord ambassador,” he began, “I see the cart has a number of cages of white doves on it.  I’ll swear one is a cage I saw at the temple of Neryet yesterday.  What is that about?”

       Rustovrid glanced at the cart, then smiled down on the Hobbit.  “Pairs of white doves are usually brought to the temple of Neryet or Annubi on the death of someone loved.  They are then taken to the Valley of the Sun by the next group going there, are brought to the temples of one or the other, and allowed to fly free in token of the release death represents.  It is believed by many that how the birds fly once they are released indicates what is happening with the soul after death--that if the birds fly West then the one who died is happy with the release and seeks judgement and the delight to come.  If they fly East back toward Thetos, then it is believed the one who is gone seeks to reassure those who remain behind that all is well with him.  If they fly North then the one who has died is believed to feel lost and confused and seeks guidance.  And if they fly South it indicates a wish he’d lived instead.”

       “Oh.”  The Hobbit thought for some time, then asked, “What if the birds fly off in different directions from one another?”

       “Then the interpretations get more complicated.”

       Both laughed.

       Finally Rustovrid said, more seriously, “There are priests who specialize in interpreting the flight of birds.  I’ve seen it done, and it has been uncanny what has been told and how accurate it has been shown to be.”

       An hour after the rising of the sun, and all were now quiet.  King, Queen, Princess, Gimli, Legolas, and Captain Peregrin all wore cloaks of silvery grey-green, fastened with silver leaves enameled green.  Benai and those Men who served as guards of honor all wore the robes of bodyguards over their mail and hauberks, while the others wore loose desert robes of various colors and loose white headcloths on the Men.

       Isumbard was examining the inner veil to be worn over the face with curiosity.  “What is this for?” he asked.

       “To cover your mouth and nose when the wind begins to blow the sand into your face,” explained Ankhrabi.  “All our Men have them as part of the headcloths.”

       Pippin was immediately interested.  “Then, they aren’t just to make your soldiers appear more intimidating.”

       “That they add to that impression is merely a side effect to their purpose, Captain Peregrin.”

       After a time of riding in silence, Ankhrabi asked, “Where did you learn to prepare duck as you did in my brother’s house, Captain Peregrin?”

       Pippin laughed.  “From my Uncle Saradoc.  When they came in with duck from the river, Uncle Sara would always prepare it.  When the regular cooks saw him coming that way, ducks in hand, they’d clear out and leave him to it.  No question in their minds the Master himself was fixing dinner for himself and his family and personal guests.  He took Merry and me with him more than once to teach us, too. 

       “He’d tried to teach Frodo, but Frodo wasn’t that interested.  Frodo was a highly competent baker--Bilbo saw to that, and his mushroom soup was to die for; and he could certainly prepare a fine meal.  But for himself he’d be almost as happy with a hasty slice of ham and cheese between bread and an apple or two.  Was usually too involved in studying or translating to be that interested in watching something simmering for any length of time.”

       “Then all your people cook?” asked Nefiramonrabi.

       The Hobbit nodded.  “We learn to cook like the Rohirrim learn to ride--it’s second nature to us.  My da, his specialty is venison.  We haven’t many deer in the Shire and usually we leave them strictly alone, for we all love them.  When the herds grow large enough they start damaging our crops or the trees, though, we must thin them down some.  That’s when Da is in his glory.  And, I hate to say this, he makes a far better venison roast than does our King there, although there’s nothing wrong with our Lord Elessar’s venison, mind you.”

       The King merely smiled down at the Hobbit.

       They were not far from the Valley of the Sun when Pippin paused his pony to take a drink from his water bottle.  As he corked it again, his face was a bit solemn.

       “Is something troubling you, Pippin?” asked the King.

       “No, Aragorn--nothing troubling me.  It’s just that the water tastes of kingsfoil.  Sam was pressing the bottle into my hands along with that roll of hithlain rope of his, insisting I might need them, as we left.  I think it’s just one of those he kept filled for Frodo is all.”

       An’Elessar nodded, his smile gentle.  “Do you have the rope in your saddlebags, then?”

       “Yes.  You know Sam--he thinks you always ought to be ready for almost anything.”

       “Yes, bless the practical Samwise Gamgee.”

       Sa’Amonri, from where he rode beside the Farozi, watched and listened.  Yes, he thought as the packed sand of the roadway turned up the ridge to the opening of the valley, they are worthy folk, all of them.

The Council of Amon

       The arrival of this party of forty-three was remarked by many, yet was absorbed into the peace of the Valley of the Sun as their horses were led into the caverns where beasts were stabled and they were brought into the house of the Farozi and shown where they must bathe.  All weapons save for those of the ones on duty were placed into the weapons chest and it was fastened closed; they left the baths and accepted the white garb of pilgrims, and they hung their other clothing and personal satchels in the tall cabinets built into each room to hold such.  Legolas and Hardorn went through the rooms assigned for their use and found what spy holes there might be, and the chief of An’Sohrabi’s guards showed where the opening to hidden passages was so that they might make themselves familiar with them.  “It is only children who use them now,” he explained.  “They make fine places to hide in the children’s games.  And, since all know of them, there is little chance any will be taken by surprise.  However, according to the tales told, at the height of the Death Eater’s rule they were used to spy on guests and enemies and brethren, and led to all sorts of murders and treacheries.”

       Legolas explored them, and after a time came forth, indicating that the floor within the passages has been purposely made to make noises when one was within them.  “Apparently the Farozi’s people have taken thought to be forewarned should someone seek to use them now,” he commented.  The guests quickly hung clothing over those spyholes identified and forgot about them.

       A light noon meal awaited them, and after all rested for a time they met in the court in the middle of the squared edifice that made up the house of the Farozi here in the Valley.  Dispatches from the Northern Kingdoms had arrived at the Palace of the Farozi the preceding day while they were at the temple of Neryet, and now Aragorn and Éomer were going through them with Faramir, Berevrion, Hildigor, and Elfhelm, speaking in quiet voices, while the rest of the party played at hounds and jackals or draughts (Hildigor’s folding board now lay between Pippin and Damrod), or worked on hand-work of some kind.  Gimli had managed to borrow Ruvemir’s hand tools and was working on a project of his own, turning a small block of alabaster into a fine box with a lid, while the sculptor was overseeing Owain, who was attempting to do a portrait piece of the Princess Melian.  The Queen had set aside her own work and was teaching the children present how to weave palm fronds into mats and how to do so using different patterns of weaving. 

       Lady Nefiramonrani and her sister were feeding the doves and making certain they had fresh water.  Isumbard looked up from where Benai was trying to teach him a game in which colored stones were scooped up, a few at a time, from depressions with the object being to force ones opponent to pick up the last stone, and watched the two women.  “When will we take the birds to free them?” he asked.

       The Farozi looked up from the game he played with his son.  “Not long before sunset.  It is too hot earlier than that to carry them across the valley.”  Isumbard nodded his head and turned his attention back to the game, wondering if he would ever understand its strategy--or even its point. 

       There was a knock at the gate, and the one on guard opened it to admit Sa’Amonri, who had not stayed within the compound, but had gone on to the temple of Amon.  “My lords and ladies,” he said with a deep bow. 

       Several of the Northerners, including, he noted, An’Elessar, had risen courteously at his entry.  All inclined their heads respectfully.  “Sa’Amonri,” responded the Farozi with pleasure.  “You have returned to us.  Do you bring us a summons?”

       “Yes, Lord An’Sohrabi.  There is to be a council after sunset, and they wish for several here to take part in it, those who participated in the downfall of the servant of Seti and those who know best his nature.  All wish to understand the better how it was our nation was enslaved and how we were freed, and what we must do to guard ourselves from being so taken again.”

       “They wish to know so soon on our arrival?”

       “Some who would attend must return to the world without tomorrow, and so the choice was made to meet tonight.”

       “Where will this council meet?”

       “In the amphitheater near the temple of Geb.”

       “Then we will come.  Will you share wine with us?”

       Platters of cold meats and cheese to be wrapped in a soft flat bread were laid at hand, along with slices of fruit and cups of a light wine.  The priest accepted a portion, and sat with them enjoying the feeling of domesticity exuded by the gathering.

       The King of Gondor once more sat among his fellows, and having finished with one message reached for another envelope, then paused, smiling.  He rose and approached the sculptor.  “A letter for you, Ruvemir,” he said.  “I believe from Ririon.”

       The small one’s face lit with pleasure as he slipped a nail under the seal and opened the cloth envelope and brought out sheets of paper.  He scanned it carefully.  “It is indeed from Ririon,” he said, looking up for a moment.  “Lanril has begun receiving lessons in carving from my adar, and wished for Ririon to let me know this, while my niece is now beginning to walk independently and can be restrained from nothing.”

       “Who is Ririon?” asked An’Sohrabi.

       “My son,” the sculptor said proudly.  “He is apprenticed to my father to learn the carving of wood, although when I return he will resume work with me for a time.  He will soon be accepted by the guild as a carver of wood, and he would wish to make it a double mastery, carving both wood and stone.”

       “His writing is very large,” noted Amon’osiri.

       The mannikin nodded.  “Yes, he must write large, for his vision is quite poor and he cannot see it otherwise.”  He read some more, then smiled widely.  “There was a meeting between members of the carvers’ guild in Lebennin hosted by my father, and Ririon prepared the meal for it.  All were rightly amazed to find that he had done this, and that the bowls from which they enjoyed the salad he’d prepared had all been carved by him as well.  All had been arguing that one whose vision is deficient would not be a good candidate for membership in the guild, and now all have thought better of the idea.”

       The King smiled with satisfaction.  “It appears, my friend, that Ririon is doing quite a fine job himself at educating the entire community.”

       Pippin conceded his defeat at Damrod’s hands and turned to face the sculptor.  “Did you have such difficulties being accepted, Ruvemir?”

       The mannikin gave a twisted smile.  “Not exactly the same way in which Ririon has.  I’d done three figures all totally independently, each progressively larger.  The last was a portrait of Master Faragil himself and was life size, and it was extraordinarily well done, if I do say so myself.  The second was that of the daughter of a neighbor, quite a lovely child, and again that was life size.  The first was of an infant lying against a cushion--quite a charming piece.  I was working on a new piece in granite, a grave effigy for a woman who’d recently died, commissioned by her husband, when the guild master came for a meeting with Master Faragil.  He was watching me work on the effigy and made the comment that it was too bad I must be limited to doing such all my life as I was obviously too small to do standing figures.  Master Faragil became quite still and gave me a sign to keep utterly silent when I wished only to rail at the Man.

       “Master Faragil was working on a figure himself at the time of Lord Denethor, who was Lord Steward then.  Quite a tall Man he was, and spare and rather ascetic looking.”

       “Yes, I know,” Pippin responded with some amusement. 

       Ruvemir looked from Hobbit to the King to Lord Faramir, then smiled.  “Yes, several of you had met him, hadn’t you?” he commented dryly.  He shook his head.  “I keep forgetting.  At any rate, at that point he interrupted the guild master and invited him to examine this work in progress.  He’d been having me assist him in the carving of it, and apparently he decided to use it as an object lesson for the Man.  After they had examined the work to date thoroughly, he asked me to leave off the effigy I was working on and do some work on the face of Lord Denethor. 

       “He then took him about the studio to look at other works there.  My three pieces were still there, scattered here and there throughout his works, and when he saw that of the infant the guild master was extraordinarily enthusiastic at how wonderfully Master Faragil had done on it, at the lightness of touch he’d exhibited in carving this so charming a piece. 

       “Neither paid the least attention to me as I went to bring in my portable scaffolding that my father had constructed for me to use, or noted as I set it up around the statue so as to reach the face comfortably.  Actually, my master was doing so, but doing so in such a quiet manner that the guild master wasn’t aware of it.  The response to the figure of the girl was on a level of that which he’d given to that of the infant; and when he reached the figure of Master Faragil himself he was absolutely lyrical.

       “‘It’s to be a gift for my daughter,’ my master indicated.

       “‘How did you manage to do the back of your head so faithfully?” the guild master asked.

       “‘Actually, it’s not my work at all, but Ruvemir’s,’ Master Faragil admitted, and I thought the guild master would twist his head off his neck in his sudden haste to turn about to look at me.  By this time I was atop my scaffolding working on the face of the figure of Lord Denethor.  It was quite gratifying to see him turn so very red with embarrassment as he realized just how one such as I could yet do a figure life size or larger.  I had to stop the work I was doing for a time to get control of my urge to laugh loud and long.”

       Aragorn sighed as he finished translating this for those who didn’t speak Westron.  “It is not right that such as you and Miriel and Ririon must ever prove your abilities to those who do not know such limitations as you do, yet this is the way of the world.  And so it is that we must ask you and those who, like you, are physically different yet nonetheless skilled, to prove, again and again, that the disabilities are near meaningless.”

       “That such as you, my Lord King, should accept our skills as they are means far more than you know; in doing so you grant our work validity.  Before she came to the capitol and met you when I was ill, Miriel held back from letting others know the work she did was done by a mannikin.  When she realized you valued her work for its own merits and not simply because of the novelty of it having been done by a mannikin, only then did she begin meeting publicly with the guild mistress and others, allowing people to know at last exactly who and what Miriel daughter of Mardil and Elienen is.”

       “I will admit my first attention was drawn to you because you are a mannikin.”

       “And, solely because of my size I brought to mind memories of the Lord Frodo and his companions.”

       The King nodded.

       “Yet is was on the basis of my work and the realization of the strength of my gift you approached me to accept your commission, not because of my size.”

       “As was the reason why those in Casistir approached you to work on the memorial there as well.”

       “Yes--they were quite shocked when I arrived to lead the work there.”  Ruvemir smiled with evident relish at the memory.

       “Well,” An’Elessar said quietly, “do not be surprised that I will ask of you from time to time to do demonstrations before others who do not realize that the master sculptor who completed the memorial to the Periannath and who did my portrait for the Hall of Kings is a mannikin.  You and Ririon, I fear, will both be asked to do such demonstrations--not for the novelty of it, but to prove that skills and gifts are given to those who are believed to be other than normal.  You challenged me yesterday to educate the entire community.  I cannot do this all in a piece, I find.”

       “I will accept doing such demonstrations for your sake, my Lord King.”

       “And I thank you for it.”

       As he turned back to his correspondence, Aragorn son of Arathorn noted with a satisfaction he kept hidden within himself the matching looks of consideration this exchange had evoked in the eyes of the priest, the Farozi, and the Farozi’s son and grandchildren.

*******

       About an hour before sunset all took part in carrying the cages of doves across the Valley to the Temple of Neryet.  They stood at the open gate to the complex and opened each cage, watching bird after bird come forth and fly away.  Most flew westward, or at least they did at first; a few headed back East; several landed in the court of the temple and looked for the grain scattered there earlier in the day.  Many as they emerged from the cages would fly in circles about members of the company, three flying three times about the King, and a great number of times about the Lady Arwen.  The King smiled as he watched this.

       The swift sunset of these Southern climes again took them by surprise.  As the last two birds were freed the Sun dipped below the horizon, and as they flew high and to the West it was as if they were flying to take refuge on Osiri's own bark, or so it seemed to the Farozi.

       A communal meal for all within the Valley of the Sun to share in if they wished was offered near the Temple of Amon, and now all joined it, accepting wooden platters of food and then sitting amongst the rest and listening to the talk.  When all had eaten and rinsed the platters and returned them to their places, the Farozi quietly indicated the time had come to go to the council.  Their party was greeted by a young priest who led them to a place at the front, in the center of the amphitheater, and indicated all should sit there.  Soon after others began entering and quite filled up the place.

       On the raised dais before the company sat a series of chairs with ranks of benches behind them, and there the chief priests and priestesses took their places, while others, including Sa’Amonri, scattered themselves throughout the assembly.

       Two young priests assisted the high priest of Amon to his place in the center of the line of chairs, then sat cross-legged on the floor before him.  When at last it appeared all who would come were there, the high priest stood slowly.  “I call upon all to rise and give honor to those who guide and bless us with the benefits we know,” he directed.  All rose, and following the lead of the King, all from the North turned to the West to offer a Standing Silence while about them they heard a babble of differing prayers and formulae offered to this one or that.  The high priest of Amon noted the simple, rather elegant reverence offered by those from Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan with a feeling of admiration, and decided quietly in himself he would encourage others to do so similarly in the future.  One might honor as many or as few as one wished with such a move without offending the ears and sensibilities of those who mostly favored another in the pantheon.

       Once all again had gone quiet and resumed their seats, the high priest addressed the official purpose of the meeting.  “Long have many who frequent this place looked forward to the day when the one we knew as the Death Eater to be cast down at the last.  That this would happen was foretold, but we were let to know that it would not be by our efforts but by the dedication of those people who had ever stood against him that at the last he should be brought down.

       “Ten years ago at the last his downfall came.  With us tonight are many from the North who saw this done, who took part in the last battles against his forces.  We have asked them to come this night to speak of it, to tell us the truth of it that we might know how it is that Sauron the Great is great no more.”

       Once more the story was told.  This time the King asked Legolas to tell it, and he translated into Haradri while Hildigor translated into Adunaic for Benai’s sake.  Legolas stepped upon the dais and turned to face the company, his fair Elven voice carrying freely throughout the space, and the King’s voice also filled the entire bowl as he translated.

       This tale, told from the point of view of the Firstborn who had ever suffered at the hands of Morgoth and Sauron, touched all.  No one spoke most of the time while Legolas rendered the tale; it seemed as if the entire company was enspelled by the voice and tale to do no more than listen and seek to understand.  He spoke of the hiding of Sauron within the wastes of Middle Earth after the defeat of Morgoth by the Valar, of the gradual choice made by him to take the place of his master, of the decision to forge the Rings of Power and the choice of Celebrimbor of Eregion to do this.  He told of the secret forging within Orodruin of the One Ring to rule the rest, and spoke the words of the rhyme of lore which described this and told the translation of the words of the Ringspell itself.

       When he told of the sending of forces from Númenor to capture Sauron and bring him before Ar-Pharazon, and Sauron’s decision to allow this to happen and his corruption of the greater part of the nobility of the Star Isle, a sigh of grief and disappointment spread throughout the audience.  He spoke of the opposition offered by Elendil the Tall and his people, of the choice to go aboard their ships and lie on the East side of the island while Ar-Pharazon prepared his great armada and sent it West to try to wrest immortality by force of arms from the Valar; of the breaking of the world, the destruction of the fleet, the sinking of the island of Westernesse, and the ships of Elendil’s folks blown Eastward to Middle Earth on the wings of the storm.

       “Most came to the coasts of what became Gondor; a few were blown northward into what became Arnor; one we now know was blown South of Harad itself to what is now Camaloa.  All carried the Dúnedain, the survivors of the Faithful from Westernesse, Men who carried yet the inheritance of the sons of Eärendil and Elwing, whom you know as Osiri and Isiri, Men who carried yet the blessings of the Valar themselves.”

       He continued with the return of Sauron to Middle Earth and power once more, the Last Alliance, the fall of Sauron and the loss of his Ring and its cost, the loss of the Ring into the River Anduin.  He then went silent for some moments, then spoke of the coming of the Istari, and then what had at last been learned of the Ring’s finding again by a creature like a Hobbit, and then its being brought out of the darkness by Bilbo Baggins.  As he continued more and more were straining to see the small ones who sat in the company, particularly as he revealed that it was by a Hobbit the Ring was borne to Its destruction at the last.

       He spared no one, merely told, almost dispassionately, what he knew had happened, explained what he knew from his own observation and experience, what had been told to him by those who were there, what had been learned by investigation and piecing together the puzzle of what had occurred.  Aragorn’s indecision as to how to proceed from Weathertop was told; the betrayal by Boromir and his repentance and death; the spell on Rohan and its king wielded by Saruman through Gríma Wormtongue; the terror of Merry and Pippin at discovering they’d been captured by Saruman’s Uruk-hai; of the madness of Denethor and his attempt to kill his already dying son.  He described the pursuit of the Ringbearer by Gollum and his capture by Frodo and Sam; the growing power of the Ring; the betrayal by Gollum.... 

       All went utterly still again as he described the journey through Mordor and the time on the slopes of Mount Doom.  When he told of the final taking of Frodo by the Ring a collective sigh of horror rose, to become one of relief when he told of the loss of the finger and the fall of Ring and Gollum.

       At last he stopped.

       “Did they survive?” demanded a woman from the left of the company. 

       Legolas looked at her.  “Yes, they did, but I yield my place now to the kinsman of the Ringbearer who knows best what happened from this point.”  He stepped decidedly down, and reluctantly Pippin took his place.  It was now the voice of a Hobbit that told the end of the thing, the saving of his cousin and his companion, the recovery and all, the gradual return to the Shire, the final abandonment of Middle Earth.  All could see the pain in his eyes, hear the grief in his voice.

       “Is he now a star as became Osiri?” a young Man asked.

       Pippin looked shocked.  “He’s gone to Tol Eressëa, yes; but my cousin remains yet a mortal.  We’ve been assured he will die there as do all mortals, at the natural end of his time.  He cannot come to Valinor itself--no further than the island which once was part of Middle Earth and now stands at the threshold of Aman proper.  But although he can’t enter the proper presence of the Valar, he can know the healing they alone can give him.  The Enemy’s Ring robbed him of almost everything in him.  He was emptied of all, and then left to fill again with rage and self-hatred and illness.  He was so emptied he even wished he could have It back again, just to have something--something to hold onto.”

       Peregrin straightened further.  “That Sauron should have presented himself to you as an equal to the Valar is incomprehensible to us.  Not, of course, that we of the Shire knew much about him except from stories we’d begun to think of as mere tales.  Well, now we know better, for his evil wrought on our land through the Black Riders and Saruman has shown us that those tales are really histories.  Sauron sent his Nazgul, the ones you call the Dark Ones, to the Shire to seek to kill us and bring Frodo and the Ring back to himself, and in doing this he dragged the Shire back into the world, to his own destruction. 

       “Elves wouldn’t accept his Ring to carry It or safeguard It because they knew firsthand what It would do to them.  Men couldn’t carry It because it was like Men of evil will Sauron had become--eager only for power over others and unable to find joy or beauty at the end.  Dwarves had shown more ability to withstand Its power, but It enhanced their disdain toward others and their greed, and they wouldn’t accept It.  But Sauron had never seen Hobbits as worthy of notice--and so he’d not thought before to overpower us, merely to destroy our land.  And so, at the end, because we were beneath his notice two of ours did what no one else could.  No, not two, but three, for in the end even Gollum was apparently one of ours, too.”

       He stepped down off the dais and sat decidedly by his cousin, taking a deep breath.

       There was a time of quiet, and then questions began.  At last the four who’d taken part in the quest were given chairs at the edge of the dais and the questions rained down on them.  Rained?  A deluge, rather!  Pippin was plainly uncomfortable, and sitting in a chair too big for his stature beside Aragorn and Gimli and Legolas allowed the rest to see just how small a being he was, and how small the one who’d carried the Ring had been as well.

       Drink was brought to them, and Pippin was clutching at his tumbler as if it were a shield warding him from the attention of the others.  But he answered the questions clearly aimed at him well enough, and was glad when others must answer instead.

       The discussion went on for well over an hour longer, and at last the high priest of Amon rose once more.

       “It is enough,” he said with authority, “for us to know what has occurred, told by those who were there to see and know.  The Death Eater is no more, and no good will come of seeking to rebuild what the gods themselves have cast down.  We were duped by him for over an age of Middle Earth.  We shall waste no more time seeking to rebuild monuments to one who was no god after all, but one who posed as such to seek to build himself up at our expense.”

       It was with considerable relief that the party of the North left the amphitheater to return to the Farozi’s house.

Questions of Succession

       “You mean that there are some who would still worship Sauron?” demanded Pippin in a near-whisper as they neared the Farozi’s house.

       “Yes,” admitted Ankhrabi with anger.

       “Whatever for?”

       The Haradri looked down into the face of the Hobbit, saw the frustration and genuine confusion there.  “How can I tell it?” he asked.

       Aragorn sighed.  “Pippin, they have known nothing else for millennia.  For well over three thousand years, Sauron has been there.  Yes, he was evil; but for those who have known no other reality, at least it was familiar.  We know they now have the possibility of knowing great good--but for those who have known only evil, that which they do not know is too oft thought to be probably much worse than what they knew before.”

       “But he’s only the memory of himself!”  The Hobbit shook his head.  “Why would they want to worship someone so evil to begin with, even?  As Sam would say, they don’t even show plain Hobbit-sense!”

       They entered into the house and followed the Farozi into the common chamber.  He sat heavily in a chair, and the others found places to sit here and there elsewhere throughout the room.  Arwen saw to the changing of her son with the assistance of Lady Avrieth while others sat looking, it seemed, either at their hands or at one another.  Ankhrabi sat by his wife on a low, backless couch, and held her to him.  The three servitors who lived permanently here and served the Farozi when he visited the Valley brought out flagons of local beer for all.  Pippin, who’d become accustomed to different ales and beers during his travels, accepted his glass distractedly.  Isumbard tasted his and grimaced, then set it beside him.

       Pippin was plainly unable to let go of the question.  He looked up into An’Sohrabi’s eyes.  “You’ve never wanted to worship Sauron, have you?”

       The Farozi’s eyes were steady on his own.  “No, Captain Peregrin, I have never wished to worship Sauron.  I will tell you I have been forced to feign worship of him, though.  Otherwise I would have been killed.”

       “Fancy him not being able to tell real worship from feigned,” the Hobbit said, shaking his head.

       Aragorn sighed.  “It appears to be a part of what he’d fallen to in the end, that he’d become so given to the need for self-worship he’d accept any from others he could get, no matter how false it might ring.  However, had he been able to see the Lord Farozi cut off from others and slain to his honor, he’d have been happy.   But then, he’d have been as glad if one of his true believers should have been slain in his honor as he’d have been at the death of one of his greatest enemies--perhaps happier.  He had no respect for those who worshipped him, only uses; for his enemies he held contempt, but also fear, which is nevertheless a form of respect.”

       “But, Aragorn, why would they want to worship him again?  If they rebuilt the temples, would it do any good for him?  I mean, he can’t get more powerful with the Ring gone, no matter how many people are killed for him?”

       Legolas answered, “You are right, Pippin--no matter how many deaths are offered him now he cannot come back.  But it would give those who offer them the illusion of power, to think they command the lives and deaths of others.”

       Pippin went quite still, thinking on that.  He then turned to the Farozi.  “I suggest, then, my Lord, that you keep close watch on those who might seek to rebuild the worship of Sauron.  If they are willing to kill others just to feel powerful, they’d want the kind of power you represent, too, and they’d threaten you as readily as they’d kill your people.”  He finished his beer, then looked at that by his cousin.

       “Would you like it, Pippin?” Isumbard asked.

       “I never dreamed I’d ever say such a thing, Bard, but, no, not really.  Just hate to see good beer go to waste.”

       “I find it bitter.”

       “It’s not the ale from the Green Dragon or the Prancing Pony, definitely.  But it’s good enough in its own right.  I think I’m going to bed.  Tonight gave me too much to think on.”

       Soon most of the others followed him.

       Aragorn went out into the court after a time to smoke his pipe and think.  Ankhrabi and his father eventually joined him.  They sat by him in silence for some moments.  Finally the Farozi said quietly, “His advice is wise.”  Aragorn didn’t speak, merely nodded his own head.  After another pause An’Sohrabi continued, “It is difficult to decide which is the more dangerous--the pursuit of true power, or the pursuit of the false feeling of power those who wish to renew the worship of the Death Eater would have.”

       At last the bearded face, the grey eyes turned to look at him.  “Is the power they seek now any different than what they’d thought to have before, my friend?”  He knocked out the spent ashes against the bench on which he sat, then rose.  “I think I will seek the wisdom of my wife.  I wish you both a good night, and careful thought.”

*******

       The Farozi awoke with the dawn to find many of his guests were already awake and about.  King and Northern guards of honor were out in the court with Master Isumbard and Lord Gimli, smoking a morning pipe and speaking softly, while the Lord An’Éomer knelt before where his son sat on a garden bench, tying the child’s sandals.  Melian had gathered more palm fronds and was trying her hand at another mat while Nefirnerini sat behind her on the bench trying to weave the Princess’s thick, dark gold hair into a single braid at the back of her head.  “If you would sit more still, my Lady,” she scolded gently.

       The smaller girl obediently straightened and tried to cooperate, and Nefirnerini started over, soon had the braid finished and tied with a bit of golden cord she’d found in her quarters.  Ma’osiri and Amon’osiri were playing idly at Jackals and Hounds.  Both smaller boys had been bathed in a basin the servant Bhatrani had found in a storeroom, and the Lady Éowyn was trying to get her son’s cooperation in getting the pilgrim’s robes over his head.  “Na!” he kept saying, pulling away.  “Na!”

       An’Sohrabi found himself laughing.  “Let him go without for a time, my Lady,” he advised in Westron.  “It will do no harm and cause no offense.”

       “If you are certain,” she said uncertainly.

       He laughed more fully.  “My sons would seek to remove even their loin garments, and none seemed to care.  It is very warm here in the daytime, yet there is plenty of shade.”

       Finally she gave a brief nod of decision and let the child go.  He took two steps and fell upon his bottom, and both she and the Farozi laughed merrily together.  He found himself looking into eyes blue as the water of the Risen under the fullness of Amon’s light, and realized she was beautiful in a manner the women of his own people were not.  She wielded a sword competently, rode easily, appreciated fine horses, and had clever hands; she cared for her son herself, was not shy.  Had he met her years earlier, he thought, he might well have sought to take her to wife himself.  It was no wonder her husband treasured her, he realized--as full a companion as any Man, but with the special softness of a woman as well.

       “What shall you do this day?” asked the Farozi of his guests at the dawn meal.

       An’Elessar smiled.  “Legolas, Pippin, and I have decided to go in search of music.  I believe that the ladies desire to go to the temple of Avreth to see the great loom that the Lady Nefiramonrani has spoken of, while most of our fellows have indicated they would visit the wrestling ground near the temple of Amon.  That such activities are encouraged here is a surprise to many.”

       Prince Faramir shook his head.  “Let my wife’s brother see to such things.  I desire to see these archives of yours, and your son has agreed to show them to me and to translate.”

       “While Owain and Isumbard and I have decided to go examine architecture and sculpture,” added Ruvemir.  “Captain Pippin, I had no idea your cousin here would have as artistic a nature as he shows.”

       “Oh, I’m no artist,” Isumbard said.  “That was ever Frodo’s realm, the works of beauty.  But he taught me to appreciate them when I see them.”  Master Ruvemir cast a glance at the older Hobbit that the Farozi could not interpret.

       In the end An’Sohrabi, followed by Ma’osiri, chose to accompany the King of Gondor, his son, Legolas, and Pippin; and they found themselves discussing music and how it differed between the realms as they walked.  They found a mixed group near the temple of Geb who were idly talking between playing snatches of melody on their various instruments, and easily joined them.  None seemed to recognize the Farozi without his cosmetics and crown, although all realized he accompanied the strangers from the North who’d seen the end of the Death Eater.  They looked at Hildigor and the one of the Farozi’s nephews who accompanied them with interest.  One looked into An’Elessar’s eyes.  “You are a lord in your land?”

       “Almost all of us in our party are lords in one way or another,” the King said evasively, “even those who stand guard.”

       “Was there a song written to memorialize the downfall of the Death Eater?” asked one of the older Men.

       “Yes,” answered Aragorn.

       “What is it like?”

       “We could sing it for you if you would care to hear it.”

       When most indicated they did desire to hear it, An’Elessar looked to the Hobbit.  “Will you play the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers, Pippin?” he asked in Westron.

       “If you wish, Strider,” the Hobbit answered solemnly.

       “That’s your name--Strider?” asked the Haradri.  Aragorn shrugged, and signed to Pippin to begin.

       The group about them began to grow as An’Elessar and Legolas sang, the voices of Man and Elf rising above the flute, weaving together in counterpoint as the tale was told in Westron, Sindarin, and now and then smatterings of Quenya and Rohirric and Adunaic.  The Farozi listened, entranced.  Never had he heard the power of song as he did now, as he seemed to see the hurry of four small beings out of a rich yet small land, as they met one, tall and mysterious, who as time went on became more and more majestic.  He seemed to see the ponderous steps of the Ents, the mighty ride of the Rhohirrim, the smaller but no less desperate and needful ride of the Grey Company....

       And through it all, the small but determined steps of the two who went on alone, who through capture, betrayal, thirst, hunger, fear, and small moments of reassurance kept on, until at last the terrible moment when the Ring finally was capable of overcoming the not-quite-indomitable will of Frodo Baggins, then the final grace of the Ring being taken and in the end destroyed.  The section of the fall of the Death Eater’s stronghold was almost overwhelming, and he could see the reflection of the awe they’d felt then in the faces of the two singers, followed by the gentle moment of grief when it was believed the two small beings who’d caused the fall were lost.  He now heard the glorious segment Pippin had sung a few evenings ago, as those two were presented to the company of the Free Peoples of the West, the triumph, the honor, the final eglerio of praise.

       Pippin did not end the music there, however, for he held the note for several moments, and slipped into the hymn to Ulmo, in token of the sailing of the Ringbearer and the Elves, the loss of so many who had symbolized wisdom, beauty, delight; the loss of so many to the sundered lands to the West.

       Neither Elf nor Man sang the hymn.  Legolas stood straight and tall; the King had bowed his head in honor and loss.  His son, who lay still in his father’s arms, looked up in wonder, reached up at last to touch the tear that slipped silently down his father’s cheek.

       All were moved, and even more so as they saw the depth of emotion reflected in the faces of the three who’d presented it.  Finally the Man looked to the Hobbit, who'd dropped the hands holding his flute at last into his lap.  “That was right and proper, I think.”  Pippin simply nodded, his face still solemn.

       “You are glad for the destruction of the Eastern Lord?” asked one young man.

       The Man who had sung the lay looked at him, his gaze deep and penetrating.  “Yes,” he finally said.  “Yes, I am glad of it, and that the towers of his might have been cast down, and the Black Gate broken and swallowed up by the Earth itself.  Long and long had he set himself as mightier than the Valar, and now at last the truth is out, and by the works of his own vanity has he been brought to nought.”

       “You bear rings yourself--do you seek power through them?”

       Aragorn looked at him, his eyebrows lifting.  “Power through my rings?  None is a ring of power.  One is my marriage token from my wife and the mother of my children.  One is the heirloom of my house for generations out of mind, the symbol only of my lineage, once given to she who is now my wife in token of our love, and returned to me on our marriage to resume its original function.  The third is my signet as lord of those given to my protection.  Each is but a symbol--none holds any power in its own right.  I do not desire the power bestowed by rings.”

       “Yet you would have had that lost by the Eastern Lord.”

       Strider shook his head.  “I was offered It and refused It.  A lie and a cheat It was for any save he who wrought It.”

       An’Sohrabi was surprised.  “It was offered you?  You did not speak of that.  By whom?  When?”

       “At the Council of Elrond, and by Frodo when he learned at last of my lineage.  I am, after all, heir to the one who was betrayed by It, who named It an heirloom of our house.”

       “And you would not touch It.”

       “Isildur died, betrayed by It when he trusted Its power to conceal him from his enemies.  Do you think I would trust It to touch It?  No.”  He turned back to the young Man, noted the fanatical look to his eyes.  “No, my son, I would never have willingly borne It.  It yet sought to capture my vanity and my soul.  But, had I taken It I would have fallen as did my ancestor.  It took even the Ringbearer at the end, and I deem my own will to withstand It would have been nowhere as great as was his.”

       “Did you kill him for the betrayal, then?” asked the young Man.

       “Kill him?  For being vulnerable to that?  Far greater than I refused to touch It, knowing that they would fall even harder than I would have done.  Lords and Ladies among Elves, the wisest of the Istari....”

       “If you did not kill him, then where is he?”

       Pippin was looking to Aragorn for understanding, and at last the King swiftly translated the interchange.  He grew white with fury, his face stern beyond telling.  The Hobbit rose to his full height and looked directly into the young Man’s face.

       “We told you and yours last night--Frodo is in Elvenhome.  I saw him sail with Gandalf and Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel and Lord Gildor and many others.  Strider here wasn’t even there!  The Ringbearer is my kinsman.  He carried that thing for seventeen years in his pocket, and on a chain about his neck, now awake, aware, and willing to betray each and all, for five more months until It took him at last just before It was destroyed.  It almost destroyed him, his joy, his delight, the delight he brought to all who knew him.  He is now on Tol Eressëa among the Elves who came to honor him.”

       “Are you glad the Eastern Lord is gone?”

       “Of course!”

       “Why?”

       Pippin again looked amazed.  Finally he answered carefully, the King translating, “Do you think Sauron cared for us, for such as you and me?  He cared for us only as long as we would worship him as being above us.  He built only that which would intimidate and threaten.  He made only that which would destroy and betray.  He ordered only death and domination.  Was Harad ever made better by the deaths of those who fought in his armies or who were killed for his glory and to replenish his strength?  I very much doubt it.”

       “Yet you honor the other gods, Neryet and Amon....”

       “Elbereth has given us light and beauty.  Manwë has taught us to rule ourselves responsibly.  Ulmo waters the earth, and Yavanna has taught us how to cultivate the earth and accept the nourishment it offers us.  What good thing has Sauron, who wasn’t even one of the Valar after all, ever given or taught us, other than to choose other than his way?”

       “He has taught us the holy fear of death!”

       All within the crowd which now listened to the debate stood shocked.  Finally the King translated that last declaration, and he now faced the young Man.  “Yes, he and his own lord taught us to fear death, to fear the Gift of Iluvatar Himself.  And you consider that a good thing?  You consider that holy?  It is death that should be holy, not the fear of it.”

       “But----”  Unable to think of how to counter that argument, the young Man with the fanatic’s eyes turned around, and the crowd opened to allow him to slip away.

       A woman at length asked, “If death ought to be seen as holy, then would you seek it willingly?”

       Aragorn sighed, and looked to his host before turning to her.  “Not all deaths are blessed, but certainly some are.  When my time comes, I will go gladly, and give thanks for its release as I give thanks for the life I was granted, its joys and its griefs, its delights and its tragedies.  But I will not seek death until it is plain the time has come.  To do otherwise is a betrayal of the gift of life, which also should be seen as holy.  The two go together, you see.”

       Sa’Amonri smiled as he stood among the onlookers, then slipped away to report the discussion to his master.  Ma’osiri stood by his grandfather, the child obviously thinking.

*******

       That anyone would think of Sauron and his works as desirable continued to flummox Peregrin Took, while it deeply disturbed his King and friend.  As they left the area where they’d hoped to share music, Aragorn commented quietly, “That any would speak openly of such things--this is not good.”

       “Well, it’s better we know such thoughts are going round than to be surprised by them later, I suppose,” Pippin suggested.

       “This is the first I’ve heard such suggestions made since the Death Eater fell,” the Farozi said as he held his grandson’s hand close, his brow furrowed with concern.  “I know many feel uncertain without that one’s thoughts ever guiding us, but to desire to see fear as holy and to use that as an excuse for resuming his empty worship----”  He shuddered.

       Aragorn turned to Legolas and spoke quietly to him in Sindarin for several minutes.  The Elf nodded and turned away, disappearing into the folk who seemed to fill the Valley.  The King looked after his friend, then turned to the Farozi.  “Perhaps we should see how the wrestling goes.”

       There was quite a crowd around the wrestling ground.  Gimli and a Haradri were wrestling, both having removed their pilgrim’s robes; and it was hard to be certain who would win the bout, which would be won when one or the other was forced out of the marked ring.  The Haradri was taller, but it was obvious that the Dwarf was heavily muscled and strong.  The two struggled mightily, and several times it appeared that Gimli would be forced out of the ring.  Finally he managed to wrap his arms around the body of his opponent and lifted him up, and physically carried him out of the ring and dropped him on the ground with a grunt of satisfaction.

       Haleth went next, and managed to last some time before he was finally forced out of the ring, at which time he bowed his respect to the Haradri who had beaten him.

       Now An’Éomer was ready to enter the Ring, and looking at his lean but muscular body none wished to take him on.  He uttered good-natured taunts in Rohirric, and at last An’Sohrabi, realizing his nephew who served as guard at that moment was eager to take on the ruler of Rohan, nodded his encouragement for the young Man to leave off his duty and go ahead.  “Lord Hildigor can serve for both of us,” he commented, at which the young Man smiled and slipped his robe over his head.

       After a quarter mark the bout still wasn’t decided, for the matching between the two of them was too well made.  Both were equally determined and equally exultant in the struggle.  There was much cheering as for a moment it appeared the Haradri would prevail; then An’Éomer finally managed to grapple his opponent, and both fell out of the ring together.  All laughed, and the two of them were pulled to their feet and their backs pounded in token of the dual victory.

       The Farozi looked at his companion.  “Will you join them?”

       The King of Gondor shook his head.  “No, I don’t think I will.  This is a young Man’s game, and I have my son in my arms.”

       Gimli looked affronted.  “Young Man, you say, my friend?  I am older than you by some years, and I was in there.”

       But An’Elessar refused to enter the ring.  “I am a swordsman, not a wrestler, my friend.  That you are gifted in both is remarkable.”

       It was here that one of the young priests who attended on the high priest of Amon found them.  “My beloved Lord Farozi, An’Elessar, An’Éomer--our master wishes to speak to you, Lord An’Sohrabi, of what shall be done at the accession of your son.”

       The Farozi smiled with satisfaction.  “It is indeed time to discuss this.”

       “Where is the Lord Ankhrabi?”

       “In the archives, I believe.”

       “Then I will send to have him summoned, my Lord.”  He looked at Captain Peregrin with some concern.  “I am not certain if this one would be appropriate to include, as it involves leadership....”

       The King of Gondor interrupted.  “He is the heir to the Thain of the Shire, and will be charged with the greater part of their defense and welfare when he follows his father in that office.  He has earned his place as a Captain in my personal Guard as well, and it is as such he has come; but as I have said before, each and all in our company save for Master Ruvemir and Owain is in one manner or another a noble or an official of the Northern lands.”

       The young priest bowed, deeply, saying, “If you will follow me, then.”

       As they headed for the temple of Amon they were looked after with interest and some awe as their identities were finally realized by those around.  The young Man with the fanatic’s eyes stepped out of the crowd and watched after them thoughtfully.

       They were brought to the priests’ residence behind the temple, and through it into a dining room where they were invited to take seats on benches about a table.  Acolytes entered with trays of fruits and vegetables and goblets and a decanter of wine.  Two priests and three priestesses entered the room and took seats, followed by the high priest of Amon and Ankhrabi and Prince Faramir, followed by Beregond, who took his place against the wall with Haleth and Hildigor.  Here in the privacy of the residence the high priest leaned on a cane.  He took a place in the chair set at one end of the table; Faramir took the remaining seat opposite, and all looked at one another, the high priest examining each member of the Northern party with grave interest.

       He smiled gently as he at last looked on An’Elessar.  “You are but little changed from what I remember so very long ago.  So it is true that you have the blood of the Elves in your veins.”

       “It was long ago; but I am indeed descended from the kings of Numenor.”

       “And this is your son?”

       “Yes.  Eldarion.”

       The priest smiled, then turned to the heir to the Farozi.  “And you will be Lord of this land soon enough, and this your son after you.  Part of why I wished to have you to come at this time is to plan for the day when you must become Farozi.  The--rites--by which your father was made Farozi, and before him his brother and his father, are no longer valid.  I asked these others so that we might learn how it is done in other lands.”  He looked to the King of Rohan.  “You have not been King long.”

       “I have been King ten years, the same length of time as the Lord King Aragorn Elessar.  Indeed, I became King earlier, although the formal ceremony waited until the day my uncle, Théoden King, was laid to rest.”

       The manners in which kings were crowned and acclaimed in Rohan and Gondor and Arnor were discussed, and then Pippin was questioned on how the Thainship was passed from generation to generation. 

       “Our people would not be content to have the crown passed from my father’s hands to mine, and then the acclamation afterwards,” objected Ankhrabi, “and the idea of the ceremony consisting primarily of the signing of documents as do the Hobbits would never be understood.  What is wrong with becoming Farozi as you did, Babari?”

       His father took a very deep breath.  “Because mine took part mostly in the red temple, under the supervision and ‘blessing’ of one of the Dark Ones.  Even if that place still stood, I would not wish you to repeat such a ceremony.”

       “What were you forced to do?”

       “I was forced to slay a Man to the glory of the Eastern Lord.  I made certain the one to be slain was indeed one guilty of much evil, one who had murdered and done much violence toward women and children; and as I slew him, in my mind I gave him to Annubi and Osiri for judgment rather than to the Death Eater.  I am not certain that the Death Eater got any good out of him--I certainly hope he did not.”

       Pippin had gone white as quietly the King had translated this.  “He made you begin your reign with an act of murder?”

       “Yes.  Do you wonder why I hated him, hated having to have my rule ratified and sponsored by him?”

       “And your brother must have hated it the more,” commented Aragorn.

       The Farozi nodded his agreement.  “Who do you think it was who taught me to choose a great criminal and to make my private invocation elsewhere?”

       The high priest sighed.  “A wise Man, An’Ma’osiri was.  But now we are left with the question of what we will do now, Lord An’Sohrabi.”

       “Why not a variation on what was done for the Farozi’s birthday?” suggested the Hobbit.

       With much discussion the priests, priestesses, Farozi, and Ankhrabi hammered out a protocol that all agreed would be acceptable to the people of the land of Harad, and An’Sohrabi stretched at last in relief.  “That is one more worry that is off my mind as I prepare for my own ending.”

       “I do not wish you to leave me, Babari.”

       “If An’Elessar can speak so confidently of the time when he will accept his death, can I do less, my son?  I am no longer young or of middle years for our kind.  Now that the Death Eater is gone, I am pleased to face that time with no fear he will benefit from it.  And I can only rejoice that I have such as you to follow me.”

       Ankhrabi took his father’s hand and held it, his face solemn.  The Farozi smiled at him, then gently pulled his son to him.

       Pippin quietly murmured to his friend and King, “That’s how my father held me after Merry was made Master of Buckland, reassuring me that it was all right.”

       Aragorn smiled sadly, then looked down into his own son’s eyes, knowing that the day would come when he would be having the same discussions with this child, then grown.

Omens and Dreams

       Before they left the priests’ quarters, the high priest of Amon spoke quietly with the King of Gondor.  “I would speak with you privately, An’Elessar--where we spoke the last time you came, at dawn.”

       “If you will,” Aragorn had returned, bowing respectfully.

       Legolas came to the Farozi’s house not long before the evening meal, ate lightly, and disappeared again after speaking quietly with Aragorn.  Gimli stood looking out the doorway for a time, then returned to the central court, lit his pipe and smoked it quietly, watching the King of Gondor intently.  Aragorn studiously ignored him, going over one of the remaining documents from the dispatch bag with Berevrion while the others, apparently busy about their own activities, watched him obliquely.  After a time he rose and went out with his wife and followed by Mablung, again in search of music.  They returned after a time, having listened some to one of the gatherings, staying on the outskirts of it.  But those in the group had felt constrained by the presence of the great King of the Northern lands and had held back, and King and Queen felt somewhat disheartened and went to their quarters early.

       Aragorn rose before dawn, and followed by a yawning Hobbit whose duty it was that morning, went out of the Farozi’s house and across the Valley until they approached the gates to the grounds of the temple of Neryet.

       Inside the court, near the pool, a simple chair had been placed, and on it the priest sat waiting, the young priest who’d summoned them yesterday sitting again at his feet.  Nearby stood Sa’Amonri, peering down into the waters of the pool, his face thoughtful.  The three looked up together as the King of Gondor, clad in white pilgrim’s robes and with the Elessar stone fastening them at the neck, entered through the gate, a small figure as guard of honor following behind him.  Three steps in Aragorn took, then stopped and waited.  At that moment the Sun lifted itself above the Eastern horizon, casting even more of a glow about the figure of the one who’d just arrived.

       The high priest started to rise, and instantly the one sitting at his feet was upon his own, supporting his master and aiding him to step forward.  “You have come in good time,” the elderly priest commented in Haradri.

       The King did not speak, gave a single nod, and continued his waiting.

       “Did your brothers come indeed at the appointed time?”

       “Yes.”  The voice was quiet.

       “And you knew them when they came?”

       “Not at first, but I came to recognize them.”

       “You are upset.”

       “Yes.”  For a time the priest let the silence stand, and at last the King continued.  “To learn that there are those in Harad who would resurrect the worship of Sauron is disturbing to us, and dangerous to the peace of your land.”

       “We know.”

       “I met yesterday one who would bring that to be if he can.”

       “Setra’amun.”

       “You know of this one with the heart of a fanatic?”

       “Yes.  What you said countered his arguments in the hearts of most who had wavered to his persuasion.”

       “Perhaps most, but not all.”

       The priest sighed.  “No, not all.  Never all.  Seti still speaks within the hearts of those who fear and those who envy and those who would seek power for its own sake.”

       The King nodded, his face remaining grave.

       “You recognized that which was worn by Merdirion.”

       “As I have recognized similar worn by Maruset and two others.”

       “That you destroyed it is good, for it cannot come to such as Setra’amun.”

       “Who knows how many more there may yet remain in Middle Earth, though?”

       The priest remained silent.

       Finally An’Elessar continued, “When he is older, I will teach Eldarion to recognize them as I was taught, and tell him also the way of disposing of them.  He is Elrond’s grandson as well as being descended from Elros Tar-Minyatar--he will probably hold even more power to counter their evil than I.”

       The priest gave a slow nod.  Finally he turned to look at the pool, then smiled.  The lilies that grew there were beginning to open in the growing light of day.  He raised his eyes to the face of the Man facing him.  “Again, three, seven, nine, and one.”

       “Yes, I see.”

       “What do these numbers signify to your people?”

       “The first thought that comes to mind is the number of the Rings of Power--Three for Elves, Seven for Dwarves, Nine for Men, One for Sauron himself.”

       “Yet such power cannot come here.”

       “So you told me before.”

       “I believe they symbolize that all has been put back in balance, and that all the peoples who received those rings rejoice this is so, and grant you the honor you deserve for your forebearance in rejecting that thing; and that the One who stands above and beyond all rejoices that you have fulfilled your promise.  The Death Eater sought to put himself in the place of the Creator in the hearts of His children, you know.”

       “Yes, I know this.”

       “The last time you came here one of the great Eagles of the Northern lands came here also.”

       “Yes.”

       “What do your people believe of them?”

       “That they are the messengers of Manwë, the greatest of the Valar, to the Children of Iluvatar, and that they signify the aid of the Creator Himself.  But they are not dumb creatures, those who live in the heights of the Misty Mountains--they are sentient and can both understand us and be understood by us.  The lesser eagles are but great and majestic birds from what we can tell, but the great Eagles are among the Children of Iluvatar.”

       The priest smiled as if gratified to learn of this.  “You have spoken with them?”

       “Yes, when they rescued Frodo and Sam.  They are often seen overhead, but seldom descend to speak with us save at greatest need.”

       A number of white doves flew from the direction of the temple of Amon and settled in the court of the temple of Neryet.  For some time the two Men remained quiet, watching as the birds found remnants of the grain scattered the preceding day.  Then, at some signal only they could see they rose into the air, circling three times again about Aragorn.  He looked up to watch them as they circled, and followed their flight northwest.  “When we came to release doves brought with us from Thetos the other day, they circled me thrice, but did not appear to wish an end to circling my beloved wife,” he commented at length.

       “She also is of Elven descent?”

       “She is, as I said, the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven.”

       “Did they circle others?”

       “Several within the company, including the Farozi and Éomer, Ankhrabi, one of his sons--I believe Ma’osiri, and even Pippin here.”

       The priest looked at the Hobbit guard with interest.  “How many times did they circle him?”

       “Twice.”

       “And Ma’Osiri?”

       “Three times the first time, twice the second.”

       “Twice often signals one of great responsibility,” the priest said thoughtfully.

       “Had Frodo come here, I wonder what the birds would have made of him?”

       The priest noted the tone in the Man’s voice.  “You grieve he has left Middle Earth?”

       “Of course.  All of us who came to know him well tended to come to love him and to bind ourselves to him.  I rejoice he was given this for his relief, but grieve I cannot have him, at least from time to time, beside me.”

       “I see.  He is one whose wisdom you respected?”

       Aragorn smiled.  “His name in both Westron and in Sindarin means Wise One.  But it is not only his wisdom I treasure, but his humor, his gentleness, his compassion, his endurance, his Light, his intelligence and curiosity--his presence.  I even miss his impatience.”

       “Considering what he came to, it is likely they should have circled him at least twice, or perhaps would, as with your wife, not have known when to have left off.”  Both now smiled and laughed briefly.  Then the priest sighed as his smile at last gave way to thoughtfulness.  “I would have you tell me your dreams for the last two nights, An’Elessar.”

       “My dreams?”

       “Yes.  The dreams of several have known some disturbance, but I would know how yours have run before I burden you with those shared with me.”

       “I cannot remember all of them.”

       “That is common.”

       The King went still, his eyes somewhat unfocussed as he looked at the hillside where he had once seen the vulture fall to the hawk, trying to bring his dreams clearly to mind.  “I dreamt myself as I was as a child, playing in the gardens of Imladris, my brothers beside me, questing through the flowers and trees in search of Imogen, my white cat, for we pretended she was a great hunting cat from the grasslands south of Harad.  I could see Anorahil’s hair, dark gold as is that of my daughter Melian, crouching ahead of me to the left, Gilgaladrion’s dark curls over to my right, and saw him looking over at me in question, for the prey lay hidden beyond the next copse--and then we were not children but Men grown, and as he peered at me from the left I could see the serious concern in Anorahil’s eyes.  We both knew that Gil-galadrion would seek to go first, offering himself as decoy to draw the creature out of hiding, but that with his wounds he was not as fast as he once had been.  This was why he would seek to go first, that we have the chance with our greater speed and skill to kill it and thus go free ourselves and save those with us who depended on our protection.

       “I saw him rise up, tall, too slender, his almost Elven beauty shining in the filtered light, saw him limp slowly and apparently unwarily into the open, saw that there were at least two wargs that lay in wait for him, knew we were unlikely to bring both down before one struck him.  Then he was a child again, pushing past Ankhrabi, causing the Farozi’s son to fall backwards and lifting up his head, offering his throat to the lions that now lay in wait to save the Haradri.”

       “These two brothers were the sons of Elrond?”

       “No--they were the brothers of imagination I often dreamt of having, the brothers I now know once my mother bore but who were lost before the proper times for their births.”

       After a time of thought, the priest gave a sigh.  “I will tell you the dream of Harpelamun here.  He saw Annubi enter the presence of Osiri, bearing gently in his hands a broken ankh, one of great worth, and he lay it in the pan of the balance.  Osiri lifted the Feather of Truth to lay it in the other pan, but another feather of its sort lay there already, but wounded, balancing already the worth of the ankh.  He then saw what he described as a great grey hawk crowned by stars standing nearby, saw that it must draw from one of the pans what lay there that Osiri might weigh the other, and he awoke with the knowledge of great loss, no matter which it should choose.”

       There was the cry of a hunting falcon from above them, and they looked up to see one of the golden falcons of Horubin plummeting apparently toward the King of Gondor, save it struck a vulture they’d not seen previously, and that fell between the two of them, almost at the King’s feet.

       The great bird’s neck was clearly broken, as was one wing, yet its eye seemed to glare at Aragorn as it lay there before at last death caused it to glaze.  The falcon circled overhead, giving its shrill hunting cry before it flew off westward where it landed where the vulture had fallen before.  A number of doves and small birds rose from the hillside and flew into the valley, circling in a cloud three times about the King before dispersing in all directions.  The younger priest and Pippin both watched the circling of the mixed flock with their mouths open in amazement.

       Slowly the King stepped sideways away from the vulture’s body, and looked up to meet the eyes of the elderly priest.  His face was white, but was also determined.  “I do not know what this may presage,” said Aragorn son of Arathorn, “but clearly death is this time to almost land in my arms, should I reach out to catch its fall.”

       Unwilling to allow himself to speak, the priest of Amon nodded mutely.

       Once Aragorn was far enough away, the falcon gave another cry, flew into the courtyard and landed upon the body of the vulture.  The falcon was about the length, from head to tail, of the King’s forearm, and the vulture was far bigger than itself; yet it fixed its talons about the broken body of the larger bird and strained upwards, managed to lift it from the ground, then bore it away westward, out into the desert and out of sight.  Two feathers now lay as mute testimony to the violent drama which had just occured.  Harpelamun reached down and reverently lifted them up, offered them to his master, who signed they were to be given to the Northerner.

       At last the priest spoke.  “You must return to your own land soon.  I would have you take with you Harpelamun here, keep him by you in your own land for a month’s time, then send him back again to me.  He is meant, I think, to learn something from you and your companions.

       “His father was one of the younger sons of An’Horubi; his mother the daughter of a cousin to Lord Afraim, a girl who’d thought once to enter the temple of Avreth but who thought better of it.

       “The folk of the Death Eater captured his father and took him to the red temple while she was yet pregnant; the mother fled here to the Valley of the Sun and gave birth to twin sons--twin sons who were yet very different from one another.  Ere they came to manhood his brother left the care of those who have ever seen to the needs of such children.  Now and then he returns to the Valley, but he will not accept correction or training, seems to desire only to question all known and believed by others.  At first the questioning was useful, for it exposed many fallacies; but now it has become, it seems, merely questioning for the sake of questioning, seeking no longer to illuminate but to simply tear at what others believe without thought to what truth there might be.”

       “Setra’amun?”

       The elderly priest did not answer; the younger one became stiff.  Sa'Amonri's expression remained considering. 

       “Will you take him?” the high priest of Amon finally asked.

       “I am not certain what I can teach him.  Our ways are far different than yours, and our perceptions of the Valar will seem laughable to him, as will his to us.”

       “It will not be in what you would seek to teach but in what you and your companions are that he will learn what it is needful he should know from you.”

       “I see,” said the King.  He looked to the young Man.  “Will you come with us then?” he asked.

       “As my master has seen it should be.”

       “He will join you ere you leave on the morrow.  One other thing,” said the high priest.  “Did the sacrifice of the star work to the good?”

       “Yes, it did.”

       “Another star has been restored to you in place of the one you gave willingly, to stand by you.”

       The King smiled, his face suddenly illuminated.  “Yes, so it has proven--Benai of Camaloa.”

       “Part of what has been sundered is now joined together again.  Reach now into the pool--reach but once; and what you draw up take and deliver to him.”

       An’Elessar gave the priest a long look, then bowed briefly.  He went to the pool and knelt down on its verge, reached into it near where the Ranger’s star he’d once offered here had disappeared.  His hand reached into the muck at the bottom, and found something; but it was not a cloak brooch he brought up, but a sword, one that was long and straight, almost that of Gondor or Arnor in design, a sword of the Dúnedain, a star set into its hilt at the crosspiece of the guard.  His face lit again, smiling.  “Yes, a fitting gift for Benai,” he said.  He rose, bowed deeply once more, turned and left. 

       Sa'Amonri bowed to the high priest, then followed after at a distance.

Healings and Betrayals

       Legolas did not return that day or during the night. 

       Early that afternoon the Lord King An’Elessar and the Lady Queen Arwen Undomiel visited the infirmary of the second royal complex, a building which had been given over to the use of the healers for the past thirty years, which proved to be the building where the stranger called Horubi’ninarin had come with his hosts during his last visit to the Valley of the Sun and where he had removed the growth from the side of An’Horubi.  Here the Lord and Lady of Gondor examined patients and offered suggestions on how many ought to be treated.  In the case of two children and one adult with fevers and infections the King spoke quietly with them, let his fingers feel deep, and in one case asked for hot water for the use of athelas so he could clean a suppurating wound, sang the invocation----

       Sa’Amonri smiled with relief as he saw several responding to the touch of King and Queen, as he saw easing of pain and easing of fear, as he saw the weeping sore finally begin to heal once the King found the fragment of wood that remained in it and removed it and saw all cleansed and laid his hand upon it.  He saw a woman who had been suffering from headaches find easing; a child whose bowels had been cramping for weeks was able to stand and straighten and smile again; a young Man who approached death and who had been in terror was soothed, the fear fled away.  Here the King again felt deep, and then the Queen did the same.  Both came back to themselves, the King looking very tired.  “I can do nothing,” he said softly once a seat was given him to sit by the youth’s bed, “nothing to halt the progress of the disease at this point.  I can offer you easing in it only, and help to continue to relieve the fear that you do not miss the Way to the Halls of Waiting in your terror.”

       “I understand, great Lord,” the young Man returned.  “I am already easier.”

       The Queen went out with the herbalist and the healer who dealt with the case as the King stayed by the youth and held his hand, spoke in a low voice, placed his other hand over the young Man’s brow, and Sa’Amonri and Sa’Harpelamun, who were among those attending on the King as he went through the place, saw a further relaxation of the young Man’s body, a further calming of his face, saw him take deeper and deeper breaths.  At last the healer returned, followed by Queen and herbalist, the last bearing a glass beaker.  At last the King removed his hands, and they could see the youth’s face, the smile he now wore--tired, but relaxed.  He looked up at the Northern Lord, reached up to grasp his hand, drew it down to kiss it and hold it to his cheek, then released it.  “I am no longer fearful.  Thank you for showing me the Way,” he said.  At last the King rose, and went to the door, turned and bowed deeply to the youth, then signed to the healer to give him the draught as he left.

       The last cases were of two children both in the grips of fevers, an infant and her three-year-old sister.  The King took the infant from the arms of her terrified mother, held it as he sang the invocation....  His face was stern with contained fury as he came back present, and he demanded steaming water and a large number of cloths for cleaning be brought immediately, asked the infant’s name, and he began to call the name, then laid it beside the small girlchild and set a hand on each.  The Queen followed suit, and she, too showed deep concentration.  They saw her eyebrows rise, then the growing anger in her, too.  She looked to the herbalist and swiftly demanded certain herbs, two of them commonly pounded to a paste and dissolved in wine to coat the stomach, others to ease spasms of the bowels, described exactly how she wished them prepared.  He nodded and hurried away, and she returned her full attention to the two children and her husband....

       The King’s head was raised, his eyes were closed, his attention fully fixed on whatever place he went through to find the two spirits he sought.  Then suddenly both bodies broke out in sweats, both urinated, their bowels relaxing.  The children’s mother was shocked and fearful. 

       The hot water arrived then, and the King suddenly came back to himself, took out athelas from his kit--he had so little left now, he noted, dropped it into the basin with his blessing, then took up one of the cloths and began cleaning the baby as swiftly and thoroughly as could be effected.  The Queen did the same for the older child as the King labored over the infant.  As they worked the Queen was silent, but the King could be heard murmuring words of calming and prayers for strength and endurance.  As each cloth was fouled it was dropped into a basket which lay nearby for the reception of dirty sheets, and as now King and Queen held the two small figures in their arms, Sa’Amonri ordered the two cots be changed completely.  Stools were brought for the Lord and Lady to sit upon, the two cots carried out and new ones brought in with clean linens, the basket changed as the cloths dropped had less and less matter on them as they were finished with, and finally, both bodies cleaned, they were placed carefully onto the clean cots, and they were wrapped with fresh blankets.  When the herbalist came with the two draughts, the King asked for a small leather funnel, and gently administered a portion of the draught to the infant, a very small amount at a time, asking the mother to hold the child as he did so.  The queen asked for a smaller tumbler, and holding the girl in the crook of one arm did similarly with her, feeding the girl a measure of the drink, then after a time of simply holding her gave her another measure, until she’d been given half of what the herbalist had brought for her.

       Now the King had both again laid together on the same cot, and again laid his hands over their brows, went back distant and called their names, brought them back to themselves, saw each come briefly awake and look up at him with trust as he smiled down on them.  He spoke quiet words, eased each into a healing sleep.  Then he exposed their bellies and laid his hands there.

       Finally he pulled away, having done all he could at this time.  He looked to the mother.  “You will need to come away to another room where they cannot hear,” he said.  He rose heavily, and it was obvious he was near exhaustion himself.  They went into what had once been the dining room and he sat heavily.  The Queen spoke to the herbalist and asked for a draught of certain herbs in wine to be made up for the King, and she stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders.  For a time he was silent, his hands on his knees, his eyes shut.  Finally he opened his eyes and fixed them on the children’s mother, began to ask his question.

       When he was done, the healer’s face was a mix of fury and understanding, and Sa’Amonri looked on the King with increased respect.  The mother was still confused at what was wrong and what had been revealed through her testimony.  The herbalist came with the draught the Queen had requested, and the King accepted it into his hand, automatically smelled it first and examined its color and clarity, then smiled his thanks before taking a sip from it, grimacing at the taste.  Finally he looked at the woman.  “Your children were poisoned.  It is a slow poison that must be given daily over time, and it builds up in the bodies, damages the bowels and stomach, causes bleeding.  I believe that they will now recover, but there are certain foods they must not be given in the future, not for a very long time and perhaps never.  And your mother will be arrested for the poisoning.”

       The woman looked stricken, but slowly the shock was replaced by fury as she realized how her mother had decided to remove the children and the husband she’d never wanted her daughter to marry from her household.  She’d managed, apparently, to get rid of the unwanted son-in-law, now was slowly killing the grandchildren.  That her daughter might take them to the Valley of the Sun to pray for healing she’d not foreseen; that her part in the disappearance of the husband and the illness of the children would be brought out she’d simply not imagined.

       Sa’Amonri looked at the King.  “I will advise the Farozi and oversee the questioning of the woman, find out what happened to the father of these two girls.  Even if he abused his wife, it is not up to the wife’s mother to take justice into her own hands.”

       “But he never abused me!”

       The Queen reached out her hands to the young mother, drew her close, spoke softly to her, eased her fury and her confusion, finally let her go.  Still weeping at the betrayal of her happiness at the hands of her own mother, the woman returned to the room where her daughters lay, vowing to never seek to hold them so close that she would betray them as had happened with her.  Relieved of their pain and their fever finally fled, both smiled up at her, and lay against her as they slept and their strength began to return.

*******

       Afterwards King and Queen went back to the house of the Farozi where the King went to his chamber and slept, the Queen sitting beside him, her hand on his shoulder as he rested.  He ate lightly that evening, went out with many of the party to a place near the gate to the courtyard of the temple of Neryet, and began his own circle of music and song.  Others of those who were within the Valley now began to gather to the place, heard the singing, watched as Isumbard Took danced the Husbandman’s Dance, watched as Benai danced a dance of his people.  Music of Harad was now played, music in which Ankhsarani joined playing a zithern kept here in the house of the Farozi within the Valley of the Sun, music to which Ankhrabi and Rustovrid sang and Nefiramonrani and the daughters of Ghansaret danced, music of joy and life and fulfillment.

       The high priest of Amon sat on the chair set for him, his hand on the head of Sa’Harpelamun as he knelt by his master’s side.  The high priestess of Neryet stood beside him, smiling also as she saw Ankhsarani smile once more, saw the joy between Nefiramonrani and her husband, the looks the oldest daughter of Rustovrid and Ghansaret gave to Benai and his response. 

       Others now joined in the circle the King and Queen had begun, and more music was shared--drinking songs from Gondor, riding songs from Rohan, courting songs from Arnor, walking songs from the Shire.  Hymns to Elbereth were sung in Sindarin and Quenya; to Neryet in Haradri.  The song Sam had admitted he’d sung when his search for Frodo within the tower of Cirith Ungol seemed fruitless was sung by Pippin.  And the song Frodo had written after the fall of Gandalf was sung by Pippin and Aragorn son of Arathorn.

       Smiles were given, respect shown, laughter shared.  And at last the Farozi’s party rose, gave the others a good night, and returned to sleep in preparation for the morning’s return to Thetos.  The high priest of Amon rose stiffly, accepting the aid of the hand of the priestess of Neryet.  “They are all good ones, blessed by the gods and beloved of the Creator,” the priestess said quietly.  “Middle Earth is better for the rule and service offered by each of them.”

       Looking after them the priest nodded his agreement, but the peace of his soul was troubled, foreseeing troubles on the return to the outer world.

*******

       Before they went to their beds, the King unfastened the chest of weapons.  “Those of you who have mail, you will see it ready for the morning,” he said.  “It shall be worn hidden under the desert robes.”

       The others withdrew a bit and talked, and soon Berevrion, Haleth, and Pippin returned.

       Berevrion held out his mail.  “Let the Farozi wear my mail.”

       Haleth held out his.  “I wish Lord Ankhrabi to wear mine--we are much of a size.”

       Pippin asked, “Which was born first, Amon’osiri or Ma’osiri?”

       Aragorn looked at his white, set face.  “Why?”

       “He should wear mine.  I only wish I had two sets, one for each.”  He raised his chin.  “I doubt anyone will seek to hurt me, for they won’t recognize the threat I might pose.  But the secondary heir to the Farozi....”

       The King held out his arms, drew all three to him, held them to his breast.

*******

       They rose an hour before dawn and went to the stables where Sa’Harpelamun awaited them.  The horse Legolas had ridden was not there, and those who cared for the animals would say only that he’d taken it out the day before, along with quantities of food for it over his back.  Quietly Gimli had gathered the Elf’s personal satchel and put it over his shoulder and carried it with his own.  Now he looked again at Aragorn, but kept quiet.  As they started to mount the King stood by him to assist him if necessary, laid his hand on the Dwarf’s shoulder, murmured quietly to him.  The Dwarf nodded quietly, then turned to Ankhrabi.  “I would like to take Amon’osiri before me on my pony,” he said.  “I find I miss my friend, and perhaps he can lighten my concern.”

       The boy seemed surprised, but agreed, and Ankhrabi seemed relieved in some manner, which surprised his wife.

       “Where is Prince Legolas?” asked Lady Ankhsarani.

       “He’s gone to scout the trail for us,” the King said quietly.

       No one else asked anything.  At last they were mounted, and with the Dwarf leading Amon’osiri’s pony they set off.

       The women and children and the priest were placed in the center of the circle, and those who carried weapons had them ready.  Bows were already strung, and each one skilled with them had an arrow ready, concealed inside their robes.  Careful watch was kept around them as they rode throughout the ride.

       They were about an hour out of the Valley when the King saw the signal he’d watched for, and he slowed the pace.  Quietly he passed the word, “Legolas signs there is an ambush ahead.”  The Farozi was now instructed to ride inside the ring of warriors. 

       Aragorn addressed the Farozi and Ankhrabi, “Is there any way other than the track we can go to outflank the ambush?”

       Ankhrabi shook his head.  “There is a pair of rocky outcrops ahead between which the road goes; beyond it the sand has ever been soft and treacherous.  That is why the road goes between them, for it is the one way where we can count on firm sand beneath us and not have to worry for falls and slips and the sliding away of the dunes below us.”

       Sa’Harpelamun indicated his agreement.  “The folk of the Death Eater tried several times to change the route--perhaps so that they might more easily come upon the Valley undetected; the desert always covered their proposed paths quickly.”

       “Perfect for an ambush,” growled Rustovrid.  He thought.  “If I can get alongside them on one side....  Which side is Prince Legolas watching them from?”

       “He was on the North side of the way when I saw his signal,” Aragorn said.

       “I know the land enough to get around them to the South.  I’ll leave my horse here.  A Man on foot can get through where one on horseback will founder.”

       “Shall I go with you?” asked Hildigor.

       “You know how to slip through forests undetected I know; but are you accustomed to walking on shifting sand?”

       “No, I am not.”

       “Then you’d best stay where you are, then.  Keep your bow ready.”  Rustovrid slipped off his horse, let its reins hang, and slipped among the dunes to the South of the way, followed by one of the Farozi’s nephews.  His wife watched with concern.

       The party slowed as they approached the outcrops, and the King made a point of slipping off his horse to check its shoe, as if it had begun to go lame.  Others crowded around him as if all were concerned with the condition of the horse as well, and he murmured his orders.  “Women and children are to remain in the center of the circle.  Have bows ready, swords ready to draw.  Lord Farozi, stay in my shadow; Prince Ankhrabi, remain in Faramir’s.  You are the most obvious targets.  The rest, mill sufficiently they can’t tell necessarily that we are not our full number.”

       Ruvemir and Owain shared glances, knowing they'd do best to remain back and out of the way of those who knew how to fight.  Faramir smiled his approval as he saw them take positions on either side of Ankhrabi's wife and her sister.

       All nodded and remounted.  Last the King gave the hoof of his mount a pat and resumed his place in the saddle of the horse, and slowly led the way forward.  He’d slipped his bow off his shoulder as he’d gotten off the horse and now turned as if saying something to the rest, actually scanning to see if he could see any of those who were lying in wait, wishing he had an idea of how many there might be.

       Berevrion had pulled ahead on his right, while Haleth was ahead and to the left, and he realized they were in the configuration of his confused dream----

       He slowed as if leaning over his horse and drew out the arrow he carried within his robes, saw that Hildigor was doing the same.  Some way behind him Éomer was drawing his horse bow, calling out that he saw a vulture overhead, and would Aragorn like to compete with him as to which could hit it with his arrow.  Glad of the excuse, Aragorn translated the question aloud in Haradri, and several laughed.  The two of them now raised their bows as if aiming at the bird circling overhead on the thermals, but both were looking for other targets.  A movement left, and another to the right----

       Aragorn took the one to the left, while Éomer took the one to the right, and both Hildigor and Berevrion had their arrows in the air but a half-instant after.  Faramir suddenly took his own aim, half behind them.  But suddenly one stood atop the outcropping to the right of them and his arrow fell amidst them, striking Ankhrabi where neck met shoulder, and he fell.  Suddenly Ma’osiri was riding forward between his father and the one on the outcrop, calling out, “Not my Babari!”--and another arrow caught him--in the throat.

       Mablung’s arrow took the one on the outcrop, while an arrow aimed at Aragorn from behind bounced back from his mail.  A cry, and the one who’d fired that arrow fell forward down the slope, one of Legolas’s arrows in his shoulder.  The one who’d shot Ma’osiri fell over from before them on the left, clutching as his side where Rustovrid’s sword had taken him.

       Benai was off his horse, his sword from the pool in his hand, and he was between the Farozi’s party and the ones running down the slope, swiftly overpowering those attacking them from northwest of their position.

       Meanwhile the King was off his horse and kneeling over the child.  Briefly the boy’s eyes opened to look into his own.  He mouthed, “Save my baba,” and his body relaxed, his head falling back. 

       Arwen was by his side, took the child out of his hands, pushed him toward Ankhrabi, and he was now kneeling there by the body of the fallen Haradri Prince, checking the position of the arrow, seeking to see whether he could do any good.  Ankhrabi was in shock, but still alive, although the bleeding was heavy, although probably much of it was going into his lungs.  They were Haradri darts, shorter than those of Rohan, had no barbs to the points.  Grateful for some mercies, he drew it out while packing a roll from the hem of his robe into it.  There was fighting going on around them, but he paid it no mind.  Then a shadow fell over them, and he looked up as one of the great Eagles landed alongside the Farozi’s party.  Arwen, the child in her arms, was approaching it, and then she was being helped by Benai onto its back, the child’s body laid in her arms, and it rose up into the air, flying back to the West and the Valley of the Sun.  The King had barely time or attention to note these details before he was being drawn back to the one before him, before he began the singing of the Invocation, letting his fingers feel deep....  “Oh, Ankhrabi,” he murmured, “don’t allow your son’s sacrifice go for nought!”

       Benai was there with his healer’s bag, the knot already undone and the flap back when he came to himself.  Hildigor was pulling out bandaging material, cutting off a small amount to pack into the wound in place of the robe material the King had used first.  He now kept the pressure on the wound as the King leapt into Hirvuiloth’s saddle, and handed Ankhrabi’s body into his arms.  Once again the King put his own fingers over the bandaging material, turned his horse, and with Mablung right behind him rode at speed back to the Valley.

       Pippin brought out Sam’s rope from within his pack, and soon the survivors from the ambush were bound and prepared for a march on foot back to the Valley in the midst of the Farozi’s party.  The bodies of those who’d been killed by Legolas and the archers among the guards were loaded onto the cart, as was the one Rustovrid had injured.  Then the rest turned about and set out on their return.

       Just outside the Valley the King was met by a party sent by the high priest of Amon with a litter and blankets.  Aragorn handed down the body of Ankhrabi once he knew one of those taking him was able to continue the pressure, then he slipped from the saddle himself, was again taking responsibility for the pressure.  He was reminded as they hurried as quickly but with as little jouncing as they could manage of the time he’d done similarly with the body of Frodo as they hurried through the Vale of Imladris to the House of Elrond.

*******

       Three hours he and Sa’Amonri, who had remained within the Valley and was now there to meet him, labored together over Ankhrabi, getting the bleeding stopped, sucking out as much of the blood as possible out of the upper lung, coaxing him to breathe normally again.  The steaming water was brought to him, and he cast into it one of the last two leaves of athelas left to him.  He didn’t notice when Benai came and took the other.  The room again smelled of clean air and the scent of the River, and he at last leaned over Ankhrabi, who was placed half sitting up now against cushions, and called to him.  At last the wounded Man woke, his eyes confused but trusting, smiled, accepted a drink of broth, and slipped into sleep.  The King let his fingers feel deep, felt at last the damaged tissue begin to knit, the last of the seeping from the smallest vessels finally stopped, felt the rhythm of heart and lungs ease and calm, begin returning to normal.

       At last the King rose, straightened, began to reel.  A stool was set behind him, and he was being coaxed to lean forward with his head between his knees and to take deep breaths.  Then Pippin was putting a cup into his hands and insisting he drink it.

       Sa’Amonri examined Ankhrabi, and said quietly, “He is well enough for now, Lord An’Elessar.  Go out now and speak to the Farozi.  You can give over fear for this one, at least for the moment.”

       He slowly walked out into the other room, Mablung by his elbow.  Éomer came forward to his side, his eyes concerned, took his wrist.  “You look worn, my brother.”

       “I feel worn.  In the last ten years my stamina has decreased, I fear.”

       “It doesn’t help, probably, that you yourself appear to be wounded.”

       Aragorn was surprised, for he’d not felt anything since the one arrow had rebounded from his back.  But a check showed a broken shaft in his upper left thigh.  Now he was being led into a side room, and Sa’Amonri, Hildigor, and Faramir were making him lie down on his side, Éomer giving him his hand to hold, Sa’Amonri giving him a strap on which to bite as the leg of his trousers was being cut away.

       “If it gets too much to bear, my brother,” the King of Rohan was telling him, “squeeze my hand.”

       Faramir smiled down on him from beside his brother-in-law.  “And mine,” he said, taking Aragorn’s other hand.  There was no real time to say much, as the dart was being pulled out and packing placed against the wound.  He clutched desperately at their hands, then passed out.

*******

       He woke to look up at Éowyn, who was feeling his pulse.  He could feel the pressure in the bandage wound around his thigh, realizing with some relief it was not too tight.  Realizing he’d awakened, she smiled at him, then called over her shoulder, “He’s back with us.”

       Hildigor was standing, looking down on him, the concern in his eyes lifting as he realized his cousin’s own eyes were clear.  Behind him was the Farozi, whose own face looked much older than it had looked when they’d left the Valley.  His expression also began to relax.  “I am so glad,” he said softly.  “I’d thought at first that it had gone badly with my son.”

       “He was doing well when I left him.  I never realized I myself was wounded.”

       Sa’Amonri was on his other side now, his hand against the pulse in the King’s neck.  “You rode for half a mark, apparently, at top speed with Lord Ankhrabi in your arms, keeping the pressure on his wound, keeping him alive, with that dart in your thigh; and then spent three marks more standing on it while you and I fought for his life.  You do not appear to have lost much blood, but in time your body was bound to let you know of the insult to it.  I am amazed that you did not pass out the sooner.”

       “The last time I did something similar was when we were trying to remove the splinter of the Morgul knife from Frodo’s shoulder.  We almost lost him, for he was too weak from the long journey; then Adar caught at me and had Elladan, I think, carry me to my bed.  I’d barely slept for the full two weeks since his wounding.”

       “We flushed the wound,” Éowyn told him, “then had to use two stitches to close it.”

       “What did you flush it with?”

       “Boiled water cooled to warm to the wrist in which sea salt was dissolved, forced from a leather dropper.”

       “That should be well enough,” Aragorn said thoughtfully.  He turned to Sa’Amonri.  “Does the Prince still do well?”

       The priest nodded.  “Yes.  He has awakened once more, accepted more of the broth, and we are preparing liver for him to eat to help build the blood.  He sleeps again.”

       “How long have I slept?”

       “Two marks.”

       “Amon’osiri--how is he?”

       “It has been a shock to his spirit, seeing such violence done to his father and his brother.  He sits now with his father and holds his hand.”

       “Nefirnerini?”

       “She also is with her father.  She was standing behind her brother, her hands on his shoulders, when I left them a few moments ago.”

       “And Nefiramonrabi?”

       “She sits with her son.”

       The King closed his eyes briefly with remembered grief that was now flooding back into him.  “He looked up at me, couldn’t speak.  But he let me know he wished me to care for his father.”

       The Farozi nodded.  “I was right behind you then, saw your wife take him from you.  I know he wished you to care for his father.  He realized the wound was mortal, I think.”

       “Where is Arwen?”

       “With my grandson and his mother.  They have not yet allowed me to go to him.”

       “The Eagle bore them here?”

       “Yes.  Never have I seen such ever, my Lord An’Elessar.”

       “We tried to protect him.  Pippin gave him his mail to wear.”

       “Yes, he had it upon him.  But it could not protect his throat.”

       Aragorn realized he was weeping.  An’Sohrabi took his hand, was also weeping.  Faramir was once again there by him, had his hand on his shoulder while Éowyn brought a cloth for him to blow his nose upon, then a dampened piece of linen to cleanse his face.

       Finally he calmed, and he asked, “How many were there?”

       “Twelve Men.  Three left out of here from the Valley, and the other nine joined them in the desert, apparently.  From what we could tell, they were from Asual, some ten miles south of Thetos.  They were supposed to come to the Valley of the Sun just after the expected triumph in Thetos, were to enter and occupy it.  Instead, they set out and were overtaken by three who were to have taken control of Asual with the word that the revolt had failed. 

       “The one called Setra’amun apparently was intended to raise a revolt here in the Valley which those from Asual would have joined; but he found he could not find any here who would follow him.  When two who arrived here the day before us gave news of the trial and death of Mertirion, he refused to believe you had destroyed his Ring, was certain you’d taken it to take its power for your own.  He decided to set the ambush, kill you, me, Ankhrabi.  He decided only a fully new Farozi could heal Harad of the evil which he believed has infected it since the end of the Death Eater.”

       “Is he yet alive?”

       “Yes.  He and the other seven who survived are held in the caverns where the horses are stabled.  We have a few secure chambers there.”

       Faramir added, “Gimli, Legolas, and Damrod are among the guard there.”

       The King looked about and was counting.  Finally he looked to his steward and asked, “Lord Benai?”

       “He attends on the Queen.”

       “Good.  Lord Rustovrid?”

       “He has gone on to Thetos with one of Lord An’Sohrabi’s guards to let Lord Amonrabi and Lord Afraim know what has occurred.  His wife and daughters returned here with us.”

       “Was anyone else injured?”

       “No, great Lord.”

       Benai came out of a nearby room.  “Great Lord, you are now awake?”  At the King’s acknowledgment of the question he continued, “Your Lady would wish you to come to her, if you can.  I will assist you as I may.  I saw the dart take you as you leaned over the Prince, and I leaned over to break it that it not be in your way, for I saw it was not serious, and I feared to pull it out lest the point cause damage.  It was told me when I came out before you had lost consciousness when it was drawn.”

       “I will come, if I can stand,” Aragorn said.  Sa’Amonri started to protest, then thought better of it.  Aragorn was assisted to rise, and a cane was given into his hands.  He realized it belonged to the high priest himself.  He thanked the young priest who had seemed to materialize beside him to give this to him, and he limped to the doorway through which Benai had come, entered the room.

       The high priest of Amon and one he recognized from the conference in the priests’ quarters as the priest of Annubi and the priestess of Neryet were in the room already, the high priest of Amon sitting on a high stool with Sa’Harpelamun behind him.  Nefiramonrabi sat on the other side near the child’s head where his body lay; Arwen bent over his chest.  She looked up as he entered, met his eyes, her own grave yet not unduly disturbed.  “Estel,” she said quietly, “if you would assist me with the calling, for he has slipped away yet again....”

       He did not remember later how he came to be by the child’s side, only was aware that his left hand lay on the boy’s chest while his right was on the temple, that the room was filled with the scent of the athelas, which smelled like the perfume of Nefiramonrabi and the cosmetics worn by the Farozi when he must appear in public in his official function, that Arwen’s right hand lay over his; and they were calling, seeking to draw the child back....

       A cloth which had been placed in the cooled water in which the athelas had steeped was placed in his right hand, and he was bathing the child’s temple and brow, then his chest.  Pippin’s mail lay on a nearby table, covered with the child’s blood.  Then he was letting his fingers feel deep, letting his attention seek the way to the Gates in pursuit of a small boy.

       Two shining figures were there looking down, amused apparently, as the boy’s spirit faced them, demanding he be weighed in place of his father.  One looked up as he saw Aragorn approach, placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, turned him about, gave him a push between the shoulder blades....

       And then the King was back inside his body, his eyes opening, looking down on the boy’s eyes as at last they opened, confused and still somewhat defiant, looked up and saw his own, then turned and saw those of his mother, and the child smiled.  And at his shoulder the King felt one of the Shining Ones murmuring in the ear of his spirit, “He is a spirited child, my son.”  Then he felt the withdrawal.

*******

       An’Sohrabi rose when the door opened again to the room where the King had gone, his pale face waiting word.  King and Queen came out together, both also pale and worn with tiredness, both calm.  “You may go in to be with him now,” the King said with a gentle smile.  “I must seek a bed.”

       Benai stood by King and Queen.  Sa’Amonri gave a quiet word to a healer priest, and the rulers of Gondor were led to an empty room where two cots had been pushed side by side.  Benai and Lady Avrieth helped King and Queen out of their clothing, helped unlace the mail and slip it over the King’s head.  Finally, King stripped to small clothes and the silk shirt he wore under his mail and the bandage about his thigh, Queen to her shift, they were coaxed onto the cots, and a single large blanket laid over the two of them, and they held one another and slipped together into sleep as the doors closed and left them alone together.

       An’Sohrabi, meanwhile was stealing himself to look down on his grandson’s body.  He entered the room, heard priests chanting together in soft voices, saw where Nefiramonrabi sat near the boy’s head, holding the child’s hand, smiling through her tears.  She looked up at him.  “He’s been so brave,” she whispered.  He nodded and drew nearer--and realized the child was breathing, that his throat was heavily bandaged, but that he lived.

       He was sitting on a stool, his head down between his knees, being coaxed to take deep breaths.  The high priest of Amon stood by him, had his hand on his shoulder, smiling down into his eyes.  “He offered himself for his father with no fear, only love.  He was sent back to you, great Lord.”

       It was only then that the Farozi of Harad realized the prayers he’d heard were prayers for healing and strength.

Questions Asked

       Setra’amun found himself glad he lay in the bare cell he now inhabited.  His wounded side had been roughly yet competently bandaged by one of the Northerners, just before he was lifted onto the cart for the return journey to the Valley of the Sun.  On their arrival he’d been quickly identified and housed apart from the rest.  Someone had come down, had taken the others out one by one, then brought them back.  What they’d told he could not know, and he was glad he didn’t have to see their faces, look into their eyes.  When he saw eyes he saw questions, and the questions that struck him he asked. He’d come to realize that this was his function, his purpose--to ask the questions, to tear the webs away. 

       But once the webs were torn away, often he did not like what he saw, or saw how it might be different still, so he changed the questions, still tore at webs.  Where once his skills at questioning had amazed others, however, now they seemed to annoy, and that made him angry.  He had, he’d realized from an early age, a mighty intellect, and there had been those, those such as the high priest of Amon and Sa’Amonri, who’d respected that.  However, they did not seem to see that the continued questions after acceptable answers were found were still possible, and, for Setra’amun, necessary.

       How could people be satisfied with some of the answers they found?  What pleasure was there in simplicity?  It was the complex that fascinated Setra’amun; and when he found that the questions he asked eventually led mostly to simple answers in the end, he’d refused them.  Truth that was simple was not interesting.  So he sought to break those simple truths to shards, then refashioned the splinters into answers that pleased him.  They were answers that only he could find, and that made him the one to seek out, to learn the truths of the answers to these questions.

       They feared him for that, he realized, that he could see truths that they could not.  They feared him and thus were glad when he went away, away to think and puzzle and find more complex truths....

       He’d not heard the steps approaching his cell, was aware only when the door was opened.  When he saw it was but his brother there in the cell door, he lost interest.  Harpelamun had once been the one who’d been most in awe of him, but he’d been drawn away by those who were satisfied by simple truths.  Setra’amun looked away, back toward the crystal structure in the wall of his cell that caught the light of the torch borne by the guard behind Harpelamun.  It sparkled and broke the light itself into splinters, splinters that could possibly be rearranged.

       Sa’Harpelamun gave a great sigh as he saw his brother turn his attention to the wall.  More and more over the past six years this was what he faced when he saw Setra’amun, this turning away from light to ghosts and reflections, shadows of reflections at times.  “Setra’amun, get up.”

       Setra’amun would not look to him.  “Why?”

       “That we might properly treat your side.”

       “Why might you wish to do that?”

       “Because you have been hurt, and we would ease it.”

       “Why can you not leave me to know the pain?”

       “Would you wish to know the pain enough for it to become fevered?”

       “Why should it become fevered?”

       Sa’Harpelamun was becoming frustrated with the delay and the foolishness of the questions his brother asked.  He found himself using the tone of voice both had hated since childhood, the voice of the exasperated adult who simply wants to do what he has to do so that he can then go on to more pleasing activities, such as scraping the wax out of his ear, rather than seeking to answer questions that seemed to have no end or point.  “It would become fevered because it has not been properly cleaned and only roughly bandaged.  Now get up and be done.”

       Setra’amun gave that smile he always gave lately when someone became angry at his questions, for he’d finally goaded the other to anger.  He enjoyed seeing the loss of control in others, at the same time he loathed them for not being able to stand up to him.

       The guard behind Harpelamun gave a grunt of disgust.  “Get up and be done.  No one is interested in answering your questions.  It is time for you to begin answering them yourself soon enough.”  He prodded the bandaged side with the toe of his sandal, and finally, yelping with pain and glaring at the Man, Setra’amun rose, and was taken up to the healers’ place.

       Here no one answered any questions put to them, biting their tongues while they stretched him on his good side on the table and cleansed and examined the other.  Sa’Amonri came in and examined it after the others.  One of the lesser healers commented, “If An’Elessar were to see to it....”

       “An’Elessar and his wife now rest due to the evil this one has wrought,” responded the older healing priest.  “I will not waken them to see to what we can treat easily enough.  Bind his hands and feet that he not unwittingly writhe away, and prepare to hold him.”

       They brought a leather strap for him to bite on.  “I need it not,” he insisted.

       “Better than you have accepted it this day,” muttered the younger healing priest.  “But then some have better things to do than to bite through their lips.”

       When they washed the wound on his side with boiled salt water he screamed with pain; when Sa’Amonri stitched it he whimpered.  When done the elderly priest looked down on him.  “I’ve had small children who have made nowhere the fuss of you,” he said.  “Once you had pride in how others saw you, while now you have less courage than the smallest baby.  Do not be surprised, Setra’amun, that you no longer receive the respect you seem to consider your due.  True respect is earned.”  They untied him, gave him water to drink and saw to it he had no other serious injuries, then put a new bandage over the wound and took him back to his cell.

       Early the next day he was brought up to the examination room.  Here those who desired to enter one or another of the temples usually sat to be questioned by the panel of priests and priestesses who saw to admitting acolytes and novices.  Today a fair number of such were in evidence, but the main seats were taken by the Farozi and those who accompanied him.  In the central seat sat the ruler of Harad, his face stern; beside him on his chair his grandson Amon’osiri.  To his right sat the high priest of Amon; to his left sat the priest of Annubi and beyond him Lord Afraim, who’d come out from the city the previous evening.  On the right end was Lord An’Elessar from Gondor; to the left end Lord An’Éomer from Rohan.  Although both were dressed in pilgrim’s robes, there was about them an aura of dignity and authority that Setra’amun had not felt before.

       A chair sat before the tribunal, and he was made to sit in it, and was bound to it.  For the first time he began to realize that what he’d been involved with was seen as highly serious, and he found himself pleased.  They now took him seriously, realized he could possibly unseat the Farozi and his lords, could shake the councils of kings.  A smile began to appear on his face.  And then the questioning began.

       “You are Setra’amun?”

       “You know I am, Uncle.”

       “Those who from ambush fire arrows at me, my son, my grandsons, and my guests when we have done no ill to you or yours, have forfeited all ties of family to me.”  It was said with a note of finality that could not be gainsaid.  “Your actions are not those of a nephew, but of one who has declared himself an enemy of the government of Harad.  As you have numbered yourself among the rebels, that is how you will be seen from this day on.”

       “But what is a rebel?”

       “You are not here to ask questions, but to answer them.  When were you drawn into the revolt sponsored by Mertirion of Umbar?”

       “I was never drawn to it.”

       The Farozi examined him, saw the small smile the young Man could not quite hide.  He tried to have patience.

       “When did you decide to see me unseated as Farozi?”

       “I do not wish to see anyone as Farozi.”

       “Why do you wish to see no one as Farozi?”

       “No one person should have the power of life or death over another.”  It was said sullenly.

       The King from Gondor looked at the rest when they would have gone on with their questions and indicated they should not.  They watched him for a second while he watched Setra’amun.  He finally asked, “Who chose the place of the outcrops as the place where the ambush should happen?”

       “I did.”

       “Why did you choose that place?”

       “That many together on horseback must go that way.”

       “Who chose bows as weapons?”

       “I did.”

       “Why did you choose bows to use first?”

       “Because it is easier to take others by surprise with bows.”

       “You intended only to see us incapacitated?”

       The anger could be seen in the young Man’s face.  “I intended to see you dead!”  Then he was shocked, realizing he’d said far more than he’d intended.

       “And so--so you would set yourself in the place of the Farozi regarding us.”

       “There should be no Farozi at all.”

       “Yes, so you have said, citing his power over life and death of others as the reason.  If that is the function of the Farozi that is objectionable in your eyes, to hold that power, then in choosing to direct the ambush you were taking upon yourself that function--to hold the power of life and death over us as you see the Farozi holding it over others.  And thus it is you would make yourself take that power, that role, toward us.  For the moment, at least, you would assume what you see as the forbidden activity, to become Farozi.”

       “I would never become the Farozi!”

       “Then why assume that power toward others?”

       “You do not deserve to live!”

       “And why do I not deserve to live?”

       “You have ordered the deaths of thousands!”

       “I was trained from my earliest days to become a warrior.  I have fought orcs, trolls, wargs, and those who would enter the lands of my peoples and kill them wantonly and take or destroy all they had to support them all of my life since I was fifteen years of age.  I have conducted executions at times when I could have given that office to others, of those who have broken the laws not only of my lands but of their own as well.  I have directed forces in fighting those who have entered Arnor, Gondor, and Rohan illegally, and have even, on rare occasions, taken the fight elsewhere--although in such cases the plan was not so much to kill the people of the place as to destroy their weapons and means of bringing their warfare to us instead.

       “When I have set up ambushes or taken part in them under the command of others, it has always been as a defender of the land in which the ambush took place.  I have never done such in the lands of those seen as the enemy.  And it was always only of those who entered our lands with the clear purpose of bringing war to us.”  His look at the young Man was penetrating.  “Can you say as much?”

       “I’ve never been a warrior.”

       “You handled a warrior’s weapon yesterday, and it was your arrow that found the throat of Ma’osiri, who is but nine years old and held no weapons at the time.”

       “He would rise to be Farozi one day.”

       “He is second in line to become Farozi once his grandfather is gone--that is true.  But you would see him slain when you have not the slightest idea whether the land would prosper or suffer under his hand?”

       “The land groans under the weight of the ills the Farozi causes to it!”

       Éomer of Rohan gave a great snort.  “And how do you know this?”

       “There are complaints about him on all sides....”

       “Are women and children wantonly slain and mishandled?”

       “No.”

       “Does he forbid the growing of crops or the raising of herds?”

       “No.”

       “Does he take the greater parts of the crops and herds for his own use and for the use of those who are close to him?”

       “No.”

       “Does he forbid people to build adequate shelter for themselves and their families?”

       “No.”

       “Does he take any woman that catches his eye to himself by force or by claiming the right of his office?”

       With a glare at the Farozi, the young Man answered, “No, it was his father who did that!”

       “Has the Lord An’Sohrabi ever done such?”

       “No.”

       “Then he has not followed the lead of his father, has he?  Would you punish him for the ills done by his father that he has not perpetuated?”

       “Someone should be punished!”

       “Would you have yourself punished for what was done by your grandfather?”

       “No!”

       “Then why would you punish your uncle for what he had no power to stop when another held the power of government?”

       The Farozi rejoined the interrogation.  “The ones who insisted my father take concubines were Virubat of Umbar, Maruset of Thetos, and the Dark Ones, all servants of the Death Eater.  Once Virubat and Maruset were gone, he stopped the practice.  They wished to take the children conceived of such unions and to slay them upon the altars of the Death Eater.  I would gather such children, when I could find them, and either take them into my own house or bring them here for their safety.  I took your father into my house, but he left it when he took a wife, insisting he could protect himself and his family.  They took him anyway at a time when they had me in Far Harad where I could do nothing to protect him.  Your mother fled here to give birth to her children where they could not be taken by the Dark Ones and their people.  Yet you would slay me for what happened to your father?  I have already seen those who gathered the victims for the red temple executed for the crimes they committed against the people of our land.”

       And so it happened again and again, that the complaints he brought up were shown to be based not on truth but his own conceit and frequently purposely misconstrued actions.

       Finally, the King of Gondor looked at him.  “When Sauron held sway here, you were a child.  How old are you now?”

       “Four and twenty years.”

       “So you were fourteen years old when he fell.”

       “Yes.”

       “Had you ever left the Valley of the Sun to that time?”

       “No--they told me it was too dangerous to do so, that the Death Eater’s people would delight to slay me for his pleasure and strengthening.”

       “Do you now believe what you were told then?”

       “No.”

       The Farozi shook his head in disbelief.  “Why do you not believe it?   Have you paid no attention?  Have you not heard how his people purposely looked for the children born of my father’s unions with the women of the land to slay them to his honor?  It was why they desired your father--to show all that they held the blood of the rulers of this land to be powerful in the building of power by the Death Eater, to prove to my brother and to me that if we should make one mistake that they could catch we, too, were for the altars and another more pliable noble would be raised to take the crown.

       “When he was sheltered in my house, your father was safe from the red temple’s agents.  When they could capture him without the benefit of my protection, they took him at the last--him and those I could not gather in time, or who trusted to their own wiles to protect them.

       “Yet now you would resurrect his worship, see it as teaching--holy fear, I believe you called it?  You would resurrect the worship of one we now know was a liar and a cheat, who sought to take the rightful worship of all others unto himself, who would blot out the Creator himself if he could manage it.  You would perpetuate for others the fear of that time, that all again would fear the ambush in the dark, the disappearance of children from their play, the doors forced open and the family taken to their deaths not for crimes but on whim alone.”

       The Farozi straightened.  “I have heard enough.”  He looked to the priest on either side.  “What say you?”

       The priest of Annubi shook his head.  “The Death Eater tried to portray himself as Annubi and Osiri, but he was not, for he gave not peace and judgment but instead fear and terror and death wantonly.  One who would resurrect the worship of one shown not to be one of the gods themselves but one intended as their servant, and who would bring back the evil of deaths to no purpose but to continue the illusion of power is a danger to the entire land and all of the people of Harad and Far Harad, as well as being an offense against the gods themselves.  He is given over to the civil authorities for punishment, as he would have slain the Farozi and his heirs when none carried a weapon with which to defend themselves--that is attempted murder, plainly and simply.”

       “Yet they were protected,” Setra’amun said.

       “Yes, they were protected by others, but your ambush was set to overcome the protection offered them.  That is still attempted murder.”

       The high priest of Amon looked down at the young Man.  “Once you held great promise as one who would help others to find truth through your questions, which then were sharp and discerning.  But you have become interested not in the seeking of truth, but instead only in the art of questioning until no longer do your questions hold any meaning save than to destroy understanding in the end.  You are no longer welcome here in the Valley of the Sun.  And, for your activities in seeking to slay anyone who is unarmed and who sought only and ever to support you and those like you, you are given to the civil authorities for judgment.  Your arrow has been shown to be that which took Ma’osiri in the throat.  He was but a child who sought only to protect his father when he was stricken almost to the death.  He had no training in the ways of war or any evil.  Never had he caused any ill to any.  And you have admitted you would see many slain for no good purpose other than to teach fear.”  He looked long at the youth he’d once thought highly of.  “And may Annubi find reason to lead you before Osiri; and may Osiri have mercy on you, my son.”  He rose, and leaning on the young priest who’d attended on him this morning, he left the room.

       An hour later, Setra'amun and the others who’d survived of those who’d made the ambush were on their way on foot to Thetos.

Returns

       It was three days before they were ready again to try the road to Thetos.  Ankhrabi sat before the King on Hirvuiloth while Lord Faramir carried Ma’osiri before him.  Legolas rode by Gimli’s pony while Amon’osiri led that ridden before by his brother.  Nefirnerini rode with Hasturnerini and Rustovrid’s younger two daughters behind where her mother rode between her sister and Lady Ghansaret.  Melian rode by Elfwine with Owain and Ruvemir on each side and Lady Avrieth behind them, her husband at her side.

       Elboron and Eldarion rode in their mother’s arms as Lothiriel, Arwen, and Éowyn rode side by side, all singing together a weaving song popular among the ladies of Gondor, while Éomer rode at the Farozi’s left and described, in a mixture of broken Haradri and Westron, the battle of the Pelennor Fields.

       An’Sohrabi listened with interest, but always his eyes strayed to the two forms before King and Steward.  Six soldiers sent by Afraim went before them; those serving as guards of honor were ranged on each side; behind were three more of his own nephews sent by Amonrabi.  Alongside where Benai rode was the oldest daughter of Rustovrid and Ghansaret, speaking somewhat awkwardly as Benai answered the young lady’s questions in his uncertain Haradri.

       They were both alive, his son and his grandson.  And from the little the King had told him, it appeared the gods themselves had sent Ma’osiri back to them, deciding that he was needed here in the mortal lands yet.  The boy was quieter, although that was to be expected, considering where he’d been injured.  But his courage and determination to save his father had earned him the respect and honor of all, and for far more than his position by birth.

*******

       Ankhrabi often dozed in Aragorn’s arms, and the King was glad for it.  He would not have wanted to take him on this journey yet, but both he and his father had been insistent.  Only if he agreed to this position would the King agree, and there was a pavilion on the cart that followed them that would be erected immediately if he saw the slightest sign either he or the boy was beginning to flag.  So far, however, both dozed frequently, but did not appear uncomfortable and showed no signs their lungs or wounds bothered them overmuch.  Now and then Ankhrabi coughed up more phlegm black with old blood, but not as he’d done the first two days when it had been fairly constant.  Their lungs were clearer by the hour, it seemed, and the dryness of the desert ride seemed to aid them, somehow--at least for the moment.

       The King looked across at the boy in Faramir’s arms, smiled at the brooch which held closed the neck of the boy’s desert robes.

       Last night as sunset approached he and Benai had been summoned to the temple of Neryet, where the high priest of Amon and the high priestess of Neryet had awaited them.  Mablung and Sa’Amonri had accompanied them this time, and Sa’Harpelamun again sat before his master’s feet when they arrived.

       The light fell full on the faces of the tall black Man and the pale-skinned King of Gondor, both now dressed again in pilgrim white.  As they entered the court all eyes went first to the pool, where now seven golden lilies lay still open, seven blue ones, and one great white one.

       Aragorn had looked down on them, and found himself murmuring, “Seven Stars and seven Stones and one White Tree.”

       “Which signified what, great Lord?” asked the high priest.

       “It is part of the rhymes of lore regarding the return of Elendil’s people to Middle Earth.

       “Tall ships and tall kings, three times three.
       What brought they from the foundered land, over the flowing sea?
       Seven stars and seven stones
       And one White Tree.”

       “And one of the ships that followed that of Elendil the Tall came to land here, South of Far Harad.”

       “So it has proven.”

       “And what do the seven Stars and Stones symbolize?”

       “The Stars are the Elven Jewels worn in the circlets indicating our nobility, worn by Elendil, Isildur, Anárion, and the other princes of their house.  I often wear the Star of Elendil--now the original gem, for Gimli found it for us in the treasure closet of Saruman in his keep a few years back when we went through Orthanc at the last.”

       “What of the others?”

       “They are kept close, those whose locations are known.  The Stones are the palantiri, the seven Seeing Stones by which the princes of Elendil’s house could keep in communication with one another over far distances.  Only two now remain in Middle Earth, that kept once in Orthanc, and the Amon stone which Lord Denethor held at his death.  One other there may remain, but if so Lord Elrond carried it back to Aman with him when he sailed.  The Ithil stone was lost at the last in the fall of Barad-dur, and none wishes to dig for it, if it was not smashed, for it lies in the midst of the ruins of the tower, which themselves were swallowed by the earth itself in the great earthquake that followed the destruction of the Ring.”

       “I doubt Geb will look happily on any who seek to find such a token in the ruins of the tower built by the traitorous Death Eater.”

       “So we, too, believe.”

       “And the White Tree?”

       The King smiled.  “Sa’Harpelamun will see this with his own eyes when we return to Minas Anor, for its descendant blooms before the Citadel.  Its ancestor grows in the midst of Tol Eressëa.  A seedling from it was given to the Lords of Númenor, and Isildur brought one of its descendants with him on his ship.”

       “And this is that tree?”

       The Lord of Gondor and Arnor shook his head.  “That tree was lost, and others since.  I found the current Tree as a seedling and replanted it in the Court of the King.  It has ever symbolized the line of the Kings, our fortunes and our relationship to those in the Undying Lands.”  His smile was solemn and gentle.  Much meaning, the priests realized, was attached to this tree.

       A flight of white doves left the roof of the temple as the sun touched the horizon to the West, flew over the two Dúnedain, then circled both, the King three times, the black Man twice, before they flew Northwest, a few breaking away to fly Southwest.  A golden falcon of Horubin flew out of the West to land before Benai, looked up at him, gave a call, then turned and rose into the air and flew Southwest after the smaller flight of doves.  The priestess of Neryet watched after, her brows lifted, then returned her attention to Benai.  “You must soon go back to your own people, see to their well-being.”

       “Yes, I know this.”  Benai had been learning Haradri, and had understood this easily enough.

       “We ask only that you not lead your people against our land.”

       “When I am restored to my own people and we have seen to it we are no longer threatened by the G’bani people, we will make a treaty with Harad, strengthening that shared with those of Gondor and Arnor who are our kinsmen, to guard the Southern borders of your lands.”  He spoke that in Adunaic, and Aragorn translated it.

       “I believe such a treaty would be accepted by our people,” the high priest of Amon said.  Benai bowed in respect.  The sun sank beyond the desert, and stars were now gleaming in the sky.

       The priest turned his attention back to the Lord An’Elessar.  “Your dream and that of Harpelamun both appear to have come to pass.”  The King nodded.  “How do you interpret the presence of the one you called Gil-galadrion in your dream?”

       The King looked down thoughtfully.  “You asked me whether I knew my brothers when they came at the appointed time.  I told you I did not, not at first, but that I came to know them.”  He raised his eyes to those of the priest.  “My mother carried two others besides me, one who was intended to be my own twin brother, and the other to have been born two years after us.  She lost the both.  I learned of this only a few years ago, after I was already King.

       “Both had been seen originally as being as important to the downfall of Sauron and the fulfillment of the time to come as myself.  I was to become King and renew all; they were to assist me to the throne, although none knew how.

       “After the two miscarriages, my mother became despondent.  Those who had the gift of foresight saw that in time both would be sent back again, but not to her to bear.  They would be born elsewhere, to other parents, in another land, to another people than the Dúnedain.”

       The priest slowly nodded, and the face of the priestess became more intent.

       “As a child I, too, dreamt of brothers for myself, a twin who was yet not like me in appearance, and one two years younger.  These became the basis of the imaginary brothers with whom I played when I was yet a boy.  In reading my mother’s journal I have found she had foreseen their appearance just as I’d dreamt them to look, and she’d planned to name them almost identically to the names I’d given them.

       “From what we can tell, they were born Frodo Baggins and Samwise Gamgee, Hobbits of the Shire.  Frodo, whose name among Elves is Iorhael, is the one my mother would have named Gilorhael and whom I called Gil-galadrion.  Iorhael translates to Wise One; Gilorhael means Wisdom of Stars; Gil-galadrion means Son of Starlight.  To me, Frodo either as himself or as my brother in my dreams is always connected with innocence and purity of intention--and is all too often sacrificing himself for others.  I believe I was seeing the coming of the assault and the movement of Ma’osiri to come between those in the ambush and his father, his willingness to offer himself to save his babari.”

       “Why is he yet alive?” asked the priestess.

       “He was sent back.”  He described what he had seemed to see when his spirit walked abroad to find the child, once he realized he’d not died in the desert.

       “When you were there in the assault, you were certain he’d died?”

       “I’ve never seen an arrow in the throat before that was not fatal, my lady.  He looked up at me and tried to speak, told me to care for his father; then his head fell back and I thought he’d died.  Arwen took him from my arms as I turned to Ankhrabi.  I was barely aware of the coming of the Eagle, her mounting it with the help of Benai, carrying the child.  I was mostly focused on Ankhrabi--didn’t even feel when the dart struck my leg.”

       Priest and priestess looked at one another, and seemed to be in some quiet agreement.  The priestess looked at the tall black Man.  “You aided the Queen in her caring for the boy?”  The King translated

       “Yes, both in the desert and in our return here.  When we returned they showed the child’s mother and me to her side; and when she called for the athelas I went to obtain it from the King.  Throughout it all she sheltered the small spark of the child’s life, called him back to himself until he slipped away once more, further than she could go, for she knew not that way.  Then she sent me to summon the King to come to her that he might aid in the calling back.”

       “I see that you wear the gift of the Lady of Stars which she sent to you through the King.”

       “Yes.”

       “Do you recognize it?”

       He slowly nodded his head.  “It was worn by one of my kin in another village.  He disappeared ten years ago.  He had taught me to wield a sword when I was a child, and I often served at his side in sending the slavers from our area and recovering those taken by them, both of our folk and of others from other areas.”

       “Nine years back a soldier of our people came to the Valley.  He had been exploring the jungles South and West of Far Harad, had found one who was plainly a warrior in the keeping of slavers of the G’bani, rescued him.  He had been badly injured and the wounds had become infected.  Yet he insisted in returning to the camp of those who’d held him captive, freed the other slaves, regained his sword, slew those who’d taken the slaves.

       “Afterward our soldier tried to aid the warrior, but he was too ill.  He begged the soldier to take his sword, make certain it would not come to a place where it would know dishonor.  Finally he died.  Not knowing how he might protect the sword from dishonor, the soldier brought it here.  The one he’d rescued had a star pattern cut into his chest, and the sword had the star set into its hilt.  In consulting the omens we realized it should go into the pool, and there it remained until my dreams spoke of the need for the King to take something from the pool to give to you, and it was the sword that he drew forth.”

       Benai nodded his head with understanding as the King translated the words, and looked solemnly into her eyes.  Finally she continued.  “The Lady Neryet has given us the stars both for our delight and to give us the light we need in the darkest of times, and to guide our steps.  At this time she desires that you take from the pool a gift for you to give to the King.  You may approach the pool where you wish, reach into it once, and take from it what you find, and give it into his hand.  He is not to watch you do this.  He will know what is to be done with what she gives him through your hand.” 

       Benai looked uncertain as the King translated the directions given him, and looked into the King’s eyes for guidance.  Aragorn gave a small shrug, smiled, and turned away from the pool, closed his eyes, clasped his hands behind his back.

       He could hear the quiet movement of Benai as he neared the pool and as he circled it.  He seemed to feel the Light of the Stars surround him, suddenly had a vision of Frodo holding in his open hands something which he looked on with delight, saw him turning to show him, to share the beauty of it with him, and he was looking into Frodo’s beautiful eyes with their dark lashes, rejoicing to see him well and happy again.  Briefly they shared their look, the joy in knowing they were able to do this.  Then at the entreaty of those eyes he looked down and saw the great butterfly which rested on Frodo’s hands, the shining of it as it caught Frodo’s own Light, like a star of exceptional beauty resting on his open palms.

       One finger Aragorn reached out toward Frodo’s hand, and the butterfly flexed its wings, lifted off the palm of the Hobbit’s hand, flapped lazily and lighted briefly on the Man’s finger.  It caught his own Light above its wings, Frodo’s beneath them, glowed as the Stars themselves shone on it as well.  At last it lifted up, and both watched with pleasure as it flew upwards toward the Stars, bearing the share of their Lights it had received.

       Briefly Aragorn was able to touch Frodo’s hand, and saw the tears of sheer joy in the eyes of his small brother as he touched back.  And then he was being drawn back to himself by the clasp of a hand on his shoulder.

       “My brother?” asked Benai in Adunaic.  “My brother, what do you see?”

       He looked up into Benai’s face, slightly confused.  “The Light of the Stars in us, given back,” he murmured. 

       Benai saw the look of awe and joy the King’s face reflected, the single tear.  He smiled his own smile, flashing in the starlight.  “The gift is here, then, Lord Brother.”  He held out his own hand, and in the starlight the King could see the paleness of its palm compared to the rest of the Man’s dark skin.  His own right hand was, he realized, now in front of him, the index finger outstretched as if the butterfly had just flown from it.  He turned his hand and opened it, palm upwards, and was not the least surprised to see the silver of his cloak brooch pressed into it, reflecting the Light of Stars.

       He’d turned then to face priests and priestess, held out his hand to show what Benai had placed there.  They could see it plainly, for they could see clearly about him the glow of his Light of Being, had been able to see it from shortly after he’d turned away from them; had seemed to see the reflection of another facing him, as tall and royal as the King himself, saw that the King and the other were in communion together.  The Other had become obscured as Benai took what he’d found in the pool to bring it to the one who stood turned away from them and touched his shoulder.  Yet, somehow, they realized that the true gift to the King was that communion, not what Benai pressed into the King’s hand.

*******

       This morning the King had fastened the star brooch at the neck of the desert robes Ma’osiri wore, just over where the healing wound lay under the bandage.  He had looked into the boy’s eyes as he said quietly in Haradri, “To guide you ever where you must go.”  Ma’osiri looked on it with surprise and some awe, then smiled up into his face.

       Once Faramir was mounted on his horse, Aragorn himself had lifted the boy up into his arms.  Hardorn had held Hirvuiloth’s bridle for him as he mounted, and Benai had lifted Ankhrabi up to sit before him to rest in the crook of his arm.

       Now they rode easily, with no feeling by any that they must take care.  They passed the outcrop where the assault had come before, and there was no movement.  The wind had blown new sand over the way, cleansing away the blood which had been shed there; no feeling of evil lay there, only a feeling of solemnity.

       Two more hours they rode, arriving at the Western Palace at midmorning, and they slid off their horses gratefully.  Amonrabi was there waiting for them, and together he and Lord Afraim aided Ankhrabi to his feet.  Then his wife was hurrying him indoors to his rest.  Benai and Hardorn helped Aragorn himself to dismount.  His leg was stiff from the riding, and then Arwen was beside him, giving their son into his hands, smiling a bit ruefully for the child needed to be changed.  But she ran her hand over the wound, and it eased for him.

       An’Sohrabi stood there smiling at them, his two grandsons embraced by him, his granddaughter beside him.

       Sa’Harpelamun had ridden the horse ridden out into the desert by Ankhrabi, and it was plain he was unaccustomed to such exercise, that he was stiffer even than the King.  “After we have rested some,” promised An’Elessar, “I will bring an ointment to you with which to rub the muscles of your legs.  It will ease the stiffness.” 

       The young priest nodded his understanding and limped into the house to see where he might rest.  Aragorn watched after with a smile which faded briefly as he thought of what was to come on the morrow.

       Lord Amonrabi held out a thick packet wrapped in cloth.  “This came for you yesterday, great Lord,” he said.  “It came alone, and I was surprised, but thought I would bring it to you when I came to greet you on your return.”

       “Thank you, Lord Amonrabi,” the King said with a brief bow as he accepted it.  It was sealed, he saw, with the seal of the Houses of Healing.  Inside was a second packet wrapped in parchment and a letter from Healer Eldamir.  His smile returned, was delighted as he lifted the flap to see it contained a great many leaves of athelas.
      

Rulings

       They rested at the Western Palace that night, and several went swimming again in the stone pool, although Ankhrabi, Ma’osiri, and An’Elessar watched from the grass with envy.  Sa’Harpelamun was eased by the King’s ointment and the soothing of his hands, and joined those within the pool happily enough.  Even Isumbard waded a bit in the shallows of it, admitting he enjoyed the cool of the water about his feet.

       In the evening those from Rohan went to the stables to watch horses and ponies coming into their stalls, the King of Gondor and Arnor and his cousins Hardorn and Berevrion going with them to bid the animals a good rest.  Ankhsarani was given the zithern that resided in the Western Palace, and after patiently tuning it began to play upon it.  Several of the Haradri began to sing the ballads she played, and eventually Pippin fetched his flute and played with her.  The evening was mostly quiet, soothing after the worry of days past. 

       The King saw Ankhrabi to his bed, checked the wound one last time; checked on where Ma’osiri and his twin lay together, Amon’osiri still awake, guarding his brother from further harm, the silver cloak brooch lying beside the bed on a low table and glinting in the low light of the outer night.  The Man smiled down at the wary boy, and eventually the boy reluctantly smiled back.  “Thank you,” he whispered.  “Thank you for bringing my brother back to me.”

       “I am grateful he was returned to you, Amon’osiri.”

       “Do you have a brother?”

       “The brothers of my wife have ever been as brothers to me.”

       “It’s not the same as your own brother, though, is it?”

       “No.  They are Elves and I am mortal.  In time I must go where they cannot come as long as Arda remains.”

       “What about your real brothers?”

       The King shrugged.  “That is another matter altogether.  Now you must sleep.  Do not fear to laugh with him, Amon’osiri.  Do not fear to play with him.  He will need to be reminded he is yet a child.  Rest that you may rejoice in one another’s presence for as long as you are given together.”

       He saw the boy’s eyes close, the relaxation finally begin to take him as the Man withdrew from the doorway and returned to the adults.  An hour later Aragorn found his way to the room he shared with his wife, placed the headrests with some finality on a chest in the corner, set out pillows for himself and her, then took her into his arms and kissed her deeply.

*******

       On their arrival at the water stair to the Farozi’s house in Thetos they found the captain of the guards and the housekeeper awaiting Amonrabi and their Lord formally, ready to make their reports.  Glad they weren’t the ones to need to receive such reports, Kings and Queens of Gondor and Rohan smiled as they slipped past those caught in the throes of their responsibilities and found their way once more into the guest rooms appointed to them.  Hardorn went through each of the rooms and checked and removed the bands he’d placed on their chests of belongings.

       Sa’Amonri, who’d returned with them to Thetos, and the Lady Arwen now checked the King’s thigh, which was healing apace and showed no sign of infection.  After winding a new bandage about it they went together to check the conditions of Ankhrabi and Ma’osiri; reassured they, too, were doing well, they saw all three resting for a time. 

       After the noon meal at which Lord Hardorn served as guard of honor, the Farozi looked to both the Northern Kings.  “I had planned not to include your people in the investigations and trials surrounding the other lords taken in the wake of the revolt; but in light of the ambush returning from the Valley of the Sun I find not to include you will be impossible.  I have spoken with two of those who were involved here, one of whom was forthcoming, the other of whom was not.  We learned more in the questioning of those who took part in the ambush, and it has assisted, along with the information taken from the messengers, to identify four more conspirators, one in Asual, two in Risenmouthe, and one among the Zendir tribe of the desert peoples.  They, of course, had seconds in command and personal fighters they were to have set into play in the attempts to take control among their folk. 

       “Amon’gebrabi of Asual waited for word of how the revolt fell out here before ordering any of his own troops into action, sending those into the desert first to second Setra’amun and then others to carry word of the failure of the revolt here.  He hopes on the basis of the fact he did not follow through on his part of the revolt, once he learned the cause was already lost, to avoid trial and condemnation.  Amonrabi and Afraim had him arrested as soon as they returned to Thetos two days past. 

       “The two from Risenmouthe and six of their folk have been arrested; Benyamon of the Zendir had been slain by his brother, whom he’d hoped to supplant as leader of their tribe, by the time Afraim’s soldiers arrived.  They sent me his head as proof, along with his signet ring--still on his hand.”  He shuddered.  “The desert people do not accept treachery well.”

       He sipped from his glass and set it down.  “Banyamon’s brother did send me, well trussed like a goose intended for the table, Sa’Gebankhrabi, one who lived in his brother’s tents, who was recognized by Afraim’s officer as one of those who served as agents for the red temple.  He was also told of visits by a young Man said to have been raised in the Valley of the Sun to the tents of Benyamon, and of much time spent by this young Man in the company of Sa’Gebankhrabi.”

       An’Éomer commented, “So we now know where Setra’amun came across ideas such as ‘holy fear of death in honor of Sauron’ and similar rubbish.”  He took a drink as if washing a foul taste out of his mouth.

       Faramir was solemnly shaking his head.  “From what Sa’Amonri told me on our return here from the Western Palace, it appears Setra’amun showed as much promise in his youth as his brother, but became enamored by the idea that truth can be manipulated to ones own purposes.”

       An’Sohrabi shrugged his shoulders noncommitally.  “I barely knew the boy.  Once I learned of the birth of the twins I sent funds and gifts to the high priest of Amon for their support, visited with them from time to time when I was there, as did Afraim as chieftain of their mother’s tribe.  But their mother did not wish to return to the outer world and left them in the care of the folk who attend on orphans when she died when they were eight years, making it clear to all she wished them to remain in the Valley--and we followed her wishes.  At first, of course, it was mostly for their safety; later because that had become their home and we did not wish to disrupt that.”

       Sa’Harpelamun looked at his plate.  “He would have preferred, truly, to have come to live with you, Uncle, and felt slighted that you never sought to bring us out of that place.”

       “Did you wish to come out?”

       “When he spoke of the glory of the world beyond the Valley, yes.  The rest of the time--no.  And I would have hated it as I grew older.  It is all I can do not to bolt back there now, for it, at least, is familiar; and there I would hope to be able to avoid thinking of what will happen to my brother.”  The pain in his eyes could be clearly seen.

       The King of Gondor spoke gently to him, “Do you resent us for what we must do?”

       The young priest looked up at him.  “How can I resent it, Great Lord?  Particularly in light of what he tried to do to you and my cousins, your land and ours?”

       An’Elessar nodded sadly.

       An’Sohrabi continued, “I have also ordered the arrest of Mayanerini, grandmother of the two children you found suffering from poisoning.  She lies now in a prison cell here, I am told swearing one moment she had nothing to do with the illness of her grandchildren and the disappearance of their father, the next insisting her daughter is free of great burdens she never ought to have shouldered, that the father of her daughter ought never to have arranged such an unsatisfactory marriage for their child.”

       “Has the fate of the children’s father been learned?”

       “Not yet that I am aware of.  I had hoped you would aid in questioning her, for I have seen few can avoid answering your questions, even when they would wish not to do so.”

       Aragorn sighed.  “Yes, as you ask it of me, although, as with Sa’Harpelamun here, it is a duty I would prefer to avoid if I could--which I cannot do now, considering what she tried to do to two innocent children and their mother.”

       The Farozi commented, “I am glad the children eat this meal in Nefirnerini’s quarters.  I would not have them hearing more of the red temple’s agents and of more threats to the realm.”

       He was much surprised when An’Elessar shook his head.  “I will hold my son in my arms during the tribunals, and have my daughter at my side this time.  They need to see that there are times we must stop what happens and give due justice.  I would not have them see an execution at this point; but I will have them see questioning done and justice administered properly, that when the time comes they must see to such that they will be ready.  This is a process that Melian has already seen at intervals; I would have her see that here it is much as it is at home.”

       Nefiramonrabi looked at him with shock.  “But the one is but a babe, and your daughter little more!”

       “She has seen justice meted out since she was her brother’s age, my Lady.”

       “But can’t that wait until they are older and better able to understand?”

       “When we defer, how to we then determine when one is old enough to understand?  Is it by age, or demonstrated reasoning?  I have seen children younger than Melian who already know that those who steal must be stopped, and those who hurt others for no good reason will go on to become even more violent if they are not halted in their violence when it begins; and I have known adults who delude themselves that all can be reasoned into charity.  Sometimes the children must simply see justice given day by day in order to appreciate what true justice is.”

       “Oh.”

       “I would have my children see examples of proper justice that they are able to tell later when what is meted out is unjust or ineffective.  I would have them learn how to ask the proper questions that they not be detoured down lines of questioning that have nothing to do with the matter at hand.  Your husband’s father is a just judge, skilled in questioning properly.  My brother Éomer has proven to be the same, as has my beloved Steward Faramir.  I am proud to have my children learn from their examples.”

       Ankhrabi said quietly, “I would not have Ma’osiri further stressed at this point.”  He looked up to meet the Northern lords’ eyes in turn.  “However, Amon’osiri needs now to be assured those who sought to kill me and his brother, who brought us such great hurt, have indeed known justice.”  He warmed to the approval in An’Elessar’s eyes.

*******

       Three hours after noon the Farozi of Harad convened court again in the pavement area, dressed and accoutered in accordance with his office.  High seats were again placed by his side for the Kings of Gondor and Rohan, with more beyond for Sa’Amonri and Sea’Neryeni to sit as part of the panel, as Setra’amun and Sa’Gebankhrabi were seen as two of their particular responsibility.  Again Ankhrabi sat before and between his father and An’Elessar, Amon’osiri sharing his chair.  Beside the King of Gondor stood his daughter, and his infant son sat in his lap.  Not as many commoners attended as had come to the previous trial, but enough that all were certain the word of what came to pass would quickly spread throughout the city and beyond.

       The woman Mayanerini was brought first and made to kneel before the tribunal.  The audience muttered, not knowing what to think of this commoner woman being brought before the Farozi himself.

       When the King of Gondor was called upon to testify, he rose, set his son and Sceptre in the arms of his wife, who’d been standing in the shadows behind his seat, set his sword across the arms of his chair, and came before all.  How he’d recognized that two children he was asked to advise on had been poisoned, how he’d recognized the poison used, how he’d questioned the mother, were all stated.  Then he was allowed to sit again.  The Queen came forward and told how she, too had recognized the source of the ills suffered by the two tiny children, the symptoms she’d recognized, the treatment given; and she also described the questioning done and what had been determined by it.  Sa’Amonri testified to the same.

       The guards who’d dealt with the woman kneeling in the dust before the Farozi’s throne spoke of her fury and her constant rants.  The guards who’d searched her house laid down the signs of the particular poison used and told where and how it was found, and the specially lidded cups used for juice which had been found tainted with it.

       The Farozi sat in the wake of the questioning for some moments looking down on the woman.  “I saw your daughter and her children two nights past.  Both girls recover, although their digestion is likely to suffer for the remainder of their lives as a result of what you have done to them.  They are fortunate that Lord An’Elessar and Lady An’Arwen are knowledgeable about such things and knew how to help them to recover.  What do you have to say for yourself?”

       “I did nothing but rid my daughter of what she ought not to have known from the start.”

       “Did she ever say she did not wish to be married to him?”

       “No.”

       “Who chose the husband for your daughter?”

       “He who was my husband.”

       “Where is he now?”

       “Dead--two years past.”

       “How did he die?”

       She shrugged.

       One who had been a neighbor to her stepped forward.  She bowed low, her hands crossed over her breast.  “I can tell you this, my Lord Farozi.  He died of fever accompanied by a bloody flux from his bowels, and inability to hold his food.”

       “You saw this?”

       “Yes, my Lord.  One day when she was away from their house I saw him lying in his yard, surrounded by the release of his bowels.  It was very bad.  I summoned a healer, but when she came home Mayanerini sent him away again.”

       The name and location of the healer was obtained.  But the King and Sa’Amonri shared glances, and Sa’Amonri said quietly, “There is no reason to disturb him.  The symptoms she gives are those to which the children would have come shortly if the poisoning had continued.”

       The Farozi nodded his understanding, his face hardening more.  “Now tell me, woman, what has become of the husband of your daughter?”

       “He’s gone.  Left their home one night and never came back.”

       “Was there any sign ahead of time that he would willingly do so?”

       “Of course!”

       “What signs?”  But she was unable to tell such.

       Neighbors of the woman had already been summoned, and could tell no reason why the father of the children had not returned to his family and his home.  One said Mayanerini was very bitter and always seeking to turn her daughter’s love for her husband into fear and hatred, always exaggerating the reason for and effect of each word spoken in anger between them, denying the love wife felt for husband, the constant criticism of house and furnishings and work done and food provided.  The woman who’d described the state of Mayanerini’s husband described the bitterness constantly expressed toward the son-in-law, the characterization of her daughter as worn before her time....

       At last the Farozi again asked, “What became of your daughter’s husband?”

       “I know not.”

       So it appeared likely to continue until the Farozi looked to An’Elessar.  “Will you ask her, my Lord?”

       Sighing, again the King of Gondor and Arnor rose, gave over his son and Sceptre, set his sword across his chair, and came down to stand before the woman.  He went down on one knee to look into her eyes.  “Tell us now where he is,” he said, calmly.

       “Far from here!” she spat.

       “Is he alive?”

       “How should I know?  The slavers who took him----”  She turned pale and closed her mouth, her eyes locked to those of the man kneeling in front of her.

       “How did he come into the hands of slavers?” 

       It was some time before she answered, but answer she did.  “I had him captured,” she whispered.

       “You had him captured?”  She nodded.  “Who captured him for you?”  She named them.

       The story was quite sordid, but came out at the last.  Once names of paid kidnappers were given and the name of the slaver obtained, Ankhrabi beckoned to one of the officers standing near them and began giving quiet orders.  The Man appeared quite ready and fully willing to do as he was bade.  If it was possible the father would be reunited with his wife and daughters as soon as could be managed.  The Farozi happened to see the Lord Steward Faramir watching Ankhrabi with considerable approval, and was gladdened by it.

       At last, the entire story told, the Farozi looked to the nobles nearby.  “Does any question her guilt?”  None did.  He turned to the commoners and asked the same question.  None voiced any disagreement.

       “For what you have done, woman, you have earned death.  Tonight the executioner will put you to death by strangling.  One good Man have you cost the realm, and perhaps another, and you would have robbed your own daughter of her husband, and then her children by a slow, agonizingly painful death.  We cannot and will not allow those such as you to continue to endanger the innocent.  And may Annubi find reason to lead you before Osiri, and may Osiri be merciful unto you.”

       She had to be physically dragged from the area.

       The next were those who had taken part in the ambush.  They were asked where they came from, who had commanded them to fight, who set up the ambush, what they were to receive for their services, whom they believed would have ended up in command.  The answers here varied.  Benyamon of the Zendir was named; Hevra’amun of Asual; Sa’Gebankhrabi, he who had once served the red temple; Sherfiramun of Thetos; Ma’osiri, grandson to the Farozi.  That there were so many different answers to this question was remarked upon and seemed to puzzle at least two of them. 

       Then those who had named Benyamon, Hevra’amun, Sa’Gebankhrabi, and Sherfiramun were each asked by Prince Faramir how they felt the realm would have fared under the ones they’d thought would become next ruler.  This was a question obviously none of them had considered, and all seemed to need to think on its answer.

       “I don’t know that the realm would be better off,” commented one, "but certainly we would.”  He appeared to think that funny.

       One who’d named the priest from the red temple even shivered.  “The realm better off under him?  Of course not!  We’d be back to the dark days instead.”

       Faramir looked at him with obvious curiosity in his deceptively mild eyes.  “Would you wish to live in the dark days once more?”

       “No.”

       “Then why would you fight for one who would seek to bring them back?”

       The Man looked at him, his surprise at the question obvious.  “I was ordered to go, and I went!”

       “Even when it is against the best interests of yourself and those you care for?”

       “But soldiers don’t go by what is their best interest--they go by orders!”

       Faramir’s own face darkened, remembering his last orders from his father.  He then looked at the soldier, what compassion had been visible in his face leaving it.  “A simple soldier follows orders--but only, and I mean only, when they are indeed to the benefit of his people.  I have followed orders that have led me to the Gates of Death, orders I disagreed with but which still were for the benefit of my people.  But even had my Lord ordered me to sing and dance with joy--when it was against the benefit of Gondor, I would have refused to do so.  Had you been successful and this priest had become ruler of Harad, would your family have been safe from the altars?”

       “No one would have been safe.  But orders are orders....”

       But two of those who had been listening appeared to be thinking.

       In the end, the Farozi examined them, shaking his head.  Then he turned to the assembled nobles.  “Would any of you wish these to serve under your command?”

       The reluctance of certain of the nobles to shake their head was noted; that all did so eventually was also noted, and with more satisfaction.  One who’d automatically shaken his head said, “Of what use is one who will simply follow orders blindly solely because they were given, for then if the order comes from a fool it will merely lead to deaths to no good purpose.”  The identity of this one was noted by Farozi and his son both with the intention of improving the relationship with the Man.

       Another commented, “As for the rest, as most would seem to prefer to better their own positions at the expense of all others, they would be useless in a serious battle--let the crisis come, and they’d leave their fellows in danger while they protect themselves.”

       The Farozi looked to the commoners.  “Would you wish any of these protecting you?”  The universal response was negative.

       The sentence was that they were all to die before the wall.  “Others in your position I have offered the mercy merely of losing their hands or serving in the forefront of our forces.  But, as none will have you serve under them....”  Several bowed their heads, the reality of their position being made clear in their own minds at last.

       The most recently arrested messengers were offered the choice between serving in separate troops or losing their hands.  It was obvious that they would all choose the former.

       The nobles were brought out and questioned next, and by the time it was ordered that they would go before the wall and the archers all were in agreement that this was needful for the good of the realm.

       Then the two chairs were brought out and placed before all, and finally Setra’amun and Sa’Gebankhrabi, bound and gagged, were led into the place, were made to sit in them and were bound to them. 

       Sa’Gebankhrabi’s gag was removed first.  His expression was malevolent.  “Do you wish to bring down on yourselves the curse of Seti?” he asked.  He seemed surprised when the Northern King sitting on the right of the Farozi threw back his head and laughed, a laughter the other Northerners seemed to echo.  “Do you not fear the wrath of Seti?” he demanded.

       The King of Gondor and Arnor laughed again, then finally quieted.  “Fear the wrath of Seti?  When is Seti ever other than angry?  Long ago did he defy Iluvatar and seek to put himself over the other gods, to the point they cast him out of their number.  Then, not being able to rule among the immortals he came here, seeking to do the same over those who live in the mortal lands--and in the end the others came to aid Men, Elves, and Dwarves and all of good will to cast him down and out of Arda completely, he who had been intended to be equal to the one you know as Amon.  To fear the wrath of Seti is a waste of time and energy.  What one should fear instead is to allow Seti to enter into Arda through our hearts.”

       “He teaches us fear and wrath!”

       “We need to be taught such things?  The smallest of children knows already how to fear!  Why do we work so hard to teach them not to fear only to teach them again to fear one who is not in a position to hurt us unless we open ourselves to him?

       “As for wrath--again, even the smallest of children knows such things.  Who has not seen the wrath of an infant when the world refuses to meet his desires?  Seti is angry, and pummels ever futilely against the Gates of Night demanding entrance; but cannot do so unless we open to him.

       “I will tell you this--I will not open myself to him, the Father of Lies.  Even less will I open myself to his servant Sauron, who has proven less than his master, though he remained the longer.  Too long I fought against him and his creatures and his policies to seek to invite him back, particularly as he cannot return, and all the deaths in the world grant him no more power.”

       The erstwhile priest went whiter.  “You cannot know that.”

       The King shook his head.  “I do know that.  I was there when the Ring went into the fire--I saw his tower fall.  I saw how Aüle, whom you call Geb, opened the earth and swallowed up the ruins, just as here he opened up the earth and swallowed up Sauron’s red temple.  The Valar--the gods themselves--have denied him.  He lost his shape when my ancestor Isildur cut the Ring from his finger; when the Ring was destroyed, he lost even his shadow.

       “You cannot call him back, even if you would.  There is not enough left of him to call back.”

       The dead eyes of the former priest looked at him, seeking still to intimidate and dominate.  “The world needs him, needs to know fear.”

       “Why?”

       “So we know that we are.”

       “I do not need Sauron to know fear.  I do not need fear to know I am.”  He stood again, turned to set the sword again across the arms of the chair, but walked forward this time with his son cradled in his left arm, the Sceptre of Annúminas in his right hand, the Star of Elendil shining on his brow.  “I am.  I feel, but I feel more than fear.  I know pleasure with my wife, fulfillment when I hold my children, honor when I am with those who deserve it, longing when I think of those who have been sundered from me by death or the Sea, anticipation when I think of what is to come.”

       “You need to fear death.”

       “I do not fear death.  I do not long for it, but I do not fear it, for it is the final affirmation that before I came to it, I lived.  And when I pass through it I will be able to be with those I now miss, and come into the Presence in their company.”

       The dead eyes of the priest and the living eyes of the King looked at one another.  Finally a flicker of uncertainty could be seen in the eyes of the one who sat in the chair, looking at the surety of the one who stood before him.

       “But the Eastern Lord gives meaning to life.”

       “Is pleasure not enough to give life meaning?  Is seeing a goal and striving for it not enough?  Is sharing delight not enough?  Is receiving the love and respect and honor of those from whom such has meaning not enough?  And what meaning is there to an existence in which one cannot know the Presence?”  The grey eyes of the King looked deeply into those of the one before him.  “Sauron and Seti--they have turned from that, the one single Truth which gives all others meaning.  I will not seek the emptiness which they have embraced when I can but turn around and see that.”

       Aragorn straightened and stepped back, tightening his grip on his son.  “What they have lost, Morgoth and Sauron--they were created to know the greatest joy and bliss of all, but in seeking power instead they lost even that in the end.  Power in and of itself is meaningless if you have no one with whom to share it.”

       “And you share it?”

       The King’s smile was surprisingly sweet.  “Oh, yes, I share it.  I am Elessar, the Elfstone, the channel for Healing.  I am Envinyatar, the Renewer.  But it is not myself I heal or renew.  I am the King, but my purpose is not to direct but to teach, not solely to govern and protect but to help cut away only that which leads to decay.  A king with no kingdom is no king, but an isolated and empty soul.  Once you had fed all others to Sauron’s altars, whom then would you have left to sacrifice to him beyond yourself?  And then what pleasure would there be for him to know, when there is nothing left to sacrifice to him when he has consumed all?”

       “The Creator also demands sacrifices.”

       “It is the difference between the Death Eaters on one side and the Creator on the other that what is sacrificed to the Creator is not consumed, but fulfilled, and often given back again, more than it was before.”  He indicated the Prince of Harad and the son who shared his chair with him.  “Ask them about the child’s brother.”

       The priest licked his lips as he looked at Ankhrabi and Amon’osiri, whose eyes were stern and proud.  Then he looked back to Aragorn.  “What of those who were sacrificed to bring down the Eastern Lord?”

       “We all went to the gates of Mordor knowing we would likely die, ready to sacrifice ourselves for the rest of the world.  Many died before the Black Gate, and many more in the Battle of the Pelennor.  But most lived.  And of the three who went to the edge of the Fire, only one was not sent back--yet in the end he found, perhaps, what the Ring had stripped from him--meaning.”

       “But one, I am told, was sent to know his death at the hands of the Elves and the gods.”

       “Frodo?”  The King’s expression was, for the moment, unreadable.  “Who has told you such a lie?  He was not sent to know his death at their hands, but to be made able once more to know life.  I could not heal what was done to him by Sauron, and it remains one of my greatest griefs, that the one I love and honor more than all others I could not help find renewal.”

       “How do you know he finds healing there?”

       The King’s smile was like the clouds thrust aside by cleansing winds to allow the light of the Sun to shine upon a land long bereft of light.  “Because I have felt his healing, his growing happiness, in my heart.”

       The King returned to his seat, lifted sword and placed it again across his knees as he sat once more.  “Now it is time for you to begin to answer questions.  What would you gain by restoring the empty worship of Sauron?”

       For a long time the Man didn’t answer.  But none would withdraw their eyes from him, and at last he said, “Power.”

       “Power to do what?”

       “Power to grant life or death.”

       The answer was allowed to stand. 

       Sa’Amonri’s eyes were very hard as he looked at this one.  Finally he shook his head.  “That is not the function of a priest.  Anyone can take such power over others.”

       Sea’Neryeni sighed.  “We are to teach the people to honor the gods and respect their gifts to us, and you would have them fear the gods instead, with you the one holding the power of life and death?  No, that is not acceptable.  No longer will we accept you among us, for you do not wish to strengthen the children of the gods, but to dominate them instead.  You would even set yourself above the gods themselves were you able.”

       Sa’Amonri looked to the Farozi.  “We claim the right to speak this ones doom, Lord An’Sohrabi.”

       “As he is one of yours, it is granted to you.”

       Sa’Amonri bowed his head briefly, then exchanged looks with the priestess of Neryet.  Finally he turned to Gebankhrabi.  “You were named in honor of the lord of the earth itself and the symbol of life fulfilled; yet you have chosen death and emptiness.  So be it--you worship one who has fallen:  let you follow him.

       “The ancient temple of Seti stands still in the temple complex in West Thetos.  Rarely are its doors opened, for he was cast down by his fellows time out of mind past.  This day we will unseal the doors, and at sunset will close them behind you, leaving you in the darkness to worship him as you will.  You would sacrifice to emptiness--there is but one you have the right to offer--yourself.”  He turned to the guard who stood nearby.  “Seal his mouth again--his words are a death knell to the hearts of those who seek the joy of the light offered by the rest of the gods.”  With an expression of satisfaction the soldier replaced the gag.

       Setra’amun’s gag was removed, and he sat, white and shaking, horror on his face as he looked at the priest who sat beside him.  Water was offered him, but he could barely drink it--much of it spilled onto his chest.  Finally he looked at the Farozi with a glare which ought to have been intimidating.  “How can you do such to him?”

       “The sentence passed on him,” the Farozi returned coldly, “was not imposed by me.  He seeks to speak for the gods--the others who speak for the gods have done this, not I.”

       “But he is a priest!”

       An’Sahrobi sighed, then turned to the nobles who stood to watch the proceedings.  “Do any of you wish to allow him to perform the worship he desires to perform using yourselves, your family members, or those under your protection?”  There were a few disbelieving laughs as all shook their heads.  He turned then to the commoners who stood on the other side of the paved area.  “Is there a one of you who desires to go to the altar for Seti or he who was the Eastern Lord, or who would wish to offer your children through this one?”  The answering growl was clear enough in meaning.

       The Lord of Harad gave an elaborate shrug as he looked at the young Man who sat, bound to his chair, before him.  “There you have it, Setra’amun--none wishes to restore that worship, particularly knowing that not even the Death Eater receives any benefit from it.  He has a congregation of but one--himself.  Let him do by himself what he would do.  Do you still wish to teach the people what you called the ‘holy fear of death’?”

       “Fear gives motivation!”

       Ankhrabi gave a profound sigh.  “Every one who has had to lift sword, bow, knife, or any other weapon to protect himself, his family, or his people has known how fear gives motivation--and how it can also paralyze.  We do not need worship offered to a lie to teach motivation.  The other day my son was motivated by the fear of losing me to put himself between your bow and my body, and so he was hurt to the death, but was sent back by the Lords of Death themselves to our comfort and our people’s future needs.  I do not think he is fearful any more.”

       Sa’Amonri looked at the young Man.  “The question now is, what is it you desire to do?”

       “I desire to ask questions.”

       “In the recent past when the answers you have found were not those you desired to have, you have turned your back upon them or have sought to turn them inside out so as to get others more to your liking.  Not only is this foolish, it is an insult to the gift of intellect given you at your birthing.”

       “But the answers I found in the end were so simple....”

       “You do not believe that there can be simple answers at least at times?”

       “But they could be more....”

       Sea’Neryeni looked with pity at the youth.  “So, when the answers are too simple for your liking you would force them to be different?  Why?”

       “Anyone can find simple answers....”

       “Anyone?  Anyone can also make up fantastical answers as well.  What do you seek with the answers you would prefer to find?”

       “To be the one to know.”

       For a time they simply stayed quiet, looking at him.  Finally Sa’Amonri asked, “Which is it you would worship--Seti and his servant, or Amon?”

       “I was named for Seti.”

       “You were named for him as he was meant to be, the soothing darkness that eases the harshness of day; the peace of forgetfulness when the battles of life have left one confused and wounded; the balm of ease when the body and spirit are in agony of pain, grief, and stress.  But you are named twice for the light of the Sun, once for Ra, the one who brings the Light to chase away the shadows of fear; once for Amon who gives life and warmth.  Now comes the time for you to choose--will you worship Seti and his servant, or Amon?”

       “I don’t wish to worship any!”

       “Then what is it you desire?”

       “To be the source....”

       “The source of what?”

       “Answers!”

       “Answers that are the fabrications of your mind alone, or answers that reveal truth?”

       Setra’amun’s mouth worked.  Finally Sa’Amonri shook his head.  “You must answer this question:  who gives the answers you prefer, Amon or Seti?”

       At last the young Man whispered, “The Eastern Lord.”

       The priest of Amon gave a ragged sigh.  “You would find your answers from the shadow of a shadow?  So be it, then.  You shall enter the temple of Seti with Gebankhrabi.”  He rose and looked sorrowfully at the Farozi.  “I grieve, my beloved Lord, that I cannot call him back to sanity.”

       An’Sohrabi’s eyes were thoughtful, his expression indicating he accepted the inevitability of the decision.  “He has chosen--we cannot force him to accept life when he has chosen death instead.”  He turned to the guards.  “Take them to West Thetos, and assist those of the priest-kind who see to such things.”  He looked to those who had attended the audience.  “So the judgments have been made.  Does any question any of them?”  At the general indication by all that all was as it should be, he rose.  “So let it stand, then.”

       Amonrabi stepped forward and rapped his staff of office three times upon the pavement.  “This court is dismissed; the Farozi and others have ruled.”

Troubled Rest

       Faramir took the Star of Elendil and the Sceptre of Annúminas and saw them returned to their case, while Aragorn stripped off his formal robe and put on a loose shirt in its place, then took out one of the desert robes and began to don it.

       “What do you intend to do?” asked Faramir.

       “I need to get out of the city for a time,” the King answered him.

       Ankhrabi came down the passage to the guest quarters, his face concerned.  When he realized An’Elessar’s intentions, he said, “I will go with you, my friend.”

       The rest were looking to one another when Legolas said, “I will watch then from afar and allow the two of you some privacy.  But we will not allow you to go out totally unattended.”

       After looking at the Elf unblinking for several moments, the King finally, reluctantly nodded.  “Thank you, mellon nin.”

       “I’ll meet you in the entrance hall, Aragorn.”  The Elf went out, sharing a smile with Gimli as he returned to his own room to get what he felt he’d need.

       Hardorn’s face was quite still.  Finally he said with surprising gentleness, “Take your bow and a dagger, and maybe some throwing sticks.  Perhaps you can bring back some ducks.”

       “I have ready the bird bow and darts I’d told you of, An’Elessar.  You might try it.  I’ll go and fetch it and some throwing sticks--perhaps some food and a blanket roll for each of us for the night.  I, too, wish to be out of here for a time.”  Ankhrabi’s expression showed concern, but also understanding.

       Aragorn removed the desert robe he’d started to don, took out instead his cloak from Lothlorien, flung it about his shoulders and fastened the leaf brooch.  He carefully placed Anduril and its sheath back into the weapons chest and took out his dagger, bow and quiver.  Pippin had hurried off to his room when he realized the King intended to go out, probably for the rest of the night, and now came back with his waterskin, obviously just freshly filled.  “Here, Aragorn, take my water bottle.”

       The tall Man looked down on his smallest Captain of the Guard, then inclined his head gracefully.  “Thank you, Pippin,” he said quietly, then knelt and embraced him, receiving a hug in return.

       “It’s been one thing after another after another, hasn’t it, Strider?  You go out under the stars and remember he’s most likely doing the same, and take comfort in that.”  The Thain’s son pulled back and looked up into the King’s face.  “You meant what you said about you feeling his healing in your heart, didn’t you?”

       Aragorn’s expression softened, and a smile made its way briefly onto his face.  “Yes, Pippin, I did.”

       “Good, then.”

       Aragorn stood up, leaned down to caress Eldarion’s head, kissed Arwen and murmured something in Quenya into her ears, leaned down to do the same with Melian, saluted the rest, then started for the door.  Without a word Benai handed him his healer’s kit and personal satchel.  Ruvemir stood by the doorway, looking up at him.  He took something out of his pocket and held it out to his liege lord.  “Here,” he said, “you might need this--you never know.”

       Aragorn reached down to accept a Hobbit handkerchief, looked at it with interest and a return of his usual humor to his face, then looked back to the sculptor with a raised eyebrow.  Ruvemir smiled.  “Lord Samwise gave me another box just before we left Eriador, my Lord King.  Just in case, mind you.”

       The King was tucking it inside the sleeve of his shirt, laughing, as he followed Ankhrabi down the hall toward the Haradri Prince’s apartments.

       Ankhrabi was glad to see the easing of the King’s attitude as they went.  It was, he knew, the first time the King had been in this part of the palace complex, and he gave a sideways look to see how he was taking it.  Much of the guest wing had been left with plainly plastered walls, although there were lily and lotus designs here and there.  In the wing to which they went now the walls were painted here with hunting scenes, there with a scene of a former Farozi riding to war in his chariot, along this section of the hallway a great lord sitting at ease in the garden with his wife and family.  The Lord An’Elessar was, he realized, examining each of these as he passed it.  As they approached one on guard, Ankhrabi slowed to address him.  “Mapelrabi, will you please advise Gebsohrabi to prepare to accompany me.  We will be going out to prepare to hunt in the morning.”  The Guard bowed, his free hand over his breast, and withdrew, Ankhrabi absently acknowledging the bow with an inclination of his head.

       Lady Avrieth was just now coming out of Nefirnerini’s quarters, she carrying Elboron and Hasturnerini leading Elfwine as they passed them.  Hasturnerini gave a well-executed curtsey, which was acknowledged by both Men with definite bows, and she smiled with pleasure and accomplishment as she followed Berevrion’s wife back toward the guest wing, the two of them followed by Haleth who gave a brief salute as he passed, keeping most of his attention on his charges.  They paused outside the rooms given to the use of the Prince and his wife.  Ankhrabi noted that most of the stiffness in the King’s posture had begun to loosen.  “Good,” he commented.  “You no longer look like one of the images upon the wall.  They are good for you, those who came with you--help to ease the tension.”

       “Yes.”

       “The fate of Setra’amun and the one from the red temple disturbs you?”

       “Yes, and mostly for sake of the younger one.”

       “I don’t know how long they will survive in there in the darkness.”

       “I suppose not.  I wish there had been a way to call him back.”

       “For some there is no way.”  Ankhrabi pushed the door open and they went in.  Ankhsarani and Nefiramonrani were kneeling over a chest of clothing for infants, obviously discussing what might be worn by the coming child.  Ankhsarani’s face held a level of wistfulness as she’d not been able to share in this joy as yet, and who knew now if she might know it in the future?  After all, she was no longer of an age to be sought as a bride among her people.  Ankhrabi smiled to acknowledge his sister-in-law, and leaned over his wife.  “I will be going out with An’Elessar, Nefirani.  We’re going out to sleep under the stars and to hunt ducks again in the morning.  He finds he needs to be away.”

       “You do not go unattended?”

       “Prince Legolas and Gebsohrabi will be attending us, and we’ve seen already that An’Elessar is an army almost of himself.  With no knowledge by others we go out, and with such guards, this time I am certain we will be safe enough.”

       “If you are certain, beloved.  I would not lose you.”  They kissed, and he straightened.  Indicating his guest ought to remain there, he went into an adjoining room.  Nefiramonrani watched after him, some anxiety in her eyes.

       “Legolas and I will do our best not to allow him more hurt, my Lady,” Aragorn reassured her.  “And I will be able to keep an eye on his wound.”

       Lady Ankhsarani asked, “Do you find at times that to be King is almost more than you can bear?”

       He gave a brief, rueful smile.  “Even after ten years such times still happen, when I find myself needing to get away from the Citadel and all attendant on it.  I was a Ranger of Eriador for far longer than I’ve been King.”

       Ma’osiri and Amon’osiri entered the room.  Both stopped in surprise to see the visitor, then smiled and came forward.  He reached out his hands and drew them to him, his own smile lighting his face, a sadness there also, however, for the other brothers who were now being separated this night.

       Amon’osiri said quietly, “I told him the one who shot him is being given to the temple of Seti.  He asks if he will come out again.”  Ma’osiri nodded to indicate his brother spoke truly.

       An’Elessar’s smile faded, his face becoming sad.  “No, he will not come out again, not in this life.  He has chosen the dark; I only hope he will go through it into the light again there.”

       Ma’osiri nodded, whispered, “I am sorry.”

       Aragorn said quietly, “As am I.  Let me look at your throat.”

       He knelt and carefully removed the bandage, placed his fingers over the healing wound and allowed his fingers to feel deeply--and felt suddenly a warmth to his fingertips answered by a similar warmth in the area around the wound, felt more of the damaged tissue begin to knit and heal.  His eyes closed and his mouth opened slightly. 

       When at last he pulled his hand away and opened his eyes, the boy looked up at him slightly surprised, touched his throat gently with his own fingertips.  Gently the boy cleared his throat, and murmured, “It feels better.”  The Man kneeling before him nodded.  “Does it surprise you sometimes when it happens like that?”

       “Yes.”

       “Then--then it’s not exactly you doing it.”

       “I can direct it in many cases; but many times it simply flows through me; and occasionally what it touches is not what I’d thought to be the major hurt but is indeed what needs to be healed first.”

       The child nodded.  “They sent me back, but you were there.”

       “Only to guide you back if you could come away.”

       “Will I be able to go back there again some time?”

       Now the King was smiling.  “We will all go there at least once, Ma’osiri.  Yes, when the time is right you will be able to return there and go beyond it.”

       “But I won’t leave soon,” the boy said thoughtfully.  “Not until it’s time.”

       “For now you must learn and do what you can here, with your brother and your family and your people.”

       The boy nodded again thoughtfully, then reached out to hug the King about the neck, a hug Aragorn returned in kind, then reached out to include Amon’osiri in the hug, then pulled away to leave the two brothers holding one another.

       A low couch was nearby, and with a slight, “Please excuse me,” he sat upon it, brought out the square of cloth from his sleeve and wiped his face with it.  Ankhrabi came out of the inner room changed to a more utilitarian white kilt, a single pendant of an Ankh about his neck, a green hooded robe over his arm, carrying a number of throwing sticks, two bird bows and quivers of bolts, and a small bag over his shoulder.  He looked on his sons, saw that Ma’osiri’s bandage was removed and that the skin over the wound looked pink and fresh, then knelt to look into his sons’ eyes, looking from one to the other.  “You are both so precious to me,” he said gently, reaching out his arm to encompass them.  “Lord An’Elessar and I will be going out for the night and will return in the morning--with ducks, I hope.  And then we shall have Captain Peregrin prepare them for us, for he knows just how to do so.”

       “Enjoy yourself, Babari,” Ma’osiri said.

       “I will miss you, Baba,” his brother added as the King rose from his seat.

       Kissing both of them, their father rose, leaned down to kiss his wife, smiled at her sister, then went out, looking into his daughter’s room where she sat with the two older daughters of Lord Rustovrid and bade her a good night and receiving a kiss from her also, and led his guest out and toward the kitchens.  There he talked to a lesser cook and obtained some food for them to enjoy during the night and in the morning to come, and then they went to the main entrance room where Legolas and a guard from the palace awaited them carrying bedrolls, and after all had donned their cloaks or outer robes together they went out.

       Both the King and the Elf pulled their hoods over their heads, and as they walked through the streets of Thetos none appeared to remark them.  Once they’d left the city behind them Ankhrabi led them through the fields upriver rather than down until they came to a stand of date palms.  He looked questioningly at the other three, and at their nods of approval they stopped there and set out bedrolls, then sat quietly together looking at the growing dark.  Aragorn and Legolas pushed back their hoods and sighed.  The King pulled his satchel off his shoulder and reached within, then pulled something out, laughing gently.  Legolas looked at him with a raised eyebrow, as An’Elessar examined the object, then held it out.  “Pippin put in his pipeweed pouch.”  The Elf touched it gently, then pushed it back toward his friend.

       Aragorn pulled his pipe out of the satchel and filled it, brought out his striker out of a pocket, and soon had it lit and was puffing at it.  He examined the guard.  “You are Gebsohrabi?” he finally asked.

       “Yes.  My mother was a daughter of An’Horubi by a concubine, and she grew up in the house of An’Sohrabi before he became Farozi.  My father was in An’Ma’osiri’s personal guard, and later An’Sohrabi’s.  I’ve grown up in my uncle’s house, and when we were small children my Lord Ankhrabi and I often played together.  Lord Bherevrid trained me to serve as a guard, and I usually accompany my lord cousin when he wishes but one guard.”

       “It sounds much like Hardorn and myself, for we are cousins as well.  He was so intent on mastering weapons and seeing to my safety and so good at what he did that I sent him to Imladris to learn of my brothers how to be better.  He’s almost as good with a sword or knife as I am, and a better archer.  He’s better with many other weapons as well.  The only reason he didn’t insist on accompanying me was because Legolas came with me.”

       “Lord Legolas is as good as you?”

       The Elf answered, amused, “I am better--but then I’ve had a far longer time to perfect my skills.  Also, being an Elf I can remain awake and aware several days in a row while he can barely stay awake for three nights running any more.”  He accepted some of the dried fish, bread, and cheese from the supplies brought from the kitchens, took a drink from his water bottle, then indicated he would go out further and take the first watch.

       Gebsohrabi watched the Northerner finish his pipe.  As the ashes were being knocked out of it he asked, “Do many of your people do this?”

       Aragorn shrugged.  “It is common enough in the far North, but uncommon in Gondor itself.  I began smoking after I returned to my people after I came of age, but almost gave up the habit for many years while I served in Rohan and Gondor and traveled in Rhun and here in Harad and Far Harad.  Then, after I rejoined the Rangers of Eriador I began doing it regularly again, although perhaps I’d have done as well not to start smoking at all.  It’s a difficult art to develop at the first, for it is harsh on the lungs; and some I’ve had to advise to stop its practice.  However, when I am under stress it appears to help me calm and think.  However, other activities can achieve the same ends, as my beloved wife and my brothers like to remind me.”

       “Why did you choose to leave the palace this night?”

       The King was quiet and thoughtful, turning his pipe in his fingers, his attention apparently fixed on watching the play of reflected light and shadows on the thing.  Finally he said, “For me, to order an execution is very difficult, and I do not do it lightly, although I have ordered such when they are needed--I have even executed Men myself when it was necessary.”  He looked up sideways at Gebsohrabi.  “I will be aware when the woman Mayanerini dies.  I know what she did was heinous--she has apparently been able to avoid detection of the poisoning of her husband for years and has arranged the abduction and enslavement of her daughter’s husband and was in the process of poisoning her daughter’s children when she was found out at the last.  I believe, in accordance with my experience with such folk before, that if she were pardoned she would become more mad and others would only suffer the worse for it as her rage toward the world spreads.  She has earned her sentence and the people among whom she might move deserve to be protected from her form of madness.  But--I will still feel it when she dies.  I will be aware of the moment when the air stops flowing and of the fighting to make it resume, and the final loss of consciousness ere the life flees.

       “I already feel the terror of Setra’amun, and I do not know when it will end.  I feel the fear of four of the nobles and the acceptance of one of them and the towering rage of another and the numbness of the rest as they await the arrow in the morning.  They are not my people, and so I do not feel it as strongly as I would at home; but because I have become aware of them I feel it.

       “I need to counter this awareness.    I must not become hardened to it where I dismiss it, or it will destroy my humanity.  But I must balance it with the realization most people are not that way, that most people cannot become deluded into doing what they know is wrong simply because it would benefit them in some way or because they were ordered to it.  I need to know that there are those who will love others if they get the chance, and that there is pleasure as well as disgust in opening myself to others. 

       “I need to know that the stars are still there for our consolation and guidance, and at times I need to open myself to feel the love of the Valar and the Voice of Iluvatar in my heart.

       “Sometimes I need to counter an execution by being surrounded by those I know love me; other times it is better to be away from them--from most of them, at least.  And tonight I can understand more strongly why it was that Frodo decided to exile himself from Middle Earth.”  He looked off over the river toward the desert on the Western Bank.  “I know I have no reason to feel this way, but just having been in the presence of Mayanerini and Setra’amun and some of the others condemned today has left me feeling tainted.”

       “Gebankhrabi struck me that way,” Ankhrabi said, shuddering.

       Aragorn shrugged.  “I cannot begin to put myself into his mind, and so his fate does not disturb me; but I can understand the lure of questions that need answering and the disappointment when what I’d hoped to be exotic answers turn out to be mundane, or the desire not to allow changes in relationships that must come in time.  I have regretted my daughter leaving the innocence of infancy for the awareness and basic selfishness of childhood.  It is with a level of horror that I realize I can almost begin to see how it is that Mayanerini has come to what she has, or how I might have done much as Setra’amun has done.  I do not believe I will be much aware of the priest’s end, but I will feel that of Setra’amun.”

       After a time the Northerner shook himself.  “I will lie down and try to sleep, if I can.”

       He slipped off his grey cloak, lay down within the bedroll given him with the cloak settled over all, and remained still, staring up at the stars.  After a time his eyes closed and his breathing deepened, until suddenly he jerked awake and sat up abruptly, his face tense.  At last he took a deep breath.  “The woman is dead,” he said quietly.

       He lay back down, turned on his side away from them.  For a time he lay still, then sat up with a sigh and reached for the water bottle and uncorked it to take a drink, then paused, the bottle held open near his face.  “Bless Pippin,” he murmured.  “Bless Pippin and Sam.  Even when Sam’s not here, he still anticipates my needs.”  He spilled some of the water from his bottle into his hand, rubbed it on his face, spilled some more into his hand and sipped at it.  Then he carefully corked the bottle and set it down by him.  Again he lay down on his back, looking up, and slowly his body eased.  At last again his eyes closed, and when at last he rolled on his side, definitely asleep, he rolled toward the others.

Traveling Companions

       Ankhrabi awoke, a bit stiff, just as the swift sunrise began to lighten the Eastern horizon.  He could hear singing, and realized that An’Elessar was sitting up on his rolled blankets, his grey cloak about his shoulders again, greeting the sunrise with a song in Westron about roads and following them.  He looked to be calm enough, the Haradri prince noted with relief.  Ankhrabi rose, went into the grove a bit deeper to relieve himself, and returned to cleanse his hands with the water from his water bottle before he began to remove food from the bag given them in the kitchens.

       Gebsohrabi was now on watch, although where Prince Legolas might be was uncertain.  Ankhrabi prepared portions for his guest, guard, and self, setting some aside for the Elf on his return.  An’Elessar accepted his share of the meal with quiet thanks, rose briefly and faced West, then sat to eat with a degree of pleasure. 

       “When we are through,” the prince asked, “would you like to practice with bow and throwing sticks before we go to the marshes?”

       “After I’ve checked your wound, certainly,” Aragorn said, smiling, and Legolas, appearing in their midst like an apparition, also indicated his willingness to try as he took up his share in the breakfast.

       The Elf quickly understood the basics of how to use the throwing sticks, and by his fifth cast with one he had hit the target of a particular branch on the date palm twice; by his ninth Aragorn had managed to hit it once.  He was more successful with the bird bow, and soon they were skirting around Thetos and following the Risen Northward to the delta channels.

       They hunted all morning, and by the time the Sun was high they had eighteen birds among them.  The King, Ankhrabi realized, preferred to hunt humanely, and was not happy with himself if the kill wasn’t clean.  He’d reverted to the use of his own bow fairly soon so that he could guarantee as little pain to the birds as necessary.  “I’ll keep working with them and try using them again in the valley of the Anduin in the fall,” he decided, “but I’ll use my own bow for the rest of today’s hunt.”  He carefully and expertly gutted his share of the prey, and quickly fastened them to his belt. 

       Ankhrabi found his own aim was not as true as it usually was, and An’Elessar attributed it to the tightness of the upper shoulder muscles since his wounding.  After considering this, Ankhrabi found himself agreeing the King was most likely correct.

       They were all happy enough as they headed back into Thetos, stopping to retrieve their personal satchels and bedrolls where Legolas had hidden them for safety within a tree, and they were nearing the outskirts of the city when the King stopped, his face going suddenly white and his gaze unfocused.  The others watched him with concern.  Finally he shook his head with a grim expression and, looking as if to make certain of their own safety, gave a shrug and indicated they should continue on their way. 

       On their return the King asked his wife to accompany him to the bathing chambers, and examining his face she opened his healer’s kit and brought with her a leaf of athelas.  The rest watched after with varying expressions.  When Lord Hardorn looked back at Ankhrabi with questions in his eyes, the Haradri shrugged.  “He explained last night how he felt part of what those who were to die themselves feel, but then he appeared calmed and not unduly concerned save for the time he said the woman died.  Something appeared to happen as we were returning from the hunt, however, that disturbed him, and he would not say what.” 

       Captain Peregrin agreed with pleasure to accompany Ankhrabi to the kitchens to assist in the preparation of the ducks after the noon meal was finished, and Ankhrabi took his leave to go bathe and prepare for the meal himself.

       Aragorn didn’t appear for the noon meal, but was there for the evening one, somewhat quiet save when praising the duck.

       Pippin smiled.  “Nubiranabri and I exchanged a few recipes today, and I’ll have to teach someone in Minas Anor how to dry mushrooms before I return to the Shire.  He’s most insistent he must have some at least from time to time.”  All laughed.

       An’Sohrabi saw that his guest was eating only lightly.  “What troubles you, my friend An’Elessar?” he asked.

       Aragorn shrugged.  “It is not a fit subject to discuss during a meal, my Lord Farozi.”

       “I see.  Your visit is due to be completed in three days’ time.”

       “Yes.  Already we have been gone too long from our own lands.”

       “I ask that you take with you some more guests.”

       The King looked at him with interest.  “And who will these be, my friend?”

       “My son and his family and Lady Ankhsarani, if that be acceptable to you.  My son and grandson recover quickly, but are not yet fully restored; I would not have them separated from you until they are.”  The twins’ eyes were excited as they sat up on their couches to peer at their grandfather with more curiosity.  “Also, Lord Ghants’pa’amon desires to return to your land to continue trade talks with Prince Imrahil regarding cloth and leathers.  I am pleased he is now more--enthusiastic--than he was previously about the idea.  I feel he is now better disposed to accept partnership with Dol Amroth.”

       “It would be a great honor to show your son’s family our land, An’Sohrabi, and Prince Imrahil and Elphir will be fully glad to treat with Lord Ghants’pa’amon again on a more positive basis.  There is one difficulty which I hope you will consider--we do not allow slavery in our lands, and by our laws any who enter Gondor or Arnor as slaves are declared free on their arrival on our shores.”  An’Sohrabi exchanged looks with his son and daughter-in-law.  “However, I do offer a solution;  I will now offer to purchase the freedom of any whom you would have accompany them, and they may freely enter our lands as paid servants, if they willingly agree to remain in your employ on such condition.”

       “That would be acceptable to us, my Lord King,” An’Sohrabi indicated.  “I will discuss this privately with my son and his wife and his wife’s sister and Lord Ghants’pa’amon to see what settlement will need to be made and will inform you of the results in two days’ time, if that is acceptable to you?”

       The King and Queen of Gondor indicated their agreement.

       “We will be hosting a feast your last night here in your honor, for you and all of your people.  I hope this will be a pleasant evening, and I suspect many who did not come to greet you on your arrival will attend to give you honor now.  That your visit has encompassed such--difficulties and yet we are more stable in our government in spite of all that has happened is of great import.”

       “Thank you, my friend.  We will be most glad to attend.”

       When the evening was over they moved to the other end of the room of entertainment.  Once all were seated and Lady Avrieth had brought the smallest children to join their parents, the Farozi asked, “Will you tell us now what troubles you, my Lord?”

       The King sighed.  “I cannot tell you precisely what happened at the time, but apparently as we were returning from the marshes the former priest assaulted Setra’amun--those emotions of which I am aware became highly agitated and fearful, then mightily angry.  Then there was a feeling of triumph accompanied by a ceasing of any awareness of Gebankhrabi, not that I have had much awareness of him.  The one remaining is growing increasingly isolated and fearful once more--that is all.”

       “I see.  This--gift--of yours is not always one of benefit to you, I see.”

       An’Elessar gave a slight shrug, then sipped from the goblet he had brought with him from the table.  Setting it on the edge of the planter beside his couch, he reached to take his son into his arms.

       “I’ve asked some of our court musicians to attend on us tonight and to play and sing for us.  I hope that will assist you to turn your mind to more pleasant things.”

       “Thank you.”

       Soon four individuals arrived carrying a variety of instruments.  Once all was set in order and they had seen all tuned, they began to play.  In time Ankhsarani sent for her zithern, and on its arrival she moved to join them.  The music did indeed appear to soothe and distract the King, and when the song proved one he’d learned when in Harad before he asked if he might sing with the musicians.  When at last all indicated they were ready to seek their beds, An’Sohrabi watched the more relaxed set of his guest’s shoulders with satisfaction.  As he walked by his son back to their own wing he slipped his arm about the younger Man’s shoulders, grateful that Ankhrabi had been allowed to remain by him.

       Master Ruvemir and Owain were much busy in the gardens.  The sculptor had purchased a block of marble half his own height, and now was busily working it assisted by the youth and occasionally by the King, which surprised those in the Farozi’s household.  Amonrabi had placed a canopy over the site at the mannikin’s request, and during the day many came to watch from time to time.  At about midday of the day of the feast he appeared to be done, and left Owain to do the final polishing and took out a length of cloth offered him by the Queen with which to cover it over.  Together master sculptor and King swept up the stone shards and saw to their disposal, again amusing the Farozi and amazing his folk.

       The women walked often out into the city, visiting the markets, temples, and notable families living in Thetos; the King attended two meetings of An’Sohrabi’s Council and visited the temples and facilities associated with healing, and spent one evening in company with the herbalist for the temple of Geb, and the next he and his wife ate dinner with their ambassadors to Harad.

       An hour before the feast was to begin on their final evening found the Northerners all back in their rooms carefully dressing.  That the ladies all assisted one another remained a marvel to those who served in the Farozi’s house.  One of Nefiramonrani’s maids came in and helped some; but the fastenings and fashions of the clothing of the guests were strange to her, and she felt not only almost helpless but unnecessary.  When she saw the King of Gondor himself assisting in the lacing of his wife’s dress she was simply amazed--and then the Queen was doing similarly for him.

       Those from Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan stood by Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani as the guests began to arrive, circlets of rank upon their brows.  Aragorn wore a robe brought from Gondor, a resplendent blue embroidered with seven stars on one side and the White Tree on the other; his wife wore the maroon dress embroidered with elanor and niphredil her husband had given her as a gift after the birth of Melian.  The exotic colors and designs intrigued the rest of the guests.

       Great lords and ladies found themselves dining with desert chieftains and kafras of various sorts as well as a judicious selection of priests and priestesses.  The meal was very formal, and all looked on the guards of honor for the Northern lords with interest as they stood in shining mail and resplendent livery in their places.  Word that each of these was a notable also in his own land had spread throughout Thetos. 

       After the meal was over, Elfhelm and Mablung went out with Owain to fetch in the covered figure.  The Lord King An’Elessar rose formally and bowed to their host.  “My Lord Farozi,” he began, “Ruvemir son of Mardil of Lebennin, Master Sculptor of the lands of Gondor and Arnor, asks permission to make you this gift.”  A servant of the palace carefully set a stand requested by the sculptor before his lord, and Ruvemir led those carrying the figure and directed its placement, then carefully pulled away the fabric which had covered it.

       The Farozi An’Sohrabi leaned forward with interest, and examined the gift with great pleasure.  It was a figure of himself seated in the chair of judgment in which he’d sat during the trials, wearing the crown of Harad and its insignias, crook and flail across his chest over the pectoral he’d worn with its insignia of Ra in splendor, the formal kilt and aproned sash easily recognizable, even the lacing of his sandals to mid-calf depicted.  It was a blend between the formal stylization of Haradri sculpture and the naturalism preferred by Ruvemir; but there was no question it was beautifully done.  It was accepted with greatest pleasure, and the satisfaction of the  sculptor was plain to see.

       The entertainment was applauded by all; the talk between Northern officials and the Haradrim was increasingly relaxed and satisfactory.  Hobbits, Dwarf, Elves, and dwarfling sculptor were found to be courteous and approachable, if they still remained exotic in the eyes of the Haradrim.  When at last those attending began to withdraw back to their homes, encampments, or quarters, all were pleased with the events of the visit.  At last the guests returned to their quarters where formal clothing was doffed and most sought to get most of their effects packed.

       The morning meal was quiet for the most part.  Hardorn was overseeing the removal of their luggage to the barge.  Elfwine and Melian sat on their fathers’ couches and ate thus beside them, and although it was plain that the Northerners were now desirous to return to their homes they also regretted the end of the visit.  Kings and Farozi spoke quietly with one another, the three of them now displaying a mutual respect and honor that was heartening to the others to see.  Ma’osiri and Ankhrabi no longer showed any signs of discomfort, and it was plain that all three of the Farozi’s grandchildren were anticipating their first visit to foreign climes with increasing excitement.

       Sa’Amonri ate with them this morning, his couch by that of Sa’Harpelamun, speaking quietly with him.

       Gebsohrabi was to attend on Ankhrabi along with three others.  Lady Ankhsarani’s five attendants, whose freedom had been purchased by the King of Gondor and who now were paid servants, were seeing to the removal of her equipment to the barge; three servants were to attend on Ankhrabi and his family, and they appeared to be carrying less among the five of them than Nefiramonrani’s sister, which caused amusement among all.  Lord Ghants’pa’amon and his wife were there, and the two serving them were also busy seeing to the stowing of their goods on the barge.

       The meal seemed to be finished too quickly for the Farozi.  As he finally rose he sighed, turning to the King of Gondor.  “Too long it has been since I last saw you, An’Horubi’ninarin, and now I fear I shall not see you again in this life.  I must bid you farewell now, and hope you do not remember your times in my land always with regret.”

       “Regret?  When my presence has assisted you to become so responsible a leader for your people?  No, my Lord An’Sohrabi, I do not regret any of the time I’ve ever spent in your land.”

       “When my time comes, if you can will you come to see me off?”

       “If I am near enough to hand, my friend.  Annúminas is almost restored; in a few years time I will be having to make regular journeys there so as to more equitably share my rule between the two sectors of my realm.  However, no matter what else might be done, I will attend the investiture of your son with your office.”

       “Then I will do my best to hold myself until you are reported to be in Minas Anor.  I regret you must now leave us, but know your lands rejoice to see your return.  And know that I entrust you with my greatest treasures to accompany you.  I solemnly charge you to return them whole and healthy to me in a month’s time.”

       “And so we shall, my friend.”  King and Farozi looked deeply into one another’s eyes, then embraced.

       When the Northerners had gone through their chambers to make certain all had indeed been found and readied for their return to their homes, they took up their personal satchels and walked out through the palace to the door to the water stair.  Lord Amonrabi stood at the door there, waiting to take his leave of them   “I grieve you must go from us.  Perhaps without your assistance our land would have again come under the control of outsiders; because you were here we remain free, and my brother and Ankhrabi and Ma’osiri remain with us.  I thank you--I thank you so deeply.”  He bowed deeply to each of them.  “Amon and the Lady Neryet--they have guided your steps here.  May they ever do so.”

       When the two Hobbits came even with him he went down on one knee.  “And we thank you both for your meals.  Perhaps one day some of ours may enter your land and know your hospitality.  Go now, but return one day to our delight.”

       Pippin and Isumbard both embraced the elderly steward, pressing into his hands more of the recipes Aragorn had assisted them to copy into Haradri the preceding evening.  With a final salute from Benai, the last of the King’s party headed down the water stair to take his place on the barge where Lord Ghants’pa’amon’s party already waited.

       An’Sohrabi followed with his son’s family, his hand on his son’s shoulder, the twins obviously wishing they could push by their father to come first to the barge, their aunt, mother, and sister following behind with those of their servants who were to accompany them, Gebsohrabi and the other two guards stepping onto the barge alongside their charges.  As son, daughter-in-law, niece, and grandchildren went aboard they each paused and embraced An’Sohrabi, and he embraced them in return.  Sa’Amonri now followed Sa’Harpelamun, who carried a small chest, a plain white bag over his shoulder.  As they stood by the barge the older priest spoke quietly to the younger one, laying his hand on the young Man’s shoulder.  What was said was uncertain to the others, but the younger priest’s worry fell away briefly as he smiled into Sa’Amonri’s eyes, and then he was stepping gingerly onto the barge and taking the seat indicated by the barge master as one of the ones manning the poles took his chest and set it with the others.  Then came Rustovrid, his family, their servants and guards.  All of the party from the North now rose together, and bowed in respect to the Farozi.  He raised his hand in farewell, and at the order of the master of the barge those who manned the poles began to push off into the river’s current, and the return to Risenmouthe and the King’s ship was begun.

Homeward Bound

       Being able to utilize the current made the return journey to Risenmouthe much quicker than the trip South to Thetos had gone.  Pippin began a walking song from the Shire which spoke of standing stones and secret gates, a song in which Isumbard, then King Elessar, the Lady Queen Arwen, Gimli, and finally Legolas joined.  Prince Faramir followed that with a sea chantey commonly sung by the merchant seamen who brought their ships into the Harlond and frequented the inns of the First Circle, one which Queen Lothiriel plainly knew also.  Gimli started one song, then at a glare from Legolas stopped it after four stanzas, grinning up at the Elf.  Ankhrabi went next with a love song that was popular when he had married Nefiramonrani.  All were calm and relaxed.

       Once they reached the harbor of Risenmouthe they were tied to the same pier to which the barge had been fastened on their arrival; quickly each grabbed personal satchel, children were marshaled, numbers counted one last time, and they filed off the barge and began making their way up the ramp and down the dock until they reached the berth where the Gondorian ship rested.  Its gangplank was already set in place, and as the King’s party approached the King’s Standard was deployed from the main mast.  Captain and crew, all neatly garbed, stood to attention as their passengers approached, saluting.  Royal guardsmen were lined up on the surface of the pier, were examined carefully by Lord Hildigor as if making certain he recognized each face, were given the same scrutiny by Captain Peregrin Took, and then at a signal by Lord Hildigor half moved to the opposite side of the pier, and the lines were stretched so as to guard against an attack from either end of the dock.

       Ambassador Rustovrid and his family went aboard first, then Lord Ghants’pa’amon’s, Lord Berevrion identifying each individual to the purser so his or her name could be marked off or added to the list the Man kept.  Then the party from Rohan went aboard, all treated with great respect, followed by Prince Faramir and family and their guards.  Isumbard, Ruvemir, and Owain went next, followed by Sa’Harpelamun, who was then followed by those from the Haradri royal family and Lady Ankhsarani and their servants and guards.  Captain Peregrin Took was then instructed to escort Hasturnerini and Benai aboard, followed by Hildigor escorting Lady Avrieth; Legolas and Gimli went next, and at last the King and his family boarded.  Lord Hardorn, one of the new guards from the ship, and Gebsohrabi oversaw the transfer of the remaining chests and baggage from the barge to the Harthad uin Dún where Hildigor and another of Ankhrabi’s party saw to its distribution to cabins.

       Once most of the passengers had been shown to their quarters to dispose of their personal satchels, the captain turned to his monarch.  “There is one more matter which I must ask you to deal with personally, my Lord King.”  At the King’s raised eyebrow, he continued, “There is one who has approached our people who has identified himself as Kafra Antipatha of the Batsis, and he has brought a gift for you which he would have you accept and carry home with you.”

       Aragorn looked mystified for a moment, then shook his head.  “Let me guess--a camel.”

       The captain shook his head, smiling.  “No, my Lord King, not a camel--or at least not a single camel--it is three camels, one male and two females, all quite young; and with them a store of feed to see them back to Gondor and a boy I am told is an orphan to care for them.  Kafra Antipatha tells me he understands you could not take the last such gift from his family, and he hopes that you will accept these.  As small as they are now they could be easily brought into the hold intended for horses.”

       Accompanied by Mablung and an amused Berevrion the King hurried off to  speak to Antipatha, but half an hour later as the last of the casks of fresh water were being loaded they returned, accompanied by the King’s gift from the Batsis.  The sailors laughed as they carried the feed down into the stable area in the hold intended for carrying steeds for the King’s party should they need such on their arrival at their destination; and with much coaxing three small camels were brought there, also, lowered down into the hold from the arms of a sailor into Benai’s.  The boy also came aboard and was assigned the cabin prepared for hostelers, and was amazed to find such large and fine quarters all to himself.  The boy’s clothing was actually quite finely made and well cared for, if a bit worn; and he had two extra robes to change into as well as sufficient loin garments for the voyage.  When the Queen realized how the royal household had again become expanded she could be heard laughing richly.

       At last the ship was ready to cast off; all were aboard, goods were secured, camels placed together in a single stall with sufficient grain, leaves, and water to provide for them.  As the tide began to turn the Captain began preparing the ship, and at last gave the signal to release the cables and begin raising certain of the sheets.  The ship swung round on the current and was soon started on its journey home.  Outside the harbor were three smaller, more maneuverable craft to serve as escort vessels; they took positions about the larger vessel and they were soon into the open sea where they set their course for the Mouths of the Sea.

       The boy’s name was Asa; he was fourteen years of age; he had been son to Antipatha’s cousin.  His father had been among the last of the victims of the Death Eater’s agents; his mother had died in childbirth a few months later.  He truly had wished to go with the camels, tired of being just another boy among others his age in his cousin’s tents and markedly curious about other lands and ways of life.

       “Cousin Antipatha was going to send Dava’amon, whose mother is a slave.  He didn’t want to leave our tents, though, and I did.  So I convinced him in the end to send me instead.  I will train the camels, and teach folk how to ride them.  I will be an important one instead of just one of the extra sons.  I will be able to see other lands, other peoples.  I do not wish to live only in the desert and the grasslands on the edge of the desert.”  All were amazed when they heard his story told at their first meal aboard ship.

       Several of the sailors aboard the ship were from Arnor and had sailed from Mithlond in the past on one or another of the few merchant ships of the Northern Dúnedain, and these tended to speak Adunaic amongst themselves.  When they finally had a chance to sit down and relax after the ship was under way and the captain was satisfied the canvas raised so far was sufficient to take best advantage of the wind, four gathered to smoke their pipes near the bowsprit in an area they had unofficially claimed as their own, and were discussing the new passengers aboard the return cruise. 

       “The Prince of Harad himself and his family?  Who would ever dream that the Farozi’s son and grandchildren would visit our lands?”

       “It’s the priest I wonder about.  Do all the priests down there perform blood sacrifices?”

       A third one, a very young sailor, commented, “The black Man is the one who has me curious.  Who gave him a Dúnedain sword?  Do you think he can use it?  He’s quite tall for one who is not of Dúnedain blood, isn’t he?  See him over there by the bowsprit?”

       He almost leapt off his coil of rope when the object of his curiosity answered him in Adunaic, “Yes, I can use my sword, and the King gave it into my hands, although it came from my own people.  I am one of your cousins from South of Harad, and am indeed one of the Dúnedain myself.  The smaller ships are more like the ships of our people in Camaloa on which I am accustomed to sail.  I find this one quite marvelous.  Do you fish from it as you sail?”

       Lord Hildigor came forward then to find a quiet place to smoke his pipe, and found the sailors staring at Benai as if the bowsprit itself had begun to speak to them and tell them tales of life as a tree.  “What is it?” the son of the Steward of Arnor asked in Adunaic.  “You four look as if you were facing a barrow-wight.”

       “I believe I have taken them by surprise, Lord Hildigor,” Benai explained, his eyes amused as he looked at the other four.

       “He speaks Adunaic!” explained the youngest sailor, rather unnecessarily.

       “And so?” asked Hildigor, realizing the source of the surprise and finding himself relishing it.  “Shall not one of the descendants of Númenor speak the languages of our ancestors?”

       “But, my Lord Hildigor....”

       Benai laughed.  “Our Lord Elessar himself was taken aback, although he does not question our story.”  He quickly explained the coming of a ship which had fled the foundering of Númenor to the shores of the lands South and West of Harad, and they were impressed.  He then told of how he’d been captured and enslaved,  then freed by the Queen’s intervention.

       “But how was the King able to give you a sword of your people?”

       Benai shrugged.  “It is believed by those of Harad that the Lady Elbereth, whom they call Neryet, is able to guide their actions, and that the sword was given to her and she in turn gave it into the King’s hands to give to me.  It is a sword of my own people, and I once knew the one who bore it last.”  He smiled.  “And she gave into my hand the star he bore as a young Ranger, ere he came to Harad the first time, and he has given it into the keeping of the son of Ankhrabi.”

       They looked to Hildigor, and saw that he confirmed it all.  One of the elder ones shook his head in amazement.  “Certainly the Valar have surrounded our Lord Aragorn with many blessings, although had he not striven as hard and long as he did they’d have been meaningless in the end.”  The others indicated their agreement.

       Within a day Benai was running up the rigging of the ship with the rest of the crew, and by the time they reached the Harlond the captain was begging him to come onto the ship as an officer, but he was shaking his head.  “No, my lord Captain--I must return to my own people and their defense.  I do thank you for the honor you have shown me.  But I hope that this ship will bear me home again, and I will aid in its crew again on the voyage.”

       When not working with the crew, Benai was often found keeping company with the oldest daughter of Lord Rustovrid.  They spent much time on the starboard side of the main cabin where they spoke with increasing freedom as the young woman worked on teaching Benai both more Westron and Haradri.  He proved an apt pupil, and she found herself learning Adunaic as well.  Rustovrid watched with concern, but Lady Ghansaret seemed increasingly pleased as the relationship continued to blossom.  “He is an honorable Man, and is distantly related to the King and counts himself one of his folk.  He is already a leader among his people, and when he returns to them he will be even greater.  To have ties to the folk of Camaloa will be good for us, for I believe his people will ally themselves with the Haradrim and our own folk in Far Harad, and this will aid to provide protection for our Southern borders.

       “I will tell you this, my beloved,” she continued on to her husband, “I feared she would become enamored of one of the Northern Dúnedain instead, and thus would go far away from us and no longer consider herself as being of the Southlands any more.  Should they marry, she will prove of great benefit to his people, and will help them to prosper and become at least equal in culture to ours.  And in time the prestige of Harad and Far Harad will grow, and do so rightly.”

       Lady Ankhsarani recognized the reason she had been sent on this voyage was to allow time for the speculations regarding her place in the affairs of Sherfiramun to die down, and she was grateful for her uncle’s thoughtfulness.  But she felt somewhat set apart from the rest; most others were married, and she often heard those who’d come on the visit speaking of their wives and families, and the pleasure they anticipated when they were able to be reunited with them again.  The business of setting aside her own marriage was proceeding, and she knew that by the time she returned it would be finished; but who in Harad would be likely to look to her as a possible wife?  She was no girl, and due to her upbringing had no particular talent of skill or knowledge of politics to attract the attention of a lord who’d lost a first wife in childbirth or any other of the many reason women might die young.  Captain Belerion was polite to her, recognizing her isolation and seeking to relieve it; and others of his officers and the two women aboard who cared for the order of the passenger cabins all treated her with courtesy and growing kindness, for which she found herself profoundly grateful.  She was surprised at how quickly she was learning Westron, and even more surprised when she learned Captain Belerion was fluent in Haradri.

       “I captained a merchant vessel when I was young,” he explained, “and we traded with certain towns on the north coast of Harad.  Many of the fine woolens which your people have ever traded for in the coastal cities were carried there by my ships.  I am part of the family of the Lord Halbaleg and Lady Gilraen, late mother to our Lord Aragorn.  When he came to Harad as a young Man I was part of my father’s crew and sailed on the ship that brought him there and later away again.  When he commissioned this ship he asked me to captain it, and I was glad to accept, and my own son Belemir captains the family trading ship we sailed on then.  The Lady of Stars is a fine ship.”

       The Lady Nefiramonrabi found their quarters on the Harthad uin Dún comfortable beyond her expectations.  But she was most impressed that the bed prepared for herself and her husband bore a pair of particularly finely carved Haradri headrests for her husband and herself, and that the berths for her sons and daughter and the rest of the Haradri had all been similarly equipped, although there were also pillows and cushions set ready as well.  That these would respect her people’s culture so was humbling, particularly as she now remembered with shame how she’d refused to take into account the customs of their guests in setting up the rooms for their usage in the Farozi’s house.  Haradri eating utensils were ever at their places at the tables at which they ate as well.  Apologies were made for the lack of room to allow the company to recline as was common among the nobility of Harad; but this sitting up to eat was quickly proving pleasurable for all, as more could eat at a single table and the conversations of others could be more easily followed.  That she had ever considered the Northerners uncouth and uncivilized now made her face burn at the mere memory of the thought.

       The King was attentive to all, although he spent much time working with Lord Berevrion and Prince Faramir in dealing with correspondence and business matters forwarded to the King’s attention.  Each day one of the smaller ships that accompanied the King’s ship would be replaced by another sent from the capitol, bringing correspondence and dispatches and carrying the King’s orders and replies in return.  The smaller ship would come alongside and a sealed and covered basket would be dropped to it bearing the outgoing dispatches and to receive the new ones; the ship it was replacing would then head off back to Gondor to carry that which it had received previously, or would go back on patrol for possible dangers in the waters which they sailed.

       Each day he would check the wounds on Ma’osiri and Ankhrabi, often allowing his healing gift to be used to aid in their continued recovery; he also helped Ankhrabi to exercise his shoulder to return the full motion of it.  Each morning early he would be on the deck, usually with Lord Hardorn, Benai, or Legolas, practicing with his sword and occasionally with long knife and dagger as well.  He would also sit with the children on a hatch cover and tell them stories and sing with them, often holding one or more of the three youngest on his lap as he did so.  Amon’osiri and Ma’osiri became regular participants in these gatherings, and would return telling of a game the King had taught them all or a story he’d told or a particularly funny or touching song he’d sung, and she was glad.  All of the children were rapidly learning Westron, and used more and more words each day.

       The small sculptor was often upon the deck, his cane held under his foot to prevent it from sliding with the ship’s roll and possibly going beyond the rail.  He and Owain were still working on small figures, she found, and as he worked on them he would speak with her.  She found her own store of Westron had improved over the King’s visit, and that while in Harad Master Ruvemir had also become able to communicate on a rudimentary level in Haradri.  Now he’d speak with her and her daughter and husband at length, often telling the stories he’d heard about the journey the King had taken with the Ringbearer and the Fellowship from the borders of the Shire to Rivendell, South and then East and then South again to the boundaries between Rhovanion in Eastern Arnor and Gondor.

       Each day their own guards were encouraged to practice their sparring, often on their own, occasionally sparring with one or another of the King’s party, and two who sparred with Captain Peregrin came away surprised at how swiftly the Hobbit had managed to disarm them.  All of them were impressed with the skill of those from Gondor, Arnor and Rohan with their weapons before the voyage was through.

       On their approach to the Mouths of the Sea where the delta of the River Anduin reached the Sundering Sea, in the distance ships from Umbar could be seen, although none made any attempt to approach them.  The escort ships finally fell behind, screening the King’s vessel from possible Umbarian aggression as the Harthad uin Dún entered the river itself.  A fresh wind from the Southwest sprang up as they reached the Anduin, steadily bearing them north toward Minas Anor.

       During the day on the river Prince Faramir and Lady Lothiriel spent much time on deck describing the lands they passed, and one of the sailors who’d crewed the ship on which the Heir of Isildur had sailed from the Pelargir to Minas Tirith told of how the same lands had looked then, the signs of burning they’d seen from the ravages the Corsairs had made on the coastal cities, towns, and farmlands.  They saw now a green land, rich and fertile; the cities were set well back from the river on hills where flooding could not bother them, although many of the farmlands were in the rich bottomlands of the floodplains; the harbors well designed and defended by small fortresses and batteries.

       At last the ship approached the Harlond after a day and a night on the river, and all began to make certain their goods were properly stored in chests, trunks, and bags; children’s toys were retrieved from nests of cables by the sailors, young Asa saw to it his charges were ready to be brought out from the hold, cloaks were thrown over shoulders for it appeared a rain now followed them up the River from the Sea; and all prepared for the berthing.  Cheerful insults were traded between the ship’s crew and their friends working the quayside along with the ends of cables and ropes being thrown and fastened.

       “What will you do with the camels?” Ankhrabi asked his host as they stood together on the deck, waiting for the gangplank to be set into place.

       “The Crown owns a large plot of land near the banks of the river South and West of Osgiliath.  Some of it has been given over to the raising of grain, but part of it is too rocky to be cultivated.  I think I will set up a place to keep the animals I’ve had given to me.  We were given three does and a young buck of a variety of deer that lives in the Shire that the Thain did not wish to see slaughtered when their herds were thinned two years ago.  They are already established in a wooded area of the property, protected by high fences.  And the folk of Dale sent me a pair of the great hunting cats that live in their area, while the Beornings sent me an orphaned bear cub that had been wounded for me to treat--the Beornings have much love for bears.  It might be instructive for the children of our people to have the ability to see such animals and learn of them that they develop an appreciation for the beasts with which we share this world.”

       “A farm for game?  My grandfather once tried to do much the same, but the animals were all killed when three of the Dark Ones came accompanied by trugdels, what you call orcs, and the Dark Ones ordered that the animals be given to their feeding.”

       A wagon was arriving, as well as open carriages pulled by horses and a number of saddled horses and ponies.  Two other ships were berthed there already, trading vessels whose names were familiar to Ankhrabi.  And then he looked up and saw, beyond the quays and the fields of the Pelennor, where stood the city of Minas Anor on the knee of Mount Mindolluin, and he stopped even breathing in the wonder of it.  Amon’osiri pushed up alongside his father on the left while Ma’osiri did the same on the right, and they, too, stood amazed as they looked for the first time on the City of the King.

       Guards in black and silver stood in array; officials in costumes of many colors awaited them, and Ankhrabi noticed that out of a carriage was stepping a small woman who took a smaller boy handed out from the older Man who remained sitting in the carriage and set him on the ground, then reached to accept a young child into her arms before she turned to hurry onto the dock; seeing the delight showing in the eyes of Ruvemir he realized this must be his wife Elise and their children.

       At last the plank was set into place and four stepped forward to greet them, two clothed in blue and silver, an older and a younger Man who resembled the King, Prince Faramir, and the Lady Lothiriel, tall and almost Elven fair, their faces proud and watchful at the same time they were good humored.  Another was dressed in the grey and silver of Arnor, his face intelligent and thoughtful.  Ankhrabi noted that this Man wore his sword reversed from the normal, and that he wore a glove on his right hand but not his left.  The fourth was a young Man wearing the black and silver of the city, but his face was familiar somehow; it was as he saw the smile break out on Captain Beregond’s face that he realized this must be the Captain’s son Bergil.  The King Elessar stepped off first and was greeted by these four, and the Rod of Stewardship was placed officially in the King’s hands.  As Prince Faramir stepped off the ship and joined the waiting lords the King turned to him, delivering the Rod into his hands with a bow. 

       Now Ankhrabi and his party went ashore, Nefiramonrani’s arm on his, their sons and daughter following them, followed by their own servants and guards.  The two in blue and silver turned to them and bowed deeply.  “My Lord Prince, Princess, young Lords and Lady, we welcome you to Gondor and the city of Minas Anor,” the older Lord said respectfully.  “I am Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth, and this is my oldest son and heir, Elphir.” 

       The King now introduced the one in grey and silver.  “Another of my kinsman, and fourth from the Line of Kings after myself and my children, Gilfileg son of Gilthor.  And this is Bergil son of Beregond, liaison between the Guard of the Citadel and the White Company of Ithilien.  Prince Ankhrabi, son of An’Sohrabi, Farozi of Harad; his wife Nefiramonrani, their daughter Nefirnerini, and sons Ma’osiri and Amon’osiri.  Their cousin and chief of their guard of honor, Gebsohrabi.  The Lady Ankhsarani, sister to Princess Nefiramonrani, and her attendants.  Lord Ghants’pa’amon and his wife Lady Angarnerini and their attendants.” 

       They were led further down the quay until they had reached the line of carriages, horses and ponies, and then turned to watch the rest disembark.

       The next off the ship was King of Rohan followed with wife and son, Envoy and guard of honor, and they were welcomed warmly by Prince Imrahil and Lord Elphir, who embraced Queen Lothiriel with joy.  Elphir quickly scooped young Elfwine into his arms, then lifted him high into the air with the child giggling from sheer pleasure.  As at last the Queen of Gondor and Princess of Ithilien came together across to the quay with their children, Lady Avrieth, Hasturnerini, Damrod and Benai, the Prince and his son all paused in surprise and deep astonishment as they looked on the one walking as guard to the Queen.

       The King watched their reactions with a level of satisfaction at their discomfiture, Ankhrabi realized.  “My Lords, we made a discovery while in Harad which took us all by surprise.  May I present the one who has agreed to serve as guard of honor to my lady wife--Lord Benai of Camaloa, one of our kinsmen from those of the Dúnedain whose ship was forced to landfall on the Southern continent after the fall of Númenor.  His tale is a complicated one, and how he came to join us will amuse and appall you, I think.  However, it is better told when there is time to savor it and consider how we will assist him to deal with the dangers facing his own lands.

       “And this is Mistress Hasturnerini, who is my lady wife’s apprentice--and that story also is better told later.  And below, preparing his charges for disembarking is another child, the boy Asa, who has been given into my safekeeping for a time.”

       “Charges, my lord Elessar?” asked the Prince.

       Prince Faramir laughed.  “You will not believe it, Uncle, but our King was given three young steeds just as we were readying to sail.”

       Lord Elphir, Elfwine seated on his shoulder, asked, “And just how many horses do you need to make certain you are always mounted, my King?”

       “Oh, they are not horses,” Aragorn said, grinning ruefully.  “Do you remember me telling of the visit I made to the Batsi clan?”

       “They are the ones, are they not, whose child you healed and who gave you a camel?”

       “Yes.  Lord An’Sohrabi had invited Antipatha of the Batsis to the dinner of welcome given on our arrival in Thetos.”

       “He’s given you more camels?”

       “Yes, three of them.  All quite young, apparently only recently weaned.”

       “And you could not decline them?”

       “Not without having given far more offense than I would wish to offer such a one as he.  He remembers how I healed him, and the relief of his parents and kinsmen as he quickly recovered.  He was most insistent I accept them, and had prepared for all contingencies.  He’d even ascertained that the ship could carry them as well as the food and the youth he sent to keep them over the voyage.”

       The Prince was laughing and shaking his head as he turned to accept the salute of those of the King’s guard of honor that now were filing past him.  Captain Peregrin was now apparently on duty, as he stood by now with drawn sword, his face calm but alert.  Hildigor embraced Gilfileg with pleasure, and Berevrion saluted him with a smile on his face. 

       Another party was approaching the quay on horses, leading a number of spares, and Ankhrabi realized this group was from Harad and included Rustovrid’s lieutenant, Lord Amonpelrabi from Asual.  Amonpelrabi and his folk dismounted and left two to serve as horseholders and came forward to greet those from Harad originally.

       Ankhrabi was beginning to feel as if all were unreal, his senses more than slightly overwhelmed.  The King was now looking at him with concern, and was leading him to the carriages.  A single horse was pushing through the lines of carriages and waiting mounts, a great grey with no saddle or bridle.  The King paused, smiled, and turned to greet it.

       A groom came forward apologetically.  “We had thought to bring Roheryn for you to ride, but Olórin would not be denied, my Lord.”

       “So I see.  My Lord Prince Ankhrabi, I wish to introduce you to one of my other steeds, Olórin of the Mearas, who has agreed to bear me when I have such need.  His brother is now lord of Rohan’s horse herds.”  As he watched the King of Gondor and Arnor bow before the great grey horse, he realized that there was more awareness in the eyes of the animal than he’d ever seen, and he realized he, too, was bowing with respect.

       He and his family and Sa’Harpelamun were quickly ushered into one of the waiting carriages, and his guards were given horses to ride alongside the coach, three of the Guards of the Citadel riding before and behind it.  The King was assisting his wife onto her horse, Princess Melian and young Prince Elfwine were already mounted on ponies, Master Ruvemir, surrounded by wife and children, was being aided into another coach by a taller Man, others were now in coaches or on horseback, and all were beginning to ride the road from the Pelennor to the gates of the city.

       He found himself wondering what other wonders he would see before the day ended.

Well Come

       The trip across the Pelennor was far shorter than that from the palace in Thetos to Risenmouthe, yet was still full of impressions and activity.  Farmers and children were busy with the first hay harvest or weeding vegetable plots.  Women were caring for children or busy with laundry, a few working alongside their menfolk in the fields.  Young boys were herding goats and cattle out to graze in fenced fields while girls stood from their weeding to watch them ride by, squealing with joy and calling out that the King had returned.  Small children, some half-dressed, tumbled out of doorways to see, followed by young mothers and older sisters who paused in their words of frustration to watch, their faces lighting with joy to see the King riding toward the city gates.  A few came forward to the side of the road to look up, smiling up and calling their greetings to their Lord King Elessar and his beloved wife the Queen Undomiel and receiving greetings in return.  Many also called out greetings to Éomer King of Rohan and his Queen Lothiriel, who after all was one of their own, and the royal children of each were loudly acclaimed as well.  Prince Faramir and his Princess Éowyn were also plainly greatly loved, and a farmer with a stiff hip saluted as the Prince rode by, receiving a salute in return, and another from Lord Mablung and Captain Damrod. 

       One place all looked to was a green mound covered with high green grass, surrounded by a low white fence; one place all seemed to avoid looking at was another fenced area beside the first, this bare and drear.  Studying the faces of those he could see Ankhrabi found fascinating, and he looked with interest at the fertile fields, the young orchards, the faces of the citizens of Gondor.  A brief rain fell, but passed by as quickly as it had started, barely enough moisture to lay the dust before the sky began to clear.

       There was another riding out from the city, and this fell into line on either side alongside the first, with calls of welcome and delight.  It became harder to see the farms they passed, the young orchards, the faces of those who lined the path.  Behind their carriage Ankhrabi could see the King riding the great grey horse, his wife’s white palfrey by his side.

       All too soon they were at the walls of the City, and all were swinging down from their steeds, King and Elf swinging legs over the animals’ backs and sliding to the ground, others swinging in their stirrups.  A rider approached from the east, dressed in golden browns and greens and approached the King of Rohan, saluting and handing down a dispatch case which Éomer King accepted with serious attention, asking questions and receiving answers in the tongue of his own people.  The King Elessar approached, the grey staying at his shoulder, and joined the discussion, then at a nod of dismissal from his lord the messenger also swung down from his horse and led it toward the gate.

       The King himself aided those in Ankhrabi’s carriage out, and checked the eyes of each.  “I warn you once more it is a long way.  A pony carriage carries those who are incapacitated up through the levels of the city, and in this or on a pony Ruvemir must ride as his legs simply cannot make such a climb.  If any of you find the climb beyond you, let me know and I will see you into the carriage with him.”

       With the acknowledgment by Ankhrabi and his party that they understood, they entered into the gates of Minas Tirith.

       Never had Ankhrabi nor Nefiramonrani seen such a city in their lives, and the first sight of the gates awed them.  As they approached, the King explained, “The original gates were wrought by the folk of Anárion of wood and steel.  Almost three thousand years did they stand before the spells of ruin uttered by the Witchking of Angmar finally allowed his folk to break through them with their great ram, which they called Grond.  The Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain worked four years to rebuild them, incorporating the images which first graced them.  The one over the gate is Elendil the Tall, first High King over Gondor and Arnor.  On the left leaf is Anárion himself, his wife, and his son and heir.  On the right gate is Isildur, the brother from whom I am directly descended father to son, and his wife and oldest son, although it was his youngest son Valandil who ended up following him rather than his eldest brother.  These are the fathers of my lineage, the first Kings of Gondor and Arnor.” 

       The Captain of the Guard at the gate approached his King to make his report, pressing a scroll into the King’s hand and indicating all had been basically calm in the King’s absence.  The King accepted the report gracefully and indicated he was ready to enter in with his guests.  “They are to have the freedom of the city during their stay, and may come and go upon the Pelennor as they please.”  With the Captain’s acknowledgment they entered the city of Minas Anor.

       The carriages had been left with their teams at the gates of the city.  The riding horses were led into the city to the great stable in the First Circle, Olórin nudging his lord one last time and receiving a last pat of dismissal before going in on his own.  The Queen’s palfrey and the horse ridden by the Elf also went in with no guidance, and Ankhrabi watched with amazement.

       The walk up through the city was taken at a leisurely pace, and in the Second Circle they stopped between two inns that stood on either side of the main way where the innkeeper’s folks came out with trays of drink and white rolls to refresh them along the way.  When Lord Hardorn turned to speak to the innkeepers about payment, he was brushed off.  “No,” Ankhrabi heard, “this is our pleasure today.  So much has the King done for us, may we not now and then offer refreshments simply because it pleases us?  We are only glad he is returned safe and whole, he and his family.”

       The way was lined with citizens of the city, and many called out greetings and came out with flowers to give to one or another of those in the procession as they walked by.  Nefiramonrani and Ankhsarani were both soon holding numbers of flowers and sprays of greenery, and Captain Peregrin Took somehow had been crowned with a wreath of woven wheat.  The Princess Melian walked by her parents, smiling as she accepted the flowers handed her, mostly by children, speaking to this one or that, her eyes shining as she rejoiced to return to the home of her birth.

       At last they were entering the Fifth Circle where Lord Ghants’pa’amon would be staying with the Prince of Dol Amroth and his family during their stay, and the way past the gate to the Sixth Circle was pointed out to the ancestral home of the family within the city.  Then they were going through the sixth gate and entering the level of the guest houses within the city, and the homes of many who served in the Houses of Healing and the Citadel, and at the South end of the circle the quarters for the troops of the city.  Here at last the small sculptor stepped out of his carriage and took his leave of the King.  “No, my liege--I have rejoiced in your company for the past many weeks.  Today will be given to the company of my wife and family, although we have already agreed to attend the feast of return and welcome tonight.”

       At last they faced the ramp up to the Level of the Citadel.  The King himself walked by Ankhrabi, steadying him, while Master Isumbard did the same for Ma’osiri, who was now tired.  Another guard walked by Nefiramonrani to offer his arm if she needed it, and the Queen walked by Lady Ankhsarani.  The family and guards and attendants for Prince Ankhrabi and Lady Ankhsarani were to stay in the guest apartments within the Citadel, although Lady Ankhsarani indicated she might prefer in coming days to stay in the Embassy where customs were more those to which she was accustomed. 

       Then they were at the top of the ramp, looking across the Court of Gathering at the Citadel itself, through the branches of the White Tree, and on all sides there were the sounds of a sudden intake of breath as all looked on the beauty of it all.  Slowly they began again, then quickened their pace as they came closer and closer, only to slow as they came abreast the memorial to the Pheriannath.  Now all stopped, their attention caught.

       It was easy to recognize the figure of Peregrin Took at the back, and in the forefront was a rendition of the one whom they’d seen embodied in the small figure Master Ruvemir had done in Thetos.  How different he looked here, almost painfully thin, his clothing ragged, his face full of grief and defiance as he held out on a hand from which one finger was missing a simple ring.  Nefirnerini saw the inscription on the raised lip of the surround before him, and slowly she sounded it out in Westron.  “... Or would y-you....”

       The King read it himself, completing the phrase:  “... Or would you destroy it?”  He then translated it to Haradri so none could be in doubt as to what was meant.  Finally he said quietly, “It took him at the end, and he felt guilty ever after.  He gave almost all just to bring the Ring there, to Orodruin, and in the end It took him, and only the grace of Iluvatar saved him--and us.”  He reached out gently and touched the fingertips of the figure in a gesture that was becoming familiar to those who knew him.  “I would have saved him all if I could have done so.”

       Ma’osiri indicated the other two figures.  “Who are those?”

       Indicating the figure standing to attention with the tip of his sword grounded, the King said, “Meriadoc Brandybuck, Holdwine of the Mark, Knight of Rohan, now Master of Buckland, and cousin to both Frodo and Pippin.”  As he turned to the remaining figure of a stouter Hobbit with a barrel chest, bent slightly under the weight of a heavy pack, a sword held at the ready, eyes wary as he looked out from beneath his brows, he said quietly, “And Samwise Gamgee, gardener and caretaker of Frodo’s home of Bag End, and the brother of his heart.  He’s now Master of Bag End himself and the Mayor of the Shire, and is beloved both within and without the Shire, in both Gondor and Arnor.  It was Sam who accompanied Frodo all the way to Mordor and the Mountain, and who brought him out after to the one place from which they might be rescued.”  He smiled gently as he looked at the figure, then turned to the boy.  “We would all be under the thumb of Mordor to this day if they had not done what they did, my son.”

       A family was approaching the memorial, the father carrying a wreath of flowers.  Suddenly their small son called out, “Nana, Ada--look!  The Ernil i Pheriannath!”  His parents’ eyes, however, were focused on the King and Queen and those who accompanied them.  They stopped still, then bowed and curtseyed low.  King and Queen gracefully acknowledged the salute and with a gesture invited them to come closer.  The family did so, and gently the father laid the wreath against the forward leg of the figure of Frodo Baggins.

       Ankhrabi asked, “You wish to honor this one?”

       The Man nodded solemnly.  “I would not now be alive had he not done what he did--to bring the Ring to the Chamber of Fire so that Iluvatar could see to its destruction.  I was fighting at Cair Andros--and I thank you still for that mercy, my Lord King.”  Ankhrabi saw his host’s gentle nod and expression of understanding.  “An orc was advancing on me.  I had managed to kill the one before him, but my sword’s blade was caught against the bone of his shoulder and I could not withdraw it.  It swung its blade up to bring it down on me, and then it stopped, stood looking confused and confounded; then turned and, dropping its weapon and shield, it ran away blindly toward the far shore where it went into the water and was swept away by the current.”

       The King looked down, then raised his eyes back to those of the Man who stood before him.  “The same happened everywhere the fighting occurred.  Orcs and trolls and wargs simply lost interest in fighting and fled away.  Many lived who would have died but moments later.”

       The boy came close to Captain Peregrin.  “You are the Ernil i Pheriannath?”

       “Yes, so they still call me here.”

       “Are you really a prince?”

       “Not really, but as close, I suppose, as the Shire produces.  We don’t have lords and kings and princes.  My father is the King’s representative within the Shire, however, and I’ll be Thain myself one day.”

       The boy looked between Pippin’s statue and himself.  “It’s a different design on your shirt.”

       “Yes, the design now indicates I’m equally a Guard in Annúminas as here.”

       “And you look older.”

       Pippin laughed.  “I am older--ten years older now.”

       “Are you related to the Ringbearer?”

       The Hobbit’s face became more solemn.  “Yes--we are second cousins, once removed.”

       “Will you follow after him?”

       “No, I will remain in the mortal lands until I die.  Only then will I follow him, and then only if he dies before me.  Otherwise I suppose he will follow me.”

       “But he’s in Aman now----”

       The King was shaking his head.  “Those of us who are mortal can’t be denied death when it’s time for it, even on Tol Eressëa.  Ar-Pharazon learned that.”

       “Oh.”  The child seemed to think about that for a time.  “Then,” he said slowly, “I wonder what the Elves who live there will think about it, since those born there have never seen aging and dying like that.”

       “As the Lonely Isle is the entrance to the Undying Lands, many who dwell there are believed to be those who have dwelt here in Middle Earth.  They will more easily understand, I suspect.”

       The boy nodded slowly, then smiled up thoughtfully at the King.  “Was the Lord Iorhael truly your friend, my Lord?”

       Now it was the King’s turn to nod.  “He is as a brother to me.”

       The child’s mother cleared her throat.  “Dearling, we must go now.”  She turned to the King and Pippin.  “Thank you both for speaking with us.  He will be able to remember this forever now, I think.”

       The Man stepped forward.  “Thank you again, my Lord, for your compassion then.”

       “I would never force any to go beyond their strength; and you served faithfully where you were able, and did well.  All of the Free Peoples owe you a great debt.”

       The Man held out his hand, and the King grasped it, and suddenly they were embracing.  “I felt so shamed when my fear threatened to overwhelm me; and your gift of a task I could face--oh, Lord Elessar!”

       The King murmured quietly into the Man’s ear, and finally they straightened, and the Man again saluted, his stance straight and tall, his face beaming.  The King returned the salute.  Placing a hand on his son’s shoulders, the father turned away, guiding his son toward the ramp, his wife following after, turning to give one last smile of thanks.

       Those in the party watched after.  Finally Prince Legolas said quietly, “You are undoubtedly right that many who dwell on the Island have dwelt in Middle Earth in the past, but that does not mean they are necessarily familiar with how many mortals die of age.”

       “You do not need to remain to see such a thing.”

       The two friends looked long into one another’s eyes.  Finally Legolas said quietly, “You know that I will not deny myself that experience for you or Gimli.”

       “I ask only that if I die betimes you not wait so long that you cannot bear my farewells to him.”

       The Elf sighed.  “I do not think that will come, Aragorn.  I suspect you will follow after him, not the other way about.”

       The King gave a single nod, then turned to continue on the way to the Citadel, pausing to bow to the Tree, setting his hand on its bark briefly.  Pippin followed suit, the Haradrim noted.  All of the King’s folk bowed respectfully toward the White Tree, but did not appear to expect those from outside the realm to do the same.

       Then they were approaching the Citadel itself, and the door to the Hall of Kings was opened by waiting guardsmen, all of whom bowed respectfully to those who came forward.  Two waited inside, the Seneschal and the Housekeeper, both of whom held in hand reports ready to present to the Lord and Lady of the place.  King and Queen accepted them gracefully and listened to the quick verbal reports and greetings of each, then asked if the rooms requested had been prepared.  At word that they had they smiled their thanks.  “When we have finished showing them this room we will accompany them with whomever you have appointed to lead them to their quarters, then,” Queen Arwen indicated.  “If you will have that one here in a quarter mark’s time?”

       “We will do so, my Lady,” said the housekeeper.  “My Lord King Éomer, Lady Queen Lothiriel, your usual chambers are ready on the upper floor.”

       The Hall of Kings with its black and white appointments, the throne on its high dais canopied by the depiction of the winged helm, the statues of the great Kings and Stewards of the past on either side, awed all from Harad.  The King looked at the throne.  “I’ve given orders that the dais for the throne in the new Hall of Kings in Annúminas is to be no more than three steps above the floor.  That my ancestors chose to build such a high seat is pretentious, and when I am tired it can be a labor to ascend.”

       Most of the statues were highly formal and even stylized.  That of the Lord King Aragorn Elessar, however, was more realistic, his attitude more relaxed, his head slightly turned to the side, a slight smile on his face; and he was depicted wearing not the winged helm worn by some or bareheaded as were the rest, but with the Star of Elendil on his brow.  “Master Ruvemir did this?” asked Lady Nefiramonrani.

       The Lady Arwen smiled.  “Yes, he did.  And I suppose that if some of his predecessors were to see my Estel depicted with the Sceptre of Annúminas in hand and wearing the Elendilmir instead of the Winged Crown they would be most offended.”

       The King shrugged and laughed.  “Let all know after me that I came from the North and am King by right of my lineage from Isildur and Valandil as well as through Anárion.  It is Elendil’s sword and circlet I bear, and he was High King over all.”

       “These are all of the Kings there have been of Gondor?”

       “Not all of these are Kings.  Those who are bareheaded were ruling Stewards.  There have been too many Kings and ruling Stewards in three thousand years for all to be shown here; many have over the years been moved to the Halls of Memorial.  Elendil, Isildur, and Anárion have ever stood here and ever will do so; but the others have been moved, I suspect, back and forth depending on which of his ancestors and predecessors those who have sat on throne or chair preferred to honor.”

       The frankness of that statement was refreshing, Ankhrabi thought.

       “What are the two chairs for?” asked Nefirnerini.

       “The black chair is the seat for the Steward of Gondor; the grey one for the Steward of Arnor when he is here in Minas Anor.  We will have the same in Annúminas as well.”

       Now those from Rohan and Ithilien and the others attending on the King withdrew, indicating they would prepare for the noon meal.  A woman had been waiting patiently for some time near the back of the Hall, behind the high seat for the King.  When at last the King felt his guests had completed their inspection of the room for the time he led the way to her.  “Mistress Loren, this has fallen to you?”

       “Mistress Belleth is ill, my Lord, and I have been pulled from my service in the guest houses to serve in her place.”

       “Is she in the Houses of Healing?”

       “No, Lord Elessar--she is in her own home.”

       “I will see if I can visit her on the morrow then.  If you will lead the way.”

       After giving a profound curtsey Mistress Loren rose and led the way past the dais for the throne and through a doorway, then down a hallway to the left lit by mullioned windows.  The walls in the Hall of Kings had been stark; here paintings and tapestries hung or statues stood along the way.  They walked by a great double door, and she said, “The main dining room for those within the Citadel is there, my Lords and Ladies, although if you would prefer it you may dine in your own quarters at any time--simply speak to the servants assigned to the guest wing.”

       More Guards of the Citadel stood at the doorway to another hallway.  They saluted those who approached them and opened the doors, allowing them to pass inside.  She pointed to a door just inside the door to the right.  “The servant on duty for this wing will be found here if he or she is not busy about the wing or fetching meals if you require them.”  A suite of six rooms, one a bathing chamber, had been prepared for the Lady Ankhsarani and her attendants.  Another of nine rooms had been made ready for the Prince of Harad, his wife, sons, daughter, and their servants and guards.  Mistress Loren explained, “I hope you will forgive us that the headrests are not yet available, for we have but a limited number, and they are coming up with your chests from the ship and will be placed for your use once all have arrived.”  Sa’Harpelamun had a suite of two rooms, including a bathing chamber. 

       “The receiving room for this level of the guest chambers is there, my Lords and Ladies.  There you may entertain those whom you may wish to see privately, such as those with whom you may wish to discuss trade agreements or artisans.”  She led the way into a large room with a number of seats of many kinds scattered about it, along with tables and potted plants, reminiscent of the Hall of Entertainment in Harad.  “There is another bathing chamber and room of refreshment there at the end of the room for those of you who will be staying elsewhere.  You may pass out into the garden for the wing here, and into the further gardens past the guards there,” she explained, indicating the arched double door set with glass that opened into a walled garden, and the arched gate at the far side.

       A white cat sat on the seat of a cushioned chair, and she sighed when she spied it.  “Please forgive us--Kitling is not supposed to be in this wing, but will slip in whenever the doors are opened, of course.”

       Her guests, however, were anything but upset.  “Oh,” the Lady Nefiramonrani smiled, “but in our land it is considered good fortune to be met with a cat on entering a new place.”

       “Given the chance, she will undoubtedly sleep with you as well.  She’s an independent one, and, my Lord King, I fear a wanton one as well.  She will probably give birth within the week, considering the size of her.”

       Aragorn gave a laugh and approached the animal, carefully felt it.  “Within three days, I’d say,” he said.  He spoke to the cat.  “Your ancestress would be most ashamed of you, Kitling.  And I suppose you have been visiting with either Samwise’s tom or the kitchen’s cat?”  He looked up.  “Always when I was a boy there was a white cat who was mine, and Elrohir always saw to it there was one to greet me when I returned to Imladris.  After Arwen and I were married he had Kitling’s mother brought to me; now Kitling is supposed to be my cat, but she prefers everyone but me, I fear.”  He looked at the cat, shaking his head.  “Glorien appears to believe herself as much my cat as Melian’s, while this one sees herself as the welcoming cat.”

       He smiled.  “The noon meal will be served in an hour’s time.  If you should wish to bathe or change, Mistress Loren will call for you when it is ready to go on the table.  Now, if you will excuse us, Arwen and I need to see to the needs of our children.”  The two gave a profound bow and withdrew, followed by Mistress Loren.

       The rest went again to their quarters, ready to open their chests, which were now being set into their rooms, and to settle themselves in before the meal.

Within the Temple of Seti

       The dark within the temple of Seti once the doors were shut was profound.  Setra’amun was shocked at how much this disturbed him, and he hurried to the door and tried to push it open again; but the great bars set into the outside had obviously been fastened into place, and a growing line of darkness indicated that those who’d placed them here once again were sealing the doors with mortar.

       “You wanted the answers offered by the Eastern Lord,” sneered the former priest of the red temple.  “Do you fear them now?”

       Setra’amun turned to face him, his anger growing in him.  “I have never enjoyed darkness.”

       “You’d best overcome your fear, then, for you will get to know it well before the end.”

       “I did not say that I feared darkness--only that I do not enjoy it.”

       “Seti and the Eastern Lord do not care whether or not you enjoy it.”

       The younger Man decided to ignore the priest.  For some time he sat at the door, then finally stood, growing restless.  He set himself to explore, wishing he’d taken in more of the room when the doors were open and light still shone in.  However, he had no experience in exploring in the dark, and was soon stumbling over debris fallen to the floor.  The third time he did this he fell sprawling and cursing as he nursed the cut to his knee, feeling the slow drip of blood from the wound running down his leg once he again stood.

       He heard no sound from Gebankhrabi other than the steady sound of his breathing.  It appeared he was remaining still.  Not certain what he should do about his knee, at last Setra’amun untied the bandage from his side and tore off enough of it to wind about his knee, then did his best to refasten the rest about his abdomen to bind where his side was stitched.

       The priest finally spoke.  “A foolish thing, is it not, to care for a wound when you will die soon enough?”

       Setra’amun ignored him.

       In time he gave up his random wanderings and began to follow about the walls, although the way was often blocked by fallen plaster and unseen obstacles, some apparently broken statues while others might have been stands for lamps or to receive tribute or perhaps parts of altars.  Most had fallen over, and he kept encountering shards of stone and brick that were sharp, one of which went between sandal and the arch of his foot, causing another cut.  He was certain before he’d made it all around the room that his legs and ankles were totally bruised.  He finally found the great doors, and paused at them pushing again at them, even throwing his shoulder against them; but they held steady.  Then, not knowing what else to do he turned about and set about going the full circuit back around once more, going widdershins this time.

       Two other areas that felt like doorways he found, but they appeared to be blocked.  He stopped at the second one and began to explore it from the floor upwards, and found that heavy blocks of shaped stone filled it all the way to the top of it.  He made his way back to the first and found it was similarly filled, again the stones too large and heavy to move.  Having assured himself there was no escape there he turned back the other way again and traveled about once more until he’d finally came back again to the doors.  Not knowing what to do then, he’d sat upon the floor for a time; but here the stone of the floor was chillingly cold, and at last he rose and made his way around the floor until he found again a raised area he had found earlier, what appeared to be a low bench.  He sat atop it, then stretched himself along it, and finally slept.

       He awoke to note that a very dim line of light could be seen along the floor at one point, realizing at last this must be entering from the bottom of the door, for all other parts of the doorway were solidly dark.  It wasn’t much, but was enough for him to see a bit of darkness that was uneven and rounded where most of the rubble appeared angular.  That must be the priest, he thought.

       He rose again, and wondered where he ought to relieve himself, then realized it probably didn’t much matter.  Yet he could not bring himself just to go against the wall, for years of training by those who cared for the orphans of the Valley of the Sun fought against such a decision.

       Suddenly he became fearful again, and he rose and went to the door, laid himself down there and tried to peer out; but the line was too narrow, and he couldn’t bring his eyes low enough to see out of it.  He was thirsty and hungry, and wondered what he would eat in here.

       At last he rose and retreated from the doorway, sat where he could see the line of light along the floor, watching it greedily.  Then he heard the priest move at last.  Gebankhrabi stood up, and much as Setra’amun had done the previous night walked the circuit of the walls, then quartered the room.  And again as Setra’amun himself had done he stumbled over rubble, but explored it with his hands as he crouched, half sprawled where he’d lost his footing.  Finally he found a place where he might sit, perhaps on the bench-like structure on which the younger Man had spent the night, and on seating himself went still again for quite a while.  For a time Setra’amun sat facing that way, then at last lost interest as the Man did not move further, and turned again to the line of light at the bottom of the door.

       He saw what appeared to be the remains of a pot or something not far from him, went to it and relieved himself within it, went back and sat down facing the light.  He was feeling strange, began to convince himself that his brother was outside the door, his ear to the crack at the bottom to hear what noises might indicate the continuing life within.  As the sun rose through the day the line of light at the bottom of the door grew slimmer, although apparently, in some way, more brilliant.

       He at last heard the priest relieve himself, apparently against the wall, and was disgusted with the Man.  Had he received no upbringing at all?  Then Gebankhrabi began to chant, a long chant of harsh sounds and syllables that must have been torture to speak, as they did not sound as if they were intended to be spoken by the tongues of Men.  As the chant continued and grew in duration, Setra’amun began to grow more and more disturbed, until at last he wanted to shut up the horrible words before they called to the empty room evil unspeakable.  He began to crawl toward the line of light, wishing he could go out into it, away from the darkness in which he now dwelt, wishing he could get out of the presence of the one who’d once served the Death Eater.

       For that was what he was, the Death Eater, the one who had no shape, and whose power came only from the deaths of others.  How had he, Setra’amun, grandson to the Farozi An’Horubi, ever convinced himself that he could get answers from that one?  The only answer that one knew was annihilation, death, destruction--not to relieve, but to build himself at the expense of all others.

       More and more he was convinced Harpelamun crouched or lay outside the door, not listening now, but whispering prayers, prayers for his brother’s redemption.

       “It is too late for me, Harpelamun,” he whispered in response to those imagined prayers.

       He was aware somehow of one, one out there, who held in himself the Light of Stars, one in the favor of the Lady Neryet.  Once he’d been drawn by Neryet, had thought perhaps he might have offered himself for training in her temples, before he began to want other than simple answers.  That one was aware of him, he realized, and although that one grieved for him, was willing to allow him to find his way alone.

       “No!” Setra’amun exclaimed in a whisper.  “You must give me guidance!”

       Seek the Light, came the response.

       “I’m lost in the Dark.”

       Let go of the Dark, and you will see the Light the more readily.

       “I can’t!”

       You can.  He did so--you can do so also.

       “But how?”

       Turn around, away from the Darkness.

       He turned around physically and looked up, and found the priest looming over him, a jagged shard of stone in his hand.  Alarmed, he rose to his knees, raised his hands to protect himself.

       “Unbeliever!” said the priest between gritted teeth.  “I will give you to the Death Eater!”

       “But it does no good!”  He caught Gebankhrabi’s hand which held the shard, turned it, twisted it.  The priest grabbed at him with his free hand, pulled back on his hair.  Caught between the terror of such a death and pain, Setra’amun struggled the more strongly, twisted more strongly at the hand holding the shard, heard the wrist snap; felt and heard the stone fall to the floor, bouncing off his thigh.  Still the other would not let go of his hair for a moment, then suddenly pulled Setra’amun forward and released his hold, and as the younger Man tried to straighten onto his knees again Gebankhrabi grabbed onto his throat with his good hand and squeezed as he was able.

       In his own desperation Setra’amun reached down, his hand closing on the sharp stone shard the other had dropped.  He clutched at it, lifted it up, and in a fit of fury brought it down on Gebankhrabi’s good wrist once, twice--and finally the other let go, started to fall forward.  A single blow to the back of the priest’s head--and suddenly it was over.  The former priest fell forward, did his best to turn his head to look up at the younger Man.  “You lived!” he whispered.   “You lived!  And I....”  The thought was not completed.

       Setra’amun had indeed survived, and he felt a savage triumph for a time, but one which could not last.  He felt at the priest’s body, found the neck, felt for the pulse, felt it grow fainter and flicker, then give way to stillness.  Setra’amun pulled back, slipped backward over fallen splinters of pottery and stone until he reached the bench on which he’d slept the night, sat there howling his triumph and his terror.

       He appeared to have lost consciousness for a time, and woke to find the line of light at the bottom of the door gone.  He knew the general direction where the door must lie, but was unwilling to go that way with the body lying there.  Would the spirit still linger of it, hungry for life and willing to rend his soul from its hold on his body in order to try to obtain it again?  He found himself shuddering uncontrollably.  He was still thirsty, and he had no hope of finding water in this place.  But as he lay there, he heard a tiny noise and recognized it--the distinct murmur of water on stone.  It was somewhere off to his left.  Slowly he crept that way, listened and turned his path again, then another time as it appeared he’d overshot his mark.

       Six times he overshot the sound of the water before he found the small grate in the floor, barely large enough to slip his hands through once he’d lifted the small, pierced stone plate off of the hole.   By reaching his hand through he was able to dip the tips of his fingers into the water which ran far below the floor and brought it up to lick the drips from his fingertips.  What this trickle was and why it ran under the floor of the temple he didn’t know; but it was there.  The trench the water ran through was narrow and unbelievably ancient; the stone sides slimy with years.  The water was not sweet, was rather brackish somehow, but it was water.  Again and again he reached his hand into that narrow trench, stretching down and down till he touched the water, then brought his fingers up to lick the moisture from them.  Finally he was too exhausted to do it more; but refreshed somewhat he felt around him for shards, then set them into a circular pattern about the hole to allow him to find it more easily when the light came again.  Once he felt he had it properly marked he pulled back a bit and lay down, swiftly falling back to sleep.

       How long he lingered like this he couldn’t say, but it seemed like forever.  When his hunger seemed likely to overcome him he thought of eating the body of the priest, but then shook in disgust.  Even starving he could not do such a thing.  He grew progressively weaker, and then developed grippe in his stomach, knew excruciating pain.  The weakening began to progress even faster.  Finally he had no more strength to stretch for the water below him, and knew that his end had finally come.

       He turned his head, was able to see the direction of the door, the fine line of light under it.  Again he reached out, trying to get guidance.  Finally, far away, he felt the connection once more to the one on whom stars shone.

       “Where do I go?” he mouthed.

       Seek the Light.  Go that way.

       “I don’t want to die.”

       We all must one day.  Seek the Light.  Turn to the Light.

       He looked at the light shining under the door, prayed for it to strengthen.  He felt his own question:  From whom do I receive this direction?

       And he answered himself, Does it really matter whom?

       No.

       Then why bother questioning?  Is the advice good?

       I think so.

       Then follow it!

       He focused on the light under the door, let it fill his sight, his mind.  His eyes still straining to keep his attention on it, he turned his heart.  He didn’t need to turn it much.  As he did, he could hear Harpelamun’s prayer:  Lord of Light, guide him, my brother.

       He smiled as he heard it, felt it work within him.  He turned his heart a bit more and saw it finally, saw the Light grow stronger, and he turned to follow it....

       A rat running through the temple found the cooling body, licked the ear, slipped down into the small culvert and followed the tiny run of water out and away from the once-again empty temple of Seti.

Following the King’s Schedule

       Mistress Loren came to call them in an hour’s time.  As they reached the end of the hall she knocked at the doorway just inside the doors.  A young Man and an elderly woman, both dressed in greys with the White Tree stitched onto the left breast of their garments, came out.  “These are Master Bayard and Mistress Lianen, who are assigned to this wing.  Today both are here together that you might meet them; there are two sleeping rooms off this day room where one or the other will be during the nighttime hours.  Please acquaint your guards and servants with them.  In the future your servants may eat with them if you and they choose, although for today they will have their meals delivered to the rooms you have been assigned.  If either should take ill and need to be replaced by another, either I or the Seneschal or the Housekeeper will advise you and bring the one to be introduced to you.  When Mistress Belleth is ready to return to duty, or if she must be replaced fully, then you will be advised of that as well and you will be properly introduced by myself, the Seneschal, or the Housekeeper.  In this way you will be assured that no one seeks to pass himself as a servant to your harm.”

       She also introduced them to those guarding the wing, indicating that when they were relieved one of them would bring their replacements to be introduced to Gebankhrabi.  “There are only four sets of guards for the inner doors, and another four sets for the garden gate.  Within three days’ time you should have been introduced to all sixteen.”  She indicated the stone stairs to the upper floor.  “They guard also that way, for the protection of those who may be housed there, usually of the King’s household from Rohan on their visits here.”

       She led them to the dining room and opened the doors for them.   “You are free to sit basically where you wish, although guests usually sit along the near side and those who are youths usually sit at that end.  You will find that our Lord King and Lady Queen ordinarily eat either here or in the receiving room in their own chambers.  Lord Denethor often chose to eat alone in the throne room after his lady wife’s death, but this is not our Lord King’s way.  Their family and special friends tend to eat with them.  In this room will generally eat guests to the Citadel, those of the personal guard and attendants for our Lord and Lady who are of high rank and especially of the King’s kindred, often on days when the Council meets whatever lords and ladies are attending, those artisans working on this level attended always by a Guard of the Citadel, and whatever guild masters or mistresses might be attending on our Lord and Lady.  Once a week on the Highday at the dawn meal senior staff for the Citadel and guest houses and the Houses of Healing eat here with our Lord and Lady; on those days your dawn meal will be served in your wing, possibly in your chambers.”

       A number of the Northern Dúnedain entered then, including the one identified as Lord Gilfileg.  Mistress Loren curtseyed to them and bade them welcome.  Lord Gilfileg looked at those from Harad.  “My Lords and Ladies--I greet you and hope you are finding your stay pleasant so far, although I realize you have been here but such a short time as yet.  Has one among your number chosen not to attend the noon meal with you, then?”

       It was then that they realized the young priest of Amon was not with them.

       Ankhrabi was concerned.  “Apparently Sa’Harpelamun has decided to forego the meal.  I did not realize he had not joined us in our sitting room.”

       The door opened again, and Lord Hardorn entered, his arm about the shoulder of a woman as dark-haired as himself, her body rounded in advanced pregnancy.  Those of the King’s household within the room bowed or curtseyed, as did Mistress Loren.  The two of them moved to walk around the table.  Mistress Loren gave a curtsey as she addressed Prince Ankhrabi.  “My Lord, shall I send to summon Master Sa’Harpelamun, then?”

       “The priest?” asked Lord Hardorn.  “He is not within the Citadel at this time--or was not when we passed him a few minutes ago.  He was out at the White Tree, his face pale.” 

       The King and Queen entered accompanied by several others and the small Princess, Hasturnerini, and the youth Asa.  There was a look of distraction on the King’s face, and the Queen’s face reflected some level of concern.  They inclined their heads in acknowledgment as the King and Queen took places at the right end of the open square of tables that filled the room.  There was nothing to indicate these seats were intended to be taken by Lord and Lady, merely, all realized, the custom of usage within the room differentiated them. 

       The King forced himself to look on his guests.  “Please be seated.  We do not stand much on ceremony usually within this room, for far too much surrounds us the rest of our day.  I hope that this does not cause you undue discomfort.”  He noted the one missing from among their number.  “So, he has decided not to accompany you.  I’d wondered if he would be aware.”

       “Aware of what?” asked Ankhrabi.

       The King looked as if he were considering what to say at this time.  At last he said quietly, “I’d pretty much lost awareness of--of the young Man Setra’amun; but as we were leaving our quarters to join you here I felt him reaching out.  I believe that his time has come at last.”

       Ankhrabi looked at the King with surprise.  “You believe he could have lived this long?”

       “You would be surprised at how people can force themselves to survive privation,” the King said quietly.  Peregrin Took, newly come off his duty, looked up to share a glance with his friend, who set his hand on the Hobbit’s shoulder.

       An inner door opened, and a number of servers stood there, waiting to begin the service of the meal.  One of those who appeared to be of the senior staff led forward a girl who carried a tray of cakes.  “My Lord, my Lady,” the Man said respectfully, “I wish to introduce Mistress Mirendeth of Lamedon who has joined our kitchen staff while you were gone.”

       The girl curtseyed and the King and Queen inclined their heads in return, examining her.  Those who attended on them also were examining her, learning to recognize her, Ankhrabi realized.  Perhaps other lords and ladies might ignore their servants, but not the master and mistress of this household.  He smiled, recognizing that not only did this express their native courtesy to the least of those who surrounded them, but also helped to protect them from treachery.  They would not accept the service of one they did not recognize, would be wary at the approach of a guard they did not know.  “Welcome to our staff, Mistress Mirendeth,” said the Queen.  “I hope we shall be able to come to know you better in time.” 

       Again the girl curtseyed with a murmured “Thank you, my Lady Queen,” as she set her tray on the table.

       “Did Sa’Harpelamun remain in your rooms?” the King asked his guests.

       Ankhrabi answered, “According to Lord Hardorn, he saw him as he came to the Citadel, out by the White Tree, An’Elessar.”

       The King appeared to consider this, then gave a nod of acknowledgment.  “Yes, that would be a good place for him to be at this time.”  He turned to the Man who’d introduced the new server.  “Master Belidor, will you have one take a cup of mild wine to the visitor from Harad who stands beneath the White Tree in, say, about a quarter mark’s time?  His spirit is likely to be disturbed at the moment, if he is as aware as I suspect he is of his brother’s situation.  He is not likely to wish to eat much for the rest of the day, but I do ask that rolls, fruit, and cheese as well as juice be made available in his quarters.”  At the server’s agreement the King gave a nod of dismissal, and the serving of the meal continued.

       More entered the room, including the party from Rohan; and soon all were finding places at the table.  One of those serving busily replaced the eating utensils at the places where the Haradrim sat with Haradri spoons and eating knives, and Ankhrabi found himself thanking the young Man as his own were replaced.  At last the King and Queen rose to lead the Standing Silence, after which the meal began.  The King did not eat much, and drank mostly juice and water, but he was attentive to his guests and as the meal progressed his mood lightened.

       Melian sat beside the Prince of Rohan.  Hasturnerini had been quietly encouraged to sit with Asa and the younger daughters of Lord Rustovrid who’d attended the luncheon and the children of Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani on the far side, and soon the young ones were chattering gaily.  Rustovrid’s eldest daughter sat beside Lord Benai, who appeared to feel slightly uncertain of himself as he found himself sitting with the company instead of standing behind the Queen. 

       The Queen smiled at him.  “I will be making a new livery for you to wear when you are on duty, Lord Benai,” she said smiling.  “Those from Arnor usually wear either grey or black and silver at their choice.  For the Southern Dúnedain I think I will have your uniforms done in midnight blue and silver, with your agreement.”  Her smile widened.  “For I suspect strongly that there will be coming and going between the Southern Dúnedain and our court as there is with the Northern of our kindred.”

       Benai nodded thoughtfully.  “That would be acceptable, my Lady Queen,” he said in careful Westron, which he’d been studying closely.  “To know that we are not alone is a great gift, and many will wish to come at times to know our Lord and Lady and to acquaint themselves with the ways of our kindred in the Northern Lands.”

       Lord Ghants’pa’amon asked, “What is the story behind what was said by the one who left the wreath at the memorial, Lord An’Elessar?”

       The King exchanged looks with Éomer King and Prince Imrahil.  “As we marched for the Black Gate, there were some, all from Gondor itself, who suddenly found themselves overwhelmed with terror as they realized that this was real, not just parts of stories they’d heard all their lives.  Most of those from the Southern reaches of Gondor had never seen orcs, much less trolls or wargs, Easterlings or Haradrim or Nazgul or mumakil.  Only those who lived near the River and the sea coasts had seen the fleets of Umbar, even.  Safe and quiet they thought they’d lived, hearing the tales from returning soldiers but not quite believing them for themselves.

       “Most of our troops protect their own lands, and so many of our soldiers had never seen the walls of Mordor as those who live near the river and here within the city have ever done.  Now they were realizing it was all real.  On the fields of the Pelennor many who followed me up the river from the Pelargir saw their first glimpse of the enemies of our people, saw the bodies of the first orcs and Uruk-hai, the first trolls and mumakil and so on that any had seen.  And in the midst of it all lay the great body of the fell, winged beast the Witch King of Angmar had ridden over the city and the battle, and on which he stooped down on Théoden King of Rohan.  The small fenced area where nothing grows that we rode by on our trip here from the quays of the Harlond--that is where it lay, where its master was destroyed by the Lady Éowyn and Merry and where its body was burned.  Nothing has grown on that piece of ground in the past ten years.” 

       Ankhrabi saw the Lady Éowyn shudder, saw her husband put his arm about her shoulder and draw her close as she rubbed her right arm.

       The King continued, “As we marched northwards through Ithilien more and more were overborne by their terror as they realized that all of this was real, that it was all true--that Mordor existed as a true place, that the Enemy lay behind the black wall of the Ephel Duath alongside which we marched.  I would not force any to go before the Black Gate who were not able to accept it.  So, I suggested they go instead to the island of Cair Andros and take that back from the Enemy.  Most went there.  A few returned to their own homes--a very, very few.  The one you saw today was one who feared to go before the Black Gate.”

       Ankhrabi sat shocked.  “You allowed them to live?”

       “They were not traitorous, my Lord Ankhrabi.  However, had I forced them to go on, would it have done them or us any good?  What does a Man who is overwhelmed with terror do?  Either runs away or freezes ordinarily--is it not true?  Would you wish to be the one standing beside such a one when the battle began?”

       The Lady Nefiramonrani looked at him thoughtfully.  “That Man loves you, my Lord King.  He has seen your understanding of him.  He knows that you gave him the chance to regain his honor, and that you respect that he did so.”

       The King nodded.  “Yes, this is true.  All I can ask of my people is that they do their best; and it is all I can do for them in return.  He did his best, and Cair Andros was won back because of him and the others there with him.”

       After the meal the King invited Ankhrabi to accompany him to his first meeting with his Council on his return, and then all would meet again to be shown more of the level of the Citadel if they felt they would enjoy it.  “There will be a feast of welcome tonight, of course; and I hope you will find it pleasant.  Tomorrow I will go early to the Houses of Healing and to the house of Mistress Belleth, then will have the dawn meal with you here before the morning audience.  I would like for you to attend so that we can introduce you to those who will attend it.  Arwen will meet in the afternoon with many who work to provide aid for those who are in need throughout the two realms, and those from Arnor will be meeting with me regarding the needs of the Northern Realm.  We will undoubtedly speak then of what kinds of aid we can send to Camaloa.  Two of our smaller ships have been sent to the west coast of the Southern continent to do a survey from the Sea; no one will attempt landfall or personal approach, however, until you are sent back there, Lord Benai, to assure them that this is no elaborate hoax.”

       “Thank you,” Benai said, bowing deeply.

       Lord Rustovrid took Lord Ghants’pa’amon and his wife and servants back to the embassy, and Lady Ankhsarani chose to go with them.  Lady Nefiramonrani agreed to visit with Lady Arwen in the royal apartments while her husband and Gebsohrabi attended the Council meeting with the King.

       The King led his Haradri and Rohirric guests through the Hall of the Kings into the entrance, where a door led off into the Council Chamber.  The Guard on duty by that door opened it courteously.  “You are the first to arrive, my Lord,” he said.  “Prince Imrahil is on his way now, as is Lord Forlion of Lossarnach and Eldilion of Lebennin.”

       “Thank you,” the King told him.  “Lords Berevrion and Gilfileg and Hildigor will be here shortly with Lord Benai and Captain Peregrin.  Please have one of the seats for the Periannath set at the table at my right hand for his use.”

       “Gladly, Lord Elessar.”

       The Seneschal arrived.  “Watered wine, mild ale, seed cakes and rolls and butter, pomegranate juice, slices of vegetables and fruits suitable to be eaten with eating knives and fingers.  Small plates for each one who comes.  Pads of paper, pens, and ink for....”

       The Seneschal nodded, then hurried off, returned shortly with the supplies requested; the guard arrived with a chair similar to the high chairs used by small children and infants and set it to the King’s right.  Servers arrived after with the plates, cups and foodstuffs as Prince Faramir and his wife arrived and took seats on the far side of the table, King Éomer, Elfhelm, Prince Imrahil and his son Elphir taking more seats on that side.  Benai arrived with the Northern Dúnedain and Pippin, and they took seats at the far side of the tables.  Other Lords of the realm arrived and took seats on the near side of the room, and Ankhrabi was seated immediately to the King’s left.  Last arrived Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli, accompanied by another Elf and Dwarf.

       It was a fascinating experience for the Haradri prince, as he watched the suspicions many felt at his attendance gradually worn away as the King led the meeting and the discussions flowed.  The news of the attempted revolt in Harad and how it was dealt with helped a good deal to erode the distrust Ankhrabi sensed at first.  The fact that the Kings of Gondor and Rohan were both included in the trials impressed all, as did the reports of the justice given.  How Lord Ghants’pa’amon’s willingness to improve trade agreements with Dol Amroth had been favorably affected also seemed to relieve a good deal of concern.

       One of the lords seemed furious when he learned the King himself had been wounded, belaboring his liege for putting himself in danger for a foreign prince.  At that the Lord Elessar allowed his own displeasure to be made obvious.  “I am a healer, born and trained.  I cannot allow anyone who has been seriously wounded when I can help to remain untreated.  And where would our treaty with Harad go if Prince Ankhrabi were to have died and it became known I might have saved him but refused to try?”

       That idea gave all pause.

       The discussion of the finding of the Southern Dúnedain was even more in depth.  Some of the lords from Gondor appeared to be resistant to sending aid to Camaloa, while all from Arnor were intent on offering all assistance possible.  At last the King stopped the discussion.  “We will discuss this more in depth in the weeks to come of the visit from Harad, my Lords.  We do not need to make decisions now, and all need to consider the implications of this discovery.”

       Ankhrabi was also impressed by the interplay between King and Steward, as the two of them between them kept the discussion on track at times, or worked to send it elsewhere when it appeared the King’s preferred course of action would be opposed by those attending.  An’Éomer was quiet through much of the meeting, and both he and Prince Imrahil at times were obviously amused when between them An’Elessar and Prince Faramir managed the discussion in ways unsuspected by the lesser lords.  It was good, Ankhrabi thought, they were obviously so close, for if they were to ever truly oppose one another they could easily tear apart the realm of Gondor.  Even when the Steward argued against the King’s findings, it was done purposely to bring others to realize the King was right and his intended actions would serve the nation best.

       That Peregrin Took was part of the Council meeting also appeared to disturb some of the lords of Gondor; but considering how respectfully he was treated by King, Steward, and Lord of Dol Amroth as well as by the Northern lords, no one made any overt signs of dismissal toward him; and Ankhrabi himself was impressed by the astuteness of his observations and those suggestions he offered, when he offered them.  In the high-seated chair prepared for him he was more difficult to ignore or dismiss as would have happened had he been forced to accept a chair such as the rest used.

       At last the meeting was over and the King made a point of thanking each attending for a valid point he had made, and again the Haradri was amazed with the way the King managed to win the Councilors’ loyalty by respecting their intelligence and concerns even when they opposed his own.

       When the most were gone Pippin at last slipped from his seat, brushed the crumbs of the seed cakes he’d eaten from his trousers, and said, “That was interesting, Strider.  Can we get tea now?  And can you believe he criticized you for getting wounded, as if you’d invited it?  If you’d been the only fighting Man there, perhaps I’d have agreed--but as you had so many of us about you and you were wearing your mail and were as prepared as could be expected--what did he want?  I mean, Hardorn was there guarding the rear, and we had King Éomer and Hildigor, Gimli and all.”

       “Not to mention you and Troll’s Bane,” the King said, “and Isumbard and his bow.”

       Gimli sighed.  “None of you let them anywhere within reach of my axe, you know.  I felt quite useless.”

       Pippin snorted.  “Useless?  Who was it sat on the cart with them, running your finger over and over the blade of your axe, letting them know what to expect if they didn’t behave on the way back?”

       Prince Imrahil laughed.  “Well, I will now take my nephew off to the Haradri embassy to begin the negotiations with Lord Ghants’pa’amon.”

       Legolas nodded.  “Meanwhile, Aragorn, my brother and I are going out onto the mountainside.  We will be back for the feast; until then we need to be away stone houses for a time.”

       Gimli sighed and clapped his hand on his fellow’s shoulder.  “While Dorlin and I will be off to see what Master Ruvemir has planned.”

       The other Dwarf smiled.  “It has been quiet in Master Celebgil’s workshop without the presence of Master Ruvemir, you know.  I’m looking forward to seeing what the two of them will have planned for the next few weeks.”

       The King took leave of these, and led Ankhrabi and Gebsohrabi, Benai and Pippin back through the Citadel to the guest wing where they found the Queen had just returned with Lady Nefiramonrani, Nefirnerini, the twins, Hasturnerini, and Asa.  After sharing a cup of juice and some rolls with ham in the center with them in their receiving room, the King asked if they would like to see more of the Citadel.  As they left the guest wing he led them through the place.  “To do it justice, actually you should be led through it by Faramir, who after all was born here and knows every nook and cranny intimately, I think.  He gave me my first full tour three days after the Coronation, and I was amazed.  I’d been here many times, of course, when I served as Thorongil under his grandfather; but when he showed me where his father stationed his observers in places I’d thought to be solid walls I was shocked. 

       “I’d not told him as yet I’d been Thorongil; he showed me the room in which I’d stayed as his grandfather’s guest in the Steward’s quarters, and what his father had told him about what I’d done in the room.  My face was burning--I’d not realized I’d been spied upon.  It’s not a secret passage and spy holes as are in the palace in Thetos, but a niche in which the one spying must be hiding before the guest arrives.  Which made, I’m certain, for a long, uncomfortable night for Lord Denethor as I stayed awake in the chamber doing correspondence and reading for most of it.  Had he had a means of reading what I’d written it might have kept his attention engaged, for I’d written to Lord Elrond in Imladris.  Gandalf was staying in the city at the time, and I intended to send a letter to my adar via his hand when he left.  It was quite mundane, actually, as I remember it; but Denethor at the time was intent on detecting my origins for certain.

       “But he’d told Faramir about the hole in my stocking, and how I’d brought out a sewing kit and had darned the hole.  Denethor was disgusted I’d do my own mending, while Faramir found it quite admirable and rather touching that the great Lord Captain Thorongil darned his own socks.” 

       They had entered a room with many statues and paintings all about the walls, and paused inside the doorway.  “He apparently fell asleep in the niche, for he didn’t appear at breakfast, which I had in his father’s study with the Lord Steward.  When he appeared as we were finishing our juice he looked decidedly rumpled, his eyes puffy with sleep.  Ecthelion was rather critical of his son’s appearance, as I remember.  I’d carried the letter away with me, so he had no means of reading it.  He must have found it a largely wasted night, I must imagine. 

       “Hardorn was most shocked when he learned I’d not detected I’d been spied on, and we’ve since gone through the Citadel and identified every similar structure.  And I assure you no one will use those in the guest wing--I’ll show you where they are when we return.”

       He now indicated the room they’d entered.  “These, my lords and ladies, are my ancestors and predecessors in the rule of Gondor, and certain others whose impress on the nation was notable at least at the time.”

       He appeared to know the story of each individual pictured in the room, and would tell it if asked.  Amon’osiri and Ma’osiri and Nefirnerini were soon asking him all kinds of questions, and making comments on the appearance of this one or that one.  Hasturnerini and Asa followed after the others, too awed at the moment to say much of anything.

       In a dark corner Nefirnerini made a discovery, and at her call her brothers left off their own examination of one of the Ruling Stewards who had a remarkably sour expression to join her.  Then she was calling, “An’Elessar, Babari, Mamari, you must come!”

       On the wall there hung a portrait of the King wearing brown and green leather armor with the White Tree embossed on it, his eyes watchful, a bow in his hand.  She pointed to it.  “Why is it in here, An’Elessar, and not elsewhere in the Citadel?”

       He sighed.  “It is a portrait of the Lord Captain Thorongil.  Lord Ecthelion had both Denethor’s and my portraits done at the same time, and had them hung in the Council Chamber behind his seat so as to remind his Council whom he felt were his best councilors of all.  Denethor kept it in the room but moved it to the opposite side of the chamber, I understand, where I suppose he must have felt he was keeping an eye on it for mischief.  Faramir tells me it remained there until the beginning of the last hostilities from Mordor, at which time he banished it here.  I suppose he looked into the Palantir and saw Boromir beside me outside Imladris--he could not have looked into Rivendell at the time, for Lords Elrond and Erestor and Glorfindel kept it heavily shielded.  That must have reminded him of his realization as to my actual identity so many years ago.”

       Lord Elphir looked on it and shook his head.  “How he must have envied you, my Lord Elessar--you had many years of comparative freedom; and might, he must have believed, come and go fairly freely, while he was tied increasingly to the city and the Citadel itself as time passed.  You are definitely older now than when that portrait was painted, but do not appear remarkably so, as if it were a mere ten years rather than five times that.”  The King shrugged in reply.  Gebsohrabi stood looking up at the portrait for a time longer, considering, as the others continued through the room.

       They then moved into the main Hall of Memorials, and stopped, amazed.  Lord Elphir explained, “Here are gathered objects, portraits, and statues reminiscent of our long history.  There are horns and shards of horns; helms and shields and swords and spears of the greatest heroes or reminiscent of the most significant times of the nation.  Many are from battles; others from moments of important moments in diplomacy.”  He pointed out the armor of Anárion, a document written by Isildur.  “That was discovered in the archives by Mithrandir, and describes the taking of the Enemy’s Ring.  Our Lord Elessar had it found again and brought here, and carefully preserved and displayed that we might remember ever how it was the Enemy’s weapon was at last discovered.” 

       The boys were fascinated by the weaponry, Nefirnerini and her mother with the rings, armlets, and chains of office, and the occasional glimpse into daily life they found there.  Guild charters for the very first guilds of the city and later the nation were displayed amongst memorials to decisive battles.

       Ankhrabi was amazed by a painting of a city, which had beside it a great map and on a table below it a model of the same.  An’Elessar stood by him and looked down on it.  “That was how the city of Osgiliath was ordered.  It was the first capitol of the combined realm; but sitting as it did on the River it was seen by Mordor as the key to the rest of Gondor.  It is now being rebuilt, but although some have removed to it and it begins to grow again as a center of trade, the capitol will continue here throughout my lifetime, at least.”  He pointed out important buildings and squares, and described how the last of the bridges was destroyed by Lords Boromir and Faramir and their troops before Boromir went north to seek out answers to a riddling dream. 

       One of the attendants had brought a stool and set it so that Captain Peregrin could stand on it and look more comfortably at the exhibited items.  “I look down on it now as it’s being rebuilt, and remember how I first saw it when Gandalf brought me here.  It’s amazing to see it being reborn from the ashes and rubble.”  He reached forward to gently touch a domed building.  “Was this the Dome of the Stars itself?”

       Aragorn nodded.  “Yes, that was where together Elendil, Isildur, and Valandil met to make decisions of rule.”

       They turned away then, and gradually worked their way to the far side of the room, where on the wall hung two crystal cases.  Once they were close they saw they held clothing--clothing of the type Master Isumbard wore.  The garments were torn and frayed, the colors faded and stained, the embroidery which once had adorned the shirts and vests broken, fastenings lost.  Before each stood a small table, both with vases, one filled with white blossoms, the other with flowers of all colors and sprays of scented herbs.  About the white blossoms were tokens of birds and stars.

       Benai looked up at the cases with awe.  “It’s what the Ringbearer wore,” he said.

       The King nodded solemnly.  “Frodo wore that into Mordor; Sam wore the other.”

       Pippin smiled.  “Sam is still rather embarrassed about it, although he told the children about it at the Free Fair.  Embarrassed for himself, so proud for Frodo.  Of course, Frodo would have been appalled.”  He reached beneath his tabard to a pocket in his uniform trousers, pulled out something and set it on the table with the stars and birds.  “Merry sent this in the letter he mailed from Edoras, Strider--asked if I’d put it here for him.” 

       “What is it?” asked Nefirnerini.

       “A shirt stud--Frodo’s shirt stud.  Merry’s parents gave them to Frodo when he was nineteen, and he was wearing them when we left the Shire.  He lost it just after he was wounded on Amon Sul, and it was found a few years ago by our cousin Levandoras when we were riding back from a conference.  Uncle Saradoc and Aunt Esmeralda kept it after that.  When Uncle Sara died Aunt Esme gave it to Merry, and he’s kept it in his own pocket ever since.  I think he meant to leave it here when we came for the tenth New Year celebration.  Don’t know why he didn’t, really.  But apparently by the time he got to Edoras he felt it should be returned or something.”

       This was the jewel, Nefiramonrani realized, that had been depicted by the small sculptor on Frodo’s sleeve on the small statue he’d carved in Thetos. 

       Amon’osiri asked, “What are the stars and birds there for?”

       Pippin shrugged.  “He loved both stars and birds, Frodo did.  He had nesting boxes he’d put up every spring, a platform he kept full of seed all winter where he could look at it from the kitchen window.  And the stars....”

       The King put his hand again on the Hobbit’s shoulder.  He looked at the boy.  “A few years back the tale was told of how Frodo loved stars and birds, and a few days later several people came with bird tokens to set here as their own memorials.”

       Pippin pointed to individual items.  “Sam placed the woven straw bird, and Rosie the shirt studs of the birds against stars; and I think the ceramic bird is one Frodo’s younger cousin Pando Proudfoot sculpted.  Ririon did the wooden one, I’m certain.”

       “What is that?” Asa asked, pointing at what appeared to be a feather.

       The King smiled gently.  “It’s a quill pen, in honor of the writing Frodo always did and which I hope so he still does.  It’s made from the feather of a sea bird.”

       Pippin looked up at him.  “Did you place that there, Aragorn?”  At the King’s nod he smiled.

       Master Isumbard came in then, leading Sa’Harpelamun, and together they made their way across the room to where the party stood before Frodo’s clothing.  “I took that wreath they gave you as we were coming through the city and placed it on Merry’s head in the memorial, Pippin,” he said.  “Then Sa’Harpelamun had questions which I couldn’t fully answer, as I don’t know enough Haradri yet and he is still rough with his Westron, so I thought to bring him to the King to translate.  The guard near the Council Chamber told us you’d planned to come here, so we looked here first.”  He noted the shirt stud, and paused.  “So, Merry finally decided to let it go, did he?  It must have been a wrench.”

       “Yes, I’m certain it was.  He and Frodo were so very close.  Frodo used to call him ‘brother-cousin,’ you know.”

       Isumbard sighed.  “If I’d known Frodo as I came to know him when he served as Deputy Mayor, I’d have gone with all of you as well, Pippin.”

       Sa’Harpelamun looked up at the clothing with interest.  “The same,” he said in his poor Westron.  “The same as the--the memorial.”

       The King nodded solemnly.  “Yes, Ruvemir examined these and incorporated them into the memorial.  His skill with showing the texture and the fraying is unprecedented, I’m told by the Master of his Guild.  Although I believe he allowed his apprentice Celebgil to do a great deal in bringing out the texture of the fabrics.  Both of them are highly gifted sculptors.”

       “Why are they here?” asked Hasturnerini.

       Lord Elphir said solemnly, “That we always remember what it cost them to make the journey to and through Mordor.  They were not warriors--they were a scholar and a gardener.  They were not tall and strong, but their endurance has never been matched.  The Creator Himself saw them through the task and back again; and the Valar have given the Ringbearer the chance to heal at last.”

       They looked more about the room and items regarding the final battles were identified; the pommels of the swords which had been used on the Witch King of Angmar by the Lady Éowyn and Meriadoc Brandybuck, the twisted crown which had been worn by the Nazgul, the helm and circlet which had been worn by Théoden King of Rohan, Pippin’s original shield with the signs of it having been crumpled.

       The honor felt by those of the Citadel Guards who served in the room and those who offered information to those who came here was obvious.  They left feeling both solemn and somewhat uplifted.  And as Ankhrabi looked back over his shoulder he seemed to see a gleam of light reflected from the small shirt stud placed on the table by Captain Peregrin Took.

Welcoming Feast

       Ma’osiri indicated he felt tired, and the King felt his forehead and the side of his neck, and agreed he should rest some before the feast began.  He led them out and back toward their quarters. 

       As they walked he told them, “There are two tables set behind the high seats, one at which your people’s guards and attendants may sit, and one at which the guards of others will sit.  All of your attendants will be welcome to attend, although we ask that only two guards be properly armed for service, and that you carry no weapons other than belt knives.  Even I do not wear Anduril within the feast hall of Merethrond.”

       “That even our servants are welcome is not common, my Lord An’Elessar.”

       “Your children are also asked to attend this night, if you feel they can handle such an affair.  Usually children do not attend formal feasts save when those in whose honor they are given have brought their children with them to the city.  As your children are older, they will sit on the inner side of the table opposite you.  And you two, Hasturnerini and Asa, will sit there also, along with Melian, Lord Rustovrid’s daughters, Lord Shefti’s daughter, and other young ones who will attend.”

       As they entered the hallway to the entrance to the guest wing, Sa’Harpelamun said quietly, “I thank you, Lord An’Elessar, for sending the wine.  I am not certain I will be desiring to attend the feast, however.”

       The King nodded.  “I am not surprised that you felt his death, Sa’Harpelamun.  Twins often appear to share this bond.  I am only glad that he allowed his heart to turn.”

       “You know he is dead?”

       The King looked down.  “As I told you, it is part of my gift to be aware of those who have come under my authority or into my awareness.  It is not always a comfortable gift.  But, at the end, he was calling for me, for my attention to him in his final passion.  He was begging direction.”

       “Did you give it to him?”

       The King shrugged.  “I tried--in my mind I told him to turn and seek the Light and to follow it.”

       “Did he?”  The young priest had stopped, was looking up intently into the King’s face, his own pale.

       The King smiled gently.  “Yes, at the end he did.  He was relieved, and his last thought appeared to be thanksgiving and love aimed at you.”  His hand lay now gently on Sa’Harpelamun’s shoulder.  “He is free now, my son; free of the grief and confusion and torment of mind he has known.”  Then he was holding the younger Man to him as the priest began to weep.

       The others paused, and then Captain Peregrin looked up at Ankhrabi and said quietly, “I think we should go on, my Lord.”

       With the Haradri’s and the Queen’s nods of agreement they went on.  Melian looked over her shoulder with compassion in her eyes.  “Ada will help him feel better,” she said quietly.

       They received the bows of those on duty and went into the corridor of the guest wing, and soon were in the receiving room.  Ma’osiri sank onto one of the sofas, and the Lady Arwen knelt by him, set her hand to his temple and then the side of his neck.  “I believe it is not so much the wound as simply being overwhelmed with new experiences after a night of not sleeping deeply,” she said.  “I suggest an hour’s sleep with a cool compress over his eyes.”  She looked into his eyes.  “Do you wish to attend the feast?”

       “Yes, my Lady,” he said hopefully.

       “Are you willing to rest now that you be not be overwhelmed later?”

       “Yes, my Lady,” he said.

       “Are you glad you came?”

       “Yes, my Lady.”

       “I will have some juice of the orange fruit sent for you before you sleep, then.”  She smiled into his eyes and rose. 

       Amon’osiri said, “I’ll watch after him.”

       The King and the young priest entered together from the hallway, Sa’Harpelamun’s face calmer and more hopeful.  “I will rest for a time, Lord An’Elessar,” he was saying.  “Thank you for your comfort.”

       The Queen smiled at her guests.  “We will leave you, then, and send the juice for Ma’osiri.  And if any of you should wish to enjoy the gardens, feel free to wander them at your will.  The feast begins near sunset; Master Bayard will give you fair warning.”  After the King had confirmed the suggestions made by the Queen, they withdrew. 

       Soon Ankhsarani returned from the Haradri Embassy, escorted by Lord Rustovrid’s assistant Amonpelrabi.  They went out into the private garden and sat together on chairs and benches set there and spoke for a time of their impressions of Gondor, of the courtesy of King and Queen, of the attempted revolt and the results of it.  Amonpelrabi described how the Lord Rustovrid had been invited at times to address the King’s Council, and of his estimation of Prince Faramir, Prince Imrahil, and of this one and that. 

       He spoke of their earliest days in the city of Minas Anor when the city was still full of great numbers of Elves from Eryn Lasgolen who’d come to help in the replanting of gardens and the cultivation of trees and beauty.  “Some come and go freely still, but most have either returned to their own woodland realm or have removed to Ithilien to ease the hurts done there when it lay under the rule of the Enemy.  Mostly it is Prince Legolas who is the King’s friend and his brother Prince Tharen who come and go now from the sylvan Elves, although when they come they often come with others who will go throughout the city checking on this garden or that.  And now and then the Sons of Elrond come to visit with Elves from Imladris and those of Lothlorien who yet remain on the hither shore.  These often serve as bodyguards to foreign dignitaries, including the Pheriannath on their visits.”

       At last they went back into the Citadel to prepare for the feast, and told their attendants and Gebsohrabi that they, too, would be allowed to attend the meal.  Nefiramonrani’s surprise at how swiftly she was aided to bathe, dress, and don her cosmetics gave way to amusement and even pleasure as she watched her maid hurry to do the same for herself, while Gebsohrabi checked the shine of his weapons and armor, and worked to set his headcloth at the perfect angle to look impressive to these outdwellers.

       Nefirnerini and her own maid Maya chattered excitedly as they prepared for the feast, Maya telling of how Master Bayard had come to acquaint them with the usage of the boilers and water spouts and drains for the bathing chambers and how to open and fasten the windows of the rooms and to start a fire in the low fireplaces if it should prove necessary.  Gebankhamun, who saw to the needs of the twins, quickly had their hair properly dressed and clipped, made certain their kilts were freshly pressed and the sashes properly fastened before he did so for himself.  Ankhsarani checked the appearance of her five and approved them, while Sa’Harpelamun, having bathed during the interim at the King’s suggestion, donned a clean robe and belt sash, and prepared to attend after all.

       As most of the servants were led in to take their places at the table set for themselves, the Haradri nobles stood in an antechamber attended by the Master of Protocol while those from Minas Anor and Gondor itself were seated, and were soon joined by others, including Benai, Lord Gilfileg, Peregrin and Isumbard Took, and those from the Rhunish Embassy and the envoys from Dunland and Umbar.

       Those from the last two lands were led into the hall, then they heard the King and Queen of Rohan being introduced, and the Master of Protocol indicated the Hobbits should go next, followed by Lord Benai and the Northern Dúnedain.  At that moment Lord Rustovrid and his family arrived with Lord Ghants’pa’amon and his wife and those who would attend on them at the feast, smiling encouragingly at his prince.  Again a servant came to lead their servants and attendants to the places set for them at the table behind where they would sit.

       Rustovrid smiled at his peer from Rhun, then turned to his Lord’s son.  “Has there as yet been time to introduce you, my Lord Prince?  Ankhrabi of Harad, son and heir to the Farozi An’Sohrabi, may I present Lord Ifram, ambassador from Rhun and brother to the Shkatha Moritum, and his half-brother and scribe Lord Shefti, his wife Liana, and their daughter Angara.  Their guard is Captain Ben’harin.  Lord Ankhrabi, his wife the Lady Nefiramonrani, their daughter Nefirnerini, their sons Ma’osiri and Amon’osiri, Lady Ankhsarani who is sister to Lady Nefiramonrani, Lord Ghants’pa’amon and his Lady Angarnerini, and their guards, Gebsohrabi and Belscarabri; and Sa’Harpelamun, a priest of Amon from the Valley of the Sun.”  Greetings were shared briefly, and then Lord Ifram’s party was being ushered to their seats with the announcement of their names and titles for those who were already at their places, followed by Rustovrid and his wife and lieutenant, Sa’Harpelamun, Lady Ankhsarani, then Lord Ghants’pa’amun and his wife and guard, and finally Ankhrabi and his family. 

       The children were being taken a slightly different way, which made the Prince feel anxious for a moment until he appreciated how the table was set in a long oval shape, open at the near end; and the children were being led to seats opposite the ones to which they were being brought, to the left of the high-backed seats obviously intended for the King and Queen of Gondor.  The King of Rohan, he realized, was to be seated to the right of the two chairs, with his wife beyond him.  As they walked up the hall behind those who seated them they received bows and curtseys from all.  No one was actually seated yet, and he realized how this custom had led those who had visited Harad to remain standing until his father had taken his place.

       At last the Herald called out, “The Lord King Elessar; the Lady Queen Arwen Undomiel; the Lady Princess Melian.”  Followed by their one guard of honor, they paced up the room to stand by their high seats at the end of the table, their daughter immediately opposite them on the inside of the curve, young Elfwine beyond her.

       The King wore the robe embroidered with the eagle crowned with stars and a green sash fastened on his right shoulder with the Elessar brooch, the Star of Elendil on his brow.  His wife wore a dress of dark silver embroidered with a star, the fillet she’d worn in Harad about her forehead.  The Lord and Lady of Rohan wore their own circlets, as did the Prince and Princess of Ithilien a few seats to the left of Nefiramonrani as well as the Prince and Princess of Dol Amroth who sat beyond the Queen of Rohan.

       Once all had completed their bows, King and Queen bowed in return, then stood tall.  The King looked down the lengths of the table to each side, and smiled.  “We greet you all this night to this meal, given in honor of our guests, the Prince Ankhrabi, son of An’Sohrabi, Farozi of Harad, his wife the Lady Nefiramonrani, their children and other lords and ladies from Harad.  These are the ones who greeted and hosted us while we sojourned in Harad during the celebrations of the Farozi’s birthday, and who have accompanied us back to Gondor again to see some of the Northern lands.  We also greet this night Lord Benai of the Southern Dúnedain of the land of Camaloa of the Southern Continent.  His tale is one of great wonder.  And we welcome Lord Gilfileg, my kinsman from Arnor.

       “We rejoice to have returned, and to know the companionship of those who are with us this day.  And we rejoice to be with all of you this night.”  With a gesture he turned to the West to lead the Standing Silence.

       Master Ruvemir and his wife sat near Lord Gilfileg and the Rhunish envoys, appearing to feel comfortable with all of them.  Pippin and Isumbard sat near Prince Elphir of Dol Amroth and his wife and were obviously joking with them.  They and Master Ruvemir sat upon the specially designed high chairs which allowed them to sit high enough to speak more easily with those by them. 

       Lord Rustovrid and Lady Ghansaret were quietly pointing out this participant and that one, indicating which held trade agreements with Harad, which considered themselves indispensable to the peace and prosperity of the realm, which considered themselves powers behind the throne, who were folk to be approached and with whom relationships cultivated, who were to be treated civilly and ignored as much as possible.

       The food was superb, the talk interesting.  He sat by the King, who now and then added to the comments made by Rustovrid, and who also was prevailed upon to describe what Captain Peregrin had been like when he was younger.  Watching the way that An’Elessar and the Lady Arwen kept an eye on the tables and would send a servant to offer particular delicacies to this one or that, to offer wine to this guild master or juice to that lord or sweetmeats to a particular lady, Ankhrabi realized that they had gained a knowledge of their guests which they used judiciously to keep folk relaxed and possible arguments at a minimum.  And the tales of traveling with Hobbits were both hilarious and touching.  The boys were interested in the stories the King had to tell, were impressed with the hall and the meal, and excellently behaved, both Ankhrabi and their mother were pleased to note.  The twins sat across from them; Nefirnerini further down near Hasturnerini, Asa, and the daughters of Lord Rustovrid. 

       Immediately opposite Lady Nefiramonrani sat a quiet Man beside the two Elves and Lord Gimli.  His face was intelligent and sensitive, but also watchful.  He listened to the King’s stories and laughed, but with more reticence than most others in the hall displayed.  He finally did ask about the visit to Harad, and listened attentively to the answers, his eyes indicating he was processing the descriptions he was given, now and then humming measures of music in the moments of silence, his mouth soundlessly trying words and turns of phrase.  His fingers now and then moved as if--what?  And then Ankhrabi realized--this was a minstrel, a bard, and was thinking how to put the reports of the trip to Harad into a lay; and the unconscious movements of his fingers were indications of where he imagined his fingers would pluck or strum the strings of his instrument.

       Musicians were now playing music, but this one wasn’t hearing it--was hearing the music forming in his head and heart instead.  Now and then he’d stop and ask another question, probing a moment in more depth, asking for the description of the procession from temple to temple, asking for the list of temples visited, the gods and goddesses honored, how they related to the identities of the Valar as known among the folk of the West....

       He listened to the description of the duck hunt with interest.  “Why were you wary, my Lord Elessar?” he asked.  When he heard how Lord Sherfiramun had questioned Captain Peregrin’s honor his face became taut with anger.  “With all he has done, our Captain has been questioned so?  Obviously that one never stood by the beds of the Pheriannath as they recovered from their wounds.”

       The King gave a rueful laugh.  “Had he been there, he would have been among the Enemy’s folk rather than ours.  We did not allow them to mix, if you will remember.”

       “Yet you went among their wounded as well as our own, and offered them your healing skills--you and the Lady’s brothers.”

       “Yes, we did.  When the battle is over, it remains over more easily if all are equally offered what easing they need.”

       “So you said then, my Lord.  I know many would have been better pleased had the survivors from among the Easterners and those from Harad been summarily executed rather than aided and sent home once more.”

       “That is not my way.”

       “So you also said then.”

       “And so I mean.”

       After a moment the minstrel bowed his head in contrition.  “I apologize, our King.  I did not intend to impugn your honor.”

       “No, you have not impugned my honor, Faralion.  I know that.  But many of the land of Gondor have known only hatred and fear for generations beyond count, and must learn to let go of it that we may know peace now.”

       “You do not know similar sentiments in the Northlands?”

       “It is easier for those of Arnor to forgive those of Harad and Rhun, just as it is far easier for those of Gondor to forgive those of the Dunlands and Angmar, I suppose.  It’s always easier to forgive those who have not been enemies for generations beyond count.”

       The minstrel shrugged.  Just then King Éomer turned and leaned slightly across in front of Queen Arwen.  “Aragorn, my brother....”

       With the King’s attention distracted, Faralion watched him with a look of mixed longing and wariness in his eyes.  Quietly Ankhrabi asked, “What is it that disturbs you, Master Faralion?”

       Not taking his eyes off King Elessar’s profile, the Man shrugged again.  “He is so different than what I’d ever envisioned as King of Gondor.  Perhaps it is because he is older than I’d imagined and than he appears, or perhaps it is because he was raised throughout almost all of his minority among the great Elves.  Or perhaps it is because for so much of his life he has been able to live mostly unaccompanied and so has traveled alone into so many lands and waste places, and has mixed freely with so many peoples and races.” 

       He looked back at the Haradri Prince.  “His mind is not caught into easily predictable patterns, and he defies the restraints set by expectations and ancient traditions.  He cares little enough for the rights of his office, focusing instead on its responsibilities.  He keeps astonishing me.”

       “What did you expect the one to be like who would in the end claim the Kingship?”

       “Royal wrath and royal pride, I suppose.  More similar to the Lord Denethor, perhaps.”

       Legolas, who sat two seats down beyond him, raised an elegant eyebrow.  “Would you wish him to be more like Lord Denethor?”

       “Oh, no, of course not.  We can do without the strictness of attitude, the intolerance for questions of his authority or commands, the concern always for his image and dignity as Lord of the realm.  Our Lord Elessar is an excellent King.”

       The Elf asked, “Then if he is such an excellent King, does it matter that he keeps astonishing you?”

       “I suppose not.”

       Ankhrabi asked, “Do you not find him dignified?”

       “He is most dignified, but it is simply a different form of dignity which he shows, and not that which the nation necessarily expects.  He has fought fires, has been seen sweeping floors, treats servants with as much consideration and courtesy as he does great lords--sometimes more so, weeds his own herb garden and teaches his daughter to do the same, sings comical songs to children, visits the homes of his servants when they are ill, has been known to cleanse the bodies of the ill in the Houses of Healing instead of allowing lesser ones do so, has himself answered letters addressed to him by children, often cooks meals for guests with his own hands and teaches his cooks how to cook dishes from other climes, smokes upon a pipe, will sit by the newest recruits when he rides on review among his troops and comforts them when they feel overwhelmed.  He answers to almost all names ever given him, including ‘Lord Strider.’  And he has added Elves, Dwarves, and the Pheriannath to his Council to the consternation of the Lords of the realm.  And the Queen is much the same.  He has been admitted to the Guild of Healers while she has been admitted to the Guild of Tailors and Seamstresses as a Master Embroiderer; and the Guild of Bards and Minstrels would admit both if they could.”

       “What must they do to be admitted to that guild?”

       “Admit that one of the songs they sing or epic poems they recite is their own work.  The Lord Frodo told me that in Imladris our Lord Elessar often collaborated with his own cousin Bilbo in the writing of poems and songs, and Lord Elrohir has told me that as a younger Man he wrote poetry that was moving and beautifully imaged.”

       “You came to know the Lord Frodo Baggins?”

       “Yes, as he recovered from his ordeal in Mordor while we remained in Ithilien.  I saw him, the Lord Samwise, and Captain Peregrin while they were yet in healing sleep and as Captain Peregrin lay still too wounded to rise from his cot; and I spoke to Sir Meriadoc as he sat by them during their long recovery.”  He shook his head.  “I try to imagine what it was like to come out of the obscurity of their own small land and travel at the side of the mysterious Ranger Strider, to find themselves fighting upon battlefields and creeping into and through Mordor to the defeat of the Enemy, almost losing themselves along the way.  Each of the four came so very close to dying; and our Lord Elessar would have given himself for the benefit of all, leaving our Lord Faramir to continue the rule of Gondor had Lord Frodo not managed to bring the Ring to the Fire in time to spare the greater part of the Army of the West.”

       Ankhrabi looked to his right, where the Kings and Queens of Gondor and Rohan shared laughter amongst themselves.  His own father had worked wonders in Harad, but would never have thought to be seen weeding gardens, much less entering the quarters of his slaves and servants when they were ill.  Nor had he ever been a fighting Man, leaving the command of armies to others better suited.  Yet he had been inspired by the Lord King Elessar so many years ago; and Sa’Amonri and the high priest of Amon and high priestess of Neryet in the Valley of the Sun honored him greatly.  As for the honor which Ankhrabi himself held for the Man....  He smiled to see the humor reflected in the eyes of the King of Gondor and Arnor.

       The meal was pleasant, the talk stimulating, the music so very different from that of his own land and yet pleasing.

       When the meal was over all rose and moved to the other end of the room.  Now music for dancing and singing was played, and conversations continued on the margins of the other activities.  Ankhrabi was now personally introduced to many with whom Harad now did business. 

       The Lady Avrieth entered in with small Eldarion, who was taken out of the hall into an anteroom by his mother for a time for nursing, then was brought again into the greater chamber and was laid in the arms of his father.  The King held the infant tenderly, a white cloth on his shoulder as he burped the child absently while continuing a discussion with Lords of Gondor and Arnor and Lord Benai and the oldest daughter of Lord Rustovrid of the implications of the discovery of the Dúnedain of Camaloa.

       The younger children had sat near the end of the dining tables around Master Ruvemir, all carrying on what appeared a lively discussion along with Lord Ifram of Rhun.  Young Angara, daughter of Lord Ifram’s brother, sat by Amon’osiri, laughing with the rest, then stood and it could be seen her arms were disproportionally short.  Yet all treated her with equal respect to that accorded the other children.

       Then his own sons rose also as the group dispersed, and came to find him.  Both boys were so very handsome, the scar on Ma’osiri’s throat now fading into memory.  He wore the brooch given him by An’Elessar on the left hip of his belt sash, and it caught the light as he approached.  Lord Gilfileg’s attention was drawn to it as the boys came nearer, his interest in the discussion in which he was taking part arrested.  Others of the Northern Dúnedain also paused, their awareness focused on the star worn by the son of Ankhrabi of Harad, the grandson of the Farozi.  Several looked in question from the brooch worn by the child to the King.

       The dance then being performed came to a close just then, and in the ensuing silence many found themselves aware of the small drama unfolding between King and his Northern kinsmen.  Lord Gilfileg looked into the eyes of his King and asked, “Will you explain, my Lord Cousin, how it is this child wears a Star of the Dúnedain of Arnor?  If my eyes do not deceive me, I recognize it as one once worn by your father and yourself.”

       Ma’osiri looked up at him.  “He gave it to me, told me it would help to guide my way.”

       The King smiled down at the boy, beckoned to him, then turned him about to face the Northerners.  “What would you know, Gilfileg?  Long and long ago when I visited the Valley of the Sun in Harad I was told that the Lady Elbereth, whom they know as the Lady Neryet, asked I sacrifice the Star I bore by throwing it into the lily pool in the court of her temple.  Had I carried it still in my belt pouch when I came to the docks of Risenmouthe to await the return of the trading ship on which I’d come to Harad, I would have been arrested and given to the agents of Sauron.  As it was they searched me most closely in search of star tokens which would prove me an agent of Gondor or Arnor.

       “On this visit, I was asked to reach into that pool to find something held there intended for Lord Benai, and I found the sword he now bears.  A few days later he was asked to do the same to retrieve something intended for me.  He placed the brooch into my hand, and it was shown me that this one would benefit from it.  Do you question my foresight?”

       Smiles could be seen on the faces of the King’s kin.  Lord Gilfileg bowed deeply.  “Considering how your foresight set in motion changes for the better in Rhun through your agency and mine, do you think I truly question it, Aragorn?”  He straightened and looked down into the boy’s face.  “Know this, small Lord--this star you now bear has been in the keeping of the line of Kings of the Northern realm for generations.  Now it has come into your keeping.  Never has it been dishonored by those who have borne it ere it came to you.  See to it that it remains unstained.”

       The boy looked at him, standing very straight.  “I will do so, my Lord,”

       All of those of Arnor bowed toward Ma’osiri, and the boy gave a most proper inclination of his head in return.  Ankhrabi saw the pride in Nefiramonrani’s face.  Sa’Harpelamun stood by the minstrel Faralion, and his face also was alight with pride for his prince.

The King’s Audience

       The following morning the Lord King Elessar, this time wearing the famed Winged Crown, held a public audience to which bards and minstrels, writers, poets, deliverers of news, historians, artists, and others who presented information to the realm were invited.  Their guests from Harad were introduced and the story of the visit told, the attempted coup, the way in which it had been averted by the concerted efforts of the Farozi An’Sohrabi, Lord Afraim, Lord Rustovrid, and the actions of the guests from Gondor and Arnor.  The tale of the recognition of the lesser ring worn by Merdirion of Umbar was told also, and the trial and justice given to all.

       Then the second assault on the party of the Farozi as it returned to Thetos from the Valley of the Sun was described, and how those who’d taken part in the actions against the rule of Harad had been finally judged.

       Ankhrabi noted that the King did not emphasize his own role in overcoming the revolt, and in all things gave proper honor to the actions of Lords Rustovrid, Afraim, and An’Sohrabi himself.

       One of the minor lords who attended the audience asked, “You recognized the ring worn by this Merdirion as one of the works of Sauron?”

       “Yes, Lord Anoramir.”

       “How did you recognize it?”

       “Many will remember the campaign against the wainriders of Mundolië when they sought to invade Rhun some six years past.”  At the nods of agreement, the King continued, “One of the Rhunim of the Bedui clan, Abdurin, brother to the clan chieftain, wore such a ring, one given to him by the servants of Sauron.  Merdirion of Umbar received his ring from the Nazgul themselves, apparently some time after my visit there when I was yet young in the reckoning of my own folk.

       “That Sauron was seeking to make more ring slaves by gifting Men apt to his hand with examples of rings he himself  had crafted became known to Lord Elrond of Imladris during the days of my father Arathorn as Chieftain of the Northern Dúnedain.  One bearing such a ring was captured by the sons of Elrond, and the ring itself was studied at some length in order to understand how it must be treated to bring it to its destruction.  When I came to manhood I was taught how to recognize such things as well as the manner of recognizing and dealing with Morgul knives and the wounds they might inflict.  Fortunately the manner in which the rings might be destroyed is far simpler than dealing with Morgul wounds.  The one worn by Merdirion is the fourth such example I have seen and dealt with, and the second found worn by one within Harad.”

       “You saw another within Harad?” asked one of the tellers of news.

       “Yes, when I visited there as a young Man, many years since.  One was worn then by an agent of Sauron known as Maruset, a lord of Harad who had done much to see the worship of Sauron expanded throughout the nation there.  He was working with an agent of Umbar who had refused to wear such a thing, but who was insistent the younger son of he who was Farozi then should die to the intimidation of his father and brother.”

       “How many of these rings have you dealt with?”

       “This last one worn by Merdirion was the fourth I’ve dealt with.”

       “So he wished to kill the brother to the current Farozi?”

       “No--the one I saved then is the Farozi now.  Merdirion of Umbar saw to the poisoning of An’Ma’osiri, An’Sohrabi’s older brother, while he was Farozi.”

       The discussion of the attempted revolt and the attack in the desert went on for some time.  At last the King summoned Benai to come forward and introduced him to those present.  All listened raptly as his story was once more told, and it was Ankhrabi of Harad who confirmed that the people of Camaloa were known to carry swords such as that worn by Lord Benai, that their ancestors were said to have come from the sea on a ship which foundered on the rocks, that their language had never been understood by outsiders until now.  Several of those from the Northern Dúnedain spoke to him in Adunaic, and it was soon plain that this was indeed the language which was native to him.  How he came to serve as guard of honor to the Queen of Gondor and Arnor, and his acceptance of their Lord Aragorn Elessar as Lord and King for their folk as well as those of the two lands of the Northern Dúnedain was also discussed at length.  The tale of the sword taken from the pool in the courtyard to the temple of Neryet caught the imaginations of all, and more than one of those present could be seen to be thinking deeply, a few rereading the notes they had taken of the discussions to this point.

       By the time the King had reached the tale of the gift of the young camels by Kafra Antipatha of the Batsi clan all were once more focused on the tale.  “You brought them with you?” asked one of the tellers of news.

       “Yes, we did.  As we arrived the three young camels were entrusted temporarily to the care of one of the farmers upon the Pelennor who raises goats.  Today the youth Asa has gone down earlier in the day to check on their health and condition and to care for them as was intended.  He will check on them again tomorrow.  Already arrangements are being made to have them taken to the Crown lands southwest of Osgiliath where other animals given to our care are housed.  We hope to set up a farm for game there that children especially may see them and become familiar with them, honoring more of the creatures with which we share the mortal lands.”

       One of the more sober individuals involved in the meeting asked, “How involved was Umbar in this attempted revolt?”

       “From what we can tell, Umbar itself was not involved at all, although one originally from Umbar sought to lead it.  However, Merdirion had not returned to Umbar himself, according to all reports, for over forty years.  He sought not only to kill myself, Prince Faramir, Lord Hildigor, and King Éomer of Rohan as well as the Lord Prince Ankhrabi and the Farozi himself, but to take control of our heirs, and through them Gondor, Ithilien, Arnor, Rohan, and Harad, making himself regent for all these lands and holding our children isolated so as to better exert his control over all.  His further intention was, once he had the navies of Gondor and Harad under his control, to barricade the harbors of Umbar, bring armies from all sides to assault it, and capture and kill Lord Marcipor, making himself nominal ruler only of Umbar while in reality controlling all.

       “He wrote out his plan for what he would do, and kept it in the library of the house in which he dwelt.  Lord Hardorn and I both read it, as has the Lord Prince Ankhrabi and his father and many of the Lords who did not take part in the revolt.  The description of what he intended to do to Lord Marcipor of Umbar was--was quite detailed, and extraordinarily vicious.”

       One of the foreign dignitaries whom Ankhrabi had met the previous evening in the antechamber to the Feast Hall of Merethrond, a Lord Wasnior of Umbar, if he remembered correctly, had blanched, and looked almost ready to collapse.  The King looked on him.  “And, my Lord Wasnior, your lord would also be most interested to know that Merdirion was an uncle to Landrion.  Not, of course, that he had a great deal of pride in the relationship, seeing how Landrion’s life ended.”

       “Is he still living?” asked the Umbari envoy.

       “Still living?  No, he is not.”

       “Was he executed by order of the Farozi?”

       Exactly why the question from the Man annoyed Ankhrabi he couldn’t express; he found the hair on the nape of his neck rising under his headcloth.  He raised his chin and looked down his nose at the envoy and said in careful Westron, “It was the decision of all who attended the trial that this one must be executed--that of the lords of the realm, of the common people who watched the proceedings, those of the army who attended, the priests, and the officials of Gondor, Arnor, and Rohan as well.  When he refused to remove the ring voluntarily, the Lord King An’Elessar asked for the right to execute him, which was granted to him.”

       Wasnior looked disbelieving at the Haradri, then turned to look up at the King.  “You had one of your Men kill him?”

       The King’s voice was mild.  “As the Lord Prince Ankhrabi told you, my Lord Wasnior, I asked for the right to execute him, and I did so.”

       Ankhrabi hadn’t thought the Umbari could become more pale.  “You executed him yourself?”

       “Only I, of all those there, could have dealt with what he wore.  I would not have any others do this for me and expose them to its effects.”

       “You put your own hands on it?”

       “I could not touch the thing myself.  Another removed it from his hand once he was dead and isolated it for me, and I took it and destroyed it immediately.”

       “But how----?”

       The King simply shook his head.

       “He directed the assault in the desert as well?”

       “No--that was the work of a young, disaffected youth guided by one of those who’d served in the temple Sauron had raised to himself in Thetos.”

       “Where are they now?”

       “They, too, are now dead.  The priest sought to assault the youth and was killed as the youth sought to protect himself.  The youth died yesterday.”

       “And how do you know this?”

       The King looked on him steadily.  “Do you question my gift of foresight?”

       Wasnior dropped his eyes, shook his head, asked no more.  He looked rather nauseous.

       At last it appeared that those who’d attended the audience were satisfied they’d heard the story, and some seemed eager to leave the Citadel to begin fabricating how they would tell what they’d just learned abroad through the city and the nation.  When requests for further questions went unchallenged, Prince Faramir rose and asked, “Is there any other business to be brought before the King this day?”

       Several who stood at the back of the crowd were now led forward by a Guard officer and one of the Heralds for the Citadel.  The Herald stepped forward and bowed deeply.  “Our beloved Lord King, a ship arrived at the Harlond this morning, one which had managed to overtake a slaver’s ship headed South and East from Harad and Umbar.  They were apparently taking a number of individuals intended to be sold as slaves in the Far East.  This ship had been seen off the coast of Anfalas two weeks past when a number of young Men and women disappeared from the beach from which they’d been swimming earlier in the day.  We found four of the six missing ones aboard this ship when we boarded it, along with thirty-eight others, some from Harad, some from Far Harad, some from Umbar and many from further South and West of Far Harad.  We have brought these into the city in carriages, and several are now in the Houses of Healing, while five young ones have been left in the House of the Children in the First Circle in the Street of Lampwrights. 

       “We would wish to know your pleasure regarding the slavers?”

       “What land are they from?”

       “The sailors appear to be from many lands, none of them from Gondor or Arnor or Rhun.  The captain and those who appear to run the slaving business are from Harad and Umbar.”

       The King looked at those who had been led forward.  Four were in chains, one definitely the ship’s captain, one a burley individual from Harad who appeared to have been the one who saw to it that those taken as slaves behaved and none stopped the others, and the other two definitely the two businessmen of the group, one Haradri and one from Umbar.  Wasnior, who earlier had been so pale, now was red with indignation.

       The King looked at Wasnior.  “Are any of these known to you, my Lord?”

       The Umbari nodded sourly.  “All too well, Lord Elessar.  Empenor there is the younger son of one of the Black Númenorean trading families, and has been repeatedly fined for carrying on slaving traffic.  His partners have been suspected in several disappearances but always seem to disappear themselves from Umbar before anything is proven; and the ship Grey Gull and its captain Castimir are forbidden to enter the main harbor for refusing to pay docking fees and taxes.”

       “I see,” the King said.  He sighed.  He questioned the captain of the Gondorian ship that had overtaken the Grey Gull, then the four prisoners briefly.  Four of those who’d been found on the ship had been from Gondor; the majority were from Harad, and half appeared to have been born to slavery while the remaining seven appeared to have been born free and were kidnapped into slavery.  They’d not as yet been able to communicate with those from Far Harad and beyond Far Harad. 

       They indicated a young black Man ought to stand forward, and the King felt as if he were once again going through the same experience, as he looked at the stance which was already familiar in Benai.  In Adunaic he asked, “Are you from Camaloa?”

       The young Man’s face, which had shown equal parts of hope and simple disillusionment, suddenly lit up.  “You know the language of the Sea Peoples?” he asked in the same tongue.

       Benai, who’d been quietly discussing something with Lord Hildigor, straightened, and stepped forward from beside the dais to the throne, coming past the Steward’s chair.  “Nicoli!  Nicoli!   You are safe?”

       The raggedly dressed slave shuffled forward, was caught in Benai’s arms.  Laughter and tears of relief were there in his eyes, and Benai was holding him as if he were afraid the younger Man would suddenly disappear.

       Five from Camaloa and the abortive wedding party had ended on this ship, two children, two Men, and one young woman.  Only Nicoli had been well enough to bring to the Citadel.  He was able to translate for one of the other black slaves who came from a tribe that had traded regularly with those of Camaloa who told a similar story to that which Benai had told about his own capture and enslavement.

       One of the Haradri Men was invited to step forward next.  At a sign from An’Elessar Ankhrabi stepped forward to question him.  “Who are you and where are you from?” the Haradri Prince asked.

       “I am Ma’amun, Lord Prince--Ma’amun of Thetos.”

       “Were you born a slave?”

       “No, I was not.  I went one night to meet a friend and to share a jar of beer, but before he arrived at the tavern others sat down beside me, bought me beer.  I drank it, and we spoke until I realized the beer had been drugged.  I sought to fight them, but they bound me and placed me in a large straw basket.  I woke on a slaver’s ship upon the Sea.  I was taken to a small seacoast town, and sold to these when they came ten days past.”

       “Do you know why they chose to take you as a slave?”

       The Man shrugged.  “I know not, not for certain.  However, it appears the mother of my wife may have paid to have me taken from Thetos.  She ever hated me.”

       Prince, King, and Steward all shared looks.  Prince Faramir, who’d been translating this for those attending the audience, smiled up the steps behind him at his King.  “Do you think, my Lord, that the lost has been found?”

       “It is possible,” the Lord Elessar answered him.  He looked down at the Man.  “Do you have any children?” he asked in Haradri.

       “Yes, great Lord--two daughters.”

       “How old are they?”

       “One is three, almost four years of age; the other was eight months when I was taken, almost a month past.”

       “And the name of your wife’s mother?”

       “Mayanerini.”

       “Eru be praised,” breathed Faramir.

       The rest were briefly questioned, and the King at last indicated he’d heard enough.  He looked down, first at Wasnior and then at Ankhrabi.  “It appears we all hold an interest in the fate of those four and their crew.  Which of you desires precedence here?  Lord Wasnior, it appears you might well have the greatest claim.”

       The Umbari sighed and shook his head.  “Castimir and Empenor have many friends and influential family members whom I fear would only serve to see them quietly set free once more, my Lord Elessar.  No, if you wish these to stop their predations, either you or Harad must deal with them.”

       The King sighed as he looked down at the four prisoners, then looked his question at Ankhrabi.  The Haradri, however, also was shaking his head.  “Maseti and Morovrid here are known slavers, but cannot be shown to have broken our laws, apparently, as they appear to have purchased those of our land they carried abroad.  I fear it is your justice they must face.”

       The King Elessar nodded his head.  “I must then remand them to the prison here while a full investigation is made.  As this was the slave ship seen off the coast where the six of our young people disappeared and four were definitely found aboard it, and as five from Camaloa which we have declared under our protection were also aboard it, the least they can expect is seven years labor in Arnor in rebuilding the roads.  As for their crew, we will need to learn more of their actions so as to know what level of guilt each holds.  A proper trial will be held in two weeks’ time that all may fully know what they have done and how culpable each is seen as being.  We also need to find out what happened to the other two taken from our shore.”

       The Guardsmen who’d accompanied them from the wharves were dismissed with thanks, as were those of the ship which had taken the Grey Gull.  Guards of the Citadel now took the four who’d been brought into the throne room while others were sent out to take custody of the rest of the crew.

       There was one last bit of business as Master Evram of the Lord’s Corps of Engineers asked to present Hurin son of Hergion of Lebennin as their newest members to the Corps.  The King inclined his head graciously to indicate his pleasure at this.  “It is always an honor to meet the newest ones admitted to the various guilds and corps, Master Hurin.  Word of your courtesy, honor, and dedication to your work has been conveyed to us repeatedly over the past four years.”  He rose and descended the stairs, fastening the sheath for Anduril to his belt.  He accepted the gilded folding rule that indicated membership in the Corps from Master Evram, then held it out to the Man.  “I rejoice to mark your entrance into the Corps of Engineers, and commend your hard work.”  He turned the Man about, and announced, “Hurin son of Hergion of Lebennin, Engineer for the realm.”

       All applauded.  And as at last those gathered for the audience began to file from the Citadel, Ankhrabi saw the satisfaction on the face of Ruvemir of Lebennin, Master Sculptor, as he watched the new engineer led away, a dazed expression on his face.

Honor Revealed

He who would be the chief among you, let him be as the servant of all.
Mark 20:27

       The new member of the Corps of Engineers was led to a private audience chamber where he and his sponsors met briefly with Lord Gimli, the King and Queen, the Lord Steward, and the royal guests of the Citadel.  Hurin son of Hergion was overwhelmed by the attention, particularly when they were joined by Ruvemir son of Mardil, Master Sculptor, and Lord Húrin of the Keys.  The meeting did not last long, but was certainly long enough to impress the Man with the courtesy shown him by the most powerful lords of Gondor, Arnor, Rohan, and Harad.  By the time he and Master Evram were heading back to their lodgings in the Fifth Circle he was lightheaded with delight.

       Meanwhile those freed from the slave ship who’d been brought to the Citadel were taken to a second private audience chamber where cups of apple juice and white rolls were brought them--until their physical conditions were better evaluated it would be best to give them several meals of light fare, both King and Queen knew.  

       The Lady Arwen collected clothing to be distributed to those who were in need, and she’d given orders to her maids of honor to have much of her store of such things brought here.  On the ship from Gondor many had been given robes to wear over their rags, particularly the women and children, although mostly they were simply relieved that it was now high summer where they wouldn’t be likely to die of exposure before they were brought to the capitol.  Now the Queen was doing her best to clothe the sixteen of the forty-two who’d been brought before her so far.  She knew already the home for children would be able to meet the needs of those children who’d been left there; and for those who were in the Houses of Healing there was time to take thought as to how they would be outfitted, as the Houses kept a supply of night robes to be worn by those remaining in their care. 

       She’d also given orders that the bathing tubs in hers and the King’s private chambers be filled, and now she looked over those before her and chose out the two whom she felt would best respond to such care and had them step before her.  The Man was one of those who’d been taken beyond Far Harad; the woman was Haradri and had been born a slave.  She looked at her husband and discussed the matter quietly in Quenya, and he swiftly nodded his agreement.  He called Benai to him to translate to the Man while the Queen knelt before the woman to translate for her.  “We have prepared baths for you for your cleansing and refreshment.  In a moment my lady wife and I will lead you to these baths, after which you will be suitably dressed according to the ways of our people that you not be treated badly.  Do you understand?”

       The Haradri woman asked, “Then will we be taken to the markets to be sold again as slaves?”

       The King sighed.  He addressed her directly in Haradri.  “Slavery is not allowed in our nation.  You are now a freed woman, and even should you choose to return to your own land you may not be sold anew into slavery.  If you should like to learn a trade to support yourself you will be given that opportunity; or if you should wish to be allowed to serve others as you have been accustomed, we can help you find such employment--however, you will be given payment for your services and will be expected to pay for lodging, clothing, and some of your own meals out of your earnings.”

       She did not appear to fully understand, but when the Queen led her from the room she went with her trustingly enough.  As the King himself prepared to lead out the Man, assisted by Benai to translate, he turned to those who remained.  In Westron, Adunaic, and Haradri he explained, “My wife and I are healers, and we will aid you to bathe and cleanse your hair, will check you for lice and fleas, and will treat any wounds which you bear while we check your physical conditions.  We will see you properly clothed as befits guests of the city, and see you have lodging while we learn how you came into the keeping of those who ran the slave ship.  We will then do our best to return you to your families if you were kidnapped into slavery, or help you find suitable training and employment if you were born to slavery or if you wish to remain in Minas Anor.  Do you understand?”  At the nods from all as Nicoli translated to those he could, he smiled in relief.  “In a few moments more juice and food will be brought you.  It is best you not eat heavily--that you have many small amounts of food at a time at the first until your stomachs can bear more.  We will now leave you to the care of these.  Prince Faramir or Prince Imrahil and their aides will probably take you, one at a time, to a separate room to question you regarding how you came into the keeping of these, as much as you remember, as we build the case against them.”  Again he said this in Westron, Adunaic, and Haradri, and once he was certain they understood he smiled, gave them a brief bow, and led the Man from beyond Far Harad to his own bathing chamber.

       The Haradri woman was amazed by the stone walls of this house, as accustomed as she was to painted white plaster in her own land.  The statues and figured tapestries confused her, the attitude toward the woman who led her by the guards and others they passed in the hallways adding to her confusion.  Then she was being led to a rich doorway, and guards in black and silver were opening it to allow them entry, and they were brought to a bedroom and through it to a bathing chamber to a bathing tub which was being filled from pipes.  A woman in soft blue stood by as one in grey with a symbol of a white tree embroidered on the breast of her gown stopped the flow of the water and rose, bowing to the one who’d led her here.  The woman who’d led her spoke to the woman in grey, and she heard a name from her own people--Hasturnerini.  The one in grey indicated her understanding and hurried out.

       The woman who’d led her seemed to be one of great authority, a great lady; yet she treated her with gentle courtesy.  She was now parting her hair, appearing concerned at what she found; then was looking into her eyes, her ears, then asking her to open her mouth.  The young woman in blue helped the great lady to remove her outer robe, then her dress.  Under the dress she wore still a shift of fine white linen and apparently other undergarments as well.  The one in blue took the outer dress and robe and the circlet which the great lady had worn into the outer room.  When the one in blue came back, she was accompanied by a girl of about fourteen who wore a simple yet elegant gown of soft yellow, a girl who yet was not of this land, but was Haradri.

       “Hasturnerini, this woman is of your own people, and was born a slave.  She is overwhelmed by what she is experiencing, and it will be easier for her if you will assist me now.  She needs to be carefully bathed and her hair cleansed with herbs to kill the lice which now live on her scalp.  We will then see her dressed more in keeping with our clothing, although I will attempt to make certain it does not embarrass her sensibilities.  Can you take off your dress, and together we will assist her to bathe?”

       For the first time she was taking in that the great lady was indeed speaking Haradri and had done so throughout when addressing her.  The girl, again with the assistance of the one in blue, removed her dress and beneath it wore a white linen shift that looked comfortable and soft.  Together they helped her remove the robe given to her on the ship from Gondor, and the one in soft blue accepted it upon a towel, saw it quickly wrapped in the toweling and bore it away to the laundry immediately.  Then she was being coaxed into the bathing tub, and eased into a sitting position. 

       Never had she been bathed before--not since she could remember.  Now she was being gently soaped and rinsed, and her hair was carefully and thoroughly cleansed.  The one in grey came with certain leaves, and the great lady accepted them and began to rub them into her hair.  The water was drained away, then the tub refilled, this time with soothing oils added.  At last they rinsed her hair again, and the itching of her scalp was no longer notable.

       She was brought out of the tub at the last and wrapped in linen towels, then made to sit upon a stool.  The one in blue now began to run a fine comb through her hair, apparently combing out the small creatures which had lived there, constantly rubbing the comb clean again upon a white towel.  The great lady had left the bathing chamber now, and it was the girl who questioned her.  “What is your name?”

       “Bhatnerini.”

       “Were you born a slave?”

       “Yes.”

       “Where did you live mostly?”

       “I served in a home in Risenmouthe until my mistress died three years past.  I was sold by my mistress’s son, and taken to Asual.  I went from house to house, stayed at last in the house of a merchant for a time, until two months past when he lost much of his wealth when a sale he’d made apparently failed.  Then he sold me to a slaver in the marketplace.  He took me again to Risenmouthe, and I was sold there to another who took me to Peresual on the North Coast.  There I was sold again to those who came on the slave ship.”

       At last the combing was over, and the great lady returned and looked down on her, her eyes, which seemed filled with stars, calm and gentle.  The girl told her what she’d learned, and she nodded her understanding.  “I’ve arranged with Mistress Loren to have several of the smaller guest houses prepared for these.  Those from Harad will remain in one, those from Far Harad another, those from Umbar a third--until suitable employment or training can be given them or until they can be returned to their own lands, if that is their desire.”

       The woman in grey came in with a small tray of food--a broth and soft rolls and again juice, and Bhatnerini ate gladly.  A shift such as those here apparently wore under their clothing was given her along with other undergarments, then a simple dress of proper white with a belt scarf of deep blue.  Then she was given sandals to wear. 

       She was then brought to stand before a mirror, and she looked on herself with wonder, for the woman she saw there looked not like the one she’d seen in her furtive peeks into mirrors in the homes she’d known before.  She saw what appeared to be a fine lady, one who’d perhaps been ill but was recovering.  She looked amazed at the great lady, who smiled at her, saying, “You have the makings of a beautiful woman, you understand.”  She was now led back through the place back to the room from which she’d been taken earlier, and those who remained looked on her with surprise--surprise and approval.  Then she watched as another woman was led away to be treated similarly, while servants took more to their own bathing rooms to help in the cleansing, promising to send for King or Queen if they found wounds, lice, or signs of illness or broken bones.

*******

       The King entered the dining room late, accompanied by Asa and Melian, obviously tired and very hungry.  Ankhrabi looked up him with concern.  Sa’Harpelamun had been pressed into service aiding the King, and had not yet come to the dining room himself.  Once the King had performed the Standing Silence he sat and accepted the meal served him with thanks to the one bringing it.

       “Are all cared for?” the Prince asked.

       “There are four more,” the King said with a short shake of his head.  “I will need to go again to the Houses of Healing after the meal.  If any carries a disease as a result of being kept in filth aboard the slave ship, tainted food, or other reasons, they will need to be isolated that they not spread contagion through the city and beyond.  Most had lice in their hair, which is not a good sign--many serious diseases seem to appear along with lice.”

       “The priest is still busy working with the ones from the slave ship?”

       “Yes, and I bless him for it.  I could not have done as much as I have had I not had his help.  Hasturnerini is aiding Arwen, along with Lady Margileth, who serves as her chief maid of honor at this time.  I believe when you see them tomorrow you will be amazed at the change in their appearances.  Mistress Loren and Lasgon have been taking them down to the guest houses in the Sixth Circle which have been opened to them as they are bathed and dressed in proper clothing.  A page and a maid are being assigned to each of the three houses opened to them, and I will most likely have one of the more steady guards placed in the house of those from Umbar.”

       “When will you go to the Houses of Healing?”

       “When I have finished with my meal.  Would you like to accompany Arwen and me, and see some of the city?  Of course, this is not the usual tour given to guests....”

       Ankhrabi found himself automatically responding to the King’s smile.  “What of the children?”

       “Melian, Eldarion, Hasturnerini, and Asa will be going with Mistress Avrieth to the house of Ruvemir and Elise, who have proven very good with children.  Do you think yours would like to join them?  I’m certain Ruvemir will be glad to begin giving them lessons in sculpting--he’s set many who thought they had no gift in the art on the path of artistry, including myself.”

       Nefirnerini had gone down to the Haradri embassy with her aunt, but the boys seemed glad to have the chance to spend time with the sculptor.  Guarded by Lord Gilfileg they set off after they’d finished their luncheon.

       Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani, accompanied by Sa’Harpelamun, went with the King and Queen to the Houses of Healing about an hour later where they examined all of the former slaves there alongside the Healers.  All had been carefully bathed and their hair treated for lice.  Two had infestations of parasites of the guts and would be treated for those in a few days when they were stronger.  Six were seriously ill, but were already beginning to respond well to the treatment given them.  Four had been cruelly whipped and their backs were being carefully tended.  King and Queen spoke with each, suggested other treatment for two, laid their hands on each, and saw further easing come to all who had been freed from the ship. 

       They then went down to the first level to the House of Children, and after seeing to those who’d been brought there from the ship and having one removed to the Houses of Healing to be treated for parasites, they visited for a time with the other children, laughing at their stories and speaking of the lighter aspects of the visit to Harad. 

       As they walked back up through the city, Nefiramonrani shook her head.  “That they could have hurt that one small boy so--that was so needless!”

       The King’s face was solemn.  “It is all needless.  To think one superior to another because the other had the misfortune to be enslaved is always foolish.  I’ve seen some who were born slaves who were yet wiser than their supposedly free masters.  And you have seen in your father’s slave how simply the knowledge his family had been free only two generations past embittered him, although your father had come to love and care for him and gave him great honor and even the ability to buy his own freedom.”

       Ankhrabi thought deeply on this as they went up through the city.

       By the time they reached the Sixth Circle all were tired and it was growing dark.  The King led the way down a quiet lane to the furthest house on the right and knocked.  He smiled as he waited.  “This is the house in which Gandalf and Pippin were housed by Lord Denethor, Prince Faramir’s father.  After the coronation all of the Hobbits stayed here in rooms on the lower floor, while Gandalf, Legolas, and Gimli had rooms upstairs.  I would slip down here from time to time to see them and to escape the trapped feeling I often felt when I was forced to be the King at all hours of the day and night, and then I never knocked at the door, simply slipped in and enjoyed being Aragorn and Strider once more.  Ruvemir is very pleased to live here now, when he is in the city.”

       At that moment the door opened, and behind it stood the apprentice Owain, who smiled and turned to tell that the King and Prince and Princess had come, bowing as he bade them enter the room.

       Melian was sitting on Mistress Elise’s lap with another, even smaller girl beside her as a story was being read to them; the twins were on the balcony with Asa and the sculptor’s son Samwise where they each sat with a small block of stone and a couple of tools, learning to shape the soapstone they held; Hasturnerini was trying to teach Lord Gilfileg how to play Hounds and Jackals, using the lovely set that had been in her family and that the Queen had recovered for her in the marketplace of Thetos.  A dark-haired young Man sat backwards on a chair watching them, his arms folded on the back of the chair and his chin on his crossed wrists.  He straightened as they entered, then swiftly stood up and bowed deeply.

       “My Lord Elessar, my Lady Arwen,” he said, smiling widely.

       “Armanthol--it is good to see you again.  Come--let me examine you.  Ah, you’ve grown even taller, I think.”

       “I suspect it’s the boots, my Lord.”

       “You didn’t come to the feast?”

       “With Wasnior there?  He’d have likely had me poisoned as quickly as possible.  My father’s folly has not made me popular among the Lords of Umbar.”

       “So, do you like your new apprenticeship?”

       “I’m an apprentice no more, my Lord King.”  The young Man went out into the hallway and brought into the room a cloak of grey-green and pulled it about his shoulders, fastening it with a star brooch.  He stood at attention, then bowed low.  “The Ranger Armanthol at your service, my Lord King, my Lady Queen.”

       Gilfileg was smiling broadly.  “He is a fair one with chisel and with sword both now, Aragorn.  And there are two less trolls now than there were before in the Ettenmoors because of his coolness.”

       Pippin came out of the kitchen.  “He’s put me to shame, Aragorn,” he said, wiping his hands on the towel he wore over his uniform tabard as an apron.  “We’re about to put dinner on the table.  Will you join us?”

       Shortly all sat in the dining room and were sharing in the meal that between them Pippin, Isumbard, and the housekeeper had prepared.  Fresh greens, new bread, a root vegetable those from Harad had never seen before that was soft and crumbly within, filled with cheese and crumbled bacon and vegetables, a steak of beef, and over it another unknown vegetable which had been cooked apparently with garlic and butter.  “What is this?” asked the Lady Nefiramonrani.

       “Mushrooms sautéed in butter,” Isumbard said with satisfaction.

       Pippin smiled.  “They still don’t realize that they are edible, Aragorn.  So many must have gone to waste while we were in Harad.”

       All laughed, and all ate heartily.  Afterward the King went out onto the balcony to smoke his pipe, speaking quietly with Lord Gilfileg and Armanthol and Pippin while the twins showed their projects to their parents and Sa’Harpelamun. 

       It was plain to Ankhrabi why the King still slipped away here from time to time, here where he was no longer merely the King but instead accepted as a Man and a friend.  After a time Ankhrabi rose, leaving his wife examining the embroidery Mistress Elise had brought out to show to the Queen and Hasturnerini and went out to join the others, the priest following after.

       The discussion was of the protection of the Northern Kingdom.  “There have been no further incursions from Angmar, at least, my Lord Cousin.  Trade with them for their barley malt has increased, for it produces a particularly fine beer; and many of  their vegetables and their beef are much sought after.  They particularly prize Shire woolens and ceramics, the metalwork of the Dwarves in the Northern Misty Mountains, and wooden ware from our own peoples.  Their leather goods are proving highly prized among our own people--even when they start with hides they purchase from us they seem able to turn them into fantastic items.  And since the orc troops of the Northern reaches of the Misty Mountains now as indiscriminately attack their own folk as ours, they will send their fighters out with ours against them.  As was true after the Battle of the Five Armies the numbers of orcs have again diminished.  The mountain giants are now of greater danger in the pass from Rivendell than the goblins.”

       Armanthol asked, “Are there still found orcs here in the mountains that circle what was Mordor?”

       The King nodded.  “Three assaults were led by them into Rhun and Ithilien in the last two years.  We rarely see them anywhere near Osgiliath, but some have ventured out of the Morgul Vale Southward.  Umbar has begun to cooperate more with sending word of assaults on their lands, and they have helped strike at a settlement of the warrior trolls Sauron had bred as well.”

       Armanthol leaned thoughtfully on the railing, looking across the Pelennor.  “So, my own people are beginning to cooperate with Gondor now, even if in only a limited fashion?  That is good.”  He straightened, stretching.  “I think of what I was like when you and Lord Hardorn brought me away from there after my father’s capture and death, and I can barely believe how short-sighted I was at the time.  I know I didn’t thank you then, but I do now.”

       “Then you are happy with your new life?”

       “Yes, very much so.  Although I’ve contemplated returning to Umbar, hopefully to assist in helping to transform it as has happened in Angmar.”

       “Then you are indeed of Umbar originally?” Ankhrabi asked.

       The young Man’s face was serious.  “Oh, yes, I am.  My ancestors were among some of the blackest of the Black Númenoreans, those who left Númenor before its foundering and who opposed the coming of Elendil and his people to Middle Earth for the most part, although a few are descended from those who sided with Castimir, one of the descendents of the Southern Line of Kings who revolted against the rightful King of Gondor and who fled to join those in Umbar.  They tended to side with Sauron, even when doing so cost them what little remained of their honor.”

       “What foolishness did your father do?”

       Armanthol sighed.  “He sought to unseat Lord Elessar as King of Gondor, and sought to hire assassins to see to his death.  He’d also tried to help one of Rhun help foment rebellion in his land by encouraging the Wainriders of Mundolië to invade that land, planning to isolate the Shkatha in the midst of the battle so he could be assassinated and all would think it but a casualty of war.”

       Ankhrabi looked at Aragorn with surprise.  “He sought to see you killed, An’Elessar?”

       “Oh, yes--until he was introduced to two would-be assassins from the Northern lands--Strider and Bowman.”

       Ankhrabi’s face split in a wide grin.  “He sought to hire you as Strider to assassinate yourself as the King An’Elessar?  That must have been highly amusing!”

       “Hardorn and I did find it ironic.  There were others he wished killed first, however, and another he wished killed somewhat later--Lord Marcipor of Umbar.  Of course we took one with us to stand as witness to the contract--and would you know it, that one turned out to be Lord Marcipor himself?  And when Landrion of Umbar saw the Ring of Barahir caught in the fletching of Hardorn’s arrow, I thought he’d melt into a puddle at my feet.”

       “Is that how you revealed yourself to my father, Lord Aragorn?” asked Armanthol.

       “Yes, it is indeed.”

       “I think I’d have enjoyed seeing that, you know.”  He sighed.  “I know my father loved me in his fashion, but I am glad he never achieved his ambition.  Lord Marcipor is not the best of lords for Umbar, but he is so balanced between the many factions there that he is better than any of the alternatives, I suspect.”

       “He has his advantages,” commented the King.

       Pippin smiled.  “I’d certainly have enjoyed seeing his face when first he recognized the Ring of Barahir and realized he was dealing with the Heir of Isildur and Elendil, and then found himself face to face with the one he’d just tried to hire you to kill.”

       The King shrugged, then turned to Armanthol again.  “What would you seek to accomplish if you returned to Umbar?”

       “To begin to teach honor there as it has been taught to me.  However, I suspect it would be best to wait until Wasnior first is gone, for no matter how innocent I might be or how open I was in my intentions, he could never forgive me being Landrion’s son and would see me dead if it could be managed.”  He sighed.  “It is odd, but I truly believe I could more easily convince Marcipor of my personal honor than I could Wasnior.”

       The King gave a sad shake of his head.  “I suspect you are right there, Armanthol.  He’s an odd creature, Wasnior--suspicious, of mixed loyalties.  He hated Sauron, yet tied himself to Sauron’s policies because he was certain Sauron was too powerful to be defeated.  Now he has tied himself to Marcipor, wisely realizing he has not the force of personality and understanding of the ways in which the minds of others work to serve as ruler himself.  He will never forgive your father for thinking of seeing Marcipor killed and himself put in his place, and you are indeed correct that even more than Marcipor at this point he would seek to punish you for what your father had planned.”

       “His questions yesterday were disturbing,” Ankhrabi commented.

       “I do not believe Sauron would have sought to give him one of his rings, seeing he had little ambition for himself; but Wasnior appears to have become both jealous and fearful of those who were offered them.”  The King looked back into the room where the Queen sat with the other women, including Lady Avrieth, laughing as she discretely nursed her son beneath the cover of a light blanket.

       “We must go back soon,” he said.  “Thank you, Ruvemir, for keeping the children occupied today and for accepting us as guests tonight.”

       “You know, my Lord Strider, that you are ever welcome here.  Oh, and I have a gift for you--wait but a moment--it’s in the studio.”  The artist rose and left the room with his slightly halting gait.  He quickly returned, and held a small box out to the King. 

       Aragorn accepted it and carefully lifted off the lid and handed it to Gilfileg, pulled out a layer of wool batting, then paused.  His pleasure was deep and solemn as he reached to lift out a small figure.  “Oh, Ruvemir--how wonderful!  He’ll be most embarrassed to see it when he comes again, of course.”

       The sculptor shrugged.  “He has figures of both you and Frodo.  I know you’ve wanted this for long enough.”

       The figure was of the Lord Samwise from the memorial to the Periannath, dressed in shirt, trousers, and vest, a flower in his one hand, a tool for tilling the soil in the other, his mouth smiling as if someone had just told him a delightful story.  Gilfileg took box and batting as the King carefully turned the figure in his hands.  “Yes, my dear, beloved Samwise Gamgee, now I have you captured, you and Frodo, both smiling.”  He looked into Ruvemir’s eyes once more.  “Thank you so very much.  You know how much this means to me.”

       The sculptor was very pleased with the success of his gift.

       Soon enough they left, the King cradling his small box and the Queen carrying her son, Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani thanking Ruvemir and Elise for their hospitality.  Pippin and Isumbard took their leave as well, thanking their hosts for the opportunity to prepare the meal.  They walked back to the ramp and up it to the Citadel, and there at last they took their leave of one another.

       Sa’Harpelamun watched after the King and Queen as they went back to their own quarters.  “Deep love has he for the two Hobbits, the Lords Frodo and Samwise. It is too bad that they must be separated from him.”

       Nefiramonrani nodded thoughtfully.  “All who know him seem to love him, the King Elessar,” she said.

       The priest looked into her face.  “Yes, he loves his peoples deeply, and all love him in return.  I am glad your husband and sons are of the same sort.” 

       The guards held the door to the guest wing open for them, and they entered gladly.  The day had been full of impressions.  As they walked down the hallway to their rooms, Ankhrabi drew his sons to his side, fiercely glad they were with him tonight.

Impressions of Gondor

       “Mamari,” whispered Amon’osiri into his mother’s ear, “Kitling has had her babies.  Come see!” 

       She sat up in her bed and looked on him.  It was just before dawn, but she could tell how excited he was.  “One moment,” she sighed.  “Let me don a robe.”  He smiled and went outside the room she shared with Ankhrabi, and she rose and stretched, feeling the growing roundness of her stomach where the new one grew.  Her husband looked up at her with question.  “It’s the King’s cat--she’s had her kits, and he wishes to have us see.”

        Soon both were clad in loose robes and following the boy to the room he shared with his brother.  Ma’osiri knelt near the niche the King had indeed shown them where spies might once have hidden, his face alight with wonder.  There in a nest formed of towels lay the white cat, purring so loudly it could be heard throughout the room, five small wriggling kittens about her, one as white as she.

       After breakfast the King himself, followed by Melian and his hound Caravel, came to see the new additions to the royal household, and Kitling continued to purr and clean her babes, tolerating even the questing nose of the hound as he examined the new brood.  Carefully the tall Man lifted and examined each kitten, his expression doting as he crooned to them.  When he lifted the white one, however, his face was especially tender, and when it nuzzled at his palm he smiled with sheer delight.  “I think this one will be my own when she is older,” he murmured, lifting it to his face. 

       Prince Legolas took his leave that day, wishing all well, saying he must get back to his folk in Ithilien.  The grief of the others to see him go was clearly visible, particularly on the faces of the King and Dwarf. 

       That night Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani and their children ate with the King and Queen, Melian, and Hasturnerini in their own chambers, a meal cooked by the King’s own hand, and their hosts spoke of Imladris and Lothlorien, and how the power of the rings of the Lord of the one and the Lady of the other had kept them hidden and safe, enclaves yet of the power of the Great Elves from the Eldar days, and in the case of Lorien a reflection of the Undying Lands from which the Lady Galadriel had come.  Aragorn sang a song of Lorien, sad and gentle, partly in Westron and partly in Quenya.

       “Who wrote that?” Nefiramonrani asked.

       The Queen smiled.  “Estel did, long ago, when we met the second time and I realized my heart was stirred by him.  He had been dressed by my daernaneth in the garb of an Elven prince, and he had walked out of Caras Galadhon to Cerin Amroth where he stood and sang that song, looking back at the city across the valley between with great longing.  The song was so different from those to which I was accustomed, the sorrow of it different, longing to be part of our world, and yet at the same time content to accept mortality, content to be a guest only.  Raised by my adar and brothers, he is perhaps the closest among mortals to the Firstborn.”

       “He sang even then?” asked Ankhrabi.

       “Ah, yes.  He was singing the first time we met as well, singing the Lay of Lúthien, and then he saw me and stopped stock still.  Then he called out to me, calling me Tinúviel as if I were she and he Beren himself.”

       Aragorn looked on her, the love he felt for her clear in his eyes.  “Certainly the Lady Galadriel has told me how much you favor our foremother Lúthien, and I do not believe I love you any less than Beren loved her.  And had I been required to lose a hand as he did to have you, I’d have given it freely enough.”

       “And instead you offered up sixty years of longing, and your freedom as a Ranger of Eriador to tie yourself here.”

       “I do not regret the price.”

       The look between them was deep and intimate, full of things not spoken aloud.  Ankhrabi found his own hand clinging to that of his own wife, felt the love expressed in her grasp.

*******

       The remainder of the visit in Minas Anor was a fascinating time.  Ankhrabi and Sa’Harpelamun spent much time alongside the Lord King An’Elessar, accompanying him frequently to the Houses of Healing and occasionally elsewhere as well; attending audiences and both open Council meetings and smaller meetings with one or two, entertaining trade missions and groups who wished the King’s sanctions or cooperation in this enterprise or that. 

       Often Rustovrid, Gebsohrabi, and Ankhrabi joined in the weapons practice offered daily on either the level of the Citadel or down near the Guards’ quarters in the Sixth Circle.  Ankhrabi often sparred with this one or that, and more and more appreciated just why the troops Sauron had put into the field had repeatedly failed in their assaults on the armies of Gondor.  One day he sparred against Captain Peregrin and truly appreciated just how skilled the Hobbit was. 

       Twice each week the King would take out his bows and practice with them, and together he and Ankhrabi worked on his skills with the bird bow he’d received.  The day Lord Hildigor allowed him to try his Elven bow Ankhrabi was thrilled.  Afterward he tried each of the other bows owned by An’Elessar, then watched the King himself drawing them.  No, he was not as skilled with a bow as his cousin Hardorn, but he was an excellent archer nonetheless and, according to all reports, a superb hunter.

       The freed slaves from the Grey Gull recovered fairly quickly, and their transformations were fascinating to watch.  The four from Gondor themselves were soon on their way home to their families, and one of the guardships was sent to Umbar to retrieve a fifth, a girl who’d been particularly beautiful who’d been given by Empenor to one in the city who’d ever helped him to evade the restrictions of Umbar.  The sixth, who had been her brother, had been killed trying to protect her, and his body had been thrown from the ship into the Sea.

       A week after the ship left it returned, bringing on it the girl.  Her parents were already on their way to the capitol, arrangements for their journey having been made by the King to bring them to be reunited with their daughter.  The King and Queen looked on the shattered girl and held her close, both shielding her with their healing gifts.  The girl went into the house within the Houses of Healing where those troubled in their spirits were allowed to remain as they came back to fullness, and the King or Queen or both visited her daily.

       Ten days after those who’d been freed from the Grey Gull came to the capitol, the four who’d run the enterprise were brought before the King for trial and judgment, followed by the crew of the ship.  Those who’d been imprisoned on the ship told what they’d seen and experienced, including the kidnapping of the six young people seen swimming from the shore in Anfalas, the rape of the one girl and the killing of her brother, the gift of the girl to one in Umbar, the beating of several by this or that member of the crew for no real reason, the abuse of one small boy simply because he was vulnerable....

       Three of the four were sentenced to be hung; the fourth to ten years labor on the roads of Arnor.  He was told that afterward he would be closely monitored to make certain he did not return to illegal activities, and Ankhrabi and Lord Wasnior let him know that if he was seen in either of their realms he’d be summarily executed.

       Of the crew of seven from the ship, two also were condemned, three given seven years on the roads in Arnor, all in separate work gangs, and the remaining two sent to work in the quarries of Casistir for two years each.  The ship was given to those from Camaloa to aid their people in their fight against slavers and in assisting in fishing and trading.  The personal goods of the slavers and the crew were given to those freed from the ship to assist them in establishing new lives.  As this also consisted of the money they’d amassed as the result of their trading, all found themselves better able to choose between the options open to them.

       It was obvious the following morning that the King was indeed aware of the executions of the five who were hung that day, but he made a point of attending a puppet show given for those in the Houses of Healing and holding a small freed child on his lap, rejoicing to hear the boy laugh with delight.

*******

       A few days before the trial they ate dinner again with the King and Queen in their own chambers, joined by Sa’Harpelamun, Ankhsarani, Lord Amonpelrabi, Pippin, Isumbard and Gimli, Master Ruvemir and Mistress Elise as well as Master Faralion.  The meal included dishes from Rhun, Harad, and the Shire, including Shire seed cakes, as well as from Gondor, Eriador, and Imladris.  Tonight the talk was of journeys made, and An’Elessar was prevailed upon to describe the many lands he’d visited throughout Middle Earth. 

       He spoke of the gentle beauty of the Shire, the green of the Angle where his own people had dwelt for thousands of years, of the greyness of the land of Angmar, the bee skeps of the Beornings, the grandeur of the Halls of Erebor, the wonder of the cavern halls of Thranduil’s keep, the rolling sea of grass of Rohan backed on all sides by the vista of steep mountains crowned by snowfields, of the fertile valleys of Lebennin, the wild beauty and lonely ruins of Ithilien, the desolation of the slave-tilled lands Southeast of Rhun, of the wonders of oases come upon suddenly in Rhun and much of Harad, the contrasts between manor lands and freehold lands within Umbar, the horrors of the Morgul Vale, the images of faces lying beneath the surface of the pools of the Dead Marshes....

       “Don’t forget Lorien, Aragorn,” admonished Peregrin Took.  “Sam wanted so to return there.”

       “Sing the song you made of that land you sang the other night,” begged the Lady Nefiramonrani.  “It was so beautiful.”

       Aragorn sang it, and all sat still to hear, Pippin and Gimli closing their eyes as they listened as if doing so allowed them to remember the land’s beauty the better.  When he was at last done, the Dwarf reluctantly reopened his eyes and wiped them with the back of his hand.  “Ah, yes, the beauty of the Lady’s land, which captured her own glory in terms of sunlight and starlight and shone it on all with an eye for delight.”

       “Long Lorien housed the most beautiful among womankind in all of Middle Earth since the first age--the Lady Nimrodel, the Lady Galadriel, the Lady Celebrían, the Lady Arwen Undomiel,” Aragorn said, smiling at his wife.

       Ruvemir looked at the King with interest.  “You wrote that, beloved Lord?”

       His Lord looked at him suspiciously.  “Yes, I wrote it, long ago when first I was admitted into Lothlorien, after my return from Harad and then a fierce fight with Orcs on my way back North as I came up the east side of the Misty Mountains seeking the road to the Redhorn Pass.  Why do you ask?”

       “I knew you had assisted Master Bilbo a time or two with his poetry and songs, and certainly your brothers have spoken well of your own poems.”

       “It’s long enough ago I wrote anything I’d willingly share with others.  And the last time Bilbo asked my help I think I contributed only the insistence he speak of Eärendil wearing a green stone, which he decided was an emerald.”

       “So he told Lord Frodo and Lord Samwise,” Ruvemir said.

       “So, you’ve read his Red Book?”

       “When I was there in the Shire the first time, my Lord.  I read it straight through the first night after Lord Samwise gave it into my hands, reading Master Bilbo’s own tale and to the description of the great party.  I’d have loved to have been there to see the faces of the guests when Bilbo disappeared just as Gandalf’s last firework exploded.”

       Aragorn grinned.  “I, too, would have loved to see that.”

       “It was a marvel,” Pippin said.  “I’d never seen Bilbo at a loss for words before, and suddenly he was mumbling, then looked right at Lobelia as he said ‘The time has come--I’m going now.’  Then he looked last at Frodo, trying to tell him goodbye with his eyes, I thought.”

       “Ferumbras and Lobelia both took it all personally, you know.  The Thain was so upset he forgot to insist the rest of us Tooks from the Great Smial go with him as he stamped out of the pavilion and set off back to Tuckborough,” Isumbard sighed, his eyes distant with the memory.  “It was so strange--one moment he was there under the Party Tree, and then that flash and bang, and he was gone.  Frodo wasn’t amused, though--he looked so sad.”

       “How old were you then, Pippin?”

       “I was almost eleven, just a little lad, you know.  Bilbo told us just slightly ahead of time and set us to help in the tagging of his special gifts.  I was doing my best not to break out in tears, and I remember Sam pressing handkerchiefs on me for all the sniffling I was doing.  I was most insulted, if I remember correctly.  And when Mum and Da took me off to the inn for the night with them I was even more upset.  But Frodo didn’t even want Sam there that night.”

       “And you, Isumbard?”

       “I was born just a few years before Frodo--I was thirty-five.  It was so odd--Bilbo had never seemed to age, and now Frodo just kept looking like a newly adult Hobbit while I kept growing older.  He’d come to the Great Smial for Pippin’s birthday and Yule, and he’d appear to be no older than Merry, for all there were fourteen years between them.  Then finally Pippin was growing up--nominally, that is--and he appeared to be almost the same age as Frodo.  No one could understand why.  Of course, no one knew about the Ring, or what It was doing to him.  When he came back--to see the change in him was such a shock.”

       Pippin said solemnly, “He was still the most responsible Hobbit in the whole of the Shire, though.”

       “Yes, he was ever that.  Will was so upset when Frodo stood up to give his speech at the Free Fair, and instead of campaigning for himself he said how he wished to give the office of Mayor back to Will.  Will had been going around to everybody convincing them that it was time to make Frodo Mayor properly, and pointing out how much he’d managed to accomplish, and then Frodo says, ‘No one asked me what I want...’.”

       Pippin said quietly, “They were all grumbling so loudly about how ungrateful he was that hardly anyone heard him say he didn’t think he’d be able to last a full term.”

       Isumbard looked surprised.  “Did he really?”  At Pippin’s nod, he continued, “Well, I couldn’t hear him.”

       “Like I said, hardly anyone could hear him.  Odo Proudfoot himself almost drowned him out.”

       The King’s expression was quite serious, the Hobbits’ markedly solemn.

       At last Faralion asked, “The words for the song you sang, my Lord--may I have a copy of them?  I’d like to sing it myself and keep alive the beauty of the realm of Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn.”

       After thinking on it for a time the King slowly nodded, went to a desk and took from a shelf a folder of heavy paper, thumbed through it and finally withdrew several sheets of parchment.  He took another folder from a drawer, slipped the sheets within it, and presented them to the minstrel.  Faralion examined them solemnly.  “You kept a copy for yourself, did you not, my Lord?”

       Aragorn nodded.  “Yes, I have the original copy.  Had Frodo remained in Middle Earth, I’d planned to send that to him--not, I suppose, that he would have lived long enough to receive it.  He was fading swiftly at the end.”

       Isumbard and Pippin both nodded, their faces still showing the grief they’d felt.

*******

       The second day after the trial all rode to Osgiliath.  While Prince Faramir and his family and guards went ahead back to their own home, the rest remained, exploring the reshaped city and staying in the guest house there.  The day following they rode beyond it to the Field of Cormallen, where they saw the place the army encamped after the victory against Sauron.  The King sat on his horse Harthad as he described the long watch over the Ringbearers, the feast that followed it.  Then they rode south to Emyn Arnen and the home of Prince Faramir and Princess Éowyn and their son, where they spent the night in great enjoyment, visited by Legolas from the Elven colony nearby.

       The next day they rode back through Osgiliath and to the Crown land where Asa and the keepers for the property were establishing the young camels along with a herd of large sheep to keep them company, before returning to the city near sunset.

       The next day those from Rohan and the Hobbits, accompanied by a troop heading for duty in Arnor, left the city, and Ankhrabi rode alongside the King on his horse Roheryn as a squadron from the city saw them to the north gate of the Rammas Echor.  There at last the King embraced his departing kinsmen, Éomer and Lothiriel of Rohan, Lord Gimli, and Peregrin and Isumbard Took, watching after with sadness as they rode north into Anorion.

       The day after, Prince Imrahil and his family headed South again to Dol Amroth, and Ankhrabi began to appreciate how the King of Gondor and Arnor might indeed come to feel at times isolated and in need of occasions to slip out of the Citadel to find himself again.

       The following day King and Queen and their personal guards, followed by the loping shape of the hound Caravel, took their guests on a ride west along the feet of the White Mountains to one of the places of refuge where a spectacular mountain valley had protected many of the women and children of the lands surrounding the capitol during the War of the Ring.  They spent the day exploring the valley, swimming in a pool at the foot of a waterfall (far colder than the pool in which they’d gone swimming at the Western Palace), eating, and talking of the trivial things they’d loved doing when growing up.

       Nefiramonrani often joined the Lady Arwen in her weaving room where she and many of her maids of honor worked on looms and crafts of many kinds.  Here Hasturnerini, Nefirnerini, and the daughters of Rustovrid began to appreciate the industry of the Queen of Gondor as she presented them with small hand looms and began to teach them how to weave cloth.

       “Several of the great looms here were brought South to me from Lothlorien after my grandmother left Middle Earth with the rest of the Ringbearers.  I used to weave by her side, and it is probable that part of the cloth used in the cloaks given to those of the Fellowship of the Ring came from my loom.  I continue to weave the same patterns, but not the colors of the place, as that does not seem fitting.” 

       She gave to the children of Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani cloaks she had woven and sewn of a soft turquoise, similar in shape to those worn by those who had been in the Fellowship.  The Lady Nefiramonrani and Lady Ankhsarani she gave cloaks also, but of a more elegant design, one done in midnight blue with silver trim, one in bright red.  She also sewed for Nefiramonrani a loose dress to wear during her pregnancy, combining somehow both Haradri and Gondorian elements; and when she tried it on the Haradri princess found herself loving it for its elegance and comfort both.  Finally the Queen finished three more cloaks, one in blue and silver for Ankhrabi to match that of Nefiramonrani, one in a deep wine color for the Farozi, and one in shades of green for Lord Amonrabi.

*******

       At the same time the Queen was embroidering uniforms for Benai and Nicoli, who also had declared his allegiance to the Lord Elessar as the heir to Lendil and Isildur.  The sword smith from Far Harad who had wrought Merry’s blade looked up with some surprise as two black Men dressed in a uniform that resembled that of the Guards of the Citadel and the Dúnedain of Arnor (save that it was blue and silver and the seven stars were in a different configuration) entered his shop accompanied by the King and Lord Hardorn one day.  He was more surprised when he was requested to craft a sword of the Dúnedain fit for the younger one’s use.  He took measurments on the younger Man and examined the one borne by the older one as a pattern, and promised to have one ready in three days.  On the third he came up to the Citadel carrying a long bundle wrapped in cloth, and with respect presented it to the younger Man in the King’s presence, and was rewarded with a brilliant smile as the recipient, with permission from the King, tried its weight and balance and length.  Seven gems were set into the pommel in the same configuration as the seven stars embroidered on his surcoat, and the young Man examined them with every indication of appreciation.

       Seeing the approval in the King’s eyes, the sword smith smiled himself.  More custom came to him because of the King’s patronage, but for him the crafting of the swords for those who served the King was an act of love.  Under Lord Denethor he wrought mostly cutlery for the homes of Minas Tirith and a few short swords and daggers for younger sons; under the King his skills as one of the greatest of the smiths trained in Ephir were recognized, and now many came to him for repairs as well as to purchase new weapons for all their sons, and he was able to take apprentices worthy of his teaching.  When the King insisted on paying for the sword over his protests, the smith added one more item to the equipage of the young black Man--a finely balanced dagger as fit for throwing as for use in the hand.  Again the recipient expressed his delight and appreciation, and soon they were all out on the practice field where the smith drew his own blade to give the young, new Guard the chance to try his.

       Ankhrabi, who had been amazed to see the smith obviously from Far Harad, now watched as he sparred with Nicoli of Camaloa, saw the smile as he recognized the skill shown by the younger Man, the quickness that spoke of much practice himself.  Together Nicoli and the smith made a striking sight--in more senses than one as blades clashed and rang.

       Then the young Man drew the new dagger and sighted on a log of soft wood often used by the Men of the Guard for practice with throwing knives; a flick of the wrist, and the blade was buried deep in the center of the side toward him.  His satisfied smile showed he was highly pleased with his new weapons as well as skilled already in their use.

       “I thank you,” Nicoli said in careful Westron.

       “It is a pleasure to create weapons for those truly worthy of them,” the smith returned.  “The runes upon the blades speak of the hidden being revealed and found of full worth, and seek to bring the protection of those who guide us to your side while you wield sword and knife.”

       Another flashing smile of appreciation, and the two clasped hands.  Then the smith was examining the sword worn by Benai, appreciating the workmanship of it, noting that the leather grip was recently redone and the skill of the wrapping.

       “Lord Gimli redid the grip, after cleaning and carefully honing the blade,” the King explained.

       “Was this under water?” asked the smith.

       “Yes, for some nine years or slightly more.”

       “In this case the water had thick weeds at the bottom which must have protected the steel in some way,” the smith noted, turning it to appreciate the runes.  “The runes are similar to those on the blades of your Northern kinsmen, my Lord King.”

       “Yes--they proclaim the name of the blade Lit by Stars, and call down upon the wielder the assistance of Lord Manwë, the guidance of the Lady Elbereth, and the strength of Aüle.”

       The Southron smiled.  “Good runes to hold.”  He returned it to its lord.  “It has been a delight to serve you my Lord King, Lord Nicoli.” With a bow, he left, well pleased with his work.

*******

       Most of those who had come on the slave ship chose to remain in Gondor, including all from Umbar.  The five children were soon happy in the House of Children, and two families were speaking of taking between them three of the children.  As the King examined them to see if they would be fitting guardians, the children visited with them and grew in health and confidence.

       All of those from Camaloa were planning on returning to their homeland, and the two Men and Benai between them saw to the refitting of the Grey Gull, which they now rechristened the Wanderer Returned.  Several weapons, most of them fine ones, were contributed to the Southern Dúnedain for the assistance of their people, and Ankhrabi found himself promising to set his folk to watching the weapons coming into the marketplaces of Thetos, Risenmouthe, Asual, and Peresual to see if any weapons identifiable as being of Dúnedain manufacture were being traded, and that they would be sent South to Camaloa as they were found.

       Three of the Northern Dúnedain begged for permission to sail with the Wanderer Returned to sojourn for a time among the folk of Camaloa, and two from Gondor whose families had been sea traders asked for the same privilege, as did Armanthol.  After questioning them and their families when appropriate, Aragorn agreed, and the ship was readied for the trip South and West.  It appeared that Camaloa was going to have canny aid, Ankhrabi realized, in dealing with the folk of G’bani.

*******

       During the last week of their visit, Ankhsarani, who’d indeed moved into the Haradri embassy in the Sixth Circle, spoke privately with her sister’s husband on an evening the Haradrim royalty had come down to eat with Rustovrid and his folk. 

       “I do not wish to return to Harad with you,” she said quietly.  “I wish to remain in Gondor.”

       “Why is this?”

       “In Harad I would remain always in the eyes of the other lords the former wife of Sherfiramun.  Here I am the sister to the wife of the future Farozi and am treated with respect.  And, here there is Amonpelrabi, who looks on me with pleasure and honor, and whom I’ve come to respect in turn.  And often there returns here the Harthad uin Dun, and I would explore whether the honor shown me by its captain was given out of simple respect or attraction.  His wife has been gone for ten years, he told me, and as he is full Dúnedain, if he and I should find ourselves drawn to one another I could expect to live with him as wife for many years yet.  Whether in the end I find my happiness with one or the other--or another still--yet here I can hope to find such, but not so readily in Harad.”

       Ankhrabi agreed to speak with Rustovrid.

       Rustovrid had already given thought to the very subject, and both he and Ghansaret were pleased to accept Ankhsarani into the household.  However, they had another subject they wished to discuss.

       “Lord Benai has come frequently to visit with Nera,” Lady Ghansaret said with her direct attitude toward life, “and there is no question they are drawn one to the other most strongly.  Would it disturb your father, do you think, to have them accept marriage with one another?  It would add one more tie between Harad and Camaloa.”

       Ankhrabi laughed.  “My father was watching them together in the palace in Thetos.  No, he would not be in the least upset--indeed expressed hope that the attraction would lead to them coming together one day.  But are you willing to lose your daughter to the jungles of the West coast of our continent?”

       “My wife has convinced me that it would be to the best interests of all,” said Rustovrid with still-reluctant acceptance.  “And, if it will both add to the security of our lands as well as helping the Dúnedain of Camaloa to improve their lot, I will accept that.  Plus, it will place her under the protection of the Lord of Gondor and Arnor, which we have seen is a worthy and secure place to settle.”

       “Have they spoken for one another as yet?”

       “No, not yet, my Lord; I suspect that Lord Benai will not speak until he is more ready to return to his own folk.  And I do not believe that he will take her as bride until the matter of the G’bani slavers is dealt with.”

       “I suspect fully that you are right, Rustovrid.”

       “I would send two of my own folk with the Camaloans, my Lord.  Will you speak with Lord Benai and Lord An’Elessar to see if this is acceptable?”

       “Gladly, my friend.”

       As they returned up to the Citadel after the meal was over, Gebsohrabi was singing a wedding song, and when Ankhrabi turned to look at him, they shared knowing winks.  Nefiramonrani laughed as she pulled her sons closer to her and answered her daughter’s knowing smile.

*******

       The evening spent at the Rhunish embassy was equally enlightening.  Lord Ifram proved to be intelligent and quite sensible, and with a wry sense of humor.  Six years had he served here, and his respect for the King of Gondor and those closest to him was palpable.

       The Haradrim listened with interest as Ifram described the battle before the Black Gate, how his brother had realized that all would likely perish needlessly if they joined in the fight, and then the moments of confusion when suddenly the attention of the Eye had been drawn away when at the last the Ring had claimed the Ringbearer, the terror of not understanding the meaning at the moment, and then the feeling of being on a point of balance as Ringbearer struggled with the former slave to the Ring for Its possession, and the moment of awe-filled delight when the Ring was taken, and Gollum fell with It into the heart of the Mountain and the Ring at last was destroyed. 

       When he described watching the fall of the Tower of Barad-dur and how the earth itself opened up to swallow most of Mordor’s armies, the Towers of the Teeth and the Gates and the distant ruins of Sauron’s great fortress, Ankhrabi could see that the Rhunish lord still felt the enormity of the moment.  “Never has such ever been seen by my people, although the King and some among the Great Elves have sung for us the tale of the fall of Angband, and it must have been ever the greater. 

       “To see the orcs and trolls and wargs of Mordor suddenly lose direction and run hither and yon was something I’d never thought to see.  But many of our own folk and those of Harad held steady, more desperate, possibly, because no longer did Sauron direct them.  So strongly did they believe the word of Mordor that Gondor would seek to destroy and control all, they fought the more viciously--until my brother ran down the hill carrying a flag of truce he’d fashioned.  When they saw that the Lord of Gondor gave orders to allow our folk to remain unmolested as long as we remained on our hill, others began to realize that what we’d been told by Sauron’s folks was not true, and finally first this party and then that began to give place, even those who came from the far North from Angmar.”

       “Why did your brother believe in the honor of Gondor when so many others did not?” asked Nefiramonrani, fascinated by the tale.

       Ifram laughed.  “Because of Staravion, whom you’ve met as the Lord Gilfileg.”  He described how many years previously one known as StarEagle had entered Rhun and remained with the d’Bouti clan for a time, hosted by his own grandfather; then how a wounded Ranger of Ithilien had been found many years later, and how his grandfather took him as a slave and set him to the care and education of his grandsons.

       “When we had seen the faithfulness of Staravion, how could Moritum or I believe that most of Gondor would rather see us enslaved and tortured and our women and children ravished and carried away into captivity as the Mouth had told us?  No, we knew better.  And now we learn that Gilfileg was at the time second in lineage only to the Lord Aragorn himself, and that had the King Elessar fallen at the Gates, Gilfileg, for all he misses two fingers on his right hand, would have assumed the chieftainship of the Northern Dúnedain for want of any better.  A great warrior he is, and a better administrator, I think.”

       “When did your people release him from slavery?” asked Nefiramonrani.

       “We never did.  He had been told by his Lord Cousin that if he should be given the care for children he was to remain until they chose the warrior’s way.  When Moritum and I entered training as warriors, he left one night to return to his own people.  We’d hoped he’d won free, and were delighted once we knew our hope had been fulfilled.”

       “He appeared most comfortable sitting with you at the feast.”

       “He is, and we each honor the other deeply.  This is the second time he has returned to Gondor to his Lord Cousin’s side, and there is much love between the two of them.  But he will not stay much longer, I suspect.  His heart is of the North, and I am told his wife nears the time for her confinement.  He married not long after the King went North to a conference in Imladris some four years past.”

*******

       They spent much of the last week in Minas Anor exploring the city, guided part of the time by Prince Faramir, who had returned to the capitol four days before they were to leave after seeing to the needs of his own lands.  He also gave them a more thorough tour of the Citadel itself, showing where he and his brother used to hide as children, telling tales of strict tutors and indulgent cooks, of planning raids on the dessert tables before feasts, of playing at heroes in the gardens of the Citadel, of spying on those who walked in the gardens of the Houses of Healing.

       One more time they ate in the King and Queen’s quarters, Melian and Hasturnerini absent this time, spending the night with Master Ruvemir and Mistress Elise where the younger girl could play with little Samwise and Gwyneth.  They spoke of the future, of the hopes of Ankhsarani, of the health of the Farozi, of the plans of Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani for their sons regarding their training and education.

       Nefirnerini ran her fingers again and again over the great bowl which stood in the center of the table, which was kept filled with fruit.  “This is so beautiful,” she said when she realized that the Queen, who now sat with the Princess Melian’s cat Glorien in her lap, was looking at her.

       “It was a gift for our wedding.  It is made with the ashes from Orodruin.”

       “Where was it made?”

       “Here in the city, in the Third Circle by a glassblower.  Frodo gifted us with it.”

       “I’d like to have a ewer made like this.”

       “If you would like I will take you down to the glassblower's workshop tomorrow so you may get one, if he has any made.

       Amon’osiri asked, “You both loved the Lord Frodo, did you not?”

       The King nodded as he reached down to scratch Caravel’s ears.  “Yes, very much so, stubborn Baggins that he was.”

       “Did Master Ruvemir ever make a figure for you of him?”

       The tall Man smiled gently.  “Oh, yes,  he did, several years ago, and gave it to me on his return from his first visit to the Shire.”  He rose and walked to a shelf on the wall behind the boy with the hound following him, and took down two figures that sat there, while the Lady Arwen slipped out of the room into an adjacent one, bringing back a still another.  The King set the two he held down in front of the twins, one of Frodo seated on a bench, looking as if down a hill, his face alight with a smile, a pipe in his hand.  The other was the one of Sam just gifted to him since their return from Harad. 

       Amon’osiri examined each carefully, then looked up as he set them before his brother.  “Are they as short as Captain Peregrin?”

       The King smiled as his wife set the figure she carried before the boy, a figure of An’Elessar himself seated on a chair, his head slightly cocked to one side, his hands relaxed on his knees, the White Tree embossed on the surcoat he wore.  “Frodo was slightly taller than the average Hobbit, but not especially so.  He was perhaps an inch or two taller than is his cousin Isumbard Took.  Captain Peregrin and Sir Meriadoc were both shorter than he when we began our journey, but not after we were separated at Amon Hen.  They were carried away then by the Uruk-hai of the fallen wizard Saruman and brought by them to the eaves of Fangorn Forest.  There they escaped and met Treebeard of the Ents, one of the shepherds of the trees.  Treebeard gave them an Ent draught, a drink which the Ents brew from the waters that flow through Fangorn, and when we finally saw them again they had grown at least three inches taller than Frodo was.  Poor Pippin had to have all new clothing made, for almost none he’d brought with him fit him any more.”

       “Then Pippin is tall for a Hobbit?”

       “Yes, he and Merry are now the tallest Hobbits probably in the history of the Shire.”

       There was a knock at the door, and Caravel, who’d laid down at his master’s feet, lifted up his head and gave a single woof.  The King turned toward it.  “Enter,” he said.

       A guard came in.  “It is Master Ruvemir, my Lord.  He has brought gifts for your guests.”

       After looking to his guests for their agreement, the King smiled at the guard.  “Let him come in, then,” he said with pleasure.

       A few minutes later Ruvemir and Owain entered the room carrying several boxes between them.  Aragorn rose to meet them and took several from the sculptor’s hands and laid them on the table.  Ruvemir and Owain both bowed. 

       “I’d thought to bring these to the farewell feast, but decided to bring them tonight instead, if this is acceptable.  My father has asked us to come down to Lebennin and go with him to the fair in Dol Amroth with him and Ririon.  Miriel has agreed to attend herself, but only if I will go with them.  We will leave just after the sailing of your guests, but for the next few days Elise and I will be very busy packing once more.”

       The boxes were distributed, and Owain looked at his master, and at a significant nod he went back out again.

       The gift for Nefiramonrani was a figure of her husband dressed formally, much as he had looked when Ruvemir had first seen him on the dock at Risenmouthe.  For Ankhrabi was a figure of his wife seated, nursing an infant, her eyes tender and a slight smile on her face as she looked down at the babe in her arms.  “I had to imagine how you will look when your child is born, my lady, and I hope this pleases you.”

       “Oh, yes, she looked much like this when Nefirnerini was first born,” Ankhrabi said smiling.  “Thank you so very much.”

       For Nefirnerini was a figure of Isiri based on several he’d seen in Harad; for Amon’osiri he’d done a figure of Osiri as he was usually figured in Harad, but for Ma’osiri he’d done quite a different figure, one of a person who seemed both an Elf and a Man at the same time, wearing a circlet on which was set a great gem.  The boy examined the figure closely, then looked up at the King and examined him as well.  “He looks very much like you, my Lord An’Elessar.”

       The King reached a hand down and touched it gently.  “It is a figure of Eärendil the Mariner, father to my ancestor Elros Tar-Minyatar and to Elrond, father to my wife, who was as a father to myself while I was growing up.  This is how we believe he appears, he who sails the Seas of Night as the Evening Star.”

       For Sa’Harpelamun was a figure of the high priest of Amon from the Valley of the Sun.  “He is ancient of years now,” the artist said as Owain slipped back into the room with a large flat package in his arms and set it standing up against the wall.  “I thought that you would appreciate having his image to comfort you when he must at last leave this world.”

       The priest smiled gently, and bowed his thanks.  “Yes, it will comfort me greatly.  He is a great Man, and a gentle and wise one.”

       “I gave a figure already to your lord father, Lord Ankhrabi, but wished to send this to Lord Amonrabi.” 

       Ankhrabi opened the box and looked at the figure packed therein, and smiled.  It was a figure of Osiri holding in one hand an ankh and in the other the Feather of Truth.  “It will mean a great deal to him, Master Ruvemir.  I thank you now for him.”

       Aragorn looked at the package which Owain had left against the wall.  “What is that?  Are our guests to take that back with them?”

       Ruvemir colored slightly.  “No, my beloved Lord, this is for you and your wife, a belated birthing gift.  I’d not finished it when our Prince Eldarion was born, and I hadn’t had much time to do much with it while preparing for the trip to Harad.  I finished it last night, and while I was gone Ririon sent up the frame I’d asked of him.  It arrived two days ago.  I hope you don’t find it too presumptuous.”

       Aragorn and Arwen looked to one another, and carefully Owain brought the package forward and set it between them.  Together they began removing the paper which wrapped the package as the artist spoke.

       “I rarely do paintings, for it is not exactly my best medium.  And, with my height and the short reach of my arms my strokes cannot be as even as I’d wish.”  The King nodded.

       “You will remember that after I returned from Eriador I spent a couple days discussing the imaginary brothers you had when you were a child, for I’d thought to do a grouping of the three of you.  But when I went to sculpt the model for the first one, it turned out a figure of Sir Meriadoc instead.

       “Exactly why I decided to paint this I cannot say, save that when I went down to the shop where I now buy most of my artist’s supplies I saw this prepared canvas and simply purchased it and some prepared paints.  And as I painted, this was what came out.  I hope you appreciate it.”

       At that moment the last piece of paper was removed, and the King and Queen had to turn the painting to make it upright.

       It was a picture of three young Men, smiling one at the other.  In the center stood Aragorn himself as he must have looked when younger; his right hand reached out to the shoulder of one as tall as himself, long curls framing his face, which was pale where that of Aragorn was darkly tanned, beardless compared to the short beard worn by the central figure, eyes alight with humor and intelligence.  They were both looking to their left to one whose hair was dark gold rather than ebon as were theirs, his face clean shaven, his eyes a golden brown rather than grey as Aragorn’s or blue as the other one’s, his chest broader than that of the others, although the shoulders were no broader than either.

       All three were equally tall, and all were equally royal.

       “You set it in Imladris,” murmured the Queen, “in the gardens there.”

       “Yes,” the sculptor said.

       Tears of pleasure were forming in the King’s eyes.  “Gil-galadrion, Anorahil, and myself,” he said quietly, gently touching each figure, “as we would have looked when I was about twenty-seven.”

       “I don’t understand,” Nefirnerini said.

       “I hated being an only child when I was young, for there were no other children in Imladris, and certainly no other children of Men there.  I often felt extraordinarily lonely.  I frequently dreamed of having brothers, and those were the names I gave them, Gil-galadrion and Anorahil.

       “Then, a few years back when we went to Imladris for a conference of the peoples of Arnor, our Elven brothers gave me my mother’s journal, and I learned that she had borne two other children besides me, a twin brother who yet did not look greatly like me and a younger one.  Both she lost before the time for them to have been born properly.  She was often sad when I was growing up, and always I had thought it was due to her grief that my father died untimely, slain by orcs.  And she often told me how much she had hoped to have had more than just the one child.  But I didn’t realize that there would have been two brothers for me.

       “Foresight is one of the gifts of the descendants of Eärendil and Elwing, and she had known several dreams and visions in which she saw them, both before I was born and later after they were lost.  To learn she had seen them as I had dreamed of the brothers I had so desired was--unsettling--unsettling and yet comforting as well.  She had intended to name them Gilorhael--” he touched the one with dark curls, “--and Anorhael.”  He gently touched the other figure, the one with dark gold hair, hair like that of the Princess Melian.

       He looked at the girl and smiled gently.  “It was then foreseen by several, including my mother herself, that the two lost ones would be born anyway, but not to her and not to our people.  And all believed that one day we would meet, somehow, and together restore the united kingdom of Gondor and Arnor.”

       “Did it happen?” asked Amon’osiri.

       The King smiled sadly.  “Oh, yes, it did.”

       “Where are they, the ones who were almost your brothers?”

       “He who would have been Anorhael lives in the North, has married and has several children now.  Gilorhael----”  He stopped speaking, looking again at the painted figure.

       Ma’osiri’s face lit with understanding.  “Gilorhael was born Frodo Baggins.”

       Not looking away from the painting, the King slowly nodded.

       Nefirnerini asked, “Was Anorhael born Lord Samwise Gamgee?”

       Again the King nodded.  “Yes,” he said softly.  “So I believe, at least.”

       Arwen set her hand on her husband’s shoulder.  “Adar believed the same, Beloved.  So he told me after all of you left Imladris.”

       He looked up into her eyes, his face alight with question, then smiled.  “Yes, that is as it ought to be.”

       Sa’Harpelamun cleared his throat.  “The night Lord Benai found your star in the pool of Neryet----”

       An’Elessar looked at him.

       “When you turned away from us as you were instructed, we could all see the Light of Stars gathered about you, and realized you were seeing another the rest of us could not perceive.”

       Slowly the King nodded.  “Yes,” he finally said.  “I was granted a vision then.”

       “Who was it of?  He was as tall as yourself was all I could tell, and as surrounded by starlight as yourself.”

       “You saw him as tall as I was?”

       “Yes.  Did he seem different to you?”

       The King searched the eyes of the young priest, then suddenly he smiled that very rare, sweet smile he’d seen only once before on the King’s face.  “I saw Frodo--Frodo and a great, shining butterfly.  He held it on his hands, held it out for me to see, and it flew from his palms to my finger, then flew upwards.”

       “We watched you look upwards as if you followed the flight of a spark from a fire.”

       “It was flying up, and then back over my head, toward Eärendil.  Then the vision of him faded away.  He was in a glade surrounded by mallorn trees, and flickering lights surrounded him.”

       For some moments King and priest merely looked at one another, and finally Sa’Harpelamun gave a single nod.  “I see.  Do you have such visions often?”

       “Rarely, very rarely.”

       “You believe he is yet alive?”

       The King Elessar slowly nodded.  “Yes, I believe he is indeed still alive, alive and healed again.  I rarely have visions of him, although at times I dream of him--not prescient dreams, usually--at least not that I am aware of.  But sometimes when I approach the White Tree to honor it I am aware of him there, as if he stood beneath the bows of its ancestor on Tol Eressëa.  Several who knew him have had similar experiences.”

       Ruvemir smiled and nodded.  “Yes, we all felt it after the unveiling of the memorial.”

       The priest examined the dwarfling closely.  “You knew him ere he left Middle Earth?”

       “No, I know him only through what I’ve been told by others; but Elise and I were with them that evening when Master Ferdibrand said he sensed the reflection of Frodo beneath the White Tree, and each of us in turn went to touch it, and to wish him well.  All of us felt him there.”

       “And on the New Year,” the King added, “Master Ferdibrand again sensed him there, dancing at the same time that those who’d come for the celebrations danced the Husbandmen’s Dance before the memorial.”

       The priest was obviously thinking deeply.  “How wonderful that he has been allowed this grace.”

       “Yes,” the King smiled.  He looked back to the picture.  “It is, Ruvemir, much as I’d imagined when I was a child we would look one day--if they’d been real and by me and not just products of my imagination.  I’m not sad I met them finally as they were born and grew; but I still find myself wishing we could have been together so when we were younger.”  He turned to the artist.  “Thank you; thank you so very much.”

       The Lady Arwen, seeing the pleasure in her husband’s face, was glowing gently as she leaned down and kissed the forehead of the sculptor.  “Perhaps you should think of doing more paintings one day.  This is the first I’ve seen from you.”

       “Sculpture is what I do best.  This is the first painting I’ve ever done I was truly proud of.  But I think it was meant for the two of you.”  He sighed.  “Owain and I will leave now, for we have much to do before we can head for Lebennin.”

       So saying, sculptor and apprentice bowed deeply, and accompanied by the King and his dog went to the door, then out.

Fare Thee Well

       On the day before the Prince and Princess of Harad were to return to their home they found their packing interrupted several times.  Once it was Mistress Belleth, who’d recovered from her illness, to explain that one of those freed from the slave ship wished to speak with Prince Ankhrabi.  Ankhrabi looked to his wife, then suggested the Man be brought to him in the receiving room.

       The Man was of late middle years, one who was quiet and thoughtful.  Ankhrabi examined him, then invited him to sit down opposite him.  Finally, his sense of propriety obviously offended, the older Man complied, twisting the end of his belt scarf between his hands.  He seemed reluctant to speak; but as Ankhrabi simply sat waiting to hear the Man’s concerns he finally began to explain himself.

       “My name, Lord Prince, is Ma’amonset.  I was born a slave.  For many generations--I cannot tell how many for certain--my family has belonged to the same family in Cartalos on the Northern shore of Harad.”  He named the family, and Ankhrabi nodded his recognition of the names.  “Always we have belonged to the family, and we have been part of the household.

       “Then my late master was left with but one child when his sons were killed fighting along the borders of Far Harad.  Only his daughter was left.  He desired to see her well cared for, and he chose a husband for her who appeared well off.  He did not pay attention, however, to the fact this one had fought in the troops given to the service of the Eastern Lord.  Had he done so, I think he would have chosen differently, for he did think dearly of his daughter and wished only the best for her future.

       “My mistress’s husband never wished to live in Cartalos, but remained there while her father yet lived.  But he had plans for when her father at last had died.  Barely was my late master in his tomb than my mistress’s husband set about disposing of the house and property, including those of us who’d served his wife’s family for generations.  I was sold from one slave trader to another until I came to Peresual, where those on the Grey Gull purchased me and took me aboard their ship.

       “I wish to return to Harad, and ask if I might join your household, even if it means embracing slavery again.  I do not know how to be free, and know no other life than the service to my family.  You are honorable and well thought of by the great lord of this place, whose judgment I find I trust implicitly.  I would desire to serve you however I can.”

       “I could not take you as a slave, not after what I’ve seen here.”

       “Would you take me as a paid servant?  Please, my Lord?  I only wish to serve one worthy of honor as my late master was!”

       Seeing the desperation in the eyes of the Man, Ankhrabi agreed.

       An hour later Master Bayard knocked upon the door to say that Lord Benai had come and wished to speak with him.  Again he went out to the receiving room and sat in the same place, indicating the black Dúnedain warrior should sit opposite him.  “What can I do to serve you, Lord Benai?” he asked.

       “I came to ask permission to speak for Lady Nera, Lord Prince.  We have come to know each other well during the time I have attended upon the Queen and Lord King Elessar, and I have come to love her, and now cannot imagine loving any other.”

       “Is it how you felt toward your bride when you were married before?”

       “I did not truly love Verieth, for our marriage was arranged by her parents and mine.  I would, I think, have come to love her in time; but then we could be said to know one another some and to respect one another, but little more.  And our marriage was never consummated.”

       The black Man sighed.  “Nera, however--Nera I know I have come to love.  And she will be good for our people as well as being the one woman I have ever found myself attracted to.”

       “When would you wish to take her to wife?  Before you return to Camaloa?”

       “No, not before then.  She is young yet, and would do well, I think, to wait another year before we marry.  And I do not wish to take her to wife only to abandon her for a time, for I will not bring her into our lands as long as they are threatened by the G’bani or any other slaving tribe.  Give us nine months to settle the G’bani, and I will return here to spend a few months at her side before we are married that she and I might be fully satisfied she and I will be happy together once we are indeed man and wife.”

       “Have you spoken with her parents as yet?”

       “You are their lord while you are here in Gondor; I wished to have your permission to approach them.”

       Ankhrabi smiled.  “You do not need my permission, Lord Benai--and once you approach them I do not believe they will say no.”

       The smile he received was so bright that Ankhrabi could not help smiling all the more broadly.

       Half a mark later the King asked for permission to bring a meal to the kittens, who were eating solid food now.  All stopped their packing to watch as he encouraged the five kittens to eat a fine cereal cooked in goat’s milk into which finely chopped meat had been stirred.  They no longer waded through the dish as they’d done at first, clustering about the bowl and busily eating their luncheon.  Soon they were finished, and the white one crawled onto Aragorn’s wrist and began to climb up his sleeve to his shoulder.  There was no question his heart was given to this one as he patiently withstood the claws digging into his skin until it reached its destination.  There it laid itself, clinging to the seam of his shirt to keep from losing its place.  When he reached across to pet it gently it began to purr and to knead the material over his shoulder.  The others began to roll and pounce, or sat grooming themselves and one another; but the small white one stayed put and sang its comfort to all.  Finally he left with the kitten on his shoulder, and servants who passed him in the halls looked after him with indulgent smiles.

       An hour later he came back, the kitten now lying along his forearm, followed by one of his personal guards and one of his servants carrying his own gifts for his guests.

       He gave Sa’Harpelamun a history of Eärendil the Mariner and his family; to each of the twins a fine long knife suitable for their early training.  To Nefirnerini he gave a mirror of silvered glass in a silver frame, and matching comb and brush.  Nefiramonrani he presented with a set of goblets of fine glass; and to Ankhrabi he presented a book of poetry and a hunting bow from Eriador similar to his own.

       Gebsohrabi and the other guard each received a fine dagger; the two women servants received necklaces of volcano glass which thrilled them dearly; Ankhrabi’s body servant and Ma’amonset each were given fine tankards and a small barrel of local beer.  That the King would think to have gifts even for servants and would already knew that Ma’amonset had attached himself to the Prince’s family just seemed so typical.  Then he was leaving, reluctantly leaving the small white kitten behind him with her mother.

       Then the Princess Melian, Hasturnerini, and Asa came to see the kittens, and had spinning tops for the two princes and a beautiful bracelet of silver for Nefirnerini.  They’d not left yet when Ankhsarani came up accompanied by Amonpelrabi, he with a possessive arm about her shoulders.  Nefiramonrani stopped to take her sister out into the garden, and together they talked for quite some time before reluctantly Ankhsarani left to prepare for the feast.

       For that night a second feast was held for them in the feast hall of Merethrond.  The Lady Éowyn and her son had returned from Emyn Arnen, accompanied by Prince Legolas and his brother, and again many lords of the realm gathered to bid goodbye to the royal guests from Harad. 

       This time Ankhrabi’s family and Sa’Harpelamun accompanied the King’s family through the private entrance where they would wait until all others were seated.  The King confided in Haradri, “Sometimes Arwen and I will reverse things in order to welcome our guests Elf fashion, which drives the Master of Protocol mad.  Elves start proceedings by being present when their guests arrive, and rise to their feet as the guests enter to show courtesy.  The Master of Protocol, however, prefers that all appreciate the arrival of King and Queen, insisting we enter last.  After all, this is how things have been handled here in Gondor for much of the last age, and how he intends it shall continue.  At times I wish I could simply dispense with his services; however he is so firmly entrenched in the doings of the Citadel I haven’t the heart or authority to let him go.”

       Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani found themselves laughing, while the young priest was smiling broadly.  Aragorn continued, “We will miss you, you must realize.  I hope Legolas will remain for a time, for otherwise we will be left here alone, forced to be almost solely King and Queen until Ruvemir returns from the Southlands.  Gilfileg is to leave tomorrow also, for his wife is to deliver in two months’ time and he wishes to be there to welcome the child.  He came mostly to bring some sensitive dispatches from Halladan and to brief me on them, and on the way North again he’s to check on several of the work gangs to which criminals are assigned, and will deliver several of those who have been condemned to work on the roads to their assignments as he goes.”

       Finally the names and titles of Ankhrabi and his family were called, and once again they were led forward to their places, again to the left of the King’s chair, while Prince Faramir of Ithilien and his wife sat to the Queen’s right.  Lord Wasnior had returned two days past to Umbar, and this night young Armanthol of Umbar sat by Lord Gilfileg, while Lord Hardorn had beside him his wife, the Lady Gilmorien.  She was obviously coming very close to her own time, but now stood happily beside the King’s cousin.

       Lord Faralion was present once again, and was placed further down the opposite side of the hall beside several people, both Men and women, that Ankhrabi did not remember seeing before.  Master Ruvemir and his wife stood near them with several who’d been introduced earlier in the visit as belonging to the Guild of Carvers and the Corps of the Lord’s Engineers.  Master Ruvemir was speaking softly with Master Faralion and appeared exceptionally pleased about something, and his expression as the King and Queen and Princess finally came forward to their own seats was full of satisfaction and anticipation.

       King and Queen each spoke words of welcome, and of the regret that their guests must return to their own lands soon.  Lord Benai was to lead a small mixed expeditionary force of Dúnedain warriors from Arnor, Gondor, and Ithilien against the slavers of the G’bani tribes, and had pledged their folk in treaty to Harad.  Five of the former slaves of Harad and Far Harad returned to their land in company with Prince Ankhrabi and his family to rejoin their families and see to justice done for their wrongful enslavement; two others who had been born slaves returned in hopes of making new lives for themselves.  And eight from beyond Far Harad went with the force to Camaloa, having pledged to assist in the defeat of the slavers so that they could find their way back to their own peoples and hopefully be reunited with at least some of those they loved.

       As for the departure of Prince Ankhrabi and Princess Nefiramonrani and their children--it was with great pride and regret that King and Queen looked forward to bidding them farewell in the morning.  That such should look to inheriting the leadership of Harad after the inspiring rule of the great Farozi An’Sohrabi was an indication of continued cooperation and peace between Gondor and Harad for at least another generation.

       At last all turned to the West for the Standing Silence before taking their seats, and the feast was begun.

       Conversation was cheerful, and laughter could be heard here and there throughout the hall.  The music was pleasurable; the food once again excellent.  The King was rather quiet compared to the last feast, but was convinced to tell tales of Master Bilbo Baggins, and soon all around him were laughing with pleasure at the stories he told of the Hobbit and his adventures with Dwarves and Dragons, just as the elderly Perian had told his adventures to him who would one day be King.  Legolas, who sat tonight to Princess Melian’s left, confirmed the descriptions of what had happened in King Thranduil’s halls and added stories of the confusion all within the keep had felt as cakes and loaves went missing, as sheets in the linen cupboard were found to be rumpled, as many felt as if they were being followed through the hallways.

       Rustovrid’s eldest daughter Nera sat beside Lord Benai, and the two spent much time simply looking at one another.  The young woman wore a necklace of sapphires instead of the enameled collar she ordinarily sported, and it was plain to all who sat near them that the two had reached an understanding.

       The final course of strawberries and cream over sweet cakes was served, and when at last it was over the company rose and moved again to the far end of the hall for dancing, singing, and general conversation.  The Lord Elessar and his wife led the first dance, and it was with amusement that Ankhrabi realized that this was one activity at which the King did not excel, although the Lady Arwen was obviously quite gifted.  Once that dance was done the King joined Ankhrabi, Ifram, and Nicoli in a discussion of how the G’bani slavers might be bested while many of the ladies who did not dance gathered about the Queen to discuss the coming children, those of Lady Nefiramonrani, Lady Gilmorien, and the wife of Lord Gilfileg.  Lady Éowyn watched as the Princess Melian took the hands of the small Prince Elboron and led him in a gentle version of the dance being enjoyed by others throughout the hall.  Again for a time the Queen left the hall to nurse her son, then brought him to her husband who held the child gently as he spoke with others.

       Lady Ankhsarani had brought the zithern that had been given to her use by Lady Ghansaret, and when the small orchestra took a break from their music she began a song of Harad, and she and the Lord King An’Elessar between them sang it for the folk attending the feast. 

       Several of those who’d sat by Master Faralion now took the places of some of those who’d been playing for the entertainment of the guests, and servants brought to Master Faralion a stool and a great floor harp which he gently tuned and tested.  Then he struck a chord which was commanding, and all fell silent.  He stood and looked on the party as all turned to see what it was that he had to say.

       “Lords and Ladies, Masters and Mistresses, children of the great and small--this night I wish to sing with the King a song he himself crafted of the great Elven Kingdom of Lothlorien, the home of Amroth and Nimrodel, of Celeborn and Galadriel for over an age of this world.  My Lord?”  He looked to the King, who reluctantly handed their son into the hands of his wife, then stepped forward to stand beside the harp.  Faralion struck a chord, and the King began to sing, joined in a moment by Faralion, singing in counterpoint and harmony, now and then going quiet to allow the King’s own voice to stand out in glory; then stepping in a half measure behind his liege, repeating phrases, or skipping forward in anticipation of what his Lord would sing next.

       All stood quiet, their talk stilled, their attention fully riveted on the two presenting this song, caught in the images of singing waters and great trees, of the light of stars and sun on shining silver boles and golden flowers and leaves, of hidden borders and cities built high toward the crowns of the great mallorns, of the Power of Light and Air against the darkness lying under the Mountains where orcs had displaced Dwarves, where the awakened menace of the Balrog threatened all that delighted in the gifts of Iluvatar.

       At last the song closed gently, the King’s voice alone singing the last measures; and with a single plucked string the harp went still.  After several moments of awed silence the hall erupted in applause.  A drum sounded, and the clapping fell into the rhythm of the beat, growing louder, then stopping when there was one last flourish and it fell silent.  The drummer now stood and stepped forward, and all again went still to listen to what he would say.

       “I am Mirgilion of Lamedon, Master of the Guild of Bards, Minstrels, and Musicians to the realm of Gondor.”

       The King straightened, his face paling, then reddening as he realized just what he’d come to this night, and the Queen could be heard laughing with delight as she held her son high to see his father’s honor; Lord Faramir, a broad smile on his face, lifting Melian onto one shoulder and his son Elboron onto the other.  Ankhrabi clapped his hands in glee.  The Guild Master held up his hands, and all went silent once more.  “This night we have finally achieved a goal we had long desired to meet--to bring into our number one who has shown himself full worthy to be considered as one of us.  This night finally I find great pleasure in welcoming our Lord Aragorn Elessar Envinyatar Telcontar into our Guild, naming him Bard and Singer before all of this company.”

       He turned and accepted a small lap harp from one of those behind him, moved forward, and placed it in the arms of the King, and bowed low.  Ruvemir son of Mardil, Master Sculptor, stood near Ankhrabi, his face alight with accomplishment.  “It’s been a long wait to trap him into it, but certainly he’s worthy of the honor.  Not many are able to be considered members of more than one of the guilds at a time, and I think our Lord King has set a record by being accepted as a member of three, and Master in two of them, not to mention his skill in weapons, tracking, and hunting as well!”

       Ankhrabi laughed, and laid his hand on the small sculptor’s shoulder, and looked at the face of the King, who held the small harp that signified his place in the guild gently, plucking one string and then another.  He looked into the eyes of Master Mirgilion.  Finally, as the hall once again went silent, the King said quietly, “Long and long have I managed to avoid this honor, but I see that I can no longer do so.  I thank you deeply for the recognition you have given me, and will do my best to uphold the traditions of the Guild of Bards, Minstrels, and Musicians.”  He bowed to the musicians, then stepped back gently to stand beside his wife, who placed their son into his free arm once more, then put hers around him as she stood by his side.

       Now Master Faralion and Master Mirgilion and the others who’d accompanied them began to play a number of lays and tunes, and Ankhrabi began to understand just what it meant to be considered a master musician.  By the time the evening was at an end all were feeling intoxicated by melodies and rhythms.

       Finally guests at the feast began to approach those from Harad and Camaloa to wish them a good journey, many expressing great pleasure regarding the visit.  More and more were leaving now, and finally there were few enough left that Ankhrabi and Nefiramonrani thanked those who remained for their hospitality and took their leave, and withdrew with their children and the priest back to the guest wing, accompanied by Gebsohrabi.

*******

       Morning seemed to come all too early, and they were rising and dressing and going to the dining room to join the King and his household for breakfast.  Afterwards the King examined Nefiramonrani, then Ankhrabi and Ma’osiri, and pronounced each fit for travel. 

       “We will be ready to go down through the city in an hour’s time; and they will be here shortly for your chests to set them in the pony cart.”

       Nefirnerini’s carefully packaged ewer she herself laid in the cart after all else was loaded, she hugged Hasturnerini, and the Queen gently bade all farewell and gave them her blessing as they prepared to leave the level of the Citadel.  She looked at Nefiramonrani and smiled.  “Five more months it will be before the babe is born,” she said, “and we will delight to hear of its safe delivery.”

       “Please, my Lady Arwen, if you will see to it that my sister does not feel abandoned once we are gone, I would be very grateful.”

       “We will rejoice to honor her for your sake and for her own,” the Queen promised.

       As they walked by the White Tree, the King paused to honor it, and Ankhrabi walked forward alongside him to touch the Tree as well.  He gently laid his hand on the bark as he’d seen the King do repeatedly, then paused, surprised, for he felt the rhythm of its life as surely as he could feel the heartbeats of his children when he laid his hand on their chests.  He felt something else as well, although what it was exactly he wasn’t certain, until he saw the look of deep pleasure on the King’s face, and realized that he himself sensed the echo of another presence there, a gentle presence filled with joy.

       “Be well, Frodo,” he heard the King whisper, and he saw the King pull deliberately away and bow deeply to the Tree, and he followed suit.  A wreath lay against the legs of the figure of Frodo Baggins, and coronets of flowers had been gently laid upon the brows of each of the four statues.  One last time Ankhrabi looked on the memorial to the Periannath, and smiled, then followed the King down the ramp to the Sixth Circle where they were joined by those who would accompany them and those who would sail in the Wanderer Returned.

       At last they were outside the gates, and the open carriages were ready for them.  Ankhrabi aided Sa’Harpelamun, then his wife and children with their arms full of flowers into the first carriage, then entered it himself, watching as the King vaulted onto the back of the great grey horse Olórin, riding alongside them as the driver directed his team to the wharves of the Harlond.

       An’Elessar himself helped them out of the carriage and embraced them one last time, then watched them go aboard the ship.  Then he was aiding the party of Lord Ghants’pa’amon out of their carriage, then the servants and the others who were going back to Harad.  Ma’amun saluted the Lord King An’Elessar, who embraced him and offered him blessings for a joyful return to his wife and daughters.

       Then the second set of carriages arrived, and those who would crew the Wanderer Returned were being aided out and embraced and seen aboard their own ship.  And at last there stood upon the quayside the King Aragorn Elessar, the Lord Gilfileg, Prince Faramir, and others of their guards, watching as the last of the chests and boxes were carried aboard each of the two ships.  Captain Belerion saluted his King and kinsman, and the two ships made ready to cast off.

       “Go well, my friends, and I pray it is not a great long time before we meet again,” the King called out. 

       Ma’osiri, wrapped in the turquoise cloak given him by the Queen, which was fastened with the silver Star brooch given him by the King, stood by the rail with his brother.  “Thank you, Lord An’Elessar,” he called in return.  “We thank you for all, and for your welcome and your gifts.  May Osiri continue to guide you!”

       Sailors and those who manned the docks cast off the last of the ropes for the Harthad uin Dun, and the great ship swung into the current of the River Anduin, heading once more for Risenmouthe in Harad.

       Benai and Armanthol stood together as they watched the larger ship pull away from the dock, then turned back to the wharves.  The King was watching after the first ship with regret, then finally turned his attention to them.

       “Now, my fine Rangers,” he called, “may Elbereth’s stars guide you home, and may Manwë guide your swords to do no more than what you must to see to the security of your own folk.”

       “How can it be otherwise, Lord King?” asked Benai.  “And may Rendil continue to shine down upon you while we must be away.”

       Those aboard the Wanderer Returned saluted the King, and the two children stood by the woman who was also being returned and waved, regretting almost they were leaving this kindly land.

       Lord Faramir and his Men called out their farewells as well as those aboard the former slave ship cast off and allowed their ship to follow the Harthad uin Dun out into the current.

       One last time those aboard the two ships looked back to see the tall figure of the King of Gondor, Arnor, and now Camaloa sitting on the back of his great horse, watching after them; then they turned away South, looking forward to their destinations.

*******

       The escort ships dropped back as the Harthad uin Dun entered the breakwater of the harbor at Risenmouthe.  They’d seen the last of the Wanderer Returned three days past as it set off Southwest for Camaloa; now they’d see no more of the smaller guard and messenger ships of Gondor.

       As reluctant as he’d been to leave the King’s presence, Ankhrabi now watched their approach to the wharves of Harad with a new eagerness.  They were home once more, and soon they’d be headed up the River to his father’s house.  Ankhrabi realized that he could barely wait to see his father’s well loved face once more.  Ah--to be home again, he decided, was good!

       Then the ship was sidling up to the dock, and cables were being tossed and caught and the fenders lowered and the straw mats laid in place, and finally the gang plank set.  Amonrabi was there to meet them along with Sa’Amonri and Gebankhsamun of the Palace Guard, and then there stepped out from behind the taller forms one figure--and Ankhrabi was hurrying across the gangplank to embrace his father, for the Farozi himself had come to greet their arrival.

       “He sent you home again, I can see, well and happy,” An’Sohrabi was repeating as if it were a prayer of praise.  “He sent you home again!”

       And soon they were all walking up the quayside to the barge which would bear them back to Thetos.

*******

       Fisherman’s Hope dragged back toward the small quayside of the harbor of Camaloa.  Its catch had been but a half of what had been desired, although it would be enough to help feed the folk of the small town that stood around the wharves, to which many of those who’d managed to survive the predations of the G’bani slavers had removed.

       Norubi sighed as he watched the crew, tired after a night of fishing, listlessly going about their work.  Each of them had lost someone in the past year, and the grief of it was enough to make them all even more vulnerable, he knew.

       Then young Cúrin, who kept watch from up the main mast, called down, “Unknown ship approaching from the North!”

       The entire crew hurried to the port bow to look for signs of the intruder.  Was it another slaver, or one of their trading vessels returning?  Or was it one of the strange ships such as the one which some weeks past approached the shores of their lands, but then pulled away, the ship which had the strange black banner onto which a white tree and seven stars had been worked?

       The new ship came closer, and they saw it wasn’t alone.  The one with the black banner was following behind it as if escorting it.  Displayed from the mast of the new ship was a blue banner, one which held a device they recognized--the constellation of the Seven Stars of Camaloa--it could be seen so clearly, so easily recognized.  The crew of Fisherman’s Hope looked at one another with questions in their eyes.  Those who crewed this ship for the most part had white skins, but some were black; and the one who clung to the rigging from the main mast seemed so very familiar.  But, that couldn’t be--it couldn’t be Nicoli, for he’d been taken with Benai and so many others months past!

       “Norubi!” came the distant hail as at last the strange ship came close enough for them to call out to one another.  “Norubi!  Is that you?”

       Norubi straightened with shock.  “Benai?” he called incredulously.

       They heard joyous laughter from the other ship as it came yet nearer, and as the sails were dropped.  “Norubi!  We’re home!  We’re returned!  And you won’t believe it!  We’re not alone!”

       Then he could see Benai standing on the deck of the other ship, his shining smile brightening the morning.  And Norubi realized that hope was returning to the hearts of all of those who crewed Fisherman’s Hope as the two ships and the strange ship which escorted the other turned to the small wharf of the harbor.

The Light of Stars

       There had been on the ship which had brought him to Tol Eressëa a number of Elves from Lothlorien.  Most of these had chosen to settle in a mallorn grove on the southwest coast of the island.  It was familiar enough to feel comfortable; different enough with the sound of surf below the bluff that they knew they were indeed come to the Undying Lands.  They even had the view in the distance of the glory of Aman proper, to which in time some might choose to go.  Here they’d built their flets and their halls and homes.

       A new hall was finished, and they’d planned a celebration, asking Iorhael to join them.  He’d come gladly, arriving near sunset, listening to the telling of tales, joining in the singing, dancing with them among the trees.  He’d shared in the laughter, the music, the companionship.  A feast had been presented, with food of many kinds, and much wine.  He’d eaten and drunk little enough--where once he’d not been able to eat much now he needed but little to sustain him; but simply to have him present was for them joy enough.

       They rejoiced in his companionship.  While many native to Aman remained shy with him, those who’d come from Middle Earth felt protective of him, wished to include him in their rejoicing, vied as once his cousins had done to bring him to laughter, to see the glory of his pleasure and his smile light up the night, his own Light brightening to rival Elbereth’s stars.

       As the night neared the dawn and more tales were being told he’d leaned back against the bole of a great mallorn and closed his eyes--just for a moment--and had fallen asleep.  The tree was honored to have the Ringbearer lean against it, and cherished him in his rest.  Alerted by the tree that their guest had fallen into dreams, his hosts had quieted their own laughter, watching his sleep with wonder and a growing appreciation of the trust he showed them.  One had quietly withdrawn into the hall above, and had returned with a light blanket; three together eased him to lie upon the soft moss, and the blanket was tucked lightly about him to protect him from the dew.  For a time several lingered to watch him sleep, to watch the Light of his Being, so different from that of Elves, gently pulse with his breathing, before finally leaving him to his dreams.

       It was late morning when he awoke, the mallorn under which he’d slept offering him greetings as he stretched and sat up.  His hosts were now about the business of the day, and he could hear them here and there throughout the grove, some high in the branches and some nearer at hand, calling out to one another in fair voices or singing in full contentment.  He noted the blanket and was grateful for the caring it embodied; he rose and carefully and neatly folded it, then laid it over a low branch for its retrieval.

       A basin and ewer of fresh water had been left along with clean towels for his refreshing; and food for him to make a dawn meal.  He washed his face and hands and the back of his neck, and took some bread and watered wine to break his fast.  Carefully he rinsed cup and plate and poured out the water upon the ground, and seeing to it he’d left the area as neat as possible he stood and looked about him.

       This was a section of the island he’d not explored before.  He had no reason today to return in a hurry to the small summerhouse that served as his home, so he let his feet take him where they would through the grove.  A group of three does and their fawns crossed the path before him, and he stopped in delight to watch them, watching their grace and beauty as they turned to examine him briefly before continuing on their way.  A stag suddenly stepped into view beyond them, watching him, giving him warning it would brook no disruption to the small herd’s peace.  He smiled in return, bowed gracefully, then straightened to watch the last of the fawns disappear among the trees, the stag finally springing after them, reassured its warning had been heeded.

       Iorhael laughed almost silently.

       The mallorns here were even greater and more wonderful than what he remembered in Lothlorien, there above the valley of the Anduin in Middle Earth.  He was awed by their size, rejoiced in their power and majesty and sheer beauty.  Silver boles and branches bore leaves of a green he didn’t think he’d seen ever in his travels through Middle Earth; golden flowers dropped their petals about him as he walked, showering him with a sweet odor that refreshed and delighted.

       Suddenly he was aware before him of a glory of Light shimmering beyond the nearer trees, and he headed toward it in curiosity.  He stepped out from behind the last tree to find himself at the edge of a glade that was alive with Light and color, shimmering and glimmering, drifting with the breezes, swirling in the sunlight.

       The ground was carpeted with grass, thick and lush, soft and cool under his feet; and the grass was heavily starred with great, golden blossoms of elanor.  But it was the air over the grass and flowers that captured and reflected the light of Sun and trees, for it was full of jeweled butterflies, rejoicing in the warmth and glory of the Light that filled the glade, dipping down in turn to visit one or another of the star-field of blossoms lifted such a small distance above the ground.

       He and the butterflies all seemed to stop briefly as he stood still at the edge of the woods, contemplating one another with equal awe, he thought.  The butterflies seemed drawn toward him, swirled and opened their dance to accept him among themselves, not in fear as would those of the mortal lands, but in welcome.  Slowly he moved through their number, looking about himself with joy and delight, until he reached the center of the glade.  Here he stood, turning himself to look at them filling the space about him with glimmers and gleams of colors with the majesty of the mallorns behind them, light and shadow outlining their silver trunks. 

       A few came closer and closer to him, lighting briefly on his hair, his shoulder, the breast of his silver robe.  Opals, sapphires, peridots, rubies, garnets, amethysts, ambers, emeralds, topazes--living jewels surrounded him, their colors shining splendidly in the light of Anor upon them, catching the Light of his Being and reflecting it upon one another, the boles of the trees, the eaves of the woods, on the grass and flowers, and back on Iorhael himself.  He felt overwhelmed with Light, drunk on color, giddy with the dance all about himself.  He held out his open palm, and one of the greatest landed there briefly.  He brought his other hand beside the first and looked down on it as it spanned the space between his hands, as it filled his hand with a private rainbow, itself a living prism.

       He wanted to share that beauty, and the one he wished to share it with was Aragorn.  He closed his eyes, and the glory of the Light beat against his lids.  Oh, Aragorn, you cannot know how much I wish to show you this! he thought.  They catch Light from everywhere!  If you were only here that your Light might shine on them--it is already glorious beyond telling--what would it be then?

       And he opened his eyes, and saw there standing facing him Aragorn, shining as he could do with the Light of Stars about him, looking down at him, his smile adding more glory to the glade.  Blue eyes met grey, and their smiles combined in the perfection of the moment.  Frodo looked down at the butterfly standing on the palms of his cupped hands--they were filled with living Light, and he lifted it up to show to the Man.  Do you see, brother?  Do you feel its glory filling you?

       He saw the Light refracted through the wings of the creature reflected from the white robe Aragorn wore, saw it elicit an answering glow of shining emerald from the brooch he wore at its neck, saw another from the emerald of the Ring of Barahir on his outstretched index finger.  He heard a faint chiming as the butterfly flexed its wings, felt it make the short flight from his palms to Aragorn’s finger; saw his own Light reflected below its wings, Aragorn’s captured above them.  Both pairs of eyes were now on the glory of the creature, as it lifted from Aragorn’s finger and flew upward toward Anor herself.  And as they looked upward to follow its flight, their hands touched.  Light and shadow, glimmers of faerie colors, flickered across Aragorn’s face and were reflected in his eyes, fell gently on the Hobbit’s silver robes; it seemed as if the Lights of many stars were shining down on them through the wings of the butterfly as Frodo Baggins felt once more the healing touch of the King, felt the pleasure and blessing of it fill his whole being, reminding him as he’d not been reminded for some time that he still dwelt in a body that had hands and fingers that rejoiced to know the touch of those of another like to himself.  The Lights of both of them flared, bright and joyous, and more rapidly the butterflies swirled about them both. 

       Then Aragorn was gone, but the warmth of that shared touch was still there.  Slowly Iorhael sank to his knees, so grateful for that moment of awareness, unaware of the tear of joy slipping down his cheek.  He looked up to see the butterflies formed a living, shifting dome of glory over the whole glade as they danced and fluttered in the air and sank to drink from the elanor blossoms before they rose again to rejoin the company of their fellows.

       A new glory shone from behind him as the Lady Galadriel came out from under the boughs of the mallorns to look on him, kneeling in the midst of the shimmering display of Light and color.  The butterflies were beautiful enough on their own; swirling as they did about Iorhael they were doubly magnificent as they caught his Light of Being as well as that of the sun above them and that reflected by the mallorn trees that grew all about them.

       Did he realize, she wondered, how beautiful he was in the eyes of the regular inhabitants of the island?  His Light of Being was so different, fragile and transient and pulsing like a distant star where those of the Elves tended to be more constant and steady.  Day by day, however, that Light strengthened, filled him more and more, increased in its glory.  And much of its beauty came through the knowledge that it was transient, that one day the body it filled would no longer be enough to hold it, and the world of Arda would no longer give it room enough to know its fulfillment.

       Iorhael’s hold on life had remained somewhat tenuous, a fact which he knew but which no longer gave him concern.  And because he recognized that, in spite of his intention to remain here at least until Samwise’s arrival to join him, he might yet find this day, this moment, to be his last, now that his life was no longer dominated by pain and loss he simply opened himself to each moment of joy as it came, grateful that he could do so.

       His delight in the butterflies was so palpable, and there was a deeper content he knew as well, as if a vision had been granted to him.  He focused on a single insect as it bobbed and wove its way through the dance, watched it land on the bloom by his knee, its shifting wings casting sparkles of colored light across the robe as it lay across his thighs.  As a number of them began to shape a figure about his head, almost as if he wore a circlet of flickering wings and jeweled bodies, he closed his eyes and tilted back his head, feeling the delicate breeze set in motion by each wing beat, hearing the minute squeaks and chimes as upper and lower wings rubbed against one another as they lifted and fell.  Then he opened his eyes and twisted himself to look at her through the veil of moving wings, and his smile widened more, and wordlessly he invited her to share his delight with him.  As she finally moved to join him again the dance opened to accept her within it.  She moved to his side, smiled down at him as he gazed up at her, now seeing his face entire, now part of it seen through shifting wings.  A single tear sparkled on his cheek, of more value than the treasures of Dwarves or Elven-wrought jewels.

       She ran her fingers through his curls, once dark and now simply glorious and rich with warmth, soft as sighs.  “It is good to see you knowing pleasure this day, Ringbearer,” she said.  He smiled in answer.  “Elrond had asked me to seek you out for him.”

       He looked up with interest.  He’d not seen Lord Elrond for some time, for he’d journeyed to the mainland and had intended to seek the heart of Valinor itself.  That he’d think to return here so soon, and to seek himself out.... 

       Shifting reflections of Light could now be seen under the mallorns from the direction from which Iorhael himself had come, and he turned that way.  The first Light was certainly familiar enough, as Elrond approached, dressed in an outer robe of deepest blue over a silver under robe, the outer embroidered in silver and decorated with silver, blue, and lapis beads.  The intricate knots of his temple locks were also held in place with beads of lapis and silver, and about his brow he wore a circlet of mithril set with sapphires and lapis.  His face was full of a deep and solemn joy.

       But it was the figure behind Elrond that caught Frodo’s attention, as one filled with the familiar Light of Stars, tall and beautiful, familiar yet utterly foreign to him, followed the Elven Lord, his shining hand on Elrond’s shoulder, the circlet he wore about his brow simple and set with a single shining jewel whose glory the butterflies caught and cast about the glade in a further display of color so intense it was almost more than Iorhael could bear.

       Eyes filled with the Light of Stars looked down into his own.  In his heart he heard the Shining One say, At last we meet, child of my spirit.  So long I’ve waited for one to come who shares and understands the Becoming....

       And the hand of Eärendil the Mariner lifted him to his feet, and Peredhel and Hobbit smiled into one another’s eyes.

Author’s Notes

       Gandalf indicated that before finally creating the Seven, the Nine, and the Three, Celebrimbor’s Elven smiths made lesser rings which he described as practice pieces, the playthings of the Elves before they settled down to crafting the Rings of Power.  As to why Sauron had to have Elven smiths create the Rings of Power so that he could then create his own Ring keyed to reveal the works wrought through the others and to control and exploit them Tolkien never explained.

       It was my own thought that perhaps Sauron, having turned his back on the will of Eru to follow the lead of Morgoth in attempting to seek power over all others, had perhaps lost his ability to empathize with others, to imagine himself in another’s place and thus help the recipient of the Ring to gain authority over others in such a way the others were unlikely to resist the power being exercised over them.  Also, it is likely that the recipients were likely to trust such objects of power were they known to be the works of Elves where most were likely to resist accepting something known to have been wrought by Sauron himself.

       For Sauron to realize this, I suspected that he’d first have had to do some experimenting with the making of possible rings of power himself, but finally recognized that they were only effective if he presented them to select recipients, ones whose greed for power was already so great they’d do about anything to augment it.

       And so my “lesser rings” are most likely Sauron’s own works, and are more like blunt instruments compared to the finely honed power held in the rings crafted by the Elven smiths of Eregion.  They help to augment cleverness and intimidation and slyness and the feeling of personal invincibility that helps the would-be totalitarian dictators radiate command.  They would also probably have been used as a conduit of control over those wearing them as well as bearing messages, communications, and orders to them from Sauron during his time of supremacy.  They might have extended the life of the bearer, but they could not have made them truly undying; and apparently the spells which surrounded them were more tied to the ultimate corruption of their bearers than to Sauron himself, as their corrupting influence lasted beyond the destruction of the One Ring and the personal power of Sauron himself.

       It is possible the Mouth of Sauron might have been a bearer of one such lesser ring.

       Necromancy is the use of the deaths of others in order to obtain power or work magic for oneself, and during the Dol Guldur years Sauron allowed himself to be known as the Necromancer, which indicates he probably was involved in capturing creatures and sentient beings and killing them in various inventive and horrible ways for his own purposes.  As it was during the time he was in Dol Guldur that he was most rapidly regaining power, it is likely that he had realized that he could somehow harvest the life forces of his victims to restore his own powers in some fashion.

       Tolkien also indicated that in the lands most strongly under Sauron’s control the peoples worshipped him as a god; after reading another fanfiction story that mentioned the temples in which people were slain on Sauron’s altars, I began to wonder if such practices as human sacrifice on Sauron’s altars might have added to the realization by Sauron that such deaths enhanced his own power and allowed him to return to might.  After the loss of his Ring Sauron became for a time a formless spirit of malice and envy in the waste places of Middle Earth.  Something had to help him begin to accrue power again; and so I postulated that such worship in places such as Harad might have begun the process of him returning to might, after which he would set his own servants to replicating the acts which assisted him to regain power so as to multiply the effect and speed the day on which he might crush his enemies completely.  It is likely that during the Dol Guldur years he was also capturing passing individuals and torturing and killing them in ways designed to enhance particular strengths or powers he was working on, which would further increase the horror surrounding him.

       Yet is was unlikely that the Haradrim and the Rhunim started out worshipping Sauron.  Most likely, as was true of the Northern Edain, they began with awareness of the Valar from the days they freely visited Middle Earth and worshipped them first, with Sauron finding ways to corrupt such worship over time so as to appropriate that worship and its effects to himself.

       The mightiest southern empire in our world was that of Egypt, which retained its identity for thousands of years; it seemed to make sense that if the portion of Middle Earth where Gondor and Arnor grew was a proto-Europe, then Harad was a proto-Egypt.  There were several different cultures that grew in Egypt and lived side by side--in the Nile Valley were the sedentary farmers who settled in villages and growing towns and cities; in the wildernesses the nomadic tribes, each of which developed its own small pantheon of gods and traditions.  Then as central government grew over all these individual groupings, many of these local gods began to be lumped together.  The Scarab, or dung beetle sun god, was one image of the sun with the ball of the sun containing proto-life being rolled eternally across the sky by an invisible beetle.  Another image of the sun god was as Horus, the golden falcon, the bolt of power from on high which often goes unseen until it appears to drop right out of the sun itself onto its prey and enemies.  Then there was Ra, the humanoid idea of the sun on his bark sailing the river of the sky to bring light to the world during the day, and sailing the rivers of the underworld during the night to bring him back to the east to start it all over again the next day.  Centralized government accepted all these images of the sun god, and indicated different aspects showed different powers of the sun.

       Similarly with the various gods of death being brought together and then sorted out into different parts of the expected processes of death, with the guide of the dead bringing the souls of those who’d passed from this world before the great judge, who weighed their souls against the Feather of Truth.

       I appropriated many of the Egyptian gods and goddesses and twisted their names and worship a bit to make them more appropriate to Middle Earth and the nature of the Valar, making the sun as a symbol of Manwë and Neryet as the Lady of Stars predominant; and showed Morgoth and then Sauron seeking to draw the worship of all the others to themselves.  Set becomes Seti, the Haradri embodiment of Morgoth; and the story of Isis and Osiris becomes substituted for the tale of Eärendil and Elwing and the Silmaril; while in Haradri tradition the coming of the other gods to cast out Seti was in revenge for the loss of Osiri from their number, which I admit is from the Norse tale of Baldur the Beautiful.

       And so, if the land of Harad is familiar, it is intentional.  Slavery is endemic; their leadership has been dominated by Sauron and the forces of Mordor for at least the last age if not longer.  And Sauron, known as the Eastern Lord or the Death Eater, seeks to stamp out as much of the worship of the rest of the pantheon as possible, but remains aware that to do so completely may be counterproductive.  The Valar have vowed not to return to the mortal lands and do not appear to be paying a great deal of attention to what happens there; if some in Harad should wish to pay them what he sees as empty honor, as long as the deaths on his own altars continue, what does he care?

       But oppression isn’t tolerated indefinitely, and it is inevitable that eventually Sauron’s rule will be resented in Harad.  And if Aragorn’s own trip to Harad after leaving the service of Ecthelion should have coincided with a time when such unhappiness should begin making itself known in the royal household of Harad----

       I used several Egyptian name elements and conventions.  Nefir in Egyptian was a name element that meant beautiful; ner is an element of the name of Neryet, and ini and ani have become, in my adaptation of the naming, feminine endings.  Nefirnerini’s name, therefore, would roughly mean Beautiful daughter of the Lady of Stars or something similar; while her mother’s name Nefiramonrani would mean something to the effect of beautiful daughter filled with the light of the Sun.

       Sea’ and Sa’ are honorifics I created that indicate the priesthood (feminine and masculine) of the individual so named; while An’ indicates one who has been crowned Farozi.

       The idea of the black Dúnedain was inspired by the Ethiopian Jews.  Apparently during one of the diasporas a group of Jews migrated to Africa and were welcomed into a black tribe there.  Those who married them apparently accepted conversion to Judaism, and their descendants have black skins and appear to be negroid in all features; but they live as Jews, practicing the Jewish faith, honoring Jewish holidays, reading the Torah in Hebrew, having synagogues, and even keeping track of Levite and Cohenim families.  When the Jews of the rest of the world became aware of them there was much discussion as to whether these could indeed be considered Jewish--until DNA testing became possible.

       It had become known that those of Cohenim lineage, those descended father to son from Aaron the brother of Moses, had a particular marker gene that was not seen in non-Cohenim families.  In testing for the marker gene in the Africanized Jewish tribe in Ethiopia it was learned that those of identified Cohenim lineage had the same marker gene seen in their caucasian brethren.  They are now accepted by Israel as being as fully Jewish and acceptable for citizenship as any other Jew.

       If it has happened in our world, it seemed possible that the Dúnedain might also have experienced a similar phenomenom.  And it is always interesting to play "what if?" and imagine an extra ship that got blown even further afield than the ones accounted for by those who landed near Elendil in what became Arnor and those who landed near the Mouths of the Sea and founded Gondor along with Anárion and Isildur.

       In my vision of Middle Earth Aragorn is quite a contrast to Denethor.  Raised to be a Dunedain Ranger of the North, he knows servants are not to be belittled and ignored, and he sees the caring for a servant or former slave as no different from caring for a wounded soldier or a great lord or lady suffering from a dread malady.  He will serve them all the same.  He and Arwen are secure enough in their own royalty that they do not allow the burden of expectations of separation of classes to deter them from what needs doing and what they are best suited to doing.

       In my version of Arwen, she also carries the healing abilities of the descendants of Eärendil just as do her father, brothers, and cousins however many times removed; and by aiding her father over the millennia of her life she has become an herbalist whose knowledge is now invaluable to her husband and to the other healers serving in the Houses of Healing. 

       Aragorn must have been quite a shock to those who accounted themselves the powers of Gondor.  He serves among the healers, and will cleanse the ill, injured, and dying; he cares for his own garden when he is home; he cooks for himself and has learned, in over eight decades of life, to cook well, whether on the road or settled in his own houseplace, whether in Imladris, a keep in the Angle, or the Citadel of Minas Anor; he sings with gladness and shares the lore he learned in his adar’s home with others; he has learned the languages of his world; he has learned to use his gifts.  He must have dreaded the times when those he came to care for and whom he saw simply as friends left him to return to their own lands and homes and families.

       Ruvemir has come to be a part of my world of post-Mordor Middle Earth, the human dwarf forensic sculptor who received the commission to create a memorial to the Pheriannath who came out of the obscurity of the Shire to aid in the War of the Ring, and who must recreate the image of Frodo from the memories of those who knew him, served him, loved him, miss and honor him.  In doing so, he has come to serve as father confessor to hobbits and kings and innkeepers, helping each to deal more effectively with grief and loss as so many wish to understand how Frodo could have begun to fade and they remained either unaware of it or felt helpless to aid him.

       He has become a friend to Aragorn, in some ways serving as a surrogate for Merry, Pippin, and Sam when they are home in their own land.  He’s the one Man who can move freely between the Shire and lands of Men and Elves in my version of the early Fourth Age.  And his own developing love for the Frodo Baggins he has never seen with his own eyes allows him to become the extension of us as we look at the stories he has learned and that he collects.

       Faralion, the minstrel who created the Lay of Frodo of the Nine Fingers, is a far different character.  He is familiar with court etiquette, has moved through the keeps of lords of the realm.  He is attracted to the King who yet bewilders him.  He is slowly developing a relationship with Aragorn similar to that the King knows with Ruvemir, but must fight the expectations of society drummed into him throughout his life so far.  A lord who would happily walk about the Citadel followed by his hound and with a kitten on his shoulder, who sings comic songs to children as he weeds his herb garden would be a shock to the sensibilities of someone whose experience with lordship is the distance and strict protocol of Denethor’s court.

       And then, in the final chapter, we see Frodo knowing a moment of communion seen earlier from Aragorn’s point of view, then from the observations of Sa’Harpelamun; and then receiving an introduction Pippin had dreamed of--meeting the one inhabitant of Aman who shares many of his own experiences.  Frodo deserves to know such moments, isolated as he is as the only mortal now living in the Undying Lands.  I see him living a quiet, almost monkish existence on Tol Eressëa; and some of those aware of the usages of the liturgical churches may find themselves recognizing the significance of Frodo’s choice of breakfast items and his actions afterward.  After all, Tolkien himself equated the lembas with Communion Hosts.  As I’m not Roman Catholic, I have him drinking wine as well.

       I hope that others appreciate the story I’ve written and that it will continue to be happily read in the future.  Thanks for reading this far.

With much regards,
B.L. Sherrell