The long lines of wains wound like dusty streams through the countryside of Northern Ithilien on the white roads to Osgiliath at the waning of the summer.  War is never kind, though it is harsher on the conquered peoples, but to the farms and families of Gondor the Great War’s blight had hit hard.  Crops burned and trampled could not be replanted, nor were the fields able to immediately bear grain, and there was famine, alleviated though it could be by Gondor’s allies, yet even the Rohirrim suffered.  A dearth of men there also was; young men and old, both farmers and warriors, had been killed by orcs or Easterlings, and there were as yet none to replace them.  Crops withered; widows wept; maidens pined.

It is difficult to start a kingdom, even a fiefdom within a kingdom, during times of fat and plenty; to start one at the tail end of a horrific war, when hunger nips at the heels of even the wealthiest, is nigh impossible.  Yet that was the charge laid by King Elessar upon Faramir son of Denethor, erstwhile Steward of Gondor, now named Prince of Ithilien, and upon his wife Eowyn of Rohan.  Together they had toiled through the first two winters, aiding and succoring as they could, gathering unto themselves all the scattered peoples and vassals strewn abroad by the predations of the Enemy.  They and their people cared for the widowed and orphaned, the hungry and homeless, seeking to rebuild what the Dark Lord had all but crushed underfoot.  Now a bright spring had passed, and summer was waning; all about the hills and meads the shorn crops were stored in silos and warehouses, and carefully husbanded stock well-fed and watered dotted the green hills.  Houses were rethatched and chinked against the coming of the winter winds, trees pruned back and manure folded in amongst the roots.  Olives and fish were preserved in brine, onions and garlics braided into ropes and hung in attics and cellars; there was even beer in some casks in the more successful farmsteads.   Even as the last hot winds from the south died down, and the salt tang was brushed from the air by the rippling autumn, all hearts were lifted up, for now it was time for the Grand Tournament.

Gondor had held tournaments in the past, in times of peace and plenty, but pain and privation had prevented such pleasure for some time.  The threat of the Shadow had lain upon men, and thoughts of merry-making and mirth had been put aside.  Now, however, celebration could be truly made, for the immediate dangers were past; and although King Elessar still battled foes along the Bay of Belfalas and further south and east, peace reigned in Minas Tirith, and in Ithilien, its fiefdom.

Men were scarce, but greatly needed – men to reclaim land and ruin, to protect common folk who tilled the earth, to go at need to Prince Faramir or King Elessar to counter the raids upon the southern coasts of Gondor, where the people of Umbar still swarmed and stung, seeking revenge for losses and the recovery of their old ports.  So the call went out for a tournament from the King himself (advised, no doubt, by his Privy Council, who watched the war chests), to draw in strong men and brave, to try their strength in arms, to cement alliances, bond vassals, build marriages and ties. Thus it came to pass that from all lands in Gondor and abroad, to the north, the south and the west, fiefdoms and small kingdoms and forgotten tribes, rode the wains and waggons, rolling and jerking and bumping across powdery sun-drenched roads and cart tracks, pulled by mules, rouncies, and ponies:  Small waggons, with only tents and supplies, driven by a squire, while the knight in battered armour rode ahead on his horse; covered waggons laden with fodder and weapons pulled by pairs of mules, sporting two or more shields apiece, each with its separate heraldry; small chariots with but a single knight, having neither squire nor servant, seeking good fortune; penniless knights alone on their footsore destriers, proud tattered pennants floating along behind their lances.  The River, also, teemed with travelers, flocked with boats like waterfowl; and on the many barges were waggons with locked brakes, folded tents, uneasy palfreys and knights in their armour, draped over the sides of the barges, watching the banks of the Great River slip slowly by, or discoursing together in knots, forming alliances, sharing news, making friends.

When at last all came to Osgiliath, that once-magnificent seat of kings, ruined by the mangonels of the Enemy, they were greeted by its shining new bridges, east and west, springing from shore to shore in arches of pearl; the western walls, rebuilt, threw pennants into the air, snapping and dancing, a rainbow of colour above the brave white ramparts.  And when waggons crossed the bridges to the staging areas on the eastern side there were trees – saplings yet, but with the promise of beauty and great girth – standing as sentinels besides the guard houses:  Gifts, it was said, of the Elves of Mirkwood to the new King, just as the bridges had been gifts from the Dwarves of Erebor.  Within the ruins of the eastern city a great clearing had been made and stands constructed; the staging area for the tournament.  And to the west, where there still remained some grassy areas, was a massive city of tents, which housed the knights and squires, the reeves and armourers, the servants and kinsmen – denizens of a temporary village, bound together in both camaraderie and competition.  Outside the Tent City there dwelt the merchants, the booksmen and gamblers, the grocers and sops-in-wine, the fortune-tellers and businessmen, taking advantage of the influx of people and sales.  And all around Osgiliath, in the villages to the west of the River, inns were overcrowded with widows seeking alliances, old men wanting husbands for their spinster daughters, young men in quest of work in the houses of the visitors, as squires or servants or lackeys.   Yet in the center of Eastern Osgiliath there dwelt the Lord Faramir and his Lady, in hastily rebuilt mansions; the heart, it was said, of Ithilien in truth.  For as long as Prince Faramir lived in Osgiliath, the grace of Numenor resided there, and drew all good people to it.

The man who organized the quartering of this throng was hard-put and very busy, but he reveled in the work, loving his lord and lady, and wishing for the resurrection of Osgiliath of old.  There were choice sites there, corded off, for the most important knights, and indeed many had, by letter or messenger, reserved such; thus it was with surprise and amusement mixed he faced the child who had addressed him with,  “My good man, that site will be much too small for my master!”

“Indeed!” said the Quartermaster, looking down at the child.  “And what, pray tell, does your master think he is doing, sending a child to seek lodgings for him?  He ought to see to it himself, if he is so wrong-minded to have no proper squire.”

“Oh, I like that!” exclaimed the child indignantly.  “Look a little closer, my good man, and prove to me that you aren’t blind, or ignorant at the very least, and perhaps I’ll forgive your sauce, and give you a proper explanation in exchange for a proper site.”

The Quartermaster peered down at him, and indeed was both startled and abashed to discover the child was not a child, but a perian, standing with a piqued expression upon his small face, and clutching in his teeth a long curved pipe that brushed the tops of his furry feet. “I beg your pardon!” he cried, removing his cap.  “You must forgive me, Master Perian, for in my haste to see to all these visitors, I mistook you for a small boy!  And perhaps my eyes are truly failing me,” he added, looking more closely, “for I ought to have recognized you for what you are, as I had opportunity to observe the periannath who were the friends of the King Elessar and King Eomer – you are a relative, perhaps?”

“Much better!” smiled the perian, appeased.  “Yes, indeed!  Peregrin son of Paladin, one of the Tower Guards, a Knight of the City I’m told he is – my uncle, if you can believe it – I am Bandobras Took, son of Reginard, and I am the squire and reeve of Sir Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale.  Many long leagues we’ve traveled, and I’m fair beat, I’m not afraid to tell you – through Mirkwood, and down the river we’ve come, oh dear!  Looking for a place to spread my pallet for more than one night I am, and mighty anxious for a bath and a hot meal.  And I tell you again, sir, that this tiny tract of land” – he pointed to the rough map drawn on the wooden gate of the Tent City – “is much too small for my master and our things.  We’ve got three big tents, you see.”

“Three!” exclaimed the Quartermaster.  “How many are in your party?”

“Just the three of us,” said the perian; “Myself, my master, and the armourer.  But we’ve got our supplies, see, and all my cooking gear – not but I’ve had much chance to use it up to now!  And we’ve got my master’s destrier and his palfrey, and our two ponies, and the four mules that pulled our waggons.”

“You can stable them at the north end of the city,” suggested the Quartermaster, not liking to give away the prime sites so early in the season, “or picket them off to the north.”

“That won’t be to my master’s liking at all,” said the perian sadly, giving his pipe a couple of puffs.  Heavy blue smoke curled around his toes, and he blew a tantalizing ring floating above the Quartermaster’s head.  “Likes to have his horses nearby, he does, and his destrier’s something of a handful – picks fights with other horses – very aggressive.”  He shook his head and popped and puffed on the pipe some more.  “No, I’m afraid it’ll be that one, or no one, you see.”  And he pointed a finger at a big, prime site, next to the well, and nearest the outer village of merchants, suitable for a prince or great lord.  The Quartermaster pursed his lips.

“I would hate to give your master disappointment – “ he began, but the perian interrupted him.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, glancing up at the tall man; “I forgot to mention – it must have slipped my mind, so to speak, what with all the traveling and all.  But my master did say that I was to speak politely and patiently with you, as your job’s a busy one, and to treat you as he would, and he’s a generous man, is my master – yes, indeed,” he added, thoughtfully puffing on his long pipe.  “Generous indeed – very free with his money he is.”

The Quartermaster raised his eyebrows.  “Is he, now?” he asked, smiling.  “How generous is he, Master Perian?”

“Well, look at this!” said the perian, digging in his pocket and producing ten gold pieces – a sizable sum, and nearly a year’s wages to the poor of Ithilien.  “Just gave it to me, he did, before I came in – he’s sitting by the wains now – told me to use it as I saw fit, as he’d never miss it.”  The perian jingled the coins together and cocked his head up at the Quartermaster.  “I can’t see fit to use it in any proper way yet – though I’m sure it’d come in uncommon handy to you right now, in these hard times.”

“It would indeed,” said the Quartermaster, lightly wetting his lips with his tongue, and looking down at the gold.

“It would be worth a great deal to my master,” said the perian thoughtfully, shifting the coins in his hand, “to have a good site for the tents and horses – ‘twould mean a great deal to him, indeed!  And he’d be very grateful, you know – for a good site – and grateful men are generous men, are they not, good sir?”

 “I have heard so,” said the man carefully, “though I’ve not experienced it much of late.”

“Ah, but times are changing,” said the perian smiling.  “Things are looking up, you know.  War’s over, crops are in – it will be a time of plenty soon, and those who have the wherewithal will have a bit of a leg up, if you catch my meaning.  But if you can’t help my master,” he said regretfully, making to put the coins in his pocket, “We’ll camp outside the city, in the woods on the south side of the village.”

“I would regret indeed,” said the Quartermaster, staying the perian’s hand anxiously, “to make your master retreat to such an inconvenient place!  Wet it is, too, Master Perian – not good for the frog, you know.  And the frog is such an important part of a war horse’s hoof.  I think – “ he eyed the gold greedily “ – I can provide suitable room for your master and his tents.”

“Can you indeed!” smiled the perian.  “Are we come to an accord, then?”  He held out his right hand, lightly cradling the gold in the other, and gripped the pipe stem in his strong white teeth.

“Done!” said the Quartermaster, striking the Hobbit's palm with his right hand and receiving the gold in the other.  “Have your tents erected in that site, then.  There are men waiting to receive you and aid in situating yourselves.  They have already been paid,” he advised the perian, “but they, like myself, are poor men, and though willing to work have been pressed hard these past years.”

“Say no more!” laughed the perian.  “My master’s got gold aplenty.  There won’t be any wanting around his tents.  And if you could, when the grocers arrive, could you be sure to tell them to bring round the best of their wares?  For a month or more we’ve been on short rations, and I won’t deny some proper victuals will be mighty welcome.”

“I will do that!” promised the Quartermaster with a laugh.  “Anything to oblige Sir Lasgalen of Dale.”

“I knew I’d like you,” said the perian with a wink, and went out the wooden gate to where his master’s effects waited on a green lawn.

So it was that Lasgalen of Dale’s two great wains rolled into the Tent City.  They were covered in richly decorated canvas, and the sideboards were carved and gilded and marked all round with Dwarven runes.  And soon it was whispered abroad amongst all the local folk that the Knight of Dale’s reeve, a Halfling, was so free with his master’s gold that all the best food and fodder were brought to him, the armourer’s tent glowed with fire and roared with bellows, the oven next to the forge bubbled and sang and hissed with meats and cheeses, and good wine flowed in the jeweled goblets of his master.  The horses were quartered behind stout fences and their hooves cushioned with the finest hay, and they were fed with good grains and sweet grasses.  Folk would walk by and peek inside the pavilion, to catch a glimpse of this prosperous and worldly knight, but all they would see would be the Halfling, sitting on a stool outside the opening of the tent, peeling potatoes and puffing on his long pipe, while the armourer, a stout and sweating dwarf, sang or cursed in his own harsh tongue and wielded snips and nippers, hammer and tongs over his fire.  Rumor and speculation inflamed the images they had gotten of him, as he rode into the Tent City upon his huge destrier, clad cap-a-pie in bright armour figured with verdigris, crossed oak branches on his shield, his shining helm flanked by bats’ wings and surmounted by a plume of green feathers; many called out greetings to him, which he acknowledged silently, with but a wave of his gauntleted hand.  And betimes casual onlookers would catch sight of him, out of his armour but obscured by a great green robe with a cowled hood, walking from his tent to the paddock or out to speak to either his armourer or his reeve, but no other sign of Lasgalen of Dale was seen, neither face nor voice, until the tournament opened five days later.

2.

“Sit here, I beg you, my Lady; there is a cushion placed on the chair for your comfort, and the screens can be shifted with the sun,” said Belecthor solicitously, gesturing to the large, ornately carved chairs placed beneath the draped pavilion overlooking the lists.  Eowyn first glanced down at the tourney field, to make sure she had adequate view, then nodded to the Ceremony Master and lowered herself on the rightmost chair, arranging the folds of her blue dress about her.  Her husband Faramir sat beside her, garbed in silver and black, with a simple fillet encircling his dark hair.  His eyes, too, were on the tournament grounds, and the lists within; from the great quadrangle inside the four stands he could descry the tilt, and on either end stands for the heralds, and places for the knights to await their turn at the joust.  Great banners were hung from the swathed stands, heraldic emblems of the knights and warriors represented; pennants and flags flew from all corners of the stadium.  The sun shone high, with white clouds rushing past her in the stiff breeze; birds circled overhead, mistaking the grandstands for a battlefield.  Faramir had had little zeal for the concept of the tournament when it had been suggested to him by Elessar’s Privy Council; he preferred to deal with envoys and ambassadors, not games.  But now that he sat above the field, filled with nobility, gentry, and villagers from all around, and the hum of excitement vibrated in the late summer air, he felt his blood quicken, and wished for the first time his position did not prevent him from entering the tournament himself.

Indeed, it had been at great personal cost (two nights’ broken sleep) he had checked Eowyn’s desire to fight in the foot combat; at last only a firm word from Queen Undomiel herself had restrained his wife; she at least seemed resigned, and even excited by the prospect of scrutinizing such valor, and in less deadly circumstances than most.  Indeed, as Faramir observed her, he noted her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, and smiled; she seemed to him still a maiden, young and untried, though in his heart he knew otherwise of her.  Belecthor sat behind them, and Faramir heard him speaking to Eradan and Egalmoth from the King’s Privy Council, discussing the housing of the knights who had been streaming to Gondor since the end of spring, and the great camps that had been struck when Osgiliath’s Tent City had been opened.  A host of noble ladies filed in, nodding and curtseying to their Lord and Lady; he nodded absently to them, letting their chatter flow past him as the voices of birds.  But Eowyn attended, and glanced over at her friend Eodild, and they shared a smile; the conversation of the ladies of the court consisted of the knights themselves; their clothing, and their manners, and their jewels, and their marriage prospects.  Eowyn had little interest in those qualities; to her instead the lances, and the swords, and the cuirasses of the knights were of greater importance.  Yet the chief focus of her attention was on the horses, some of which had come from many leagues hence; she wished to see if any foreign steed could match the ones of her country, or perhaps be improved by selective breeding – at a price, of course; Eowyn was growing ever conscious of economics, in her own kingdom and in her brother’s, and the horse-trade was down these past years.

The stands filled with people, and the noise grew, and with it everyone’s quickening excitement; at last Belecthor, with a look round the quadrangle, signaled down to the trumpeters on the ground below, and they played stirring music on their long, cloth-covered horns.  Then Faramir, at a motion from Belecthor, stood and addressed the now silent crowd.

“My people of Gondor!” he cried, and got no further for the moment, as cheers, whistles, applause and the stamping of feet drowned him out.  He turned to Eowyn, who laughed and said:  “How happy they are!  Let us hope they get their fill of excitement!” and Faramir smiled.

“My people of Gondor,” he tried again when some of the noise had subsided, “and all the outlying lands!  Druadan, Emyn Arnen, Lossarnach, Erui, Sirith and Celos – “ he was forced to pause again, as all the vassals, villagers, and local nobility applauded and cried aloud.  “Linhir and Pelargir; Serni and Gilrain; Ciril, Ringlo, and Edhellond, Dol Amroth – “ there was an especially loud acclamation at that   “ – Rohan – “ The noise became nigh unbearable, and many started a chant of “Eowyn!  Eowyn!  Our White Lady!” until the lady arose and gracefully bowed her head to her subjects, to their great gratification.  “And those from the far lands, from Lond Daer, Loeg Ningloron, and Esgaroth of the Long Lake!  We welcome you to Osgiliath, first chief seat of the realm of Gondor; once destroyed, but being rebuilt – the heart of Ithilien!”  There was a great tumult at this, and Faramir again paused, waiting for calm to speak again.  “Here we arrest ourselves from our great labors in tilth and tillage, masonry and carpentry, farm, field, and husbandry, to do gentle war upon each other!”  There was laughter at that, and many cried aloud.  “Here you shall see archery and wrestling, foot combat and races, and jousting – “  more cheers  “ – And are many knights gathered in this trial of arms, seeking banishment from care, and testing of skills, but most of all, the Prize!”  The people shouted approval, but briefly this time, wanting to hear what the prize might be.  “Our right and noble King Elessar – “  The stands erupted in cacophony as all people rose to their feet, chanting the name of their king, until Faramir waved his arms for silence.  “King Elessar has charged me with awarding a prize to the mightiest knight in joust and foot combat; this knight, when all is won and his opponents vanquished” (This wasn’t quite true, as the judging was to be done in the awarding of points instead) “shall receive from the fair hand of Lady Eowyn herself, five hundred gold pieces!”

Faramir stepped back and let his people call and hurrah and cry out, inwardly pleased that his poor folk, who had been so sorely tried by war and hunger, could unite in the enjoyment of such a glorious pastime.  After a space of two minutes or so he stepped forward and motioned for silence once more.  “So let us begin this Great Tournament of Ithilien with the Parade of Warriors!” he finished, then sat down, and under cover of the noise whispered to a nearby servant to get him a cooling draught of wine.

At this point Eowyn sat forward, leaning her silk-clad arms upon the barrier, and craned her white neck to look down at the leeches’ corner, from which the knights began their march.  The warm breeze stirred her golden hair and the light veil upon her head, and the sun fell athwart her fair face, illuminating her countenance in her husband’s eyes.  He reached out to her and took her hand; she smiled and him and grasped it, then let go and returned her gaze to the tilt.

There was a long stream of knights and warriors, trailed by their esquires and other retainers carrying lances and swords; heralds there were also interspersed in the van, crying aloud the names and provenances of the various knights and noble men.  Their shields were bright and their surcoats of many colors; pennants, flags, and standards flew from lances and bearers, coats of arms announcing the origins of each knight as he passed.  Some knights were garbed gorgeously, with shining helms and richly decorated armour; others were humbler, ambling forward on thin palfreys with naught but frog-mouthed helmets and chain mail.  Upon the horses’ backs the sun flashed on crinet and shaffron, crupper and peytral; some were covered in mail trappers, and some in simple saddles and tack.  Faramir sipped his chilled yellow wine and watched absently, more interested in what his wife and her friend were saying to each other about the destriers and war horses beneath them, than in the splendor of heraldry.

“Sickle hocked – that may restrict his freedom of movement somewhat.”  “Aye, and did you see his calf knees?”  “A docked tail!  What a horrible thing to do to such a beautiful horse!”  “Yes, but see how it is tucked out of the way of the crupper?”  “Ah, now there is a well-set neck!”  “Yes, but see its lightness of bone!  It does not bear the weight of its armour well.”  “Cow-hocked, that one; see how it affects its action?”  “The forelegs are set too close together.”  “What a narrow poll that one has!  I am sure it is not intelligent enough to face a charge.”  “Now, see those powerful quarters – that is a strong horse, there.”  “Aye, and good action too.”  “Oh, heavy in the head, that one – but with good, strong forelegs.”  This went on for some time as the knights filed past, and after some time Faramir stopped listening, but then he heard Eowyn say sharply, “Hold!  What manner of destrier is that?”

A bellowing neigh, like a harsh heralding trumpet, issued from the mouth of a large destrier, bearing a knight in green armour.  This horse was not an attractive animal, having an overlarge head, hooked nose, and large nostrils.  Its clean, hard limbs were overshadowed by the knees, which jutted over the pasterns.  The rear legs were cow-hocked.  But the hindquarters were deep and round-bodied, of great musculature and strength; its huge hooves, nearly the size of dinner plates, were almost obscured by the rich feathering and enormous fullered shoes, the edges of which were worked up the front of the hooves themselves and spiked, so that they tore at the earth as the horse pranced and pawed.  Its armour was equally imposing, the shaffron’s eye opening being flanged like a flaming lid, and beneath the green plume were dragons’ wings sprouting around a vicious central spike.  The nose guard curved inward and was formed to resemble sharp teeth, giving the horse a fearsome appearance.  The crinet was elaborately worked with many individual scales, so that it more resembled a snake’s or lizard’s neck; the peytral was spiked in the form of a dragon’s head flanked by flaring claws.  Its cruppers were also like reptilian scales and there was a spike above the tail.  Even the long stirrups were fashioned to look like claws.

But the destrier, fearsome though he was, was overshadowed in splendor by the knight he bore.  No surcoat veiled this armour, worked richly in verdigris whorls and runes, wound about, no doubt, with spells to protect the wearer from harm.  The frog-mouthed helm had an unusually large eye-slit, protected by twisted ropes of metal from top to bottom, and the reinforcing plate was flanked by broad sweeps of dragons’ wings.  Over the eye slit were set jewels in the form of red lizard’s eyes, enameled about with gold.  The bevor of the helmet was decoratively pierced and slit, and set about the top with golden dragon’s teeth.  The huge pauldrons were made of interlocking metal and fashioned, as the horse’s armour, to look like dragon’s scales, and the besagues like dragon’s claws, flaring out from the breast.  The lance rest, beneath the right besauge, was also a claw.  On the charnel was a dragon’s head with red enameled eyes.  The knight’s manifers were elaborately flanged, like bat’s wings, and the gauntlets were dragon’s claws, the fingers tipped with sharpened, curved points.  The poleyns, between the green intaglio cuisse and greave, were spiked and set with flaring wings, and the sabatons in the dragon-claw stirrups were spiked.  The knight carried a great lance, with a winged vamplate and a coronel fashioned like a dragon’s head spouting flame from its open mouth.  The escutcheon, slung at his back, had a field of green, and its charge was two oak branches, crossed, bearing many acorns and leaves.  The crowds fell silent as he passed, alone, with neither herald nor squire.  The sun gleamed on his fine armour and the breeze stirred his green plume, but the knight did not acknowledge the people; he let his horse neigh and swagger down the length of the tilt towards the main pavilion where the Lord and Lady of Ithilien sat.

The richly tooled armour on man and horse spoke of great skill, and indeed as he approached Faramir murmured aside to Eradan, “That armour is Dwarven make, or I am no judge of metalwork!” 

“Aye,” said Eradan thoughtfully, “but it is no Dwarf riding such a massive beast – and Dwarves do not sell their work cheaply!”  In silence the Green Knight advanced, and when he came to the pavilion to do obeisance to the Lord and Lady, he paused, as though he observed them as curiously as they did him.  Eowyn leaned even further forward, eagerly admiring the destrier, and Faramir in great envy and consternation stared at the knight’s suit of armour.  Then the Green Knight tipped his lance towards them in salute, and inclined his helmeted head.  The destrier gave another bellow and pawed the ground, then turned and stalked away, tossing its huge head and snapping its teeth at the other war horses, making them shy away from him in nervousness.

Faramir took a deep breath, and said in awe, “Who was that splendid knight!” just as his wife asked, “What manner of horse was that?  I have never seen his like before!”  In their box the nobility were buzzing with excited curiosity, and Belecthor turned and asked the royal herald, “Well, who was he?”  The herald, having observed the design on the Green Knight’s shield, sifted through his letters patents until he found it, and said to them,

“His name is Sir Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale, my lords and ladies.”

Faramir frowned, and Eowyn said, “Lasgalen?  That is an Elvish name, is it not, my Lord?”

“It is Sindarin, a language I am not familiar with,” said Faramir doubtfully; “I believe it means ‘green leaves.’”

“But there are no Elves in Dale,” protested one of the ladies.

“Nay!” said Eowyn.  “But does not an Elven King live within a few days’ march of Esgaroth?”

“He does,” said Egalmoth, “and perhaps it is now more customary for the men of Esgaroth to give their sons Elvish names than it was in times past.”

“Perhaps,” muttered Faramir.  “And Dale!  It explains the Dwarvish armour.  It could only have come from Erebor.”

“Oh, yes, Lasgalen of Dale!” exclaimed Belecthor suddenly, standing and leaning out of the box to catch a parting glimpse of the Green Knight’s retreating back.  “Yes, I have just remembered; I have heard tales of him out of the Tent City; already he and his retainers are making themselves a true spectacle before his fellow knights.”

“In what way?” asked Eradan curiously.

“What, is he a braggart?” laughed Egalmoth.  “With such armour and such a destrier, he has some cause!”

Belecthor sat back and folded his thin hands over his knee. “Nay, Lord Egalmoth, no braggart is Lasgalen of Dale,” he said with a smile.  “But I have heard from my men, who labor in the Tent City, aiding the knights and their esquires in their dealings with the merchants, that the reeve of this knight has spent gold like water, procuring the best site, and the best goods to be found in Ithilien.  It was said he bribed Inborg, whom I hired to see to the housing of the knights, securing for his master the finest spot in the Tent City – near the well, close to the ice house, and large enough for his master’s three great tents.  Yet the Green Knight has rarely been seen outside his quarters; indeed, when he arrived five days ago, many esquires and reeves and sundry other knights came to him desiring to know him, yet all invitations are rejected.  He never leaves his tent save he is cloaked and hooded, his face obscured, and he speaks to no one.  It is strange,” the Ceremonies Master mused, “as the feelings of fraternity and brotherhood have so far lightened the hearts of those in the Tent City, and when one walks therein it seems more as a great fair than a tournament of warriors, that this one knight refuses to foregather with his brethren.  Yet great feasts he must set for himself and his retainers, if reports of his grocer’s bills are any indication.”

“Perhaps it is just that he is so rich, he has no need for economy,” said Faramir.

“He must be rich indeed, to be able to afford armour, horse, and journey, as well as all the luxuries to be found here,” said Eowyn.  She looked again at the Green Knight’s retreating back and said softly to herself, “That carriage – I have seen that carriage before.”

“How is that?” asked Faramir in surprise.  “When would you have seen a Man of Dale riding?”

“I know not,” said Eowyn.  “Yet I recognize it, but not the destrier.  It is an odd thing, that I would know the carriage of a man, but not his horse.”  She watched the knight reach the end of the tilt and turn, then squinted her eyes at him and turned her head right and left, looking intently.  At last, to Faramir’s surprise, she gave a great laugh and clutched at her husband’s arm, then leaned in to whisper secretly into his ear.

“Look!  Look!” she said.  “He rides with neither bridle nor reins!”

“What?” said Faramir, looking at her uncomprehendingly.  But Eowyn only laughed again and sat back in her chair and repeated to him:  “No reins!”  Then she lifted her head to the sun and smiled knowingly to herself, leaving her husband to puzzle it out.

3.

            There were many events taking place during the Grand Tournament:  archery, wrestling, dances and feasts as well as the jousts and foot combat.  The first two were open to all contestants; gentry as well as nobility, but in keeping with tradition the foot combat and jousts were reserved only for the nobility.   Because of this, the archery and wrestling competitions were held in a separate area to the east of the lists, and no stands erected; all stood about and watched as they could, propped on bales of hay or standing upon benches to cheer their champions on.  The foot combat contests were in a small, out-of-the-way corner outside the stadium proper, and if one were cunning one could gain the inner stadium seating, push aside the rear hangings, and watch from above:  a prime location.  But the stadium itself was set aside for the jousts.

            Not many of the competitions were concurrent, allowing the spectators to watch as many events as they desired.  The foot combat started the day, to be followed by the wrestling, but because these two affairs did not draw as many onlookers they overlapped some.  The jousts and archery competitions were held after noon, when the sun was high and hot; archery first, then, on into the earlier afternoon, the jousts.

            Lord Faramir and his bride had watched the foot combat with interest, both hoping to see the mysterious Green Knight fight, but alas!  The order of combatants for the day did not include his seal.  They could descry a perian, however, hovering anxiously overhead from the back of the stands, watching the fights, counting points, and nervously nibbling on his fingers.  Eowyn smiled at him, remembering the two hobbits she had known well, but Faramir was troubled by his presence, knowing the Little Folk rarely traveled this far from home.  Before the foot combat was quite over, the little hobbit ducked back inside the stadium and disappeared from sight.

            When they had regained the stands, Eowyn asked Belecthor for the order of competitors, and he handed her a sheet of parchment, which he had secreted in an inner pocket of his doublet.  Shading the afternoon sun with her hand (causing the Ceremonies Master to hiss angrily at his servants that the screens must be moved, for the comfort of the Lady), Eowyn scanned the list and found that Lasgalen of Dale was to joust opposite Malbeth of Celos in the fourth match of the day.  She looked upon the small shield inscribed beside the name and smiled to herself, murmuring softly, “Oakleaf of Dale!”  Faramir, who had been talking over the kingdom’s accounts with Eradan, glanced in her direction and frowned.

            The jousts were exciting to watch and therefore the most popular event; the stands were filled to overflowing and the voices of the spectators drowned out the heralds announcing the knights’ names.  But near-silence fell when the first two knights, one in pale blue and the other in ragged brown, faced each other down the length of the tilt and set the butts of their lances into their rests beneath their besagues.  The herald standing to the east of the tilt glanced left and right to determine whether both combatants were prepared, then dropped his upraised pennant to signal the charge and stepped quickly out of the line of attack.

            The two destriers were spurred forward, their hooves sending up clouds of dust and throwing back clods of earth to either side.  The armour gleamed in the high sun and the surcoats billowed out.  Then with a crash, the knights came together; the lance of the Brown Knight struck the Blue full in the center of his charnel, throwing him off balance, but not before his own coronel had snapped against his opponent’s helmet, sending him spinning to the earth in a haze of yellow dust.

            “Do we follow traditional rules of engagement?” Eowyn asked Belecthor.

            “What mean you, my Lady?” asked Belecthor, applauding with the rest.

            “I mean, does the Blue Knight win the Brown Knight’s horse for unseating him?”

            “Nay, my lady,” said a voice on the other side of Belecthor; Egalmoth’s.  “A slight change in the regulations was required, as many of the competitors are poor, and further beggaring them in such a happy event would be unthinkable.  We are here to forge ties, not tear them asunder.”

            “That is as well,” said Eodild; “the Brown Knight’s horse is less than desirable.  See the fistulations upon his hocks!”

            “Indeed,” said Eowyn, “I do believe that is the reason he threw his master.”

            As the Brown Knight was able to regain his steed, the combatants once again faced each other down the tilt, and the pennant was dropped.  For a second time the knights spurred their destriers forward.  This time, though, when the Brown Knight’s coronel came into contact with the other’s cuirass, the lance shattered, and the coronel flew into the stands, to be caught by an enthusiastic young boy.  It took the guards stationed around the stands a moment to convince the youth to return the coronel to its owner, which he did with a look of sharp disappointment.

            “That is one point to each,” said Faramir.

            A new lance was brought to the Brown Knight and the charge was made.  This time, the Blue Knight was unhorsed.  “Two to Brown,” said Eradan.

            “Who is he?” asked Egalmoth.

            Eodild glanced down at the parchment in her Lady’s hand.  “Hallas of Lossarnach.”  When Eradan grunted disapprovingly, Eowyn asked:  “Do you known anything to his discredit, Eradan?”

            “Not he, but his father,” said Eradan, folding his hands over his fat stomach and settling his many chins into his collar.  His face was red and he was sweating.  “Baldor of Lossarnach is a merchant who holds extensive lands around the ports of Pelargir.  There are reports of trade with Harad.”

            “Is that not illegal?” frowned Eowyn.

            “It is,” supplied Faramir.  “Long did my father seek to discourage such trade, but the merchant princes of South Ithilien and Ethir Anduin have their own codes of honor.”

            Eradan sighed, and Belecthor murmured, “Disgraceful!”  But none who heard him knew whether he referred to the merchant princes’ treason, or to the Blue Knight’s finally being unhorsed, giving the victory to Hallas of Lossarnach. 

            During the interval, when the next two knights were being rallied, a servant boy came by with chilled wine and fruit, and Eradan asked the screen to be moved again.  “It is too much sun for a fat man,” he added with a jovial laugh, taking a goblet in his jeweled fingers.  The sun swung slowly to the west during the next two meets, as knight met knight in a flurry of hooves and dust and the splintered remains of lances, and at last to Eowyn’s satisfaction Lasgalen of Dale stood to the tilt against Malbeth of Celos.

            Malbeth was a man renowned for his deeds of prowess in war and peace, waging both with success and valor.  His steed was black, polished black was his armour, and his lance was tipped with flaming silver.  High and dark was his helm, crowned with a white plume, and his eyes were hidden behind the thin slit in his visor.  By comparison Lasgalen looked pallid and wan as a pale flower, sitting upright upon the saddle and gripping his lance negligently against his besague.  His terrible destrier snorted and pawed, the tooth-like edges of his shoes scraping great fissures in the earth beneath his hooves, the sun glinting from the flaring eyepieces in his shaffron.  Malbeth’s horse shifted uncomfortably at the display.

            The herald lifted the pennant, glanced this way and that, and signaled the charge.  The Green Knight’s destrier screamed once, a horrible bellow, and flew snorting and whistling down the tilt.  All in the stands gasped.  A shaft of sunlight glanced upon the Green Knight’s armour, igniting him, and he flashed before them, leaning into his lance toward his opponent.  Malbeth, however, had difficulty spurring on his unnerved horse, which finally leaped forward into the charge, but because of the larger destrier’s speed and ferocity the two knights met further down the tilt than intended.

            They came together with a sound of lightning striking.  Lances splintered and flew apart like fireworks and a spray of sparks lit up the heavy air.  The crowd rose to their feet and cheered delightedly.

            “Amazing!” panted Eradan, clapping enthusiastically.  “I have never seen Malbeth of Celos so evenly matched.  I had thought him to dominate this joust, but if this other knight’s prowess matches his, we shall see some struggles indeed!”

            “Malbeth is certainly a mighty knight,” smiled Faramir, also applauding; “few are his equal.  But perhaps Lasgalen of Dale will be his undoing.”

            “Why has he a child as a squire?” queried Egalmoth indignantly.  “That is no place for so small a boy!”

            “That is not a boy,” scoffed Eowyn.  “That is a holbytla, a halfling of the North.”

            “A perian,” Faramir added, seeing Egalmoth’s confusion.

            “Halfling or no, he seems most wroth with his master,” chuckled Eradan, taking another goblet of wine.  Indeed as they looked, they could see the hobbit scolding the Green Knight, shaking with anger and wagging his finger at him.  The knight only shook his head and took another lance from the armourer, a stout and grinning dwarf dressed in green, his long beard forked and braided and tucked into a richly worked belt.

            “Perhaps he is annoyed at his master losing a lance so soon in the match,” suggested Belecthor.

            “I know not,” chuckled Faramir.  “But the periannath are amusing, whether they are mirthful or wrathful.”

            “It is their size,” said Eowyn, looking at her husband with a frown.  “One is always tempted to think them children, but yet their deeds are as noble as our own, if not greatly surpassing them.”

            “Forgive me,” smiled Faramir, bowing over her hand.  “But you did not have Samwise son of Hamfast call you foolish to your face, with hands on hips as he defended his master, railing you that you had no more sense than an orc.  It is, indeed, one of my fondest memories.”

            “Nay,” she answered, appeased, “but nor did you have Meriadoc son of Saradoc at your side in battle, helping to slay the Witch-King of Angmar.”  And as there was nothing Faramir could say to this, he did not reply, but attended instead to the joust.

            The knights positioned themselves at the tilt once more.  More cautiously this time did the herald give the signal to start; he was unwilling to stand in the way of the Green Knight’s war horse.  Again the destrier screamed and charged; again the knights, black and green, met at the tilt; but this time Malbeth’s lance struck true in the center of the cuirass.  The Green Knight did not fall, though, but leant back in the saddle, recovering his lance, which had slipped upon the slick surface of his opponent’s helm.

            “Two to one,” said Faramir, and Eowyn bit her lip in frustration.

            The Halfling was dancing up and down by now, rebuking Lasgalen of Dale in a high voice, which they could hear but not understand.  The dwarvish armourer was shaking his head, but still smiling.  The Green Knight bent down as though to speak to them, then returned to the tilt.

            The perian’s admonitions had perhaps been efficacious; at this next pass the Green Knight’s lance struck Malbeth squarely in the chest, throwing him from his horse with a thunderous clatter.    The great destrier skidded to a halt, bellowing once more; the Black Knight’s horse gave a whinny of fright and bolted towards the stands, where guards and squires attempted to stop him.

            “Two to two,” said Faramir, and Egalmoth said indignantly, “That destrier is a menace!”  Eowyn covered her mouth with her hands fretfully.  “My love,” said Faramir, “will you not open your mind to me concerning this knight?  What is it about Lasgalen of Dale that disquiets you so?”

            “If my lord has not yet descried it,” said Eowyn with a small smile, “perhaps he should look the closer, and determine it himself.”

            Faramir looked back to the lists, where Malbeth’s destrier was being ushered back to his master.  It took the Black Knight a moment to calm his horse, and in the interim the Green Knight stood to the tilt patiently, unmoving atop his pawing and snorting mount.  Faramir found he was holding his breath, and when the pennant was dropped he inhaled sharply at the war-cry of the Green Knight’s mighty steed.  Great chunks of earth flew from the scissoring hooves, and the dull gray haunches, bunching their great muscles, threw man and beast forward.  The knights met and their lances found their marks, but Lasgalen’s was the truer, and losing his balance once more the Black Knight tumbled to the churned ground.

            “Three!” cried Faramir, and Eowyn laughed and clapped her hands like a child.  The stands erupted in cheers as the Green Knight turned his steed back to his vanquished adversary, leaning from his saddle to haul him to his feet.  Malbeth’s squire hurried over and took charge of his master, and the Green Knight rode victorious to his own servants, while the green and brown standard of his house was hung on the victor’s wall.

            “Now will you tell me who he is?” asked Faramir of his wife.

            “Nay!” she laughed, eyes shining.  “But watch him a while and you will see.”

4.

            The sun trembled in mist behind the hills of Ithilien at dawn, and the birds warbled their adoration of the start of a new day as the clouds which had gathered overnight dispersed in a cooling breeze.  Summer was waning and autumn lifted its sleepy head like an enchanted maiden, whispering of gold and smoke and dusk.  The flagstones were slicked with dew and glistened in the early light beneath Faramir’s feet; the tufts of grass by the sides of the walkways were like fronds of sea oats, white and milky.  Tall rose the mountains to the East, yet the menace there was quelled; stirrings within the stone house reminded him of his duties, and the scent of wood and breakfast was on the air.

            A sound of footsteps down the ruined alleyway made Faramir pause as he turned, and the tall shadow of an approaching man, cloaked and hooded, caused him to tense slightly.  But his Ranger’s training was unnecessary; around the corner of the debris came his Lord, King Elessar, alone and unheralded, clad in simple green and brown; no circlet crowned his noble head, nor ermine robe his shoulders.  Upon his lined face was a smile, and his gray eyes were calm.

            “Hail, Lord!” said Faramir, bowing low.  Elessar took him by the shoulder and lifted him.

            “Hail, Prince of Ithilien!” he answered, his eyes smiling though his mouth was grave.  “And hail, friend and brother,” he added, the smile reaching his lips.  “Good morning to you!”

            “A good morning, indeed,” agreed Faramir; “All the better for my lord and king has come to do me honor.  Will you break fast with me?”

            “I will,” said Elessar.  “It has been four and twenty hours since I last supped, and my stomach threatens to clap bell-like against my spine.”

            Faramir laughed.  “You are in luck!” he said, turning and leading his king through the weed-choked courtyard.  “Our cook has brought fine sausages and tomatoes, onions and oats from the nearby inns, and there is mead and spiced wine, if you desire.”

            Elessar threw back his hood and shook out his gray-flecked dark hair.  He looked around the stone courtyard, still untidy in its ruin, flanked nonetheless with trees standing tall and fair, and twining morning glory, turning its pink trumpets to the rising sun.  A breeze stirred his cloak as he removed it and stepped into the house behind his Steward.  “I can smell its scent on the air,” he smiled.  “In truth, it was that aroma drew me hither.”  He stepped into the dark mansion, his eyes drawn toward the fire burning in the great kitchen inglenook before him.  A great cremière hung over the fire, suspending an iron pot, from which the sounds of simmering porridge came, and before the coals on the broad hearth sat white loaves of bread.  A thin manservant was turning them with a great floured wooden paddle.  He turned his head as his master entered and said:  “Take care, my lord, of the poult; still she resists returning to the coop.”

            “I care not,” said Faramir, throwing his lord a mischievous look.  “She provides us with such fine eggs, I cannot gainsay her a safe haven, and fox are returning once more to these woods.”   Together the men hung their dew-damped cloaks upon pegs by the great chimney and sat at the rude wooden table.  Fine pewter pots and plates were scattered thereon, and beeswax candles lit the dim interior.

            “This must have been a fine house, once,” remarked Elessar, pouring himself some mead.

            “As I understand it,” said Faramir.  “These are but the back kitchens and servants’ quarters; the rest of the mansion is a ruin.”

            “How fares the restoration?”

            “Slowly, my lord.  The Enemy did much evil here, and it will be long before its ills are truly effaced.”  The manservant approached with smoking platters heaped with sausages and eggs and grilled onions; great loaves of bread were placed before them, and a skillet of tomatoes and mushrooms was set down.  At once both lord and vassal rose and faced the West; then they sat and fell to the good food.  After a silent interval Elessar pushed back his plate, sighed, and spoke.

            “Ah!  That is good, homely food,” he said.  “How I sicken on the ices and fancies of the courts of the White Tower!”

            “You are spoilt, my lord,” laughed Faramir.  “Long did you labour in the rough lands of the North and in the wilds; naught but rough fare will you relish now.”

            “So be it!” said Elessar.  “With your manservant’s permission, I will smoke.”  He drew a pipe from a pouch in his vest.

            “Do so in gladness, my lord!” said the manservant, bowing.  “I have to attend to my lady now.”  He took up a steaming trencher and vanished round a corner.  Soon his laboured footsteps could be heard on stone steps and pattered out of hearing.

            “How fares the White Lady of Rohan?” asked Elessar, lighting his pipe.

            “Difficult,” sighed Faramir.  “But it is always so at such times, or so I have heard.”

            “I congratulate you, my friend,” said Elessar, gripping his arm and smiling.

            “Nay!  ‘Tis no doing of mine, to hear her tell it,” laughed Faramir.  “But I thank Queen Undomiel for her timely counsel; when Eowyn breaks her fast before rising, she is much stronger, and able to last the day.”

            “Arwen is better than I at such matters,” said Elessar.  “Knowledge about wounds and sicknesses have I, but the homelier ailments of women are yet mysterious.”

            “Yet you, my lord, will learn before long,” said Faramir confidently, and both men smiled at each other in a friendly fashion.  Elessar sat smoking his pipe, and blowing rings and streams of smoke into the great hearth for some time.  At last, refilling his goblet, Faramir asked, “Well!  Now that I have assuaged your hunger, and since I perceive that no ill news hangs on your heart by your smoking, I may ask you to satisfy my curiosity!  What brings you to Ithilien, my lord?  When last I heard, you were deep in council, and could not attend the Grand Tournament, though you sent your advisors instead.”

            “Good news!” said Elessar.  “The war-chests, though famished, are soon to be sated of their hunger.”

            “That is good news indeed!” exclaimed Faramir, setting down his goblet and looking at his friend in amazement.  “How has this been accomplished?  Surely there is no new tax – “

            “Nay!” laughed Elessar.  “My people are taxed enough, unquestionably!  No, this comes in form of a loan from the kinsman of one I dearly love.”  He smiled.  “Ease my heart further with gaming; can you guess who sends it?”

            Faramir mulled this over, sipping at his mead, then said tentatively:  “Not the Lords of Imladris?”

            “No,” said Elessar.  “Two more attempts shall I afford you, then shall I cease to tease your curiosity.”  He smiled over his pipe at Faramir, who knitted his brows together in thought.  Then he said, “Gloin of Erebor?”

            “Twice down!” said his lord.  “The dwarves ask excessive usury.”

            “Not Rohan,” mulled Faramir thoughtfully.  “Eomer is leashed, as we are.”  He reflected for a moment, then said, “Dol Amroth?”

            “Imrahil is beset on all sides,” said Elessar somberly.  “Eagerly do the corsairs harrie him, and he spends all he has on ships and men and arms.”

            “That is too familiar a tale!” said Faramir grimly.  “Well, then, you have had your three points from me; who is your champion?”

            “Thranduil, King of Mirkwood.”

            “Mirkwood!” exclaimed Faramir.  “That is far to the north.  Has he not already delivered sundry trees and growing things to beautify our realm?  What further munificence is there in him?"

            “Ah,” smiled Elessar; “do you not guess his kinsman, who is so dear to me?”

            “It cannot be Undomiel; her kin is in Lorien.”

            “Lothlorien and Mirkwood have joined at the destruction of Dol Guldur; but that is scarce to the point.  Do you not know the son of Thranduil?”

            “I think not,” said Faramir after a moment’s reflection.  “I have heard naught of the sons of Elven kings in that realm.”

            “That does not surprise me; he does not herald himself.  It is my friend Legolas, who but late last year lived with us at Minas Tirith.”

            “Ah!” said Faramir.  “So he has pled with his father to loosen the purse-strings, has he not?”  Faramir smiled, remembering his few encounters with the wood-elf.  “A clear seeing-stone I thought him, perceiving the truth of men unquestioning, unstained and naïve; it surprises me he would go so far, though doubtless it is his love for you that spurs him.”

            “Doubtless!” said Elessar.  “Yet I know his sire of old.  A doughty warrior is he, Oropher’s heir; mighty is his arm, whether it wields sword or pen!  Jewels and treasures he has amassed over the long ages, in his bright caverns, and friendship with the Men of Dale and the Dwarves of Erebor has enriched him, both in gold and wisdom.  That his son cares not for the concerns of these things worries him not:  The Elven King stands, as a hale lord and fearsome counselor, and the love he has for his son has opened his vaults to me, to replenish my empty war-chests.   Great will be my rejoicing, when his vanguard arrives!  And soon it shall, as the message said; before the snows fly in the northern highlands, the barges of the King of Mirkwood, now named Eryn Lasgalen, will ride the Anduin bringing forth succor for the besieged lands to our south.”

            “Then that is good news indeed!” cried Faramir, filling Elessar’s goblet once more.  “Soon shall we be able to commission the building of additional war ships, and the arming of men, to aid in the repulsing of those fiends of Harad who continue to harass our rightful fiefs.”

            “Yes,” sighed Elessar, drinking deeply.  “It is for that reason I have come, my brother; yes, I know my presence here puzzles you!  You say it not, yet I feel it:  Why has King Elessar come forth from the White Tower?  But such was my joy at the message I received this week I could stay not, but came forth to rejoice with you, my comrade in arms.”

            “And the Queen; she remains at Minas Tirith?”

            “Nay, she will be here the noon!  Thranduil is no direct kin of hers, yet his munificence has touched her heart, and she sings in thankfulness as well, knowing the extent of our need.  Yet she goes directly to the Grand Tournament with the rest of our party, hoping to foregather with Eowyn there.”

            “And she shall,” said Faramir laughing.  “Vast are the stands erected in Osgiliath, bright are the pennants flying from its corners, mighty are the knights enclosed therein!  O my friend, you missed much the first day:  my lady’s champion – “  He stopped, his goblet halfway to his lips, eyes suddenly wide and aware, and Elessar looked close at him, concerned.

            “What is it, my friend?” he asked.  “What thought has you arrested?”

            Faramir turned to Elessar, his gray eyes unreadable.  “This message, my lord; from whom did it issue?”

            “It was written on rich parchment,” said Elessar, much bewildered; “in coloured ink with gilded device, bearing the seal of King Thranduil Orophirion himself.”

            “I meant that not!  The means of its delivery; how was that?”

            “I know not,” said Elessar, “only that it was delivered to me forthwith by special messenger.”

            “From Dale?”

            “I know not,” repeated the King, growing aggravated.  “What does it matter?  I have the letter; Thranduil is good as his word.”

            “Oh, I doubt it not,” said Faramir quickly.  “I only wondered – “

            “Yes?”

            “ – who brought the letter.”

            Elessar stared in amazement at Faramir.

            “I had thought it to be one of the journeying knights,” said Elessar slowly.  “Have you reason, my friend, to think otherwise?”

            “Nay, “ said Faramir, sitting back with a sigh.  “Perhaps – “

            “Yes?”

            “It is nothing,” said Faramir quickly.  “Have you a desire to bathe, my lord?  And where is your party?  Your effects should be delivered, if you desire to greet your subjects in aught but rags.”  He looked pointedly at Elessar’s faded travel clothing.

            Elessar laughed.  “Have your secret, then!” he said merrily.  “Yes, I shall bathe, if your manservant can manage the water.”

            Faramir rose with him, and led him to the back of the kitchens, where dwelt the kettles and coppers.  “What said Eradan when you told him of the loan?” he asked.

            “I have yet to see him,” said Elessar.  “I think I shall coddle the knowledge to myself for a time, and give it him, as a reward for arranging the Grand Tournament.”

            “Your thanks to him are excessive, should the Tournament not turn out to your liking,” warned Faramir.

            “I care not!” said Elessar, beginning to remove his doublet at the bath.  “My joy cannot be marred by any happenstance at a tournament.”

            “We shall see!” said Faramir darkly, and closed the door on his surprised King.

S

5.

            Éowyn’s opinion of the fussy Belecthor was raised considerably when she saw him faced unexpectedly with the appearance of the Queen, riding her white palfrey and attended by numerous ladies and men-at-arms.  At once he sent his servants scurrying for chairs and cushions and additional screens, and determining immediately his King would arrive forthwith provided for him as well.  The Lady of Emyn Arnen was delighted to see her Queen:  tall and gray-eyed, fair and wise beyond tale or thought of mortal ken was Arwen Undómiel, yet beneath the alabaster breast there beat the merry heart of a young maid.  In the few years they had dwelt as noble ladies in the same kingdom their spirits had twined like blossoming honeysuckle, sweet and pungent; together they had explored the unknown frontiers of new kingdoms, and new relationships.  Though at first Arwen had been to Éowyn too lofty and noble to aspire as friend, yet the heart of Arwen begged Éowyn to see her as kin, so that as sisters they cosseted together and whispered secrets before low fires in darkling rooms.  And Elessar and Faramir, thrown also together in conflict and council, rejoiced to see the union, counting themselves twice-blessed that their beloveds had found in each other the bloom of sisterhood.

            “Have you come straightway from Minas Tirith?” asked Éowyn, embracing her friend as the Ceremony Master and his minions whirled about them with screens and benches.

            “No, indeed!” laughed the Queen.  “I stole me first to your secret house, following my Lord there, yet I was too late to delay him.  But I in wickedness did waylay your servant, and he being merciful did allow me to use your bath and to eat your food, so that I could come to the Tournament resembling a Queen and not a vagabond.”

            “Will you stay with us in the City then?”

            “Nay, you have not the room; besides our vanguard has arrived and has set up great tents and sleeping-quarters for us on the other side of the tournament grounds.  I will rest better, I think, sleeping upon the ground than within cold stone.  Have you seen aught of my husband?”

            “I did see King Elessar,” said Éowyn, motioning Arwen to sit; “he and Faramir were watching the foot combat, whilst I peered child-like from above, behind the back curtains.”  She gestured behind them to the back of the enclosure, and Arwen saw the coverings were pushed aside, and daylight streamed through.  “You can watch the fighting from there,” Éowyn explained.  “It is easier than sitting on the benches, and much cooler.”

            Arwen laughed, a delightful sound, like falling water into a deep pool.  “No doubt!” she said.   She sat upon a soft cushion and thanked Belecthor, then gave her formal greetings to Eradan and Egalmoth upon her other side.  To Éodild her greeting was warmer, knowing Éowyn’s affection for her cousin, and after she had accepted a glass of cool white wine from Belecthor’s serving boy she settled back upon her cushions and sighed.

            “I am glad to be here,” she confessed to Éowyn with a laugh, “to be outdoors watching great knights spar in errantry.  I love Minas Tirith, but there are not enough trees!”

            “They have had little ease for planting gardens these past years,” said Éowyn.  “Perhaps now the white city may grow green once more, and gardens and parks adorn its crowns like jewels.”

            “So we have been promised,” said Arwen.  “Wood-elves from the northern realms will return soon, bringing with them more cuttings from their own gardens, to plant with their blessings and water with their songs.”

            “By spring, I guess,” said Éowyn, “will the Elves of Mirkwood start their journey, to dwell in Emyn Arnen and beautify our woods and groves.  So we have been promised, and indeed we have already set aside lands as their dwelling-places.”

            “Then will Ithilien bloom indeed,” smiled Arwen, “and all your peoples have a place of rest and beauty.”

            “That is our hope,” admitted Éowyn.  “Ah!  And here comes Aragorn.”

            All in the front box stood as King Elessar stepped in, with Lord Faramir at his side.  Elessar was now dressed in robes as befit a king of his stature, black with the star-crowned tree worked in silver, and upon his head was a silver circlet.  He kissed his wife’s hand, and Lady Éowyn’s cheek, and greeted his surprised Council members.

            “Why, I thought you would be still in Minas Tirith!” gasped Eradan, clasping his King’s hand in his own fat paw and placing a flustered kiss upon his fingers.  “Were you not going to stay in council with the rest of the financial advisors?”

            “I was, indeed,” said Elessar, “but I missed my favorite Councilor, and decided not to forego the pleasure of his Tournament.”

            Eradan laughed.  “Then I hope you will have your fill of entertainment!” he said.  “More wine!” he called to Belecthor’s servants.  “More wine for His Majesty!  A long ride breeds a deep thirst.”

            Meanwhile Faramir sat next to his wife, and leaning into her ear he said in a low voice:  “My lady, I believe I have guessed the name of your champion.”

            “Why, my lord,” smiled Éowyn, “his name is upon the letters patents as Lasgalen of Dale.”

            “Indeed!” said Faramir.  “And your lord is asking himself why the Green Knight is listed upon the letters patents as Lasgalen of Dale.”

            “No doubt, my lord, because it is his name!” said Éowyn with a laugh.

            “No doubt, my lady!” smiled Faramir, and sat back.

            The trumpeters sounded forth a musical blast, and Faramir stood to address the crowd once more.  Under cover of his words, Elessar leaned over to Belecthor and asked, “Have the standards of the winners of the foot contest been added to the jousting figures?”

            “They have,” said Belecthor.  “See, there are the standards, upon the winner’s wall:  Malbeth of Celos in black, Lasgalen of Dale in green, and Hallas of Lossarnach in brown.”

            “The Green Knight is my Lady’s champion,” said Éodild impishly to King Elessar.  He held no awe for her, lady of Rohan though she was, and younger than the rest of Éowyn’s lady’s maids.

            “Indeed!’ said Elessar, glancing at Éowyn, who laughed.  “You surprise me exceedingly.  I watched him in the foot combat earlier, and though he is certainly skilled he is no match for the best knights, either Malbeth or Herion or Hador.”

            “You have yet to see him joust, my Lord,” said Belecthor excitedly.  “Tall and true to the tip he is, an excellent horseman – “

            “His destrier is disgraceful,” put in Egalmoth, pursing his thin lips and crossing his arms.  “Surely the ladies of Rohan will agree!”

            “He is not beautiful, I will admit,” said Éowyn.  “But even you, Lord Egalmoth, must acknowledge his strength and courage.”

            Elessar laughed aloud for sheer pleasure.  His relief at the thought of Thranduil’s monetary aid nearly overwhelmed him, and suddenly it seemed to him that, with the assistance of Elf, Dwarf, and Hobbit-kind he would soon be beset by no more enemies or other woes.  The sun shone in the turquoise sky, wisps of white cloud scudded by, and the tops of green trees waved and bowed over the edges of the tournament stadium.  The breeze brought with it the fresh smells of the pine forests, pungent and sharp, and even the musky and over-ripe smell of Eradan, perspiring in his heavy red robe and calling for more wine, could not dampen his spirits.  At his left was his beloved Undómiel, whose eyes gazed at him in love; to his right would sit Faramir, chief amongst his counselors and friends; before him was the great brown quadrangle, surrounded by his subjects:  At that point Elessar’s cup of happiness was quite full.

            To prove that even the Valar do not wish to see a mortal too happy, Faramir had wound up his speech with, “I present to you, lords and ladies, my beloved of Ithilien, his Majesty, the hope of the Dúnedain, the Heir of Elendil, Elessar, the Elfstone, King of Gondor and the Northern Marches!”   And Elessar was required at that point to rise and address his people.  He stood and spoke in merry generalities for some minutes, his joy hardly giving him eloquence for deeper topics; his populace, enchanted by the thought their King had perhaps imbibed too freely, cheered him in great elation as he sat, sweating slightly in the heavy doublet, and instantly Belecthor’s servant handed him a chilled and dripping goblet of cool wine.  After he sat the trumpets sounded once more, and the knights in that afternoon’s competition filed into the list.

            “See, my lord; there he is!” exclaimed Éodild excitedly, pointing to a shining silver figure coming in behind Aldamir of Amon Din.  “Do you not see his destrier, how it prances and paws, and how all the other horses shy from him?  He is a terrible horse, fierce and belligerent, worthy of the knight who graces his swayed back.”

            Elessar looked and beheld the Green Knight, riding upon a gray roan mostly obscured by its armour; there was no surcoat upon the cuirass, so he flashed in the sun and pierced the eye like lightning.  At that point the breeze caught up the pennant on his lance, and the King saw the crossed oak branches on the brown background.  He looked more carefully at the Green Knight, frowning, for there was something about the kit that disturbed him, though he could not think of it.  As the knights filed in towards the royal box, Éowyn suddenly stood, to the great surprise of her husband and friends, and said in a loud and clear voice:  “Lasgalen of Dale!”

            The Green Knight halted, and lifted his frogmouth helmet to her inquiringly.  At her gesture he urged his snorting mount forward and stopped before the draped and decorated stands.  All leaned forward, eagerly studying his armour and horse, and Eradan seemed so entranced by the sight he might have fallen, had not Belecthor’s aide pulled him back suddenly.

            “Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale,” said Éowyn, eyes alight with gaiety as she unfastened the brooch upon her shoulder.  “Will you wear this, and proclaim yourself my champion by this token?”  She held up a richly embroidered scarf, blue with yellow figured flowers, which fluttered in the breeze.

            The Green Knight hesitated but a moment, then lowered his great lance.  The coronel, an intricately carven dragon’s head with an open mouth spouting metal fire, rested before Éowyn on the banister of the box.  She fastened her scarf to the end of the lance and stepped back.  The Green Knight bowed in the saddle, raised the lance with its new pennant, and turned and joined the other knights in the file.  A great murmur surged round the stadium, and Elessar and the others in the royal box stared at her in amazement.

            “Éowyn!” exclaimed Faramir.  “What do you mean – “

            “Oh!” interrupted Arwen suddenly, then covered her mouth with her hands.  All looked at her from Éowyn, but she was staring at the Green Knight’s back, eyes wide, and did not notice them.  She turned to her friend and gestured; Éowyn leaned forward and they whispered together urgently.  Then they both laughed and sat back, smiling.

            “May we know the object of this joke?” asked Elessar gently, taking his Queen’s hand.

            “Nay, my lord!” she laughed, gray eyes sparkling.  “The lady of Emyn Arnen has chosen her champion; that is all!”

            Elessar and the members of his Council exchanged glances, but it was clear none quite understood the reason for the ladies’ mirth; indeed, Éodild seemed ready to laugh aloud if circumstances had permitted.  Only Faramir sat silent, biting his lip.  Elessar leaned over to him.

            “My friend, what troubles you?” he whispered.

            Faramir looked into his lord’s eyes, hesitating; then he said,

            “It is nothing, my lord.  But perhaps you should look to the Green Knight’s tack.”

            “His tack?” asked Elessar in amazement.  “That is another riddle you set me!  What do you mean by this?”

            “Look, look!” cried Éodild again, quite overcome with excitement and interrupting the King’s questioning.  “Here is the Green Knight, coming against Vorondil of Lossarnach!”

            Indeed the commoners and gentry in the crowd seemed to share her exhilaration, for they cheered and waved green and gray pennants, and some cried “Dale!” while others cried “Lossarnach!”  Elessar, distracted by the noise, left off his interrogation and looked to the lists.

            Vorondil’s steed seemed uneasy, and rightly so; the Green Knight’s destrier screamed and bellowed and pawed fiercely, and when the herald dropped his pennant and ran, the knight of Dale leaped forward, Éowyn’s scarf whipping back from the polder-mitten where he had tied it.  Elessar caught his breath as the war-horse surged ahead, powerful legs churning the earth like a dust devil.  The bright sun flashed upon the Green Knight’s armour and set the onlookers’ eyes to watering.  The great bat-wings flared out from the shining helm, looking to the King as though the knight himself were about to rise from the ground in flight over his adversary; he could see the clawed gauntlets at the end of the brilliant vambraces clutching the haft behind the vamplate.  Lances lowered, Vorondil and Lasgalen met; there was a crash and a clatter, and Vorondil was on his back like a tortoise, waving his arms for assistance, while his frightened steed bolted into the leeches’ corner, upsetting the pavilion in front of the healer’s tent.

            In the ensuing madness, Éodild and Éowyn laughed and embraced, and Arwen applauded madly, cheering in a most un-regal way for the Green Knight.  Egalmoth and Belecthor began arguing about the legality of the coronel, and Eradan called for more wine.  Elessar took a deep breath and looked over at Lord Faramir, whose expression was unreadable.

            “Remarkable!” said Elessar, smiling at his friend.  “He is avenged upon me for my disparaging remarks concerning his swordplay.”

            “Think you so?” asked Faramir warily.  “Watch, and pay attention!  You may learn more of him than you wish.”

            Once Vorondil’s destrier had been retrieved and remounted, the two knights stood again, and the pennant dropped.  The Green Knight bounded forward, blazing in contrast to Vorondil’s gray surcoat; like lightning piercing a cloud was the great lance, which shattered against the Gray Knight’s cuirass, sending the dragon’s head spinning across the lists.  “Two!” cried Egalmoth, and Eradan cursed loudly, then apologized, red-faced, to the ladies, who had not even attended his words.  Then Elessar espied a boy running across the lists to retrieve the coronel.  He blinked, caught his breath, and sat up suddenly.

            “Faramir!” he said.

            “My lord!” said Faramir, looking at him in consternation.

            “That – “ he pointed to the boy, who was no boy, but proved himself to be –

            “ – is a Hobbit!” he finished, aghast.

            “Yes, my lord,” said Faramir unhappily.

            Elessar looked at Faramir in amazement, then turned his attention back to the lists.  The Green Knight stood at attention at the end of the tilt, and beside him was his armourer –

            “Gimli!” hissed Elessar, and Faramir winced.

            -- And up ran the Hobbit, holding aloft the shining coronel, while the dwarf handed the Green Knight another lance.

            Elessar ground his teeth together in anger and frustration as the pennant dropped.  Faramir looked over at him in concern.  But no one else in the stands had noticed this interchange; all were focused on the joust, eagerly watching to see if the Gray Knight could salvage his points.

            It would not be so.  The third charge brought the Gray Knight’s destrier almost to its haunches, so great was the impact of the lance upon his knight’s cuirass, and the pennant of green and brown crossed oak branches was hung up again on the winner’s wall.  As the Green Knight rode back past the tilt to the exit, with Lady Éowyn’s scarf fluttering still from his arm, Elessar beckoned to Bergil, his messenger, and said:

            “Give the King’s regards to Lasgalen of Dale, and he will wait upon me in my tent immediately after the joust!”  Bergil nodded and ran out.

            Faramir looked over at his King, and noted Elessar was angrier than even he had feared he would be.

6.
 

            The afternoon sun had warmed the blue tent that housed the King and his household; it smouldered and shimmered on its pinnings under the brilliant white-blue sky.  The horses and mules that bore the King’s company were safely ensconced in their paddock, and their hooves, pawing at the straw, stirred up wisps of dust into the heavy air.  Within the stifling tent, heavy oak furniture had been placed inside its many rooms; rich carpets adorned the floor, and in deference to the heat of the day the servants had opened the window-flaps to let in what little breeze played about the fields.  Aragorn dismissed the servants and curtly addressed Belecthor and Eradan, saying he wished to converse with the Green Knight alone.  But he kept his wife, the Queen, with him, to temper his words and ease his anger, and when Éowyn and Faramir also entered he did not bid them leave.  So while his friends sat and waited for the Green Knight, Aragorn paced and muttered to himself, and his small audience observed his worried stalkings and mused upon their own separate thoughts.

            After some time, as the sun started to impale itself upon the tip of Mindolluin and the shadows grew long, Bergil lifted the inner door-flap of the King’s tent and said, his voice trembling with nervousness:  “My lord, Lasgalen of Dale,” and beat a hasty retreat.

            When the Green Knight entered the dimness of the tent it was no wonder Bergil in his youth had feared such a companion:  Tall was he, slim and silent, and walked with the studied grace of a hunting cat upon his soft brown boots.  The long sword in its figured green scabbard could hardly be seen beneath the great green cloak and hood that overwhelmed the figure, falling in thick folds down from his shoulders despite the stifling heat of the day; the hood was deeply cowled, and the face within shadowed and featureless.  Faramir and Éowyn both knew from Éodild that the Green Knight, when he was seen at all, was observed thus:  a mysterious and gloomy figure, noiseless in movement and footfall, speaking in either whispers or hisses; faceless and voiceless, yet a terror on the list.  All servants and most squires feared to face that blank regard, and even a few hardy knights and warriors felt the hairs on the backs of their necks stand upright as he glided past. 

            But Aragorn heeded that not, and when the Green Knight entered his tent and bowed, the King did not even incline his head in courtesy, but instead said, in a voice that could not be gainsaid:  “Legolas!  Remove this disguise, and unveil your face before us.”  Indeed, such was the sharpness in his voice that Éowyn looked at him in wonder, not knowing the reason for his ire.

            But the Green Knight threw back his cowled hood, revealing a head swathed entirely save the eyes in dark gauze; the eyes fixed themselves upon Aragorn, and swiftly he removed the mask, until the Elf stood before his friend, regarding him with care.  “You are angry, Aragorn,” he said at last in his clear voice.  “I feared it would be so.”  Then, to Arwen he bowed deeply and spoke to her in his own Sindarin tongue, which she answered, face grave but eyes twinkling; to Faramir and Éowyn he said:  “Hail, my lord and lady of Emyn Arnen!  May the stars shine upon the place of our meeting!”  Faramir and Éowyn inclined their heads to him, casting sidelong glances at their King, whose wrath was palpably building.  It seemed obvious to Faramir at least, who had been closeted with the King on numerous occasions when prevaricating speech had required a sharp and angry interruption, that Elessar was preparing himself for such an outburst; thus it was with thinly veiled amusement the lord of Emyn Arnen observed his lord’s ire suspended by the Wood-Elf’s quiet words:  “Speak, my friend; unburden your thoughts to me.  I would not have you silent.”

            “And you shall not have me thus!” said Aragorn sharply.  “What mean you by this, son of Thranduil?  What game, what jest, what ill-fashioned thought prompted in you such a foolish and wayward action on your part?  To what end did you think to come, challenging thus the swords and lances of the might of Men?  And to come in dissembling guise, under a false name!  Hooding your face and masquerading as a mortal Man, competing against legitimate knights for a prize of honor and gold!  I cannot believe it of you, Legolas Greenleaf; such avarice is beneath one of the Firstborn!”

            Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly a dark curly head peered in from the door-flap and a little voice squeaked:  “Oh, but you can’t blame him for that, your Majesty!  It was mostly my idea anyway.”

            “My esquire and reeve, Bandobras son of Reginard,” said Legolas, presenting the Hobbit with a small bow.  Turning to the Halfling he said gently,  “Bandobras, when you meet a king, remember it is customary to wait until you are first spoken to.”

            “Your father didn’t mind,” said the perian pertly, hooking his thumbs behind his braces. 

            “No, he did not; but my father is long on patience when it comes to Halflings, and he is easily amused,” smiled Legolas.  “Remember though Girion, the King of Dale!  I extracted you then from disgrace with difficulty.”

            “I’ll try to remember that, then,” said the Hobbit, looking round at the lords and ladies before him.  A worried frown wrinkled his forehead.  “Have I disgraced you again, Master?”

            “Not yet, little one,” said Legolas warningly.  “But I caution you to hold your tongue until you are bidden to speak.”

            Bandobras sighed, put his hands behind his back, and stood next to Legolas shaking his head.  Aragorn tried to frown at the Hobbit, but felt the corners of his mouth twitching irreverently.  “How is it that you have come accompanied, Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen?” he asked, trying to sound angry again.  “I bid you come alone.”

            “I followed him,” piped up Bandobras, and when Legolas turned to censure him, added quickly, “I’m sorry Master; it does come difficult: not speaking, you know.  I’m not used to it, and that’s the truth.”  A stifled noise came from the seats before him, and Aragorn realized to his consternation that Éowyn had tried unsuccessfully to suppress a laugh.  Wishing to regain the solemnity of the interview, Aragorn turned to the Hobbit.

            “Bandobras son of Reginard,” he said firmly, “you will return to your Master’s tent in silence, and there you shall stay, until your wits have fully grasped the concept of discretion.” 

            The Halfling opened his mouth to protest, but Legolas looked sharply at him, and he quailed and retreated, brushing quickly past the doorway and out into the yellow sunlight.  His footsteps pattered quickly away down the dusty path, and a heavy silence regained the close air of the blue tent.

            “Well, Legolas,” said Aragorn at last, “what defense have you?  What can you tell me to answer my queries?  What end did you seek, coming in stealth to a Tournament as you have?”

            “As for my coming,” said Legolas, “I came as one of the free peoples of Middle Earth to try myself in arms against the might of Gondor.”

            “Then why did you not enter the archery tournament?  That would have been more your strength,” said Aragorn.

            “I knew I could best the archers of Gondor,” said Legolas simply and without conceit.  “That would hardly have been a fair contest.”
            “Then why enter in secret?  Why not declare yourself as the son of Thranduil openly and compete as an Elf against Men?”

            “Would I have been accepted thus?” asked Legolas seriously.  “Think, Aragorn!  Would Belecthor the Ceremonies Master have graciously assented to welcome me, an Elf of the Northern Realm, within the borders of Gondor?  I have no letters patents, no certificates of land ownership, indeed, beyond my friendship with King Elessar and my deeds in the Great War, no place in the realms of Men at all; I am merely one more of the strange folk your people tell tales of, who walk in shadows for long ages beneath the haunted trees.  Men fear me and my people, and despite the union of Man and Elf within the halls of the Kings – “  here he bowed to Arwen  “ – legends and faerie-tales of the woodland races beget more distrust than acceptance.   Had I approached the lists as Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, I should have waited in vain for any challenging knights to meet my lance; all would have shunned me, either fearing me or disdaining me.”

            “That is not true,” said Aragorn uncomfortably, though he knew Legolas was right.

            “Is it not?  Perhaps you understand less of your own kind than we do.”

            “And what do Elves understand about Men?” challenged Aragorn.

            “Not Elves, but all folk who are not Men,” answered Legolas.  “Dwarf, Hobbit and Elf all counseled me to hide my face behind helmet and hood whilst I sojourned as a knight in Gondor.  It is not wise for one who is not a Man to walk open to challenge within the borders of the countries of Men.  Were I a Dwarf, difficult though it would have been I should also have disguised myself.  We fade and disappear, we who are not of the race of Men; Men grow in strength and number, mistrusting and dreading those who are different, whether they be Elf, Dwarf, Hobbit or Ent.  Some wise men, giving themselves time to know us and our peoples, accept and admire us, but for the most part the alliances between our peoples are but legend, and the tales of the battles fought in Lórien, and Mirkwood, and Erebor and the Shire during the War of the Ring are not told here.   Thin are the Dúnedain upon the ground, and seldom told are the stories of the might and glory of our people.  I would not so expose myself before the unschooled peoples of your lands, opening the entire of my race to their ridicule and my shame.  Thus should I win one of the prizes, I might uncloak myself, though I know not yet if I shall; should I prove unworthy of the might of Gondor, Lasgalen of Dale shall simply dissolve into the crowds of Minas Tirith, and Legolas, messenger of King Thranduil to Elessar of Gondor, will emerge.”

            Aragorn looked at Faramir.  “Then when you asked about the messenger –“

            “I bethought it perhaps was Legolas of Mirkwood,” confessed Faramir to his lord.  “I knew him to be the only Wood-Elf familiar with our lands –“

            “And when I saw he rode with neither bit nor bridle, I knew him,” said Éowyn proudly.  “Also I recognized his carriage.  Long will I live outside the lands of my fathers before I wholly forget to mark a man, or yet an Elf by the way he rides upon a horse.  And Legolas your friend and companion I noticed particularly, my lord Aragorn, for Arod bore him with no tack, yet obeyed his every whim.  Not even the Rohirrim guide their steeds thus.”  She turned eagerly to Legolas.  “Tell me, friend Elf, from which lands did you procure your destrier?  He is wide of girth, deep-chested and clean-limbed, yet his cow-hocks must impede his gait somewhat.  And I do not think I have yet seen such hindquarters!  What power must be in his charge!  And he bears shaffron, peytral and crinet with no difficulty.”

            “Hatchet is an unusual horse,” began Legolas, warming a bit to the subject, but Aragorn interrupted them.

            “To return to the matter in dispute,” he said sharply, “now that I have unmasked you, what do you plan to do?”

            Legolas observed him solemnly for a moment, grey eyes unreadable.  Then he said,  “My lord, I bow to your whim.  If my presence in your Grand Tournament offends you, if my reasons for attending are unreasonable to you and to your council  – “ he bowed to Faramir, Éowyn and Arwen “ – I shall of course withdraw, and the pennant of Lasgalen of Dale will no longer grace the walls of your lists.  But if you decide to allow my lance and sword in game as you did in war, then I shall win what I can, to bring glory not to Eryn Lasgalen but to the memory of our friendship, and of our deeds of valor against the Corsairs of Umbar and before the Gates of the Morannon.  I shall wait inside my tent for your judgment, and accept what doom you set before me.”  Before Aragorn could reply he turned to Éowyn.  “My lady of Emyn Arnen,” he said, unfastening the scarf around his arm.  “I return to you your token, White Lady of Rohan, beloved wife of Faramir, Steward of Gondor!  It seems fated I shall not after all be your champion, nor win renown and honor for you at the tilt.”  He gave the blue scarf back to Éowyn with a deep bow, and without saying another word swept the hood of his cloak up around his face, and thus obscured quitted the tent.6.

7.

            “Surely you would not eject him!” cried Éowyn in dismay after Legolas had left.  Elessar, his face pale with wrath, had sent the trembling Bergil with a message to Belecthor, Eradan, and Egalmoth, bidding them wait upon him at once, then threw himself back into his heavy oaken chair with a scowl.

            “Lady Éowyn,” said Aragorn sharply, “he has entered this Grand Tournament under false pretenses and in disguise.  That would be enough for me to force him to withdraw.  But in addition to that, remember the reason for this tournament!  We seek to unite the scattered Men of my kingdom; not to perplex our potential allies with the spectacle Legolas makes of himself.  Think of the people – my people and your own!  What do they hope to realize?  Parents hunt for marriages for their daughters; knights seek friendship and alliances with other knights to strengthen their hands against any onslaught; Faramir hopes, as do I, that Ithilien will become so desirable in their sight that many will settle here, to strengthen our borders.  And whom do we have trampling over the letters patents of these noble guests?  A Wood-Elf!  It is true; he is neither Quendi nor Noldor, yet still his immortal being mocks his opponents’ weaknesses.  And beside – “ Aragorn paused, considering “ – I do not think Belecthor opened this tournament to any save free Men of Rhovanion, Rohan, Eriador, and the fiefs of Gondor.  If I am not much mistaken, Eryn Lasgalen is not one of those places.”

            “My lord,” said Faramir, looking uncomfortable, “Legolas Greenleaf is indeed one of your vassals.”

            Aragorn stared at him in amazement. “A vassal!” he exclaimed.  “How could that be?  A Wood-Elf from the Northern Kingdom?  No, surely you are jesting with me, Faramir.”

            “He does not,” retorted Éowyn with a lift of her chin.  “My husband and I have granted Legolas and his people a tract of land in North Ithilien.  He and his kin shall come at the spring of the next year, and continue their work of restoration in our embattled woods.  Had I a map present, I could show you the boundaries of his fiefdom myself.”

            The king frowned, nonplussed.  “Well,” he said darkly, “he has at least entered this tournament under disguise, and with patents of nobility that are very obviously counterfeit; I cannot allow him to stay.”  As Elessar said this, his three Council members entered with Bergil, and Belecthor drew himself up in alarm.

            “Who is it you speak of, my lord?” he asked anxiously.  “Have I allowed an impostor into this tournament?  Please, my lord, do not judge of me too harshly!  My Quartermaster, Targil, has been tasked with handling the patents of nobility, and – “

            “Oh, peace, Belecthor,” said Egalmoth moodily, kissing Elessar’s fingers and sitting heavily in a chair beside Faramir.  “From my previous experiences with his majesty, I do assure you his face darkens not with offence but with annoyance.”  He pulled a packet of papers from an inner pocket in his doublet and fanned himself.  “This tent is very close, my lords and ladies; could we not continue this council out of doors?”

            “No, Egalmoth, we cannot,” said Elessar, frowning.  “This is a secret council, and I caution you now to let no words that pass between us be heard outside the tent walls.  Bergil son of Beregond, I show a trusted esquire much disservice by this, but would you please retire for the space of half an hour?  I must needs disclose my mind to my councilors in a matter that deeply concerns one of the knights in this tournament, and both the identity of the knight and the nature of his offence should be kept quite secret.  Will you do this for me, Bergil?”

            The boy blinked in surprise at his king’s gentle tone, and filled with love for his lord he knelt and took one of Elessar’s hands in his own.  “I shall be silent as the grave, my lord king!” he assured Elessar, kissing his fingers, and then bowing to Faramir and the ladies he quitted the tent, closing the flap behind him.

            Eradan, who had lowered his vast bulk down upon a creaking oaken chair, also fanned himself.  “I ought to have asked for a cooling goblet of wine before he left,” he sighed.  “My lord, you are more gentle with that boy than you ought; with what certainty can you tell me he will not listen at the seam?”

            “I vouch for Bergil myself,” said Faramir a little stiffly.  “His father –“

            “Let us not bandy wasted words; time is of the essence,” interrupted Éowyn angrily.  “Belecthor’s servants are arranging the ordering of the foot-combats and jousts for tomorrow, based upon the lists of knights who won the field today.  Lasgalen of Dale is prominent upon that list, is he not, Ceremonies Master?”

            “He is,” admitted Belecthor, casting a worried glance at the angry king.  “Though his showing is but a little above average in sword-fighting, he is a terror on the lists and has tied with Vorondil today.  Even Malbeth fears to meet him again, and Hallas of Lossarnach, a young and hale knight himself, trembles at his name.  Targil and my other servants are working on the numbers now; shall I bid them wait?”

            “Let us come to an accord first,” suggested Faramir; “to do that you must be aware of his circumstances.”  Briefly, and without mentioning Legolas’ name or race, Faramir told the three older men what the Elf had done.  Eradan chuckled, all his chins jiggling upon his round chest and the rings on his fingers flashing.  Egalmoth and Belecthor seemed nonplussed, looking to Elessar in confusion.

            “Well, he seems a very secretive and mysterious young man indeed,” said Egalmoth, lacing his thin bony fingers together over his doublet, “yet I see not why this should be grounds for his expulsion.  You yourself, my lord, if you will remember, entered the foot-combat in Dol Amroth under the name Telcontar of Gondor, after Eradan had advised you not to endanger your royal person in such frivolous competition.”  Eradan laughed aloud, and even Belecthor smiled, while Elessar’s anger faded to consternation under the surprised looks of his wife and friends.  Faramir in particular seemed amazed by this and said slowly,

            “You told me, my lord, that you were going to Dol Amroth to see to the betrothal papers between Lothíriel and my brother-in-law.  Mean you to tell me, then, that the bruises you sustained on that trip were not due to the fall from a horse, as you had said to me, but to injuries – “

            Eradan laughed again, and the queen turned not to her husband but to her friend, saying, “Did I not say to you, Éowyn, that boys grow not wiser, only taller?”

            “That was not the same,” said Aragorn, growing angrier in his embarrassment.  “It was only a small tournament, with no jousting or prizes, and Faramir, I did not lie to you; indeed that was my purpose of the trip, to speak to Imrahil of Éomer’s desires.”

            “But I did tell you it would be unwise to put yourself in such danger,” Eradan reminded his king, smiling.  “And you did enter the tournament under a false name, as this Lasgalen has done.”  He cocked his egg-shaped head to one side, considering.  “And who is he, then, my lord?  May we not know even the name of the offender?”

            “’Twould mean naught to you; you know him not,” said Faramir.

            “Yet Elessar must know him well,” pressed Eradan, “to have recognized him under all that armour.”  The king shifted uncomfortably, anger fading, and said:

            “Eradan, I rue the day I let you continue on in your role as councilor after my coronation; you are too shrewd for me.”

            Eradan shrugged.  “Shrewd or blind, it matters not!  Yet I would know why Lasgalen of Dale’s deception affects you so strongly.  What is it in this young man that disturbs you so?  You need not fear for his health, for he has so far escaped injury by his great agility; Lord Faramir has told us he is indeed of noble blood, so it is no commoner disgracing the lists; his true name is not important, as we have proved by your own example – “  He gave the king a keen glance, and Aragorn flushed red.  Eradan smiled and turned to the Ceremonies Master, who was nervously plucking at his collar.  “Belecthor, my friend, what say you?  It is your tournament, yours and Lord Faramir’s anyway; before I make up my mind I think I would like to know your own in this matter.”

            Belecthor considered for a moment, turning his head this way and that around the circle, reading the expressions upon his companions’ faces.  Egalmoth seemed to him more irritated and impatient than concerned; Eradan was amused, Éowyn indignant, Arwen impassive, Faramir worried and Elessar abashed and angry because of his predicament; it was with great reluctance he said:  “Your majesty, you have said nothing to me that causes me to think Lasgalen of Dale should retire or be ejected from the Grand Tournament.  Though his letters patents are forged, yet you our king have assured us of the legitimacy of his claims, and there are no rules governing the entering of tournaments in disguise – in fact, in times long past it was customary, as knights warring against one another would come together to spar without enmity.  Nay, my lord, should you ask me to cast my vote for his expulsion, my answer would be Nay.”  Éowyn took a deep breath at this, and smiled at Belecthor, who was still looking anxiously at his king.  Aragorn turned to Faramir.

            “Well, Lord Faramir?” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.  “What say you?  You know this . . . this ‘young man,’ Lasgalen of Dale; you know what could be at stake here, should he be gravely injured, or perhaps killed, as does happen in these tournaments, be he possessed of extraordinary strength and skill or not.  My friend, can you think upon Gondor’s war-chests and cast your vote in accord with Belecthor’s?”

            “What is this, my lord?” asked Eradan, sitting up suddenly.  “Is there aught else we should be told?”

            “I was going to keep it secret,” said Aragorn, “until the end of the tournament.”

            “You have half-disclosed it already, my husband,” said Arwen.  “Desist in this teasing; it is most unbecoming.  Tell Eradan about the gold!  He is your chief Financial Advisor, after all.”

            “Very well,” sighed Aragorn.  “Alas that I rode out from Minas Tirith this morning!  Now all my secrets are laid out, and I have no reward for the faithful Eradan.”  He smiled at Eradan and said, “Lasgalen of Dale’s father is making to Gondor a loan of ten thousand gold marks, to be given to the treasury for the defense of Gondor, particularly at sea; already he has told me to commission the building of ships to send down to Pelargir.  I received his letter yesterday, my friends,” he said, looking from Eradan to Belecthor and Egalmoth, all of whom sat staring at him in amazement; “I meant to tell Eradan after the tournament, to thank him for his suggestion, and to reward him for his diligence in watching over my accounts; I knew it would be a great relief to him and the taking away of a troublesome burden.”

            Egalmoth let out a great breath and looked over at Eradan, who was speechless with surprise.  “A great reward indeed!” he said shakily.  “Ten thousand gold marks!  Why, that could build – “

            “Twenty-five ships, properly armed with trained sailors and soldiers,” said Eradan blankly, staring at his king.  “Ten thousand gold marks!  Upon my head be it, my lord, if I do not find some way to repay you for this news!”  He drew his fat hand across his forehead.  “Ten thousand gold marks!  But Lasgalen – “ he looked sharply at Elessar.  “His father, said you, my lord?  Well, and what would he do, then, should Lasgalen be injured, or killed?  Would he be so capricious as to withdraw his aid from you?”

            “I think not; he has ever been true to his word,” said Aragorn slowly, “though I know not for certain; I do not even know if he is aware his son has entered the Grand Tournament, nor do I know what his reaction would be, were he told.”  He turned to his wife.  “You know his father better than I,” he said; “think you he would withdraw his aid from us, should his son die?”

            “He?” asked Arwen in surprise.  “Nay, I think not, though I am not certain; Lasgalen is his only child, and he loves him very much.  But I do think me his generosity would suffer somewhat, should some ill befall the son he loves so dearly.  I am not certain.  And forget not his wife!  I am certain this venture of Lasgalen’s is made without her consent, if not without her knowledge, and should he fall injured or dead her mourning may be great enough to convince her husband to rethink his munificence.”

            Eradan made a face.  “Well, Belecthor,” he said, “what think you now?  Still say you Nay to his expulsion?”

            “Aye,” said Belecthor; “though it would warm my heart to see the Anduin so richly guarded, I think little of depending upon the caprices of some northern vassal for our succor; if he is so undependable an ally I do not think it would matter whether the Green Knight jousts or no.  He is a popular contestant – rich, and strong, and fast; already a great clamour and clatter is being made in the inns and farmsteads of Ithilien amongst the ladies seeking sons-in-law, and knights from the northern reaches of Gondor are eager for his friendship.  To expel him would be to shame him, and to deny the strength of his hand to our people, no matter if he is of Dale or elsewhere.  I say again:  Let him compete!  Besides, though we lose ten thousand gold marks, or ten million, I do not believe any harm will come to Lasgalen of Dale.  This is only a tournament, and he has already proven his arm is mighty.”

            “Well spoken,” said Egalmoth, though his smile was forced.  His thin hands were gripping the arms of the chair upon which he sat, and his fingers were white at the tips; when he saw the king’s eye upon him he let go and folded his hands slowly in his lap.  “But what says the Lord Faramir?  This tournament is being held in his fiefdom; the offense was made against him truly, not against King Elessar.  What say you, my lord?  Shall the Green Knight be made to withdraw?”

            Faramir sighed deeply and shook his head, then looked regretfully at his lord.  “Your pardon, my king!” he said sadly.  “It grieves me to be at odds with you; never in our dealings have we happened across such a subject about which we so sharply disagreed.  I do not want the Green Knight to withdraw; for myself, I think his father would be offended by that gesture, thinking that we belittled Lasgalen’s heart and courage in challenging the might of Gondor.  I know his father to be a fierce warrior himself, and it would seem insulting indeed to say to him his son had no place amongst the soldiers and knights of the south.  Besides, the Green Knight is your friend; do you truly wish to sadden him by this decision?  He loves you; you know that; he will do as you wish, but it will ever be a sorrow to him, knowing you thought him unworthy, or unable.”

            “I think neither,” insisted Aragorn; “I want him to be safe, and I do not want him to jeopardize the other knights; it is madness for him to enter!  Do you not see it, Faramir?  Arwen?”  He looked at his wife pleadingly, but she smiled and shook her head.

            “Nay, Elessar!” she said, taking his hand.  “I do not wish the Green Knight to withdraw.  Trust him, as you used; he will not fail you, neither on the lists nor in the council chamber with his father, when he arrives. I know you fear for him, because he is naïve, and unused to tournaments and games and such entertainments as we have in the stone cities, and also because you know his strengths as a warrior are neither the sword nor the lance; but I have faith in him, that he will acquit himself well, and when his father arrives as promised next week you will be able to say to him that his son has honoured both you and him with his prowess.  Let him compete, my husband; do not let your fear do him a disservice.”

            Aragorn sighed and looked at Éowyn; steel shone in her pale eyes.  “I know your vote, Lady of Rohan!” he smiled.  “You would have him carry your token to glory and victory upon the heads of all who dared oppose him!  Is that not your mind?”

            “It is,” said Éowyn, her voice hard and angry.  “I know not why you resist this, my lord, when all others are against you.  To have him withdraw would be a great dishonour.  Though you have yet to heed my advice, I beg you, do not do this!  Allow him his trial of arms, so that he may prove himself worthy as herald of Gondor’s salvation.”

            “We have not heard from Egalmoth or Eradan,” Belecthor pointed out; the two other councilors were exchanging uneasy glances, and Egalmoth was fidgeting anxiously.  “Elessar has requested their presence and therefore their counsel; what is their recommendation?  To have the Green Knight, who lately has been calling himself Lasgalen of Dale, withdraw from the Grand Tournament?”  When they did not at first respond, Belecthor said, “Come!  What say you both?  Yea or nay?”

            Eradan was the first to speak, and he looked greatly troubled; his pouchy jowls were red and streaked with perspiration, and his hands shifted uneasily.  “Greatly do I desire the replenishing of the war-chests!” he said heavily.  “Yet I trust not this secret knight from the north, nor his mercurial father.  And yet,” he said, voice slow and thoughtful, “yet I have heard rumour that Orodreth of Linhir – I have spoken to you, my lords, of him before; he is not to be trusted – he has wagered heavily upon Hallas of Lossarnach, who is to be husband to his niece – should he lose money on his wager, should Hallas fall beneath Lasgalen’s lance – “  Eradan’s face creased into smiles  “ – why, that would beggar him, I am sure of it!  And less of a threat to our coastlines, too, should Orodreth find himself unable to pay his soldiers.”  His face cleared, and he smiled.  “Nay, my lords, my ladies, your majesty, I am forced to agree with the majority; I believe the Green Knight should compete – if only to trample over Hallas of Lossarnach in the process,” he added, laughing.

            “Very well!” said the king, though he sounded irritated.  “Egalmoth, my friend, yours is the last vote to cast; what say you to this?”

            Egalmoth shook his head, thin lips pursed.  “I beg your indulgence, my lord,” he said firmly, “but I must cast my vote with Eradan – much though it pains me to do so!”  He smiled his thin smile at Eradan, who laughed and bowed in his seat.  “I believe there is no legal reason the Green Knight should not compete.  And I also say, let him compete under his alias, so that no question of his legitimacy should arise amongst the population, or the other knights.  It would do this tournament no good were it whispered abroad that one of the knights had no right to be here.  We are in difficulties enough down south, where the fiefdoms are unwilling to fully swear allegiance to Elessar; let us not cast a stain upon our reputations further.”

            The king looked from one of his councilors to the other, reading their thoughts in their faces; at last he turned to Éowyn and let out a sigh.

            “Give me your scarf, Éowyn of Emyn Arnen!” he said, holding out his hand.  “I shall deliver it up to your champion myself.”

8.

            Aragorn threw an old cloak over his doublet, dismissed his guard, and strode toward the Tent City.  At first he marched forward with his usual purposeful pace, but after some moments he slowed as the beauty of the day about him took its hold upon his mood.  He greatly disliked the preposterous situation Legolas had forced him into, but at length his sense of humour resurfaced, and his sense of perspective also, and thus resigned he resumed his pace, enjoying the light cooling breeze after the stifling stillness of his tent.  All about him hurried his people, though they marked him not as their king; they bustled to and fro, hawking cakes and breads, haggling over pennies and hens, arguing about cows and corn and fence-posts:  market-day as usual in Osgiliath and its surrounds.  Small round arbors crowned with spindly young trees he passed, noting the oaks and pines and lindens; here and there were stone-encircled gardens of herbs, casting their fragrance into the golden air.  There were rosemary and tarragon, verbena and basil, coriander and thyme, oregano and marjoram, and placed here and there amongst the aromatic pots and brakes were flowering lobelia and impatiens and roses, with marigolds to discourage the rabbits.  Women tended and harvested them, placing great handfuls in broad flat baskets, smiling and laughing, and discussing this or that young lady’s fancies on the lists.  There was great excitement mingled with the homely husbandry, the day-to-day tasks of his poorest people were tinged with the thrills of the Tournament.  King Elessar smiled secretly to himself as two young maidens, laden with baskets of late peaches, gave him appraising looks as he passed, giggling together appreciatively.  No doubt they took him for a noble or one of the competing knights; neither recognized him for what he was, and he was grateful.

            The gates to the Tent City were opened wide; the guards stationed at either side wore crowns of clover and honeysuckle twined upon their helmets, and they laughed and jested together, heedless of all who passed in and out, save some smart-looking young lady who might give them the eye and pass the time of day with them.  So unnoticed the king entered, and approached the booth inside the gate, where sat a man in a brown tunic, studying some charts.  There was a large map hung behind him of the Tent City, divided into sections denoting where one knight’s territory began and the other’s ended.  He looked up upon seeing a visitor, and sprang to his feet, smiling in a friendly fashion.

            “Well met, good sir!” he said, bowing with his hand upon his breast.  “I am Targil, Quartermaster to the Grand Tournament’s Tent City.  You are but late come to our city, I see, but still I hope we can accommodate you!  How many in your party?”

            “I come not to compete, only to visit a friend,” said Aragorn with a smile.  “So I fear I must disappoint you; I am housed already, outside the Tent City.”  He gestured behind him towards the gates.  “But tell me, my good man, where will I find Lasgalen of Dale?  I am very anxious to speak with him.”

            “Lasgalen of Dale?”  The porter’s face fell.  “Well, sir, I can direct you to his tents – indeed they are not difficult at all to find, being in the prime location and very luxurious and well-appointed – but you should not hold out much hope for an interview!  Many knights and nobles have attempted to meet with him, desiring to arrange various partnerships and alliances, but none have prevailed; he speaks not to anyone, and neither his esquire nor his armourer are the manner of servant to coerce; never have I seen such an aloof knight!  Yet those who overlook his secretive nature benefit the most from his custom, as I can attest to personally; his esquire is quite free with his master’s money, procuring the best and paying the most.”  The man smiled at this.  “But if it is your will, sir, I will show you here on this map – his tents are here, by the well, and but one street removed from the ice house; the esquire was quite particular about the placement and the amenities.”

            “I doubt it not!” said Aragorn.  “The Halflings are, I am told, quite fond of their provender, preferring that it be both abundant and immediate.  But I have no qualms about addressing the Green Knight.  He is a friend of mine.”

            “Is he, sir?” said the porter curiously.  “Then perhaps before you go, you can satisfy my inquisitiveness; he is obviously very rich and splendid, and his skills are remarkable; if he is not married, as his esquire insists, why have no offers from the noble families around us been accepted, or at least attended to?  It seems passing strange to me, that he should not require a wife.”

            “His father would say he is too young to marry,” said Aragorn.

            “Too young!” exclaimed the porter, shaking his head in disbelief.  “Well, if he is old enough to joust he is old enough to produce heirs, in my opinion, sir – and you may tell him that for me, if you like; it is unseemly for so great a knight to hold himself so detached from the matchmakers hereabouts.”

            “I will tell him so,” laughed Aragorn, and taking his leave of the man he entered the maze of streets.

            It was hotter between the tents, and dusty; many feet of both man and horse had passed that way and churned up the dry dirt.  Aragorn held his cloak before his face, in part to block out the dust and in part to secrete his features lest some knight or lord chance to glance upon him and recognize him.  All about him were the voices of men and the sounds of the blacksmith’s art; armour was being repaired and strengthened, lances built and swords sharpened in preparation for the next day’s entertainments.  Also there were grocers pushing wheel-carts through the streets, calling out their wares in hoarse voices:  “Rabbit, pheasant, grouse, goose and duck!  Fresh pork sausage, sweetbread, smoked ham!” and others: “White bread and brown, honey-cakes and sweetmeats!  Sugar white and dark, loose and candied!” and others still:  “Red and white wine; sweet and dry!  In bottles, skins and tonneaus!  Mead, ale, beer!”  Aragorn stood aside to let them pass and continued on into the northern part of the City.

            It was scarcely necessary to ask for further directions; the tents of the Green Knight were palatial, rising half again as tall as their neighbors, surmounted with bright banners bearing his heraldry upon gilt-tipped poles.  Great swags of heavy green fabric covered the main body of the tents, worked all over with embroidered dragons and motifs of flame and edged with gold and silver cord tassels.  The first two tents were more open pavilions with removable outer walls; they housed both the armoury and the stables, in which stood the various beasts of burden, stamping and swishing their long tails upon well-groomed flanks.  The armoury was partially enclosed, but Aragorn could see it housed a well-appointed kitchen as well, with an oven, a brick cook-stove, and an open fire with a spit; there was another small brick enclosure which Aragorn guessed was the ice-chest.  It was no wonder the denizens of the Tent City were impressed with Lasgalen of Dale; no other knight, not even Malbeth of Celos or Aldamir of Minas Tirith, rich lords though they were, even rivaled the Green Knight’s temporary home.

            This remarkable spectacle was marred somewhat by the sight of the Hobbit sitting upon a small stool before the entrance to the main tent.  He was clad in a ragged looking red tunic, somewhat too small for him, and was covered in feathers, as he was engaged in plucking a brace of young hens, which lay in a basket beside him.  He glanced up as Aragorn approached.

            “For what they charge for these birds,” he complained, by way of beginning the conversation, “you’d think they’d pluck and dress them for you, too!  Well, at least they’ve cleaned them and taken their heads and feet; I can’t be expected to do everything, you know, at least not before dinner-time.”

            “I am sure, Master Hobbit, if you but paid the grocer a penny or two more, he would surely find it in his heart to pluck the birds for you,” said Aragorn, suppressing a smile.

            The Hobbit seemed to find this remark very foolish.  “Why, I have paid him three pennies apiece already!” he said indignantly.  “I should have stuck with the original poultry-man; he charged two-and-a-half for four hens fully cleaned, though I’ll admit they were not so young as I would have liked.  Well, it is only for a casserole anyway; and tomorrow you can be certain I’ll go to a different butcher, and get some game-hens to roast, or perhaps a gigot of beef.”  Then he looked up and realized who stood before him.  He jumped to his feet, face very red.  “I beg your pardon!” he exclaimed.  “Please forgive me!  I didn’t recognize you, all covered up like that!”

            “Not at all!” said Aragorn.  “I meant to not be recognized; it is gratifying to know I managed to trick you as well, though I’d hardly hoped to do so to one with such sharp eyes.”

            “Gimli’ll have my head if he hears of this,” sighed the Hobbit, gesturing to the armoury with the half-plucked chicken.  “I never manage to get the greetings right.  Seems a big waste of time to me, really; why would any Big Folk care how I addressed them?  But he’s got this notion in his hard head to make a proper squire out of me, with all the courtesies and flowery language and such.  Waste of time, really; I mean, my Master doesn’t care how I speak – well, not really, he does mind I suppose, but he doesn’t show it as much as Gimli does – and even my mother couldn’t get me to talk sensibly to the Thain, which got me in hot water more than once, I can tell you!”  He took a deep breath, and looked inquiringly at Aragorn.  “I say, shouldn’t I be bowing or something here?  Seems to me my Master told me I should bow when being presented to a king or a monarch or such, but we’re not really in a throne room or any official place, and you’re not dressed quite regal, you know.  And besides,” he added, brightening, “if you’re walking about incognito, as they say, a bow would be pretty out of place, wouldn’t it?  I mean, it’d just be advertising to all and sundry who you are and all.”

            “I’ll overlook the bow for this once,” said Aragorn solemnly.  “It would not be the first time I have been told by a Hobbit that I do not look regal.”

            “Well, that’s a relief,” said the Hobbit, smiling engagingly at the king.  “I bet it was my Uncle Pip told you so, too – sounds just like him.”

“He was but one of them, yes,” said Aragorn.  “May I speak to the Green Knight?  I have something of import to disclose to him.”

“Well, you could, I guess, if he was here,” said the Hobbit, “except he isn’t, so you can’t.  Sorry about that and all, but we didn’t know you were coming, you know.  You ought to have told us.  So he’s taken Arod out, to give him a turn around the outside of the enclosure, seeing as he’s getting a little restless – Arod’s getting restless, I mean, not my Master -- , what with Hatchet doing all the work all of a sudden.”

“What about Gimli, is he here, then?”

“No – sorry!  He ran off to find some smelting-stuff, or whatever it is; I’m not too familiar around the smithy, though it’s not for want of asking for information.  Good gracious, you’d think I was sticking him with needles instead of asking him questions, for how he reacts.  ‘Not now, Bandy, can’t you see I’m busy?’  ‘Put that down, Bandy, before you poke my eye out!’  ‘Get off the bellows, Bandy, or you’ll break them!’  Heavens, it’s not as though I’m actually trying to get in his way, but my kitchen is right next to him, after all, so it’s no wonder I’m curious, is it?”

“Certainly not!” said Aragorn.  “And it is by the posing of questions that one is enlightened.”

“Just what I said!” agreed the Hobbit.  “Only I didn’t say it as refined-like as you did.  So now, what can I do for you then, your  – I mean, sir?  Decided what to do about my Master’s jousting yet?”

            “I have,” said Aragorn.  “I have met with my councilors and we have agreed to let him continue.”  He took out Éowyn’s scarf.  “Will you give this to him?  Lady Éowyn wishes him to wear it as her champion in the foot-combat and the joust.”

            “Oh!” said the Hobbit, taking the scarf and setting it upon his little stool.  “Well!  I’m – well, he’ll be pleased no end, I’m sure; got his heart set on seeing this through, you know.”  He dug one toe into the dirt and feathers at his foot and shifted uncomfortably.

            “You do not seem very contented with my decision,” said Aragorn.

            “Well, your – sir, to tell you the truth, I’m not so keen on this tournament business as I was when we started out,” the Hobbit confessed.  “It was just a lark at first, with him charging about on Hatchet and whacking at dummies and scarecrows and shields hanging from tree-branches, but the first time I saw him crash into that other knight, Malbeth he was, well, you can imagine what went through my mind – all that noise, and the splinters going everywhere!  It fair knocked me senseless, it did, and I got to thinking how it could be that he’d hurt himself, or even get killed dead, doing this here.  Didn’t like it a bit, I didn’t.  But he’s a brave one, my Master,” the Hobbit conceded, looking proud; “and say what you like about him he’s not one to give up on something, or go back on his word.  Honourable, that’s what he is, and he’ll see this through to the end, no matter what happens to him.  I’ll give him the lady’s scarf, at least, that ought to make him happy, though he hasn’t been too pleased over all the other scarves and tokens and what-nots that’ve been dumped on me.  You’d think there were young ladies running around without a scrap on, you would, for all the cloth I’ve collected these past few days.  I suppose it’s customary for a knight to wear something of a lady’s clothing when he fights, isn’t it?  Though I do wish, sir, you’d have talked him into withdrawing; I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him; I really don’t.”

            “You needn’t fear for your Master,” said Aragorn gently, seeing that the Hobbit was truly concerned.  “The Green Knight is swift and strong and sure; I fear more for my own men than for him.”

            “True enough,” said the Hobbit, casting aside his worried expression as quickly as it had come upon him.  “Very quick, isn’t he, sir?  Never seen anyone move that sudden-like, not even my Aunt Vinca, who’s mighty quick on her feet, especially if she’s caught me and my cousins up in her apple orchard.  My, but she could whack us hard!”  He rubbed thoughtfully at his backside in reminiscence.  “I just wish he was a bit more used to fighting with that there sword.  His dad gave him a warm-up before we left, but it’s been bow and arrow for more years than I’ve been around, and he’s out of practice, like.”

            “I greatly wish he had entered only in the marks,” agreed Aragorn.  “It concerns me that he has placed himself in so much danger, for such a frivolous thing.  And though I love him, at times I confess I understand him but little.”

            “You're not the only one!” nodded the Hobbit.  “But I don’t see as I have much right to judge him in that; he’s a bit loftier than me, you know, being what he is.  It still shocks me a little to think of him taking me on along with him on this little adventure.  You’d think a Hobbit’d be a bit below a fellow like him.”

            “Not at all!” said Aragorn.  “Though I confess I am asking myself how you came to be in his service, and not as a companion.”

            “Ah, now, that’s a tale and a half!” sighed the Hobbit.  “Not his fault, really; I put him up to it and Gimli backed me up.  He’ll be well pleased to be shed of me, I bet!”  The hobbit’s face clouded over.  “Not that I’m looking forward to that,” he said a little sadly.  “But I can tell you, sir, that –“

            There was the sound of bells from Osgiliath, clanging and jangling through the air over the noise of the Tent City, and the hobbit gave an exclamation.  “Bless me!” he gasped, shaking his hen in agitation.  “Is it that late already?  Heavens, but I’m behind!  Will you excuse me, please, sir?  I got that caught up talking to you and I haven’t even finished plucking these dratted birds yet, and there’s dinner to start.  Oh!”  He dropped the bird and said, “Wait a moment!” and ducked inside the tent.  Aragorn waited, hearing him rustling around inside, then he came back out, holding two vellum envelopes, addressed with purple ink in elegant script and sealed with green wax.  “These are dinner invitations,” he explained, handing them to Aragorn.  “I was going to find a boy to run them over this morning, but what with my pony foundering and the sword-fights and all, it flew completely out of my mind.  And then I was going to bring it over to you myself after the jousts, but you called my Master in to you, and I was so harrowed-up I completely forgot.  This one’s for you and your lady,” he said, pointing to one, “and the other one’s for Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn.  Would you give it to them, please?  Otherwise they’re likely to accept some other invitation, and my Master’ll not be too happy with me, even if dinner is on time, which doesn’t seem likely at this hour.”

            “I will do that,” said Aragorn, tucking the envelopes inside his doublet.  “And now I shall take my leave of you, Master Hobbit, so that you may facilitate the preparation of your Master’s dinner.”

            “Thank you!” said the Hobbit, picking up his hen and sitting back down upon Éowyn’s scarf, as he had forgotten it was there.  “See you tonight, then!”  And he dismissed the king with a friendly wave.

            As Aragorn walked away, Bandobras thought to himself:  “Well!  Kings aren’t that hard to talk to after all.  This one’s quite pleasant.  I bet at bottom they’re really a lot like me.”

Edlothiel, the name of Legolas’ mother, was taken (with permission) from PutterPatty’s story “E cared haniant tîn mîl” posted on this site, which I strongly recommend you read.

9.

            When King Elessar and his Queen entered the Tent City, they were attended by a company of soldiers, clad in black and silver and bearing shining spears; also with them were Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn.  All the folk of Osgiliath had come out to watch them pass and to cheer them, crying their names with joy; many felt the Grand Tournament would be made even greater by the presence of their king and queen.  Elessar was clothed in a black doublet figured in silver with the crowned, star-surmounted tree, and Undómiel eclipsed the moonlit sky with her luminous blue gown that trailed like faerie-wings behind her white shoulders.  Faramir wore black, as did Elessar, though there was no crown embroidered upon his breast, and Éowyn was clad in green, green as grass, and her hair was like sunlight upon a fresh spring meadow.  She wore no scarf, a reminder to her people that the Green Knight was her champion, and the folk about her remarked upon it, saying, “See!  The Lady of Emyn Arnen goes to meet with Lasgalen of Dale!”  Faramir heard the observations and glanced smiling upon his wife; Éowyn was pleased with the accolades and her eyes shone.

            As they passed through the Tent City various lords and their esquires ran out also to see them, standing amazed at the spectacle, and when it was whispered about the city that the King and his friends were going to sup with the Green Knight, many lords and nobles resolved anew to press their friendship upon the knight from Dale, thus strengthening their places in the courts.  Some of the knights wondered to each other what meaning there could be behind Lasgalen’s unwillingness to mingle with them, though he seemed able to draw within his circle King Elessar himself, and there was some muttering at this.  But Araval of Tarlang, whose esquire had become friendly with the Perian, set their hearts at ease by saying, “Fear not!  It is not out of hostile reasons the Green Knight hides his countenance from us; I have been assured by Hador, my esquire, that he has entered this tournament in secret for a mere jest, and that is why he veils himself so.  And the Perian further has assured Hador that when this Grand Tournament is wound up, he will uncloak, so that all may make his acquaintance freely.”  So the word went abroad throughout the Tent City of the friendship between the Green Knight and the king, and all marveled at this.

            Faramir arranged the soldiers about the entrance of the Green Knight’s tent so that none could disrupt them, and he told his captain Beregond:  “See to it that our meal with Lasgalen of Dale goes undisturbed, Captain.  And assure your men that though we shall be feasting and merrymaking into the night, as reward for tonight’s labours the King Elessar and I have decided they shall be relieved of their duties tomorrow, so that they may attend the festivities at their leisure.”  Beregond thanked him and withdrew, marshalling his men about the tent, and the steward and his companions approached the entrance.

            Gimli stood there, dressed in red and yellow, with a thick rope of gold about his neck, upon which there hung a tiny box cunningly worked over with mithril; his long beard was forked and braided and tucked into a magnificent gold belt.  He bowed deeply, smiling, and said:  “Hail King Elessar, Lord of Gondor!  And hail, Arwen Undómiel, Evenstar of your people!”  They bowed to him, and Gimli turned to Faramir and Éowyn:  “Hail, Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen!   Blessed are we indeed who sojourn in your realm!”

            “Your tongue gets ever sweeter, Master Gimli!” laughed Éowyn, giving him a curtsey.  “Yet I thank you for your kind words.”

            Aragorn knelt and embraced him, saying, “You are fortunate, my friend, that I first approach you after I have conferred with my councilors.  I admit I was wroth with you, for allowing Lasgalen of Dale to endanger himself so.”

            “Well, be angry with me no longer, Aragorn,” said Gimli, waving it aside.  “And don’t lay any blame upon Lasgalen’s shoulders – it’s my fault, really; mine and the Hobbit’s.  But come in, come in!  Don’t stand out in the night air,” he said, holding aside the tent-flap and gesturing to them.  “Aragorn, you were ever indifferent to the elements, but I expected better of the ladies.”

            Laughing they entered the great tent, and once inside looked about with astonishment; the walls of the tent were richly tapestried in green and gold, the ceiling figured over with silver embroidered stars on a rich blue and red background, and many tassels and ropes hung from the corners and closed windows.  A large carven table stood in the middle of the room, hung with snowy cloth and set with white china and shining silver, upon which glowed many beeswax tapers set in ornately carved candlesticks.  In the center of the table was an enormous bowl of fruit, sitting upon a larger platter that held an assortment of cheeses encircling it.  There were six comfortable-looking chairs, much cushioned and padded, set about the table, and already many covered platters were placed upon the side-board by the western wall.  On the other side of the room, by the head of the table, was a tall pedestal, upon which sat a large silver ewer and some white cloths.   Above their heads, suspended from the center poles of the tent, was a massive chandelier made of cast silver and hung with crystals, in which burned many small oil lamps.              While they were gazing at this, and marveling that such luxury could be contained within a tent, a tall figure clad all in white rose from his place at the head of the table and said in a clear, merry voice:  “Welcome to the abode of the Green Knight!”

            “This is an astonishing welcome, indeed!” exclaimed Aragorn, looking about himself.  “Had I known I could live in such opulence within cloth walls, I would forever dispense with the stone ones!”

            Legolas laughed and came forward to embrace them, kissing them each in turn upon the forehead.  He also was dressed richly, his snow-white doublet glittering with gems and silver thread, and a crown of silver oak leaves upon his shining hair.  Faramir and Éowyn looked at him in amazement, for they had ever seen him in the green and brown of a woodsman, and not in the garb that befit the prince of an Elven realm.  But when he kissed Éowyn, she saw that her scarf was bound about his right arm below the shoulder, and she said,

            “So you are to be my champion indeed, friend Legolas!  I am glad; if my husband cannot joust, I will have no other champion besides you.”

            “Did you ever doubt, lady of Rohan?” smiled Aragorn.  “I could not have borne your vexation and would doubtless have capitulated eventually.”

            “I think you have more influence over Estel than I, Éowyn,” said Arwen with a laugh.  She reached up with one hand to touch Legolas’ circlet.  “Unless I am much mistaken, my friend, that is Edlothiel’s, is it not?”

            “It is,” said Legolas, taking the two ladies by the hands and leading them to the ewer.  “She gave it me before I departed, telling me to wear it should I find myself in noble company.”

            “And who are you, to argue with your mother?” asked Gimli, shaking his head.  “She would tell you to wear a bucket on your head and you would obey her.”

            “Nay, not a bucket,” answered Legolas, eyes twinkling.  “That would not be befitting her son.  She made to give me the crown of Oropher, but I objected, as it is large and quite heavy; and she made do with this.”  He touched the circlet lightly with the tips of his fingers; it was of wonderful make, even the veins of the leaves carved elaborately into the silver, each nut a nugget of opal, and with tiny gems speckled throughout.  He then laved the ladies’ hands in the warm, lavender-scented water, wiping them dry with a cloth, and repeated this for both Elessar and Faramir.  Then he set Arwen upon his left and Éowyn upon his right, saying, “We are a little short of women in our household, so with everyone’s permission I shall cosset myself between the two ladies, that they may pamper me and make me feel indulged.  Aragorn, you sit beside Éowyn; Faramir beside Arwen, and Gimli between you, so that you two men will not fight over your wives, when you argue over which one is the fairest.”

            “It would be difficult to say,” said Faramir, looking at the three seated before him.  Arwen and Legolas’ skin was as translucent as abalone, and his wife’s golden hair was so rich a color it made Legolas’ fair locks seem almost silver.  “With you between them, Legolas, it is as though three of the four seasons in their allure settle themselves to dine – Éowyn is summer, Arwen is spring, and you, Legolas, are winter.”

            “Leaving me to be autumn, I suppose!” said Gimli good-naturedly.  “Well, that’s what we get, my friends, for surrounding ourselves with Elves and beautiful women – poetry and a delayed meal.”

            They laughed, and Legolas clapped his hands together; at once the Hobbit, dressed now in new green breeches and a rich waistcoat with gold buttons, came in with a jeroboam of wine.

            “Yes, Master?” he asked.

            “We are all seated, Bandobras,” said Legolas, smiling at him.  “You should pour the wine now.”

            “Oh!  Right away,” cried the Hobbit eagerly, jumping forward with the bottle.  He tipped the neck down into the crystal goblets with not a little difficulty; it was a heavy jeroboam and he was but a small person, yet he managed it without spilling a single red drop.  When he came to Aragorn he said:  “Glad you could make it, sir!  And thanks again for passing along that invitation; that was a real time-saver.”

            Legolas’ face changed color, and Gimli lowered his head into his hand.  “Bandy!” he exclaimed angrily; “did you send King Elessar errand-running for you?  And you must address him as ‘your Majesty,’ not ‘sir’!”

            Bandobras drew back anxiously, eyebrows puckered.  “Well, I did,” he admitted, casting Legolas a fearful look.  “It seemed better than paying a lad to do it, since he was right there and going to see them anyway.  And I slipped up on the ‘sir;’ he came hidden-like to the tent earlier and I couldn’t call him ‘Majesty’ then.”  He looked with pleading eyes at Legolas, his lower lip starting to tremble.  “I – I didn’t mean any harm, Master.”

            Gimli’s face darkened and he started to splutter, but Legolas left his chair, got down on one knee, and took the Hobbit by the shoulder.  “Never mind that, Bandobras!” he said soothingly, taking the jeroboam from him.  “I am sure Aragorn doesn’t mind; after all he is called ‘Strider’ by your uncle, and has been king but a few years, so he is not yet used to the subtleties of courtly etiquette.  Go into the kitchen and see to the soup ere it burns.”

            “Yes, Master,” sniffed the Hobbit, wiping his eyes and scuttling away.  Legolas himself began to pour the wine, and Gimli said, glowering:

            “You spoil that urchin, Legolas, with all that pandering!  He ought to know better.”

            “He is very young,” soothed Legolas, filling his glass with the purple-red vintage.  “He has not yet had the experience that we have.  And remember the Little Folk are not used to all this formality, Gimli.”

            “That halfling will be the death of me,” groaned the Dwarf.  “Sending a king to deliver a message to a steward!  And he ought to have sent those invitations this morning, and not waited until after the joust.”

            “It matters not; our guests are here, and all is well,” smiled Legolas, and the others saw that Legolas was quietly laughing, not offended at all by his esquire’s impropriety.

            “He ought to be learning how to act around the nobility!” fumed Gimli.  “He is still rough and unrefined, and speaks with – “

            “Come, come!  Let us not quarrel,” said Legolas equably, setting the bottle onto the table and sitting in his chair.  “After all, Gimli, had it not been for your advice – “

            “Yes, yes, I know,” the dwarf grumbled.  “All I’m saying is that Bandy should show a little more respect to his betters.”

            “He is very considerate to me,” Legolas protested, smiling.

            “Of course he is considerate to you; he thinks of you as one of the Valar!” said Gimli.  “It is the rest of us mortals that could use a little respect!”  He looked over at Arwen, who was laughing with the rest, and bowed in his seat.  “I meant nothing by that,” he apologized, “it is just that this Hobbit sets my teeth on edge.”

            There was a clatter of curtain-rings, and Bandy entered, carrying a smoking tureen.  “Got it just right!” he panted under the weight.  He set the tureen down and began ladling the creamy concoction into the bowls.  “I wasn’t sure about that herb you suggested, Master, but I have to admit it’s given the soup quite a nice flavor.  Hope you like it thick, my lords and ladies,” he added to the assembly; “I had a taste for thick tonight, since there’s fish on the menu.”

            Gimli spluttered a little at this, but Legolas interrupted him firmly.  “That is admirable, Bandobras,” he said, earning a beaming grin from his esquire.  “It smells superb; I am sure we shall all enjoy it.”  The passing of the soup occurred without much incident, save Gimli’s hiss:  “Ladies first!  Ladies first!” and Bandobras became so flustered he took Faramir’s soup from him and gave it to Arwen.  When he returned to the kitchen, Legolas looked at his friend in exasperation.

            “Gimli, it truly does not matter to me whether he serves the soup properly or not!  Is it not enough he has gone through all this effort and great labour to prepare such a feast for us and our guests?”

            “It was his own idea to travel thus,” said Gimli, gesturing to the tent and all its fine trappings.  “I thought it would have been better to have but one waggon with only modest lodgings and food,” he explained to the guests; “Bandy was having none of that, saying it was unfitting for a prince to travel so modestly.  And so he has practically beggared us – “

            “Oh, no, not that,” laughed Legolas, but Gimli continued as though he had not spoken: “– purchasing a tent fit for a king, indeed an emperor, and horses and mules and wains, and the most exotic and expensive foods – “

            “You yourself admitted it was a refreshing change to eat so well, and Bandobras is an estimable cook,” said Legolas, still laughing.

            “And besides, with such splendid and highly crafted armour, it would look strange to travel otherwise,” broke in Faramir quickly.  “Think, friend Dwarf, how it would seem to the other knights, to have a lord arrive on a sad old horse, dragging behind him a patched and dirty tent, yet be arrayed in such fine Dwarvish armour?  They would whisper that he had spent all his money on his cuirass and left none for his servants.”

            Gimli appeared to consider that, and Legolas looked at Faramir gratefully.  “It is true; I had not seen it that way,” the Dwarf admitted gruffly, appeased by the steward’s praise of the armour; “and anyway, Legolas, you are right; Bandy is a superlative cook.”

            “Thank you!” said Bandy entering, having heard this last phrase.  “I hope you’re done with the soup, then, because the turbot is done to a turn and you must eat it right away or it will be too dry.”

            Fortunately for Legolas and his guests they were indeed finished with the soup, and Aragorn said as Bandobras took up the bowls:  “It was very good, as you promised, son of Reginard!  I look forward to the next course.”

            “I’m not so sure it’ll be to your liking, sir – your Majesty,” said Bandobras apologetically; “I’m not used to cooking turbot; it’s bass for me every time – bass or trout.”  He balanced the bowls precariously upon his forearms and backed out of the room.

            The turbot was outstanding, despite Bandy’s deprecations, and following that was the casserole filled with chicken and vegetables (“Wanted to put in turnips, my lords and ladies, but it seems they don’t grow ‘em here – had to put in carrots and onions instead”), then a roast leg of goat delicately seasoned (“Odd herbs you grow here, your Majesties; I was looking for some fennel but had to do with this anise-seed”), and finally a beautiful subtlety in the shape of a flower, studded with candied fruits and garnished with sweet double cream (“No, my lady, thank you, I didn’t make this, bought it from the baker this morning”).  Under the covered platters were loaves of fresh white bread (“Good baker, that one; but I have to bribe him something terrible to get the best rolls”) and bowls of olives swimming in brine (“Odd things, aren’t they?  Like little rocks with tasty meat around them”) and, to Gimli’s disgust, stewed mushrooms (“Isn’t a meal without ‘em, you know”).  And ever the guests and their hosts ate and drank, and smiled at the Hobbit’s comments, until finally sated with good food and wine, Legolas called Bandy into the room.

            “Little One, you have acquitted yourself splendidly,” he said, putting his arm about the Hobbit’s shoulders and kissing the crown of his curly head.  “I am pleased with you and your efforts, and so are my guests!  Now, my Bandobras, to a more important topic; have you yet eaten?  I would not have you go hungry while I gorge myself upon your food.”

            “Yes, Master!” said the Hobbit, eyes shining with pleasure.  “Gobbled each course right up while you were eating in here – I’m a good fast eater, you know.”

            “Excellent!” said Legolas.  “We are going to sit upon the couches and talk together of our kingdoms and fiefdoms, economics and alliances, and such things befitting people of our rank; you shall sit upon your stool, when you have finished emptying the table, and attend to us, that you may learn a little of the tasks and charges of the nobility, and so improve your knowledge.”

            “May I sit next to you on the couch, Master, please?” begged Bandobras, taking Legolas’ long white hand in his own little brown paws.  “Oh, please, let me sit next to you, and lean up against you while I listen to you talk!  I won’t interrupt you, I won’t, I won’t, not even once, I promise!”

            “Very well,” said Legolas, smiling down upon the Hobbit.  “We shall retire us to the far corner, where lie the divans, and begin; the sooner you complete your task, the sooner you may sit beside me.”

            “I’ll be quick as I can!” squeaked the Hobbit, vanishing in a flash, and soon the clank and clatter of dishes being hurriedly stacked and moved came from the table.  Legolas led his guests to the eastern corner of the tent, where there were set upon the ground several soft low couches, festooned with embroidered and tasseled cushions, resting upon a thick soft rug of great magnificence.  Several lamps swung from the tent poles, letting forth a pleasing fragrance as they burned the sweet-smelling oils, and the corner was filled with warm orange light.

            As they sat upon the couches Gimli muttered to Legolas, “What about the dishes?  Oughtn’t he to be washing up?” and Legolas replied:  “He has hired a young girl from the neighboring village to help; she is outside in the kitchen-tent now, and will clean up for him.  I feel it is far more important to his education as my esquire for him to be in here with us, attending to our words, and observing the behavior of courtly people.”

            “Well,” conceded Gimli reluctantly, “so long as she lets my nippers and tongs alone, I suppose that will do.”

            There was in the midst of the settees a low table, upon which sat six silver flagons and a decanter of wine.  While his guests made themselves comfortable, Legolas poured out the wine and handed it round, saying, “Drink, and be glad, my friends; war and want are behind us, and now is the time of merrymaking!”

            They began to speak of Thranduil’s loan, and the benefits that would arise from it, taking especial pleasure in the planning of the flotilla to be built, the ships and their various attributes; when Bandobras came in, flushed and eager, Aragorn and Legolas were debating the advantages of booms fore and aft, and the placement of sails, and the construction of the mizenmasts.   He crawled over the cushions at Legolas’ feet, worming himself inside the circle of his Master’s arm, and leaned upon the Elf’s jeweled chest with a happy sigh.  Faramir and Éowyn watched with fascination the subtle burrowing of the small creature, and when Legolas dropped a hand to absently play with his esquire’s brown curls, Éowyn smiled, for Bandobras’ eyes were drooping, and it did not seem as though he would gain much from the conversation.  Yet true to his promise he did not interrupt them, not even once, mostly because within five minutes from resting upon his Master’s lap he had drifted into a contented sleep.

10.

“Tell me, Legolas,” said Aragorn at length, when the light of the lamps had darkened and the decanter of wine emptied, and all the ships of the fleet had been redesigned and redecorated, “tell me, how comes all this about?  A Dwarf and an Elf and a Hobbit travel to a tournament run by kings of Men; moreover the Hobbit, ever a free creature, calls the Elf ‘Master’ and is not rebuked for his confidence!  Never in my long years have I seen such a thing, and it is the all the more astonishing to me, that it should be you, my friend, who has allowed himself to be drawn into this, who have always been so sensible before.”

            “You are not the only one who is astonished!” smiled Legolas.  He sat upon the divan beside Gimli, who was drowsing contentedly; on the Elf’s lap lay the slumbering form of the Hobbit.  In the dim light the Elf’s doublet seemed golden not white, and his hair like a resplendent sun adorned his head.  With his long white hand he caressed the Hobbit’s hair, twining the brown tendrils about his fingers.  “I have been in this particular state of affairs for nigh on five months, and it ceases not to amaze and confound me that Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood has taken for himself a halfling-servant.”

            “The joust, then, does not amaze you?” asked Faramir, gently teasing.

            “Well, a little, perhaps,” Legolas admitted.  “And Gimli and Bandobras may tell you that the whole situation was their idea, yet you must remember it was I who saw it to fruition by my efforts –  by capacities both pecuniary and martial.”

            “I am surprised your father allowed it,” smiled Arwen.

            “Allowed it!” laughed Legolas.  “My Lady Undómiel, he persuaded me to follow through with it!  His sole grievance, he complained to me, was that he himself would be unable to partake in the gaiety himself, as he felt it would be actions unfitting his royal standing.”  Smiling still, Legolas looked down upon the sleeping Hobbit, who had turned over and flung his arms out beside him, breathing deeply through his rosy lips.  “And also, as he persuaded my mother, it would seem less like benevolence and more like triumph to deliver up to King Elessar the gold, when his son had romped through the ranks of mortal knights, trouncing them completely.”

            “Said he that?” asked Faramir, laughing.

            “Aye, or words to that effect; I remember not exactly,” said Legolas.  “Anyway I hope to do well, and to lay my trophy before him as tribute, or at least not to acquit myself too disgracefully.  My mother, of course, will be well enough pleased if I do not get my head knocked off by some stray lance, but I do fear me my father will be satisfied with nothing less than the grand prize laid at his feet when he arrives, these few days hence.”  He shook his shining head and sighed.  “How I wish I were more skilled at the barrier!  Had it been pike or even halberd, I would feel more hopeful, but the sword is not my domain.”

            “You make up your failings in the ring by your prowess at the tilt,” Éowyn assured him.

            “You do, indeed,” agreed Aragorn, nodding.  “Tell me, Legolas, where did you learn to joust so?  Was it in some long-forgotten century, an age or so ago?  I had no idea you were so skilled at this art, nor that it was practiced at all amongst the Eldar of the forests.”

            “It is not,” said Legolas.  “I had never jousted before in all my days, not until four months ago, when Gimli, Bandobras and I camped along the edge of the Great River after quitting Esgaroth.”

            Hearing his name Bandobras stirred, and not opening his eyes said in a slurred voice, “Mother?”  Legolas hushed him, stroking his head, and the Hobbit sighed deeply and returned to profound slumber. 

            “He looks so young,” said Faramir in wonder, shaking his head.  “How old is he?”

            “Fifteen,” said Legolas sadly; “amongst the Little People a very young age indeed – much too young to be so far from home, amid folk far older and stronger, and all of them strange to him.  Will you pardon me, my lords and ladies, whilst I place him upon his cot?  He tires easily, and assumes far too many tasks upon himself that would be better fitting a larger and more robust person.”  So saying Legolas rose with the halfling in his arms, and disappeared behind a partition into the back of the tent.

            Gimli had stirred when his friend had arisen from the divan, and he sat up and stifled a yawn.  “Ah – oh – ah!” he said, “my pardon to all of you!  That was a heavy meal, and I have had too much wine!  So has Legolas taken the child to bed?  He ought not to allow him to wear himself out with all this cooking and work – though if Legolas curbed Bandy’s tongue somewhat, the little one would tire out less quickly.  But Bandy insists that he lavish upon Legolas all the luxury and fine goods he can procure, and Legolas denies him nothing – nothing at all; really it is quite troublesome, for the Hobbit is becoming insufferable.”

            “You seemed to enjoy the meal, though,” Arwen said with a smile.

            “Well, he can cook,” admitted Gimli; “all Hobbits can cook.  And I have to confess it’s refreshing to eat so well, after all that cram and nuts and stringy, fire-roasted squirrel we’ve been eating these past few months.  But he’s spending money as though we had naught to do but dig it up at the roots of trees like truffles!  I cannot even tell you how much he has spent since we arrived, between bribing the Quartermaster and the grocers, and buying up every extravagance and delicacy available in Osgiliath, or perhaps even in Ithilien.  Do you know, he served us caviar – caviar, mind you, all the way from Eryn Vorn – upon toast made from cashew nuts, just yesterday?  Have you any idea what that must have cost him?  Tasty, though,” he finished, with a reminiscent sigh.  “Said he wanted to serve it tonight, but there wouldn’t have been enough for everyone to have gotten more than the merest mouthful, and the man who had delivered it to the grocer had none left.  So we ate it, we three, and I’m not sure if Legolas even cared what it cost, for Bandy was so pleased with himself for having obtained it.”

            “How is it the halfling came into Legolas’ service?” asked Éowyn curiously.  “I did not think the Little Folk would swear their allegiance so, though I know of two of them who did, and it seemed to me a strange thing for folk so free to thus constrain themselves willingly.  Was it through love, or in the manner of an apprenticeship?”

            “It is actually in the manner of a debt,” explained Gimli, going to the sideboard and fetching another decanter of wine, refilling their goblets as he spoke.  “I was not with them at the time, but both Legolas and Bandy agree that when Legolas found him, he was in very straited means, and had taken up with a roving band of Dwarves – not respectable Dwarves at all, it pains me to admit, but miners from the Iron Hills – Óli and Gáin and Dwóri and their folk – grasping, unfriendly, greedy types, that give us reputable Dwarves a bad name.  They had taken him on as a baggage-handler in Bree, taking his money from him and telling him it was for safe-keeping; yet when he was left alone, and was set upon by thieves in a village near Carrock, the Dwarves demanded of him the value of the goods stolen, though they knew full well he could not produce it.  So they told him he had to work for them until his debt to them was repaid, and they used him rather cruelly, I fear, for when Legolas came upon them on the Elven road through Eryn Lasgalen, Bandy was thin and cold and very dirty, and a little more bruised than a few tumbles down a hillock would account for.  I am not certain what exactly Legolas said to them, for he refuses to tell me, and Bandy says he spoke in Dwarvish, a language the Hobbit does not understand but one at which Legolas has become very proficient, particularly with the less polite invectives.  But Bandy says Legolas harangued them for a full half-hour, in a very threatening tone, and as he was dressed in his royal trappings and not the tunic and hose of a hunter he was apparently able to cow them completely.  Then he paid them what he thought was a fair price for the goods that had been stolen, and took Bandy upon his horse with him, and brought him to the Elven King’s palace.

            “He thought, I suppose, that he could deliver Bandy to some visiting Men, or perhaps leave him with Edlothiel his mother, but by the time I got to Thranduil’s house Bandy had decided to swear fealty to Legolas, so great was his gratitude and esteem for him.  Legolas fought against it with all his might; but such were the potency of Bandy’s arguments, and so continuously did he wear him down with platitudes and expressions of devotion, that at last Thranduil and I convinced Legolas to take him on, in pity for the Hobbit’s pleas, and as payment of his debt of honor to him.  At last Legolas conceded, though he objected greatly to being saddled with so young a charge, and would accept him only for a limited time – a year and a day, he said.  So Bandy was taken to Thranduil’s throne room, and the king sat his son upon a high seat and gave to the Hobbit a small sword, and there before the entire assembly, much to Legolas’ consternation, Bandobras son of Reginard became the esquire of the Prince of Mirkwood for a year and a day, to serve and to obey him, and Legolas had to swear to protect and to teach him.  I am sure there was much mirth among the assembled Elves that day, though they restrained themselves admirably, seeing how awkwardly their prince was placed, and also having grown to love the little imp themselves, despite his atrocious behavior.”

            “It is odd to me, and also a little disconcerting,” said Aragorn, “that a Hobbit so young and inexperienced would have been in the company of a group of such Dwarves, even if he is a Took.  How did that come to pass?”

            “Well, that we do not know,” admitted Gimli, “not for want of asking, but because he will not tell us.  It is my opinion, and Legolas admits I am probably right, that Bandy is a runaway, and left home seeking adventure and good fortune, though it is certainly unlucky he happened first upon that particular band of Dwarves at the time.”

            “I think not,” said Éowyn; “had he not taken up with them, surely you and Legolas would never have taken him into your service.”

            “I meant, unlucky for me, not for him,” rejoined Gimli.  “And do not lay him as a burden upon my shoulders!  He is Legolas’ responsibility, not mine.  And I must admit, though Legolas protested exceedingly against taking Bandy as a servant, he has been very kind to him, speaking to him gently and allowing him his indulgences – just spoiling him, in my opinion, though it seems to me that Bandy loves him now more fiercely than ever, and there is naught the little one would not do for Legolas – nay, not even lay down his life; I am sure Bandy would quite happily die for him, if he but asked.”

            At this point Legolas came back into the room, carefully shutting the partition behind him so the curtain-rings would not clatter too loudly and disturb his young charge.  “He is asleep,” he told Gimli; “so deeply asleep he did not even wake when I changed him out of his tunic and into his night shirt.  And I called out to the scullery-girl to go home; she has already been well-paid.  I wish Bandobras did not feel it necessary to concoct such involved meals for us – it quite tires him out, and he is not yet vigorous enough, in my opinion.”

            “Hobbits are tough,” said Aragorn; “remember Frodo and Sam in Mordor!”

            “Frodo and Samwise were full-grown, and better experienced,” said Legolas, sitting down next to Gimli.  “Bandobras is a child, and was so thin and pale when I found him I almost mistook him for an Elfling.  It is not right for a Hobbit to be so malnourished; they should be fat and merry.”  He shook his head.  “Greatly do I desire to deliver him up to his people!  Yet it would not be fitting of me to do so until he is fully recovered from his ordeal.  I would not have his family think me a harsh master.”

            “I think there is very little risk of that,” said Gimli dryly; “they have but to observe you one hour, and they will see you deny him nothing, and allow him every lenience.”

            “Well, as I said to you before, Gimli, had you but taken my side against  – “

            “Yes, yes, yes, I know!” exclaimed Gimli in sudden wrath.  “I have no one but myself to blame in this.  Very well, have it your way; spoil him all you like!  And you may exact this revenge upon me, my friend, to see how much it vexes me!”

            Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir and Éowyn all laughed, and Legolas smiled; Gimli tried to look cross, but failed as always.

            “Well, if he but loves you, his service to you will be unstained by selfish considerations,” said Faramir to Legolas.  “Since he is so young, and you have his confidence but for a little while, I do not see what harm there could be in consenting to him his little caprices.  But now that the riddle of the Hobbit is answered, can you satisfy our curiosity further?  How came you to my Grand Tournament, and in such marvelous armour?”

            “And whence came your destrier?” asked Éowyn eagerly, eyes shining.  “What a horse he is!  I would greatly desire to breed him with some of my mares, to strengthen the hindquarters of their young.”

            “Well, since you wish it, my lady, I cannot deny you; after all, I ride still upon the horse your brother gave me,” said Legolas.  “Hatchet is a terrible horse, but quite enjoyable to ride; he is untamed and proud and difficult.  Arod is very meek and does my bidding without question.  It is an interesting contrast.”

            “And the armour?” asked Aragorn.  “It is of Dwarven make, of that I am certain; how is it you find yourself arrayed thus?”

            “Ah!” said Gimli, taking a deep drink of his wine.  “That is the armour commissioned of my father Glóin by King Brand of Dale, for his son when he was but a young man, and desirous of impressing some lady of a distant court; but before the set could be delivered, war fell upon the folk of Erebor and Dale, and Brand was slain, and Dáin too.  For a while the armour lay forgotten in the vaults of Erebor, and when at last it was remembered by my father and his workers, Brand’s son Girion had no longer any interest in it, or indeed the funds with which to buy it; besides that he had grown into a man deep-chested and broad-shouldered, and the pauldrons were far too small.  We could have fixed it, I suppose, but really it was made for a slimmer man, and anyway as I said Girion no longer desired it.

            “I went from Aglarond to Erebor to visit my father and he showed it me, saying no one would claim it, and asking if there were some southern lord who would put it to its proper use.  I told him I would consider it for a while, and after several days I traveled with various companions to Mirkwood to visit Legolas; it was there I met Bandy.  The ensuing madness, which is the only result of foregathering with a Took, drove thoughts of the armour completely from my mind, until we had taken Bandy to Erebor to deliver his complaint to King Thorin against Óli.  It was there the Men of Dale and Esgaroth told us about the Grand Tournament in Ithilien, under Lord Faramir, and the idea of the games was so foremost in Bandy’s thoughts that, when I showed the armour to him and Legolas, he said it would be perfect for his Master to wear in the tournament.”

            “And from that point on,” broke in Legolas, with a grim smile, “no protest of mine could gainsay the suggestion, either to Bandobras or Gimli, that such a thing was undoable, or ought to be; they asked me to try on the armour, and when I refused they bullied me into it by sundry means.  Then of course the sight of me encased in all that steel enflamed them further, and they began to speak of the tournament as though my winning it were a certainty, though I had not yet even deigned to enter it!”

            “And I knew your fate was sealed, my friend,” said Gimli, “when Bandy put his hands on your knee, and looked up at you so beseechingly, and begged and begged you to compete, for he so greatly wanted to see you win honour and glory.  I could see even before then he had but to desire something and you would cede it.”

            “So he does!” agreed Legolas, smiling.  “Though as to winning honour and glory, I am not confident I can deliver that up to him yet.  Anyway, I gave to Bandobras the task of procuring goods and waggons, and we traveled back through Eryn Lasgalen to the Old Ford, where we found Hatchet; Arod, I am sorry to say, my Lady Éowyn, was unable to bear the load of shaffron, crinet, crupper and peytral.  It was far too heavy for him, since he also had to bear me in my armour, and he is a light cavalry horse; brave and sure-footed, but not strong enough for such a weight.  And as to Hatchet’s letters patents I can say they are surely as counterfeit as my own!  He is cold-blooded, as you can tell from his feet and head, but he is certainly no better than half farm horse.  He pleased me, though, with his eagerness and intelligence, and was unquestionably strong, though not very fast, so Gimli fit the armour to him, and gave him the fullered shoes.  Then we stopped for a while so I could learn to joust, and my friends, if ever you feel the need to lift your spirits by some jest, remind yourselves of how ridiculous I must have looked, prince of Elves though I am, missing each mark as we charged, or falling from Hatchet’s back, clattering to the ground like discarded scrap metal!  It is more difficult than it looks.”

            “Ah, you were not so bad,” said Gimli, waving one hand.  “You only fell twice, and that second time was certainly Hatchet’s fault, charging so madly at the quintain as he did.  In truth it took you but a week to become skilled at striking the quintain and not being knocked from the numnah in the process.  He would not learn to joust in full tack,” he explained to Éowyn, “he said Hatchet did not like the saddle sheets.  It was only the need to have something to attach the peytral and cruppers to that he agreed to use a saddle at all.  Do you see how he even spoils his beasts?  Even the mules that pull our waggons love him!”

            “Causing something to love him is not necessarily spoiling,” said Aragorn, laughing and draining his goblet.  “Now, Legolas, tell me one last thing and then we must quit you:  from whom did you procure your letters patents?  I saw them, when Belecthor showed the list to me; they are quite convincing.”

            Legolas looked a little shamefaced at this, but Gimli chuckled loudly and said, “He made them himself, of course, Aragorn!  Bandy bought the parchment and paint-pots in Esgaroth, and he and his little esquire spent quite a cheery afternoon concocting his coat of arms and drawing up a list of his ancestors.  It helps, I suppose, knowing the past hundred generations of the nobility of Dale.”

            “Well do I remember Dale as it was of old,” said Legolas, his fair face filled with regret, “before you were born or thought of, Gimli, before the dragon came with terror and fire.  And well do I remember the knights who fell beneath Smaug’s breath, for many of them were friends of mine and of my father’s.  Some of them I sought to honour in my patents of nobility, by adding them to the list of the ancestors of Lasgalen of Dale.”

            “I wonder how honoured they would feel,” said Aragorn, with a dour smile.  “After all, you have entered illegally, no matter what Belecthor might say, using their names as keys to open a lock upon your own whims.”

            “The dragon designs and runes upon the armour itself remind me of them,” said Legolas sorrowfully.  “Smaug struck them down, consuming them with flame and destroying their homes.  I can recite all their names, and the names of their wives and children, for they were dear to me.  Is that not honour enough, King Elessar?”

            “It is,” said Aragorn, reaching out to take his friend’s hand.  “I apologize, Legolas Greenleaf!  I knew not the people of Dale were so cherished by you.  Well do you carry the name of their city upon your letters patents; when your deeds here are told in the halls of King Girion, I am certain all shall be pleased and grateful.”

            “That will depend greatly upon how well I fare at the hands of your knights!” said Legolas with a sigh.  “The lists are drawn up for the morrow, are they not, Lord Faramir?”

            “They are,” said Faramir, smiling; “I have prevailed upon Belecthor to show it to me.  You are to fight Brytta of Rohan in the ring, and follow up with him in the lists; you two are third in foot-combat, first at the joust.”

            “Who fights first in the foot-combat?”

            “Vorondil of Lossarnach and Cirien of Langstrand, and the winner fights Brytta,” said Faramir.  “I must warn you, my friend Lasgalen of Dale, that Brytta is an aggressive and experienced warrior; you must be careful with him, for I would not have you too severely bruised to joust.  He will almost certainly best you in the barriers, for few men can stand against him, but I am sure you can exact your revenge upon him at the tilt.”

            “You sound so certain!” smiled Legolas.  “He is a man of Rohan; I am sure he jousts better than any knight I have met so far.”

            “Not good enough, though, I am certain,” said Éowyn.  “I have confidence in my champion, that he will defeat even my kinsman, despite his skills upon his horse.  And anyway he has overburdened the destrier with full armour, not the trapper he is used to; he will be slow to the charge.”

            “Peace, Lady Éowyn!” said Aragorn, rising to go.  “It is not seemly to give your champion an unfair advantage over his foes.  Someone might think you had wagered upon him.”

            “I have,” said Éowyn, also rising and facing the king.  “I have wagered my honour upon Lasgalen of Dale, and I cannot but win.”

11.

            Brytta of Rohan was indeed a huge brute of a man, fully half a head taller than Lasgalen of Dale, and much greater in girth.  He was celebrated as a swordsman both within and without the barriers, and had racked up such a great account of defeated foes that none even bothered relating them, saying instead that Brytta of Rohan crushed all.  The only thing that kept his fight with the Green Knight from becoming a complete rout was the Man of Dale’s superior speed and reflexes; it seemed to Brytta, as he became more winded and frustrated, that Lasgalen of Dale thwarted his blows with magic and not skill.  But he dealt the Green Knight his third strike with such finality upon his basinet-helm, which he wore in preference to the frog-mouth for foot combat, that his opponent staggered back upon the fence of the barrier and leaned against it, gazing at his foe through the visor and admitting his defeat; Brytta, though pleased to have faced such an artful enemy and been victorious, was nonetheless unnerved to hear Lasgalen’s soft laughter echoing through the visor.

            Back in his tent Gimli struggled to remove the basinet, grumbling to Legolas:  “He struck you so hard I though he would split the helm!  Look what he has done to the cheek-piece and bevor; it will take me hours to repair them.”

            “I am grateful I at least landed two blows upon him,” said Legolas, his voice sounding hollow and metallic within the helm.  “That was more amusing than I thought it would be!  What a great troll he looked, did he not, Bandobras?”

            “Not from my point of view,” piped Bandobras from his stool, as he untied the points and eased Legolas’ arms from the pauldrons.  He had to stand up on his toes to reach the gardbrace and lift it away from his master’s shoulders.  “I always understood trolls were bald-headed.  He had so much hair coming out from under his helmet I thought maybe he was like Beorn the Skin-Changer.  My father used to tell me tales of him, which he had from Mad Baggins before he went ‘bang’ off into the Wild.  Is it true, Master, that Mad Baggins could appear and disappear whenever he wanted?  All the lads I’ve talked to say he could, but Uncle Pip says not, and perhaps he’d know best.  Still, it’d be pretty convenient, wouldn’t it?  Especially if you got in trouble for something or other.”

            “Now, Bandy, you have met the Beornings,” scolded Gimli, at last loosening the cheek-piece enough to open it and see Legolas’ face inside the helmet.  “They are big and certainly very hairy, but none to my knowledge have yellow hair.”

            “There were a few,” said Legolas, smiling down at Gimli, “but not within the past hundred years or so, I think.”

            The Hobbit shuddered.  “It makes my blood run cold to hear you talk that way, Master,” he chided Legolas, elbowing Gimli aside and working the other gardbrace with his small fingers.  “You talk about decades like other folk talk about days.  Seems most unnatural to me.  Ah, there we go!”  He slid the gardbrace and pauldron from Legolas’ other arm.  “Now let’s see to this breastplate!  Gimli, are you going to help me or not?”

            “I am a little occupied,” grunted the Dwarf, tugging at the bevor; “Aulë, Legolas! I am glad my father made that aventail, for if he hadn’t that Rider’s sword would certainly have pierced your neck!”

            “Then I am doubly grateful,” said Legolas, “and I intend to tell him so when I next see him.  Perhaps he will accept from me a barrel of wine as thanks.”  The bevor came lose with a soft spang, and then Gimli could lift the basinet up over Legolas’ head.  The Elf reached up to untie the lacing under the arming cap and pulled it off, shaking out his hair with a relieved sigh.  “Ah, that is better!  I much prefer the frog-mouth to this basinet; it is far more comfortable – or rather, less uncomfortable; I like neither of them very well.”

            “The cuirass is loose, Gimli,” said Bandobras, panting a little.  “Hurry!  It is very heavy.”  Together Dwarf and Hobbit pulled the breast and back plates apart by the hinges, and Gimli took it from under Legolas’ left arm and set it upon the floor, studying it carefully.  He made a discontented noise in his throat. 

            “Look what that barbarian has done to the besague!  Another hour’s worth of work,” he sighed.  He looked up at Legolas, who was being helped out of his arming doublet by his servant.  “How do you feel, my friend?” he asked.  “You were pretty battered about down there.  Do you still feel able to joust?”

            “Of course!” laughed Legolas, stretching his arms over his head.  “The piece of metal hammered after the fire is quenched in the water – or in the wine, as will be my case,” he said, heading to the sideboard.  “Come, Gimli, never mind the breastplate!  I will only damage it further in the joust today.  Sit with me and eat the luncheon Bandobras has so thoughtfully prepared us – cold smoked meats, cheese and fruit; it will keep me on my feet until dinner-time.”  He sat and gestured to the two seats beside him.  “You too, Little One!  If you force me to keep up this frantic pace you must allow me my little pleasures.”  Bandobras obediently clambered up onto the chair beside his master, and Gimli reluctantly took his seat beside his friend.

            “It’s not just the breastplate,” he grumbled as Legolas filled his goblet.  “There is a new betting-pool going on, I heard, over by the ice house; your odds are improving and I wished to hear the local gossip.”

            “You wished to wager more money on me, you mean,” said Legolas, disapproving.  “Well, I am even more convinced, then, that you must stay within the tent and eat with us.  There is no guarantee I will even place, especially after the beating I took today; it will take me some time to recover points, and I care not what Lady Éowyn says; if Brytta rides as he fights, I will not escape the joust without being thrown at least once.”

            The sun was high when the time of the jousts came, and the air was still; tree branches hung limply in the dusty air and birds hid in the shadows.  King Elessar was glad he had changed from his heavy doublet into a linen tunic.  He looked less a king, yet felt far more comfortable.  The queen and the lady of Emyn Arnen each wore light gowns and were screened by Belecthor’s attentive servants, and many of the ladies in the royal box were fanning themselves with parchment fans, decorated with lace and ribbons and painted with bright colors.  Egalmoth looked sullen and disinterested as ever, but Eradan stewed uncomfortably in the heat, round face bright red and sweating.  He caught his king’s eye and smiled.  “It is hard to be fat, your majesty,” he said; “even sitting here in the shade I am scorched.”

            “I disagree with you, my lord Eradan,” said Egalmoth, turning his cool gray eyes upon his fellow-councilor.  “It must be easy in truth to be fat, for all a man must do to achieve it is to eat, and to watch you at the table you find that no hardship.”

            Eradan chuckled good-naturedly.  “Well, no more I do,” he admitted, giving his smiling king a little wink with his eye.  “But it takes practice, my lord Egalmoth, and from the looks of you I do not believe you have practiced nearly enough!”

            Faramir stood to begin the joust, and the crowd, though hot, cheered nonetheless and waved their pennants from the stands.  Brytta of Rohan’s standard-bearer entered the lists before his master, and the Rider following rode proudly upon his gray steed, yellow hair flowing from beneath his helm.  His great cuirass was considerably broader and heavier than his opponent’s who rode behind him; Lasgalen of Dale, bearing his crossed branches of oak upon his escutcheon, looked far too slender a figure to withstand him long.  But if there were an expression of concern upon the face hidden behind the winged helm, none could tell.  Certainly his mighty destrier was indifferent; Hatchet’s snorting and neighing was disturbing Brytta’s gray mount, and all could see the horse of the Rohirrim rolling his eyes behind him, mistrusting the steed who so threatened him, and his flanks bearing the weight of the shaffron and cruppers were streaked already with foam.

            “That unfortunate beast!” commented Arwen sympathetically to Éowyn and Éodild.  “How can he bear such weight?  Think you he is strong enough?”

            “For three passes?  Perhaps,” said Éowyn.  “But I would not use my Windfola so, especially under such a blazing sun; I am surprised at Brytta for how he is treating his Éreod.”

            “He wishes to make his conquest of the Green Knight absolute,” said Éodild from her seat behind Éowyn.  “I know; his esquire told me.  He takes offense at Lasgalen of Dale for hiding his face from the company of knights and desires to make a lesson of him.  Also, my lady, he is greatly affronted that Lasgalen Oakleaf bears your token; he hoped to be your champion at this joust, as he is your kinsman.”

            “I hope that you were correct, my lady,” said Faramir, watching the two knights approach the tilt, “when you said the Green Knight would be able to best him at the joust.  I have watched Brytta at practice; he is formidable.”

            “Such disquiet on account of a lone knight from far away!” said Egalmoth, a dry smile twitching at his lips.  “I would not have thought it possible, my lords and ladies, that the Green Knight could stir so much anxiety in you.”

            Eradan chuckled.  Already in his fat hand he held his usual goblet of cold wine.  “I believe, your majesty, my lord, that Lord Egalmoth has wagered upon some other knight than Lasgalen of Dale; he seems most reluctant to think he may win!”

            Egalmoth did not deign to reply to this, but instead attended to the lists, where all other eyes were fixed.  When Brytta in his green surcoat, and Lasgalen in his green-tinctured armour, had faced each other over the flag, Arwen moved forward slightly, frowning and narrowing her eyes, but before she could speak the herald dropped his pennant and the two destriers surged forward upon the dusty ground, the larger of the two giving his great bellow as he charged.

            All at once Arwen cried out, the Green Knight called aloud to his horse to stop, and Éreod with a piercing squeal tumbled thrashing into the dirt.  Brytta was flung from the saddle in a heap, rolling clumsily across the earth in a great cloud, his armour clattering about him.  Lasgalen Oakleaf leaped from his destrier and pushed him by the peytral away from the tilt with his great clawed gauntlets, the squeal of metal screeching above the sudden noise of the crowd; the great horse snorted and dug in his hooves, resisting.  Then the queen cried out again in a loud voice so that all could hear:  “Caltrops!  Beware!  There are caltrops upon the lists!”

            Immediately Belecthor and Faramir were on their feet, Belecthor calling to his guards and servants to put on steel-shod boots and fetch rakes, Faramir appealing down into the quadrangle to all who stood therein:  “Take care!  Step not onto the lists!  All those with naught but leather shoes, stand to and do not move!”  Elessar looked down at the esquires by the tilt; the halfling had started to run forward, but all in the stands, perhaps even in Osgiliath, could hear the Dwarf call out:

            “Stop!  Stop, you wretched Hobbit!  Do you not know what a caltrop is?”  And the perian stood still, wonder and a little fear upon his small face.  At once the Dwarf and the Green Knight began to search the ground with eyes and hands; the Dwarf wore heavy leather gloves and was brushing the tips of his fingers through the dust, while Lasgalen sifted through the earth with his clawed gauntlets.

            Brytta heaved himself to his feet and stepped forward, then fell with a cry; he had trod upon one of the caltrops and it had pierced his thin sabaton.  Two men wearing heavy, iron-shod boots rushed out, one holding a rake, and began to help him up.  Then the Green Knight straightened and held up his hand to the front box; encased within the claws of the gauntlet was a cruel, four-spiked piece of metal.

            A hissing sound went around the stands; all began to mutter to each other as the Green Knight and his armourer assisted Belecthor’s servants in locating the caltrops.  Faramir turned to Aragorn, concern upon his face; the king could see in his steward’s light eyes a look of dread.  “Caltrops!” he said.  “What manner of fiend would seek to disrupt the Grand Tournament so?”

            Elessar did not reply but spoke instead to a servant standing nearby:  “Go as quick as you can to Fenbarad the Captain at the gate of the tournament grounds; tell him the king commands him to seek out all who could have done this.”  The servant nodded and left the box, pushing past the lords and ladies who craned their necks to watch what was happening upon the lists.  Faramir was calling down to the servants and guards to bring out more men shod with iron boots; Arwen was pointing to the caltrops her sharp Elven-eyes could descry and instructing the men where to find them; Éowyn was appealing to someone he could not yet see to help Éreod Brytta’s destrier.  The king stood beside his wife and saw that the Green Knight had approached the writhing horse and could hear his soft voice speaking soothingly to it; at once it ceased moving and lay still.  Lasgalen had stripped off his gauntlets and with leather-clad fingers began to ease the caltrop from the frog, where it had lodged itself; still he spoke quietly, stroking the horse’s trembling fetlock.  Then the king saw that Éowyn’s scarf fluttered not from the Green Knight’s polder-mitten, but around the destrier’s head; the Green Knight had covered the horse’s eyes to calm him.  Gimli had returned to the Hobbit, who stood as though turned to stone; he did not resist when the Dwarf picked him up in his arms and carried him back to one of the far walls.

            Elessar turned to Eradan and Egalmoth, who stood aghast looking down upon the lists.  “This is a grave thing!” he said to them.  “Who would want to cripple these two horses, and disqualify these knights?  Do you know, or can you guess?”

            Egalmoth shook his head, but Eradan, he saw, glanced hurriedly up into the stands above the royal box; then he looked away and turned to his king, lowering his voice.  “I know not for certain, my lord,” he said; “it could perhaps be but a prank, a jest – “

            “A jest!” exclaimed Egalmoth in wrath.  “What fool would halt two war-horses out of jest?  You are rash to say such a thing!  No, your majesty, this is no jest I fear; we must determine who would want to take these two knights out of the tournament.”

            “Not these two, necessarily,” argued Eradan.  “Few knew the order of the list this afternoon.  This may be an act against the tournament in whole, not Brytta and Lasgalen in specific.”

            “Perhaps,” said Egalmoth, though still he looked doubtful.  “We shall know more, should another attempt be made.  Come, Lord Eradan!  It seems the joust is unduly delayed, allowing you and me to accomplish some foot-work of our own.”  He turned to leave the box and gestured to his fellow.  “We shall disperse our men amongst the esquires and other people,” he said to Elessar, “thus increasing the number of friendly ears amid the crowds.  Should aught be found against one, we shall inform you of it immediately.”

            “My thanks,” said Elessar to them, and they bowed and went out.  Arwen stepped up to him, concern upon her fair face; she placed her hand in his, and he kissed the fingers. 

            “Estel,” she said, “it is certain no joust will be made today; Belecthor is not confident his servants can clear the lists of the caltrops without finer-toothed rakes, which will cause a great interruption.  Éowyn is torn between seeing her kinsman, who has just been taken to the leeches’ tents, and staying aloft here, in case her champion should joust against some other foe.  I think perhaps you should tell Faramir to annul today’s competition, and let the people go to their homes, and Éowyn to her kinsman.”

            “Very well,” said Elessar, and turned to Faramir, who was speaking to several other lords in the box.

            “My lord,” one was saying, a tall thin man with white hair clad in a robe of marvelous design, “I am not convinced this is an act of despite against your tournament, but perhaps against these foreign knights.  It is well-known that many of the folk of Gondor dislike those people of the north, who are so different than we.”

            “Many knights of northern realms have jousted in our lists, Orodreth,” said Faramir; “If some are mistrustful of them at this time, it is not through their land of origin, but instead because they are jousting well against the southern knights.”

            “All the same,” said another man in a red doublet, “I do not think it would be wise to cancel the tournament and cause all to withdraw, simply through one mere incident.  Let us clear the quadrangle of these caltrops, to ease Belecthor’s heart, and continue on, lest the people think us chary and weak-hearted.”

            “I do not think they should joust today, however,” said Elessar approaching them.  Orodreth and the other lord bowed to him, and Faramir turned.  “Let the stands empty, to better allow Belecthor’s men to secure the grounds.  We have guards searching for answers, and even some of the Council are going to be examining the people.  There is naught else to be done up here.”

            “Wisely spoken, your majesty!” said Orodreth with a smile.  “I would be forlorn indeed to have the tournament terminated so early in the competition.    My niece Dirhael would never forgive me, having brought me up here to watch the knights, if I were to tell her that her favorites were to be withdrawn from her presence so quickly.  She has taken such pleasure from it, my lords, as have all the ladies and commoners; let us not depress them further by removing what diversion they have in these hard times.”

            “No, indeed!” said Elessar, looking keenly at him and remembering what Eradan had said.  “There is no need to dismay the ladies, to be certain.  But Lord Faramir’s lady is beside herself with worry for her kinsman, who was to joust; he has been injured, and his horse too, and she greatly desires to see him.”

            “Her kinsman!” said Orodreth, smiling wider.  “How peculiar that she should choose a knight of Dale as champion, passing by a knight of her own land in his preference!”  Then he bowed and withdrew, and his companion with him.

            “I shall empty the stands, then,” said Faramir with a weary sigh, and went to the front of the box to speak to the people.  Elessar went down to Éowyn, who was watching anxiously as Éreod was led limping from the lists by Brytta’s squire.  The Green Knight and his attendants were nowhere to be seen.  Éowyn turned as Elessar approached her, and as Arwen also went up to her the king said:  “Lady Éowyn, get you down to the leeches’ tents and see to Brytta your kinsman, and be so kind as to bring my wife with you; I must go speak with Belecthor about this.”

            “Is this the end of the tournament, Aragorn?” whispered Éowyn, taking Arwen’s arm.

            “I know not,” said the king.  “I hope not.”  And he turned to seek out the Ceremonies Master.

12.

            The king sat within his tent, reading the report given him by Fenbarad on the people he suspected; none were, in Aragorn’s opinion, likely candidates, being for the greater part young boys unconnected with the tournament, or lords with dubious opportunities concerning the placement of sharpened spikes upon the ground.  Faramir had not yet returned from his meetings with Belecthor in the offices below the stands, and the only other person within the dim, stifling tent was Bergil, who stood quietly, awaiting his king’s will.  The afternoon lay heavy upon the dusty ground, golden and hazy and yellow-blue; birds drowsed in their cool branches, and sap ran freely from the warm crevices in the pine tree boles; the denizens of the ruined city of Osgiliath rested indoors, drinking in the damp chill of stone, or desperately crowding into the dim shadows of the tents.  There was not a breeze to be felt in the royal quarters.  At last Aragorn could take the heat no longer and said to the boy:  “Bergil, please open all the window-flaps and both door-flaps; I am being broiled alive in this tent.”

            “Yes, your majesty,” said Bergil with a grin, and went to do as his lord commanded.  At that moment Éowyn and Arwen entered, both flushed and angry, their cool linen gowns streaked with dust and sweat.

            “My fool of a cousin has accused the Green Knight of throwing down the caltrops,” said Éowyn wrathfully, flinging herself into a nearby chair.  Bergil hurried to find her a foot-stool, desirous of her comfort.   “He said to me that Lasgalen of Dale laughed at him when he had victory over him this morning, and believes for that reason he has crippled Éreod.”

            “He is cross and in pain,” said Arwen, as though seeking a reason for the knight’s folly; “The caltrop, so say the leeches, pierced the sabaton and his foot, and it is very tender to stand upon, I am sure that is why he is so wroth with Lasgalen.”  She too sat, but more carefully, and seemed not to mark the heat as greatly as her burdened friend.

            “He is a fool,” exclaimed Éowyn.  “He is only covetous of the Green Knight’s position as my champion.  He seeks to defame him, since he cannot joust against him.”  She shifted uncomfortably upon the chair beside the desk and furthered her grievance:  “I told him Lasgalen would not have thrown the caltrops down, as he would have wounded his own destrier, and Brytta remarked it would have been no loss for the Green Knight’s horse to be crippled so, as it was fit to be only a cart-horse anyway.  And when I said to him that the Green Knight’s horse was stronger than Éreod, he told me I was no lady of the Rohirrim; I had lived too long in the land of Gondor and had forgotten how to choose horses to fancy.”  She took a deep breath, and Arwen handed her a goblet of wine from Bergil, taking the opportunity to say:

            “There, Éowyn!  It is certainly as you said; he is a fool, and a resentful one at that.  Have no fear, though; I am sure he will find another horse to bear him, and ride against your champion, and then he shall be defeated.”

            “I would ride against him myself upon Windfola,” said Éowyn with heat, “if Faramir would but let me!”

            “And your king besides,” said Elessar, smiling and taking her hand, which was trembling, and wet with perspiration.  “Were you in any condition but that which you suffer, gladly would I grant you a private joust against this kinsman who has so offended you, so that I could watch in gratification as you struck him down.  But that which you carry is far more precious than the arrogance of a braggart, and I would not allow you to endanger it so.”

            Éowyn gave a great sigh, and turned to Arwen her friend, saying, “I knew I erred when I allowed this!  Women are ever barred from the more noble sports of vengeance.  Now shall they ever treat me as a fragile lily in a pot, setting me high upon a shelf in the hot-houses so that I do not bruise from being touched.”

            “You are both lilies gilt with steel, then,” said the king, smiling upon the two women; “I would no more set you out of reach of danger than I would myself.  It is not for you, Éowyn, but for the child you will bear my steward I fear.  Pacify yourself, then, Lady of Emyn Arnen; your arguments against your cousin were just, and I doubt not he shall learn the folly of them anon.”

            Then Éodild burst into the tent, eyes shining and golden hair flying about her face beneath her netted cap.  “My lady, my lady!” she said to Éowyn; “I have just spoken to Targil, who had this from Belecthor; Brytta will be ordered to joust against Lasgalen of Dale on another horse tomorrow, in answer for the accusations he has leveled against him!  It matters not, Belecthor has said, that he trod upon the caltrop, as the foot is not so needed in the joust as a hand; had he hurt his hand he would have been allowed to withdraw.  But now your champion can defend himself against his plaintiff and be acquitted by reason of his superior skills!”  She dropped to her knees beside Éowyn, out of breath.  Her clothing was in disarray and her cheeks were burnished by the heat.  “Brytta has tried to infect all the other knights against the Green Knight in his mortification at being thrown from Éreod; now Targil says Belecthor wants him to pay well for his poison.”

            “There you have it, my lady!” said Aragorn, gesturing to Éodild in triumph.  “Lasgalen cannot hope but win now, with the power of justice behind him.”

            “And the stanchion of his admirers as well!” said Éodild with a wide smile upon her youthful face, and mischief in her gray eyes.  “I spoke also to Hador, who is the esquire of Araval of Tarlang; he is friends with the holbytla, and he told me that the Green Knight’s esquire has collected well over a dozen tokens of esteem from diverse young ladies, hoping to supplant you, my lady, in his favor.”

            Arwen burst into delighted laughter at this.  “Ah, alas for those unhappy maidens!” she said, eyes alight with mirth.  “They could have chosen not a more indifferent object!  Thank you, my child, for your timely disclosure; you have lightened our hearts immeasurably.”

            “I do not see why Lasgalen of Dale should be so uninterested in maidens,” said Éodild indignantly, rising and smoothing down the bodice of her dress, which had become rumpled in her heedless flight.  “It is quite unfair of him.  His esquire says he is unmarried.  And there are many young ladies desirous of catching him with their hooks; there is one already, the Lady Dirhael, who brags to all that her uncle is treating a betrothal with him.”

            “Her uncle should not so encourage her,” said Aragorn, though he was smiling himself.  “There is little chance Lasgalen will concede to be wed to any of the flowers of Gondor, despite their purity and beauty.”

            “Well, it is very curious!” said Éodild with a toss of her fair head.  “Why else would he come all this way to a tournament, if not to find himself a wife?”

            Brytta did indeed find himself another destrier; he borrowed, or took as some said, the steed of a younger knight of Rohan, Fréawine, who was reluctant to lend his horse to the warrior but unwilling also to refuse so renowned a knight as Brytta.  Éodild with great indignation reported this to Arwen at the earliest opportunity, being sure that King Elessar and Lord Faramir both heard her complaint as well, so that they could be justifiably provoked by his base actions.  “And he has put the peytral and cruppers upon Fréawine’s poor Léofa,” she said to them the next morning, as they broke their fast together upon the rough wood table in the house in Osgiliath.  “It is a shameful thing to so burden your own steed, but to encumber a borrowed horse – well, as a Knight of Rohan Brytta should know better, and I told his esquire so.”

            “No doubt he fears for the horse’s safety,” said Faramir, as his servant poured the mead into the tumblers.  “After all a lance in the chest would injure a horse quite severely, even were the tip covered with a coronel.  It would be a grievous thing to borrow your brother’s destrier, only to have it wounded as you used it.”

            “A trapper would work as well,” said Éodild.  “And I do not believe Lasgalen of Dale would be so clumsy as to strike a horse in the chest, when he was aiming for his combatant!  He has ever struck the target he intended.”

            “Yes,” smiled King Elessar, pushing aside his plate and propping his long legs upon the stool opposite him, taking out his pipe and filling it from a soft leather bag upon the table.  “Lasgalen of Dale has very good aim.”  His queen laughed lightly at this, and they exchanged secret glances with each other.

            “Why do you blow smoke in and out your mouth, my lord?” asked Éodild, falling to the eggs upon her platter with relish.  “That seems strange to me, though the smell is not unpleasant.  Perhaps when I marry I shall choose a Dúnedan of the North, so that he may smoke after we have our meals.  Does the Green Knight smoke too?”

            “Nay, Lasgalen does not smoke a pipe,” laughed Aragorn; “in fact he has taken me to task for doing so, saying I put clouds into the air that do not belong there.  But his armourer smokes; perhaps you could marry Gimli the Dwarf, and he could smoke at your breakfast table.”

            “Oh!” grimaced the girl, drinking her mead and reaching for another slice of bread.  “Nay, I think not; my mother ever impressed upon me the need to marry a man both tall and well-built, so that I could bear sons strong enough to defend my people.”

            “But Dwarves are very strong, Lady Éodild,” said Faramir with a solemn face.  “They can bear heavy burdens and run great distances; they are formed from the roots of the earth and do not falter.”

            “And Gimli is rich,” added Arwen, glancing mischievously at her husband.  “He is the Lord of Aglarond, which is right in Rohan, and his father Glóin has won much renown in the North.”

            “If he is so rich, then why is he an armourer?” demanded Éodild.  “Ah, I think you are teasing me, my lords, my lady!  I could not marry a Dwarf, no matter how rich or strong he was; think you upon the countenance of my mother were I to bring such a husband home!  Why, she would shout so loud she would frighten off the hens, and then we would have no eggs to eat.”

            “Then you had better eat some more here, my lady, since our poult seems immune to shouting,” broke in Faramir’s servant Ardún politely, setting another plate of eggs upon the table.  “Indeed she is immune to most injustices; I stepped upon her this morning and not a strike upon the foot did she give me.  I would venture to guess she is used to such treatment.  Ah, Lady Éodild, it is comforting to see a maid with such a hearty appetite; so many young ladies are overly concerned for their waists.”

            “There is nothing wrong with my waist,” said Éodild stoutly, taking another egg.  “Where are you going, Ardún?  Are you bringing food up to my lady now?  May I come with you?  I must tell her about Brytta.”  She snatched up her plate and cup and followed the servant up the winding stone staircase, her light voice floating back over her shoulder into the dim, smoky kitchen:  “Do you not think it strange, Ardún, that Lasgalen of Dale does not wish to marry?  I think it exceedingly strange.”  Ardún’s reply was lost in the sound of their footsteps, which soon passed out of hearing.

            Aragorn and his steward chuckled together for a moment, and Arwen smiled at them.  “My Undómiel,” said the king, taking his beloved’s hand in his own, “I believe I shall seek you out a lady’s maid, so that I may be as well entertained by her at home in Minas Tirith as I am when I am in the house of the Steward of Gondor.”

            “If you could but find me a maid like Éodild, I should be exceedingly indebted to you, my lord,” said Arwen laughing. 

            “As for myself,” said Faramir, still chuckling, “I believe I should rather have an esquire like unto the esquire of the Green Knight; it would do me good, I think, to be constantly reminded that I breathe the same air as my subjects.”

            Éowyn sat at her favorite spot for the foot combat, no longer needing to pull the coverings aside from the back of the enclosure; Belecthor, once he had discovered his lady’s determination to watch the barriers from that site, had set upon the bench a comfortable cushion, and tied part of the covering aside with a rope, so that the Lady of Emyn Arnen had her own private seat for the foot combats, much like a very small royal box.  And he further attempted to set her at ease by the placement of screens to block the hot rays of the late summer sun, and the deliveries of cooling drinks and ices, and sweetmeats in case she felt hungry.  It distressed him greatly, then, to see Queen Undómiel also seated there, but without such amenities; he sent his servants scurrying off to find another cushion, and more wine and sweets.

            “Whom is your champion fighting today?” asked Arwen, peering out from the enclosure to the barriers below.  From that height it did not look so big, and the tops of the knights’ and esquires’ heads were foreshortened.  She could see the men-at-arms with their wooden poles standing in each corner, and the herald with the knotted rope who measured the combatants’ paces from each other before the combat began.  There was a crowd of people standing about, or sitting upon bales of hay piled around the barriers, talking in tones of excitement and anticipation.  The day was not as hot, for clouds were roiling in, obscuring the sky with their downy masses, and lit silver upon their western flanks by the bright sun.  She could not see Lasgalen of Dale nor his retainers.

            “He fights Hallas of Lossarnach,” said Éowyn, peering about below her.  “They fight third, right before the joust.”  She accepted a goblet of wine from one of Belecthor’s serving men, then heard a faint cry from below her:  “Lady Éowyn!  Lady Éowyn!”  She looked down and saw several people around the barriers waving up to her, having just descried her from below; she smiled at them and waved her hand to them, which seemed to please them, for they turned one to another and said excitedly:  “Did you not see?  It is the Lady of Emyn Arnen, and beside her is Queen Undómiel!”

            “Hallas of Lossarnach; they have fought before, have they not?” said Arwen.

            “Once, two days ago,” said Éowyn; “they have also jousted, but only once.  He is young and strong, and very eager to win the prize; Éodild tells me his family is not wealthy, and he greatly desires to marry.”

            “Your Éodild is a fount of useful information,” smiled Arwen.  “Have you spoken to Lord Belecthor?”

            “Yes,” said Éowyn.  “He is not so concerned about the caltrops as I had guessed he would be.  Now that their immediate danger is removed, and since no further incidents have occurred either yesterday or today, he feels it was but a trivial thing, and the perpetrator will rest now from his attacks. It was, after all, but one lone incident; there is no need to distress yourself, he said to me, for a lone incident!”  She rolled her eyes and took a sip of wine.  “I had expected him to be more dismayed by it – I was mistaken; he takes the small things acutely, but the larger episodes pass him by like leaves upon the water.  Should there be a second incident, he said to me, he would consider the caltrops part of a larger plot, but for now he wants only to wait, and to hope.”

            “Now, that is a Gondorian!” laughed Arwen, and Éowyn, smiling, agreed.

            The two ladies watched from above, like songbirds observing the inconsequential doings of lesser beings beneath their nest; below them travailed the knights and the esquires, and the people shouted and waved their pennants.  At last the winners departed victorious, and the two knights, green and brown together, approached their corners of the barriers.  The herald came forward with his knotted rope, having to push the Brown Knight back a few steps; he seemed very impatient to begin.  Éowyn noted that Lasgalen’s figure was calm and relaxed beneath his armour, and wondered what expression one might read upon his face, could one see it hidden behind the basinet.

            At last the herald, being satisfied, bid them begin, and it fell to Hallas to strike the first blow, which he did, swinging the huge broadsword in a great arc down upon Lasgalen’s head.  But the Knight of Dale blocked the blow and flung Hallas’ sword aside, and the herald told Hallas to step back again.  Then Lasgalen swung, faster and lower than Hallas, catching him upon his pitted fauld with a loud clang, and Hallas staggered sideways.  Belecthor, who stood with his judges watching, nodded and his servant held up one green flag, setting it in its socket at the back wall.  The herald pushed Hallas back into his corner again, where he reluctantly shifted from one foot to another, swinging his sword in a restless manner.  Arwen could see his eyes behind the visor darting to and fro.

            “The Brown Knight is very eager, is he not?” asked Arwen, as Éowyn applauded Lasgalen’s point.

            “Far too eager, I deem,” said Éowyn.  “If he excites himself overmuch he will be no match for my champion.”

            Now it was Hallas’ turn, and he charged at the Green Knight with his sword high.  Lasgalen blocked him again, though so vigorous was the blow that their swords’ edges slid together to the hilt in a shower of sparks.  Arwen could hear the Brown Knight’s cry of frustration over the screech of the metal.  “Fruitless once more!” said Éowyn with satisfaction, applauding with the rest of the crowd, which started to cry out the Green Knight’s name.  This seemed to inflame Hallas of Lossarnach further, for he retreated to his corner angrily, clutching the haft of his sword so that the very tip trembled.  When the herald bid Lasgalen strike, Hallas lunged forward as well, parrying the Green Knight’s blow violently aside and sweeping his sword into the air with an angry exclamation, aiming a stroke upon Lasgalen’s aventail with such ferocity that the Green Knight reeled, the rings broken and torn so that all could see the arming doublet and the bleeding white flesh beneath.  Even as the judges and his own esquire cried to him to stop, Hallas raised his sword once more and struck at his opponent’s cheek-piece, cutting through it and pulling the edge of his sword away.

            The Green Knight stumbled back from him, raising his sword before his face and blocking Hallas’ next blow, which was to his gardbrace; then giving a tremendous twist he spun about, knocking Hallas to one side, and faster than the crowd could follow with their eyes, he slid the tip of his sword into the back of Hallas’ knee, between the poleyn and cuisse.  Hallas screamed in agony, and the Green Knight wrenched his sword about with a sudden swift movement and leaped back, away from his attacker, who fell thrashing to the sand.

            The crowd, indeed the judges and Belecthor himself, were in an uproar; there were cries of, “Rogue!  Cheat!  False knight!  Down with Hallas!”  The men-at-arms had rushed forward with their poles too late to stop the Brown Knight, who had fought like a madman, but they stood now about him, knocking his sword from his gauntlet, while one of the judges in a shrill voice berated him for such reprehensible actions, and Hallas’ esquire, a thin young man in a ragged tunic, wept and wrung his hands.  The Green Knight stood back, sword held cautiously before him, its tip tainted red with Hallas’ blood.  His own blood flowed freely into the arming doublet, staining it a ruddy brown; the little perian sprang at him with a strangled cry and tried to put himself between his master and the Brown Knight, but the Dwarf held him back.

            “Peace!  Peace!” cried Belecthor to the crowd, holding up his hands, but the people would have none of it:  “Down with Hallas!” they roared.  “He has illegally struck the Lady’s champion!  Down!  Down!”  At last Belecthor turned and spoke to his guards; they came forward and lifted the groaning Hallas from the sand, taking him from the barriers, his weeping esquire trailing along behind.  The Ceremonies Master and the judges huddled together for a moment; then one of the servants went up to the point wall, and placed all three green flags in their sockets; this pleased the crowd finally, and they cheered Lasgalen of Dale’s victory, though it was a bitter one.

            “Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale wins by default,” cried the herald, and the people erupted into cheers once more, crying aloud his name even as he was led away by his retainers.

            Arwen and Éowyn looked at each other, white and shaken; Éowyn said:  “I believe, my queen, that this would count in Belecthor's opinion as a second incident.”

            “I believe you are right, my lady!” said Arwen.

13.

            “It is nothing, my Bandobras; nothing, Little One.  I assure you, Bandobras my dear, it is a mere scratch.  See how the mail deflected the blow?  It was not his sword pierced me but the rings of the aventail.  Look, look how quickly the blood flow stops now that the chain mail is removed; it is nothing to be anxious over, nothing at all.”

            “But all that blood, Master!” sobbed the little Hobbit, dabbing at his Master’s bloody collarbone with a wet cloth.  “It has bled so much, I’m sure you’re going to die!”  He took the cloth back to the bowl and wrung it out with trembling hands, wetting it once more and hurrying over to his Master.

            “I will not die, my Bandobras; it is so much better now that you have cleaned it,” soothed Legolas to his esquire, running his long fingers through Bandy’s brown curls.  “Do you not see how shallow it is?  It is only the blood soaked into my arming doublet that makes it look so serious.  Do not weep, dear one, it does not even hurt me; but put a little padding upon it and I shall not even feel it once the bevor is put into place.”

            “We had a cow die from bleeding once,” sniffled the halfling, pressing the cloth upon the scratch.  “It fell upon a ploughshare and bled and bled, and then it grew weak and died, even after it stopped bleeding.  Oh, I am sure you are going to get weak and die, Master, and then what shall I do?  Gimli and I will have no one to take care of except each other, and he’ll be cross with me always, and not let me cook the things I want to.”

            “T’ch, t’ch!” clucked Gimli into his beard, trying not to smile.  “There now, Bandy, I promise I won't complain about your cooking at all when Legolas is dead, but should he live I reserve the right to make my opinions known."

             “Gimli!” reproached Legolas, as Bandobras burst into tears anew and flung his little arms about the Elf's neck.  “You are not helping matters any; in fact I think you are making things even worse.  Have you finished the cheek-piece?  The joust is about to start.”

            “I have; you’ve but to detach yourself from that howling youngster there and let me set the frog-mouth upon your head.  Cease that weeping, Bandy, you are going to make your Master’s armour all rusty.”

            “Oh, but Master, surely you’re not going to joust now that you’re so gravely wounded!” wailed Bandobras, seizing the helm with surprising strength and thwarting Gimli’s attempts to place it over Legolas’ head.  “You’re going to bleed and bleed and bleed and drop down dead, right off of Hatchet’s back!”

            “I shall do no such thing,” said Legolas firmly, taking the reddened cloth from his collarbone and, turning the Hobbit round so that Bandobras could see him, he touched his throat.  “Look, Little One!  It has stopped bleeding already.  Now fetch me a soft cloth, so that I may pad it when Gimli attaches the bevor and neck-guard.”

            Bandobras stared at his master’s throat in amazement, searching with swollen eyes for any seeping of blood, and prodding it with tentative fingers.  At last he exclaimed, “Well, isn’t that the most astonishing thing!  Is it Elven magic, Master, that makes it stop bleeding so quickly?”

            “Yes, it is magic,” said Legolas impatiently.  “Quickly, now, my Bandobras, a clean cloth!”

            “Yes, Master!” said Bandy in excitement, racing off into his chamber.  “Real Elven magic, Gimli!  Imagine!  And there were no flashes or sparkles or anything!  I must've missed it -- I'll have to pay closer attention next time!”  Gimli looked down at Legolas as he lowered the frog-mouth and said reprovingly, “That was not magic; you had but a scratch.”

            “He would rather believe it to be magic,” explained Legolas, smiling.  “Quick, get the neck-guard!  I want it attached before he changes his mind.”

            Léofa sweated and champed beneath the heavy armour, shifting his feet about in the dust and trying in vain to shake away the flies that harried his face beneath the heavy shaffron.  Dark clouds stewed and boiled fretfully in the hazy sky, and over the roar of the crowd came the subtle rumblings of thunder, echoing between the hills of Ephel Duath and the Mindolluin.  The promise of a storm did nothing to soothe the nerves of the horse of Rohan, who was uncomfortable enough carrying this strange knight in addition to the heavy armour, which was not his wont to wear.  Upon his back sat Brytta of Rohan, fully encased in cuirass and helm, clutching his long lance.  He had affixed the standard of Rohan to the end of the lance, a white horse upon a green background; it was a challenge, he told his esquire, to the token about the Green Knight’s elbow.  He was a hard man, close-lipped and close-minded, heavy-handed with horse and servant, and intensely loyal to King Éomer; it was his intention, as he noised abroad to all who would listen, to prove to the knights of Gondor and its fiefdoms that the might of Rohan had saved Minas Tirith and would prove stronger and more powerful than all the other powers of men. 

            He had heard of Hallas’ attack upon the Green Knight and was of mixed opinion; one part rejoiced to hear another knight had likewise so hated his rival that he had disdained the rules of combat and sought to kill him; for the other part he hoped the injuries sustained by Lasgalen of Dale were not serious, so that he would not be denied his chance to prove himself upon the body of the usurper.  It was with mixed relief and reluctant admiration he saw Lasgalen of Dale enter the quadrangle and approach the lists; the Green Knight sat easily upon his appalling destrier as it pawed and bellowed and increased Léofa’s agitation fourfold; still the blue scarf flickered and snapped from his polder-mitten, and the crossed oak-branches graced his escutcheon.  The green-silver armour in the halting light of the approaching storm made him seem more a wraith atop his war-horse, and so still was he that Brytta wondered if perchance his esquires had set naught but the armour upon the saddle, and the knight was elsewhere.  The Rider sucked his teeth in impatience, shifting his painful foot carefully in the stirrup, and muttered to his esquire:   “Does he not feel the heat beating down upon him?  There he sits, as cool as if the entire icehouse were inside his armour!  I feel as though I am being roasted alive.”

His esquire answered, checking the girth-strap and anxiously patting Léofa upon the cruppers, “So long as you don’t let him spit you, my lord!  I have watched him joust, and his lance is ever true to the mark; be wary of his destrier also, for it is said he frightens other horses away from the tilt by his aggression.”

“Léofa is a horse of Rohan,” said Brytta disdainfully to his esquire.  “He will not be so cowed and demoralized by this half-bred plough-horse from the North.  And have you forgotten, Híldaf, that I have never missed an enemy at which I charged, and have unseated and killed more men than any knight of another realm?  I am of the line of Fréaláf of Helm, and this willowy son of the bastard-lords of Eriador shall not overcome me, though he be clad in armour fit for a great king.”  With those proud words, Brytta set his lance into the rest, seizing the handle behind the vamplate, and signaled to the herald his readiness.

The herald looked upon Lasgalen of Dale, who nodded once at him, also readying his weapon upon the lance-rest of his cuirass; the flag was lowered, and with a cry to rival the bawling of the destrier of Dale Brytta dug his spurs into Léofa’s ribs.  For his part the horse of Fréawine did his best to gallop down the lists, but the heavy armour impeded him and he was puffing like a bellows when he met Hatchet’s charge.  Both lances met their marks, shattering into splinters with the sound of cracking lightning; the knights passed each other, and trotted back to their places at the ends of the tilt.

Léofa was stumbling with weariness upon the dry dirt of the quadrangle, head lowered, and Brytta with an abrupt movement jerked upon the reins so that the horse’s head was upright.  “Walk proudly in Gondor!” he admonished Léofa.  “You shame me by dragging your feet like a rouncey.”

“The armour is too heavy, my lord, and the heat too oppressive,” said Híldaf cautiously.  “You will break his wind, riding him thus.”

“I know what I am about!” snapped Brytta.  “Do not think to teach me my duties, esquire of Brytta!”  Híldaf lowered his gaze, so his lord would not see the anger in his eyes, and stepped away from the Rider.  Thunder muttered and grumbled about the foothills all around them, and the hot breeze brushed past them in fits and starts.  It was growing darker; the blue-black clouds roiling over Osgiliath, their edges livid with fitful lightning.  The herald, after an apprehensive look at the sky, glanced at the knights, who both nodded.  The flag again dropped, and the knight of Rohan spurred his mount forward.

The mighty northern destrier shrieked his scorn as he flung himself down the length of the tilt, and Léofa, already demoralized, flinched as he approached.  Brytta’s lance was deflected by the polder-mitten, nearly tearing Lady Éowyn’s scarf from the arm, but the Green Knight’s dragon’s-head coronel smote Brytta full upon the escutcheon, knocking him backwards on the saddle sheets.  Léofa staggered and attempted to slow his pace so that his rider could regain his balance; Brytta in his rage and mortification dragged upon the reins and dug his spurs into the horse’s flanks, driving him back along the lists so they could charge again.

Híldaf looked back to the entrance, where stood Fréawine with his arms folded; even from that great distance the esquire could see the anger upon the young knight’s face.  “You must not treat this mount so, my lord,” he admonished Brytta as his master approached.  “He is not your destrier; you must be more gentle.”

“You forget yourself, esquire of Brytta!” said the knight, glaring down at the younger man through his visor.  His helm, crowned with a horsetail, glowed dully in the dim light of the cloudy sky, and the restless hot wind tugged at his surcoat.  Beneath him Léofa labored to breathe, foam dripping from his mouth.  “I have been fighting orcs and Dunlendings since before you were whelped.  I know well what I am about.”

“All the same, my lord, Léofa is Fréawine’s horse, not your own,” said the esquire firmly, though he knew he would suffer for it later.  “And your brother-knight stands by the leeches’ tents, watching to see how you ride him, and will be wroth with you should any evil thing befall his steed.”

Brytta did not deign to respond to this, but applied himself instead to the herald, who dropped the pennant.  Léofa groaned and stumbled forward toward the war-horse that hurtled toward him, its shaffron gleaming and peytral clanging upon its chest; upon its back rode a flash of sickly white light, or so it seemed to the man of Rohan; before he could properly aim his lance, the Green Knight was upon him, his lance striking him full in the chest and pushing him so far back upon the saddle it slipped off the numnah, and once again he struggled to regain his seat.  Through the ringing in his helm he could hear the crowd roaring his enemy’s name, and through the visor as Léofa turned he caught a glimpse of Éowyn Éomund’s daughter sitting beside her husband, applauding with the rest.  This so incensed him that by the time Léofa lurched back to his esquire he was grinding his teeth, all the more determined to strike Lasgalen of Dale upon the head at his next pass.

There was a low rumble of thunder from the east, and Híldaf looked anxiously to the sky; there was another glimmer of lightning behind the gathering clouds, and almost immediately following a crack and a boom; the people in the stands were looking up, and some were covering their heads with cloaks or hoods.  Léofa snorted nervously, and Híldaf stroked his neck beneath the crinet to soothe him.  Brytta looked down the tilt to Lasgalen of Dale, who sat unmoving upon his great horse; the destrier pawed at the ground, throwing up billows of dust behind its huge hooves, and tossed its head up and down upon its thick straight neck.  Lightning flashed again, kindling the bat-wings athwart the Green Knight’s helm, and the crimson enameled eyes set above the visor glinted evilly at him.  Brytta shivered.  He suddenly recalled the tales of the dragon of Esgaroth, tales of death and flame and cold water, and speculated doubtfully if Lasgalen of Dale wore this armour in memory of its destruction.  He caught himself wondering if this slim knight had won honour and renown in battling the dragon himself, or if perhaps there were other dragons in the wastelands of the north, against which this redoubtable warrior had proved himself.  There was a soft pinging sound upon his helm, and he looked up to the sky; a drop of water splashed against his visor and scattered upon his eye.  Then the skies opened up in earnest, driving against the armour like arrows; Brytta could feel the cold water starting to trickle down the back of his neck guard into his arming doublet.  He tightened his grip upon his lance, not wanting it to slip upon the gauntlet, and shouted to the herald:

“Quickly, man!  Drop the pennant!  We must conclude this match ere the rain drives us from the lists!”

The herald, shielding his face from the blows of the raindrops upon him, looked over at the Green Knight, who nodded his winged head once.  Brytta could see the water streaming off the frogmouth and hoped it was running down into his bevor.  The great destrier gave a loud bellow and shifted his huge feet, and Léofa shivered.

The pennant dropped.  Fearing the gouging of the spurs Léofa leaped forward, panting under the weight.  The rain was sheeting down now, a grey curtain obscuring the stands from them; alone and unmarked the two knights accepted the challenge and approached each other amid the churning of mud and dirt, the streaking of water and the hammering racket of rain upon the armour.  Brytta roared his cause to the uncaring elements, driving his unfortunate mount forward and lowering his lance.

The blow to his head took him completely by surprise.  Lights flashed before his eyes and he wondered if it were more lightning.  The dim interior of his helm darkened further, and he thought to himself:  “The storm is worsening.  I can see nothing now.”  There was another blow to the back of his head and he thought again:  “The knave!  He strikes at my back where I am undefended!”  All went silent, and he wondered at that; slowly and faintly the muted noise grew, and he heard above the sound of rain striking the cuirass and helm the roar of people chanting a name that was not his.  He opened his eyes, marveling that they had been closed, and tightened his legs in their cuisses to grip Léofa’s back.  But there was aught between them; he realized belatedly that he was upon his back, and the rain was driving down into his helm through the visor.  Then into his line of vision came Híldaf’s face, concerned and dripping and saying:  “My lord!  My Lord Brytta!  But speak my name and assure me you are not harmed!”

“I – I am not, Híldaf,” said Brytta thickly, struggling to rise, but his arming doublet was now soaked through with muddy water and he was even heavier than before.  Besides that his head was reeling, and his esquire’s face was incensing him by its continuously advancing and receding, like the waves upon the shore.  “Where is my horse, you fool?  I must charge the Green Knight again; this rain has made Léofa fall from beneath me.”

“Nay, my lord,” said Híldaf, hauling him to his feet by the arm and helping him to stand upright upon the mud.  A sharp pain stabbed Brytta through his foot, and his mind cleared.  “Lasgalen of Dale struck you full upon the helm.  That is three points; he has won.”  Brytta groaned and pulled his arm away from his esquire; he would not be led from the lists like a vanquished foe.  “And Léofa has bolted; he is away over to the leeches’ tents.  He fled to his master Fréawine, and though I cannot descry it fully in this rain, it seems to me that they are removing the armour.”

The rain was plummeting down upon the quadrangle in right earnest, splashing mud upon Brytta’s greaves, and the stands were emptying, though the people in their excitement still chanted over and over the name:  “Lasgalen Oakleaf!  Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale!”  Brytta looked to the winner’s wall, where a servant of the Ceremonies Master was pinning up a green pennant with crossed oak branches upon it.  Then he looked up into the royal box, which through being covered by a pavilion was still tenanted by the lords and ladies, awaiting a more convenient time to quit the grounds.  Éowyn sat there, looking down upon him, but in the grey twilight of the rain storm Brytta could not see her face.  He turned from her to Híldaf and said:

“So I have lost.  It is all the doing of that horse; it was too small and weak to bear me.  You ought not to have allowed Fréawine to lend it me – he is a slight and frail man, and his horse is like to him, unable to endure the weight of a true warrior. I shall challenge Lasgalen of Dale again, upon a larger horse, and I shall best him!  Take me to him, Híldaf – I must throw down my gauntlet before him, to let him know he has won by default, through no especial skill of his own!”

“I am sorry, my lord,” said Híldaf, turning from the knight, “but Lasgalen of Dale has already quitted the lists; whilst you still swooned after falling, his esquire left me with this message from him: ‘Tell your lord that my master says this is your punishment for using a good steed so cruelly.’  Do not fear, though, my lord; your standing in the lists is still high enough that you may joust against Lasgalen of Dale once more – if you can but find yourself a horse mighty enough to abide your burdensome load.”

“I did not swoon!” roared Brytta, ignoring the twinge of pain behind his eyes.  “Bring me to the Green Knight!  I shall cast down my gage before him!”

“It is too late, Brytta of Rohan,” said Híldaf, gathering up the muddy lance and walking away from his lord in the rain.  “He is gone to meet with Hallas of Lossarnach.”

14.

            King Elessar strode through the dusty earth of the Tournament grounds.  The air was thick and humid with the smell of horses and hot leather; off in the distance, rebounding from the valleys of the Ephel Dúath came the faint sounds of thunder, like ghostly drums.  Within the walls of the enclosure a great roar had risen, and the king could hear the cries of his people cheering on Lasgalen of Dale as he jousted against his detractor, Brytta of Rohan.  He listened, but could not hear any voices chanting Brytta’s name.  Elessar begrudged Lasgalen the joust; according to the Tournament rules it was unnecessary, as an outside agent had conspired to interrupt their contest of arms, but Brytta’s rumour-mongering had so influenced the denizens of the Tent City that Faramir had insisted.  Belecthor had agreed, and both men had arranged the match, so that Lasgalen of Dale could face the wrath of one who felt he had been wronged.  The king heard the thunder of hooves, and the bellow of the Green Knight’s terrible destrier, and after a great crashing noise the voices of the people in the stands swelled again, crying aloud the name of the Knight of Dale.  Hallas of Lossarnach’s unwarranted attack this morning had swung the pendulum of public opinion round in Lasgalen’s favor, though the king knew not whether the Green Knight would prevail and so salvage his good standing.  Beneath the sounds of the Tournament rumbled another growl of thunder from the valley, and the air stirred sluggishly, swirling dust about Elessar’s boots.  The breeze was fitful, tugging at his linen doublet and pulling his hair upon his head so that it whirled into his face, where it stuck to his sweat-soaked skin.  He looked up at the sky, and noted that there were no longer any birds flying there; even the hawks had sought shelter, and he knew it was going to rain.  At first he hoped it would not interfere with the Tournament; then he checked himself, and realized that the Tournament had already been interfered with, and Belecthor was right to be so cautious.  He crossed the pathway around the back of the stadium and approached the leeches’ tent.  At its entrance were two guards, clad in the green and brown livery of Ithilien: Faramir’s personal sentries.  Their helms were low, with long cheek-guards and nose-guards decorated with etched leaves; upon their surcoats were embroidered trees.  In each of their hands they bore a staff shod with metal and a long green bow.  Tall they were and grey-eyed, the Dúnedain of the South.  They each did obeisance to their King as he approached, yet before he could enter the tent the flap was pushed aside, and Lord Faramir looked out.

            “Ah, there you are, my lord,” he said, emerging and bowing before his sovereign.  “I was about to send a guard to fetch you.  There is much to befuddle us within the walls of this canvas house; come inside, my king, and I shall disclose my findings to you – though I doubt you will make much more sense of them than have I.”

            “Well met, Lord Faramir,” said Elessar, smiling a little at their lack of formality before the lesser guards of Osgiliath.  “May we not leave the door open?  It must surely be stifling within the tent; the canvas is dark, and there are no window openings.”

            “Such was the nature of my inquiry, my lord,” said Faramir, holding the opening aside for his king to enter, “that I bethought it best to keep as discrete as possible.  I tell you truly, my friend, that this tale does baffle me, and my captain Beregond.”

            Elessar ducked beneath the flap of the entrance and at once the heat and smell of the healer’s domain struck him.  The air was suffocating, thick with the odor of flesh and sweat and metal, and of hot, curdling blood.  It was dark within, lit only by two smoking lamps upon stands; the wooden ewer had been overturned and its dusky contents had soaked into the rushes on the floor.  Beregond the captain of the guard stood within, flanked by his comrade; two healers were folding up linens and handing soiled bandages to an assistant.  At a swift look from Faramir they took up their things and went, leaving the Steward, the King, and one lone patient within the tent.  Beregond and his fellow guard stood silently by the entrance flap.  Upon the pallet furthest from the entrance lay Hallas of Lossarnach.  He had been stripped of his armour and arming doublet, and lay upon his stomach, his left knee bound in bloodied cloths, with but a sheet of linen covering him.  His face lay buried in his arms upon the pillow, and he did not turn when Faramir approached him.

            “Hallas of Lossarnach, son of Baldor,” said Faramir firmly, “your king has come to you.  Stay this hiding of your visage, and turn your eyes upon your monarch, who has condescended to hear your suit!”

            Hallas turned his head, and looked up at his lords; his face was mottled and tear-streaked, and his hair hung thick upon his forehead.  “My Lord Elessar,” he said in a choked voice, “your majesty, have no mercy upon me, for I am desolate and wretched, and no longer wish to live in this world, but be consigned to my fate.  Strike me therefore, that I may die and be troubled by my misfortunes no longer!”

            “’Twould be a harsh punishment, indeed!” said King Elessar mildly.  “Death by your sovereign’s hands, for losing your temper and striking your foe in the ring?  Tell me, Hallas son of Baldor, for what reason should the king grant your supplication?  As I know it, you are but the sole heir of a lesser merchant prince, who is unlikely to procure another inheritor of his property, as your mother is deceased; it would be unjust of me to slay you, and leave your father childless.”

            “My father is a good and noble man,” said Hallas, looking up to his king with eyes burning in his face.  “He deserves not such a son, who can win neither hand-combat nor hand of maiden.  I have failed him.  Before he can look upon me with disappointment, I beg you, my king, to slay me!”

            “You deserve not death for this,” said Aragorn, pulling forward a low stool and sitting beside the young knight.  “Punishment would be just, perhaps, but not death.  The Green Knight is not seriously harmed; in fact, at this very moment he faces his detractor, Brytta of Rohan, at the tilt.  I have spoken with Belecthor the Ceremonies Master.  He has informed me the established method of castigation for your misdeed is expulsion following flogging; but as you have been efficiently hamstrung by your opponent, he is willing to forego the whip and to eject you simply.”

            Hallas looked upon his king with grey eyes filled with despair.  “Then I have lost indeed,” he said bitterly.  “I have mislaid both honour in death and honour in victory; I have naught to go home to.”  He turned his head upon his arm and once again hid his face from Elessar.

            “Can you not tell me, Hallas son of Baldor, the cause of your grievance to Lasgalen of Dale?” asked the king.  He kept his voice gentle, as he could see Hallas was both very young and very distressed.

            “He has robbed all from me, your majesty,” said Hallas into the crook of his elbow.  “With a stroke of his sword he has stolen my gold; with a stroke of his pen he has robbed me of my heart.”

            “His pen; your heart?” said Elessar, frowning.  “What do you mean, Hallas?”

            “That is the first part of the mystery,” said Faramir behind him.

            “There is no mystery, my Lord Faramir,” said Hallas.  “Lasgalen of Dale is taking my Dirhael from me.”

            The king was so astonished by this statement he was struck dumb for a moment.  He stared down at the knight of Lossarnach in surprise, and said, “Dirhael, daughter of Andior, Orodreth of Linhir’s niece and charge?”

            “Yes, the same,” said Hallas, still to his elbow.  His voice was thick and choked with thwarted passion.  “He has treated with her to dissolve our betrothal, and she has accepted him, for he is the wealthier knight.  It was for that reason, my king, that I struck him, for so lost was I in my fury and perturbation that I hated him, and wished for nothing less than his death, to reprove him for his apprehending my Dirhael.”

            Elessar was amazed, and looked to Faramir for aid.  The Steward removed from a pocket in his tunic a folded piece of parchment, set with a broken seal in green wax that had borne the impression of a rune, now indecipherable.  He handed the letter to Elessar, who read:

            Lady of night, lady of starlight, my Dirhael, my beautiful one!  Speak but

            one word to me and I shall swoon; look but my way and I shall grow faint

            and weak in my sinews; lift thy hand to me and all darkness shall fall

            before my eyes!  Forsake the child with which thou hast dallied in thy youth

            and come to me as a grown woman, worthy of the riches and the honour

            and the station I can bestow upon thee.  Great are the halls of my fathers

            and plentiful the storehouses; jewels and crowns and rich furs I shall drape

            across thy white brow and alabaster shoulders; gold shall be in thy cloth and

            precious stones in thy collar.  My father shall treat with thine uncle and thou shalt

            be indeed my lady and the fulfillment of my desire.  Keep then this letter as thy

            token for my love and dispense with all thy worldly appointments; at the

            winning of this tournament I shall lay my trophy at thy feet and take up thy

            hand as my wife and true lady.  I shall unveil my face before thee and thou

            shalt find in me the accomplishment of thy longings.  Fear not for thy future,

            then, my Dirhael, for when my father and thine uncle are complete in their

            negotiations shall our hearts be made as one!

            Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale

            The king read this missive through two times, then folded it up and handed it back to Faramir.  The steward said, “We took this at force from Lady Dirhael, who was loath to give it up to us; with many oaths and tears she at last surrendered it to us.  Egalmoth it was who found her out, though it was Eradan who first pointed us to Orodreth.”

            “Hallas,” said Elessar of the knight upon the pallet.  “Did Lady Dirhael indeed believe this letter came from the Green Knight?”

            At this Hallas raised his head and looked full upon his king.  In his eyes there was a glimmer of hope.  “She did, my lord,” he said, his voice trembling.  “She told me it was slipped beneath the lintel of her door, in the room of the inn in which she is staying.  Her maid had seen the perian earlier that day, so she was all the more convinced the letter and his suit were legitimate.”  He waited for Elessar to speak, but the king only sat thoughtfully, eyes fixed upon the far wall of the tent.  Outside there was a low rumble of thunder, and the pattering of rain upon the roof of the tent turned into a low drumming noise.  It seemed very dark inside now, the smoking lamps giving off but a dirty yellow glow; it appeared to Hallas that the king’s mind was turned inward, away from the matter at hand.  Yet when his piercing grey eyes fixed upon the younger man, he knew Elessar saw more than what was present.

            “Lasgalen of Dale did not write this letter,” said Elessar.  Faramir moved, looking as though he were about to speak, but seeing the expression on his king’s face he remained silent.

            Hallas did not say anything for a moment; the thunder spoke again, and there was the sound of water gathered in the creases of the tent spilling upon the ground.  He turned on his side, moving his leg carefully, and looked full into his lord’s face.

            “Did he not, your majesty?” he said, hope kindling in his eyes.  “You are sure of this?”
            “I know his hand well,” said Elessar.  “Those were not the letters he is accustomed to using.”

            Hallas’ face fell.  “His esquire mayhap wrote it, then,” he said sadly, “or his armourer.  Dirhael believed it was he; she must have had just cause to so think it.”

            “Lady Dirhael may have hoped she had just cause,” said Elessar.  “But Lasgalen of Dale did not write this letter, nor would he have set his seal upon it or approved of it.  It is not in his nature to seek union with those bespoken of by another.”

            “I should not have thought it in his nature to seek union with any maid,” said Faramir dryly.

            Elessar turned to the steward and smiled.  “Do you not?” he asked.  “You have not seen him at the Midsummer’s Festival in his home land, then, when all maids clamour for his hand in the dances, and for his attentiveness in the feasts.”  Faramir raised his eyebrows to this but did not reply.  The king turned back to Hallas.  “Hallas son of Baldor, your lady was deceived; this epistle was sent her by one desirous of severing your union, and fostering hatred ‘twixt you and the Green Knight.  He is treating no betrothal with her uncle.”

            Hallas shook his head stubbornly.  “My Dirhael is lovely, lovelier than all the ladies attending this Tournament, save your ladies only,” he said.  “She has sat up in the front seats, in full view of all the knights at the joust.  I am certain he has looked upon her, and loved her, as all who see her do; he is a rich lord, as is evidenced by his armour and his retainers, and has all the wealth to offer her that I lack, that I hoped to acquire in trial of arms here.  It is no good – he has won her heart, and I have lost it, and the Tournament as well.”

            He looked so dejected here that Elessar took pity upon him.  Here was a young and very naïve knight, unused to the whims of maidens and the caprices of their hearts; the king thought to himself that the young woman would not be much of a treasure to be won if her heart could be swayed by one poorly-written note.  And besides, despite Hallas’ rich praise of his beloved, he could think of no maiden in the royal box who would so capture the attention of a visiting knight; perhaps he was bemused by the beauty of his own bride, but he had seen none that seemed unduly lovely to him.  He rose and crossed to Beregond and his fellow guard.

            “Captain,” he said, “I apologize for sending you out on such a mundane errand, and in such a heavy rain; yet I beg your indulgence upon me in this.  Go you to the tent of Lasgalen of Dale and bid him come here, yet do not accompany him; instead go to my own tents, where the lords Eradan, Egalmoth, and Belecthor do wait upon me, and inform them of all we have heard here.  Again, do not come back here, once the Green Knight has been summoned; it is our will his face should remain covered.”

            “Yes, your majesty,” said Beregond, and they went out.

            Then the king told Hallas to lie upon his stomach, and he uncovered the wound; he saw where the leeches had stitched it up together with gut, and laid a poultice of fragrant herbs upon it.  Then he wrapped it in clean cloths he found in a barrel, and taking a white tunic from a hook by the back curtain he dressed the young knight.  He and Faramir aided him in sitting up, putting cushions behind his back, and then they sat beside him and waited.

            They had not long to wait, for forthwith the tent-flap opened, and a dark and dripping figure entered; the face beneath the cowl was hidden in shadow, and the wet cloak covered him from shoulder to calf.  At the opening of the entrance a cool, damp breeze swirled, stirring the tongues of flame in the lamps to dancing, casting eerie shadows in the corners.  Hallas shivered when the hood turned to him, and unseen eyes regarded him in the blankness.

            “My friend,” said Elessar, rising and holding out his hand to the Green Knight.  Lasgalen did not hesitate, but took the king’s hand in his own, bowing.  Faramir also rose, and the Green Knight greeted him silently.  Then he stood back and looked upon Hallas once more.  Hallas gazed up at him in apprehension, unable to see the face beneath the shadowed hood.

            “Hallas of Lossarnach,” said the king, gesturing, “I present to you Lasgalen of Dale.  Lasgalen of Dale, Hallas of Lossarnach had what he felt just cause in striking you today in the barriers.”

            “Had he?” said the Green Knight in a low, muffled voice.  “Speak, then, Hallas of Lossarnach.”

            There was a rumble of thunder, muted within the tent.  Hallas took his courage in his hands and spoke.  “Green Knight, you have turned my lady’s heart away from me,” he said in bitterness.  “You looked upon that which belonged to another and desired her, and you have set in motion all the machinery to take her from me, and for that I hate you!”

            The Green Knight did not answer him, but instead turned his hooded face to Elessar and the steward.  Elessar said, “A letter was received by his betrothed, bearing your name, purporting to plot an elopement between you and she, once the Tournament is wound up.”

            “Indeed?” said the Green Knight, and his soft voice sounded amused.  “That is quite gratifying.  Might I know the name of my fiancée?”

            “It is Dirhael daughter of Andior, my beloved!” said Hallas angrily.  “You have conspired against me, you two, seeking to both beggar me and defame me by your perfidy!”

            At this the Green Knight began to laugh gently, and the king said:  “Cease tormenting the youngling, my friend; uncloak before him, and we shall extract from him an oath that he reveal nothing shown him in this tent, until after the Tournament has closed.”

            “Very well, Aragorn,” said the Green Knight, more loudly this time, and Hallas could hear his voice was light and clear as birdsong.  Lasgalen threw back his hood, scattering droplets of water behind him, revealing a face covered from the throat to the eyes in a swath of linen, a knitted cap upon his head obscuring him from crown to brow.  Down came the linen, off went the cap, and the thong that tied the pale hair was removed and the cascade flowed down about his shoulders.  Hallas stared up into the face of the Elf in astonishment.

            “Are you satisfied, Hallas of Lossarnach?” he asked, a smile upon his lips.  “Do you now see me for what I truly am?  And do you understand the absurdity of your accusations?  Or shall we fight a duel, you and I, battling each other to the death for a maiden I know not, nor covet?  For you should know that an immortal Elf, giving himself to a daughter of Men, forsakes his kin and his immortality, and I am not so weary of my people yet, nor do I wish to renounce Valinor.”

            “Who are you?” gasped Hallas.

            “You need not know his name,” said the king firmly.  “Know only that he is the son of an Elven noble, who has entered this Tournament in disguise – and, I might add, against my preference.”  He looked upon his friend with a smile, and the Elf gave a silvery laugh.  “You need bear him no animosity.  I am sure your Dirhael is safe from his predations.”

            “Very safe,” said the Elf.  He sat upon the stool by Hallas’ pallet and extended one long, white hand to the knight.  “I hold you no grudge, son of Baldor of Lossarnach!  Of the two of us I dealt you the weightier blow, and I fear it will be some time before you joust again.”

            “If at all,” said Faramir.  “He attacked an rival; within the barriers it is an offense punishable by permanent expulsion.”

            Hallas took the Elf’s hand, reluctant at first.  “I have wronged you,” he said slowly.  “Please forgive me, Lasgalen of Dale!”

            “There is naught to forgive,” said the Elf, clasping his hand warmly.  “I deceived all in the stands, in the barrier, and at the tilt.  None think me any more than a man.  I do not blame you for your rancor.  Were it my beloved being lured away, I should strike hard and in anger as well.”

            “All the same,” said Hallas, his face falling once more, “Dirhael has wronged me, by casting me aside with so little provocation.  So perhaps it is just as well she will not marry me now, as I cannot win the Tournament and so provide for her comfort.”

            “Surely her dowry would have imparted sufficient funds for that,” said Faramir.  “Orodreth of Linhir is a very wealthy man.”

            Hallas shrugged.  “Perhaps; I do not know.  I did not care, so great was my love for her.  My father and her uncle, her guardian, handled all the negotiations.  I only know that my father bid me marry her at once, to secure the income for our estates, for we are poor, though our family is old and well-connected.  But it will not happen now, and I suppose I shall marry a rich and ugly woman, for I know I shall never love another.”  He heaved a great sigh, and Lasgalen looked up at the king and the steward, his fair face grave.  He rose to his feet and stood before his friend, and there was a war waging behind his bright eyes.

            “You were right, I think, Aragorn,” he said; “my entering this tournament has robbed the children of the race of men.  I did not think to win it in truth, but here my presence has deprived a true knight of his chance for the gold.”

            “I think not, my friend,” said Elessar, putting one hand upon the Elf’s shoulder.  “After all it is not your race that has divested this knight from his place, but a letter sent in malice.  We must needs ascertain the purpose behind the sending of this note to Dirhael before any blame can be placed on you.”

            “And you have repaid me thus,” spoke Hallas from his pallet, and the Elf turned to him.  “You have revealed to me the duplicity of my lady’s heart, which might not have been discovered until after we had been wed.  For that I owe you a debt.”

            “The debt is paid in full,” said the Elf, gesturing to Hallas’ leg.  “Long shall I have departed from this land before you walk without pain.  And this I promise you:  If there is aught I can provide for you, any dainty or sweet or comfort, I shall send my esquire to you with it, to ease your convalescence, for a man of action deprived of his mobility soon becomes discontent.”

            “I thank you, my lord Elf,” said Hallas, deeply moved, and feeling a warmth of affection for the Elf.  “Never before have I spoken with one of the Fair Folk, and I count myself twice blessed to have both fought you and befriended you.  When I have sons, I shall tell them tales of the immortal people of the forests, and garner admiration in their eyes when I tell them that I tried myself against an Elf in a tournament, and was bested only by my own temper.”

            “A fine tale, though marred by a moral!” laughed the Elf, obscuring his face once more.  “My father would say that is the privilege of all who are unfortunate enough to raise sons.”  So saying, he waved his hand to the men, and quitted the tent, vanishing with a cold gust of air into the heavy rain.

15.

            Gimli entered the tent with a sigh and drew off his dripping cloak.  He hung it on the rack beside Legolas’, which was likewise soaked through; but Bandy had placed several old rugs beneath the cloaks so that the newly swept tent floor would remain undisturbed.  The Hobbit was as careful about the cleanliness and appearance of his Master’s tent as he was about the quality (and frequency) of his Master’s meals.  The oaken table was freshly set with gleaming crystal and glowing silver, and a vast porcelain ewer, decorated with painted flowers, sat in the middle, filled to the brim with floating gardenias.  Their cloying scent was heavy on the air.  Gimli went to the window-flaps and opened them, tying them back to allow fresh, damp air into the tent.  He shivered and rubbed his hands together.  He was still damp from his foray into the Tent City, and felt chilled.  He went up to the sideboard, where a bottle of rich red-purple wine had been decanted, and filled his goblet to the brim.  He sniffed at it suspiciously, wishing it were ale, took a gulp, and decided it was better than naught.  Pulling one of the great chairs out from the table he sat down, looked about him, and drummed his fingers on the table.

            He could hear Legolas’ clear voice floating out from the back rooms like the tinkling of silver bells, fleeting and light; he was singing something in his own tongue.  The accompanying splashy noises fit the nagging image of running water, brought on by the torrential rains, in Gimli’s mind and answered his question about his friend’s current duties.  Another of Bandy’s peculiarities was his insistence that his Master bathe each night.  Legolas had at first objected, as it had created yet more work for his little esquire, but the Halfling as usual persisted and overcame the Elf’s protests.  Gimli had noticed that as time wore on Legolas’ objections to Bandy’s demands had taken on a resigned note, as though he realized he had no longer any say in matters domestic, yet felt it his duty to make a precursory argument to keep the Halfling entertained. Gimli listened, bemused, to the sound of the Elf crooning and sloshing behind the curtain walls, until he realized it was growing ever darker within their abode.  Grunting he rose and sought out his tinder-box, which he used to light a taper on the table; with that he went about lighting the various candles and lamps within the main chamber of the tent, until he was certain it glowed like a faerie-ring from without.  He had just put his tinder-box back upon the sideboard and sat back down to his wine when Bandobras bustled in, wiping his hands on his apron and shaking water droplets from his hair.

            “Whew!” he said, clambering up onto his stool so he could reach the top of the sideboard.  “I don’t mind it’s getting a bit cooler – much more comfortable this way, in my opinion – but the rain I could do without.  Fairly washing a trench right through the middle of the smithy.  We’ll have a little canyon there by morning.”  He lifted the tureen down and jumped lightly from the stool with it in his arms.  “Glad I set that pot on to simmer today.  Soup’ll taste good tonight.  Nice fresh bread we have, too – and some sort of cheese I’ve never seen before, with a soft white powdery rind and tangy flesh.  Grocer said the rind was edible.  Never heard aught like that!  But it’s a nice match with the bread, and I’ve got a good, meaty beef shin as well.”

            “No mushrooms?” asked Gimli cautiously.

            “Oh yes!” said Bandy brightly.  “Never fear, Gimli!  Got them myself from a vegetable hawker who trundled a great barrow full of them through the Tent City today.  Oyster, pigs-ear, singers, and buttons.  Let them stew in their own juices with a touch of red wine and borage.  I’ve made little toast trenchers to eat them with.”  He hurried out of the tent again to the kitchens, letting in a puff of cold air.  Gimli shook his head.  He might have known Bandy wouldn’t let a day go by without serving them mushrooms.

            Another burst of song shook him from his gloomy contemplations, and a great splashing noise proclaimed that Legolas was exiting his bath.  “If he can still sing and move about,” thought Gimli, “he can’t have been too badly bruised today.”  Every evening he and Bandy had discovered some new discoloration or abrasion upon Legolas’ body; the armour, while protecting him, often was bent or forced inward upon him, piercing the skin in some cases, though mostly just bringing up great swollen purplish masses across his arms, his chest, or his thighs.  Gimli knew this was the cost of such play-acting with war, but Bandobras tut-tutted like a brood hen over a sickly chick, chivvying Gimli to increase the leather padding on the doublet, or tighten the straps.  The Tournament no longer seemed like such a grand thing to Bandy, now that he had seen how much harm could be done through a joust or sword fight.  Only that afternoon one of the local knights had been flung from his horse by Herion of Pelargir, landing sharply upon the crown of his helm; after he had been taken to the leeches’ tent Legolas had sent Bandy to see how badly he had been injured, and the Halfling had returned, white-faced and horrified, to report the knight’s death by broken neck.  He had been so aghast to discover the knights’ mortality might be visited upon them by a game that he had begged Legolas to withdraw, lest his immortal life be shortened by such a trivial pastime.  Gimli smiled a little when he recalled Legolas’ words to his little esquire:  “Death and hurt have ever been a risk, even when warriors play at battle.  And I, sparring with my father, have inflicted various wounds, and been hurt myself; it is a price one pays for practicing the arts of death.”  Bandy had shaken his head and replied:  “Well, then, Master, I’m not so sure I’ll be practicing with that little sword you gave me, then, if I’m going to hurt you with it.”  It had taken Legolas at least a half hour’s worth of persuasion to compel the Hobbit to even consider the possibility of continuing his duty as esquire in training for the warrior’s arts, even for self-defense.  Even now Gimli was not sure Bandy had been convinced, which was a shame really; he had shown such promise.

            “Well,” thought Gimli, “it’s not as though he’ll need to know how to fight – he shall always have Legolas and me about to protect him, while he is out of the Shire.”  The thought of returning Bandy to his homeland was so pleasant that Gimli felt a little better, though it still was slightly disconcerting that Pippin had not answered Legolas’ letter.  “He’d better have gotten it,” thought Gimli.  “It would be vexing indeed to get to Bree and have no one there to take the little scamp off our hands.  And anyway, I don’t want his family to worry.”

            He could hear Legolas rustling about in his rooms, no doubt getting dressed, and he could also hear Bandy speaking outside to some unknown visitor; the sharpness of his voice betrayed his annoyance, and Gimli crept to the tent-flap to eavesdrop.

            “No, I’ll not disturb my Master in his bath,” Bandobras was saying to the accompanying noises of soup slurping into the tureen.  “Honestly, what a day he’s had, chopped at by one knight and taunted by another – no offense to your master, now, but after fighting and jousting all day he’s entitled to a wash and a meal.  I don’t know anything about a letter and there’s no use asking, for if I haven’t heard of it I’m sure my Master hasn’t either.”

            Gimli pulled the flap aside and stepped out into the pavilion.  Bandy had been right; the water was cutting a sizeable trench between his smithy and the kitchen, and it was running under one of the tent’s main pegs; Gimli would have to see to that in the morning, if they didn’t want the whole contraption around their ears by noontime.  Standing in the dark mist, shivering by Bandy’s oven was a tall, slender youth, with long golden hair braided down his back; he was wrapped in a great wool cloak and smelled comfortably of horses.  His fair face wore a troubled expression, and he looked about to entreat the Hobbit again, when he espied Gimli exiting the tent, and turned to him in hope.

            “Master Dwarf,” he said, stepping forward.  “I am Híldaf, esquire of Brytta of Rohan.  It has come to my attention – “

            “Out of the way, out of the way!” said Bandy impatiently, balancing the steaming tureen upon his arms and pushing past the Rider.  “Goodness gracious me!  Anyone would think I had nothing better to do than to play round-rosie with a bowl of soup in my arms!  I told you before, my Master’s not to be disturbed!” He shot Gimli a scathing look and backed carefully into the tent with the soup.

            “What is it, Híldaf of Rohan?” asked Gimli carefully.  “Is your master well?  He took a great fall from his horse.  And how is Éreod, his destrier?”

            “Éreod is halt, but will be well, I am pleased to say, Master Dwarf,” said Híldaf politely, though Gimli could tell he was impatient to tell his tale.  “And I bring thanks from him to Lasgalen of Dale for his munificent gift of sweet oat mash – fodder is expensive here, and it pleased me greatly to give my lord’s horse such a dainty.”

            “Good, good!” said Gimli, though he thought to himself:  “Sweet oat mash!  What will Legolas do next, send Bandy to carting about sugared fruit to the other squires?”  Then he bethought of how Híldaf had said it, and asked, “Thanks from Éreod, or from Brytta?”

            “Éreod, I am regretful to say,” said Híldaf grimly.  “It is on that count I desire greatly to speak with your Master.  Ever since the fight in the barrier has my lord been incensed, hot with wrath and stinging with indignation at Lasgalen’s laughter, and the letter he sent has only served to fuel that fire!  What does your Master mean by it?  I had thought him to be a noble man, possessing justice and mercy in like measure as the other knights here, but such were the words upon the page that it threw my lord into the blackest rage, and so incensed was he that he thrust the paper into the fire at once, without letting me even read it.  It was on that account – “

            “Wait!” interrupted Gimli, holding up his hands, a look of surprise upon his face.  “What letter?  Lasgalen has written to no one since we left Dale.  And he certainly would not write to your lord, as he hardly knows him.  Besides, it is not like him to goad or taunt someone – well, perhaps in fun – “ Gimli smiled “– but only if he knew him well, as he knows me, and he only teases enough to chafe, then ceases before I become angry, and afterwards so soothes and flatters me that I am forced back into good humor.  He would not write a letter to a fellow knight that would serve to infuriate him.  When did this letter arrive?”

            “Yesterday after the foot-combat, and before the joust,” said Híldaf slowly.  “It was delivered by a boy, and had upon it a green wax seal, and it was signed Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale.  My lord was angry enough that Lady Éowyn had chosen the Green Knight as her champion over one of her own kinsmen, and perturbed by his laughter after his defeat at my lord’s hands at the barrier; whatever was written in that letter served but to inflate his wrath, and it was for that reason he noised abroad the words that Lasgalen of Dale had thrown down the caltrops with the intention of wounding Éreod.   My lord is easily affronted, for though certain it is that he is one of King Éomer’s mightiest knights he is ever seeking acclaim, and likes it not when others are elevated above his station.  The thought that a knight of Dale would supplant him both in the eyes of the Lady of Rohan and the esteem of his fellow knights quite overwhelmed him, and he said things that he ought to have kept to himself.  I had thought to speak with Lasgalen of Dale, and beg him to withdraw his remarks, so that my lord might be appeased, for now he is saying that the joust was inequitable, since he was impeded by a smaller destrier and a wounded foot, and he is crying for vengeance again at the tilt when the Tournament is over, but under traditional rules, so that when he vanquishes the Green Knight he may take his horse, and turn him into a farm animal.”

            “Well, Lasgalen himself was dissatisfied with the joust,” Gimli told him.  “He said to us he did not feel he had won well, as your master was on a weaker horse, and he asked Ara – that is, King Elessar, if they could rematch, but both the king and the steward are worried enough about the caltrop business, and do not wish to delay the Tournament any longer.  But as to this letter, I know not what to tell you, Híldaf of Rohan; it is certainly a mystery to me.  In fact – “ Gimli broke off, stroking his beard thoughtfully.  “If you will but wait a moment while I fetch my cloak and hood, I will take you to King Elessar himself, and you may relate this story to him.  It is not the first queer thing to happen during this Tournament.”

            “Very well, but we must hasten,” said Híldaf, looking behind him with apprehension.  “I do not think my lord will come to look for me, but should he discover me here with his enemies his wrath would be great, and I would pay dearly for it later.”

            “T’ch, t’ch!” said Gimli, peering into the tent, and thought to himself, “What a terrible master Brytta of Rohan must be, that his esquire trusts him not with this knowledge!  I am very glad Legolas is so good to Bandy.”  Seeing the Elf had not emerged from his room, he opened the flap wide enough for Híldaf to go through.  “Come in for a moment and I will let Lasgalen know what I am doing, so his esquire may serve him his dinner without waiting.”

            Bandy stopped short at the table, arms full of porcelain, when Híldaf entered on Gimli’s heels.  “Gimli!” he hissed.  “What are you doing?  My Master will be out in a moment, and he is not ready for visitors!”

            “Peace, Bandy!  I’m only here to fetch my cloak,” said Gimli, raising his voice.  “Lasgalen!  Here is Híldaf, esquire of Brytta of Rohan, so do not come out uncloaked!  There is another mystery brewing, and I am going with him to Faramir about it!”

            Híldaf, who was looking about him with wondering eyes at the splendor of the Green Knight’s tent, heard a light, clear voice from behind the tent walls say, “Can it not wait until after dinner?” to which Bandy echoed, “Yes, yes!  After dinner!  Eat first, conspire later!  Have pity on my poor stomach, and on my Master’s too!”

            “No, Lasgalen,” said the Dwarf firmly, glaring at the holbytla, who was looking resentfully at Híldaf.  “I fear this cannot wait.  There has been another letter sent, to Brytta of Rohan this time, and Híldaf here says it was sent by you!”

            There was silence, and then the curtain-rings gave a great clatter as the entryway was flung open.  The Green Knight stood there, face obscured by linen scarf, knit cap and hood, his green cloak still swirling about his legs as he fixed the clasp beneath his masked chin.  He strode forward, eyes glittering beneath the deep cowl, and began to pull on leather gloves.  Híldaf noticed his hands were long and white, and Lasgalen was taller than Híldaf had thought he would be.  Bandobras made an impatient noise and folded his arms across his chest.

            “Well, then, my friend,” said the Green Knight softly to Híldaf, “perhaps you had best disclose your mind to me, whilst we seek out the steward and the king.”

            “That’s just fine, then!” said Bandobras angrily, taking off his apron and flinging it into a chair.  “The shin’ll be burnt to a crisp!  Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” 

            “Peace, Bandobras!” said the Green Knight, though his voice was soft and kind, and he laid one gloved hand upon the Halfling’s head.  “Stay here, Little One, and Gimli and I shall soon have this mystery mended.  There is mischief afoot, that is certain, and as it certainly concerns me I must needs take it to the lord of the Tournament.  Faramir and Elessar will know what to do; they have already begun inquiries about the caltrops and the letter to Lady Dirhael.  All information we possess must be given them.”

            “But, Master,” said Bandobras, grasping Lasgalen’s hand as he passed, “if it’s such a small thing, can’t it wait ‘til later?  At least after the third course – my stomach is flapping against my spine like a flag on a flag-pole.  And the King and the Steward and their ladies are surely eating at this very minute.  It would be awfully impolite to interrupt them.”

            “You are nothing if not persistent, my dear hobbit!”  laughed the Green Knight.  “Nay, Little One, I go forthwith.  Eat a little here, to temper your hunger, and be sure to watch the shin to see that it does not burn, because its aroma has teased me while I was in the bath and my appetite has been whetted.  I will rush back, I assure you, my Bandobras, because so great is my desire to eat the shin I will speak in haste and quit the lords and ladies with the undue swiftness, just so I can sit at the table and sate myself upon the goodness you have prepared for me.”

            “Well spoken!” muttered Gimli, winking at Híldaf, who did not seem to know what to make of this; but the speech had its desired effect, for Bandobras looked pleased and he said, very flattered, “Will you?  Did it?  Well, that is very nice to know, Master, and actually now I think on it, this will give me a few extra minutes to make up a nice salad for us, to eat between the soup and the shin.  I got a bolt of good greens this morning and some late tomatoes.  And I still have that olive oil and the wine vinegar for a proper dressing.  It would taste quite good.  Would you like a salad of greens and tomatoes with dinner too, Master?”

            “Tempt me much further and I shall fall derelict in my duties as a knight of this Tournament,” said Lasgalen solemnly.  “By all means make the salad, my Bandobras, while Gimli and I attend this little matter; as soon as is possible we shall quit the lords and ladies and return here, so that we can eat your most excellent cooking.”

            “Well, what are you waiting for, then?” demanded Bandobras, pushing them to the tent flap.  “Hurry!  The sooner you leave the sooner you return.  Oh, and Híldaf!” he called after the three, “if you like I’ll set a place at the table for you too!  There’s plenty!  Poor fellow,” he sighed, closing the flap on the cold rain and turning back to the table.  “I’ll wager he gets nothing like braised shin and mushrooms in Brytta’s tent!”

16.

            Híldaf did not know what to make of his strange attendants; never before had he kept company with a Dwarf or with a man determined to obscure his visage at all costs from passers-by.  As the Green Knight strode purposefully through the squelching mud and fitful sheets of wind-whipped rain, his cloak swinging about his feet and his head sunk to his chin, the few they met out of doors looked after them curiously, wondering what business together Lasgalen of Dale would have had with Brytta’s esquire.  Soon heads were peeking around tent-flaps at them, and when they passed through the gates of the Tent City Targil stared at them and said in a forced voice:  “Well met, sirs, my lord!  Be sure to be back before the ninth bell; we shall be closing the gates then.”

            “We will not be long, Quartermaster,” assured the Dwarf, and they passed out into Ithilien.

            The makeshift village about the Tent City was drowned in muddy water.  Great trenches cut through the dirt alleyways and paths between the huts and lean-tos, chuckling with brown water and choked with leaves; light from windows glinted off wet carts and sullen dogs; men tramped through the mess solidly, trailed by the occasional farmer’s wife, who minced along in her wooden shoes with exclamations of dismay, stout arms holding a shawl over her head.  Tarps and oilskins had been flung over shuttered racks stocked with fruit and vegetables, and they passed a covered coop filled with dispirited chickens, huddling into a corner to avoid the rain.  Here in the village the Green Knight’s appearance seemed less ominous; the rain excused his hood and cloak, and his quickened stride was made reasonable in others’ eyes by their own desire to escape the elements.  Soon they left the village and approached the bridges across the river to eastern Osgiliath, and Híldaf halted.  His companions turned and looked at him.

            “I cannot cross the river,” said Híldaf uncomfortably, turning his eyes from the blank regard of the Green Knight.

            “You must,” said the Dwarf impatiently.  “That is where the King and the Steward are, in the ruins on the eastern side.  You must tell them about the letter.”

            “I have not my lord’s permission,” said Híldaf, wringing his hands in dismay.  “I am already out too late to fix the repast for my lord.  Already when I return to our tent he will shout and throw things at me.  Already have I gone to his enemies and told them things after he ordered me to keep silent.  And I know not either the king of Gondor or the Prince of Ithilien.  How can I know they will deign to hear me?  I am but the esquire of a defeated foreign knight; likely it is that they will think this but a ruse to excuse my lord’s poor behavior.”

            “They will not,” said the Green Knight in a low murmur, coming to Híldaf and taking his arm comfortingly.  “Aragorn and Faramir are just men, and patient as well.  You have naught to fear from them.”

            “Besides, their ladies will be with them, and Éowyn of Rohan is sister to your king,” said the Dwarf, also coming to his side.  “Fear them not!  They will welcome your tale, for although it confounds and not clears the air, more information is never to be begrudged.  The truth needs to be told, if they are to get to the bottom of this shameful business.”

            Híldaf allowed himself to be pulled forward over the bridge, though he saw his disgrace in the rushing black water beneath him; the guard-houses on the eastern end were occupied, and the guards let them through without question.  “Lax!” growled the Dwarf to himself as they slipped and stumbled along the cobblestone path in the rain.  “What with the caltrops and the first letter they ought to be more diligent.”

            “With the presence of so many warriors in one place, no doubt Faramir thinks he is safe from harm,” said the Green Knight.  “And remember also, Gimli, he is a doughty man himself, and his wife no less fearsome.”

            Híldaf laughed breathlessly, and Gimli looked up at him with a smile.  “Yes, that is the White Lady of Rohan!” he said.  “You must be proud indeed to be of her kin.”

            “I am,” said Híldaf, “though I wish none of this had come to pass, and there were no reason for my breaking my lord’s trust and coming here.”

            “Better here than the king’s tent, which is replete with servants, lackeys and Council-members,” said Lasgalen.  Híldaf noticed that the more the Green Knight spoke, the fewer hisses and murmurs he used, and his voice was clearer and more pleasant to listen to, like clean water passing over stone.  “I know that Aragorn and Arwen are supping with them tonight, and the only one there who knows me not is Ardún, Faramir’s old servant.”

            While Híldaf wondered at Lasgalen’s familiar tone, thinking perhaps the Green Knight were more closely allied with Gondor than he had previously known, the Dwarf gave him a sharp look and said, “Ware, my friend!  You are forgetting Híldaf here!”

            The Green Knight turned his cowled face to Híldaf and said, with laughter in his light voice:  “Surely, Gimli, I shall have to uncloak before him too, at Aragorn’s insistence?  After all Hallas has seen me and knows me; why not our friend here?”

            “I did not come to you in friendship, my lord,” said Híldaf.

            “Nay, but you did come to me in truth,” said the Green Knight.  “One good turn deserves another as payment.”  And he led them through the dark alleys, lit by guttering torches, until they came to the back of a ruined mansion.  There, standing inside a small alcove, they came upon a guard who stopped them and asked their business.

            “We must see the steward and the king,” said the Green Knight.  “Please tell them that Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale is here with his armourer and with Híldaf of Rohan, esquire of Lord Brytta.”

            “As you wish!” said the guard, though he looked at them narrowly before leaving his post and ducking inside the low archway in the wall.  They stood in the rain for a moment, listening to it patter upon the flagstones and drip into the puddles, until the guard came back and gestured them into the courtyard.  They followed him across the wet pavers to a rectangle of warm gold upon the ground, which was the light from the doorway of the kitchen, reflected upon the wet stone.   The guard stepped in, said, “Lasgalen of Dale, your majesties, my lord and lady!” and turned and went back to his post.

            Híldaf followed the Green Knight and the Dwarf into the large kitchen with his heart pounding in his throat; he had never felt so out of place in his life.  But when he saw the king of Gondor leaning back in his chair, legs crossed upon the hearth and a pipe in his mouth, his nervousness subsided, and when he further espied Queen Undómiel sitting at her place with a brown speckled hen roosting comfortably in her lap, his disquiet faded completely.  He saw the prince of Ithilien pouring wine from a large skin into three goblets, and his lady, Éowyn of Emyn Arnen, was telling an old manservant to pull up some extra chairs.  The scene was so warm and homely that Híldaf immediately felt his misgivings had been unfounded, and he bowed politely with his companions as all turned to them.

            “Welcome, Lasgalen of Dale!” said the Steward, looking cautiously at Híldaf yet taking the Green Knight’s hand in his own.  “Well met, son of Glóin!  And hail, Híldaf of Rohan!  Here are King Elessar and his wife Queen Undómiel – “ the royal pair nodded politely, and Híldaf bowed again  “ – and though perhaps she has met you not, surely you know my wife.”  Éowyn came forward and kissed Híldaf upon the forehead, saying, “Well met, kinsman!  You are welcome in our house.”

            “I thank you,” stammered Híldaf, abashed.  “In truth, I did not realize I would be presented to you tonight, or I would have prepared some speech to offer to you.  I am unused to such noble company.”

            “That speech will suffice quite well,” smiled the king of Gondor, removing his pipe from his lips.  “Brief and unpretentious – it is a pleasant change from the dronings I am usually subjected to by visiting dignitaries.”

            “We have not interrupted your meal?” asked Lasgalen, taking the seat offered him by Faramir.

            “Nay, we are just finished,” said the queen, stroking the back of the poult.  “Do you not like my new pet, Lasgalen?  She settled upon my lap the moment I sat down.  Ardún has been attempting to dislodge her, but she pecks at him when he tries to lift her, so I told him to let her be, and I have eaten my entire dinner with her here.”

            “She is charming,” laughed the Green Knight, and he pulled off his gloves as Gimli and Híldaf sat beside him.  “Does she lay good eggs, Undómiel?” Then he lifted his slender hands up to his hood and pulled it off.

            “Legolas!” cried the Dwarf in consternation, then clapped his hand over his beard and looked furious with himself.  Híldaf cried aloud and leapt to his feet, turning his chair over, and both the king and the steward rose in alarm.

            “What is the matter?” asked the Green Knight calmly, removing the cap from his head and pushing the linen down to his throat.  “I can scarcely accept a glass of wine with my mouth covered, can I?”  And ignoring the stares of the people around him he picked up a goblet and took a deep draught, sighing when he was finished.  The only sounds were the popping and snapping of the fire, and a soft chuckling from Undómiel.

            “Have you decided to uncloak, then?” asked the king, sitting back down and knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hearth.

            “Nay!” said the Elf, smiling.  “But I owe Híldaf a debt of truth, and Ardún, I am sure, has guessed who I am already.”

            Faramir looked quickly at his manservant, who faltered and said, “Yes, my lord, I overheard my lady and the queen speaking of him, and one of them mentioned his name.”

            “There you are, then!” smiled Legolas.  “I weary of my cocoon, anyway.”  He took another sip of wine and said to Híldaf:  “You see why I have hidden myself, my friend?  But more importantly, do you see why I have revealed myself to you?  One truth deserves another.  Divulge your particular truth to the lords and ladies as you did to us; it grows ever late, and your lord grows ever more ill-tempered.”

            Híldaf sat slowly, his wide eyes upon the Elf, unable to look away.  “My – my lord,” he faltered; “I did not know, I did not realize – I was at Helm’s Deep, my lord, I should have known – “

            “How could you have known?” asked Legolas.  “Delay us not further by your apologies!  They are unnecessary.  While we tarry, your lord gets angrier and my dinner more burnt.  And my esquire all the more irritated, which to me is the weightier worry.  Tell the company about the letter your lord received, and then we shall see what to do.”

            So Híldaf explained to the king and the steward about Brytta’s letter and subsequent raging, while the queen and Éowyn sat and listened with frowns upon their fair faces.  Ardún stood quietly in the background, his face impassive, though his thoughts were angry:  “How that man can treat his esquire and horses so!  I shall entreat my lady to release him from that brute’s service!”  But he did not speak then, keeping his ruminations to himself.  When Híldaf had finished he sat in the silence nervously plucking at his dripping cloak, until Legolas pressed the wine goblet in his hand with a smile and ordered him to drink.  Elessar and Faramir regarded each other silently for a moment, and then Faramir sighed.

            “Another letter!” he said heavily.  “And also purported to be written by you, Legolas!  This is grave indeed.”

            “The third incident,” murmured Éowyn, and the others excepting Arwen looked to her curiously.  “It was something Belecthor had said,” she explained; “he would not concern himself over the caltrops, which were but a single incident, but then Hallas attacked Legolas, which was a second incident, and now here is another letter, which is the third.”

            “Now I am certain those caltrops were thrown to cripple Hatchet,” muttered Gimli.  “Had not the queen and Legolas spied them first, both horses would have trod upon them.”

            “Some evildoer either thinks it would be amusing to lay the blame upon you, in order to discredit you,” said Faramir to Legolas, “or perhaps he wishes to harm you through the other knights’ wrath.”

            “What I do not understand is why Lasgalen of – why, why the Green Knight should be the victim of these pranks,” said Híldaf diffidently.  “If it is solely through his cloaking himself – “

            Legolas and Aragorn exchanged a look, and Aragorn stood.  Híldaf leapt to his feet once more, nearly spilling his wine.  “Peace, son of Rohan!” said the king gently.  “You spoke not out of turn – it was a fair question.  There is, perhaps, an answer to this riddle, but the workings of this plot are deeper than common knowledge would allow for, and I fear I must do you a great disservice and dismiss you.  We have things to discuss, we six, the subjects of which will not be revealed to the public until a week passes; then we shall repay you your information with explanations in full.  Go from us with the knowledge you have helped us immeasurably, and perhaps by your disclosure we shall be able to prevent further disruption.”

            Híldaf bowed awkwardly, and made to leave, but Éowyn stopped him and said:  “Híldaf of Rohan, will you go to the inn called Bridge Embattled in the village outside western Osgiliath, and give a note to my cousin Éodild, who is staying there with her mother’s brother Walda, a lord of the Mark? You must not tell her what you have seen here, lest the Green Knight’s secret be noised abroad, for though I love Éodild dearly I know that she could not restrain her tongue should this knowledge be given her.  Wait here but a moment; let me write the letter and you may go.”  She turned from them and hurried upstairs, to be followed by Ardún, who had a determined expression upon his lined face.  Placing a hand upon Híldaf’s shoulder Legolas made him to sit back down and bid him drink his wine; they passed a few moments in desultory conversation until the White Lady returned with a folded slip of parchment, sealed with red wax.

            “Here!” she said, pressing it into his hand.  “Do not delay, but deliver it now!  I know you fear your lord, Brytta, but if you would but trust me in this – “ she smiled at the younger man with an expression of concern  “ – I swear to you your lot will improve.  Only deliver this note and all shall be well.”

            “As you will it, my lady,” said Híldaf, confused, and bowing to the assemblage he slipped out the door into the dark rain.

            “What was in the letter, my lady?” asked Faramir curiously of Éowyn.

            She shrugged.  “I wanted my red shawl back, that is all,” she said carelessly.  Then she smiled and said, “And I instructed Éodild to tell her father how great a brute Brytta has become.  Walda is head of his éored and will rein him in.”

            “Excellent!” said Legolas, looking relieved.  “I confess I had felt some disquiet concerning the young man; it is hard for him to be saddled with such a harsh master.”

            “Perhaps,” said Ardún, refilling his goblet with a smile, “Híldaf can find another master.  I have heard you say, my lady, that Walda’s esquire has recently been given a command of his own, and he has been seeking a replacement.  That would be a nice surprise, would it not?”

            “No, it would not,” said Éowyn, sitting, “for I asked Walda to do just that.”

            “Very well,” said Elessar, refilling his pipe.  “Now we have so efficiently mended Híldaf’s future for him, let us press on to the weightier matter of Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale.  What have you been doing, my friend, that has set so many hands against you?  Lest it is but one hand, which I suspect, and then though I know not without doubt the reasons behind it, yet I can make a guess.”

            “We all can guess!” said Legolas with a grim smile.  “My father’s loan.  Not many know, but one knows who does not approve of it, apparently.  Whom have you told, Aragorn, and who could have read the parchment I delivered?”

            “As to whom have I told, that is easy,” said Aragorn.  “Arwen, Faramir, Éowyn, Belecthor, Eradan and Egalmoth have all been told.  And Ardún,” he added, smiling at the manservant.  “I asked for discretion, though, so I am certain they have disclosed this information to no one else.  But as to who could have read the parchment, I am not certain; the seal was unbroken when I received it, and I locked it away in a desk, so that if there were spies about none could read it.”

            “Well, I have told no one save Gimli,” said Legolas.  “I did not think it prudent to noise abroad the information about my father saving the coastlines of Gondor through a gift of gold.  And anyway I speak to no one here; I have kept to my tent and cloak and do not wander much, save to ride Arod, or to take a turn about the Tent City.”

            “I have told none,” said Gimli stoutly.  “It is not my secret to tell.  And when dealing with that much gold it is best if only very few know all the details.”

            “Bandobras does not know?” asked Arwen.

            Legolas shrugged.  “If he does, he has said nothing,” he said.  “I do not think he realizes how important my journey here really was.  His mind is full of the Tournament, nothing else.  The news of my father loaning money to a friend would not interest him.”

            Gimli grunted.  “Foolish,” he muttered.

            “Young,” corrected Legolas, giving his friend a sharp look.

            “Unless our wives have been plotting behind our backs, then,” said Faramir to his king, “or unless I am, unbeknownst to myself, conspiring to usurp your throne, the four of us can certainly not be guilty of throwing the caltrops down, or writing these inflaming letters.  Ardún I will vouch for, for he has ever been loyal to me and would not betray me.  Who else would wish to see this loan overturned?  Who wants to prevent the arming of Pelargir and the freeing of the southern coasts?  Who wishes to see the men of Harad at the markets in Linhir?”

            They were silent, ruminating.  At last Legolas spoke hesitantly.  “I do not know the men who sit with you in the royal box,” he said.  “I do not know how trustworthy they are, these lords Eradan, Egalmoth and Belecthor.  They are on your Privy Council, so I shall assume you trust them.  But I warn you, Aragorn, to not trust them overmuch.  If they are the sole inheritors of this knowledge save us, they are to be the most suspected.”

            “Not Eradan, certainly,” said Faramir in surprise; “he is Chief Treasurer.”

            “Who would benefit most if the loan failed?” asked Gimli.  “The fiefdoms of the Ethir Anduin who trade with Umbar and Harad, of course.  Then the ships of Gondor would falter and the old trade routes be re-established.  Think about money, Aragorn, not power. Who lost the most when you closed trade between Gondor and Harad?”

            Elessar turned to Faramir, who frowned, thinking.  “There were several merchant princes in Lossarnach, and between Pelargir and the Crossings of Poros who dealt in wool and barley,” he said, “and I remember my father cursing a certain lord in Dor-en-Ernil who had three docks in the Bay of Linhir and sold olive oil and wheat to the Haradrim.  The difficulty, my lord, is that many men who live in one region will have holdings in others – “

            “Baldor of Lossarnach’s wife was from Erui; that is the father of Hallas, betrothed of Orodreth of Linhir,” supplied Aragorn.  “And I know that Eldacar of Lebennin has long held the two islands in the River Serni that have been thought to be pirate caches.”

            “Well, you ought to find out who lost the most heavily,” said Gimli, draining his goblet.  “Then perhaps you may discover who could have found out about Thranduil’s munificence, and so thrown down the caltrops.  It seems to me though that your three chief advisors here are to be most suspected, and were I you, Aragorn, I should clean house a little bit, and see whether you’ve got spies in Minas Tirith.  Well, Legolas, that’s about all we can do; we’d best be getting back, or Bandy will have burnt that delectable shin and, blaming me for it, will feed me on naught but hay and dirty water while you nibble dainties in your bath.”  He rose to his feet, but Legolas hesitated, pulling on his cap reluctantly.

            “I am not sure about this,” he said slowly, tucking the loose strands of hair beneath the cap absent-mindedly.  “I seem to be causing more turmoil than I thought I would, even with my face and name occluded.”

            “Second thoughts, Legolas?” asked Faramir kindly.

            “You imply he had first thoughts,” said Elessar with a grim smile, but the Green Knight shook his head, seeming very troubled.

            “Nay, my lord of Emyn Arnen, I dispensed with my second thoughts in Erebor,” he said.  “By now I have had so many thoughts about competing in this Tournament that it is unlikely I should be able to count them, were I inclined to try.  But it is true; I am considering quite earnestly withdrawing, lest further mischief be caused by my presence.”

            “None of this is your doing,” objected Éowyn earnestly, leaning forward and grasping his wrist.  “You must not withdraw.  You are my champion.”  But Legolas shook his head.

            “I am performing better than I thought at the tilt, and depriving other knights of their standing,” he said, slipping his cap off his head once more.  “And because someone knows my father is loaning Aragorn money, Brytta of Rohan has lost his destrier and his honor, and Hallas of Lossarnach his betrothed and the use of his leg.  I ought not to have come.  This was a mistake.”  He stood up and looked around at his friends.  “I shall go to Belecthor the Ceremonies Master tomorrow morning and withdraw, and join you instead in the Royal Box.  I am sorry, my lady,” he said to Éowyn, who was biting her lip; “I do not want anything else to happen to these knights.  They came here for sport, not intrigue.”

            Gimli sighed and scratched his beard.  Faramir and Elessar exchanged a look, then Faramir stepped forward and put a hand on the Elf’s shoulder.

            “Nay, Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale, do not withdraw,” he said.  “There are some good uses we can put you to should you remain the Green Knight for a little while longer.  Think for a moment.  Have you ever hunted lion?”

            “No,” said Legolas in surprise; “they live far from us, in the Iron Hills and south to the Sea of Rhûn.  But I have heard men in Dale speak of lion-hunts, when the big cats wander far in search of game, and prey upon their goats and sheep.”

            “Know you the method for luring the lion from the brush?”

            “Yes; they take a goat, and tether it to a tree, and wait about it for the lion to come and eat the goat.  Then they attempt to kill the lion ere it kills the goat.”

            “Then, if you are willing, I would ask you, my friend, if you would be the goat.”

            Legolas’ eyes glinted, and Éowyn and Arwen both exclaimed at this, but Elessar said, “Peace!  There need be no great danger.  They are seeking to stop and discredit the Green Knight, not to kill him.  All the goat need do is draw the lion out enough for us to recognize him; then we may hunt him down at will – after all, men have different names and faces, though lions do not.  Will you do this for us, Legolas?  Will you continue on in the Tournament, making your presence so loathsome to your enemy that he makes another attempt to shame you, and we move in to capture him?  Will you do this for me, old friend?”

            “Yes, of course,” said Legolas at once.  “Better I should be the trap’s bait and so aid in unraveling the mystery, than to let suspicion fall on the innocent when the perpetrator’s deeds cease through my inactivity!  I trust you and Gimli and Faramir to watch my back for me; I do not fear.”  He looked so confident and trusting that on impulse Aragorn embraced him, which surprised the Elf nearly as much as it surprised the king himself.  To cover his confusion, Elessar stepped back and said,

            “Very well, then, it will be done!  Faramir and I will set our guards to watch you, and we ourselves will dissemble ourselves before the other lords and ladies in the royal box and seek out the shifting eye and the fumbled declaration.  But outside the Tournament grounds it may be a different story.  I must ask you, Legolas, to not ride Arod any more, or walk about the Tent City, but to keep to your tent when you are not competing, lest some stray arrow or knife find its happy way between your shoulder blades.”

            “But – “

            “After all it does the hunters no good if the goat is killed and they are not watching, especially if there is but one goat that can be used,” warned Faramir.  “So I fear I must add my instructions to the king’s, and bid you hide yourself away, moreso than even now, for your own protection.”

            “I – “

            “Your tents are so splendid, and your esquire so attentive I am sure you need fear no ennui,” said Aragorn firmly.  “Keep yourself under helmet and cloak, and speak to no one; go nowhere but the Tournament grounds, and above all do not go anywhere alone.”

            “You – “

            “It is the only way we will agree to let you be the bait,” said Faramir, smiling at the Elf, who now looked very frustrated indeed, clutching his cap in one hand and his gloves in the other.  He looked from the steward’s face to the king’s and back again, then looked at Arwen and Éowyn, who returned his gaze with pity but said nothing.  He shifted lightly upon his feet, and said sullenly:

            “Very well – I shall take all precautions.  Your goat will remain hidden.”

            Aragorn sighed.  “Thank you, Legolas Greenleaf,” he said, smiling, though his friend did not answer his smile.  “Our wives, to say nothing of ourselves, would not be easy in our hearts letting you bait the trap, if these safeguards were not in place.  Gimli, take charge of him then, and guard his back for him on your way to the Tent City, and tomorrow we shall tether him to the tree and wait for the lions to come out!”

            Gimli watched his friend pull on the cap and muffle his lower face, then turning on his heel he left the kitchen, drawing his hood over his face.  They went out into the dripping courtyard, passed the guard at the arch who bid them a good night, and walked in silence through the ruins to the bridge.  The rain had lessened, though the pines still tossed their shuddering heads and waved their sodden limbs, and when they looked to the sky saw stars peeking through the shreds of clouds that tore across the heavens in their haste.  At the top of the bridge by common consent they both stopped, looking at it arching beneath their feet, watching the roiling water beneath them and hearing the roar of the tailrace across the river.  The breeze wafted the scent of tamarisk and lemongrass through the damp air, and suddenly Legolas let out a great sigh.  Gimli looked up at the Elf standing tall beside him, snorted, and said:

            “First Bandy calls you a cow, now you are a goat!  The next man who compares you to a farm animal is getting an axe in his belly.”

            To his relief Legolas laughed and clapped a hand on his shoulder, then in silence once more they returned to the Tent City.

17.

            “Well, there you are at last!” cried Bandobras in delight when they entered.  “Finally, finally!  I have nearly gone mad with hunger.  The shin is done to a turn, Master, and the salad is finished; just let me finish putting the things upon the table while you change out of your wet and muddy things.”  The Halfling bustled about the large table, rushing in and out through the flap that led to the kitchen, while his master and the Dwarf silently divested themselves of their soiled outer clothing.  It had begun to grow colder, so Bandobras had lit the fire-pot in the center of the tent, its pipe winding up through the ceiling in a graceful spiral that looked more artistic than functional.  Gimli held out his hands to the warmth and regarded Legolas out of the corner of his eye.  His friend seemed restless and unhappy, pacing barefoot from sideboard to divans with an untouched goblet in his hand.  The rain had stopped during their walk back from eastern Osgiliath and Gimli could hear the wind outside, roaring and soughing about the pennants and poles of the tent and rippling the outer coverings like canvas sails, creating a soft thumping overhead that put the Dwarf in mind of their voyage up the Anduin from Pelargir.  There it was that Legolas had seen the gulls and heard their catlike calls; there it was that Gimli had seen in his friend’s eyes a longing so deep and desperate he felt his heart would break to watch it.  He hoped Legolas was not thinking of the boom of the sails when the wind whipped the tent cover, and that his agitated pacing to and fro was due to Aragorn and Faramir’s restrictions upon him, and not to sea longing.

            At last Bandobras called them to table, and they sat and fell to, their chill and weariness melting away with the warmth and goodness of the food.  The Hobbit chattered happily, indifferent to the puzzle of the letters, saying only he was sure Faramir and Aragorn would work it out, they looked to be such clever fellows.   Even Legolas brightened a little as he ate, and managed a short laugh when Gimli reported to Bandobras all that Aragorn and Faramir had said.

            “A goat!” exclaimed Bandobras indignantly, giving a mushroom a vicious stab with his fork.  “The nerve!  And I thought he was a gentleman.”  He did not seem put out by the constraints set upon his master, but instead heartily approved of them.  “I never liked you going about alone, Master, and that’s the truth,” he said as he gathered up the plates.  “You’re much too popular with the crowd for the tastes of some of these knights.  Why, I was speaking to Hador, who is Araval’s esquire, you know, and he told me there has been much muttering over on the west side of the camp – “ he waved his arm vaguely  “ – saying it’s not fair that you’ve got all the acclaim, as well as all the money.  Too lucky by half you are, to hear them talk; they’re even upset about that.”  He pointed with his free hand to the pile of tokens upon the floor of the tent, which had been kicked informally to the back wall and had begun to grow quite large.  “I told Hador you had no interest in courting, and he said he’d spread it around the other esquires, you know – just so the knights won’t think you’re trying to nick the best girls along with the grand prize.”  He backed out of the tent with the plates piled high in his arms, and Gimli turned to Legolas, who had leant his head on his hand, his elbow upon the table. 

            “You mustn’t take it so to heart, Legolas,” he said; “it is but for a little while, and then it shall be over.  We may even have the good fortune to draw out the hunting lion tomorrow, so that you need only be a goat for one day.”

            “I do not mind being the goat,” said Legolas, his eyes flashing.  “I mind being shut up in a cage, especially when the weather has broken and autumn comes beckoning at the door; now that the heat has lifted and the rains have come my desire is to explore my fiefdom, not to cower within my tent like a rabbit.”  He pushed his goblet away and sat back in his chair, looking about the tent with weary eyes.  “In less than five days’ time will my people arrive,” he said, “and then our settlement will begin in earnest – we shall build telain in the oak trees, and smooth paths in the forest, which I will enchant to protect the wanderer as the road through Eryn Lasgalen is enchanted; we shall hunt out the verbena and the aloe, the garlic and the bay, the horehound and marjoram and cultivate great gardens amid the meadows – “  He broke off with an impatient gesture.  “I have not yet set foot in my lands; I know not how the ground lies, or how the rocky areas fall away from the cataracts, or which valleys have evergreens or oaks – and I am trapped here, unable through my generosity to explore it!”

            “You have many years yet to find all those things,” said Gimli, slapping him roughly on the back.  “Hah!  I know how you feel, my friend; it was a wrench for me to leave Aglarond last year, just when I had discovered that new passage through Ered Nimrais!  And now when I return it will be with a great company of Dwarves, and I shall have to share my wonder with a crowd, which I had hoped to coddle to myself.”  He sighed, and Legolas in turn sighed, and Bandobras came back in, gave them each a look, and placed his fists upon his hips.

            “Well, if you’re going to get grumpy,” he said, “you’d best help me do the washing-up; if I try to do it myself I’ll be here till dawn.”

     After the dishes had been washed and dried and put away, Bandobras hustled them both indoors with an exclamation.  “I shouldn’t have let you outside, Master!” he said, pulling the entrance flap to sharply.  “Who knows who might be lurking about?  We shall have to be more careful in the future.”

     “Yes,” said Gimli dryly; “from now on you are absolved from kitchen-duty, Legolas.”

      They extinguished the lamps, it being quite late, and made ready for their beds.  They each had their own sleeping area, separated by canvas walls, though Bandobras had insisted Legolas get the largest of the three, and the softest of the beds.  It was a feather pallet, set upon rushes, and it had a magnificent coverlet of gold and silver damasked silk; the Halfling had even hung a great blue and gold cloth about it like a canopy, and tied it back with enormous tassels.  He assisted his unprotesting Master into his linen nightshirt and was just folding up Legolas’ doublet and putting it into the trunk when Gimli walked in, stretched his arms, and said, “It’s not so cold outside; the rain has stopped and the stars are out.”

     Legolas threw himself down upon his pallet and exclaimed, to the amazement of his two companions: “How I detest this tent!”  At the silence that followed, during which Gimli and Bandy exchanged worried and bewildered glances, Legolas looked up at them and sighed.  “I am sorry, my friends,” he said softly.  “You have both done so much to nurture and comfort me, and I am truly grateful for you – for your care and cooking, Bandobras,” he said, turning his flaxen head upon the pillow to smile wanly at his esquire.  “And you, Gimli, for your protection and counsel.”

            “But why do you hate our tent?” asked the Hobbit, bewildered.  “It’s the nicest one I could find, really it is.  It’s big and roomy – a little lofty for my tastes, I’ll admit, but I bought it with you in mind, Master, since you’re taller than Gimli and me.  And the embroidery is gorgeous, and so appropriate too; all gold and silver dragons on the green.  Why, I thought you liked it!  What is wrong with it?”

            “Peace, Bandy,” growled Gimli, but his eyes were gentle as he surveyed both the baffled Halfling and the restless Elf.  “It is not the fault of the tent; rather it is the fault of the Elf.  Not fault,” he amended quickly, seeing a flash of temper in his friend’s bright eyes.  “Say rather it is not in his nature to dwell underneath things, as it is in ours to find consolation beneath the earth.”

            “But isn’t Thranduil’s palace in a cavern?” asked Bandobras.

            “It is,” said Legolas, trying hard to speak pleasantly.  “But I do not willingly live underground, as do you.  My heart dwells outside, running upon the green grass beneath the shimmering stars.”

            “Well, your heart can stay there,” said Gimli firmly.  “Your flesh, however, must needs find its comfort in this fine tent that your servant has purchased for you.  You heard Aragorn and Faramir:  For your own safety, and to continue this charade, you must remain hidden.  You cannot walk safely in the open air, not even at night.”

            “Especially not at night,” agreed Bandobras.  “Haven’t you noticed, Gimli, that he glows a bit when he’s singing to the stars?  I saw you,” he said, answering Legolas’ surprised look.  “Glowing, you are, when you sing to Elbereth.  I saw it first when we’d just bought Hatchet.  Gimli and I were lying down by the fire, and you were traipsing off into the woods like you do, and you were singing; and I saw that you had a kind of white light around your head.”

            “Reflection from the moon upon his hair,” muttered Gimli, unnerved.

            “Perhaps,” said Legolas thoughtfully.  But he did not say anything else.

            “Well!” said Bandobras cheerfully, rubbing his hands together.  “If the tent seems to be closing close-like about you, Master, we’ll just open these flaps, shall we?  Windows they called them, when I was looking at the tents, but to my mind if these’re windows, then a bed sheet’s a warrior’s shield.”  He drew a stool over to one of the heavy flaps covering the smaller openings in the tent’s walls and began to untie its corners briskly.

            “Is that wise, do you think?” asked Gimli worriedly.  “Someone might chance to look in and see him.”  He looked down upon his friend, lying pale upon the pallet, his gray eyes glinting in the lamplight.  “No one would think to mistake him for a Man.”

            “Then perhaps they’ll mistake him for a maiden,” snapped Bandobras, opening the window flap.  A cooling breeze, carrying with it the scents of cook fires and horses, pushed into the tent and fluttered the papers on Legolas’ small desk.  The flame in the little lamp bowed and danced crazily, throwing shadows careening upon the walls.  “No one will look in, Gimli,” said the Hobbit, finishing tying the flap open and moving the stool to the other window to unfasten that one.  “Everyone’s eating, or asleep, and anyway I don’t think these Big People are the type to peek in windows.  They’re not quite that impolite.”

            “Speaking of maidens,” said Gimli, eyes narrowing, “I wouldn’t put it past one of them to try ‘peeking,’ as you call it, Bandobras.”

            Bandobras snorted.  “You don’t know much about maidens, then,” he retorted.  The second flap was tied open, and the breeze bent and sighed through the tent.  “They won’t dare walk the camp at night, alone and unattended.  Why, that’d be asking for trouble, that would, and in addition it isn’t something nice young girls do.”

            Gimli looked doubtful, but didn’t argue.  It was true; the breeze had lightened the close atmosphere inside the back bedroom of the tent considerably, though to his Dwarvish sensibilities it seemed most foolish to open to air that which ought to be hidden and protected.  But Legolas had turned upon the pallet, fixing his unblinking stare up through the window, where from that angle he could no doubt see the stars; the look on his fair face was pensive and withdrawn. 

            “Well, Master, and Gimli,” said Bandobras, bowing low.  “I shall bid you both a good night.  It’s been a busy day, I won’t deny it, and I think we’d all be in better spirits if we had a bit of a sleep.  Remember, Master,” he said before closing the curtain on Legolas’ room, beckoning for Gimli to follow him.  “You fight Malbeth at the barriers tomorrow.  You need to be as strong and alert as possible.”  When Legolas did not answer, nor even turn his head from his contemplation of the heavens to acknowledge them, Bandobras snorted and pulled the curtain to behind him with a clatter.

            Legolas lay still, eyes fixed upon the deep blue sky that was scattered with bright points of light.  The dark tops of pine trees waved across to him.  He could hear their voices, faint though they were, calling to one of the Firstborn as one child calls to another to come out and play.  The breeze filled his room with the smells of the camp, of Men and horses and armour and fires, only giving him a tantalizing whiff of the pine forest.  He listened for his companions’ voices, and heard Gimli’s deep “For the last time, good night, Bandy!” and the Hobbit’s answering voice, like a sandpiper:  “Good night to you then, Gimli!”  He could hear them settling into their separate pallets, rustling in the sheets and blankets trying to get comfortable – “Like deer trampling about in the grass before they sleep,” thought Legolas, smiling.  After some moments all was quiet in the next two bedrooms, and Gimli was snoring.

            Legolas couldn’t hear Bandobras’ breathing from behind the inner walls of the tent, so he waited five minutes before moving.  His companions’ rooms were on either side of his own, and they would surely hear the clatter of the door-curtains, so when he deemed the time was right he rolled off his pallet, pulled on a pair of breeches Bandobras had left folded on the trunk, and worked his hand under the outside wall of the tent until he found a peg.  The Man who had hammered in the peg had done so with great strength and vigor (aided, no doubt, by the promise of the superb compensation the perian esquire had given him), and it took Legolas a moment of worrying it with his long fingers before it came loose.  He slid the ring off the peg, listened to make sure no one was passing by, and rolled under the wall.

            He rose to his feet, resisting the urge to take a deep breath; he would breathe the sweeter air later.  Looking this way and that, testing the surroundings with eyes and nose and ears, he slipped down the rows of tents and enclosures to the western wall.  He avoided the back gate, knowing it to be guarded, but he had seen a small oak tree growing inside the wall to the north of the gate and it was for that he headed.  As he approached the tree he could already feel the shades that troubled his heart move away; the tree’s voice called out to him, and he answered it, laying his hands upon its bark and caressing the trunk.  Effortlessly he swarmed up into its branches and dropped over on the other side of the wall.

            There was no one about, and the moon shone in a thin crescent to the west, glowing over the hills and tops of trees and glinting upon the dimpled surface of the River.  The stars stretched their milky banner over his head, and the Hunter coursed through the heavens with his Hound at his heels.  Heedlessly Legolas laughed aloud, stretching his long arms above his head; then, turning, he started to walk east towards the pines on the other side of the river.  Avoiding the drowsing guard he crossed the white arc of the bridge, and cut northward through the green lawn that was thick with water.  Soon walking, he realized, was not getting him to them as fast as he liked, and he began to run, his white shirt rippling behind him, and he laughed again as the trees called to him, stretching out welcoming branches to the child of the Firstborn.  He didn’t hesitate when he reached the first pine, but threw himself up into its branches, and started springing from tree to tree like a large white squirrel.  He was far enough from the camp now; he laughed in right earnest, seeing the stars through the pine needles and feeling the rough bark and sticky sap on his fingers and feet.  He raced through the stand of pines with reckless exhilaration, filling his lungs with the pungent warm air.

            At last he reached the part of the woods where the pines dwindled, to be replaced by linden, and oak, and rowans hung with berries.  He skimmed along, greeting the trees delightedly, until he found the overhung branch of a particularly old oak that invited him to sit upon it, which he did, stretching his full length along it and folding his hands upon his breast.  He looked up at the stars, peeking through the gaps in the leaves, and smiled; then after a time he heard, worrying at the edges of his mind, a chattering, chuckling noise, and his nose caught the scent of fresh water.  He rose and followed the noise, and dropping to the ground beside the little tributary he rejoiced to feel his feet sink slightly into the mud.  He walked upon the cold rocks and put his feet into the water, which swelled around his ankles, glowing like silver in the faint starlight.  Legolas laughed and stretched, his fingers brushing the rosemary bushes to either side, and he gladly breathed in deep their fresh fragrance.  At his feet were large and tangled growths of herbs, and when he moved he could smell the sweet tarragon and basil wafting up to him.  He walked along the edge of the stream until he found a flat rock, upon which he sat, paddling his long feet and sending up glitters like white gems and silver beads into the cooling air.  At last the rocks and the water called to him, and he removed his clothing, hanging them carefully upon a branch (“Bandobras will be cross enough, even if I do not ruin my clothes,” he thought) and stood for a moment, still and white as a shaft of moonlight athwart a marble column; after listening to the night wind he stepped down and slipped into the cold, clear water.

            It was not yet deep enough for him to swim, but the rocks told him it got deeper the closer he went to the River, so he followed the stream down, stepping carefully upon the stones and mud, until he could sink himself completely into the tributary.  He ducked under and listened to the water roaring and surging about him, then broke the surface, head sleek as an otter’s, and broke the silence again with a laugh.  A nightingale perched on a boxwood brake cocked its head at him and began to sing. 

            Legolas pulled himself to the side of the stream, folding his arms upon a rock, and watched the nightingale while it sang adoringly to him; when it was finished, and waited for his approbation, Legolas lifted his hands, palm upward, and sang softly back.  His song was to Varda, and he sang longingly of Valinor, and had he noticed he would have seen the soft white light Bandobras had spoken of, diffuse about his shining head and laying like spun wool upon the palms of his hands.  But these things disturbed the nightingale not a bit, and it sat and listened to the Elf until he was finished.  Further into the brake another bird gave a chattering accolade, and again Legolas laughed for sheer joy and relief.

            The birds bid him continue on his way, and he thanked them and returned to the swiftly moving stream, letting it pull him further into the forest.  He was some miles from the Tent City, he guessed; his flight into the forest had taken him far to the north, and the tributary was drifting him slowly west to the Anduin; as he recalled from his previous forays into these woods, the trees grew thicker down by the joining.  He could hear them calling to him, asking him to join them, if but for a little while – a century, perhaps, maybe a little more, if he could spare the time and get to know them, learn their speech, watch them grow and nurse the little bushes of holly and boxwood and verbena beneath them.  For a fleeting moment Legolas agreed, but then he remembered his venture into the hectic mortal world, and he sighed.  Gimli and Bandobras could not wait a century for him, or even a decade.  Once again Legolas could hear his father’s voice, warning him and admonishing:  “My beloved son, do not seek after friendship with Man or Dwarf or Halfling, for they will die, and you shall not, and it will be an eternal sorrow to you.  So beware their hurried lives and hasty emotions, and keep yourself amongst your own kind, to protect your heart against such sharp grief.”  Yet, here he was, the son of Thranduil; he had heeded not his father’s warning, but instead followed the urgings of two mortals; he was bound up in their frenzied Tournament, and was the only Elf in these woods.  He felt his loneliness keenly, for although Arwen was nearby, and her presence soothed him, she was not a Wood Elf, and did not seek the forests for their own sake.  “But soon,” he thought, heart lifting, “I will bring with me a company of my people, and we will dwell in these woods, tending them and healing them, and I shall have joy here in Middle Earth, if but for a little while.” 

            For some time he swam downstream, having to climb up onto the banks and walk for a ways when he met some waterfall, but always returning to the water and diving and stroking westward.  The moon sank slowly behind the hills, and the stars became very bright.  All around him the trees murmured gently to him, and the fleeting lives of woodchuck and squirrel and bird spun about him.  He had fallen into a waking dream, blending the living wood with memories of his home far to the north, when the trees gave him a sudden warning, and hanging on to an outstretched root he stopped and listened.

            Over the noise of a close cascade he heard men’s voices.  They were cast low, no doubt thinking to cover their speech with the noises of the falling waters, but to the Elf’s ears he could all but descry the individual words they spoke.  He could tell they were but a little ways downstream, so cautiously he moved in the water, gliding from stone to root, concealing himself in the darkness, until he could hear them more clearly.  They were men, from the southern part of Gondor by their speech, though he could not see them; the thickness of the willows about them hid their forms from him.  The willow above Legolas warned him not to proceed any further or he would be noticed, so he ducked beneath the comforting knee of an outflung root and listened.

            “It must be the crossings of Erui, then,” said one man, his voice harsh.  “Where else are the roads that narrow?  Besides, the old fool won’t be expecting it there.”

            “You are thinking of the canyon to the west of the bridges, then?” asked another voice.

            “Of course!” answered the first, with a fierce eagerness.  “We can come at him from both sides, and cut him down before he even cries out.  The sounds of the rocks clattering down will drown out his screams, and the guards at the bridges will only think it is a rockslide – and we shall tell them that, of course,” he finished, with a laugh.

            “He will have men with him,” warned another voice.

            “Not as many as we,” said the first.  “I’m sure of that.  And those men of Lossarnach aren’t worth their weight in a fight, not if we come at him unawares.”

            “What shall we do with the bodies, then?” asked another.

            “Bury them in the rocks,” said a voice.

            “Nay!  We pick them over, and leave them, to make it seem as though thieves had come upon them,” said the first.  “If we hide the body, Hallas won’t know his sire is dead, and he won’t be able to inherit.”

            Legolas stiffened, his fingers curling about the root.  He attended more closely, not wanting to miss a word.

            “May we keep what we plunder?” asked another voice.

            “Surely,” said the first.  “We must have some extra compensation; after all, we are not paid overmuch.  But that shall change.  With Baldor dead, and Dirhael teasing his brat, our lord shall persuade Hallas easily.  Then the Ethir Anduin will be unguarded, the Haradrim on Tolfolas can break through, and Pelargir will fall to our allies.”

            “This is treason, friends,” said a voice, and it sounded worried.  A scuffle and a blow followed, and the first voice said angrily:

            “Treason!  I should have your head for that, you fool.  Is it treason to try to recoup our losses, since that stinking King cut off our resources?  If I had it my way, the Stewards would never have failed, and King Elessar would have stayed up north, where he belongs, anyway.  He’s no heir of Aníron; he’s the heir of Isildur, and has no right to rule us.  I know you cannot read, you fool, but you should at least know that!”

            There was some muttering, and then the trees whispered to Legolas that they were coming closer.  Soon he could hear them, tramping loudly through the undergrowth, crushing and slashing as they went; Legolas’ heart went out to the rosemary and hollies in their pain, but he knew he was too vulnerable to risk exposure.  The twinkle of torchlight proclaimed their coming, and Legolas closed his eyes so they would not reflect the fire and give away his position.  A great host of men went by, at least seventy, all laughing harshly and singing crude songs.  Legolas could hear their leader, still admonishing the sickly-hearted ones, cursing Elessar and his might and talking of the destruction of the forces of Pelargir, and the strength and wealth of the corsairs of the Haradrim.  When they had passed Legolas opened his eyes and saw them stumbling and ploughing through the woods, and a shadow of fear lay where they had passed.  Anxiously did the willows about him crowd their limbs, seeking to protect him, and lifted their twisted roots to hem him in.

            Legolas whispered to the tree above him, thanking it, and sank back into the water.  He swam upstream as quickly as he could, scrambling up the sides of the cataracts until he reached level ground; then he lifted himself up into an elm and began to fly with all speed through the tops of the trees.  He could see the men below him, slashing at the undergrowth with notched swords, the light of their torches glinting redly upon their battered helms.  Then they turned to the south and passed into the pinewoods.

            Legolas hesitated.  He could not follow them thus, naked and unarmed; he reluctantly retraced his steps back to the stream and found his clothes.  Pulling them on, he returned to the trees and raced along, but the men had changed their course, and he could not find him; the trees were too terrified to answer his inquiries, and he did not know where the men had gone.

            Legolas crouched on a branch, thinking for a moment.  He looked up at the sky.  Midnight had long passed, and though the sky to the east was still dark he could feel the quiet hush of the pre-dawn.  A stoat looked up at him from the ground, and Legolas contemplated it absently.  Then he was off like an arrow from a bow, leaping through the trees; when he reached the end of the pinewood he ran across the grass and up the hill to the bridge.

A.N.:  Happy Holidays to you all!  Strep and a busy beta have made this chapter a wee bit late; hopefully Christmas will pass painlessly and I'll be able to update more often.  And anyway, I've given you what I'm assuming about fifty percent of you will greatly enjoy -- a naked Wood-Elf!  Joyeux Noel!  --- L.R.

18.

            Legolas gained the Tent City flying on feet too swift for even the midnight zephyrs of the vale of Anduin; like a bright echo of moonlight he passed noiselessly over soft rain-soaked grass and slick shingle alike.  He swarmed over the rough log wall to fall softly upon bare feet on the mud below, crouched listening for a moment, and was then off like a shot from a catapult through the empty sodden streets.  Reaching the west wall he checked, seeing guards at the King’s blue tent, then stole soft as a shadow about the back alleyway to the rear of the great spike of canvas, where he once again worried a peg from the soft earth and rolled beneath the shivering walls.

            He cast about in the dark for a familiar scent and descried at once Undómiel, drifting in waking dream in the far room; he crept on all fours past the dozing page and flitted beneath the curtained doorway, coming to rest by the pallet at Arwen’s side, waiting with inestimable stillness for her to awaken to his presence.  Forthwith the elf-woman stirred, discerning a company both foreign and recognizable, and seeing him said softly, “Legolas!”

            “Here I am, O Undómiel!” said Legolas in a voice too subdued for mortal ears to ken.  “Though here is where I undoubtedly should not be.  Hasten, and awaken your husband, the King!  There is treason afoot, that he should be told of immediately.”

            “Treason!” said Arwen, giving the Wood-Elf a sharp look but turning to the King.  “Wake, wake!” she whispered, shaking him by the shoulder.  “Though the hunter sleeps, the goat keeps watch for the lion.  Wake!”

            At once the King sat up, clutching in confusion at his Queen.  “What is it?” he asked, then looking beyond her saw Legolas, white and still in the darkness.  “Legolas!  What has happened?”

            “Listen!” said Legolas, and in a hushed whisper told all he had seen and heard to his friend.  While he spoke Elessar’s face grew ever graver and more wakeful, and when he was finished, Aragorn arose and began to dress.

            “This has gone on quite long enough,” he said aloud, and out in the main part of the tent Legolas and Arwen heard the sounds of the pages stirring, awakened at the sound of the King’s voice.  “Quick!  Run like the tireless hind to Osgiliath and waken Faramir to this news.  I must go abroad to quell this assassination immediately; I shall to horse before dawn and gather to myself a squadron of fighting men from the garrisons at Minas Tirith.  We must needs be at the crossings of Erui by midday.  My wife, tell Fenbarad to set extra guard about the leeches’ tents, where rests Hallas of Lossarnach; failing in their attempt to slay his sire, these conspirators may strike at the son.  Faramir must oversee the Tournament alone, and you, my goat – “ he turned to Legolas, who was standing by the back of the tent  “ – you must still draw to yourself the lion’s teeth and claws, for though he lash out with his hindquarters at poor merchant princes in the South, surely his mouth shall raven at Minas Tirith and Osgiliath.  Quickly!  Before the pages come in!  Go to Faramir, and as I ride out I shall meet you there.  Go!”

            Without a word Legolas reached under the tent wall, removed another peg and rolled out.  Looking quickly about himself he saw a guard march past without seeing him; he ducked back into the dark alley and raced up the streets to the front gate.  Forswearing the gate he leapt upon some barrels and vaulted over the wall, coming down soundlessly not five paces from the guard house; the he ran, ran, ran across the drenched grass to the bridges, gleaming in the fading starlight, passing the sleeping guards on feet swifter than a deer, his bright hair streaming behind him.  Like the starling drawn to the south or the arrow to the center of the target he flew, ignoring the trampled paths and scrambling instead over the low walls and untrodden alleys to Faramir’s ruined mansion.  The guard in the alcove did not hear him as he swarmed over and down the outer wall to the courtyard, and unchallenged he pushed the heavy door aside and flitted into the cavernous kitchen.

            The fire in its gray ash glimmered faintly, almost burnt out; beneath the hearth a load of faggots steamed gently, awaiting their morning use.  The dim orange light picked out the edges of the pokers and shovels and paddles, and the great hook of the cremiére turned from east to south and east again with the soughing of the flue.  By Legolas’ feet strutted a spotted poult, who looked up at him with suspicion in her beaded black eyes.

            “Good morning, friend!” whispered Legolas, smiling.  “I know you; you are Undómiel’s newest pet.  I hope you bear better tidings for my Lord than do I.”  The hen flicked her head and swaggered away, and Legolas approached the wide stone staircase.

            At that moment steps sounded from above, faltering and smothered, and Legolas drew aside to a dark corner; however it was Ardún, coming from his lawful rest to stir up the fire and begin breakfast for his beloved Lord and Lady.  He had passed the concealed Elf, rubbing at his gritty eyes and yawning, and was bending over the hearth with a poker when Legolas said softly, “Ardún!”

            The elderly manservant straightened with a cry of surprise, hand going automatically to his hip, where a sword ought to have been.  But when Legolas stepped into the dimness Ardún recognized him, and with a sigh he leant against the mantelpiece.

            “My lord prince!” he said.  “How you startled me!  I must be an old man indeed, to let go unnoticed an unannounced visitor into my lord’s house.”

            “Stealth and speed alike were needed,” said Legolas, “and for that I apologize, good Ardún.  But ware!  There is treason afoot, and I must needs disclose it at once to both Faramir and his lady.  Elessar himself goes to horse and will be here in moments.  Let me upstairs then, and we shall wake them, and I shall tell them what I know, and what the King commands.”

            “Wait!” said Ardún.  “Let me but throw a faggot upon the ashes –  ai!  That poult,” he muttered, casting about with a slippered foot.  “Were she not so generous with her eggs I should make a good stew out of her.  There, I have put a faggot upon the ashes; perhaps it will catch by the time my lord and lady are about.  Come!  If treason is in the air, none should rest, least of all those close to the throne!”

            Together Man and Elf went up the stairs, the Elf slowing his swift tread to match the unsteady steps of the mortal’s.  Taking up a candle from a sconce upon the wall Ardún knocked upon a heavy oak door, decorated with tracings of verdigris in the pattern of pennyroyal blossom; he took the great iron knob in his gnarled hand and opened it. 

            The room was dark, for the windows were covered with tight shutters, but Legolas could see a man sitting up in the great canopied bed in the middle of the chamber; he ran his hands through his long dark hair and said, “Ardún?  What is the hour?”

            “Two hours before dawn, my lord,” said Ardún, coming in with Legolas on his heels.  “And here is the Prince of Mirkwood, my lord, saying there is treason in Gondor, and that his majesty King Elessar will be here in moments.”

            “Light the lamps!” said Éowyn’s voice from the darkness beside Faramir.  “Legolas?  Is that you, my champion?”

            “It is I, my lady,” said Legolas, “though I have naught but ill news for you and my lord.  Deep in the woods to the west, on the edge of my fiefdom, I came upon a band of men and by chance overheard them conspiring to kill Baldor of Lossarnach, so that their lord could overpower Hallas and allow the passage of ships up the Ethir Anduin.  Also I heard them speak of a fleet at Tolfolas, waiting to break through the defenses at Pelargir.  Aragorn has gone to find a horse, and he will ride to Minas Tirith to gather a squadron of soldiers to stop this.”

            “A fleet at Tolfolas!” exclaimed Faramir, dressing hurriedly as Ardún lighted the lamps.  “This is grim news!  And these men were of Gondor?”

            “South Gondor, by their speech,” said Legolas; “Also they spoke of the king as one who assumes a throne though he owns it not; they said he was but the heir of Isildur, not of Aníron.”

            “So have spoken many behind their hands at Elessar’s expense,” said Faramir grimly.  “It matters not to them that he is the true heir of Isildur, and a Númenorean; they pine for the days of the Stewards, despite the knowledge that the Stewards held the throne for the king’s return, and that I willingly gave up the rule of Gondor in his place.”

            “In this case, I fancy the preference for the reign of the Stewards lies in loyalties fiscal and not political,” said Legolas with a smile.

            “And think you both, the sire of the unhappy Hallas rides up from his lands in Lossarnach to meet with his son, and take him back home!” said Éowyn.  “Alas for that father!  I hope Aragorn gets to him in time.”

            “And alas for Hallas, should his sire fall!” said Legolas.  “They spoke also of Dirhael teasing him, and said Hallas would be easier to persuade to treason than Baldor.  Aragorn has told Arwen to set a mighty guard about Hallas of Lossarnach, for his own safety perhaps, but also I am sure to be certain no messages get inside or out.  How I wish my father were here!  Then we would have his barges to add to Aragorn’s fleet, and five hundred archers from my homeland to fell the traitors as they stood in their boats.”

            “For myself I would wish for his loan to have been made a year past,” said Faramir, pulling on his boots, “so that our fleet would be built and armed already, and two thousand soldiers with swords at our call aboard.”

            “If wishes were snowflakes we would be buried in drifts,” said Legolas.  “But hark!  Do you not hear footsteps below?  That is Aragorn; he has found a swift horse already.”

            Sure enough, when Faramir and Éowyn paused they heard the clatter of shoed hooves upon the cobbled courtyard, and booted feet crossing the pavers.  Ardún and Faramir turned and ran down the stairs, and Legolas crossed to Éowyn who was sitting in the bed.  “Do you want to get up, my Lady?” he asked.

            “Yes, my champion,” she said; “give me that blue robe and help me up; I have not eaten and am faint.”

            Wordlessly Legolas lifted and dressed her, then with her leaning upon his arm he guided her down the staircase.  Faramir and Elessar were speaking together, and Ardún was stirring up the fire and kicking the poult aside with his foot, while she pecked peevishly at his slipper.  Legolas lowered Éowyn carefully into a cushioned seat, and finding a loaf of bread wrapped in a thin towel he drew out a knife from the sideboard and cut a piece from it, and gave it to her.

            “I will be gone some days,” Elessar was saying to Faramir; “I will take one hundred men from the garrison at Minas Tirith and send the rest behind me with the fleet.  Stay in Osgiliath with your Rangers and watch closely.  If the traitors have men this far north, it is possible this will not be their only foray, but if they are depending upon the fleet from Tolfolas they will be in for a bitter surprise.  You have well over a hundred good fighting men, knights and archers and foot soldiers, just in the Tent City for the Tournament, and many able-bodied men who have seen some battle in the new settlements beyond.  If need be you may pull the friendly forces within the walls of Osgiliath and defend the bridges until my fleet sails back up the Anduin, but I think that will not be necessary – from the way Legolas described this motley band, they are poorly armed and few in number, and have been awaiting their reinforcements from the coast.  What you must do is to find their lord, the one who has planned all of this.  For it seems apparent to me that he must be here, or in Minas Tirith at least, where he is cognizant of the comings and goings of the court, from Orodreth’s niece to the son of a lesser prince of Lossarnach.”

            “Then you believe this to be the same lion stalking our goat?” asked Faramir, gesturing to Legolas.

            “I find it difficult to convince myself the incidents are unrelated,” said Aragorn, tightening his belt and smiling grimly.  “Though why he has decided to defame our goat is a little obscure.  And you, Legolas,” he said, turning exasperated to his friend, “did I not tell you, in this very room, not less than six hours ago, and in Gimli’s presence beside, to hide yourself and keep to your tent?  What were you doing, wandering about in the woods of Ithilien by yourself?  And when you came across this band of men, why did you not stop them, or at least follow them to see where they were going?”

            “Stop them?” said Legolas in surprise.  “That would have been a pretty trick!  To be sure, they were but three score; perhaps had I leapt at them naked from the bushes they would have laughed themselves into insensibility, and so been overcome.”

            “Why were you naked?” demanded Aragorn, heedless of Éowyn’s startled blush and Faramir’s shout of laughter.

            “I rarely swim fully clothed,” said Legolas, “and even if I did, my esquire’s wrath at my ruining a linen shirt and dirtying a clean pair of breeches would surely be sufficient to overwhelm so great a troop.  Perhaps next time when I go swimming I will bring my Bandobras with me, so that when he sees I have created more laundry for him to do he will be my savior, and conquer all my foes.”

            “Now you are avoiding my question,” said Aragorn hotly.  “Why were you out in Ithilien at all, when I had asked you to hide yourself?”

            “Aragorn,” said Legolas with a sigh, “I have been wrapped in cloth, encased in armour, hidden beneath cloak, helm, hood and tent for four days; how can any Elf resist the allure of water and stars and open air, to soothe the soul?  I am really very sorry, my friend, but please think you upon the good grace of this, that I uncovered this foul plot before it could come to fruition, and we may ride to the rescue of this poor merchant prince.”

            “ ‘We’?” said Aragorn.  “O no, my Legolas, there is no ‘we’ here!  You are not the prince of Mirkwood; you are Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale, and your duty is here at the Tournament of Osgiliath, flushing out the prowling lion from his hunt as I told you to.  You shall stay here with your lord Faramir and fight in the barriers and joust at the tilt until my return!”

            “How regal you are when you give orders, Aragorn!” said Legolas impertinently.  “Tell me, my friend, have you wagered on me, and thus fear to lose money should I withdraw?”

            “It is a capital offense to speculate with treasury money,” said Aragorn flatly.  “Did you not hear me this time, Lasgalen of Dale?  To your tent, before the light reveals you!  This is no jest or game; we are playing with men’s lives.  Hide yourself away!  Fight beneath your armour!  And my Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen, by the Valar watch his back!  I have not so many friends that I could afford to lose one so maddening yet well-loved.”  So saying he spun upon his heel and strode out the kitchen to the courtyard.  Faramir, with a last look at Legolas (though if his eye twinkled Aragorn could see it not), followed his lord to the exit to see him off.  Ardún and Éowyn looked at Legolas, who folded his bare arms across his chest and smiled.

            “Watch out for the poult, Ardún!” he said.  “She is about to escape.  Well, my lady of Emyn Arnen, it seems I am yet to be your champion. You do not mind a goat wearing your token?”

            “This is no laughing matter, Legolas,” said Éowyn sternly.  “If we do not find the man behind these incidents, more princes loyal to Elessar could die.  It is essential now for you to fight and joust well, so that Faramir and I can keep an eye upon any who might be your detractors.”

            “Have you wagered upon me as well, then?” smiled Legolas.

            “Nay!” said Éowyn, smiling back at him despite herself.  “But I have it from Eradan that Orodreth wagered heavily upon Malbeth of Celos, and will lose a great deal of money should you supplant him in the lists.  And as Orodreth’s niece Dirhael is suspect of leading Hallas to infamy, it would please me greatly if you were to rise victorious over Malbeth, and beggar Orodreth therefore.”

            “It would please you greatly were I to overcome a knight so mighty as Malbeth, anyway,” laughed Legolas.  “Who else would you have me defeat?  Vorondil?  Ingbar?  Mighty men are they, and my match or better at the barriers and the tilt.  Will you be satisfied with nothing less than my complete victory then?”

            “When my honor is at stake?  Nay!” said Éowyn.  “I have full confidence in you, Lasgalen of Dale.  Bring my token to complete victory and you shall have not only my five hundred gold marks, but my everlasting gratitude as well.”

            “You and my father should get along well,” said Legolas dryly, and himself slipped out into the cold pre-dawn.

A.N.:  Happy New Year!  Sincere apologies to all of those loyal readers who have sent their kind reviews and perhaps expected a response from me.  Believe me, your positive comments were about the only good thing that happened to me this Christmas.  Melkor take my mother-in-law for a Balrog!  Hopefully things will be a little smoother after 1 Jan.  Drive sober & safe!   -- L.R.

19.

            When Bandobras awoke he knew immediately he had overslept.  The light slanting in past the edges of the canvas window flaps was pale and yellow, not the rich orange of early morning, and gone was the hush of dawn with its soft voices of piping birds and cocks crowing in the distance, to which he had become accustomed in their week in Gondor.  Instead he heard many men moving about the streets, and the hawkers crying their wares, and dogs barking.  He lay for a moment, trying to determine the hour and wondering why he had slept so long, when he heard Gimli speaking in the front room, his voice sharp and angry.  He could not understand what the Dwarf was saying, but it was apparent from the tenor of his rumbling voice that he had been deeply affronted.  Then the Halfling heard his Master reply, sounding aggrieved, and Bandobras threw the coverlet from him and padded out to the great room in his nightshirt. 

            He saw at once that his Master had been up to no good.  He was clad also in his white nightshirt, which Bandobras had laundered and pressed with such care that the creases were crisp and even, but it was so no more:  It was greatly wrinkled and soiled, with streaks of mud across the arms and placket.  More distressing to the Hobbit’s eye was the appearance of the Elf’s feet and breeches, which were very dirty and wet.  The breeches especially caused Bandobras to cry aloud, for one of the shell buttons had been torn completely out of the buttonhole, and the hole itself lay gaping and ragged against his Master’s dirty skin.  At his cry the Dwarf and Elf ceased their argument and looked towards him, and he flung himself at his Master’s knee, grasping him by the hem of the shirt and shaking it angrily.

            “Master, master!” he gasped, nearly dancing in his rage.  “What have you been up to, you – you – you silly Elf?  Look at you!  Look at you!  Dirty and wet and with torn breeches and – is this a stick?” he squeaked, reaching up to the Elf’s long, tangled hair and wrenching out a leafy twig from its strands.  “A stick?  Where have you been?  You said you’d been ordered to stay in the tent – very sensible too, very good advice from his Majesty – and you’ve obviously been out – out in the woods, too!  And your feet!  Your beautiful feet, Master!  They’re, they’re muddy and dropping dirt all over my floor!”  Hopping angrily upon his toes Bandobras leapt back, put his fists upon his hips and glared up at his Master from beneath his curly fringe.  “What – what – “ he stammered, unable in his fury to further articulate himself.  Gimli grunted approvingly and said,

            “What he has done, my good Hobbit, is to creep out the tent unnoticed after we had retired to our beds, and to wantonly go on a little adventure – he has just been telling me about it – haven’t you, Legolas? – completely opposing Aragorn’s rule, which is so like to his contrary nature I am surprised we did not expect it – “

            “O Gimli, that is unfair,” interrupted Legolas looking hurt; “You know that I am not defiant always – “

            “Perverse, ungrateful Elf that you are, no consideration for your friends – “

            “And your buttons!” cried Bandobras suddenly, clutching the sides of his curly head and staring with horror at Legolas’ nightshirt.  “You’ve lost one of the pretty pearl buttons on your nightshirt!  O Master, I don’t have any to replace it, I shall have to put a mismatched button on it and it will never look the same – “

            “Gallivanting off into the woods with nary a look back, endangering yourself and risking exposure all on a whim – “

            Legolas, realizing they would not let him defend himself until they had run themselves down, sighed and sat down at the great oaken table, brushing his tangled, dew-soaked hair back from his temples with grimy fingers and listening to his friends’ diatribes with flagging spirit.  Bandobras was still bemoaning the loss of the pearl button, and Gimli had worked himself into a great tirade concerning the perverse thoughtlessness of Elves, when the sound of footfalls in the pavilion alerted Legolas to the presence of a visitor, and he lifted his head, alert to the possibility of detection; however after a moment he interrupted the Dwarf and Halfling to say, “Stay your niggling concerns a moment, my friends; the Green Knight has a guest.”            Bandobras sputtered incoherently but Gimli strode to the door-flap and lifting it peered out.  He gave a grunt of approbation and threw it aside to admit the Lady of Emyn Arnen.  Éowyn, clad all in white with her golden hair covered by a snowy shawl, greeted Gimli and Bandobras, and turned to Legolas, who had risen as she entered; neither Dwarf nor Hobbit could see the smile upon her lips, but her eyes sparkled when she saw the Elf’s downcast countenance.

            “You are slightly disheveled, my champion!” she said, stepping up to him and accepting his kiss of greeting.  “I have come to thank you for your timely revelations this morning.  Were it not for you, Legolas Thranduilion, this day would bring tragedy and bloodshed upon the family of Baldor of Lossarnach, but the felicity of your undertaking has surely spared his life and the lives of his loyal men.”

            Bandobras could but stand and gape at Éowyn, but Gimli cleared his throat, fixed Legolas with an angry glare, and said as sweetly as he could:  “I beg your pardon, my Lady Éowyn?  What was that you said about Hallas’ sire?”

            “Did you not tell them, my friend?” asked Éowyn, turning to Legolas so that Gimli and Bandobras could not see the laughter in her eyes.  “Ah, you are so diffident!  You must not conceal your good deeds from your companions; I am sure they would be wroth with you otherwise.”  Then biting her lip to mask her smile she stepped up to the stove.  “O but it is cold this morning!  Has your esquire not yet kindled a fire for you, my champion?  You must be chilled through – your great exertions last night have surely wearied you.  I am surprised to find you thus; I had expected greater accolades from your friends.  But if you have not told them of your heroic deeds, then perhaps they think you but a recalcitrant truant.”

            “It is true; I had not yet told them about the soldiers in the woods,” admitted Legolas, glancing uneasily at Éowyn; “Bandobras and Gimli have been otherwise occupied this morning.”

            “Soldiers!” squeaked Bandobras in horror.  “And the fire!” he added, mortified.  “I’ll light it right away – “

            “You must be hungry, Legolas,” added Éowyn shrewdly, glancing at the Hobbit who had stopped aghast at the door of the stove.  “My lord had you run so much in the execution of your duties I am certain you are quite empty and faint.  Have you broken fast?  No?  Ah well, I suppose your good esquire knows best – “

            “I am rather hungry,” admitted Legolas, being sure to not look at his esquire, who was wringing his hands in horror.  “My stomach is quite empty, and my feet are very cold.”

            “O don’t you dare – “ growled Gimli, but the damage was done; Bandobras with a wail threw himself at Legolas’ knees.  “O Master, Master!” he said.  “O, I am so sorry!  Please, please forgive me!  I have eggs – and streaky rashers – and I’ll run out and find the baker – O!  And I am hungry, too!” he added, then looked down at himself and exclaimed, “I am in my nightshirt!  With a lady in the house!  I beg your pardon!”  And scarlet-faced he scampered off to his room.  Gimli rounded upon Legolas, who only raised his eyebrows at him; recognizing his defeat the Dwarf muttered something in his own tongue and busied himself at the stove in the center of the room, setting in the neatly stacked faggots upon the wood chips, and pulling out his tinder-box.  Smiling Éowyn lowered herself upon one of the great chairs about the table, and tipping Legolas a wink as one conspirator to another she carefully arranged the folds of her damask dress about herself, then said,

            “My good Dwarf, you should know Legolas well enough by now to realize he would not vex you so intentionally.”

            “I had planned to be back inside the tent before the cock crew,” said Legolas penitently to Gimli’s back, stubbornly turned to him.  “It was so close within the tent, and I wanted to see the stars.”

            Gimli grunted and rose, brushing his hands off.  “So you were not running errands for the King; you were indulging yourself in exploring your fiefdom, as was your complaint last night!”

            “I was,” admitted Legolas.  “It was by happy chance I found the soldiers.  And I am glad I did so, and you should be too, Gimli; for had I not overheard their plotting Baldor of Lossarnach would ride to his death today at the crossings of Erui, and the fleet at Tolfolas would be sailing undetected up the River.  Please forgive me, Gimli, and be not angry with me any more; seven leagues have I run since midnight in defense of the land of Gondor, and today at the barriers I fight Vorondil – surely that is penance enough!”

            “Aragorn is gone to Lossarnach then?”

            “Aye,” said Éowyn, “with a host of soldiers out of Minas Tirith.  The fleet is docked at the Inlet of Erui.  Alas, they are too few to withstand more than a feint up the Ethir Anduin; my heart tells me there will be battle upon the River ere the night has ended.  How I greatly desire to go!  But his Majesty bid us remain here, lest our peace be threatened by some other incident.”

            “I wished to ride with him,” said Legolas wistfully, “but he told me to play the goat today instead.  And so I fight Vorondil in the foot-combat, and joust against Aldamir of Amon Din.  Both are doughty men and proved warriors.  I am glad to meet Aldamir at the tilt, but Vorondil concerns me; he strikes me as you strike metal upon the anvil, Gimli; I have fought him twice and been defeated both times.”

            “Were you a Man I should be troubled,” said Gimli sighing, “but you are a doughty and tried warrior yourself, and running seven leagues in the cold night air will not have affected you one whit.  You will beat Aldamir; I am sure of it.  And you have but to strike Vorondil twice for your defeat to not let you down a notch in the lists.”

            “Here I am, here I am!” panted Bandobras, rejoining them.  He had thrown off his nightshirt and was instead clad in a brown tunic and green breeches; his braces were just showing under the unfastened collar of the waistcoat.  “O thank you, Gimli, for starting the stove!  I will heat water for your bath, Master; you must wash before having breakfast, and that will give me time to find the baker.  I cannot see how I could have overslept so!  It is disgraceful of me; I will never forgive myself.  Will you have a cup of mead, my lady?  Will you breakfast with us?  I am making savory mushroom omelettes and frying up a pan of rashers, and if I can catch him I will ask the baker for some raisin bread.  Do you like raisin bread, my lady?  It is not my favorite but this baker stones his raisins very carefully, so I can assure you that you won’t break any of your teeth.  And we have fresh butter and cream too, and I’ll boil up a pot of tea.  How could I have overslept so?  Disgraceful!”  And so saying he bustled out of doors, where they could hear him stirring up the coals in the oven.

            “I should like to defeat Vorondil, not merely make my own defeat less bitter,” said Legolas smiling.  “Well, my Lady, it appears my Bandobras has everything well in hand; will you break fast with us?  Or have you other obligations visited upon you by virtue of your position?”

            “Breaking fast with my champion is my only obligation this morning,” said Éowyn.  “I shall tell my soldiers who are waiting about your tent that I am going to try a Halfling tradition, and eat a second breakfast.”

            The clouds had heralded summer’s defeat at the hands of autumn; gone was the heavy air with its sluggish breeze, gone was the yellow haze of dust that veiled the tents and walls, gone also the smells of hot horses and men in heavy leather and metal.  The rain had rinsed the air clean in the vale of Osgiliath and the very trees and grass seemed greener; the brown Anduin dimpled and shuddered its way down its swollen banks, carrying with it gathering flocks of geese and ducks and small grebes, paddling about with yellow and scarlet feet and bickering amongst themselves in the reeds.  The oppressive heat had lifted like a sodden blanket and the white clouds were high and remote in the blue sky.  A steady breeze blew from the north, rocking the tops of the pines and soughing through the branches of the oaks and elms.  Though the sharp crispness of true autumn had yet to make itself known, its harbingers were present, and knights and yeomen alike put on their arming doublets and leather jerkins with lighter hearts.

            Éowyn and Arwen watched the foot combat from their perch above.  As the Tournament progressed more knights were disqualified, narrowing the spectrum of heraldic colors considerably; the two ladies studied the sheets of parchment Belecthor had handed them, to see where the White Lady’s champion fell in the lists.

            “Look!  He has but to defeat Vorondil and Aldamir today and he will be at the top,” said Arwen, pointing to the coats of arms.   “Then there are three more days, and the Tournament will be over.”

            “It cannot end soon enough!” said Éowyn grimly.  “I have lost my liking for this pageant.  It is but a thin veil over a truer combat.”

            “If it ends too soon, our goat will never flush out the lion,” said Arwen.  “We must have patience, and be watchful.  Is that Orodreth over there?  I am sure it is he; I met him at the Feast of the Solstice last winter.”

            Éowyn glanced round a beam and lowered her voice.  “Aye, it is!  And that is his niece beside him.”  Both women peered carefully at the young maid, who sat flushed and discontented beside her uncle.  Orodreth of Linhir was clad in rich raiment, with embroidered doublet and many rings, and Dirhael wore a silver circlet about her dark hair.  Both looked cross and unhappy.  “Poor Hallas!” murmured Éowyn, and Arwen nodded.

            Then the crowd about the barriers erupted in cheers, and two knights approached.  Vorondil’s gray surcoat was richly decorated with silver threads, which gleamed and sparkled in the sun; Lasgalen’s verdigrised cuirass and helm flashed and his plume danced with the errant breeze.  Both warriors looked fit and ready; Vorondil was broad about the shoulder, a powerful man sheathed in his polished armour; Lasgalen stood tall and proud in his cuirass, the dragons-head charnel grimacing at his opponent.  Green and gray pennants were shaken by the surrounding crowd, as both knights were popular and well-liked; indeed many observing cared not whether one was victorious or the other, provided they fought well, and afforded exciting enough entertainment to while away the hours in the inns after sunset.

            The knights entered the ring and stood to in their respective corners.  The herald held out his rope, but without concern; he had officiated between the Gray and Green Knights before and knew both were far too noble and honorable to so flout the rules.  Vorondil stood still and quiet, but Lasgalen for once was restless, swinging his sword about, loosening his wrists and shifting upon his sabatons.

            “He is nervous,” said Arwen.

            “Well he should be,” said a voice over their shoulder, and they looked up.  Egalmoth and Eradan stood behind them looking down into the oval.  Eradan held a goblet of wine in his hand and glowed rosily at them, but Egalmoth glowered down at the two knights as they took their positions.  It was he who had spoken.

            “Think you Vorondil will be the victor, then, my lord?” asked Éowyn.

            “He is the better swordsman,” said Egalmoth, folding his thin arms across his chest.  “And he has defeated the Green Knight on two other occasions.”

            “’Third time pays for all,’” said Éowyn.  “Perhaps this afternoon my champion shall be the victor.”

            “Not unless some magic has infused his sword-arm,” said Egalmoth. 

            “Come, come!” said Eradan jovially.  “Whether he win or lose he is a pleasure to watch; I have never seen a young man so light upon his feet though he is weighted down with all that beautiful armour.  And you must admit, my lord Egalmoth, he is easily Vorondil’s match at the tilt.”

            Éowyn saw her friend smile; she looked curiously over at her and Arwen formed the words “young man” with her mouth, causing Éowyn to laugh.  Down at the barrier the herald called out, and Vorondil lunged forward but was parried with a loud clang.  There were cheers and whistles from the crowd, and the knights retreated to their corners.

            “Lasgalen of Dale is very quick,” said Belecthor, coming up behind Egalmoth.

            “His speed is all that saves him,” said that lord.  “He is agile and swift but not aggressive enough.  I suspect he needs to feel his well-being is threatened before striking out.  When Hallas of Lossarnach attacked him he was sufficiently forceful.  Could he but harness that necessity he would be unstoppable.”

            Eradan gave his companion an uneasy look.  “No knight is invincible,” he said, then glancing around his eyes lighted upon Orodreth and Dirhael.  “Ah!” he murmured.  “The dandy and his brat have arrived.”  He narrowed his eyes so that the folds of fat upon his face obscured them.  “How unhappy he looks!  For our sakes I hope the Green Knight wins, so that the merchant prince of Linhir is beggared by his love for wagering.”

            The herald cried out, and swifter than a striking snake the Knight of Dale darted forward, landing a stinging blow upon the surprised Vorondil’s gardbrace.  Éowyn cheered with the rest, clapping her hands, and the Green Knight tilted his basinet up to the back of the stands; Éowyn could see the glitter of his eyes through the pierced eye-slit.  She waved to him, and he saluted her, laying a clawed gauntlet upon his breastplate and bowing.

            “Lord Faramir ought to look after his lady more closely,” laughed Eradan, pointing to the reactions of the folk in the crowd.  “I fear me the White Lady of Rohan has stolen Lasgalen Oakleaf’s heart, your Majesty.”

            “There is little chance of that,” smiled Arwen.  “More concerned is he with the arming of men and the protection of settlements than with such romantic sentiments.  And since I have been so reminded of romantic sentiments, Éowyn, where is Éodild?  For it seemed to me her preference was also for the Green Knight, but in less commonplace settings.”

            “So it was, though I labored in vain to dissuade her,” laughed Éowyn.  “But I have heard from her this morning; she broke fast with Híldaf my kinsman, who appears to have won her pity if not her affections.”

            “One may lead to another,” smiled Belecthor; “’Pity is akin to love.’”

            Now it was Vorondil’s turn to strike, and his great black sword described an arc over the Green Knight’s head.  To everyone’s amazement, Lasgalen’s sword was there before it, and the blades striking sent a shower of sparks down upon the heads of the two knights.  “Foiled again!” cried Éowyn, applauding.

            “He is swifter today,” said Egalmoth reluctantly.

            “His blood is up,” said Arwen.  “He desires to fight but is thwarted.”

            The three men gave her curious looks, but the two ladies did not see.  They were watching the knights travailing below.  Vorondil shifted back and forth upon his feet, seeming disconcerted; Lasgalen bounced springily upon his sabatons and swung his sword about.  Éowyn saw the Dwarf leaning upon the barrier behind him, grinning; beside him was little Bandobras, biting his lip and clinging to the top railing with his small hands.  “I think you are right, dear friend,” said Éowyn.  “All of the excitement is going to his head.  A spark has been struck; Lasgalen of Dale has grown a new sword-arm.”

            “That remains to be seen,” said Egalmoth, but he did not sound so certain.  Then at the herald’s call the dancing feet of the Knight of Dale dashed forward, but just as Vorondil moved to block him he sprang aside and aimed a shattering blow at the left pauldron.  The Gray Knight cried out in pain and staggered back.

            “Two up!” cried Éowyn happily.  “O did I not tell you, Arwen, how angry he was with Elessar?  His frustration has revealed to him skill that was as yet unknown!”

            “Why was he angry with the king?” asked Eradan in amazement, but Arwen only laughed and shook her head.  Belecthor and Egalmoth exchanged looks but said nothing.

            The crowd, as all crowds do, had shifted its preference to the Green Knight as soon as it saw his ascendancy; Lasgalen’s name was chanted and green flags were waved.  Vorondil’s esquires and armourer were examining his pauldron, which had been dented by the Green Knight’s sword.  Lasgalen himself was showing his sword to the Dwarf and the Halfling, whose heads were bent over it with concern; apparently he had notched it.  Then the Dwarf shook his head and pushed it back over the railing towards the knight; there was no time to sharpen it.  Vorondil had turned in his corner, shifting his shoulder uncomfortably; Lasgalen swung his sword about again and then stood ready.

            “He is dangerous when he is angry, then!” said Belecthor, amused.  “I had thought to see a repetition of the rout I saw when last these two men sparred, but now I am confounded.  Hail Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale!  I am glad he is on our side.”

            “And Vorondil is not?” asked Egalmoth sharply.

            “I did not mean that,” said Belecthor in a bland voice.  “I only meant I am pleased that the men of Dale support Gondor, that is all.  There is no need to be offended for Vorondil’s sake.  I am not doubting his loyalty.”

            Egalmoth looked angry but his reply was cut off by the cry of the herald.  Vorondil stepped forward, sword raised, and Lasgalen tensed, ready to defend himself.  Vorondil was a mighty man, but the Green Knight had hurt his shoulder and he had been baffled in his sensibilities; his next stroke went wide and was easily parried.  The Gray Knight returned to his corner shaking his head; the Green Knight went to his own, running a clawed finger ruefully over the new nick in the blade of his sword.

            “That will take some grinding down,” said Éowyn.  “Is that his father’s sword?”

            “Nay, his grandsire’s, and a mighty blade it is,” said Arwen.  “I am pleased Lasgalen has found the skill to do it justice.  I had feared for him today in the barriers.”

            “It seems you need fear for him no longer,” said Éowyn.  “My champion has taken my command to heart, to best Vorondil.  I hope he will be as mighty against Aldamir.”

            “So long as his destrier is angry too, Aldamir is already defeated,” said Eradan laughing, taking a deep draught of his wine.

            “Or, so long as Lady Éowyn commands him to humiliate our best knights, Aldamir is lost,” said Egalmoth, his eyes flashing.  Belecthor clucked his tongue but did not reply.

            Now two green flags were mounted upon the barrier wall.  The crowd chanted the Green Knight’s name, eager for the combat to conclude.  The herald measured their paces with his rope, then stood back and called for Lasgalen’s strike.

            For a fleeting moment Éowyn thought Vorondil’s sword would block the sweep of Oropher's blade, but with a twist of his hips and a shifting in his shoulders Lasgalen brought the great sword up and in to clash upon the cuirass and slide shrieking up to the left besague.  Vorondil staggered back, to be caught by his esquires, and Lasgalen’s third flag was mounted upon the wall, to the great satisfaction of the crowd.  The Queen and the Lady of Emyn Arnen cheered along with the rest, and Eradan and Belecthor did as well, though Egalmoth only stood and pressed his lips into a thin line.  The Green Knight again looked up at the ladies and saluted them, to the great gratification of the onlookers, then handed his sword to his armourer (who winced when he saw the notching) and stepped forward to touch gauntlets with Vorondil.

            Vorondil approached and unfastened his visor, looking up at the Green Knight, then removed his gauntlet from his right hand and held the hand out tentatively.  Surprised, the Green Knight also withdrew the dragon-claw gauntlet from around the vambrace, tucked it under his arm and clasped the Gray Knight firmly by the hand.  Words were exchanged, and to everyone’s amusement the Green Knight burst out laughing; all could see Vorondil smiling at his adversary.  Then the knights were swallowed up in the crowds, and Arwen stood and helped Éowyn to her feet.

            “I wonder what Vorondil said to him?” said Belecthor curiously.  “Your pardon, my Queen, my Lady; I am just going to ask Ethmor – O!  Lord Faramir!  There you are!  My Lord, you missed a most astonishing match; Lasgalen of Dale won three strikes to naught over Vorondil of Lossarnach!  It is all the more amazing to me, since Vorondil had trounced him so thoroughly before, but the Lady Éowyn assures me his blood boils in anger and he is so become a mighty swordsman.  I hope he and his Majesty have not quarreled – that would go ill indeed, considering his father’s munificence.”

            “There is no need for them to quarrel,” smiled Faramir, kissing the Queen and taking his Lady by the hand.  “All has gone well today, your Majesty; I have recently had a runner in from Minas Tirith with the news that your husband will return from Erui in two days, his duties full accomplished.  Fear not, good Belecthor; Elessar and Lasgalen understand one another; Lasgalen chafes under the gentler yoke of peace when he desires combat that is denied him by the King.”

            “Combat?” said Egalmoth, turning to Faramir in surprise.  “Is there trouble down south, my Lord?”

            “Some small trouble,” said Faramir carefully, “but thanks to Lasgalen of Dale it has been spoilt.  He overheard the plotting of dark deeds and informed the King, who took upon himself the joys of chastisement and left the informer to kick his heels at the games.  It was for that Lasgalen of Dale was chagrined and filled with frustration; he wished to take part in the King’s campaign but Elessar instructed him to stay here.  But all has gone well,” he said, smiling, “as he has defeated Vorondil through his disappointment; now he can proceed to the tilt victorious and spoiling for yet more triumph.”  And placing Éowyn’s hand upon his arm he led his wife and the Queen down the benches to the royal enclosure.

            “Odd!” frowned Eradan.  “I had thought the southern fiefdoms quiet.  What could the Green Knight have heard?”

            Belecthor turned from them, and spoke quietly to a man who had come up the stands to him; they conferred together a moment and then Belecthor broke away, chuckling.

            “What is it?” asked Egalmoth.

            “That was Ethmor,” said Belecthor; “he tells me that, when Vorondil shook hands with the Green Knight, he asked him if it were really Lasgalen of Dale beneath the basinet, or if some other knight had taken his place in secret to so defeat him, so great was the difference in their combat from the previous time.  It was for that reason the Green Knight laughed, and assured Vorondil it was indeed he and no imposter.”

            Eradan laughed, but Egalmoth only frowned more deeply and pulled upon his lip.  When Eradan turned to go he asked, “Where are you going?”

            “To get more wine, of course,” said Eradan merrily.  “The joust begins and I am anxious to observe it!”

20.

            “Where are you going, Bandy?” asked Gimli gruffly, undoing the clasps of the bevor.  “Your Master is to joust against Aldamir of Amon Din in less than an hour’s time; they are first on the roll this afternoon.  If you run off now you will miss it.”

            “I have very important errands to run,” said Bandy, puffing out his chest and lifting his chin proudly.  “My Master charged me with them himself; he called them – what did you call them, Master?  I can’t remember the word you used, but it’s an awfully long one.”

            “Munificences,” said Legolas.  Gimli lifted the basinet from his aventail and Bandobras saw the Elf smiling tenderly at him, his fair face filled with gentle affection.  Flooded suddenly with a warmth of fondness for his Master, Bandobras dropped the basket he had been holding and ran up to him, putting his small arms about Legolas’ cuisse, which was as high up as he could reach, and resting his chin upon the poleyn.

            “Yes, munificences, that was it,” said the Hobbit, giving the armored leg a little squeeze.  “My mother always called this sort of thing ‘charity,’ but I like your word better, Master; it sounds more grown-up, you know.  Ow!  This armour is fine for keeping you in one piece, but it does make you hard to embrace, and that’s the truth.  How splendid you were fighting Vorondil today, Master!  Why, you didn’t even let him hit you once.  I was sure you’d do well, because of the Lady Éowyn’s telling you to do so – she strikes me as a lady people are sure to obey, sort of like my Aunt Vinca – you wouldn’t like her to catch you someplace you weren’t supposed to be – but I surely didn’t expect you to thrash him so completely.  I was so proud of you when that third green flag went up on the wall, I thought my chest would burst, I really did.”

            “It was indeed very gratifying,” grunted Gimli, turning the frogmouth about in his stocky red hands while Legolas refastened the arming cap.  “Do you want the extra padding?  No?  Very well; hold still, and I will lower the frogmouth.  It’s quite vexing to have to cover you so completely every time you leave the tent to go to the tournament grounds; I wish you weren’t in disguise, and could ride bare-headed, as the other knights do when leaving the Tent City.  I am always afraid the piecings and reinforcement plates will loosen before the joust begins.”

            “It is but for a few more days,” said Legolas, his voice sounding tinny and hollow within the helm.  “Then my Bandobras may embrace me without fear of pain, and I shall ride with my face unveiled and my hair free, and leave behind my metal trappings.  Fair though they be, son of the inestimable Glóin of Erebor, I do not wear them willingly.”

            “Better that than to get a lance in your chest,” said Gimli, setting the pins in the bevor of the frogmouth, and Bandobras shuddered.

            “Yes, indeed!” he said earnestly.  “That would be awful, wouldn’t it?  Would it kill you, do you think, Master, to get a lance in your chest?  I am sure it would hurt, but I suppose it would depend on where it hit you, and how deep it went.”

            “The lances are blunted, remember, Little One,” said Legolas.  “Though I doubt not the coronel could break the skin, and the force of the blow cause considerable damage.  Rest assured, however, that I would not joust without my cuirass protecting me; I am not so foolish as that!  Now, my Bandobras, take up your basket and go you to the tent of Hallas of Lossarnach, and deliver to him these sweets you have procured; he is on straited means and the fancies and trifles of the best bakers are quite beyond his resources.”

            “You are going to see Hallas?  Then be sure to hold your tongue -- if you can, that is,” said Gimli.  “There is no reason to cause him disquiet by telling him what is happening in Lossarnach and the Erui.  And even if he has heard tell of it before now, as is likely, do not discuss it with him; there is still much obscured in this business, and I am not at ease about any endings.”

            “Very well!” said Bandobras primly.  “And when I am done with Hallas may I go to see Híldaf, Master?  Brytta of Rohan has cast him aside and he is living in the inn called Bridge Embattled in the village to the west of us; I have some bread and cheese and dried sausages I would like to bring him.”

            “From what the Lady of Emyn Arnen has told me,” smiled Legolas, “that young man need fear no want now; he is to swear fealty to Walda of the Westfold when he returns to Rohan, and that captain shall make him a good master.  Yes, my dear Bandobras; your felicity behooves you, and I am sure Híldaf will greatly appreciate both your offering and your presence.  But listen to me, Little One,” he said seriously, laying a hand upon the Hobbit’s shoulder; though it was clad but in the leather under-glove it was still quite heavy.  “Keep you to the wide roads and the busy streets; speak to no man unless you must, and go not to houses or tents owned by folk you know not.  We do not know the nature of the lion that hunts me, and I would not have you be a goat as well, even an untethered kid.”

            “I’ll be quite safe, Master,” said Bandobras, taking his Master’s hand and kissing the dogskin glove.  “Never fear!  I shall be there and back in a flash, so that I do not miss so much of the joust, which I admit is quite entertaining.  I never thought I’d see the day when such a thing would interest me, but now that I’ve been watching it, it’s rather exciting, isn’t it?  I don’t care as much for the foot-combat, though – sword fighting isn’t nearly so fascinating as Uncle Pip told me it was.”  So saying he collected his basket, pulled his cloak about his shoulders and ducked under the door-flap.

            As Legolas held out his hands for Gimli to reattach the gauntlets to his vambraces, he asked, “How did my grandsire’s sword sharpen?”

            “Beautifully!” said Gimli, his dark eyes alight with admiration.  “A fine blade, as befits the royal house of Eryn Lasgalen.  It is sharp as a razor now, and I challenge you to find where you nicked it upon Vorondil’s pauldron.  You cannot even see the place.”

            “Good!” said Legolas.  “Then I would like it strapped to the cuirass above the fauld.”  Gimli looked at him in surprise, and Legolas said, “If I am to be a goat, I wish to be a goat with horns; it would be foolish to be unarmed.”

            “Will it not bounce against your cuisse as you gallop?” asked Gimli, fetching the belt.

            “I care not,” shrugged Legolas.  “The noise will be but a small price to pay for my peace of mind.  And Gimli, every part of me rattles and bangs so as I ride upon Hatchet’s back, and so much racket do his cruppers and peytral make, that I can scarce hear the roar of the crowd or the thunder of the horses’ hooves above it.  And when I am struck the clatter is so deafening I am never sure whether I have fallen or not until Hatchet comes to a stop.”

            “Well, well, like I said, better that than a lance in your chest,” laughed Gimli.  “I did not notice Hatchet’s armour making such a row; I am sure it is through his dishing as he runs.  I need to reset his shoes; he pecks so with his hind feet.  It is a good thing you did not choose him for speed, my friend; he is powerful but is possessed of a very clumsy gallop.  Were he to run more smoothly, like Arod, perhaps you would rattle less.  Perchance if you asked him he would check his gait; after all he is as spoilt as Bandy is, and loves you just as well.”

            Legolas laughed.  “I shall ask him to run more smoothly, then,” he said.

            “Many thanks, Bandobras of the Shire!” exclaimed Hallas, delighted, as the Hobbit opened the basket and showed him the dainties.  “Your benevolence quite takes my breath; here my esquire and I had resigned ourselves to eating but dried beef and day-old bread for our dinner, and you have brought us a feast for the eyes as well as the tongue.”

            “It was my Master’s idea,” said Bandobras deprecatingly, setting the basket upon the side of the bed so that the young knight could look within.  “In fact I’m missing his joust as we speak, but it doesn’t matter; I’m glad to do what I can to help you out a bit.”  For he saw, naïve though he was, that Hallas of Lossarnach would be abed quite some time, and the knee would never fully heal.  The young man’s pale and eager face, flushed with pleasure by the gift of sweets, cut Bandobras to the heart, and seeing the small and shabby tent, enclosing but one straw pallet and a small stove, made him think of the grand quarters in which he and Gimli lived with his own Master; though the Hobbit had seen want before he had never yet had the occasion to be able to compare his own wealth against it, and he was abashed.

            “Ornendil!” called Hallas to his esquire, who hovered uneasily at the tent opening.  “Take you this basket of good things and add it to the meat and bread we have for our evening meal; through the benevolence of the Green Knight are our stomachs bettered.”

            “Yes, my Lord,” said Ornendil obediently, and taking up the basket in his thin hands he departed.

            “I am all the more glad you have sent it,” said Hallas, lowering his voice; “I had a letter from my sire, telling me he is to arrive tomorrow, and it would have shamed me to not have offered him some trifle or fancy at table.  We are poor but my father likes his sweetmeats.”

            “I can’t judge the ages of men,” said Bandobras suddenly, trying not to look at the worn holes in Hallas’ tunic, or the pitted surface of the stove.  Remembering Gimli’s words to him he desperately wanted to change the subject, and so remove the temptation to discuss what might be happening at that moment to Hallas’ sire.  “To me Ornendil looks full grown, but he’s an esquire like me, so he must be young, mustn’t he?”

            “He is the eldest son of my sister Númedreth; he has achieved but fourteen summers,” said Hallas.  “I have been knighted but a year, and it would be unseemly for an esquire to exceed his lord in age.”

            “Well, there’s no chance of that with me,” said Bandobras cheerfully.  “I doubt my Master could find an esquire within a hundred years of his own age, unless he looked to his own folk, and as I understand it that’s an unusual thing for them.”

            “I can well imagine,” smiled Hallas; “One Elf-Lord could have over a hundred esquires; it would be trying indeed upon the exchequer.   How is it, then, good Bandobras, that you find yourself in such a position beneath an Elf-Lord?  I do confess it has teased my imagination.”

            “Well, then, since you ask,” said the Hobbit with relish, and he proceeded to tell the young knight of Lossarnach his tale.  If he glossed over some few facts concerning his own part in leaving the Shire, and emphasized instead his Master’s role in his rescue, it was not out of malicious intent to deceive, but through a child’s desire to increase another person’s opinion of a dearly-loved benefactor; certainly Hallas, being but a youth himself, heard the account with eagerness and earnest reflection, and when Bandobras had concluded he sighed and said, “It is as I thought!  The Lord of Dale is as compassionate as he is mighty, and reticent as he is redoubtable; blessed are you, Bandobras of the Shire, to have fallen in with his ilk!”

            “So I am!” fervently agreed the Hobbit, relieved his diversionary tactic had succeeded.  “And I’ll be more blessed, if you pardon my saying so, if I run along and perform my other, er, munificence that’s been charged to me by my master.  I need to go to the Bridge Embattled over across the road and see Híldaf, Brytta of Rohan’s esquire – or rather, his former esquire; he’s making a move for the better, now, thanks to Lady Éowyn – quite an arresting personality she has, hasn’t she?  Though not a patch on her majesty Queen Arwen, of course, but then, she’s an Elf, and that makes a difference.  But both quite regal ladies, and I must admit it’s a real pleasure to serve them, they’re so polite and well-spoken.  It’s a real shame I can’t invite you to dinner tonight – not sure how you’d get there, and anyway I haven’t got my Master’s permission – perhaps we’ll think of some way to get you around that doesn’t involve wheel-barrows or a travois, which isn’t very dignified.  Roasting a leg of lamb tonight, dressed with garlic bulbs and rosemary and stuffed with breadcrumbs and onion; if I don’t want it to be bloody as a butcher’s shop I’ll need to get it in the oven as quickly as possible, which means I can’t leave Híldaf too late.  So I’ll take my leave of you, my Lord, and of your man Ornendil, and hope your father enjoys the sweets.  Tell him to try the little petites fours with the crystallized rose petals – they’re quite tasty.”

            Hallas thanked him again, with many effusive expressions of gratitude and pronunciations of amity, and at last Bandobras quit the tent of the Brown Knight and emerged once more into the Tent City.  He was in the back eastern corner, an undesirable locale due to its damp and inconvenient conditions; the Hobbit looked up and down the muddy trenches of the back alleys and pulled a face.

            “To think I always assumed knights and lords were rich and fortunate!” he thought to himself.  “Well, this has been disappointing, but I suppose it was good to learn, too.  Anything I can add to whatever else is in my head is bound to help me in the long run.”  For Legolas had impressed upon him the importance of his education as an esquire, and thus was encouraged to improve his understanding of finances and campaigns and warcraft, though it is certainly very doubtful much of consequence was actually absorbed into his curly head, despite Gimli’s hammering in rules concerning the nobility and gentry, and their various customs.  But Bandobras was canny in his own right, as befit a Hobbit, noticing the speech and clothing of those around him, and he was very eager to increase his knowledge concerning the grocers and bakers, the fishmongers and butchers of this southern kingdom, so that when he returned home he could impress his mother and old nurse with his skill in preparing such fancy foreign foods.  The olives had especially astonished him, and he wondered if he would be able to bring some back to her.

            Thinking of his mother brought a heaviness to his heart and he bit his lip, willing the stinging tears to subside; the approach of a fat knight on a rouncey shook him from his sad reverie and he stepped aside to let the horse amble past him.  “Back to the tent!” he said to himself firmly, and finding a broad alleyway he walked cautiously through the Tent City.

            “I wonder where Hyardil is today?” he asked himself as he walked along, ducking sometimes beneath the hem of some man’s cloak, or dodging the knights’ great boots.  “I haven’t been able to find him yet since I overslept; I hope he isn’t out of mushrooms.”  His heart leapt when he saw a man with a large cart crying his wares, but it was only the sops-in-wine; the Hobbit questioned him but he had not seen the greengrocer.  So Bandobras bought a bottle of ruby-red wine which the man assured him would compliment the taste of the roasted lamb, and took his leave of him.  He relaxed a little when he found the main thoroughfare that passed east to west through the Tent City, for he saw many knights and esquires who knew him and spoke in a friendly fashion to him; the Halfling with affable wave and cry made his presence known, and begging their pardons with great satisfaction excused himself from prolonged conversation to continue his Master’s munificences.

            “What a grand word!” he though proudly; “I must be sure to remember that.  It sounds so weighty.  I shall use it on Celandine when I am home; she will be most impressed.”

            When he at last gained his Master’s tent he decanted the wine, stirred up the ashes in the oven and contemplated the lamb.  “It’s a good thick leg,” he thought, “and will take some cooking.  But Master likes it pink about the bone.  Nurse always said that was unhealthy, but I guess Master’s been around longer than she has and would know better.  I’d best not put it on yet; I’ll just run to see Híldaf, and when I come back I’ll start it, and the potatoes about an hour later, so they’ll be nice and floury.  If I find Hyardil I believe I’ll ask him for some peas.  Gimli said Master favored peas in cream.”  He picked up a sack full of dried sausages and a wheel of hard cheese, tucked the long thin loaf of bread under one arm, and trotted down the main street to the gate.

            Targil and Fenbarad were in conversation as he passed; Targil but waved to him, however Fenbarad called out:  “Friend perian!  Where are you going, and when will you return?”

            “I’m going to take a peek at the joust, my good man,” said Bandobras importantly, “and then go on a job of work for my Master the Green Knight.  I have a munificence to perform.”

            “Have you indeed!” said Fenbarad smiling.  “Well, be sure your munificence does not take too long; I have been charged with watching for your well-being, and cannot be everywhere at once. Remember to stay on the main road, and should some evil-doer attempt to molest you my soldiers are certain to be nearby.”

            “Thank you!” said Bandobras, a little deflated. Feeling the man’s eyes upon his back, he trotted down the dirt road to the tournament grounds.

            He could hear the roar of the crowd within, and the thudding of hooves, and then could just descry the crash of lance upon breastplate; he quickened his pace and approached the leeches’ tent.  The healers stood round the inner corner, watching the joust and applauding with the rest; Bandobras was glad they did not seem to be busy, as that would mean an injury, and he did not like to contemplate that possibility overmuch.  Edging round the group of healers and men-at-arms he watched his Master turn Hatchet about in a tight circle, throwing up a great cloud of dust; the sunlight glinted and flashed upon the bright armour, and as Hatchet threw his great head up and down the red dragon’s eyes upon his shaffron gleamed redly at him.  He saw the Green Knight’s winged helm turn to look towards his foe, who was being helped upon his horse; his red surcoat had been torn by the coronel, and his lance had been snapped in two.  His caparisoned destrier shifted uneasily, rolling its eyes at Hatchet, who bellowed and shook his head so that the crinet clattered and glittered.  Then he felt his Master’s eyes upon him.  He could not explain how he knew it was so, and yet he was certain he had been descried; sure enough when he put his sack down upon the earth and waved his hand, the clawed gauntlet rose and waved back at him.  

            The leeches, seeing the salute, turned to him and smiled down upon him; blushing furiously Bandobras gathered up his things and hurried from the lists.   He retraced his steps, passing the Tent City by, and followed the hard dirt road to the settlement beyond.

            The village had no proper walls yet, though a small fence enclosed it; it housed but fourscore or more people, merchants and tradesmen who dealt goods with the farmers and their crops, and being near the ruin of Osgiliath it sported a small inn.  The Bridge Embattled would have seemed quite large and imposing indeed to Bandobras a year before, being loftier and noisier than the Golden Perch, which was the only other inn he had set foot in; but after many months of traveling, first with his ill-chosen Dwarvish companions and then with his Master, the Hobbit-lad had broadened his views considerably and always found himself comparing men’s dwellings unfavorably with the halls of Thranduil, which had impressed him greatly.  So the Bridge Embattled was not as intimidating to him as it might have been, and he passed heedlessly by the company of soldiers patrolling the street and entered the inn.

            Híldaf was waiting for him in his rooms, which were small but very clean; he had thrown open the shutters to let in the freshening breeze, and sunlight glanced across the smooth plank floors.  The room was high enough above the street that the breeze carried upon it the scents of the rose garden of the next door house; small pink roses showing bristling yellow hearts breathed their sweet fragrance into the mellow afternoon, and every now and then the breeze shifted enough to stir up the aroma from the bouquet of lavender sitting upon the table. The bed was neatly made up with cushion and coverlet, and although by no means equal to the abode of the Green Knight it was so much an improvement over Hallas’ dwelling place that the Hobbit sat down in the proffered stool with a sigh of relief.  Híldaf offered him a cup of wine, which he accepted hesitantly; he was as yet very young and unused to imbibing such grown-up drinks, but was immensely flattered that Híldaf thought him old enough to share a cup of wine with a friend.  So he sipped it carefully as Híldaf told him about Brytta’s wrath, and Lady Éowyn’s intervention, and Walda’s generosity.  It did not taste so sharp as ale, which he had drunk before (secretly, from his uncle’s tumbler); the pale yellow wine was crisper and possessed a tangy aftertaste that reminded him of lemons.  Supposing it was not so strong as the foaming tankards favored by the farmers and gentlehobbits of his acquaintance he drank deeper from the cup until to his surprise he had finished it.

            “Would you like more, friend holbytla?” asked Híldaf politely, holding up the green bottle.

            “Why, yes, thank you!” said Bandobras.  “It is very good; I have never had such good wine before.”

            “It was a gift,” said Híldaf, his youthful face flushing; “The Lady Éowyn’s maidservant and kinswoman, Éodild of the Eastfold, gave it me the evening past.  Also she gave to me a posy of lavender, which she said would freshen the air of my rooms and lighten my cares.”

            “I’d say the wine would do more to lighten your cares than the posy,” scoffed Bandobras, taking another deep drink of wine.  “So you were saying, Híldaf, that Walda wants you as his esquire now, and you’ll swear fealty to him this autumn?  I swore fealty to my Master in the spring, though it seems an awful long time ago to me now.”  And full of good cheer he chattered to Híldaf for some minutes about the ceremony, how he had stood upon the dais with Thranduil at his back, kneeling before Legolas and laying his small sword upon the prince’s knee.  He described the hall itself, hung with crystal lanterns and jeweled tapestries, filled with the fair Elven folk who stood in solemn attendance about the court; he also described the Elven King and his Queen, resplendent in their robes of green and gold, and their son in his white and silver jeweled doublet, crowned with mithril and opals, with his grandsire's sword upon his belt.  Híldaf listened eagerly, for he knew few tales of the Eldar, and having seen the Green Knight uncloaked felt a keen interest in them.  Soon, before Bandobras even marked the time, his cup was empty once again, and the sun slanted sharply through the window, its golden light flecked with orange.  Bandobras sprang up with a cry of dismay.

            “It has gotten late!” he exclaimed.  “O I am sorry, dear Híldaf; I didn’t even realize how much time was passing, I was enjoying myself so.  Gimli is right; I chatter far too much for my own good.  Please forgive me, but I need to leave right away!  I haven’t even put the lamb on to roast yet, and if I don’t get back as soon as possible it’ll be too bloody to eat, not to mention the potatoes will be hard as rocks.  Thank you so much for the wine!  And when the Tournament is over my Master says you and Hallas of Lossarnach are to come to dinner.  I hope you’ll have time before you have to go back to Rohan.”

            “The feasting will last a week at least,” said Híldaf, showing him to the door.  “And I travel back with Fréawine, who is my kin, and I know he means to stay until the leaves change color.  So I shall have the pleasure of your company several more times before we must part ways.”

            “Good!  Thank you again!” said Bandobras, and started to hurry down the stairs.  But he had to stop halfway down and put his hand on the banister.  “Goodness gracious me!” he thought.  “I must have stood up too fast; I’m very dizzy.”  He put a hand on his cheek and thought again, “I am hot too.  O well!   I need to hurry or dinner will be late.”  Grasping the banister firmly he carefully descended, then when he reached the main floor he walked with deliberate steps out the door.

            He had gone no more than ten paces when a man standing by the corner of the inn called out to him.  “Master perian!” he said smiling, wiping his hands upon a white apron.  “I did not see you in the Tent City this morning; I have here a bushel of mushrooms delivered to me fresh today, and understood you favored them.  Tell me, have you yet purchased them from some other greengrocer, or can I interest you in taking a look?”

            “Mushrooms?” said Bandobras eagerly, turning to him.  “Why yes, good sir, I was just wishing for some mushrooms.  I didn’t see Hyardil, who usually supplies me, and I was hoping to foregather with him, but haven’t managed to find him yet.  Do you hawk in the Tent City?  I don’t think I’ve seen you there before.”

            “Well, I only deal in the finest goods,” said the man, smiling wider and leading Bandobras around the corner of the inn yard into a small alley.  “I am usually sold out before I get to the back corner, where your Master dwells.  But I am very anxious to do business with you and have your custom, for I know you are particular about your fare.”

            Bandobras hesitated at the entrance of the alley, remembering his Master’s warning, but the wine, and the sight of a patrol of soldiers nearby, strengthened his courage and he stepped in.  It was cool and damp out of the sunshine, and he could feel the cold dirt beneath his feet.  At the end of the alleyway was a grocer’s cart covered with a white cloth.

            “I am glad to see you know how to treat mushrooms properly,” he said excitedly, feeling very light-headed and giddy.  “Nice and dark and damp back here, just right for them, you know.”

            “O aye!” smiled the grocer; “I am very knowledgeable when it comes to mushrooms and roots and marrows; you must let me show you my wares.”  He turned and walked to the cart and Bandobras followed him.  The Hobbit saw he was wearing a chainmail shirt beneath his apron; at any other time this would have seemed strange to him, but the wine had fuddled his wits and he trotted behind, eager to see the produce.  The man stopped by the cart and turned to him with a smile; he drew back the cloth and gestured inside.  “You see!” he said.  “Only the best for your and your Master, my good perian.”

            Bandobras went up to the cart, which was taller than he, and climbed upon the spokes of the wheel.  Catching the sides of the cart with his fingers he pulled himself up and leaned in, peering around.  The cart was empty save for a few pieces of straw and a dried up, leathery carrot.  He frowned and turned to ask the grocer what had happened to his mushrooms, but only saw the cudgel swinging toward his head; then after a flash of light all was darkness.

21.

            The Red Knight’s destrier threw a shoe at the fourth charge down the tilt, and Belecthor the Ceremonies Master instructed the two knights to postpone their trial until the shoe could be refastened.  So while Aldamir of Amon Din and his various retainers sought a blacksmith, Lasgalen of Dale and his armourer retreated to the corner where the leeches’ tents were housed to watch the other jousts.  It was a fine clear day, breezy and fresh, though on occasion the light wind would waft flurries of sand into small spirals, which danced across the quadrangle like will-o-the-wisps, only to end their short lives by careening into the walls of the stadium.  The first light dusting of snow had touched the crowns of the Ephel Duath in the night and turned the grey-brown rocky peaks to a lacy white, and Mindolluin’s pale slopes gleamed with fresh powder.  But the trees of the vale were green and lush still, twisting and bowing to each other in the gentle wind that gusted about them, stirring up flocks of starlings and orioles, and setting the lavender brakes tucked in the thick grasses to dance and throw their fresh scent into the air.  Araval of Tarlang in his dun surcoat, and Ingbar of South Ithilien in cyan and white, stood to the tilt upon their mounts awaiting the herald’s pennant.  Hador, Araval’s esquire, stood with his lord’s other retainers to the side, eagerly watching his master; he was a young man, blithe and lighthearted, and so had won the confidence of the Green Knight’s perian.  Already he had spoken to Gimli and Lasgalen, approaching with a bow and a smile and wishing them well when their joust resumed.  “I hope that you defeat Lord Aldamir, Lasgalen of Dale,” he had said, smiling.  “For if you do then my lord must needs joust against you once more, and your Bandobras and I have a small wager upon it.”

            “Bandy has no money to wager,” Gimli had grunted disapprovingly, though the Green Knight had laughed.

            “O we do not wager with gold or silver!” Hador had responded, his eyes alight with mirth.  “Nay, sir, my lord, our stakes are far greater than mere capital.  Bandobras will owe me a bottle of olive oil flavored with rosemary and birds’ tongue peppers should you fall beneath my Master’s lance, Lord Lasgalen; but if Lord Hador is defeated your esquire shall take from me my vial of saffron threads as payment.”  And so saying he had bowed and returned to the tilt, while Gimli grumbled to the Green Knight that Bandobras was becoming insufferable.

            One of the healers had suggested with dissembling guise to Lasgalen of Dale that he remove his frogmouth to better see the joust, but the Green Knight had shaken his head and the Dwarf had said:  “Do you hope to make him uncloak by careless error?  Nay, good leech, the Green Knight’s face shall remain shrouded until the end of the Tournament, and be revealed no sooner.”  So Lasgalen of Dale stood with the leeches armored cap-a-pie, his plume shivering and dancing in the breeze and his arm resting in its manifer and vambrace upon Hatchet’s cantle, his other hand in its clawed gauntlet upon the hilt of his broad sword.  The blue, flower-figured scarf rose and spiraled against his arm, catching now and then upon the spike of the polder-mitten.  Gimli stood beside him with the lances leaning upon the wall; every now and again he would take one down and examine the vamplates and coronels to make sure all was well.  When one of the healers asked him why he so continuously assessed his work, he replied:  “I have never made so many lances in my life!  Had I known Lasgalen would be so uneconomical with them I would have designed less ornate piecework; then the task of constantly re-making them would have been all the more easier.”

            “If you like,” murmured the Green Knight behind his bevor, still attending to the joust, “I shall attempt to let pass my opponents, thus sparing you the ignominy of crafting so many extra lances.”

            “O do not do that, my lord!” exclaimed another of the healers.  “You have kept us quite busy during the Tournament, which is gratifying, as times of peace are times of want for the leeches.”

            “Very well!” laughed Lasgalen Oakleaf.  “I will continue then to justify your wages.”

            At that moment the pennant fell, and Dun and Cyan Knights spurred their chargers forward; there was the now-familiar crack of splintering wood as each coronel hit the other’s escutcheon, and devoid of points the two knights turned back to the tilt.

            “The further into the Tournament we are gone, and the more the knights are whittled down to the most prodigious, the longer each joust becomes,” complained one of the leeches.  “When the knights are unevenly matched it is easy to finish a turn in three or four passes; however when Aldamir’s horse threw his shoe you had passed each other four times and neither of you had won a single point.”

            “I beg your pardon,” chuckled the Green Knight softly; “I had no idea we were wasting your time so.  I shall attempt to correct that when next I meet him.”

            “Just be sure to correct it in your favor!” said Gimli.  “You fought so well against Vorondil this morning; try to regain that zeal and so defeat the rest of your adversaries.  Remember you are the White Lady’s champion.”

            “Aye!” said one of the healers.  “You would be brave indeed to lose the Tournament and risk her displeasure!  I remember her well from her stay in the Houses of Healing, before the battle of the Morannon.”

            Once again Araval and Ingbar met at the tilt, but this time the Dun Knight’s lance struck the truer, and Ingbar was flung to the earth, his cuirass clattering about him.  His destrier at first made for the leeches’ tents, about which he sensed freedom from his master’s caprices, but Hatchet bawled fiercely at him, scratching at the dirt with his huge fullered hooves, causing the smaller horse to balk, its eyes wide, snorting with fear.  The Cyan Knight’s esquire caught him by the reins and brought him back to the list, and Hatchet shook his head, rattling the plates upon the crinet.  Lasgalen of Dale absently patted him upon his heavy jowl, and in an upsurge of affection the destrier butted him in the shoulder with his shaffron, nearly knocking him aside.  “Hush, hush!” laughed the Green Knight, steadying himself upon the crinet; “your job, my dear Hatchet, is to prevent my looking a fool, not be the cause thereof!”

            During the third charge Aldamir of Amon Din and his retainers approached them from behind, leading his newly shod destrier.  This mount was a mighty horse, but not so large as Hatchet, and though he was uneasy in Hatchet’s presence was bold enough to prove to the larger animal he was of superior lineage, ensuring their enmity.  So Lasgalen of Dale held his own horse’s head and spoke quietly to him, while the Red Knight’s esquire struggled with the other stallion’s reins.  The Red Knight approached in his arming cap, his great scarlet-plumed helm beneath his arm, and his face was troubled.  “So here we meet again, good sir knight!” he said.  “I had hoped to speak with you before the joust upon a matter that seems to me of great import, and now by simple chance have I been given the opportunity.  I have heard the gossip bruited abroad in the Tent City that you are in both Prince Faramir’s and King Elessar’s counsels; this to me seems not strange as it does to diverse other men, for you are a mighty knight and worthy adversary, though you come from many leagues hence.  I beg you to hear me, therefore, for if you advise the King of Gondor and the Lord of Emyn Arnen in matters of politics and warfare, then I hope you may give me good counsel as well.”

“Speak then!” said the Green Knight.  “I cannot promise good counsel, my lord of Amon Din, for your lands and customs may be strange to me and I might find myself unfit to give you guidance; however I do promise you this, that I shall take your case before Lord Faramir myself, should I be unsuited to advise you in this.”

“Thank you!” said the Red Knight.  “I greatly hope you may advise me, for I am confounded by a circumstance only recently brought to my attention.  But a moment ago a runner found me and delivered up to me a missive from my lands up north, the contents of which have filled my heart with misgiving.  This letter is from my seneschal in Amon Din, informing me that for some past weeks the southern reaches of the Entwash have filled with tents and sundry wood structures that have until now never been.  None who dwell nearby dare approach them, for dwell therein men well-armed and sullen-faced; indeed many villagers in alarm are leaving their homes and seeking refuge in the fortress of Amon Din itself.  And my seneschal has also said, much to my distress, that some of the King’s patrols have gone up the road to Druadan but have not returned, and there is fear that perhaps these strangers have waylaid them.  What shall I do with this information, my lord?  The King, I see, has left, and word has it he battles now with enemies to the South, the men of Umbar and Harad that are ever a thorn in our sides; these men in Druadan Vale mayhap be but innocent travelers whose strange countenance strikes discord into the hearts of the simple villagers – yet again, mayhap they are not, and then Prince Faramir must needs look to the north, lest Gondor be pinched in a vise.  What would you advise me do, Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale?  Shall I go to the Lord of Emyn Arnen, or perhaps to those members of the Privy Council that sit in the royal box?  For it is evident this intelligence should be disclosed to our lords and protectors.”

“Has your seneschal sent men to speak to the strangers, to seek their intentions from them, or to descry their deeds?” asked Lasgalen.  Gimli and the healers were listening also, their faces grave.

            “He had, at the time he sent the letter,” said the Red Knight, “but had heard no news of them since then.  What think you?  Shall we go to Prince Faramir with this, or perhaps to Lord Eradan?  For he was on Lord Denethor’s council as well, and is very knowledgeable.”

            “Nay, I think not,” said the Green Knight.  “As you said, Aldamir of Amon Din, I am in the King’s counsels and know better than most of the men here the events concerning his departure.  This news ought to go directly to the Lord of Emyn Arnen himself.  After Araval defeats Ingbar – “ he gestured to the lists, where the Cyan Knight had been thrown from his horse once more  “ – we face each other at the tilt, and when we are finished, instead of leaving the grounds we will go up immediately to him, entreating him to hear us in private, and you may divulge your intelligence to him.”

            “My thanks!” said Aldamir, much relieved.  “I do confess me to have been harrowed up with disquiet on account of this; merely relating my tale to you has allayed my fears.”

            “Brother Knights gather to bear one another’s burdens,” said Lasgalen, bowing.  “It would be foolish to carry so heavy a load of unrest alone.  I commend you both for your wisdom in imparting this tale to me, and for your faith in me to counsel you; I shall do all in my power to justify your confidence in me.”  The Red Knight bowed to Lasgalen of Dale, and they fell silent, attending the joust.

            At last Ingbar of South Ithilien was defeated, though he had won two points against Araval of Tarlang; it took nine passes at the tilt for one knight to emerge the victor, and the crowds were spoiling for additional warfare.  There was great outcry and loud clamor in the stands, and many green and red pennants were fluttering from the hands of the people, for Aldamir son of Castamir and Lasgalen Oakleaf were brave and mighty knights; and if most of the pennants were borne by maidens young and eager it was not to be wondered at, for as all knew neither knight was as yet wed, and expectation ran high.  As the Green Knight passed by the royal box on his way to the lists he looked up at those therein; Faramir was there, and Éowyn and Undómiel also; upon either side were various lords gaily robed, and behind them were merchant princes and their ladies clad in bright clothing.  The Lady of Emyn Arnen was looking happily down upon him, full confident he would not fail her, and smiling to himself the Green Knight knew he could not bear to bring her disappointment, who thought so highly of him.  He wondered however at the various lords and vassals beneath the pavilion, desiring to descry behind the bland and dispassionate faces the treasonous thoughts therein; he was thwarted though by his position, for he had been told by Elessar to joust, and could not therefore sit beside those men, and determine which one spoke the truth, and which was the traitor.

            “How I wish my mother the queen were here!” he thought as he turned Hatchet toward the tilt.  “She would sit beside Undómiel and name the turncoat within an hour; she has the gift of deep insight.”  He did not know that at that moment his esquire also greatly desired his own mother’s presence; had he been able to read the Hobbit’s thoughts they would have greatly pained him.  So he cast his wishes aside and faced Aldamir; as he nodded to the herald he thought, “Men encamped at Druadan Dale!  This Tournament is become a farce; we play at combat while the true battle burgeons about us.”  Then the pennant dropped, and Hatchet with a scream surged forward.

            Gimli was fated to be chagrined; Lasgalen broke three lances upon Aldamir of Amon Din, two upon his cuirass, nearly throwing him from the saddle, and one upon the escutcheon.  Aldamir himself caught the Green Knight unawares at the pauldron, snapping him round about so that his whole body twisted.  The stands were erupting in cheers and cries of approbation, though Lasgalen could hardly hear it above the rattle and clang of the armor.  Impatient to end it and speak to Faramir, he gripped his lance tightly and murmured to Hatchet:  “Let us finish this, my friend!”  Hatchet, flicking his ears back to hear his master, seemed to understand, for he scraped great furrows in the earth with his hooves and bellowed belligerently down the tilt to the Red Knight.

            The herald dropped the pennant and Hatchet heaved ahead, snorting and bawling; Lasgalen turned the lance in its rest, pushed up on the stirrups with his sabatons and leaned forward into the charge.  Aldamir attempted to raise his escutcheon but was too late; the dragons-head coronel smote him full upon the charnel and he fell backwards upon the crupper, dropping his lance.  Lasgalen called to the Red Knight’s destrier to stop and turn, which he did, facing them with surprise; the Green Knight reached forward and pulled upon Aldamir’s manifer, righting him.

            “You struck me as a blacksmith strikes his anvil!” panted the Red Knight, lifting his visor and grinning at Lasgalen of Dale.  “I am not ashamed to be bested by you; I admit you are better than I.”

            “Better at jousting, you mean!” said the Green Knight.  “I am certain you will overcome me at the barriers tomorrow, for you are the superior swordsman.”

            “We shall see!” said Aldamir.  “I watched you with Vorondil today, and am not sanguine about my chances.  Come, friend!  Let us approach the pavilion, that we might entreat with Lord Faramir to hear us.”  The two knights turned, urging their mounts forward; but at that moment a great cry was heard from the leeches’ tents, and looking round they saw a small crowd gathered about a man stained red with blood.  He was attempting to run forward but was held by the healers, who were very concerned for his health, as he was white and drawn, and looked to be in great pain.

            Lord Faramir stood and motioned for silence, then calling out in a loud voice he said:  “What is it?  Whom do you seek?  What news bring you in this fashion?”

            “Lasgalen of Dale!” cried the man, pushing the leeches aside.  “Come quickly, make haste!”

            “It is Híldaf!” exclaimed the Green Knight, and spurring his destrier forward he cantered down the lists to the leeches’ tents.  Aldamir on his warhorse followed.  “Híldaf of Rohan!  What tidings do you bear at such great cost to yourself?”

            “Forgive me, my Lord of Dale!” said Híldaf, falling to his knees and clutching at his own bloodied arms.  “I was unable to stop them; my sword broke in my hands and they struck me down ere I could rescue Bandobras.  They have taken him, my Lord; they have taken your esquire from you!”

            “Who?” cried Gimli in dismay, springing forward and shaking the hapless youth by the shoulders.  “Quick, man, tell me!  Who has taken him?  Where did they go?”

            “They were clad as soldiers of Gondor; they lured him into an alley and struck him, then carried him out on a cart,” said Híldaf, weeping as he spoke.  “I saw them from my window and ran out with my sword, but they were too many for me; they knocked me down and quit the village, running with all haste to the north.”

            “There is aught but forest to the north,” said Aldamir in surprise.  “Lasgalen of Dale, do you – “  But he was cut off, as the Green Knight with a terrible cry urged Hatchet forward through the gathering crowd; they scattered before him as quail before the hunting dog.  He galloped out of the quadrangle, disappearing behind the wall, though they could yet hear the rumbling of his destrier’s hooves.

            “Wait, wait!” cried Gimli, running after him, then turning back to the men in frustration he said,  “A pony, or a small horse!  Quickly, quickly!  He is fey with fear and would attack the hosts of Moria alone.  Get me a mount!  And an axe or a halberd!  Hurry!”

            “We will go with him,” said Aldamir, and coming up behind him Araval and his esquire Hador also mounted their steeds.  “We will go as well,” said Araval.  “Hador, take you the Dwarf upon your mount; he is strong enough to bear you both.  Lord Faramir!  What say you?  My heart tells me to follow and quickly, lest the Green Knight finally meet his match in these marauders; can you gather unto yourself your Rangers and come after us?”

            “I would that you waited, but I recognize your eagerness,” said Faramir, running up to them.  “Ethmor!  Call Beregond and his men to me!  We need swift horses as quickly as possible.  My lords Aldamir and Araval, go swiftly to the Green Knight’s aid ere he finds these soldiers; should aught happen to him Elessar will strip me of my title – nay, of my very skin!  Who is that?  O it is you, Lords Mardil and Cirien; there is something of greater importance than your joust today; go with Aldamir and Araval in pursuit of the Green Knight, who himself hunts the men that abducted his esquire.  See to it that no harm comes to the perian, for he is precious to Lasgalen of Dale!  We will follow forthwith.  Go!”

            The men on their horses, and the esquire with Gimli behind him, galloped past the leeches’ tents out the stadium to the road, and the crowd watched them in amazement and unease.  Faramir turned then to Híldaf, who lay groaning upon the ground.  “Healers!  Take him to the tents and see to his wounds.”

            “O let me go with them, my lord!” begged Híldaf, struggling to rise.  “I am to blame; I ought to have hindered them – “

            “And been killed for your persistence!” said Faramir.  “Nay, good Híldaf, your hurts are too grievous; remain here and regain your strength.  Egalmoth, Belecthor!  We must clear the stands; there has been an abduction, and there will be no further games today.  Make the announcement, my lord Belecthor; with good fortune perhaps we may continue tomorrow, though my heart misgives me.”

            “This is a terrible thing!” said Belecthor, wringing his hands.  “The poor perian!  I will have Fenbarad begin searching at once!”  He turned to the lists and made to address the crowd.  Egalmoth regarded the Lord of Emyn Arnen shrewdly.

            “Has the Green Knight run off alone, then, to rescue his esquire all by himself?” he asked, his voice full of wry humor.  “How brave of him!  Though some might think him foolish to be so heedless.”

            “How many soldiers took Bandobras of the Shire?” asked Faramir of Híldaf, turning from the counselor.

            “More than a score, I would guess,” said Híldaf, leaning upon the arm of a healer.  “Perhaps more; I could not say.”

            “Foolish indeed!” murmured Egalmoth, a smile twisting his thin lips.  Faramir turned to him to chide him, but Egalmoth rubbed his lean hands together and said, “Well, my sword is at your disposal, Prince Faramir; shall I ride with you and your men?  It would be imprudent to let the son of so rich a lord come to ruin.”

            “Nay, lord Egalmoth!” said Faramir looking to him in surprise.  “But I thank you for your brave offer.  Ah!  Here is Beregond; now we shall be equal to the task.”  Beregond led two saddled horses forward, and presented his Lord with a sword.  “If you truly wish to be of assistance to me, my lord Egalmoth, there is some kindness you could perform.”

            “You have but to ask it of me, my lord,” said Egalmoth, bowing, as Faramir mounted with his men.

            “Restrain the Lady of Emyn Arnen and prevent her following after us,” said Faramir.  “I do fear me her zeal may outstrip the Queen’s efforts.”

            “I shall do as you ask of me, my lord,” promised Egalmoth, and watched the men ride off in a great cloud of dust.

22.

            Bandobras opened his eyes to be greeted by a stab of pain.  “O but I hurt!” he thought to himself, wincing in the light.  “I shall never, never drink wine again.  Uncle Berilac was right; it gives one such an ache in one’s head.”

            He tried to move but found to his surprise that he was not only bound hand and foot, but gagged with a strip of dirty cloth as well.  Then with a flash his memory returned and he recollected the chainmail-clad grocer in the alleyway, and his heart sank down to his toes.  “I have failed my Master!” he thought in dismay; “I disobeyed him and look what has happened because of it.  I wish he were here right now.  O what will become of me!”

            He looked around and saw he was lying on the floor of the cart, upon his back facing the sky.  His vision was obscured by the plank walls of the cart surrounding him, but overhead he could see the branches of trees waving, the tassels of the pines dark against the pale blue.  He could hear men’s voices and smell the smoke of a cook fire.  He moved his hands, testing the bonds, but they were very tight and he could find no purchase there.  At the sound of his struggles someone approached; it was the man who had told him about the mushrooms.  When he saw Bandobras was awake he gave him a cruel smile, showing a row of broken teeth.

            “Ah, it moves!” he called to the men behind him.  “Now we shall discover what it knows.”  He drew a long black knife from his belt and showed it to the Hobbit.  “See you this, my little ground squirrel?” he said, turning it about before Bandobras’ terrified face.  “I am going to cut your gag, but I shall cut else besides, if you do not answer my questions.”  He reached down into the cart and slid the cold blade between the cloth and Bandobras’ cheek, cutting the gag and also slitting his skin, so that a thin stream of blood trickled down into the Hobbit’s ear.  “Do you see?  I will not brook refusal to speak, for it amuses me to harm you.  Now tell me, ground squirrel, who is your Master?  What is his name?”

            Bandobras bit his lip and his eyes filled with tears, but he shook his head and did not answer.  Angrily the man struck him across the cheek with his fist, and the Hobbit cried aloud in pain.  “Answer me!” he ordered.  “What is your Master’s name?”

            “L–Lasgalen Oakleaf of D-Dale,” said Bandobras defiantly, gritting his teeth.  The man struck him again on the other cheek, and Bandobras tasted blood.

            “His true name!” said the man angrily.  “Do not seek to play the fool with me, ground squirrel; we know well the Green Knight does not joust under his own name.  Who is he, and who is his father?”

            “He is l-l-Lasgalen of Dale, s-s-son of Telchar of Esg-g-garoth,” stammered Bandobras, wincing; the man struck him again and cried, “Idiot perian!  I will kill you lest you tell me!”

            “Why should I tell you, then?” sobbed Bandobras through his bloodied lips.  “If you’re going to kill me anyway, why should I betray my Master?”

            “There are many ways to die, ground squirrel; some less unpleasant than others!” the man snarled.  “And do not think to delay us ‘til your Master comes!  We are more than he, and he is hated and envied by the other knights; none shall heed his pleas for aide, and he shall be forced to come to your rescue alone, and when he does we shall cut him down, and after you have watched him die we shall kill you slowly, since you are so intractable.”

            “Wait, Sangahar; we may not slay him ere our Captain arrives,” warned another man, looking with distaste upon Bandobras, who lay weeping and bleeding in the cart.  “He has said we are to wait, though we should press this creature for information.  He does not trust our lord’s discretion in this, nor do I.  Listen to me, perian!”  He shook Bandobras roughly by the shoulder until the Hobbit was looking him in the eye.  “We know your master’s father brings a gift of money to Elessar the Usurper; when does he arrive, and what is the means of his journey?  Tell us, or I will cut off your fingers one by one, starting with this!”   So saying he lifted Bandobras’ bound hands and pried his little finger loose, setting his knife-blade against it.  “Speak!”

            “No!” sobbed Bandobras, terrified yet adamant.  “You won’t get me to say anything, not if you cut off all my fingers and all of my toes and – and—my ears, too!  O you are bad men; I heard the Dunlendings were cruel but you’re worse – worse!”

            “Enough, Húrin,” said another man; “there is no sport in tormenting this little squeaking mouse.  Let him lie without food or drink for a time; he will be willing enough to speak then, when his tongue cleaves to the roof of his mouth and his innards shrink with hunger.”

            “We do not have time!” said Sangahar.  “Our Captain will be here in a moment, and he becomes most wrathful when we have failed him.  Let us make him speak now!  Build up the fire and we shall hold his feet over the hot coals until that loosens his tongue.”

            There were cries of approval at this plan, and Bandobras sought to quell his panic, for of all pains he feared burning the most.  But then into his mind came the likeness of his dear Master’s beautiful face, smiling encouragingly upon him and handing him his sword, saying, “Take this, Bandobras son of Reginard!  You are kin to the mightiest Halflings in the Shire.”  His resolved stiffened then and he told himself, “Live up to your name, Bandobras Took! Imagine what your Master would think!  And besides the Bullroarer wouldn’t sit here sniveling to himself.”  He frantically tried to think of what the Bullroarer actually would have done in his place, but sadly his education did not extend to strategy and defense, despite Legolas’ repeated efforts to train him.  “If only I could get my hands free!” he thought desperately, as Húrin and Sangahar reached into the cart to lift him up.  “I’d mark a few of them, at least, before they could get me!”

            The two men pulled Bandobras to his feet, but he was so weak and dizzy that he fell over almost immediately.  Húrin laughed, but Sangahar grasped him roughly by his hair and hauled him up until he stood leaning against the edge of the planks.  Bandy looked about him, blinking though his tears.  They were in a small clearing in the middle of a pine forest, and there was a fire in the middle, which several men were feeding with fresh faggots so that the flames leapt ever higher.  The clearing was full of men in the simple mail and helms of soldiers of Gondor, but they looked a little worse for wear; there was rust on the helms, and several of the mail shirts were broken and dangling.  Their surcoats were very dirty.  “Slackers!” he thought, feeling contempt even through his fear.  “If Gimli could see the state of their arms he would give them such a tongue-lashing, their ears would sting for weeks afterwards!”  A sudden wish for Gimli’s stout presence alongside his Master came to him, and when Húrin and Sangahar grasped him by the arms to lift him from the cart his heart hammered, and he thought, “This is it then!  Steady on, Master Took; for once in your life keep your mouth good and shut!”  But the two men paused and turned; from the other side of the clearing a man called out:  “Hold!  It is the Captain; I hear his horse!”

            Bandobras listened in the sudden silence and heard the muffled thunder of a horse’s hooves on the thick loamy ground; he also heard the rattle and clamor of jangling armor.  The men began to look uneasily at each other.  Then there was a hoarse bellow, and Hatchet broke into the clearing, tossing his great head, his own eyes flashing as brightly as the red dragons’ eyes upon his shaffron.  Upon his back brandishing a long lance was the Green Knight, the wings of the helm flaring above his head, his spiked poleyns tearing at the men as he passed them.  The bright armour flashed about the clearing like a bolt of lightning and the men cried aloud in terror at the fearsome sight.  The destrier reared up, striking out with his clawed hooves and knocking a man down; then regaining his feet he leapt forward, and the Green Knight lowered his lance.

            “Master!” cried Bandobras, his heart leaping in delight, but his joy turned to horror when he saw Sangahar turn to him, brandishing his knife.  “I shall end you first, ground squirrel!” cried the man, and pressing the tip of the knife to Bandobras’ neck made to cut his throat.  But the Green Knight’s lance struck him full in his chest and shattered, throwing him backwards ten feet into a tree; he struck his head and was still.  Then the knight wheeled about and threw the splintered lance into the chest of Húrin, who with a strangled cry also fell upon the ground.  At that Bandobras’ Master drew his sword in one gauntleted hand, swinging it over his head and crying, “Eryn Lasgalen, Eryn Lasgalen!  L'narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I'anor!”  And he fell upon his foes, striking them down left and right, while Hatchet trampled them beneath his great hooves.

            “Hurrah!” shouted Bandobras, leaping up and down in delight, and just then he trod upon the edge of Sangahar’s knife, which had dropped into the bottom of the cart.  “Hold hard, Master Bandobras!” he said to himself.  “That ought to come in handy.”  And sitting down he started to saw his bonds back and forth against the edge of the knife.  “Quickly, quickly!” he panted, his eyes darting to and fro; “I’ve got to help my Master – they are too many for him – I must help him!”  At last the ropes came away from his hands, and speedily cutting the bindings around his ankles he leapt to his feet, brandishing the knife, which in his small hands was the size of a sword.  “The Shire!” he shouted, waving it over his head; one of the men espied him and turned on him, eyes wild with fear; he lunged at the Hobbit, his sword at the ready.  Bandobras gulped with fear but remembered his Master’s instruction; he knocked the sword aside with a quick flick of his wrist, and then he and the man grappled together.  Bandobras could hear the man cursing under his breath, and for a moment all was confused and breathless; then the man toppled over, and to Bandobras’ surprise he found he had slain him himself.  “O dear me!” he thought; “I never believed I’d have been able to do something like this!”  Stepping away from the blood the backs of his legs struck the side of the cart, and he toppled out of it to the ground, landing upon his head, and everything again went blessedly dark.

            The horses thundered up the plain to the forest, jingling and clattering as they went; Mardil, Cirien, Aldamir and Araval, and Hador with Gimli, surged up the dell and crested a hill, seeing the dark shadows of the pines before them.  But at the entrance to the forest they checked, and Cirien dismounted, casting to and fro upon the ground.

            “Do you see anything, my Lord of Langstrand?” asked Aldamir.

            “Not here,” said Cirien.  “We have lost their tracks; we ought rather to have followed them up the knoll to the west.”

            “It would have slowed our mounts,” said Araval; “the ground was boggy.”

            “Well, now we have slowed them indeed,” said Cirien.  “But look!  There is a hut a league or so to the west; let us go to them and see if they have seen anything.”

            “Yes, and hurry!” said Gimli.  “I am anxious for my friends.”

            So the knights with Hador and Gimli rode up to the hut.  It was a rude shelter, little more than four walls of earth thatched with straw; the old man who stood in its doorway was little and wizened, yet his head brushed the top of the lintel.  At his feet sat a small girl child holding a doll.  When they approached the old man bowed low and said to the girl, “You see, Miriel?  The other knight is not alone; here are his friends to help him.”

            “You have seen the Green Knight?” cried Mardil.  “Tell us quickly, old man, and you shall not suffer want for it!”

            “We saw a knight in green armor,” said the old man, bowing once more.  “My lords, he was in desperate haste, and leant from the saddle as his horse ran to and fro; he sought the steps of the men with the cart.  We guided him, Miriel and I; did we not my love?”

            “Yes, grandfather,” said the little girl earnestly.  “We saw them enter the woods over there – “ she pointed her finger to the west, where there was a break in the ground obscured in shadow.  “They were pulling a little cart covered with a white cloth.  Grandfather asked them if they needed firewood and they took it, but did not pay us for it.”

            “For shame!” exclaimed Araval.  “I am indignant on your behalf, little one; as for you, good man, you will not find us ungrateful.  So the Green Knight entered the woods there?”

            “Aye he did, in a great rattle and clamor,” said the old man.  “He seemed in a dreadful hurry, and we did not dare ask him his business; it is best sometimes not to know.”

            “Should we have the leisure to disclose our task to you we shall do so,” said Mardil.  “For now we have great need of haste.  Fear not!  We shall return to reward your candor; yet we do you this disservice by hurrying on.  On, fellow knights!  Lasgalen Oakleaf has dire need of us!”  So saying he spurred his mount forward, and the rest of the men followed him to the dingle.  When Gimli looked back he saw the old man and the little girl watching them.

            “If their information is true I shall give them a bag of gold for their troubles!” he panted to Hador.

            “They seem to have great need of it,” agreed that esquire.

            They went down into the dell, and Cirien once more found traces of the company’s passing.  “See, there are booted feet,” he said, gesturing in the soft earth.  “And over them are the hoof prints of the Green Knight’s great destrier; I should not mistake them for another.  Come!  He has passed by here not a few moments ago.”

            He remounted and they entered the wood.  There was a rough track there, much trampled and slashed, and here and there were signs that the company they followed was unfamiliar with the woodlands, for there were scraps of cloth torn upon the thorny brakes, and trenches in the dirt where a man had stumbled.  Yet over all there were the deep hoof prints of a mighty horse in fullered shoes.  “He has followed galloping – look!” cried Cirien.  “He is right upon them.  Fly, fly!”

            They urged their mounts into a gallop, ducking beneath the low-hanging pine branches, getting slapped now and then by the bushes and trees as they passed.  Once Hador’s hackney stumbled over a root and nearly threw them, but Gimli gripped the esquire about the waist and Hador straightened himself and they went on.  At last they smelled the fleeting aroma of fire, and then burst forth into a clearing, reining in their destriers and coming to a halt, staring about them appalled.

            All around the clearing bodies were littered, blood-soaked and twisted; red dappled the earth and the broken weapons clutched in the gauntleted hands.  All was still and silent, save for the large destrier that stood restlessly by a small cart; his peytral was splashed with gore and he rolled his eyes at them, shifting upon his massive hooves in the reddened dirt.  In the center of the clearing knelt a knight in green intaglioed armour, helm and arming cap cast aside, holding to his breastplate a still small form.  His cuirass and manifers were covered in blood, blood soaked the clothing of the body he clutched; his long bright hair hung like a curtain across his face, and he was still as death.

            Gimli’s heart turned to stone within his chest, and he tumbled nearly senseless from the back of Hador’s horse to the ground.  But as he with faltering steps approached the Green Knight he heard a tiny voice say, “Mafter, I cam’t breeve.”

            Relief struck the Dwarf palpably and he took in a deep gulp of air, surprised when it sounded more a sob than a breath; Legolas lifted his head and loosened his arms, and the tiny form stirred; beneath the sheet of golden hair a small face peered up at him.

            “Master, you are crying!” said Bandobras, and reached up a tiny hand to touch the Elf’s cheek.

            “Ilúvatar save us!” murmured Mardil, sliding from his mount and sheathing his sword.  “He is of the Fair Folk, or I am a mûmak!”  The other knights also dismounted and stared openly at Legolas, wonder and unease upon their faces.  Hador was weeping with relief as he stood looking upon his friend, but Bandobras gazed solely upon his Master, his face shining with gratitude and devotion. Gimli, his feet frozen to the earth, dropped his halberd and pulled off his iron cap; he stood staring at his friend a moment, then stirring said brokenly, “Well, Legolas!  Here is proof of your selfishness; could you not have left but a single enemy for me to strike down?  Here I had readied myself to hew the necks of at least two men, but now we come upon you and there are none left!”

            “Mock me not, son of Glóin,” said Legolas, his steel-clad arms still wrapped about his esquire.  In his face were fear and release and horror mingled, and tears ran down his cheeks.  “My heart still misgives me that I shall awake from this nightmare and Bandobras be slain, and you also in pursuing me in my madness; give me some moments that I might collect my thoughts and quiet my trammeled heart, for I can scarce speak without weeping.”

            “Very well!” said Gimli surprised, and stepping forward he looked down upon Bandobras, who tipped his face up to his, wide brown eyes full of bewilderment.  “Well, well, my good Bandy; and how are you?” he asked gruffly.  “Are you injured, or is all this blood that of your enemies?”

            “I’m not much hurt,” said Bandobras, turning a bit in Legolas’ arms and resting his cheek upon the breastplate.  “I have some cuts and bruises, and my head is throbbing – though I’m not sure if it’s the wine or the blow – but other than that I think I’ll be all right.”

            “Good!” said Gimli.  “I would hate to have to do all of the cooking myself, though I admit I could do with fewer mushrooms on the menu.  Well, all of you, let us go round this clearing, to see if the Green Knight in his blood-madness has left aught to question.”  So the knights and Hador looked about the clearing, but though they turned over various bodies and peered into faces they found none living.  Araval shook his head and turned to Legolas.

            “You confound me completely, Lasgalen of Dale – or whatever your true name might be,” he said in amazement.  “I had not thought it possible for even such a mighty knight mounted upon a fierce war horse to slay so a great number of men alone.”

            “I was not alone,” said Legolas, turning round to him; “Bandobras had his man.”

            “I did, didn’t I?” said Bandobras with shaking voice, looking at his Master doubtfully.  “I’m not even sure how I did it, but he’s dead all right – and I’m not certain how I feel about that, you know.”

            “And call me not Lasgalen Oakleaf but Legolas Thranduilion,” added the Elf with a faltering smile to Araval; “since you have come to my and my esquire’s rescue it is only proper you should know my true name.”

            “So be it, Legolas Thranduilion!” said Araval, crossing the glade and holding out his hand to him.  “I beg you, brother knight, rise that I may meet you in a more fitting manner.”

            Putting the Hobbit from his lap the Elf rose smoothly to his feet and grasped Araval by the hand.  Then the other knights in turn did likewise, peering into his face with enthrallment, for barring the Queen and her attendants they had not met with Elves before.  “Now are all the riddles answered!” said Aldamir, smiling at his fellows.  “Wise were you indeed, Legolas Thranduilion, to mask yourself during the Tournament.  Wroth I was to see how you drew the eyes of the maids to you, but had you let them see your face unshielded you would have certainly been unable to fight them back, warrior though you are.”

“You are welcome to them all!” said Legolas with a relieved laugh.  “Indeed, if you like my esquire has amassed a great pile of tokens from hopeful maidens, and you may choose from it one that you like the best and go to redeem it.”

“Thank you!” said Aldamir bowing.  “I confess in part my desire to compete in the Tournament was to find myself a suitable wife, and it was with chagrin I saw all the maids flock to your banner.  But now you are unmasked you may draw all other knights to you, for we know we have naught to fear from you, and only blessing to hope for.”

The other knights murmured their agreement, and Legolas smiled at them all. “It is I who have received blessings from the Edain,” he said.  “You have my deepest thanks for pursuing me.  So full was I of fear that I threw myself heedless into the chase, and had aught gone amiss I should have missed having companions to guard my back.”

            “O you were not afraid, Master!” said Bandobras indignantly, putting one hand upon his cuisse.  “You were brave and ferocious!”

            “Nay, my beloved Halfling, that was not courage spurred me on,” said the Elf, taking Bandobras by his hand.  “It was fear – fear and wrath – fear for your well-being, Little One, and wrath at myself, for letting this game go so far as to put you in danger of your life.”  He turned to Gimli.  “Aragorn was right, my friend; it was imprudent of me to enter this Tournament and so endanger my esquire’s life.  I shall go forthwith to Lord Belecthor and withdraw ere aught else occurs.”

            “I beg your pardon, Legolas Thranduilion,” said Mardil, “but that to me seems imprudent as well; so long as your face is hidden your secret enemy is hobbled by ignorance.”

            “Aye,” said Cirien; “besides there are but two days of games left and the Tournament shall end.  During that time we may discover your enemy’s name, and the reason behind his deadly diversion.”

            “I wish no further hurt to my friends,” argued Legolas, but Araval said:  “All know your esquire’s name and face; to reveal your own will not protect him.  Let us instead aid you in safeguarding him, and keep our eyes open as well; until now you and your armourer have been alone, but now you have us to help you.  I beg of you, Lord Elf, permit us to be of assistance to you!  You are a mighty warrior and an honorable man – Elf, that is; we should be honored to lighten your woes.”

            All the other knights, and Hador as well, eagerly agreed to this, and Legolas stood dumbfounded before them; at last he said, “I am greatly humbled, my lords!  Heretofore had I hid my face behind helm and hood for I had no trust in men to endure me as I am; yet you have confounded me and proved to me that I have greatly wronged you.  Forgive me, knights all!  You are more like unto the men of Dale whom I love than I had hoped.”

            “And anyway,” said Bandobras from his place at Legolas’ side, “you can’t withdraw, Master, because the King told you not to.  You’re the goat, remember?  He’d be awfully angry with you if you didn’t do as he said.  Remember how cross he was when you went out into the woods!”  The knights at his words looked bewildered, and chuckling Gimli said,

            “Legolas, though Faramir might object, I would trust these knights with all that has come to pass; after all he and Aragorn have had no luck finding your detractor, and things are getting dangerous.  We need more allies, and these are hardy men and true; I believe we may confide in them.”

            “Very well, Gimli!” said Legolas.  “But let us make haste; we may not linger here, lest others arrive, and I have no yearning to enter into battle again so soon.”  And he told the five men of the letters and the threat to Baldor of Lossarnach, though he did not mention his father’s gift of gold to Gondor; he felt that would be up to the King to disclose.  When he had finished the knights shook their heads, frowning; Cirien spoke first.

            “My Lord Elf, these are deep waters, and I am certain you have not told us all, though I reproach you not for your caution!  It is evident we must needs hold a council, for some of us are of southern Gondor and might know more than you of the deeds and beliefs of those in our lands.  I myself am from beyond Prince Imrahil’s fiefdom, and Mardil is from Ethring near the rivers; Araval is from Tarlang’s Neck.  We know of the discord that some troublemakers sow among the people there, purporting to make us believe the coming of the King is a hindrance to us and not a help: we are however not of that conviction, and know that Elessar’s rule brings peace and wealth, not unrest and poverty, as some would have us believe.  But those vile detractors are few, and lords loyal to King Elessar are many, and we know which is which.  The campaign in southern Gondor is, I am all the more convinced, part and parcel of one plot with this one.  So let us foregather with Lord Faramir alone, trusting not his council-members, who perchance could betray us further.”

            “Hear, hear!” said Bandobras.  “Master, listen to these men; I know we can trust them.  They’re nothing at all like these wicked soldiers here.  Please, let’s get back and talk to Lord Faramir and put an end to this!  You can’t win the Tournament if you’re always looking behind you, to see if someone’s about to stab you in the back!”

            “Well spoken,” laughed Mardil, but just then Legolas turned and peered into the woods, his bright eyes intent.

            “Listen!” he said softly.  “The sound of hooves – many men on horseback approach.”  All fell silent, and after a moment they could hear it too:  the clatter and thud of galloping hooves, crashing through the woods.  As one they drew out their swords again, and Gimli picked up his halberd.  Bandobras took up the black knife and drew closer to his Master, trying to quiet his pounding heart.

            “Here we go again!” he thought.  “I wonder how many of them I can kill before we’re taken?”  Then looking about him he was comforted.  “No!  You’re quite safe, Bandobras Took; you have four great knights with long bright swords, and Hador with his sword, and Gimli with a nasty-looking halberd, and you’re standing beside your Master.  Who could possibly defeat us?”  And feeling somewhat better he lifted his chin and placed his small feet apart, ready to challenge the newcomers.

*“L'narr en gothrim glinuva nuin I'anor” -- The bones of our foes will gleam
under the sun

23.

            Faramir and his men crashed into the clearing, swords and spears at ready, prepared to fight an army of men to protect the ones that had gone before; but as they looked about the clearing all who stood before them were four good knights and an esquire, flanking an Elf and a Dwarf, and hovering about the Elf’s waist was a tiny perian, white-faced but defiant.  Beregond’s company stared in amazement at the Elf, and Faramir at the bodies of the soldiers; for a moment none spoke.  Then Mardil sheathed his sword and stepped forward with a smile.

            “Hail and well met, Prince Faramir of Emyn Arnen!” he said.  “We thank you for your kind offer of assistance, but as you can see we have no immediate need of it.  The Green Knight has disposed of this motley assemblage of dissenters himself.”

            “You slew them all?” asked Faramir in amazement, turning to Legolas.  The Elf flushed deeply.

            “Nay, my Lord Faramir; I had with me my brave and noble esquire, and he and I dispatched them between us two.”

            “I only killed one of them!” protested Bandobras in surprise.  “You killed the rest of them, Master, all by yourself.  And really I only killed the other fellow by accident – he was going to stab me, see, and I was just trying to defend myself.”

            “The fact remains there are none to question,” said Gimli.  “Do not blame him, though, my Lord of Emyn Arnen; had I been here I should have done the same, so great was my wrath and consternation.”

            “Very well!” said Faramir, smiling at Legolas and dismounting.  “There is no help for it; we must make do with what we have.  Beregond, take you your men and gather up the slain; identify them if you can, though I fear me it must be a task either painful or futile, depending whether they are our men betraying us, or unknown strangers.”  Beregond spoke to his men and they too dismounted and put aside their weapons, and began lining up the bodies, searching the armour and piling up the swords and shields.  Faramir walked towards the knights and smiled down at Bandobras.  “How are you, friend perian?  You are unhurt, I hope?”

            “Yes, sir – I mean, my lord,” said Bandobras.  “At least not much hurt; I’ve got a knot the size of a goose’s egg on my head and a cut on my cheek, but I’m all right, thank you.”

            “And you, Lord Elf?” asked Faramir with a wry smile.  “Are you perchance wounded, or have you survived your revelry of wrath without injury?”

            “I am unhurt,” said Legolas stiffly, still blushing.

            “Well!  At last I understand the estimation of my brother-in-law, the king of Rohan!” said Faramir.  “He said to me that with Aragorn upon one side and Legolas at the other, none would dare stand against him, and it seems to me he spoke truthfully.  Never have I seen such valor rewarded with victory, Prince of Mirkwood; you harvested your enemies as wheat mown with a scythe.”

            The four knights and Hador looked at Legolas in surprise and Mardil said, “Prince?  We did you a dishonor, then, your highness, for doing no obeisance to you.”

            “I neither require nor crave it,” said Legolas.  “I beg you, my friends, to forget both my name and my rank these next few days; we have much to do and to discover, and it will aid us not to bruit abroad my position.”

            “As you wish!” said Araval.  “But with your leave we shall feel ourselves doubly enriched by your friendship.”

            They were interrupted by a cry from one of Beregond’s men; the captain hurried over, and when he saw what his man had uncovered he ran to Faramir.  “My lord,” he said, his face full of dismay, “we do indeed know one of the men here.  Look!”

            They all followed him to the body by the cart.  Faramir looked upon it and exclaimed, “Fenbarad!”

            “Alas, yes!” said Legolas.  “It grieved me to strike him down, for I knew he was one of your trusted men.  He came to me on horseback, and at first I thought he had come to my aid, but he cried aloud to his soldiers to kill me quickly, and my esquire too; and when he rode up to me he assailed me, so I slew him though with a heavy heart.  I know not what became of his unhappy horse; it bolted from my destrier’s fearsome countenance.  I hope you find no more familiar faces here, for this loss is dire enough.”

            “Worse still,” said Beregond grimly, “now we shall have to question all his work, for we cannot trust his deductions. He was placed in charge of investigating the throwing of the caltrops, and now we must renew the inquiry upon a trail long cold, for I am now certain the impasse he reached in his inquiries was due not to lack of suspicions, but his especial knowledge of the perpetrator.”

            “So we must also be wary of others in his confidence,” sighed Faramir.  “With whom did he foregather, Beregond?  Do you know?”

            “He was talking to Targil when I left the Tent City,” piped up Bandobras.  “He told me it was his job to watch over me, and he asked me where I was going.  He also told me to run to his soldiers if there was a problem – “  He gestured to the dead bodies with a shudder  “ – but that turned out to be a mistake, as they were in on it, too.”

            “I did not charge Fenbarad with that commission,” said Faramir, his face full of misgiving.  “Therefore I must conclude some other master gave him that task.  Now tell me, Bandobras son of Reginard, all you heard and saw concerning this matter.”

            “Must I, Master?” asked Bandobras, looking up at Legolas in dismay.  “It’ll make me look no end a fool, for I was silly and impractical, and I oughtn’t to have been captured at all.”

            “Tell him, Little One!” said Legolas.  “Everything you can recall may aid us in arresting these skirmishes.”

            “O very well!” sighed the Hobbit, and with a very red face he outlined his afternoon, from meeting with Hallas to his falling out of the cart and knocking himself upon the head once more.  “And don’t you go suspecting evil things of Hallas or Híldaf,” he cautioned Faramir, shaking his finger at the Lord of Emyn Arnen, much to the chagrin of the Dwarf and the secret amusement of Beregond.  “I’ll lay you any odds they had nothing to do with it, either of them.”

            “For now we must act as though we suspect all,” said Faramir with a smile.  “Though I am certain Híldaf could not have willingly inflicted those wounds upon his own body, just for the sake of verisimilitude.”

            “What about Hallas of Lossarnach?” asked Beregond.  “We have been warned of his connections with Orodreth of Linhir.”

            “I know of no black mark against Baldor his sire,” said Mardil.  “And although Orodreth of Linhir is an unpleasant man, I have heard of no collusion with the King’s enemies or detractors.  Also Hallas is a destitute knight, and gravely crippled; how could he move such events from the confines of his sick-bed, with naught but a pitiable, half-starved esquire in his service?”

            “I know not,” said Faramir, “but now I must distrust all who have ties with the Anduin, for so the Southrons creep up the coast, sowing their discord.  Save you men here, who have proved yourselves honorable and worthy of my confidence, I must treat all in the Tournament grounds with suspicion.  We must hold a council, all of you, with Queen Undómiel and Éowyn my wife, seeking to determine our next step.”

            “Up until now the moves have been in our enemy’s favor,” said Legolas.  “I am spoiling to deliver an offensive thrust, for it is certainly my turn to move some pieces upon the board.”

            “As it stands you are one of the primary pieces yourself, O Prince Goat!” said Faramir.  “I know you chafe beneath the yoke, but you must have patience, my friend.  Until we know the face of our enemy we do not know where to strike next.  But for now we shall continue our strategy of watching and waiting.  Noble knights, shall I extract from you a vow of silence concerning the Green Knight’s true name?  I need not tell you that I shall be muzzling my own men here.”

            “You have no need to ask,” said Cirien, and the other men nodded.  “We too understand the importance of such secrecy.”

            Meanwhile Hador also was searching the bodies, and coming up to Lord Araval he said, “My Lord, here is a man whose face I know; also look you upon the brooch of his cloak; I recognize that coat of arms.”

            Araval looked as well, and turning to Faramir he said:  “It is as I feared!  This man was a vassal of Eldacar of Lebennin; Ingold was his name.  And here beside him is Sangahar his brother.  These two men left their father’s house after Elessar was crowned, proclaiming they would not bow before a king but only a steward of the house of Denethor.  Long did Eldacar search for them, for he did not trust their intent, but now it seems they found others who believed as they did, and having fostered their discord decided to stop speaking and start troublemaking.”

            “A man named Húrin called the King Elessar the Usurper,” Bandobras said.  “Yes – that’s him, over there.  I forgot to tell you -- he told me he’d cut off my fingers unless I told him who you were, Master.”

            “O my Bandobras!” murmured Legolas, laying his hand upon the Halfling’s head.  “It shall be late indeed before I forgive myself the misstep that brought you here.  I am all the more aggrieved that my amusement has brought you so close to death and danger!  Aye, Faramir, I fear these men are loyal to you only inasmuch as you defy your King.  For the soldiers I overheard in the forest some nights past spoke also of Elessar as one who has no right to the throne.  They said he was only the heir of Isildur, not of Aníron.”

            Araval shook his head, and the other three knights made noises of disbelief.  “Fomenting dissention!” exclaimed Mardil.  “We have all heard such ignorant yelps from unschooled dogs as these.  They would make a mockery of the Stewards’ duty.”

            “Indeed!” said Faramir.  “Do they not see the blood of Elendil has a right to the throne of Gondor and Arnor together, and that the Stewards held the rule of Gondor only in the rightful king’s stead?  I only hope these soldiers are but the larger part of a small group of dissidents and that there are no more rebels knocking upon the gates of Minas Tirith.”

            “Lord Aldamir!” exclaimed Legolas suddenly, turning to the Red Knight.  “Remember what we were about to do, ere news of my esquire’s abduction drove all other thought from my mind!  Disclose to Lord Faramir the tidings sent you from your seneschal.”

            “Why, what news from Amon Din?” asked Faramir in surprise.  “Nothing ill I hope!”

            “It may be ill indeed,” said Aldamir grimly, “for the notion has taken me that these men are part of the same faction haunting my own fields.”  And he told Faramir and Beregond all that his seneschal had written to him.  Faramir, Beregond, and the other knights all listened in silence, expressions of apprehension upon their faces.  When he was finished Faramir shook his head.

            “News; I need news!” he muttered.  “Where are the King’s patrols, and why have they given no word of these men?  Yet if your people fear them that may be enough for me.

            “I weary of waiting,” he said after reflecting a moment.  “The next strike shall be ours, even if it does nothing more than delay the larger plot.  I am expecting a messenger from Pelargir today, giving tidings of the King’s campaign in the South.  If he requires no more men of us we shall ride to the Druadan Vale and see what these soldiers are about.  If they surrender we shall have many men to question and perhaps discern the hand behind them; if they fight us we shall know indeed they are our enemies, and we shall deliver them such a blow that the man behind this shall sting from it for years.”

            “We are with you, Lord Faramir!” said Araval.  “But speak the word and we shall rally behind you.”

            “Let us wait until the end of the Tournament, my Lord,” suggested Beregond.  “When the knights are through with their play-acting and the winner has been announced, there will be a lull and a feeling of melancholy at the cessation of the festivities, and then they shall be more than willing to follow you up the Stonewain.  Indeed at that point I doubt you would be able to stop them, and they shall so swell the ranks of your Rangers that victory may be all the more certain.”

            “Can we afford to wait that long?” asked Gimli.  “These men may start moving at any time.”

            “The patrol is due back tomorrow,” said Faramir.  “Should they fail to reconnoiter I shall know something is truly amiss in Amon Din.  Then it shall take at least a day to muster all the knights who are faithful to the King to add to my Rangers.  Were I assured of the safety of the roads I would send a message to King Éomer, requesting his aid, for then we would surely crush these men in the vise.  As it is I do fear me we shall have fewer than a five score swords.”

            “Fear not, my Lord of Emyn Arnen!” said Legolas.  “A hundred such men as I have travailed against shall be more than mighty to assail these trespassers.  For myself I would rather have more archers, for then we could rake the foremost line and run them down.”

            “That can be arranged,” said Faramir; “there are many fine marksmen in my old company.  Well, brother knights, friends all, let us quit this sad place and return Master Bandobras to his duties!  My Lady will be anxious to know his fate, and also I am certain Híldaf of Rohan frets and pines for news in the leeches’ tents.”

            “Duties!” squeaked Bandobras, putting his hands to his hair in dismay.  “The lamb!  The roast lamb, Master!  It is too late to put it in to cook now!  You shall have no supper!  O what am I going to do?  And we were going to have peas in cream – and taters -- this is all my fault – and now you will have to go hungry because I have nothing else to give you – O, I am so sorry, Master!”

            The knights hid their smiles behind their hands, for they saw the little Hobbit was truly distressed.  Legolas however dropped to one knee and took Bandobras into the circle of his arms once more, his face serious.  “My dear Bandobras, do not worry yourself over such trifles,” he said gently, kissing his esquire upon the crown of his curly head.  “Such is my delight in having you safe by my side once more that lamb and lembas would taste alike to me tonight.  And anyway you have sustained a great blow upon your head; I would not allow you to prepare my meal until you have rested and regained your strength.”

            “Lady Éowyn and Queen Undómiel will also desire your presence at their table, I am certain,” added Faramir smiling.  “They will make you to sit between them, and they will comfort and soothe and pamper you, and croon over your injuries and feed you whatever cakes and trifles you like, and my good Ardún shall prepare the evening repast in your stead.  You have certainly earned a respite from your duties today!  Fear not, good esquire, for tonight it is your turn to be indulged.”

            “He is plenty indulged already,” muttered Gimli, but Legolas shot him a look and he subsided.

            “Shall we hold council tonight or tomorrow, then?” asked Aldamir of Faramir.

            “Tonight,” said Faramir.  “Come you also to my mansion, my friends, and we shall eat and drink, so that all shall think this is but a celebration of the Halfling’s safe return.  However after our meal we shall discuss all we know, and determine how best to lay out our next move.”

            “We shall inform our servants to bring food and drink, then, so your stores are not unduly depleted,” said Cirien, and at that Bandobras, whose face had fallen, brightened considerably.

            “Oh!” he exclaimed.  “Will any of them have any mushrooms?  I tried and tried to get mushrooms this morning but I couldn’t.  Do you think your esquire Gilmir managed to buy mushrooms from the greengrocer today?  I hope that he has for mushrooms are such an important part of the meal.”

            “I shall ask him, Master Perian!” smiled Cirien with a bow.  “Perhaps Gilmir shall bring mushrooms to your feast.”

            “I hope not!” said Gimli under his breath, and though Legolas tried to frown at him the Dwarf noticed his friend’s eyes were twinkling all the same.

            So it came to pass that Hador of Tarlang rode upon his hackney post haste to the Tent City, bearing aloft a lance from which fluttered the token of the White Lady of Rohan, and he cried aloud to all he met that the Green Knight, aided by four mighty men of Gondor, had overcome the abductors and punished them with their due, and was riding back in triumph with an escort of Prince Faramir’s personal guard.  Great was the rejoicing in the Tent City and its environs, for Lasgalen of Dale was greatly respected, and Bandobras his esquire so congenial all were amused by him, and all had been in a fever of worry about the perian’s disappearance, and the knight’s flight to rescue him.  Many remarked at the great love borne between knight and esquire, and the deep affection that lay between those two, and others of the valor and courage of the Green Knight, who could with naught but four other knights save his esquire from a large group of armed dissidents.  And all mused upon the mystery of the abduction itself, wondering what had been the reasons behind it, and pondered the many interruptions the Tournament had already suffered, between caltrops and lovelorn rivals, certainly aimed at the Knight of Dale.  Some said he had brought the trouble with him, for few knew aught of the Men of the North, but most scoffed, and said rather his great courage and nerve had stirred some base knight to jealousy, who sought to detract him by diverse malicious means. 

            And when Lasgalen of Dale rode at the head of a column of men, obscured as always in his glorious intaglioed armour, and flanked upon one side by the Lord of Emyn Arnen and upon the other by Aldamir of Amon Din, bearing behind him Gimli the Dwarf; a great throng gathered upon the roadside to greet them, waving banners of green, and of red and dun, yellow and silver, the colors of the knights who had gone out to sustain him.  Bright were the pennants that fluttered from the knights’ lances, gay were their colored caparisons and surcoats, brilliantly did their armour gleam and flash in the setting sun, which bathed the fields of the vale in mellow gold.  High above in the violet sky a large flock of starlings wheeled, chattering noisily amongst themselves and flowing in black clouds to settle upon the tree branches.  All the people, villagers, knights, esquires, armourers, servants and lackeys alike, jostled forward to see if the perian was indeed rescued unarmed, and all who saw his curly head and wide brown eyes, peering out around the manifers of his Master’s long arms where he sat before him upon the saddle, cheered and cried aloud with delight, for they rejoiced to see the weak defended.  And with the names of Faramir of Emyn Arnen and Lasgalen of Dale were chanted the names of the four other knights, Red and Dun, Yellow and Silver, to do them the honor fitting their noble and selfless actions.

            So the column rode to Osgiliath to the celebration of the perian’s return, and none begrudged the knights the company of the Lord of Emyn Arnen, for they saw the deeds were great, and worthy of such a tribute, though if some had chanced to listen, they would have heard the Green Knight’s esquire say to his Master, “Really, Master, all this fuss just for bringing me back here!  It makes me feel quite shy, it really does.  After all if I’d just done what you told me at the start none of this would have been necessary at all!”

24.

            Aldamir of Amon Din and Cirien of Langstrand were knights rich both in valor and possessions.  Their retainers and esquires brought to the house of the Lord of Emyn Arnen great barrows full of food:  two pheasants and a suckling pig, a headcheese, loops of raw sausage to be grilled before a fire, a basket of peaches soaked in sweet wine, bright red cherry preserves to spread upon the four fine loaves of white bread, a crock of briny olives, a basket of river trout with their gaily speckled skins, and a great wheel of yellow cheese in hard wax.  Not to be outdone Mardil had his esquire bring them a barrel of select yellow wine from his vineyards, and Araval of Tarlang sent Hador running back to their quarters to procure a marvelous rich subtlety they had purchased just that morning, dressed with thick clotted cream and blackberries.  Thus though Ardún had scarce the time to collect his wits, once his lord had informed him of the feast being held there that very night, following upon the heels of this announcement came the provisions, so that he was reassured the rumour of the hospitality of his house would not suffer by it.

            As Faramir had promised the two ladies did indeed make a great fuss over Bandobras, clucking and cooing and giving him so many kisses and pets he flushed an adorable shade of pink.  Queen Undómiel insisted upon dressing his wounds, so with Lady Éowyn in attendance she bathed his head and cheek and wrapped them carefully, then set him upon a low couch supported by many cushions and covered him with a plush velvet rug.  In vain did Bandobras turn his gaze to the doorway, eagerly awaiting his Master during this embarrassing episode, for Gimli had hauled Legolas forthwith to the tent to see to his precious armour, which was splashed with dried blood and dented by the furious battle.  Indeed the Dwarf’s scolding continued from the main gate of the Tent City to their lodgings and involved, as far as eavesdroppers could tell, many aspersions both upon the birth and character of the Green Knight and that of his various ancestors.

            The knights dismissed their retainers, as they wished to maintain secrecy, and Hador aided Ardún in the laying out of the feast, while Beregond himself saw to the grilling of the sausages.  The pan-frying of the fish was left until the Green Knight himself arrived, for, as Bandobras told Ardún gravely, “My Master is awful particular about his fish not being dry, and like as not he’ll want to fry it himself.  Just lay on a good bit of butter and a dab of pepper and he’ll make you as nice a fish-fry as you could ask for, you know.  Very handy on the road, he is!” 

            “That does not to me seem a fitting chore for the Prince of Mirkwood,” said Cirien in surprise, from where he was assisting Mardil to breach the keg.

            “And is fitting a spigot to a barrel of wine a fitting chore for a Lord of Langstrand?” asked the Queen with a silvery laugh.  “Remember, Lord Cirien, Legolas Thranduilion has been campaigning for many centuries beneath the eaves of Taur e-Ndaedelos.  Long have King Thranduil and his son battled the evil of Dol Guldur, whose denizens poisoned the very trees of their kingdom.  For years uncounted the Prince of Mirkwood led company after company of Elven archers deep into the darkest recesses of that wood, living at times many months upon the sparse bounty of the land.  Is it so surprising, then, that his woodcraft should extend to cookery?”

            “I suppose not, my Queen!” smiled Cirien.  “But it seems to me a more profitable task to breach a barrel of good wine than to grill a fish.”

            “Profitable, perhaps, but not practical,” laughed Queen Undómiel.  “And the Green Knight is by nature quite practical.”

            “Not that he’d have any particular objection to broaching a wine-barrel,” said Bandobras.  “The feasting and merrymaking that goes on in King Thranduil’s halls!  I’ve never seen so much wine consumed as I did when I was a guest of the Elven King’s.  And all the lights like faeries in the tree branches, and the crowns of flowers, and the Elven women in their pretty dresses dancing in the clearings!  And the music, my lady!”  Bandobras in his eagerness sat up and took Arwen by the hand, looking at her with a shining face as one caught up in a delightful vision.  “All the harps and lutes and viols and tambourines and drums and pipes and flutes!  It was like a dream, the best dream I ever had, to sit there and watch all their fair faces glowing, and hear their singing and laughter.  And the Elven King and his Queen sitting on a dais in a pavilion, all dressed in their finery, with crowns of silver and pale jewels, laughing and talking with all the other Elves, and my Master himself in bright green and yellow, dancing with Dúrfinwen and Andunië and Seimiel!  Oh, it was lovely – lovely!”  Bandobras gave a great sigh and lay back down upon his cushion.  “And then a bright star rose up high enough so we could see it in the sky above the clearing, and all the fires died down, and all the Elves stood up and raised their hands and looked up at the sky and started to sing, slow and sad and sweet, the most beautifullest song I’ve ever heard in my whole life – beautifuller even than when Aunt Elecampane sings, and she’s got the sweetest voice of any Hobbit-lass in the Shire, it’s said.  And then Queen Edlothiel herself sang a song in Elvish, and it made me cry, honest it did – though I didn’t understand a word of it, it just went to my heart, you know how songs do that sometimes and you don’t know why?  Well, this one did, and when she was done my Master stood beside her and looked to the South and he sang a song too, and Andunië told me it was about sailing on the Sea in a gray ship hung with lights, and it was the best song that anyone sang there that night; all the pretty Elf-maidens cried, and even King Thranduil himself cried as well.  Then the band started playing again and all the Elves started dancing in big circles together, and my Master picked me up in his arms and set me on his hip like I was a little child and took me through the dance, and we spun around so much I got dizzy, but it was so much fun!  Oh, that was the best party I’ve ever been to,” he sighed, smiling at the Queen, who gazed down gently upon him.  “I’ll probably go to lots more parties in my life but that one will stand out as the absolute best one ever.”

            “I hope that you will indeed have many parties and revels,” smiled the Queen, kissing Bandobras upon the crown of his head.  “And I know that those parties in your own land will be as full of joy and happiness as the Mereth en’Ehtelé in Eryn Lasgalen.  All honor renewal and rebirth; when you have passed many more years you will see the significance of the cycle as do we.”

            “I suppose that’s why the Elvish Spring Festival seemed more important than any of the dances and parties we had in Tookland,” said Bandobras thoughtfully; “if you see winter turn into spring a couple of times it’s quite nice, but I guess if you see it hundreds upon hundreds of times it has more meaning.”

            Beregond lifted the iron pan from the inglenook, and setting it upon the hearth turned to the Hobbit with a smile.  “Fortunate are you among both Halflings and Men, Bandobras of the Shire!” he said.  “For the sight of the Fair Folk in high revel is said to be a thing both rare and obscure, and to have partaken in that feast you are certainly to be counted amongst the auspicious few mortals permitted such privilege.”

            “It shall not be so unusual in the future, though, good Beregond,” said Éowyn.  “For the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen comes to Ithilien to settle a company of his people, and Elvish feasts and revels shall be more familiar to the Men of Gondor in years to come.”

            “That shall be a sight to see!”  said Cirien.  “I am no seer, but I make this prediction:  that the Lord of Langstrand shall for sundry reasons be passing much time in the environs of Osgiliath, thus increasing his prospects of seeing the Spring Festival of the Elves.”

            “Ah, that is not so difficult a prophecy to have made!” laughed Aldamir.  “Now listen well, gentlemen, lords, my lady and my queen:  I shall make me a divination as well.  During the Spring Festivals the separate lords of Langstrand, Tarlang, and Ethring shall enjoy the hospitality of the Lord of Amon Din, so that when they have foregathered at his keep they shall make the short journey to Ithilien together, and so enjoy the feasts as one.”

            “And I shall also make a divination to you all!” said Legolas from the doorway where he had entered in his dark green cloak.  Gimli the Dwarf and Híldaf of Rohan flanked his either side, and he drew back his hood with a merry smile.  “The lords of Amon Din, Langstrand, Tarlang, and Ethring, and their various esquires and family, as well as all the good guards and Rangers of Ithilien and its environs, shall be Prince Legolas’ especial guests during the Mereth en’Ehtelé in my land, to be treated with the honor and tribute that is their just due as his friends and brothers-in-arms.”

            Bandobras with a cry of delight threw aside his rug and dashed up to him, flinging his arms about the Elf’s legs with abandon.  “At last!” he cried.  “I am nearly dead of hunger!  It must be two hours past our normal dinnertime.  Gimli oughtn’t to have kept you so long; I don’t know what he was thinking.  Now may we eat, Master?”

            “Hush, my Bandobras!” laughed Legolas, taking him up in his arms and kissing him.  “Were you not upon the couch there, under the Queen’s especial care, for good reason?  Take heed of your head, my dear Little One, lest your injuries preclude your duties and I be obliged to take for myself another esquire.”

            “Oh, you’d never do that,” scoffed Bandobras, putting his small arms about his Master’s neck.  “You think I’m enough trouble just by myself; you’d never burden yourself with two esquires.  Would he, Gimli?”

            “I certainly hope not,” grumbled the Dwarf, stumping into the room and sitting upon a low stool.  “Enough trouble by yourself, indeed!  Why it is a miracle we get anything done at all, through following your caprices, Bandy.”

            The Halfling’s face fell, and he turned to the Dwarf with furrowed brow.  “Are you that unhappy I am with you then, Gimli?” he asked in a small voice.

            Gimli looked up quickly, saw the Hobbit’s forlorn eyes, and immediately rose to pat Bandobras upon the back.  “Of course not, of course not!” he said, smiling.  “I’m quite happy you joined us – who would I smoke with otherwise?  I usually smoked alone, and your Master here gave me no end of chaff when I did, complaining of the smell, but with your advent not a word of censure have I heard on that point.  And you are a good cook, you know – probably the best in the Shire, at this point, if not in all Arnor.”

            This had the desired effect of cheering Bandobras greatly, and he smiled down upon the Dwarf in full contentment.  He would not let Legolas put him back upon the couch, however, and insisted upon sitting beside him at the inglenook while the Elf fried the trout.  He plied Híldaf with many questions concerning the events following his abduction, and tut-tutted over the young esquire’s injuries, which were unfortunately upon both his arms, and were very inhibiting to his movements.  But the Lady of Emyn Arnen encouraged Híldaf in his disappointment, saying, “Fear not, Híldaf of Rohan!  Walda of the Westfold is a patient man as well as a mighty one, and wise in his years; he shall find you much to do despite your hurts.”

            At last the fish were done, and Ardún and Hador lay the table with smoking platters and steaming bowls, filling the jugs with the wine and setting out goblets, plates, cutlery and salt cellars.  The great table, which in many years past had been filled with people and laden with food, revived its heritage again, and at its head were Lord Faramir and Lady Éowyn, as had the lord and lady in Osgiliath of long past presided over their banquets.  Beregond wished to wait upon his Lord as well, but Faramir insisted he sit with them, saying, “You are not my servant but a captain under my command, Beregond; through your deeds of bravery and valor you have earned this place.”  So Ardún and Hador passed round the food, and the lords and ladies ate and drank until they could eat no more.  When the subtlety had been cleared all pushed back their chairs with contented sighs, and Gimli with a wink to Legolas pulled out two pipes.

            “Here you are, Bandy!” he said, holding out the smaller one to him.  “I took the liberty of bringing your pipe and tobacco with me, so you could have a smoke after we ate.  Your Master was not so pleased with me for it, but when I said you were certainly craving a smoke he could not refuse me.”

            “O thank you, Gimli!” exclaimed the Hobbit.  “I don’t think I’ve tasted smoke in two days.”  He and the Dwarf set to filling their pipes, much to the amusement of the other lords there, and Híldaf especially leaned forward to watch.

            “I have heard tales of the holbytla spewing smoke from their mouths and nostrils, but I did not know the same thing held true of the Dwarves,” he said, looking on with interest.  “Éodild tells me King Elessar uses the pipe as well, and that the odor is not unpleasant.”

            “Would you like to give it a go?” asked Bandobras brightly, holding out his pipe.  “It tastes very nice, for we have very good leaf from Bree; it is not so fine as Shire leaf, but it will certainly do.”

            “I would not recommend it,” said Legolas firmly to Híldaf, pushing the pipe back into the Halfling’s hands.  “Éodild would perhaps like the scent, but it is a pricy habit, and until you achieve knighthood it would be difficult to maintain.”

            “Perhaps some other time, then,” said Híldaf with a sigh.

            At that Faramir called them to order and they began to discuss amongst themselves the various incidents and signs that had occurred during the Tournament.  Faramir explained the loan of gold from Thranduil to Elessar, and the other knights all were agreed that this was undoubtedly the impetus that sparked the deeds of intrigue.  Then the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen heard all that the southern knights could disclose to them concerning the various princes and lords of the fiefdoms surrounding the Anduin, and Faramir felt better able to choose which of them to trust, and which in whom trust must needs be held in abeyance.  Unfortunately they could get no further with the councilors, all of whom had been in Denethor’s council and held lands down south as well; much to Faramir’s distress he had to admit any men who had in the past been loyal to his father and served him in such intimate capacity should not be fully trusted.  However, try as they might they could get no further in their plans, for while Legolas, Cirien and Aldamir were eager to march upon the soldiers in the Druadan, Faramir held firm against them, saying he wished for news from the King first, before committing to such a campaign.  “I would not begin our muster until I know of Elessar’s needs in the South,” he said.  “We could withdraw behind the walls of Osgiliath at need, defending ourselves and holding the fortress for the King’s return.  Besides if we start too soon we shall alert our enemy, and he will withdraw as well, and we shall lose this tentative grasp we have upon his tail.  Or worse still he shall be with us behind the walls themselves, and we shall have harbored a deadly asp within the faggots for our fire.  There are but two days of games left, and in the morning I shall know more, I hope.  Go you to the barriers and the tilt with guarded hearts, brother knights, and hide your misgivings behind your helms!  None must suspect we have this knowledge, nor that we plan this move against the aggressor.  I cannot trust the council members with whom I sit, for the tidings of the loan have leaked somewhere, and I do not know whether it be here or in Minas Tirith.  Patience, friends!  Go back to your tents in waiting.  We shall know more tomorrow, and Beregond’s men, whom we may trust, will bring you tidings.”

            “Then we should go, and get at least a little rest,” said Gimli, rising and turning to Legolas.  “We have had a terrible day, and the next few promise to be equally as stimulating.  Shall we go, my friend, and put this little Hobbit in his cot?”

            “He has no need of a cot when my lap is handy,” said Legolas tenderly, smiling down at the tiny form of his esquire.  And indeed, when Gimli looked upon the little Halfling, he saw that Bandobras was fast asleep against Legolas’ breast, his hands curled in his Master’s hair, an expression of utter contentment upon his face.

            Faramir entered the pavilion the next afternoon with impatience amounting to anger; he had agreed to the Tournament for reasons both fiscal and beneficial, and to have it turned so upon its head, creating danger and frustration, made him keen to end it.  He had no more tolerance for the dusty quadrangle, surrounded with brightly-garbed people waving pennants; even the sight of the tilt, about which so much trouble had burgeoned, did not inspire him to confidence.  He wished nothing more than to tear down the flags, drive the people from their seats to the safety of their homes, and summon his Rangers to him to ride – either to Amon Din, or to Elessar’s help at Tolfolas; either one; he cared not, so long as he had before him an enemy in full corporeal form with whom he could fight and either best or be bested.  He nodded curtly to Belecthor’s servants as he sat upon his cushioned chair, and crossing his arms across his chest he glared down into the quadrangle, deaf to the excitement and conjecture about him.

            In his reflections on Druadan he bethought himself of the foot combat earlier, and allowed himself a smile; despite the Green Knight’s exertions the day before he had defeated Aldamir of Amon Din again, and so had disqualified him from the contest; though the gallant knight had not complained, but laughed heartily when finally overcome, afterwards whispering something to Gimli, which caused the Dwarf to smile.  After that, Beregond had reported that Aldamir and his esquires were continually in the presence of Bandobras of the Shire, advertising the great friendship that had sprung between them, but Faramir knew Aldamir and his retainers were holding to their oaths to protect Lasgalen of Dale’s Halfling.  “And it would be a doughty and desperate man indeed who went against them, seeking Bandobras ill!” thought Faramir; “the perian is well-protected!”

            At that moment Bergil came up to him, flushed and panting with haste; in his hands he bore a sealed letter, very tattered and smeared with fingerprints.  “My lord!” he gasped, giving a perfunctory bow and handing it to the surprised Lord of Emyn Arnen.  “News from Pelargir!”

            “Ah!” cried Faramir, sitting up.  “Thank you, Bergil!  Now sit you down and place your head between your knees ere you faint.  Ethmor!  See to Bergil; he has run hard and fast with a message from his father, and if you do not succor him he shall fall upon the floorboards and be of no more good use to us.”  And turning aside from the rest of the people in the pavilion he broke the seal and read the letter.  It was in Elessar’s own hand, hastily written and smudged with ink.

            Elessar, King of Gondor and Arnor, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, Ranger

            of the North, of the house of Telcontar,

            To Faramir son of Denethor, Prince of Emyn Arnen, Lord of Osgiliath, beloved

            friend of the King and Queen,

            Greetings.

            My earnest wishes for an easy campaign have been fulfilled; Dol Amroth has

            come once again in full loyalty to our aid and we have driven back the foul

            invaders that sought to overcome our southern fiefdoms.  Though I had need

            to empty the garrisons of Minas Tirith and Pelargir in the process the cause

            was sufficient and the results gratifying, and you may inform my beloved Undómiel

            I shall return to her in two days’ time.

            I trust the Tournament goes well and peacefully, for I know you to be bereft

            of soldiers save our faithful Beregond; however I also know well your valor and

wisdom and confide in you the protection of my capital in my absence.  Give my salutations to Lasgalen of Dale, that noble goat, and to your wife the Lady of Emyn Arnen, and know that I with sundry other knights travel north to untangle the web woven by the traitor, whom I believe in my inquiries I have discovered.  Proofs are further required, making it impossible to warn you in specific (also I have grave suspicions this letter may be opened) so have a care to guard your backs!

            In haste,

            Aragorn

            “What is that, my Lord?”

            Faramir started and looked up into the suspicious face of Egalmoth, who stared at the letter in surprise.  Behind him stood Eradan, goblet in hand, frowning.  Faramir hastily refolded the letter and tucked it into his doublet.

            “It is news from his Majesty King Elessar,” he said, “informing me of his imminent return, Lord Egalmoth.”  As the two lords exchanged glances Faramir said, “Fear not, my lords!  His endeavors in the South go well, and he shall arrive victorious.”

            “Good, good!” said Eradan, smiling, though his eyes looked wary.  “May we not see the letter ourselves, Prince Faramir?”  He held out one fat hand which glistened with moisture from his chilled goblet.  Faramir hesitated, then said,

            “I think not, Lord Eradan; I apologize to you both, but such are the contents of this missive I trust it not to anyone’s eyes but my own, my wife’s, and the Queen’s.”

            Eradan looked foolish, and withdrew his hand; Egalmoth made a hrrumph-ing sound in his chest and threw himself upon his chair, glowering into the stands.  Hesitating a moment Eradan said, “Very well, Prince Faramir!  You may have your secrets, certainly.  But I hope that when we have proved ourselves worthy you may trust us with this information.”

            “Your worthiness is not in question, my good Eradan,” said Faramir.  “Thus is the will of my sovereign, in whom I place my utter confidence.  Surely you may comprehend that, both of you!”

            “Certainly, certainly!” said Eradan, draining his goblet and handing it to Belecthor’s servant to be refilled.  “Not at all, no offense taken whatsoever!  At least, Lord Egalmoth, we know King Elessar has been victorious; that is comforting, at any rate.”

            Egalmoth said nothing, and finally Eradan turned from him back to the Lord of Emyn Arnen, obviously attempting to alter the subject matter to something less thorny.  “Why, is that the esquire of Brytta of Rohan, my lord?” he asked, pointing down below the pavilion.  “Surely it is he; I had thought his wounds would surely have prevented his attending the festivities.”

            “Nay, such was the skill of the leeches applied he was able to join us in our celebrations yestereve,” said Faramir, grateful for the change of issue.  “And look!  There is Éodild my wife’s maid sitting beside him.  So she has decided to forego the comfort of her lady’s presence in preference of the company of one of her kinsmen after all.”

            “Ah, that may be a match, then!” said Eradan, chuckling comfortably and passing his hand over his stomach.  “So the little perian was returned to his Master, was he?  I was sorely tempted to go after him myself, when I saw that great company of Rangers ride off with you, but it has been some time since I tried myself in combat, and felt I should be more a hindrance than a help.”

            “As it was there was no need of my Rangers at all, nor me either,” said Faramir, smiling.  “The Green Knight dispatched all of the men save one by his own hand, unassisted.”

            At this remark even Egalmoth looked over at him in amazement, and Faramir could see several lords and ladies, Orodreth and his niece among them, leaning forward to catch his words.  “Yes,” said Faramir, hoping to impress upon these men the might and skill of Lasgalen of Dale and so fear him; “by the time the lords Cirien, Aldamir, Araval and Mardil came upon the scene all were dead, slaughtered in his wrath by the Green Knight, save one man, whom his esquire dispatched.”

            “Mighty a man must he be!” said a man standing beside Orodreth.  “For these soldiers were hardy and desperate men, I heard, and well over a score in number.”

            “How dreadful for the poor perian!” sighed Lady Dirhael from beside her uncle.  “Shall we see him then, when the Green Knight jousts today, or will he keep to his tents?”

            “I saw him at the barriers when Lasgalen of Dale defeated Aldamir of Amon Din,” supplied another lady.  “I am sure he shall be here.  What a hardy folk the Halflings of the north are!”

            At that the general conversation revolved around the four famous Halflings that had been so intimately involved in the War of the Ring, and Faramir fell silent, ruminating upon his own thoughts.  It was another fine day, warm with a breeze that brought down cooler air from the East scented at times with pine or snow; the sun beat upon the Tournament grounds unhindered save by the various clouds that hurried across the dome of pale blue, casting their shadows to rush over the quadrangle like dim cloaks borne by invisible giants.  Great flocks of starlings and barn swallows swarmed and fought in the boughs of the trees of Ithilien, scattered now and again by the appearance of a hawk or eagle, and betimes floating above the shining liquid silver of the river flapped a solitary heron.  The goldenrod was nearly over and the fields were burnt brown and dun beneath the kiss of the early autumn sun.  But the peaceful chatter of both birds and men was interrupted by the appearance of the Ceremonies Master, flushed with anger and speaking in a high, petulant voice to his servants as he ascended the stair to the pavilion.

            “It is unthinkable, that is what it is!” he was saying to the unhappy Ethmor.  “All these guards and soldiers found untrustworthy, and now this!  My reputation is now completely ruined; I will never be entrusted with another function again, much less a Grand Tournament, for see you all the mischief that has been got up to while I am in charge?  Incompetents all of you, and myself the worst of the lot!”

            “What is it now, Belecthor?” asked Eradan wearily.

            “There was a rash of burglaries in the Tent City last night,” fumed Belecthor, sitting down with rather more force than necessary upon a chair behind Lord Faramir and causing it to creak alarmingly.  “Several good knights were denuded of their arms, and I was obliged to equip them with my own lances and swords and escutcheons from the supply in the City.  It is disgraceful!  What must you be thinking of me, Lord Faramir?  That I should let the Tournament decline to such a state!  Caltrops thrown, aspersions made, esquires kidnapped – it is unthinkable in the auspices of war-games to have suffered so many delays; why we ought to have whittled down our list of knights to the last four winners by now, and here we have ten still upon the register!  I shall end this Tournament in disgrace, and retire me to my home upon the Sirith to live out the rest of my days in idleness, for none shall entrust to me aught else, as I have mismanaged this one great commission so badly.”

            “Do not be so distraught, Lord Belecthor!” comforted Eradan, patting the Ceremonies Master on the hand.  “Ethmor!  Bring your master some wine; he has need of it today.  What is this, then?  Some miscreants have purloined the arms of various knights?”

            “Aye,” sighed Belecthor, much distressed.  “Herion of Pelargir, and Ingbar of South Ithilien, and Turgon of Minas Tirith all had their supplies rifled and pilfered in the early hours of this very morning, and many arms and weapons were stolen.  Oh, what shall I do, Lord Eradan?  This Tournament!  It will surely slay me!”  And he covered his face in his hands.

            “Mean you these knights may not joust today, then?” asked Egalmoth.

            “Nay, I fortunately had sufficient means to rearm them,” sighed Belecthor.  “But it is a sore hurt to my pride to have to resort to that.”

            “At least you had foresight to lay in a stock of extra armaments!” comforted Eradan, taking a full goblet from Ethmor and pressing it upon the Ceremonies Master.  “Here, drink this, good Belecthor; all shall not go ill!  Despite the many disruptions the Tournament is still a triumph.  Just listen you to the cheers and cries in the stands!  These disturbances serve merely to increase the appeal and interest of the people in its conclusion.  Have no fear, good Belecthor; I am sure neither the King nor Prince Faramir shall censure you for those incidents beyond your control.”

            “How was it the patrols did not apprehend the thieves?” asked Egalmoth sharply.

            “Due to the disaster yesterday my patrols are all but depleted,” groaned Belecthor, taking a deep draught of wine.  “That Fenbarad should prove false!  Ai, I am ruined!”

            “Be not dismayed, good Belecthor,” came a gentle voice from the other side of the pavilion, and the men turned and saw the Queen and the Lady of Emyn Arnen with their attendants approaching.  The Queen had spoken, and coming forward laid a soft hand upon Belecthor’s head.  He took up her hand and kissed it.  “Not all shall go ill.  It is true, the Tournament has been fraught with uproar and riot, but that has served instead to inflame the onlookers to new interest.  It is the placid and commonplace that would be disastrous.”

            “And besides your prudence has been well-paid,” added Lady Éowyn, accepting Belecthor’s salute.  “For does not Herion, who is one of the targets of this robbery, joust today nonetheless?  I see him there by the leeches’ tents, full armed and prepared for his adversary by grace of your foresight.”

            “Ah, your Majesty, my Lady, you are ever kind and gentle with me,” sighed Belecthor, as the ladies sat.  “So much have you quieted my offended spirit that I feel the injury lessen.  Let us instead attend the joust then, gentles all, that we might solve the only clear puzzle, which is, which knight shall be the victor?”

            As the Lady of Emyn Arnen sat beside her husband Faramir slipped the letter from his doublet into her hand.  When she read it and smiled, passing it to the Queen, Faramir noticed Egalmoth staring hungrily at it, as though he greatly desired to read it himself.  And when it was returned to him it was with a note scrawled with charcoal upon the corner:  “Patrols not returned.”  He glanced at the Queen and frowned, and she shrugged and turned her eyes to the tilt, tucking the bit of charcoal back into her handkerchief and secreting it amongst the folds of her dress.

            Faramir was conscious of the two knights awaiting their turn at the tilt, Herion of Pelargir and Lasgalen of Dale, who stood together at the far end of the grounds; they were surrounded by a great phalanx of esquires, retainers, and fellow knights, among whom Cirien of Langstrand and Mardil of Ethring were numbered.  Herion seemed disconcerted by the crowd, but Faramir knew the friends of the Green Knight were taking no chances; indeed he could just descry the tiny figure of the perian, standing between Mardil and Gimli, well protected.  “It is too late; the damage has already been done,” he thought.  “What madman would try a second attempt in the face of these mighty men?  Yet I fear the next endeavor shall be all the more deadly for that.”

            Araval of Tarlang and Malbeth of Celos met at the tilt, Dun against Black, and though they were not as evenly matched Araval’s enthusiasm made up for his deficiencies on the lists, and it was fully eleven passes before he at last was flung from his horse where he landed with a great clatter upon the earth.  Over the roar of the crowd they could hear him laughing, and when Malbeth and Hador aided him to stand he clapped Malbeth upon the pauldron and left in quite high spirits.

            “He is not yet disqualified, is he?” asked Éowyn.

            “Nay, not yet, my lady,” said Belecthor, studying his lists.  “He has still to joust your champion before he is fully bested.”

            “Ah!  So you too have fallen under the spell of the Green Knight, have you?” asked Egalmoth with a sneer.  “Do you no more doubt his ability to win the Tournament?”

            “How can I not?” asked Belecthor equably.  “After the reports of his victory yesterday upon the bodies of his foes, who could stand against him?”

            “Not the knights of Gondor, certainly!” said Egalmoth angrily, and turned away.

            Now it was time for Herion and Lasgalen to meet upon the lists.  Their esquires and retainers took their places at the sides of the tilt, and the two knights rode to either end.  Herion was a great man, a fine soldier and worthy opponent; upon his blue surcoat was the white and gold ship of his heraldry, for he was of Pelargir and his family were much involved in seafaring.  His great gray horse had been a gift from one of the lords of Rohan, whom he had met and befriended upon the Pelennor, and it did not flinch from Hatchet’s loud boasting bellows, but stood proud and erect beneath his figured caparison, twitching its braided tail.  The herald approached the tilt, looking as always apprehensively at the Green Knight’s destrier, who rattled his shaffron and raked up troughs of earth with his huge hooves.  The blue scarf snapped and floated from the Green Knight’s polder-mitten, and the blue pennant answered its movements from the tip of the Blue Knight’s borrowed lance.  Just as the herald raised his pennant Faramir had a feeling of deep foreboding, though he could not place its source; he had a mind to then and there leap to his feet and arrest the joust before it could even begin, but dismissed it as a passing fancy.  “And what reason could I give for my discomfort?” he asked himself, as the pennant dropped and Hatchet bawled down the tilt.  “What is there for the Green Knight to fear, even of a Knight of Pelargir?”

            Herion was a fine jouster and quick to the mark; his coronel met the Green Knight’s escutcheon even as the dragon’s head upon the tip of Lasgalen’s lance struck him on the pauldron.  But instead of the snap and splinter of wood there was a flash of light as though a thunderbolt had fallen to the earth and struck the Green Knight, and then a boom resounded throughout the stands, causing all to fall silent, stunned.  A great wrack of splinters and smoke erupted, and there was the squeal of a wounded horse and the cry of a man in great pain, and ere Faramir could leap to his feet Lasgalen of Dale was thrown from his destrier’s back writhing in agony; Herion’s horse fell thrashing to the ground crushing his rider in his throes, and even the herald sprang back with a cry, clapping his hand to his shoulder and dropping to his knees.  There was a moment of shocked silence, then screams from women in the stands and the cries of men in their bewilderment, and a rush of movement from the sides of the quadrangle, converging upon the beleaguered knights and horses.

            There was a cacophony of orders being shouted; Belecthor was calling out to the leeches to come with all haste, which was hardly necessary, as they had begun running once the foul smoke had cleared; Éowyn was calling to the men in the grounds to pull Herion’s horse from him ere it crushed him further; Egalmoth was cursing freely and Eradan sat, eyes wide open and aghast, his glass of wine spilt over his own chest and Egalmoth’s beside.  Above the din came the bellow and scream of the Green Knight’s destrier, which stood with its four feet planted about Lasgalen’s lashing form, mouth wide and neck outstretched, menacing the very men who sought to rescue its master and threatening him with its shuffling hooves.  Then the Green Knight rolled in his agony away from the spot where he had fallen, and Faramir could see a great dark stain of blood upon the dust.

            Several of the ladies fainted at the sight, for as well as the Knight of Dale’s great wounds the body of the Knight of Pelargir was badly crushed and he lay still and lifeless where the horse had rolled off of him; now his destrier lay gasping, its chest heaving, blood spurting from a great gaping gash, from which protruded a shining spike.  Faramir turned to Éowyn only to find she was no longer beside him; she and Arwen had rushed down the stairs of the pavilion to the lists, and taking their skirts up in their hands ran up to the Green Knight’s horse.  Seeing her go he made to follow, only to be intercepted by Híldaf, behind whom was Éodild, white-faced and shaking.

            “Sorcery!” cried Híldaf to Faramir.  “Do you not smell it, my Lord?  Such was the odor of the magic fire that took down the Deeping Wall!  Ai, ai, it is sorcery!”

            “It is not sorcery!” said Faramir firmly, taking Híldaf by his shoulder.  “Here!  Take Éodild out of this; take her to her rooms!”  And thrusting him aside he ran down the steps onto the grounds.

            The Queen was singing softly to Hatchet, who had calmed at her voice, and so permitted Éowyn to take the shaffron-straps in her hand and lead him from over his master.  At that Bandobras and Gimli darted forward, their faces pale with fear, for Lasgalen had ceased moving and lay still, curled upon a long shard that protruded from his chest.  “Master, Master!” sobbed Bandobras, throwing himself into the bloody dirt and wringing his hands.  “What was it?  Who threw that at you?  Why did it pierce your armour?  Gimli, you told me nothing could pierce this armour!  What is it? What have you done?”  And he burst into hysterical sobs.

            “Hush, hush!” said Arwen, taking the Hobbit into her arms.  “Silence, Bandobras son of Reginard!  You shall do Lasgalen of Dale no good by taking on so.”  At that he quieted, and watched Faramir, Gimli, and one of the leeches roll the Green Knight onto his back.  There was a great groan from behind the frogmouth, and Faramir gave a sigh of relief.

            “So you are not dead!” he said, but looking down at the great splinter of wood that punctured the breastplate his heart went cold.  There was blood everywhere, running from the juncture of the plate and the cuirass and drenching the ground beneath him.  “Hurry!” he said to the leech.  “We must get him to the tent and remove his armour!”

            Cirien and Hador were at his side in an instant.  “Here is a travois,” said Cirien calmly, laying it beside the Green Knight.  “Lasgalen of Dale!  Hear me!  We are going to lift you; it will hurt you, I fear, but we must needs remove you to the leeches’ tents, whereby we may examine your wounds more fully.”

            The helm nodded once, and carefully the Dwarf and the two men eased the knight upon the travois.  They and Gilmir each took a corner and conveyed the Green Knight to the leeches’ tents.  Faramir rose to follow, but then his eyes fell upon Herion of Pelargir, and he cried aloud in dismay.  The Blue Knight’s esquires stood about weeping, and the leeches knelt beside him shaking their heads; they had removed his frogmouth, and the face within was white and still, with blue lips and open eyes that saw nothing.  There was another groan from the injured horse, and Éowyn rose from where she had been attending to it.  Her blue gown was spattered with much blood, and her face was grim.

            “There is no help for it,” she was telling one of the leeches.  “Already his life bleeds itself out upon the ground.  The lungs have been pierced and your craft will not save him.  It were best if one of you would end him quickly.”

            “Yes, my Lady,” said one of the healers, and turned to speak to his assistants.  Faramir went to her and took her bloodied hands in his own.  She looked up at him, fear in her face.

            “Lasgalen?” she whispered.

            “I know not,” he replied.  “Come with me and we shall see.”  So saying he led her by the hand in Arwen’s wake to the leeches’ tents.

25.

            When Faramir and his Lady entered the tent they were immediately aware of a great tumult stirring amongst the occupants.  The Dwarf stood before the pallet, fists upon his hips, glaring up at the healers, who stood about angrily expostulating with him.  Cirien and Hador were unbuckling the bloodied cuirass straps and Cirien was telling Gilmir firmly to leave, though the esquire was reluctant to do so, and argued with his lord on the case.  Arwen and Bandobras knelt by the Green Knight’s head, the Queen speaking softly in her own tongue, and Bandobras with his head buried in his outflung arms sobbed upon the pallet. 

            “Silence!” cried Faramir, and instantly the tent fell still, save for the labored breathing of the injured knight, and the weeping of the Halfling.  The leeches turned to him with their complaints, vexed and indignant, but the Lord of Emyn Arnen said gently to them:  “Nay!  The Dwarf is right in this, good healers; the face of the Green Knight still must needs be obscured, even from such sight as your own.  We shall attend to him, yet I assure you should his injuries prove too much for us we shall certainly bid you here.”  He looked to Gilmir and said, “You also, Gilmir esquire of Cirien!  All shall be revealed soon enough.  Go you with these leeches to the outdoors.”

            Grumbling the healers retired, taking the reluctant esquire with them, and at once Gimli turned his attention to his friend.  “Legolas, Legolas!” he groaned, pulling out the bevor pins from the aventail.  “What happened; why did my father’s armour fail to protect you?  What devilry was this that pierced even his metal?”

            “B – black powder,” gasped the Elf, and when Gimli made to remove the helm he cried aloud.  “Wait!  There – I have a – ai!”

            “I see it, Legolas,” said Arwen, and pointed out the other splinter to Gimli, where it protruded between the joint of the bevor and the face plate.  “You will have to bend the bevor back, Gimli.”

            “I have the straps, Lord Cirien,” said Hador, “but how shall we move aside the breastplate with that fiendish weapon still perforating it?”

            The tent flap opened, letting in the muted noise of the crowd, and Mardil and

Araval entered, their arms full of blacksmith’s tools.  “Herion is indeed dead,” said Mardil grimly, setting the tools upon the table.  Gimli at once took up a pair of nippers and set it to the largest of the shards.  “And his unfortunate horse is as well; they shrouded it from view and slit its throat, so relieving it of its suffering.”

            “So many steeds are the unwitting banes of their masters,” said Éowyn, shaking her head regretfully; “it was thus with King Théoden.  I am sorry for Herion of Pelargir; he need not have died at all.”

            “My – fault – “ groaned the knight upon the pallet, but Arwen answered him sharply in Elvish, and he fell silent.

            “This will hurt, my friend,” said Gimli, and with the nippers he sheared the protruding end from the shard.  Legolas gave a convulsive shudder and cried out, and Bandobras sobbed all the louder.  “Bandy!” shouted Gimli angrily.  “Stop!  You are not helping at all!  Get me the small tongs – Bandy, listen!”

            “Ah, now we may remove the breastplate,” said Cirien, and he and Hador pulled it off Legolas’ chest.  The arming doublet was completely soaked in blood, shining and fresh, and all could see where the cruel spike entered his body.

            “There, that is not so bad,” said Faramir, cutting the arming doublet with a pair of shears and peeling it aside.  “You see, it has gone in at an angle, no doubt deflected from the charnel, and it does not look as though it has pierced either heart or lungs.”  There was the screech of bending metal and Gimli removed the bevor.  “And see this; it is a large splinter yet but it has missed your eye, I perceive.  Ah, Prince of Mirkwood, your fortune is yet with you!”

            “Oh, oh, oh!” sobbed Bandobras into his arms.  “O Master, O Master!”

            “O cease this wailing!” grunted Gimli, easing the top of the frogmouth from around Legolas’ head.  “If you cannot be of assistance I shall tell you to leave the tent.”

            “No, no!” cried Bandobras.  “Don’t make me leave my Master!”

            “Then do something!” said Gimli.  “Make yourself useful at least.  Can you not bring in water, or help to remove his cuisses?”

            “We must needs remove these spikes from him first, to let the wounds bleed clean,” said Arwen.  “Have you brought pincers, my lords Mardil and Araval?”

            “I have some here,” said Araval, turning pale.

            “Good!” said the Queen.  “Now who shall do the deed?  If it is not done swiftly and with strength the agony will be too great for Legolas to bear.”

            The men stood about doubtfully, looking from one to another.  None, it seemed, desired to put to the test their strength against the Green Knight’s anguish.   “As it is it shall be painful enough,” said Cirien, shaking his head.  “I am not sure I trust myself in this; his cries would unman me.”

            “Well, as I am a Dwarf and cannot be unmanned I shall do it myself,” said Gimli angrily, snatching the pincers from Araval.  “Besides I do not trust anyone else to do it!  Now, Legolas,” he said, laying his hand upon his friend’s cheek and looking deep into the gray eyes shining with unshed tears.  The Elf panted roughly, blood oozing from his wounds afresh with each breath.  “I am going to inflict such pain upon you as I swore I would avenge from any other creature; yet you know I do this in love and concern for you.  Try not to move therefore, that I may not unintentionally injure you further.”

            “We ought to hold him down,” said Cirien, “so his thrashings will not impede the procedure.”  He gestured to his fellow knights and said, “My lord Mardil, you and Lord Araval take his legs, and hold them still, so he does not kick out with them; I shall take his arm upon this side, and my Lord Faramir, if you perhaps would take his other arm – “

            “No, no, O I cannot bear it!” sobbed Bandobras, and Legolas with great difficulty and with halting breaths turned to him.

            “O -- my Little One,” he gasped, “Will you – not help me, your – your Master?  I – I have need of you, my – my Bandobras!”

            “What can I do, what can I do?” cried the Hobbit.

            “Take – take you my h – hand, Little One,” the Elf panted, “so that when – when Gimli pulls out – the spikes the – the pain will not seem – not seem so – so great.”

            “Like this, Master?” sobbed Bandobras, taking Legolas’ long white hand in both his own, and clasping it against his chest.  Legolas gave a broken smile.

            “Y – yes, Little One!” he said.  “With – with you holding my – hand I shall not – shall not feel pain.  And – and look into my eyes – my Bandobras – so that the sight of you – may distract me – from these – these ministrations.”

            “Like this?” said Bandobras, turning to look into his Master’s face.  Tears still rolled down his rosy cheeks but he had stopped sobbing, and gazed anxiously instead at his Master.  Legolas turned his pale lips into a smile and said, “Y – yes, my – my Little One – just like that!”

            “Shall I hold your other hand, my friend?” murmured the Queen, slipping her hand into his.  Without taking his gaze from his esquire’s face Legolas gave an abrupt nod.

            Gimli looked round the tent.  The three knights held Legolas down firmly upon the pallet, the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen stood by with water and clean cloths, and Bandobras and the Queen held each one of the Elf’s hands.  “Are you ready, my friend?” he asked.

            “Yes, Gimli,” gasped Legolas.  “I – I beg you, friend – do it quickly!”

            “Very well!” said Gimli, and gritting his teeth he took the end of the spike in the pincers.  There was a moment of intense silence, when even the noise from the stadium seemed quelled, then with a violent abrupt motion Gimli wrenched upward.  There was an appalling sucking sound, and a soft pop, and a jagged splinter of wood fully five handbreadths long quivered at the tip of the pincers, dripping with blood.  Éowyn poured water over the wound, and Faramir pressed upon it with a great mound of bandages, which turned scarlet beneath his hands.  “There!” said Gimli, holding it aloft; “I think I shall keep this, Legolas, and turn it in to my father, so that he may work on ways by which this will not occur again.”

            “You did well, Prince Legolas,” said Mardil admiringly from the foot of the pallet; “you did not recoil, even with such a great wrench as that.”

            “It was because I held his hand and looked into his eyes, Lord Mardil,” said Bandobras earnestly.  “See, I did just as he told me and he didn’t feel any pain, isn’t that right, Master?”

            “Yes, my Bandobras,” smiled Legolas, though his face was whiter than before.  “You did well, Little One.  I hardly felt anything at all.”  But Cirien was looking down at the Queen’s hands, which the Elf in his anguish had clutched; there were livid spots upon them, perfect imprints of the Green Knight’s fingers.  “Now if you will divest me of this last large splinter, my good Gimli, I shall almost feel myself again.  That shard of wood pressed so upon my ribcage that I found it difficult to breathe, but now the obstruction is gone I am so much better.”

            “Shall I continue to hold your hand and look into your eyes, Master, so you don’t feel any pain?” asked Bandobras anxiously.

            “Yes, Little One; you have comported yourself capitally and I am indeed very grateful to you,” said Legolas.  “Be sure to look into my eyes now!  I do not want you looking away; then I may be distracted and feel something.”

            “I’ll concentrate hard as I can, Master,” promised Bandobras, though Gimli’s pincers were uncomfortably close to Legolas’ eye where the splinter protruded from his cheek.

            “There are many small splinters embedded in you also,” said Gimli.  “I will take care of them when I have got this next big bit out.”

            “Hurry, Gimli, before I look away!” begged Bandobras, and with a nod Gimli gave a quick jerk, and a long spike came away from the Elf’s cheek.  Éowyn once again washed it, and took a bandage from Faramir, pressing it to his face.  Legolas sighed.

            “Much, much better, my friends!” he said.  “Now, ere I lose too much more of my life’s blood upon this excellent pallet, who shall bind my skin back together again?  For if it is not drawn up I will grow ever weaker, and will be unable to joust on the morrow.”

            “Joust!” exclaimed Araval in surprise.  “What are you thinking, your highness?  You cannot joust after such an injury!”

            “But how shall we determine which of our esquires shall be the winner of their wager, lest we meet at the tilt?” asked Legolas.  “Surely you would not deny them that pleasure, Araval of Tarlang!”

            “Elves!” muttered Gimli, taking the splinters into his hands and looking at them.  Then his expression became keen, and he turned them over.  “Faramir!” he exclaimed.  “These are not merely wood.  Look!  That is lead or I am no son of Durin!”

            “Lead?” said Cirien.  “That has no business upon a tourney-lance.  Let me see!”

            Hador, Cirien, Mardil, and Araval all clustered about the Dwarf, examining in turn the long bloodied shard.  One side of it was smooth and sanded, but its reverse curved inward and sported a thick layer of bubbled lead, much pock-marked and scored.  “Very curious!” pronounced Araval, frowning.  “One might almost be tempted to say the lance itself had been hollowed, and this metal pressed upon the inside, though how that were affected I know not, nor may I guess.”

            “Can you not?” said Gimli with a grim smile.  “I believe I may, but I shall have to inspect quite carefully the rest of the lances this poor Herion bore.  And also we must determine whence they came, and perhaps discover who made them, and for what purpose.  Where is Beregond, Lord Faramir?  He and I ought to start our examinations immediately, lest some sly person carry them away and turn our search upon its head.”

            “You may go to seek him,” said Faramir, gesturing to the tent flap; “take Mardil with you, however, that you may not walk alone and unguarded.  It grieves me to say that my fiefdom is not safe for you now, but in light of recent events it were foolish to deny it.”

            “Lord Cirien, will you be so good as to accompany my esquire back to my tents?” asked Legolas from the pallet, as the Queen and Éowyn examined his wounds.  “I do not think I shall exit the leeches’ tents in my armour, and as I have little else to wear and no wish to either remain here indefinitely, or to quit it in my skin, I have need of clothing.”

            “Bring back a fine needle and thread as well, Bandobras of the Shire,” said Arwen as the Hobbit rose to go.  “Legolas is right; these wounds must be stitched together immediately, and the cat-gut thong is far too thick to use upon his face.  And while we await him, my friend, I shall take these small pliers here, and divest you of the numerous splinters embedded in your skin.”

            “Good-bye, Master!” said Bandobras, leaning down and kissing Legolas upon his unmarked cheek.  “I’ll be back quick as two shakes, honest I will, and I’ll bring your clothes and something to stitch you up with and – and – what else shall I bring you, Master?”

            “A bottle of wine would not go amiss,” said Legolas, with a shaky laugh.

            “Two or three bottles of wine, by your leave!” said Araval.

            “And goblets!” added Hador.  “It is difficult to drink wine without goblets.”

            “If you are quite finished,” said Arwen coldly, turning to the knight and his esquire, “I believe Bandobras has a commission appointed to him, and you are delaying him!”

            “Yes, your majesty!” said Bandobras, and giving his Master a hasty caress followed the smiling Cirien from the tent.

            “Has aught been done with my horse?” asked Legolas, as Queen Undómiel commenced her tasks.

            “Aye, Prince of Mirkwood, he is well enough,” smiled Éowyn.  “I commanded my kinsman Fréawine to see to him, and he, accompanied by both Híldaf and Éodild, have taken him to my own stables in Osgiliath, where they will see no further harm befalls him.”

            “He was wounded?” asked Legolas in surprise.

            “Yes, but only a little,” said Éowyn.  “Some diverse splinters of wood caught his legs, but were all, so far as Fréawine could tell, deflected from his body by the peytral and crinet, and harmed him no more than a stinging fly might harass him.  It was his wild concern for his master that excited him so, and caused those three no little trouble on their way back to Osgiliath, for he pulled and strained so upon the halter in his desire to be with you.  How is it, Prince of Mirkwood, that you cause even the beasts to love you?  I have met no one who has inspired such loyalty by the mere aspect of his face than you, nay, not even my friend the Evenstar here, who busies herself plucking splinters from your face as a middle-aged woman would pluck hairs.”
            “I do not know,” confessed Legolas; “it is all the more confounding that this unseemly trust and devotion confines itself to members of other races and not my own; many is the time I have been thwarted in my duties as regent through some subject or minor lord’s aversion to my commands.”

            “That is it then, your highness,” said Hador, stepping forward to pour water upon the stippled surface of the Elf’s face.  “You commanded; you did not simply stand and smile, as you do with us lesser beings.  How can we help but love you when you are kind and gentle and amusing?  But place you in the council-chamber against those whose will you oppose, or set you upon the battlefield over captains who disagree with your tactics, and I am sure you will find plenty of men to quarrel with.”

            “That is so,” agreed Legolas, smiling at him.  “So mark this thought well, O Lady of Emyn Arnen!  For soon will come the day when you and I are at loggerheads over some trifling thing, grazing rights or wells, perhaps; then I shall ask you to think back to when you asked me how I made all things love me, and you will know the answer.”

            “Or rather, I shall know the converse,” said Éowyn.  “But I do not think you could ever cause anyone to hate you.”

            “O yes!” said Legolas, looking at her with raised eyebrows.  “I have known hate.  Haven’t all who have fought the Dark Lord?  His minions hate all who oppose him.”

            “Well, perhaps,” conceded Éowyn, “but I still look forward with great pleasure to having you upon our right flank, for a strong ally is good, but a strong and amiable ally is best.”

            “And it seems to me, whoever this lord is who commands these dark deeds here, he hates you as well, Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen,” said Araval.  “Count up all the evil things he has done to you and yours!  He even hates you enough to slay innocent knights in his efforts to harm you.”

            “But I do not even know him,” protested Legolas; “how can he hate me, whom he has never known?”

            “I should rather say, he hates you for he has never known you,” smiled Hador.  “If he knew indeed who you were, if he sat with you and spoke to you, or shared a cup of wine with you; if he watched you as you are with Bandobras, if he saw you care for your horses – well then, your highness, I should guess he would never set you up as such a target of his plans, for though your father’s advance may retard his own advances, if he but met you face to face he would repent of these actions.  So I often feel myself, my lord, if I harbor discontent, or envy, or peevishness, and am confronted with the smiling and beneficent face of my own master:  How can such evil earthly things move me, when there are men such as he in the world?  It is a standard all esquires may strive to achieve.  So to my mind, he must be a man either greatly ignorant of the pain he is causing, or else he is completely wicked and cares only for his own gain, disdaining the worth of others.”

            “Either way, he is quite inconvenient,” said Legolas, as Arwen moved down to pluck the wood from his side.  “I had hoped to have a merry time here, jousting and fighting and afterwards feasting and meeting my new neighbors; instead I am maligned and libeled, my esquire kidnapped, an attempt made upon my very life!  I feel I ought to have rather taken my place at Faramir’s side and merely watched the Tournament, not sought to enter it.”

            “What difference would that have made?” asked Faramir.  “You would still have been discovered as the son of the one who was to refortify the Ethir Anduin.  You would still have been the target of malice and violence.  But then you would have been known as an Elf, and those weapons brought to bear against you would have been all the more powerful; as it is, your detractor thinks you a mere mortal knight, full of the fear of death and the lust for gold and accolades, and he gauges your strength and reaction against a mortal’s; it is in this he has been so far confounded.  It is your very character, Legolas, which perplexes him.”

            “Well I wish he would stop it,” said Legolas; “is it not bad enough, Faramir, that all the knights in the Tent City think I am stealing the hearts of the eligible maidens of Osgiliath and its surrounds; is it not enough my dear little Bandobras was assaulted and kidnapped and threatened; is it not enough poor Herion of Pelargir died beneath the death-throes of his horse on my account?  You have told me, dear Undómiel, to not blame myself; well and good, but how can I not, at least for Brytta, and Hallas, and Herion?  Would they not all be hale and whole had I never entered this Tournament?  Would not Hallas’ betrothed have remained faithful; would Brytta’s pride have not been pricked; would not Herion still breathe?  Had I stayed in the royal box and not ventured into the lists or the barriers those men would have remained untouched by the intrigue that surrounds me.”

            “Perhaps,” said Faramir.  “But then others no doubt would have become involved, and so been wounded or hurt because of it.  There is too much money, my dear prince, and too great stakes for our lion to become fastidious about whom he harms in his campaign.  Legolas, you have ever been in my eyes modest and unassuming; stay this arrogant assumption then!  It is not you the lion hunts; you are merely the obstacle in his path, and the others as well are but periphery impediments.”

            “Thank you, Faramir!” said Legolas with a sigh.  “It is well to know after all that I am too insignificant to be any more than a theoretical hurdle for a traitor to jump.”

            “I would not say that!” said Hador, who looked indignant for Legolas’ sake.

            “Well, I would,” said Legolas.  “Fear not for me, Hador!  When you have lived as long as I you will know that sometimes obscurity is the most effective tool in accomplishing one’s ends.”

            “That would be very difficult, for I doubt I shall live that long,” said Hador with a laugh.

            “And in that you have put your finger upon the most significant difference between Elves and Men,” said Arwen, not looking up from her work.  “We of the Eldar have lived long enough to see how inconsequential are our accomplishments in the span of time; Men have not that luxury, and so believe all their doings are of great importance and significance.”

            “But you are concentrating so hard upon pulling splinters out of someone’s chest,” said Araval.  “How is that significant?”

            “It relieves his pain,” said Arwen.  “That is one of the most noble tasks to be appointed anyone.”

            “Well, to be honest at the moment you are causing more pain than you are relieving,” laughed Legolas, flinching as she pulled a particularly large splinter out.  “But I know that in the long run I shall be grateful I shall not have to be sanded upon my right side.”  He turned to Faramir.  “Thank you, Lord of Emyn Arnen, for your truthful words!” he said.  “They are timely and wholesome, and have healed my inner hurts more than platitudes and flattery would have done.  You are right; this lion cares not for me, nor for my retainers, nor for any of the knights in the Tournament; he cares not for Aragorn, nor Undómiel, nor you and your lady.  He cares only for himself, and will see us dead in place of his plot’s ruination.  So I shall put aside this morose speculation and think instead upon what my next move shall be.”

            “And what shall it be?” asked Faramir smiling.
            “The joust with Lord Araval of Tarlang, of course!” laughed Legolas.  “I defeated the Red Knight yesterday, and after my joust with Herion I was to have been tried against the Dun Knight of Tarlang here.  What say you, my lord Araval?  Shall we joust on the morrow?”

            “If you wish it,” said Araval doubtfully; “however I do fear me your hurts shall impede your skill somewhat.”

            “Well, all the better for you then,” said Legolas.  “This Tournament has dragged on long enough.  There have been so many interruptions I am sure the Ceremonies Master must be beside himself.”

            “Perhaps he is,” said Faramir.  “But remember, that lance, the shards of which the Queen is removing from your body, was given Herion by Belecthor the Ceremonies Master.  To my mind that is very suspicious.”

            “Think you so?” said Legolas.  “It would be a bold move, and so far the lion has proved himself very subtle.  For myself I think the Ceremonies Master has been the pawn in this game, and had his foresight turned upon him.  Ever our enemy has used others to achieve his purposes – Hallas, Brytta, the unhappy Herion, even the traitorous Fenbarad.  It would not surprise me to learn Lord Belecthor knew nothing of this substitution.”

            “I hope not,” said Arwen, pulling out the last of the splinters and setting it with its brothers in a bowl.  “I like Belecthor, though he is exacting and high-strung; it would grieve me greatly to know him a traitor.”

            “Who would you rather, then?” asked Éowyn.  “Eradan?  Egalmoth?  Telemnar, who watches over Minas Tirith in King Elessar’s absence?”

            “Egalmoth, perhaps,” said Arwen thoughtfully.  “He has expressed on many occasions his dislike of foreign knights in general, and the Green Knight in particular.  It seems to me he resents the proof of power from sources other than Gondor.”

            “Did we not just determine I was merely his obstacle, not a man to be personally disliked?” asked Legolas.  “It seems to me he would be subtle indeed to allow his aversion to show publicly, for that would point the finger of suspicion upon him immediately, yet those with insight would think: ‘Nay, it could not be Egalmoth, for he would feign equanimity, in order to deflect mistrust from him.’  Well, as I know none of these men I cannot even guess with any accuracy.  But hark!  Is that not Gimli’s tread outside?  Aye, it is he, and our friend Beregond beside.”

            Sure enough Gimli and Beregond entered, each holding a lance in his hand, though when Gimli approached the pallet where Legolas lay they saw it had been dismantled: the coronel was unscrewed, the vamplate removed, and the tip of the lance was hollow.

            “Faugh!  What is that smell?” demanded Araval, recoiling.

            “Black powder,” said Legolas immediately.  “There is sulphur in it, the odor of which is rather unpleasant. I knew its scent the moment of impact.  Is that how it got into the lance, Gimli?  It is hollowed?”

            “Yes!” said Gimli, setting the pieces of the lance upon the table.  “Were this not so distressing a task I should be greatly interested in the construction of this weapon.  It is clumsy, though, risking hurt to the one who wields it as well as its victim.”  He thrust one thick finger into the hole of the lance.  “See you this?  Not only has the tip of the lance been hollowed, some six handbreadths or so, but lead was poured into it as well, lining it so that it would be heavy enough to fool any knight, and preventing the smell of the powder from seeping through the wood.  Then the coronel!  Do you see this little spring?  It is stiff, and it will take more than the strength of a man to press it.  But a great impact will cause it to depress, and then this piece here – “ Gimli held up a small piece of flint “ – also attached to a spring, will come into contact with it – “

            “Causing a spark, which ignites the black powder,” finished Legolas.  “Ingenious!”

            “Appalling!” said Faramir.  “Then the lance tip would explode, the shards of wood and lead fly like so many arrows in all directions, piercing all in its surrounds.”

            “Including Lord Herion,” said Beregond.  “I took the liberty of examining his body, my Lord Faramir, and had his horse not crushed him he would have soon died anyway.  There was a great chunk of lead embedded in his stomach.”

            “And the herald, Ethmor, has just had a big sliver taken from his shoulder,” said Gimli.  “Another few inches and it would have pierced his heart.  This was a close thing for you, Legolas my friend.”

            “But I do not understand,” said Hador, frowning and turning the pieces over in his hands.  “How does sulphur cause wood to fly apart in this fashion?”

            “It is not only sulphur; that is but the smaller part of it,” said Legolas.  “Black powder is mostly saltpeter and charcoal, and if the slightest spark or flame touches it, it causes a great bang, and if you are not careful you lose your hand, or worse.  We do not use it much, for it is volatile and dangerous, but the orcs loved it, caring not how many of them were destroyed in its implementation, provided their enemies were killed.”

            “Machinations of evil!” said Araval, but Faramir shook his head and said, “Nay!  Charcoal, sulphur and saltpeter are in themselves not evil; the evil lies in their use.”

            “Were it possible to ignite it from a distance, at no risk to the user, it would be efficacious in mining,” said Gimli thoughtfully, fingering the flint.  “A string, perhaps, that would burn slowly . . .”

            “At any rate, my lord, we have appropriated all the other lances that were given to Herion, Ingbar and Turgon,” said Beregond.  “I have set my men to carefully inspect them, to see if they are likewise tampered with.  I would not have a repetition of this joust for all the money in Harad.”

            Mardil came in at that point, and behind him were Aldamir, Cirien and Bandobras.  “Here we are at last, Master!” said the Hobbit cheerfully.  “And we picked up Aldamir on the way too.  He brought the goblets.  Put the wine down there, Lord Mardil, and Lord Aldamir, would you set the goblets on that table over there?  Has anyone got a corkscrew?  O, thank you, Hador!  Would you mind opening the bottles, please?  It’s that nice light red, Master, that we bought from that merchant in the village, the stuff you like so well.  I’ve put that leg of lamb on to roast.  We may as well eat it tonight, for if we don’t it won’t be fit for anyone’s consumption.  And I managed to find Hyardil, Master, and we have peas and mushrooms to eat.  I wanted to get some fresh bread, but I – “

            “Have you remembered the needle and thread?” interrupted Undómiel firmly.

            “O!  Yes, here it is!” said Bandobras, digging it out of his pocket.  “And I brought some clothes too, Master, and your hood and cloak so no one will see you.  Erm – “  He watched as Arwen sat beside Legolas and began to thread the needle with the fine silk filament.  “Do you, er, want me to do that, your majesty?”

            “That will be unnecessary, Master Bandobras,” smiled the Queen.  “I am a good seamstress, and you need have no qualms about my damaging him any further.  Éowyn, would you please pull down those cloths, and hold the candle aloft here, that I may better see what I am doing?”

            So while Hador opened the wine and poured it out for the knights in the crowded little tent, Queen Undómiel used her skills in needlework to close up the wounds of the Green Knight, who did not even flinch under her ministrations, the reason being, Bandobras announced, that he had held his Master’s hand throughout, and looked him in the eye, so he would feel no pain.  After his body had been wrapped in strappings, Bandobras and Gimli helped him dress while the Queen and the Lady of Emyn Arnen went with Hador in search of his horse.  Mardil and Araval propped him up with cushions and gave him a goblet of wine, and they sat discussing the incidents amongst themselves.  Faramir, it appeared, had changed his mind about waiting.

            “One day gone, no word from the King’s patrols, and victory on the Ethir Anduin,” he said.  “I am done with hesitating.  I care not whether Belecthor finishes his Tournament or not; tomorrow we muster and the day after we ride to Aldamir’s lands, to see what these men are about.  And when they are in our custody we will go to Minas Tirith, and try to flush out any spies or turncoats there.  Denuded of his tools the lion will have his teeth pulled, and we may pursue him with less fear of harm.”

            After a time there was the noise of hooves outside, and they could all hear Hatchet’s armour rattling and jingling as he moved.  The Queen entered and they all rose, save Legolas, who when he attempted to was pushed back down by Gimli.  “Here is your destrier, Lasgalen of Dale!” she said with a smile.  “He was most anxious to accompany us, as he knew you had great need of him.  Conceal yourself therefore, and get you hence; the leeches are anxious to have their tent back.”

            With Hador and Mardil’s aid Legolas rose slowly to his feet, though he had to stand still a moment while the room whirled about him, and he turned so white Faramir feared he would swoon.  But he shook himself instead and made his way haltingly to the door of the tent.  Arwen pulled up his hood and held the tent flap aside for him, and he stepped out.

            A great crowd of people ringed the tent, all watching for him anxiously, and when he appeared they all gave a great shout, crying his name and praising his strength.  Hatchet stood still while the Green Knight mounted, slow and painful though his progress was, and when he sat up in the saddle Gimli handed Bandobras up to him.  Beside the destrier were a light cavalry horse and a white palfrey, Éowyn’s Windfola and the Queen’s own steed, Tyelka.  The two ladies rode with him through the cheering crowd, accompanied by Araval upon his own destrier and Hador with his hackney, and left the Tournament grounds for the Tent City.

            The way was lined with folk, waving green and blue pennants and casting flowers and cattails upon the hard dirt track, which Hatchet trod insouciantly upon in his great gleaming shoes.  Legolas was glad of their accolades, for he had harbored a secret thought the whim of the crowd would be turned against him, thinking him responsible for Herion of Pelargir’s death; however it appeared he was in public opinion exonerated, and he felt relieved by their veneration.  So he nodded politely to them, and even accepted a posy from a young girl who sat perched upon a tree-branch, holding it out to him. 

            The crowd thinned when they entered the Tent City, but within the knights and esquires, the lackeys and servants, the blacksmiths and cooks all thronged about his destrier, shaking his hand and giving him their good wishes, which Legolas returned with sincere thanks, though the hand-shaking caused him a little discomfort.  Finally they gained his quarters, which were guarded by several of Beregond’s men, and Legolas felt he had never seen such a welcome sight as the great ostentatious tent, lit from within and glowing a soft green in the mellow twilight; several speckled wood-thrushes were perched upon its crossbars, and sickle-winged swallows darted to and fro about the pennants, hunting the moths drawn to its lights.  He could smell the fresh, pungent smoke of thyme-wood being burnt in the inner stove, and the savory rich scent of the roasting lamb.  The sky was opalescent, green and blue and flecked with vermillion clouds, and the great forest to the north was black against the horizon.  With a sigh of contentment Legolas allowed Araval and Hador to assist him from Hatchet’s back, and leaning upon Gimli’s shoulder he went inside.

            Bandobras went immediately to his kitchen, and Gimli to the stables; the Dwarf told him, “Sit you down upon one of those couches there, my good friend; but let us attend to these small duties first and we shall wait upon you forthwith.”  Legolas invited the others to stay, but they declined.  “Hador has been in a fever of apprehension concerning his stew,” smiled Araval; “it has been simmering all day and he fears this delay has caused it to burn.  Yet if it be wholesome and I not eat it in a timely fashion, he shall be all the more vexed with me.”

            “We are both slaves to our esquires’ stomachs, are we not?” laughed Legolas, and embracing Araval watched the good knight and his esquire go out.  The Queen and Lady Éowyn declined as well. 

            “Ardún was loath to allow me to leave him,” explained the Lady of Emyn Arnen with a laugh.  “He feels the excitement has been too much for his lady in her delicate condition, and has commanded me to return directly to my couch, where he will feed me, no doubt, upon plain beef broth and white bread.  I envy you your gigot of lamb, Prince of Mirkwood!”

            “And I shall escort her and commiserate with her,” smiled Queen Undómiel.  “Besides I am awaiting news of the King’s patrols, and should they appear I would not want them to have to seek me out.  Rest, my friend!  Perhaps tomorrow you shall ride with less pain.”

            “I hope so,” said Legolas.  “Else Bandobras will lose his bet with Hador.”  And kissing the two ladies he let them out.

            Soon both Bandobras and Gimli came back in, and Bandobras with many grunts and gasps moved a couch to sit before the bandy-legged woodstove in the center of the tent.  “So you can sit here and keep warm, Master,” he said, throwing cedar logs into it.  “There!  Doesn’t that smell nice?”

            They took their plates and cups and set them upon the floor, and ate by the stove.  The lamb was done to a turn, the peas swam in rich buttery cream, the bread was studded with savory olives and soaked in gravy, and the mushrooms, lightly fried with bacon, were beyond even Gimli’s reproach.  And with all Bandobras insisted his master drink plenty of wine, “For the pain, you know,” he said, though he was careful to drink none himself.  “I’ve had enough of that stuff to last me a lifetime!” he said with a shudder.  At last they could eat no more, and Legolas with a contented sigh leant back upon the cushions.  Bandobras gave a great yawn.

            “O but I am sleepy!” he said, rubbing his eyes.  “What a week this has been!  I feel as though I’ve aged about ten years.  Well, I suppose I’d better do the washing up.”

            “Never mind that, Bandy,” said Gimli kindly; “I think you are still recovering from your ordeal yesterday.  Just you sit here with Legolas, and I shall take care of it for you.”

            “Why, thank you, Gimli!” said Bandobras.  “How nice of you!  I am so glad to know now that Dwarves can be as nice as Hobbits.  I wondered there for a while, when I was with Dwóri and Gáin and those others.  But you have certainly proved me wrong, and I’m ever so grateful to you, Gimli.”  So saying he threw himself at the Dwarf, putting his arms about Gimli’s neck and kissing his hairy cheek.

            “There now, there now!” said Gimli gruffly, blushing a rosy red.  “That is quite enough of that, Bandy.  There’s no need to get so maudlin.  Sit back down and take care of your Master.  And you, Legolas – “ he shook his knobby finger at the Elf, who was chuckling.  “Just you sit right there and do not think of moving until I return.  If you persist in wanting to joust against Araval tomorrow you must keep up your strength.”

            “Of course, dear Dwarf!” said Legolas, smiling.  Grumbling to himself Gimli gathered up the plates and cups and stalked out to the kitchen.  Bandobras and his Master sat quietly for a moment, the Hobbit playing absently with Legolas’ hair and the Elf with an abstracted gaze looking into the fire.  Then Bandobras said:

            “Master, do you remember when you first brought me to your mother’s rooms, and I was afraid to sleep?”

            “Yes, Little One,” said Legolas, smiling at him and stroking his curly hair.

            “You told me a story then, to help me get to sleep,” said Bandy, snuggling up against Legolas’ chest.  “Would you like me to tell you a story tonight?  I’ve got a good one, all about trolls and goblins and a great warrior who rescues a beautiful princess.”

            “That would be enjoyable, my dear Bandobras!” said Legolas.  “I would take great pleasure in hearing your tale.”

            “O good!” said Bandobras.  “Let us sit back a little then, and when we are comfortable I’ll start.”

            When Gimli had finished washing and putting away the cutlery, he went back into the tent, intending to tell Bandobras to stop chattering and go to bed so his Master could get some sleep, but as it turned out that was unnecessary.  He stood by the stove in surprise looking down upon the two of them.  Legolas had stretched his full form out upon the divan, though his feet dangled off the edge, and Bandobras was tucked snugly in his arms, looking for all the world like a doll clutched by a child in slumber.  They were both deeply asleep, and Bandobras had his thumb in his mouth.  Gimli shook his head, smiling the tender smile he would never let the Hobbit see; he took a rug from one of the other couches and spread it over them.

            “They’ll wake up soon enough,” he thought, tiptoeing to the corner and sitting down.  “I’ll just wait here until they do, and help them both get into bed.” 

            Within five minutes he, too, was fast asleep.

            Gimli was startled out of a deep sleep by the feeling that the very earth shook and shuddered beneath him; as his eyes flew open he heard a clear, merry voice crying, “Awake!  Awake!  Awake!  Awake, you slug-a-beds; dawn approaches and a bright new day is heralded!  Awake!”

            Gimli looked about him.  The tent was still dark, though he could see peeping through the stove-grate the orange glow of the embers; a slim figure in white whirled about the room, clapping its hands and leaping betimes upon the couches.  Gimli sat up and groaned; his neck was stiff from sleeping upright all night, and he was very cold.  Then Legolas bounded before him again, laughing and calling out, “Awake, dull Dwarf!  We have much to do this day, many good deeds to accomplish and numerous tasks to perform.  What; will you spend the morning in idleness?  I think not!  Awake!”

            “I am awake, cease this yammering!” grumbled Gimli, rubbing his neck.  “How is it you are so full of vigor, when but yestereve you lay and groaned upon a couch?  Do you not desire more slumber?  For I know I do.”

            Bandobras sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning.  “O I feel so thick and stupid!” he said sleepily, looking about him and plucking at his clothes.  “Did we sleep all night on the couches, Master? That’s a funny thing, isn’t it?”

            “Very amusing, very delicious indeed!” laughed Legolas, swooping down upon his esquire and catching him up in his arms, whisking him about in a circle.  “Awake, my dear Little One; great things await us today!  Can you not feel them; can you not smell them upon the morning breeze?  South comes the north wind with a cry, dancing about the tree-tops, shaking the dew to the ground!  Bright shines Nierninwa in the velvet sky, blessing the autumn crops, beneath whose light all joy shall be found!  Do you smell it, do you sense it?  Great delight visits me today and I am filled with bliss!”

            “You sound more as though you were filled with too much wine,” growled Gimli.

            “Put me down, Master!” giggled Bandobras, “you are making me so dizzy!  What has gotten into you this morning?”

            “Down, down, down the Anduin they must come!  Up, up, up the River we must watch!” laughed Legolas, springing about the room, his fair face filled with joy.  “Wait upon them, beloveds both!  Come, come quickly!  We must wash, we must eat, we must dress; there is no time to lose!  Alkarinque and Elemmiire smile down, Menelmakar himself heralds them!”

            “You have gone mad,” yawned Gimli, scratching his head.  “You may prance about the room all you like; I am going back to bed.”

            “No, no, Gimli, so long as we are awake we might as well stay up,” said Bandobras cheerfully, stretching his arms out wide.  “And anyway we couldn’t sleep with all the racket he’s making.  Well, I want a wash and a cup of tea, then I shall get us some breakfast.  What would you like this morning, Master?  Shall I make some quickbread?”

            “My dearest, most adorable Hobbit,” said Legolas, falling to his knees beside his esquire and embracing him.  “Your quickbread rivals the white loaves of Yavanna herself; what is there for me in Valinor when I have you to cook for me?  May we have sausage too?  I am very hungry.”

            “Yes, you may have sausage provided you get yourself into the bath.  Goodness me, you still have blood streaked in your hair!  And look at your cheek – why, if it weren’t for the bits of thread Queen Arwen put in there I’d swear nothing was wrong with it.”  He touched Legolas’ cheek with one finger, then fixed his Master with a suspicious look.  “You haven’t gone and performed that Elven magic again, have you, Master?  Is that why you’ve healed up so fast?  And I wanted to see it too!  Did I miss it again?”

            “You missed nothing, nothing!” laughed Legolas, springing up again and dancing around the room.  “Soronuumë, Telumendil, Alkarinque!  I shall have sausage and cheese and quickbread and cherry preserves and butter, and Gimli shall have naught but the crumbs in his beard, for the sluggard dawdles and seeks his bed.”  With that he took the reluctant Dwarf by the hand and began to dance with him, though Gimli sputtered and complained and wrenched his hand away.  Undaunted the Elf danced about the room, full of grace and verve and outlandish splendor, until Bandobras laughed and even Gimli smiled; then halting before them Legolas said, “Now, Bandobras my dear, shall I take me to my bath and wash out the detritus of my adventures yesterday.  I shall draw up the water and heat it myself, that you will not be impeded in the creation of your quickbread.  And mind you do not burn it!”  With that he snatched up his cloak and hood, and flitted out the tent into the dark predawn.  Gimli shook his head.

            “Thank goodness Beregond’s guards are about, to watch out for him in this fey mood!  It is long indeed since such a fit took him,” he said. “Mind you, Bandy, do not bother your little head about it!  Elves are strange folk and we mortals may never know what whims take them.”

            “O, didn’t you guess, Gimli?” asked Bandobras in surprise.  “I thought you guessed his riddles.  His father will come today.”  And so saying he went out to the kitchen, leaving the Dwarf to stare after him in amazement.

            Faramir awoke to hear Ardún in the chamber beneath them, stirring up the last night’s coals; the sound drifted up through the chimney to their own inglenook, and bright orange ashes drifted erratically up past the blackened back of the fireplace, like shooting stars in the night sky.  In the dusky heap of old wood there glowed still the embers of the fire upon the grate, but the room was cold.  Shivering Faramir got out of bed, careful to not disturb his wife, and he dressed hurriedly in the dark, then slipped out the chamber and down the narrow stair.  He could smell bacon and bread, and realized he was very hungry.

            “Good morning, Ardún!” he said to his servant, who was stirring a pot upon the cremiére.  “What is it like outdoors today?  I dared not open our shutters, for my lady still sleeps.”

            “Good morning, my Lord,” said Ardún, looking up at him.  “It is fair and breezy, my Lord, with a freshening wind from the north, and clouds high and thin in the sky.  There are still a few stars about, if you wish to take a look at them; the gruel will not be done for some time yet, and I have not even found where the poult has roosted these past few nights, to gather her and her companions’ eggs.”

            “There is no need to hasten on my account,” said Faramir.  “I shall take a turn about the courtyard and mark the aspect of the morning.”  With that he unlatched the great oak door and pushed it open.  It was heavy and twisted in age, and the old wooden hinges creaked and groaned.  He left it ajar and stepped out onto the damp pavers.

            Ephel Duath, the grim harbinger of the dawn, was rimmed about with pale gold.  The air was clean and heavy with dew, and though not quite cold enough to crackle the water into crystal shards had sufficient nip to make his fingers ache.  The morning glories were twisted up tight, awaiting the sun, and the poplar tree in the middle of the courtyard glimmered and rustled faintly, scraping its leaves together mournfully.  Already it had dropped a few in its broken stone circle and they lay, crisp and dew-dappled and scored with gold. The breeze was full of the heady scents of smoke and cool water, and it wandered about the cold stone yard, stirring Faramir’s cloak to whirling about his legs, and ruffling the feathers of a few mourning doves in the clefts of the walls, who flicked their heads at him and shifted nervously as he approached.  Through the archway he heard the night-guard give a little cough, and Faramir ducked out to speak to him.

            “Good morning, Telemdil!” he said.  “Have you passed a quiet night?”

            “Yes, my Lord; good morning, my Lord,” said the guard.  “I heard naught but nightly noises, and saw naught but darkness and stars; very uneventful, my Lord.”

            “Good!” said the Lord of Emyn Arnen.  “That is nice for a change.”

            “It is indeed, my Lord.”

            Faramir walked by him, the heels of his boots ringing upon the ancient stone, and spent some moments wandering about the deserted streets of the old capital.  He had great plans for this city, to rebuild its walls and houses, to replant the trees and gardens ravished by the Enemy, to regain its old splendor and majesty, but for that he would need not only money, but people willing to live therein.  He had hoped the Grand Tournament would encourage his scattered folk to regard it as a fitting retreat, but so far none seemed willing to move their families into the deserted quarters.  “It will take time,” he reminded himself, running his fingers along a low wall, which once had sported rich carvings in the stone banister but was cracked and broken and speckled with lichen.  “First they need places to live and fields to till; it will be many years before they completely abandon the security of the Pelennor.”

            The ring of shod hooves on the stone road before him gave him pause; he listened but heard the sound of only one horse, walking placidly along.    Wondering who would wish to wander around Osgiliath in its ghostly dawn, when the pale stone columns stood shrouded in mist and the broken cobblestones veiled with smoke, he drew himself back into a small alcove and watched.

            A white horse, caparisoned in bright blue, walked carefully toward him, picking its fastidious way among the cracked pavers; upon its back holding its tasseled reins was the Queen of Gondor.  She was clad in a silver gown, richly beaded and embroidered, with a silver collar studded with aquamarines and a sparkling net over her dark hair; cast about her shoulders was a thick heavy cloak of rich blue velvet lined with white fur.  Her gray eyes were filled with serenity and grace, and upon her sweet mouth was a smile of greeting.

            “Hail and well met, Prince of Emyn Arnen!” she called, her voice clear and ringing.  “So you too come to greet the dawn, and bid good-night to the stars.”

            “The brightest star has descended to me herself,” said Faramir bowing, “for Undómiel graces my ruin with her presence.”

            “Such poetic sentiments so early in the morn?” she asked, laughing.  “You must not yet have broken fast.  Is Éowyn still abed?”

            “She is, my Queen,” said Faramir.  “It is early yet, and Ardún has not brought up her morning meal.”

            Arwen guided her horse to Faramir’s side and dismounted.  “Well then, I shall sit by your inglenook and await her descent, if you are not averse to my company.”

            “I am never averse to my Queen’s company,” said Faramir, “for she is ever very good company indeed.”

            “How you flatter me this morning!” she cried, and taking Tyelka’s bridle in one hand she and Faramir walked back to the courtyard.  “I hope that Ardún has boiled water for tea; my ride even from my tent was cold.  I fear me summer has left these lands, running before autumn as a hare before a hound.”

            They left her palfrey in the care of Telemdil by the archway, and Faramir followed her to the door.  “Here is Queen Undómiel, Ardún!” he called past the lintel.  “She is in desperate need of a cup of your tea, for the morning is brisk and she has left her tents forswearing her gauntlets.”

            “Very well, my Lord; good morning, your majesty.  Please, I beg you, sit you down upon this chair; it is very comfortable, and the cushions are soft.  Put your slippers upon the hearth to dry them.  It is quite damp this morning, your majesty.”

            “Thank you, good Ardún!” said the Queen, taking a steaming cup from him.  “Ah, just to wrap my hands round the warm porcelain is soothing.  Well then, my Lord Faramir, my good and honest Ardún, in what manner will we jest and amuse ourselves this morning?  I shall begin with a riddle, if I may.”

            “As you wish,” said Faramir, smiling.

            “Good!  Listen well:  Who is wise as he is bold; bold as he is cunning; cunning as he is merry; merry as he is rich, rich as he is old, old as he is arriving?”

            Ardún frowned, thinking, and Faramir said, “Well, my Queen, had you not said both ‘old’ and ‘merry’ I should have guessed King Elessar – unless he is one way with you and another with me, as is sometimes the case with married men.”

            Arwen laughed again.  “Nay, it is not my husband!” she said.  “To me he is not old but young, young as a babe.  Neither is he merry but stern and forbidding at times, as well you know.  So more the pity; he ought to be merry, for today is the day his war-chests shall be filled.  There!  So blithe am I this morn I have given you a hint.  Can you guess my riddle now?”

            “I believe I may put a name to this mysterious person,” said Faramir.  “It is Thranduil Oropherion, the Elven King from Mirkwood, is it not?”

            “Is it?” asked Ardún anxiously.  “Is it indeed, your majesty, he who will arrive this very day?  That would be ill news indeed, for we have nothing prepared, and our own king is truant.”

            “Well, that is earlier than I would have thought,” said Faramir, his face clouding, “and comes at a most inconvenient juncture.  What shall we do with him then, in Elessar’s absence?  How does one entertain an Elven King?”

            “In just the same way one entertains an Elven Prince, of course,” said the Queen.  “Legolas is not so different from his father, though he has perhaps less knowledge and wariness than Thranduil, and being younger and merrier is more inclined to song than to his cups.”

“Legend tells us of the Elven King of the Northern Realm,” said Ardún, wringing his hands fretfully.  “They say he is proud and capricious and stern and given to avarice.  What shall we do with such a lord, your majesty?  What have we here to offer him that he will not regard with contempt?  For it is said the walls of his dwelling are gilded and hung with tapestries woven from gold and silver threads, and that rare jewels hang from the lights in his halls, and the caverns beneath his palace are full of gems and bars of precious metals.  We live in a ruin, O Queen, and lest Lord Faramir take him to the White Tower I am certain he will find no comforts here.”

“Nay, good Ardún!” chided Arwen.  “The Elven King is proud, it is true; but it is the pride of a rich and powerful monarch holding firm sway over a land long locked in deadly conflict.  And as to those other attributes you lay upon him, they are but the ignorant bleatings of ill-mannered and ill-schooled men who knew nothing of this prince of Doriath, he who has fought and suffered and gained glory over the ages.   If he is stern, he has every right and privilege, since Dol Guldur itself threatened his realm; if he is given to avarice, it is merely as a buffer for his people against want; lastly addressing the charge of his caprices, may not a king do as he will in his own palace?  And as to where your Lord shall put him, why should this ancient warrior be affronted by ruin or privation?  All who would know his true history realize he has suffered worse hardship than this.  The plight of our people moves him to pity, not scorn.  It is for that very reason he comes, to be a comfort and support to us and to our folk.  Besides, these Elves who accompany him in his train come not to visit only but to stay; these are Prince Legolas’ own people, who will with him build an Elven land deep in the forests of Ithilien, for that is the will of your own Prince.  So they will not ask of us food or shelter.  They have brought it with them, that they will not be a burden upon a land already in straited means.”

            “O, well then!” said Ardún, looking very relieved.  “He does not sound so bad as I had feared.  Perhaps those lessons and tales I learned as a boy were prejudiced anyway, for now I know you, O Queen, I have found you quite unlike the Elves I read about, and his highness Prince Legolas the most delightful of fellows.  Shall they stay in Osgiliath, then?  There is plenty of room, and it would be agreeable to have these happy folk around us.”

            “A capital suggestion!” cried Faramir, “though perhaps the woods to the east would me more to their liking.  I shall ask the Elven King when I meet him.  Do you know, O Undómiel, the hour of his coming?  Or has your foresight told you only the day?”

            “The birds of the air and the trees of the fields, yea, even the rocks in the earth herald his advent, but they do not tell time,” said the Queen.  “You might ask Legolas before the joust; he would be more accurate in his suppositions than I.”

            “I shall, then,” said Faramir, “and I thank you, my Queen, for your timely warning.  I shall set Eradan and Egalmoth to arranging his reception this morning – it will give them else to do beside quarrel and distrust each other.”

            Faramir sent mounted scouts up the Anduin when he arrived at the Tournament grounds.  Knowing a foreign monarch, no matter how jovial and gracious he might be, will descend upon your games at any moment gives even the most composed of men a moment’s qualm, and as he was Steward of Gondor and the King’s representative in his absence, Faramir wanted very much to make a good impression.  The scouts were charged with the task of reporting the appearance of the Elven King’s barges, so the lords Eradan and Egalmoth would have a better idea when to expect him.  Those two men were unhappy with the news the Lord of Emyn Arnen gave them that morning; both looked at him with similar expressions of dismay on their very dissimilar faces.  “The Elvish king of the haunted northern wood, my Lord?” asked Eradan, his fat face creased with worry-lines.  “Here?  In Gondor?  For what reason, what possible purpose would he have to descend upon us in this fashion?”

            “If he is here to join in the Tournament he is sadly overdue,” said Egalmoth pursing his lips together disapprovingly.  “To come downriver at summer’s tail end, bringing with him a great host to be housed and fed and entertained!  It is very discourteous of him, I deem, for now the king must play host to this capricious monarch all through the long winter.”

            “Well, perhaps not,” said Eradan, as one who makes a great concession.  “After all I hear it is very cold in those northern reaches, with much snow and winter storm; perhaps it is nothing to them to travel under such conditions, and they will leave before winter fully rears her hoary head in our sunny lands.”

            “I said not to find them houses and horses; I said to arrange a reception for them,” said Faramir irritably.  “I have been assured that they shall find their own food and shelter.  It matters not, my lords, for what purpose Thranduil of Mirkwood has condescended to meet with us; what matters most greatly to me is that we treat him with the honor due an ancient and mighty monarch, and so do our king justice through hospitality.  Keep your speculations for another time!  For now it is of prime importance to compose fitting greetings, and erect a pavilion upon one of the greater docks of Osgiliath, for his company to disembark.  We shall need ceremonial guards, and trumpeters to herald his approach, and of course criers to announce his coming to the people, so that when the games are disrupted they shall know the reasons thereof.  And we must needs hold a light feast tonight to mark this occasion, for it is rare we mortals of the south are given such a treat, to have a great Elven lord come in friendship to us.”

            “What, pray, does one serve an Elven lord at a feast?” asked Eradan curiously.  “What foods, what wines do they consume?  Shall we have roasts, or ragouts, or mere fruits and cream?  What to Wood-Elves eat?”

            “A pity King Elessar’s friend Legolas is no longer among us,” said Egalmoth, smiling unpleasantly at Faramir from the corner of his mouth.  “Surely he might have assisted us!  For I have heard the Silvan Elves are a secretive and fickle folk, much given to their whims and notions.  He would have known all about that, no doubt!”

            “A pity indeed,” said Faramir, feeling very uncomfortable.  “But as he is not you shall have to do as well as you can.  Get up such a feed as you would have for any visiting dignitary; he has had uncounted centuries to practice courtly courtesies, so I am certain he will not turn his nose up at any of it.”

            “Come, my Lord Egalmoth!” said Eradan, laughing in his jolly fashion and rubbing his fat beringed hands together.  “This shall be a challenge for us.   Will you take the speeches or the fare?  For myself I would rather take charge of the food, for you all know how I love my repast, but as you are not very chivalrous perhaps I should write the speeches instead.  What shall I say to him, Lord Faramir?  For what purpose has the Elven King descended upon us?  Will you at least throw me such a paltry bone as that?”

            “I cannot say,” said Faramir, feeling as though he were being deceitful with them but unable to tell them the full truth, for that would have betrayed the Green Knight’s true name.  “Who knows what whims take the fair folk?  Simply be polite and gracious and trust that he shall reciprocate in kind.”

            “It is a strange whim indeed that brings a king from his land in late summer, taking with him five hundreds of his own people,” muttered Egalmoth discontentedly.  “You are sure, my Lord, you cannot tell us the purpose behind this visit?  It would aid us considerably in our doings to know this thing.”  And he looked at Faramir keenly, but the Lord of Emyn Arnen turned his gaze away and said:

            “I tell you, Egalmoth, I cannot say.  Will you defy me at this late date?  Ever you have been my true councilor and ally, finding fidelity and insight in like measure; can you not trust me in this one thing?  And if not for me, at least welcome this monarch with all the dignity our King Elessar could muster; think on the glory of Gondor at least, and strive to make it to the Elven King a thing to admire and not vilify.”

            That had its intended effect of stinging Egalmoth’s pride, and he and Eradan hurried off to see to the preparations.  Faramir sat down heavily upon his seat in the offices beneath the royal box, pushing the papers on his desk aside with impatient fingers and resting his face in his hands.  His servant, seeing his agitation, brought him a steaming cup of mead, but scarcely had he started upon it when Bergil entered announcing Lord Aldamir of Amon Din.  Faramir bid him enter, and when the Red Knight had been seated and given his own drink, Aldamir said, “My Lord of Emyn Arnen, may we speak in confidence?  For I come from the tent of the Green Knight and have certain things to disclose to you, which may not be spoken before those who know not his proper countenance.”

            “Very well!” said Faramir, though his heart sank somewhat; he had hoped to call Beregond and his other captains to him to begin the muster but was thwarted by his social obligations.  So after Bergil and the other attendants left, he turned to Aldamir and said, “Well, Lord Aldamir, what is it?  Shall we not even arrange to defend your lands today?”

            “It is only this,” said Aldamir with a smile.  “I have spoken to Legolas, and he assures me his father will arrive this day, bringing with him many hundreds of his people to swell our ranks.  He has advised that we wait upon these warriors, that our victory over the strange soldiers in my fiefdom may be all the more complete, and give the people of Ithilien cause to trust and not be wary of his people, as they will soon be living nearby, and good relations betwixt mortal and immortal are these days rare indeed.”

            “It is true; that will strengthen our companies immeasurably,” mused Faramir; “I would not be so insolent though as to suggest it to the Elven King myself.”

            “Ah!  As for that I have been asked to tell you this,” said Aldamir with a smile.  “Legolas said, ‘Tell good Faramir to be not diffident in asking for aid of my lord, for the son of Oropher is a warrior brave and keen, and may take it amiss if deprived of some diversion, which is the duty of the Lord of Emyn Arnen to provide to a visiting dignitary.’  He impressed upon me, my Lord, the perception that his father would be more pleased than affronted by a request to join with us in battle.”

            “And more affronted than pleased should we deny him!” said Faramir.  “Well, then, when he arrives we shall hold council here, if I can convince the Lords Eradan, Egalmoth and Belecthor to go elsewhere; and we shall decide our prospects.  Will you humble yourself, my Lord Aldamir, and turn errand boy, so alerting our confirmed friends of this?  I shall signal you by sending Bergil to you, telling you I have brought the Elven King to my office for a cup of wine.”

            “As you wish it, my Lord!” said Aldamir, rising.  “I shall do as you ask.  And now I must quit you, for Malbeth of Celos and Vorondil of Lossarnach fight each other at the barriers, and I would not miss a contest between two knights so mighty in valor for the world.”

            “Well, then, neither shall I!” said Faramir, and he followed the Red Knight out.

27.

            The Lord of Emyn Arnen sat beside his Lady in the pavilion overlooking the lists; all about them the people of Osgiliath and its surrounds thronged, jostling each other, finding seats with proper views, chattering and calling to each other in cheery voices.  High above in the blue dome of the sky long streaky clouds stretched from horizon to horizon, milky banners wisping and tattering in the winds far above them.  Rooks and starlings wheeled and circled, rising up like swept cloaks from treetop to treetop, chattering and chirping, aviary echoes of the people on the Tournament grounds.  It seemed odd to Faramir that he had to sit there, dressed in his finest black doublet with a silver circlet about his hair, when he knew he ought rather to be mustering a troop of knights and archers to march upon Amon Din.  Indeed Éowyn had begged that privilege herself, saying she could be of more use rallying a fighting force than being presented in the royal entourage at the reception, but her husband had objected, wanting her in her proper place at his side when King Thranduil arrived.  So she displayed herself before her people, clad in raiment of glimmering green, her fair hair covered with a thin shimmery cloth.  As the stadium and royal box filled Faramir noticed she kept turning to and fro, looking from seat to seat and marking the faces of the people who sat therein; every once and again she would frown to herself.

            “What is it, my Lady?” asked Faramir, taking her hand in his.

            “Where are Egalmoth and Eradan, my Lord?” she asked.  “There is Belecthor speaking with Mardil; there are the other minor lords that make it their habit to sit behind us – but where are your councilors?”

            “I know not; most likely preparing Thranduil’s reception,” said Faramir.

            “Have the scouts returned, then?  He is coming?”

            “One only; he said from the hill on the western side of Cair Andros he could see a great flotilla of golden barges, hung with green sails and filled with folk.  But to his eye they appeared to have dropped anchor, and did not advance any further; also he said many smaller boats were clustered about the western shore of the river.  The other two scouts are watching, and will report when the armada resumes its voyage.  Lasgalen of Dale has assured me the Elven King will arrive today, and he and Beregond have met with Aldamir and Gimli to arrange the division of troops.  They believe we shall have over fifty knights and archers on horseback, and perhaps another hundred foot-soldiers.”

            Then Éodild arrived, with Híldaf beside her; they bowed to the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen, and Éodild said:  “So here we come to the last few days of this Tournament!  I am eager to see who wins the prize but O, I do not want it to end!  It has been so exciting and so much has happened.  Will we have a Tournament next year, Lord Faramir?”

            “We may, but not I hope as this one has been,” said Faramir.  “I prefer my games to be less fraught with intrigue.”

            “Some are saying the intrigue has improved the games, my Lord,” said Híldaf.  “My Lady Éowyn, are the rumors true?  Is the Elven King himself sailing down the Anduin from the north?  I have spoken to Hador of Tarlang and he said he could not tell me, but all in Osgiliath are buzzing with the news.”

            “I hope that it is true,” said Éodild fervently.  “How I would love to meet an Elven king!  Of course I know Queen Undómiel is an Elven lady, but she and her attendants are so quiet and civilized, and I have heard the Silvan Elves are quite feral.  Do you know any Silvan Elves, Lord Faramir?”

            “I know one,” smiled Faramir, “and I do assure you, Lady Éodild, the rumors of their uncouth conduct are greatly exaggerated.  If you are so curious about them, why not ask the Queen herself?  For her mother’s folk are Silvan, out of Lórien.” 

            “O are they?” asked Éodild, looking crestfallen.  “Then they must not be so coarse and unruly as I had heard.  It is a great pity for I thought they would be more interesting than that.”

            Híldaf disguised his laugh behind his fist, feigning a cough, and Faramir said, “You have not heard any of the King’s tales of Mirkwood then?  For he was a frequent guest there, and is a good friend of the Elven King’s.  Ah, here is the Queen herself!  If she is willing, good Éodild, you may ask her to enlighten you concerning the ways and customs of the Wood-Elves; you may find them interesting even though they are not as unrefined as your tutors would have you believe.”

            “I shall ask her then.  What a splendid gown she is wearing!  It is on account of the Elven King everyone is so well dressed then?  Look at all the empty seats!  May we sit in the pavilion?  I know Híldaf is only an esquire but he is my guest and that ought to secure his place beside me, ought it not?”

            “Lady Éodild,” said Híldaf, cheeks turning pink, “I do not think that – “

            “Of course Híldaf may sit with us,” said Éowyn.  “He is after all distant kin of mine, and more agreeable company than many others who claim places here.”

            “Good!” said Éodild.  “Sit here, Híldaf, where Lord Eradan usually sits.  He is not here, and if he arrives I will tell him to sit elsewhere because you preceded him.  He is jolly and good-natured and I am sure he will not object.  Were this Lord Egalmoth’s chair I would not dare give it you.”

            Faramir rose and greeted the Queen, forewarning her of Éodild’s inquisitiveness concerning Wood-Elves; sure enough as soon as she had seated herself the young lady launched into a tirade of questions, which Undómiel answered sedately enough, and Faramir and Éowyn could see her eyes twinkling though her face was grave and composed.  After a moment Belecthor came up the steps, nodding to them and taking his seat.  “Well, if naught else goes ill we shall draw ever closer to deciding the winner of the Tournament today,” he said; “I have met with my heralds and we have elected to tighten the tourney rules regarding disqualification in order to shorten the contest, else we shall be here ‘til the snow flies on Cair Andros.  The lowest ranking knights have been withdrawn from the competition, and after today’s joust we will know better who shall complete the heats.  Tomorrow, if the Valar permit it, we shall in foot combat and joust determine the finalists, and of the two remaining knights the final joust shall establish the winner.  It is shameful; we have already finished the foot races and archery, and those victors await the completion of the tournament only to receive their prizes.”

            “It has certainly been a game filled with interruptions,” agreed Faramir.  “Who are the last knights?”

            “Malbeth, Lasgalen, Araval, Vorondil, Mardil, Ingbar, and Cirien, ” said Belecthor, ticking them off on his fingers.  “Ethmor!  Do you not see there is no wine for the ladies?  Repair this oversight immediately!  I am sorry, Lady Éowyn; since we discovered Fenbarad’s treachery we have been at sixes and sevens in the servant’s tent.”

            “How was placed Fréawine of Rohan, my kinsman?” asked Éowyn.

            “Ah!  I regret to inform you, my lady, he was defeated soundly in the barriers today by your champion,” said Belecthor.  “Lasgalen of Dale seems to have undergone a marked improvement in his disposition; today he fought light upon his feet but deadly to the mark; he was observed during the combat laughing and exchanging songs with several of the knights watching, Aldamir and Mardil in particular.”

            “Between him and several other knights has arisen a strong friendship,” said Faramir.  “Despite his desire for secrecy the events surrounding this Tournament have forced acquaintances upon him, and he has become popular in the face of his anonymity.”

            “I am gratified,” said Belecthor; “I had feared he would shun the company of his brother knights, but it seems my fears were unfounded.  And, my Lord, Ethmor and I took the rest of the lances from my storage and examined them; none sported the hollowed shaft and powder that injured the Green Knight.  We have been forced to conclude, he and the Dwarf and Beregond and I, that the lances taken by Herion were the only ones altered, though how it were arranged I cannot guess.”

            “You feel the altered lances were meant for the Green Knight alone, then?” asked Faramir.

            “I am certain of it,” said Belecthor grimly.  “With all else that has occurred in this Tournament, all centered around this unhappy knight, what other conclusion could I come to?  I know not why he is the target of such hatred and opposition, but I think me the caltrops, the letters, the abduction of his esquire, and these lances are part and parcel of a larger plot, and it would behoove us to watch more closely for this knight’s safety.  For that reason I am doubly glad he has made friends with some of the other knights here.”  He looked around.  “Where are the Lords Eradan and Egalmoth?  I spoke not an hour ago to Lord Egalmoth and he did assure me he would be here to see the joust today, in spite of the preparations for the Elven King’s arrival.”

            “They are not the only ones missing,” said Éowyn.  “See you the two empty chairs!  Orodreth and his niece Dirhael are also absent.”

            Éodild turned at this and said over her shoulder, “O!  Yes, is that not strange?  I heard from Hyardil the grocer that they were in their rooms in the Inn this morning, but neither Híldaf nor I saw them in the village or at the barriers.  It is all the more curious as I know Lady Dirhael is very eager to see the contests, and has not yet missed one of the fights or jousts.  Is it true the betrothal ‘twixt she and Hallas is broken?  That is what Lady Alameth’s maid told me.  It is a pity for she is very rich and Hallas is very handsome, and I have heard Baldor of Lossarnach is beholden to his creditors.”

            “It is time to start the jousts, my Lord,” said Belecthor to Faramir, glancing round the quadrangle.  “All are waiting and impatient to see Malbeth and Ingbar meet each other at the tilt, though to my mind Malbeth is the better entrant and the black banner will be raised upon the winner’s wall this afternoon.”

            Faramir rose and lifted his hand to quiet the crowd, but at that moment Arwen said sharply, “Hold a moment, if it please you, Lord Faramir!” and from the leeches’ tents by the entrance they could see folk looking out of the grounds down the pathway, leaning curiously from stadium seats or around the corner; after a minute Faramir could hear the sound of hoofbeats, as though horses came at a dead gallop through the alley.  Then flashing round the corner and darting between the columns came a great dark horse, thick-limbed and strong; upon its bare back rode a slim rider clad in green, his bright hair streaming behind him.  Then after him came another horse with a Ranger on his back, one of the scouts Faramir had sent up the Anduin.  The two riders galloped past the tilt to the royal box where they halted, their horses steaming and champing.  The first rider looked up at them and said:

            “Mae govannen!  I seek Faramir of Emyn Arnen.”

            “O!  It is an Elf!” exclaimed Éodild in the sudden silence, her voice ringing throughout the stands.  A murmur followed her statement, and Arwen laughed.  The scout however looked foolish.

            “My Lord Faramir, this is one of the Elven King’s own scouts, whom we met south of Cair Andros; he has an urgent message from his Majesty, which he would not confide to us, but was importunate in conveying to you immediately.”

            “I have asked your pardon three times already as we rode, Tilraen of Gondor; there is no need to be irritable,” said the Elf equably.  “So you are Lord Faramir of Emyn Arnen?  Greetings to you!  I am Galás, one of Thranduil Oropherion’s emissaries.  Much as my lord enjoys the pomp and ceremony of civil folk, alas, he could not wait for the niceties of courtly procession this time.  There is trouble in your kingdom to the north, Lord Faramir; smoke rises from the western valleys and our scouts have come upon many of your folk slain in their villages, which have been sacked and burned.  An army of soldiers amasses upon your northwestern flank, spurred no doubt by the knowledge your king is currently engaged in entertaining the congenial folk of Harad down south and cannot attend to them immediately.  But my lord offers this to you, that he shall stand by your side and aid you in defending your people.  All he asks in return, he says, is to watch the final joust.  Is that not a generous offer?  But consider it swiftly, for he has anchored to the east of the pillage, and is anxious to begin, as two years have passed since last he slew a foe and he is growing peevish and jaded.”  As he spoke his eye roved about the royal box, seeking someone out; when he saw the Queen he flashed a grin and bowed his head.  “Aaye, Undómiel!  Cormamin lindua ele lle.”*  Arwen inclined her head graciously to him, smiling.

            At his words there had begun a tumult not only in the royal box but in the entire stadium; women cried aloud, and men leapt to their feet, gazing in dismay at the messenger.  Belecthor lowered his face into his hands, and many other lords and ladies began speaking at once, indignant and alarmed.  Faramir let the noise roil for a moment, then held his hand up, and silence fell in the stands.

            “This is ill news but not unexpected, Galás of Eryn Lasgalen,” said Faramir to the Elf.  “I shall rally my men several days earlier than I had planned; and as to King Thranduil’s generous offer of assistance, I must tell you Lasgalen of Dale preceded him with this proposition, though that makes my acceptance of it no less grateful.  Belecthor!  Call your criers together; tell them to run abroad, in the inns and villages, the Tent City and its environs, calling to all that Lord Faramir bids all warriors, knights, able-bodied foot soldiers, archers and esquires to come with him to do battle upon the King’s enemies in Amon Din.  We muster in the field to the east of the staging area when the sun rises.  Bergil!  Alert Beregond your father that our time has run short, and we must needs begin our strategies this evening and not two days hence.  And see if you can find the Lords Eradan and Egalmoth!  They must be informed the reception will not be necessary right now; they will have to delay the festivities for a later time, and perhaps change them to a victory celebration.  Éowyn, I shall charge you with the protection of the old, the infirm, the injured, the women and children behind the walls of Osgiliath; despite its ruin a people may defend themselves there for a season, especially in the western quarter, where the damage has been less there than elsewhere. Had we more time I would send them to Minas Tirith; however I do fear me even such a short journey as that would be too much for some of them to hasten.  Ethmor!  Ring the bells in the old tower; send runners to the outlying villages and settlements, telling the people to come to Osgiliath with their goods and kine, to protect themselves from any further attack.  Híldaf of Rohan, despite your injuries, can you ride?”

            “I can, my lord,” said Híldaf, rising.

            “Then take you to horse and ride with all haste to Minas Tirith; when you gain the gates tell the guards you are sent by me to Turgon.  Tell them all that has passed here, and tell them they must send messengers to King Elessar down the Anduin informing him of the double threat to his kingdom.  But under no circumstances are they to further empty the garrisons; I would not have it said I armed the ruin and let the capital fall.  Should these soldiers prove too much for us, and march upon Minas Tirith, he must defend it against the King’s return.  We shall take our chances with the Elven King’s troops.”  Híldaf bowed and went out, though not without a smile for Éodild, who looked up at him with shining eyes.

Faramir looked back down at Galás.  “I see you are mounted, Galás of Eryn Lasgalen.  How many horses has Thranduil?”

            “Two hundred,” said Galás, “all very sea-sick and travel-weary. But ten of these has he sent on reconnaissance, spying out the lie of the land and seeking to determine the number of soldiers committing these depredations.  And we have three hundred archers besides those mounted, of which my lord has suggested we take one hundred to fortify your defenses here.”

            “Thranduil seems well-informed of the lie of the land already,” said Arwen.

            Galás shrugged.  “When has he ever joined in any campaign ignorant of the circumstances?  He is nothing if not cautious; our spies have been watching Gondor for three months now, reporting all your doings to him.  He heard of the attacks upon the Ethir Anduin yesterday, and resolved to come to your aid without waiting for invitation.”  Galás looked around; several of the knights who had been waiting to joust were approaching, listening to his words.  “Where is the Green Knight, Lasgalen of Dale?” he asked curiously.  “Surely he has not been vanquished!  My lord would not like to hear that.”

            “He is in his tents still, preparing to joust,” said Cirien.  “I have sent my esquire to inform him of your arrival.”

            “Ah!” smiled the Elf.  “So he is still in the contest.  Well, Lord Faramir, what do we now?  You seem to have things well in hand.  Shall I return to my lord or stay here with you?  For you still must decide upon a plan of attack, whether we go in together or attempt to crush them between us.  Will you meet with my king here or upon his barge?  It will take him several hours to reach you, for though the wind is from the north we are still a ways upriver.”

            Faramir considered for a moment.  “I would that he came here,” he said, “for then your archers could enter Osgiliath ere we quit it.  And I greatly desire to hold council with him and various other knights and lords, to determine how best to move the pieces upon the draughts-board.  Will you ride to him and tell him so?  Or shall I send a runner on a fresh horse?”

            “A fresh horse, by your leave, Lord Faramir,” said Galás.  “Caryave is not as young as he once was, and this ride has wearied him: also it has been many months since I have foregathered with Lasgalen of Dale and I very much want to see him.  Besides I think the good Tilraen here requires a few more apologies from me for my unseemly haste.”

            “Not at all, my lord Elf!” said the unfortunate scout, turning very pink.

            “Very well!” said Faramir.  “Belecthor, I need another runner.”

            “As you wish, my Lord!” said the Ceremonies Master wearily.

            “What is the matter, good sir?” asked Galás curiously.  “You seem more resigned than dismayed by my news.”

            “Ah it is only this,” sighed Belecthor, gesturing to his servants; “I had hoped to cull the list today, but it seems this Tournament is fated to go on for several more weeks, if we end it at all!”

            “That is not so bad a thing then,” said the Elf smiling, “for I have never seen a Tournament and I would hate to miss anything.”

            “How impertinent you are!” exclaimed Éodild, leaning down from the royal box to gaze with interest at the Elf.  “I have never met a Wood-Elf.  Are you all so bold, or are you this way by accident?”

            “Well, if so you have met with the same accident as I,” laughed Galás.  “Am I impertinent?  I apologize, my lords and ladies; I am more used to the men of Dale and Esgaroth, who perchance are more rustic than you and do not require the niceties of speech and courtly behavior used in refined circles.  Besides when telling the lord of a land his people are being harried and slaughtered, one does not usually pause to consider proper decorum.”

            “Well, perhaps not,” admitted Éodild, smiling.  “But I care not whether you are impertinent; you are very amusing, is he not, my Lady, your majesty?  Do you not find him amusing?”

            Faramir turned back to them from where he had been instructing the various runners and criers in their duties.  “Galás, if you would, follow the Yellow Knight to my quarters in Osgiliath; we shall hold council there and await the coming of your king.”

            “Is the young lady coming too?” asked Galás, gesturing to Éodild.

            “Nay, my maid has other duties to attend to,” said Éowyn firmly.  The look of pleasure on Éodild’s face fell away and she sighed.

            Galás laughed.  “Fear not, little maid!” he said, winking at her.  “We shall meet again; I am certain of it.  Did not my lord tell me I was to be his son’s seneschal?  When my people arrive I will be sure to introduce you to them all, and then you may tell me if you will whether we are all impertinent, or if I am a peculiarity.”  With that he followed Cirien out of the grounds, leaving behind him a great many people babbling and gossiping, and Éodild watching him wistfully.   Éowyn turned to Arwen in delighted exasperation.

            “I had thought Legolas unusual in his audacity, for you are ever polite and well-mannered,” she said, “but now I see it is epidemic amongst the Silvan folk.  What merry, maddening neighbors they shall make me!”

            “Nay, it is not all of them, but only those of the line of Oropher,” laughed the Queen.  “I know Galás; his sire came out of Doriath with Thranduil and is counted his close kin, for Oropher’s sister’s son had children as well, and these were the playmates of the prince.  Fear not!  He is as skilled with bow and arrow as he is with his tongue, and is moreover blithe and young-hearted, excelling in song and dance and loving the fruits of the vine and the beasts of the field.  If he is indeed promised as seneschal to Legolas it will be a rich and contented fiefdom.”  She rose to her feet.  “Come, Lady of Emyn Arnen!  We have many plans to make, to see to the housing and feeding of your flock within the walls of Osgiliath.  And I am certain we shall not be the sole providers of help and comfort; the Queen of Eryn Lasgalen comes as well, and she succors her people with a strong and gentle hand.”  So saying she led Éowyn out of the box.

*”My heart sings to see thee”

28.

            The arrival of the Elven King’s flotilla upon the banks of Osgiliath was not, perhaps, so impressive a sight as it might have been, had it been welcomed with all the pomp and ceremony the Prince of Emyn Arnen could have imparted upon it; for instead of the pavilions, rank and file of ceremonial guards, and many bands of musicians, Thranduil met only Faramir and Belecthor upon the dock; though the people of Ithilien eagerly thronged about, desiring to see this great and terrible lord of legend.  Bergil had not yet managed to trace the Lords Eradan and Egalmoth to inform them of the change of strategy, so Faramir and Belecthor had decided to forego the spectacle and pageantry planned and retreat behind the walls of war’s proprieties. But to do the Elven King honor, lined in rank behind the Lord of Emyn Arnen were row upon row of knights in gleaming armour, their brilliant surcoats blossoming like so many strange flowers upon the green lawn, pennants streaming and snapping in the north wind.  Foremost amongst these knights was Lasgalen of Dale, flanked upon either side by Aldamir of Amon Din and Cirien of Langstrand, his green banner floating proudly between the yellow and red of those knights’ houses.  Behind him were Mardil of Ethring and Araval of Tarlang, whose esquires bore the ensigns of those lands in silver and dun.  Upon a stout hill pony beside Araval’s esquire Hador sat Gimli the Dwarf, and before him upon the saddle was Bandobras Took.  The Dwarf was clad in his short mail coat, his axe at his side, and the Hobbit was dressed in his finest waistcoat and breeches. Their pony’s tack had been rubbed with oil, and Bandobras had combed his mane and tail, and brushed his coat until it gleamed.  “Thistle may not be so great a horse as Hatchet and these other knights’ destriers,” he’d said to Gimli before they left, “but I’ll not have anyone sneering at him, that I won’t!”  Thistle himself, being a pony of calm and phlegmatic disposition, did not comment upon this, but only swished his brown tail and champed carelessly on his bit.

            “How nice it shall be to see the Elven King and Queen again!” the Hobbit said to Gimli as the great golden barges approached the docks.  “It has been so long since we were in his golden halls, and so much has happened between then and now.  I wonder if they will find me much changed?”

            Gimli snorted.  “Changed?  In what ways have you changed, Bandy?  You are just as capricious and talkative as ever.”

            “Well, I did kill a man,” said Bandobras deprecatingly.  “That ought to leave some sort of mark on me, oughtn’t it?  I do feel different, you know.  Not so young as I once was, even if I haven’t achieved my majority yet.  I feel more . . . more grown-up now, I suppose.”

            Gimli looked down at the curly brown head before him and sighed.  “Well, Bandy, I hope then you have not changed for any worse,” he said, “for though you have seen combat, I would not have you lose your bright ways and nimble tongue for anything.  I should not know what to do with you then.”

            Bandobras craned his neck round to look at the Dwarf in surprise.  “Wouldn’t you?” he asked.  “I always thought you wanted me to act more refined-like, using proper speech and manners and such.  But if you say so, then, Gimli, I’ll try not to grow up too fast.  After all,” he added cheerfully, “I’m not even in my ‘tweens’ yet, so hopefully no one’ll think any worse of me for not acting like a full-grown Hobbit.”

            “And if they do,” muttered Gimli, roughly ruffling the Halfling’s curls, “They shall have to answer to Gimli the Dwarf!”

            There was a great swell of trumpets and horns then, and the foremost barge, carved and gilded and painted in bright colors, hove to while nimble green-clad elves darted upon the quay and secured it, running with agile feet up the ropes and stays.  A great crimson plank was lowered, and the Elven King and his Queen stepped upon it.  All the people leant forward eagerly to see him, for Thranduil Oropherion was the stuff of legend, a shadowy and mysterious presence hidden in the dark eaves of the Haunted Wood far to the north, a mighty and ruthless warrior, and a stern lord of a secretive and enigmatic people.

            He strode purposefully down to the quay, his pale and lovely queen upon his arm; he was clad not in robes nor doublet nor any other finery but was armed from pauldron to greaves in rich dark armour, ancient yet formidable, though upon his golden head was no helm but a heavy mithril crown studded with pale green gems.  His queen was clad in raiment of white, though she wore heavy gauntlets and her bodice was made of fine fish-scale armour.  White were her hood and cloak, and a thin gold filament bound her pale silvery locks back from her fair forehead.  Both wore swords bound at their hips, testament to the immediacy of their accords with Gondor.  Behind them was a great array of Elven knights and archers, leading large dark horses caparisoned with metal trappers, their coarse manes and tails braided and tied with green ribbon.  The Elven King and Queen paused at the foot of the dock, and Faramir with Belecthor at his side approached them.  Faramir bowed deeply and said,  “Welcome to Ithilien, Thranduil Oropherion and Queen Edlothiel, beloved of Eryn Lasgalen!  Never did I think this day would come upon me, that I should be blessed to meet the lord of the northern realms.”

            Thranduil bowed, and Edlothiel curtseyed.  “Hail and well met, Faramir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Emyn Arnen!” said Thranduil gravely.  “My heart rejoices at this meeting, but would be lighter were the threats to your northern fiefdoms less.  Now is not the time for fair speech or merry-making, for the hour is late.  Come!  Let us meet together and decide how we may liberate and relieve your people, that the peace of Gondor may be upheld.”

            Faramir led the Elven King and his councilors through the crowds to a pavilion erected hastily upon the lawn.  In there Belecthor had placed a large wooden table and chairs, and many rolled maps were set therein.  The people dispersed, feeling as though they had been offered a tantalizing glimpse of a great and delicious feast but were denied to partake of it.  Around the table were placed Thranduil and his queen, Faramir and Belecthor, with the jovial Galás beside them, and also Mardil, Cirien, Araval with Hador behind him, and Aldamir.  Beregond stood behind his lord, and behind Thranduil stood a tall dark elf, Baranil, who was captain of his militia. Gimli sat beside the Green Knight, and Bandobras, after a fierce look from the Dwarf, reluctantly took his place behind his Master.  Faramir rose and looked at Belecthor, who upon seeing the Green Knight was still obscured by his helm colored deeply and rose as well.

            “I shall leave you then, my lords,” he said hastily, “for I see this is not my place to intrude.”

            “Please stay, Lord Belecthor!” said the Green Knight from behind his frogmouth.  “I beg you, do not quit us yet, for we may have need of your council.  ‘Many hands make light the labor,’ as it is said in my country.  My Lady, Queen Edlothiel, will you not look upon the countenance of this lord of Gondor to descry his heart?  For I know you see into the souls of men, whether they be true or no, and though I have not your talents I foresee no reason to doubt his honor.”

            “It is true; I have been given the gift of keen insight,” said the Queen, “and can determine a traitor from a patriot in one glance.”  Edlothiel fixed Belecthor with a compassionate eye.  “I should not do this without his permission, however,” she said, her voice soft and warm as a summer zephyr.  “I am not in my own court, where the cares and concerns of my Lord require deep knowledge of clear consciences.  But, Lord Belecthor, know you that the Green Knight is generous in offering you his confidence.”

            “Then I would not deny him it,” said Belecthor stoutly.  “I have nothing to hide, from Elf nor Man, nor even from Dwarf nor Halfling.  Search me therefore, your Majesty!  I welcome the opportunity to serve my Lord with his full faith.”

            “My trust in you did not waver upon yourself but upon these circumstances,” said Faramir.  “I beg you to understand that in full, good Belecthor.”

            “So I do, and I require no apology from you,” said the Ceremonies Master.  “When Egalmoth and Eradan arrivve I am sure they will comply as well, for we long to be in your confidences.”

            “Very well, then!” said Edlothiel.  “Come here, good Belecthor.”

            Trembling but resolute the Ceremonies Master approached the Elven Queen.   As he stood before her, clenching and unclenching his fists nervously she rose and looked full upon his face.  She was slight and slim, and in her fair white face her eyes shone like the pale light of the moon, yet all felt that her frail frame housed a stern soul as a fair sheath hides a sharp blade.  She studied him gravely a moment, then gave a light laugh and kissed him upon the forehead.

            “Well met indeed, Lord Belecthor!” she said, smiling.  “I perceive no darkness in you.  You may join our assembly knowing in you rests our full assurance.”

            “Thank you, your Majesty!” gasped Belecthor, eyes wide with wonder.  “How fortunate are we to be given such a gift as your presence bestows, one of beauty and keen perception combined!  Now we have but to parade those mistrusted men before you and you shall test them and know their hearts in but an instant.  Would that you had arrived a week before these unhappy events unfolded!  Then perhaps my poor Tournament would have been completed without interruption.”

            “Perhaps,” smiled Edlothiel, “though it is not so easy to descry the dark secrets of men in great assemblies.  Lest I gaze into the eyes of each man their evil remains undisclosed to me.  But with these words I may assure all who sit here that your intentions are for good and not ill, and you may be trusted, even with the visage of the Green Knight himself.”

            “Good!” said Lasgalen of Dale.  “It is difficult to conduct a council behind steel bars.”  At that Gimli and Bandobras unlatched his frogmouth and lifted it from his head.  He sighed and pulled off the arming cap.  “Ah, that is better!” he said, smiling and rising.  “Now I may greet my Lord and Lady in more proper fashion.”  So saying he rose and went to the Elven King and Queen, kneeling before them.  “Mae govannen!  Nae saian luumé.” *

            “Oio naa elealla alassé,” ** said Thranduil, laying a hand upon his son’s head, and Edlothiel raised Legolas’ face to hers and she kissed him.  “What is this, Legolas Thranduilion?” she asked, laying one long finger upon the stitched-up scar on his cheek.

            “The remuneration of jousting, my Lady,” said Legolas.  “It is nothing.”  When Bandobras gave a disbelieving snort Legolas turned to him and smiled.  “You said yourself, my Bandobras, that had the silk not yet been in my skin you could not have seen the wound.  How could it then have been a serious hurt?”

            “Ah!  Now you are trying to distract me,” smiled the Queen.  “I shall get the full tale from good Bandobras later, shall I not, dear Little One?”

            “As you wish, my Lady!” said Bandobras, jumping in surprise and bowing hastily.

            “But he is become so formal!” exclaimed Thranduil, looking at Bandobras.  “Legolas, you have ruined him; where is the Hobbit-child who scrambled upon our laps and made off with our scepters?  All I see here is an esquire full-grown.”

            Bandobras flushed with pleasure, and Legolas said, “It is all the doing of my dear friend Gimli, who has taken upon himself the task of taming one of the wild Shire-folk so that they are unrecognizable to even their own kin.”

            “He’d be even more unrecognizable, were I able to have my full way with him,” muttered Gimli.

            Belecthor was gazing upon Legolas’ visage, his eyes alight, a smile upon his lips.  “Ah!” he said.  “So the riddle is unwound.  This is the answer to all the King’s folded phrases!  I had bethought perhaps you were a young Dúnedan, a kinsman of his from the North; now though I recognize you as his Elvish friend from the War.  I see now why you obscured your face from us!  Though I wish you had not; perhaps things would not have gone quite so ill for you had all known you for who you are.”

            Legolas shrugged.  “If I had, who knows what would have happened?  Public denunciation, perchance.  I was unwilling to risk it, if not for my own sake at least for my Lord Father’s reputation.  You are not wroth with me then?”

            “Why should I be?” asked Belecthor in surprise.  “In my view you are as qualified as any lord of Gondor to be an entrant; you are certainly more than able to hold your own amongst your fellow combatants!  Nay, Lord Legolas, I welcome you now as I would have welcomed you before, had I known your rightful name.”

            “Egalmoth was unwilling to allow him, unknown as he was,” reminded Faramir.

            Belecthor sniffed.  “Egalmoth has little regard for knights and lords of lands other than Gondor,” he said.  “Do not let it trouble you!  It is merely one of his little fads.”

            “Now, then,” said Faramir, drawing their attention to him and unrolling a map, upon which was laid out Ithilien, the western bank of the Anduin, and Amon Din up to Eilenach.  “Show us, I beg you, your Majesty, where the villages were that fell to our enemies.”

            “Here, and here,” said Thranduil, laying his finger upon two spaces in the meads between the River and Druadan Forest.  “And my scouts returned to me not an hour ago, saying they came upon slain men in the armour of Minas Tirith – black surcoats with silver trees, surmounted by stars.”

            “The King’s patrols!” exclaimed Beregond.  “So they were indeed overcome as we feared.”

            “Aye, good captain; it appears the soldiers of the enemy are taking no chances alerting Lord Faramir of their presence, though they have not been able to subjugate their baser instincts to burn and pillage,” said the Elven King.  “I am sure they felt confident they would not be discovered for some weeks, when more patrols were sent out.  It is by happy chance alone my people have caught them.”

“Were any of my people left alive?” asked Aldamir.

“No, we found none,” said Thranduil.  “But many of the bodies my scouts found were men, farmers and merchants by the look of them; that leads me to believe the women and children have been carried off.”

            “Ill news,” muttered Aldamir, “but not so bad as it could have been.  How far west did your scouts penetrate, your Majesty?  To Amon Din itself?”

            “Of those scouts I have not yet heard,” said Thranduil.  “I am expecting them back soon though.  They will be able to tell us how large a company this is, that marches so brazenly across other lords’ lands, burning and kidnapping as they go.”

            “As far as we can tell, the villages and fields themselves have been razed,” said the Queen, her fair face sad.  “So even should we free those unhappy citizens, where shall they go, Lord Faramir?  Autumn nips upon the heels of summer, and I fear me there is not time enough for them to construct adequate shelter against the winds of winter.”

            “My Lady and I have thought of that already,” said Faramir.  “Though a ruin, Osgiliath is sufficient to shelter them.  We were planning to have the people of the nearby villages live in the ruins of Osgiliath for the duration of this battle; it is large enough to house at least two hundred more people than that.  We have several months to see to repairing sundry walls and rooms; that will be adequate space for them to live comfortably.  In fact that is where Lady Éowyn and Queen Undómiel are now: overseeing the organization of the housing for the folk not only of Ithilien here, but those of the outlying villages that have been beset by this army.  What concerns me is the burning of their silos and ricks.  Where shall I find food enough to nourish them?  The Pelennor has not had enough years of plenty to provide enough extra for all these poor refugees.”

            “My people will care for them,” said Legolas.  “Galás and I have already discussed this.  He brings with him food and supplies, meant to tide us over ‘til spring, but we believe that to succor the people of Ithilien is a more pressing need.”

            “And if you will, stay in Osgiliath with them,” said Faramir.  “Now more than ever shall we have need of the merry voices and songs of your people!  My heart burns for my folk; I am all the more determined to hunt down this aggressor and punish him fully for his crimes.”

            Before another in the assembly could reply to this, Bergil burst into the tent, wild-eyed and pale.  “Father!” he cried.  “My Lord, my Lord!  I have found Egalmoth!”  And so saying he burst into tears.

            “What is it?” cried Beregond, striding round to him and taking him by the shoulders.  “Tell us, and quickly!”

            “O, he is dead!” wept Bergil, wringing his hands.  “He and Targil both – I heard they had gone to Eradan’s quarters, so I followed there, but when I arrived there was naught but ruined furniture and blood – and those two men, lying with broken weapons in the midst.”

            “Egalmoth, dead!” cried Faramir, leaping to his feet.  “What of Eradan?  What of him, where is he?”

            “I know not, my Lord!” said Bergil in dismay.  “I fear he has been taken as well, for I could see no sign of him.  And ere Lord Egalmoth breathed his last, as I knelt beside him, he said only to me, ‘Orodreth!’ and then closed his eyes in death.”

            Beregond ran from the pavilion, and could be heard speaking to men outside; after a moment he came back in.  “The lion has fled, my Lords, your Majesties!” he cried angrily.  “A great company of men on horseback has just broken the gates of the Tent City down, and they are riding with great haste to the north, running down all who try to arrest them.”

            “Have any of your soldiers followed?”

            “Nay, my Lord; all were busy with the muster, leaving none to guard the gates.  Besides we were looking for assault from without not within.  This is a hard thing, Lord Faramir!  To lose two of the King’s councilors in this fashion is very suspicious.  I have sent men to question Orodreth, but I doubt not we shall find his rooms vacated.”

            “Well, then, we have no time left to waste upon speculation, have we?” said the Elven King.  “Lord Faramir, it is my suggestion we empty the surrounding villages as quickly as possible, hiding your people behind the walls of Osgiliath.  My Queen will see to the placement of a hundred of our archers, should you desire them.  I know that you have started your muster; will your men be ready at sunrise?”

            “They will,” said Faramir.  “We have but to wait for your scouts to return and we shall be ready to ride.”

            “If they return at all!” said Cirien.  “Will not these men hunt them down and destroy them also?”

            “Whom did you send, my Lord?” asked Legolas of his father. 

            “Meivel, Himbaláth, and Kaimelas,” said the Elven King.

            “Ah!” smiled Legolas.  “They are good scouts, secretive and canny.  You need fear no ill for them, Lord Cirien.  They shall return with news soon enough.”

            “Why can we not ride immediately?” asked Galás impatiently.

            “It will be dark ere long,” said Legolas.  “We do not have the time to muster these men together before the sun sets.”

            “Could we not march at night then?” asked the Elf.  “It galls me to let these murderous men run so far afield.”

            “Our people are not as your people, good Galás,” said Cirien with a smile.  “We do not see in the darkness as clearly as do you, and we would have to march with torches and lights, thus alerting the enemy to the great numbers we have.”

            “And as we hope to surprise this lion with our numbers it will behoove us to hide them,” said Baranil.  “So torches and lanterns would be a very bad idea indeed.”

            “Ah!” said Galás.  “I had forgotten you were not Elves; I had assumed you would fight by starlight as well as we.  I beg your pardon, gentles all.”

            “Far from being insulted I am flattered,” laughed Araval.  “To my knowledge this is the first time I have been compared to one of the Eldar.”

            Galás rose and bowed to him.  “Then I look forward to further confusing your race in the future, my Lord, as it gives you pleasure!” he said, and Araval laughed again.

            “As I recall the lands to the north are rolling meads and hills, Lord Faramir,” said Legolas.  “Lest they place scouts behind them they shall not see us, for we shall be hidden in the folds of the meads.”

            “That is my hope,” admitted Faramir.  “And we ought to send forward scouts ourselves, to pick off any men they may leave behind, and to survey for any traps or ambushes.”

            “Leave that to me, my Lord,” said Baranil.  “I have many swift and silent spies amongst my people.”

            “And we will know more when Meivel returns,” said Thranduil.  “He will tell us if there are any hiding in the folds of the fields.”

            “Then by your leave, your Majesty,” said Faramir, “I would request those hundred archers to be placed behind the walls of my city.”

            “It ought rather to be, by his leave,” said the Elven King dryly, gesturing to his son.  “They are after all his people now, and no longer my own.”

            Legolas looked to his father in surprise.  “Have I stripped you of your militia, my Lord?” he asked.  “Baranil!  What of my Lord’s army?  How many of them remain to guard his kingdom?”

            “There are enough, your Highness,” smiled Baranil.  “Fear not!  We shall also retain one hundred to journey back with us to Eryn Lasgalen.  But the other four hundred are yours.”

            “And the horses?” asked Legolas.

            “Did I not tell you, my Queen, he would ask immediately concerning the horses?” Thranduil asked of his wife with a smile.  “Yes, yes, Legolas, and the horses!  We bought them at Dale ere we sailed; they are part of King Girion of Dale’s parting gift to you.  Well, shall you answer Lord Faramir?  Do you concede to him a hundred archers under your mother’s direction to see to the safety of the women and children in Osgiliath, or would you rather wait to hear what Meivel and the other scouts have to say concerning the numbering of our enemy host?”

            “I shall concede the archers,” said Legolas after a moment’s thought.  “Faramir, will Éowyn ride with us, or will she remain in Osgiliath with Queen Undómiel?”

            “If I have any influence over her she shall remain,” said Faramir, “though I doubt not that order shall sit ill with her.”

            “If need be, I shall speak to her as well,” said Queen Edlothiel.  “For I shall stay also in Osgiliath, to comfort your people.”

            “Good!” said Legolas.  “Between you, my Lady, and the Lady of Emyn Arnen, Osgiliath shall be a safe refuge indeed.  I leave to you then the choice of which hundred to keep with you, and which I may take with me along with my other knights.”

            “Master – “ began Bandobras hopefully, but Legolas shook his head.  “Nay, my dear Little One!  Full battle is no place for you, young and untried as you are.  I must command you to stay here in Ithilien, and look after my mother, to see that no harm befalls her.”  At this Bandobras’ face fell, and he bit his lip.

            “Indeed you must, good Bandobras!” said Edlothiel solemnly.  “Who else amongst all my people could I find one as stout and faithful as you, or one who is as good a cook?  I have not had mushrooms such as yours since you quit Eryn Lasgalen many months past.”

            “O, well then!” said Bandobras, face brightening.  “That is not so bad I guess.”

            “Come!” said Edlothiel, rising and holding out her hand to him.  “We shall go now to the Lady of Emyn Arnen and to Queen Arwen Evenstar, that we might aid them in this great task set before them.”

Bandobras turned to the Green Knight.  “May I, Master?” he asked eagerly.  Legolas smiled at him and kissed the top of his curly head.  “Yes, Little One!” he said.  “I know how your heart has yearned after my mother the Queen; you love her as all love her, and have pined after her voice since you left her presence.  Go now with her, and use your good, homely Hobbit-sense to aid them in their endeavors.  Many people must be housed and fed in the coming months, and that more than warcraft is something you are very good at, as I know from my own experience and to my benefit.  My Lady,” he said, bowing to his mother, “My Lord and I shall foregather with you at the evening meal in Lord Faramir’s house.  I shall expect you to loan me my esquire for the night, but in the morning you may have him back again.”

“You are most generous, O my son!” said Edlothiel, taking Bandobras by the hand.  “By your leave, my King, my lords,” she said, and bowing to them swept from the pavilion, the little Halfling trotting beside her excitedly.

            “I am sorry about Egalmoth, Faramir,” said Gimli when they had gone.  “I know he was one of your father’s trusted advisors.”

            Faramir shook his head.  “I never wanted to believe ill of him,” he said slowly.  “That he should be slain in such a fashion!  He was ever an honorable man, and strong and intelligent enough to forbear my father, which perhaps was the reason he was so well-trusted yet unliked.”

            “Well, we are not certain concerning the cause of his death,” said Beregond.  “After all he only said Orodreth; that could mean one of several things.”

            “Perhaps Orodreth came upon him and slew him, or ordered him to be slain,” said Cirien.  “There could be two reasons for that:  That Orodreth is himself the Lion whom we hunt, and slew Egalmoth fearing exposure; or that Egalmoth was the Lion, or as I suspect one of many Lions, and Orodreth his confederate, and quarrelling over some part of the plot came to blows.”

            “But if his word Orodreth means something different,” said Legolas, “perhaps he was attacked by men who said also that Orodreth was one of their enemies, and he sought to warn him.  And do not forget my friend Targil!  What was his part in this?  Was he there by chance and killed to keep his silence, or was he part of this plot as well?”

            “He was seen talking with Fenbarad the day your esquire was kidnapped,” said Beregond.

            “All spoke to Targil; he was a blithe and affable man,” said Mardil.  “Not a day went by when we did not stop to pass time with him.  He knew all the comings and goings of the various knights and retainers, and was privy to many assignations and meetings.”

            “That could be the reason for his demise,” said Thranduil.  “And forget not this other lord who has vanished, this Eradan; it was after all in his own quarters this tragedy occurred, and he may be taken by these villains, or one of them; in the same way Lord Egalmoth may have been slain by the evil men, or an evil man himself.”

            “I cannot believe it,” said Belecthor, his cheeks stained with tears.  “Of all lords to be felled, it should be the stubborn, the disagreeable, the stout-hearted Egalmoth!”

            “You cannot tell me you loved him!” exclaimed Faramir in surprise.  “You were ever at odds with him, as were all men I knew.  No one found him agreeable.”

            “He was not, perhaps, easy to love,” agreed Belecthor with a sigh, “but he was a true friend, if not always a pleasant one; and he was loyal to King Elessar, I may assure you, despite his sharp tongue and objectionable ways.”

            “If this Eradan has indeed been taken by Orodreth, then it is to his rescue also we must go,” said Baranil.

            “If he yet lives,” said Faramir.  “I do fear me we shall come upon his body as we follow the fleeing lion from his den.  Alas for Eradan!  He is Aragorn’s favorite councilor.”

            “Well, there is no sense borrowing trouble from the future,” said Thranduil.  “It is set, then?  Tomorrow at dawn we ride.  There are fifty mounted knights, and a hundred foot-soldiers, amongst whom are your Rangers, is that not right, my Lord of Emyn Arnen?”

            “Yes, that is so,” said Faramir.  “Add to those your own numbers and we shall be a force to be reckoned with.”

            “Not all those numbers are mine!” said Thranduil.  “Remember I leave four hundred behind when I return to my kingdom.  The two hundred mounted Elvish knights, and the two hundred Elvish archers, are Prince Legolas’ own army.  Only the foot-soldiers are my own.”

            “Still, four hundred Elves to swell our ranks shall make it so that the enemy is driven before us as quail before the hunting dogs,” said Aldamir.  “I no longer fear for my own lands.  The Elven realm in Ithilien shall be a stronghold indeed.”

            “I suggest we march thus,” said Faramir, gesturing to the map.  “Two ranks of mounted knights to either side of the foot-soldiers and archers, separated by a league apiece, so that any stray enemy scouts coming upon us shall see only one of the three forces, and think us a much smaller army.  The archers shall be in rank behind the foot-soldiers, and when the enemy is engaged shall sweep the forward line with arrows.  The knights shall charge, one upon either side, and crush them; and the foot-soldiers shall deal with those left behind.”

            “It seems to me you cheat the poor foot-soldiers, my Lord,” said Galás.  “To leave them only the trampled and pierced!  That is not much of a fight; I am sure they will be most disappointed.”

            “Well, we can but hope the enemy is strong enough to survive an arrow-barrage and a full-tilt assault by mounted warriors with lances,” said Legolas.  “But if they prove too weak to withstand the two first prongs of attack, I suggest you march with the foot-soldiers yourself, then, Galás!  You could lift their sagging spirits with your humorous statements.”

            “Nay!” laughed Galás.  “I have my Caryave, who spoils for the charge.  Besides is a seneschal’s place not beside his lord?”

            “A seneschal’s place is to watch over his lord’s people in his absence,” replied Legolas, eyes twinkling.  “Perhaps your keen wit would be put to better use here in Ithilien.”

            Galás looked dismayed.  “Surely you would not leave me behind!” he cried.

            “Better that than to hear you two bickering the whole time,” said Gimli.  “Aulë!  I shall march with the foot-soldiers, then, to ensure I do not have to hear you any more.  You would drive the most patient of Dwarves insane.  Besides I do not think my pony could keep up with all those destriers and cavalry horses.”

            “Do you see, my lords, why I offered Galás to my son as seneschal?” asked Thranduil of the men around the table.  “Though my halls shall be duller in his absence, I would not have the Lord of Elven Ithilien deprived of a court jester.”

            Legolas rose and approached the Elven King.  “You said you would send me people to rule, yet I did not expect so much of you,” he said, bowing to his King.  “Four hundred fierce and steadfast Elves is a gift greater than the gift of gold you bring to Aragorn.”

            “Your mother would rather I had sent her entire court and ladies-in-waiting,” said Thranduil with a smile, rising and clasping his son by the shoulder.  “Andunië, Dúrfinwen, and Seimiel especially begged leave to be released from the Queen’s service.  But I have no doubt that among your people you will not fail to make a good choice.  You shall lead them well, whether you choose a consort or no.”

            “Thank you, father!”  The two tall Elves stood regarding each other, and then the King smiled.

            “I should not have given them to you, Legolas, had I not believed you capable of ruling them as I have,” he said. 

*”Well met!  It has been too long.”

**”Ever is thy sight a joy.”

29.

            Bandobras awoke to see the stars fading in the pale pearly sky through the window-flap of his little chamber; he rubbed his eyes and stretched, trying to clear his clouded head from the downy remains of a deep and languorous sleep.   Then with a start he remembered the events of the previous evening, and he leapt from his pallet, his heart sinking.  Today was the day his Master was going away into battle, and Bandobras was to stay behind with the women!

            He sat back down upon his rumpled pallet and put his head in his hands.  He did not really wish to go into battle; his horrible experience with Fenbarad’s men had cured him of any romantic notions he may have had about it; but still it was mortifying to know he had no place there, and would be forced to watch from behind the walls of a safe refuge, while his Master and Gimli rode off with King Thranduil and Lord Faramir and all, to go fight bad men in Lord Aldamir’s home, maybe to be wounded, maybe – Bandobras gulped – to not return at all.  Not that he had any fears in specific for his Master – he had watched Legolas in his battle-fury kill two score men alone – and he didn’t – really – fear for Gimli either; Dwarves seemed to Bandobras too tough and stubborn to kill.  But King Thranduil’s three remaining scouts had returned last night, while Bandobras helped Lady Éowyn direct the laying in of supplies into Osgiliath’s lower cellars; he had heard the news as had all in the main courtyard:  Meivel, Himbaláth, and Kaimelas had counted the enemy quite carefully, and were agreed there were no fewer than five hundreds encamped upon the meads to the east of the Great West Road; though they were poorly armed, Meivel said, and some he believed to have been wounded in the skirmishing about the ruined villages.  They had observed quite a bit of infighting as the evening had progressed, and overheard many arguments over the division of spoils; in fact they had seen several men killed outright by their rivals.  The women and children held captive were penned up like cattle but not, they believed, actively mistreated.

            Bandobras shuddered at the thought of what those poor mothers and children had endured, watching husbands and fathers murdered and homes and barns burnt.  His own father, Reginard Took, had been killed by Sharky’s men several years before, in the great uprising against the Big Folk; though he had not witnessed his father’s untimely death, he knew the sharp grief of the child whose parent is so abruptly taken by violence.  He tried to imagine how he himself would feel, if some group of armed men had burst into his Hobbit-hole and taken his mother and him captive as well.  “It’s bad enough being a captive all alone,” he thought, dressing with shaking fingers; “it would be ten times worse knowing your whole family was just as bad off as you were.”  For a moment he sympathized with the look of fierce anger he had seen in Lady Éowyn’s eyes; he too wanted nothing more than to ride up to Amon Din upon a big warhorse, waving a huge sword, striking down his shrieking enemies as they fled from him in terror.  “It’s no more than they deserve,” he said, settling his mouth into a grim line as he buttoned up his waistcoat.  “Ramping and pillaging the way they’ve done.  I hope my Master gives them what for!”  But still he harbored deep in his timid heart the hope that today Elessar would return, and delay his Master’s departure, thus sparing him another day.  Legolas’ wounds from the Tournament were still fresh in the Hobbit’s mind, if healed already upon that immortal body; it distressed Bandobras greatly to think of further indignities being visited upon the flesh of his beloved Master.

            There were soft voices speaking in the sunrise hush of the day; Galás and Baranil were in the main room of the tent, and Bandobras could hear the light, firm voice of his Master.  It was not often the Hobbit heard Legolas speak such, for with him his Master was ever placid and indulgent; however now his voice was resolute and commanding, imparting his will with the inflexibility born from centuries of expecting compliance of his subjects.  For their own parts it did not sound to Bandobras as though either Galás or Baranil opposed him, but it was clear Legolas expected resistance from some quarter in the near future and would brook it not.  Bandobras pushed aside the curtain that separated the sleeping quarters from the rest of the tent, and the rings clattered upon the rod above him.  The three Elves, already clad in armour and with their swords bound at their sides, turned and looked at him, and Legolas smiled.

            “Ah!  Here is my esquire at last,” he said, holding out his hand, which bore as yet only the heavy leather gauntlet.  “It is time to go, my good Little One; be not dismayed nor sad, for it is for but for a short while.  In the night a messenger was sent up river from Pelargir saying King Elessar returns and shall be with us again in two days’ time.  Lord Faramir is anxious to have these miscreants mopped up by then, so we shall ride swiftly and make short work of them.  You must stay here and make sure King Elessar’s people do nothing foolish in the meantime.  Will you do that for me, my Bandobras?”

            Bandobras swallowed and blinked fiercely; he could feel tears pricking at his eyes.  “Won’t – won’t you even have a bite to eat before you go, Master?” he begged, tugging at the gauntlet with both his small hands.  “At least let me make you a little breakfast, to tide you over ‘til you come back.  I could fry you up a quick egg – and make some toast – and we have that cherry preserve still.  You can’t go killing people on an empty stomach, you know.”

            Baranil bit his lip and stared hard at the chandelier; Galás hid his own smile behind his hands.  But Legolas looked gravely down at his esquire.  “Nay, my dear Little One!” he said.  “I have broken fast already, before the sun cast her pale rays to cloak the eastern edges of the Ephel Duath.  Bergil has been here and said Faramir’s folk are ready to go.  They await only those knights of the Tent City to join the muster in the field east of the staging area.”

            “I heard Hador and Araval refer to it as The Field of Muster,” said Galás with a grin.  “Think you that title shall become widely used?  I quite like it.”

            “That does not surprise me,” said Baranil dryly.  “When you are seneschal here you may petition the Lord of Emyn Arnen to deed the field by that name alone, for he seems to me a man who would appreciate such wit.”

            The tent-flap was pushed aside, and Gimli entered; his face, normally grim, was wreathed in smiles.  “Legolas!” he said, clapping his meaty hands together and chuckling so that the chain mail he wore jingled.  “Your four knightly friends are here and await you outside the tent – Hador is there as well; he has Hatchet ready for you – and you will not believe it; Hallas is to ride with us.”

            “Hallas of Lossarnach!” exclaimed Legolas in surprise, taking up his basinet and tucking it beneath one polder-mitten.  Bandobras saw he still had Lady Éowyn’s scarf affixed there, and the sight of it comforted him somewhat, reminding him he was the Lady of Emyn Arnen’s chosen champion and unlikely to come to harm.  “How is he to ride?  Usually when I have hamstrung a man he is crippled for years to come.”

            “His esquire Ornendil helped him into his saddle, and lashed him there with ropes,” said Gimli.  “He is determined to ride; nothing Cirien or Aldamir has said to him will gainsay him.  His armour is pitted and dented, and his sword in great need of reforging; however I have seldom seen so determined a young man, and that in itself lends him an air of dignity apart from many of the more well-appointed men out there.”

            “He will be greatly at risk, unable to leap from his horse, or run even if he manages it somehow,” said Baranil.  “You ought to keep him close to you, my Lord, to keep an eye on him.”

            “That will be up to whoever is leading us,” said Legolas, “though I shall certainly ask permission to ride beside Hallas.  It is partly my own fault he is so grievously crippled, and I would not have him slain in this endeavor for anything.  When the company of knights has been divided into each phalanx I shall request he be placed in file beside me.  I would ask Faramir but he is riding with the foot-soldiers; I would request it also of my Lord, but to him has been given the task of overseeing the archers.  I wonder who will be leading the two companies of knights?  Faramir and my Lord Father discussed it last night, but the only agreement they could come to was that the companies would be mixed, made of knights of both Men and Elves.”  He lifted the basinet and settled it over his head, and Galás attached it to the bevor.  “Has aught been heard of Orodreth and his niece?”

            “Nothing,” said Gimli.  “They, like Lord Eradan, have vanished.”

            “That perhaps is his reason for joining the fray,” said Legolas from behind his visor.  “Despite his keen disappointment in her Dirhael is still his heart’s lady; he would wish her no ill though they do not now have a future in matrimony together.”

            “Speaking of matrimony,” began Galás pertly, but Legolas gestured to him to be silent.  “Nay, Galás, I need no more of your pithy comments upon the conversation you overheard last night, betwixt my Lady Mother and Queen Undómiel!  I am well aware – moreso than I desire – of the regard paid me by the two queens’ attendants; now is not the time for such discussion.”  So saying he turned and strode out the tent, Galás and Baranil following him with sly smiles on their faces.  Disconsolately Bandobras trailed after them.

Legolas came to an abrupt halt upon quitting the tent; he stood staring in amazement at the large group of knights, some mounted and others standing with their horses, arranged about his tent.  It seemed the entire Tent City stood before him, knights and esquires alike, clad in mail and armour, bearing lances and swords, their many-colored standards flapping in the stiff breeze.  Cirien, Aldamir, Araval and Mardil stood at the forefront, smiling, their pennants floating from their esquires’ standards.  The small company of Elves that had come with Baranil stood at attention about the front entrance, grinning back at their Lord; they had the appearance of having prevented any intruders while being at the same time amused by the attempts.  Gimli stepped out and stood beside his friend, chuckling; Bandobras looked about him in amazement.

            “What is all this, Gimli?” he demanded in surprise.  “Why have all the knights in the Tent City come here?  What are they waiting for?”

            “They are waiting for your Master, of course,” growled Gimli.  “What; did you think they came to pay homage to you?  Watch and listen, Bandy!  I think you will enjoy this.”

            The Green Knight stepped forward and the Elvish company parted to let him through.  Hador stood beside his lord, holding fast to Hatchet’s reins; the great war horse snorted and rolled his eyes at the esquire but Hador did not flinch, instead grinning in a most impudent way at Lasgalen of Dale.  To his left was Hallas of Lossarnach, bound by ropes to the back of his rouncey, his tattered brown surcoat held over his armour with leather straps.  By the Red, Dun, Yellow and Silver Knights were also waiting the Gray and Black Knights, Vorondil and Malbeth, those mighty men whom all the other knights, esquires, and soldiers in the Tent City held in great reverence.  They both dismounted and approached the Green Knight.

            “Good morrow, my lords and gentlemen all,” said Lasgalen of Dale hesitantly, looking about through his visor at the great crowd of men about him.  “Why the delay?  Do you for some reason wait upon me?  The Lord of Emyn Arnen awaits our coming.”

            “We wait upon you for you are to lead us, Lord of Dale,” said Malbeth, bowing.

            “We follow the Green Knight into battle,” added Vorondil.  “We have discussed this and are come to an accord.”

            “I?” said the Green Knight.  “I had thought me either you, Lord Malbeth, or you, Lord Vorondil, should be the chief amongst all these knights of Gondor.  I am not of your people.”  He turned to his four friends.  “What part have you four played in this, my brother knights?” he chided.   “Could you not turn these men from their whims?  There is no time now for argument; we must needs choose some other knight of Gondor to lead us.”

            “We follow the Green Knight,” said Cirien firmly.  “Our pardon to you, Lasgalen of Dale; when approached by the Gray and Black Knights we were all in accord.  We shall follow you; you are more versed in battle than any other knight here, and have bested us all at the barriers and upon the tilt.  We shall follow you.”

            There was a murmur of agreement from the great crowd of knights, and the Elves all smiled, looking from the corners of their eyes at Lasgalen of Dale.  Gimli was chuckling openly, and Bandobras’ eyes shone with delight at the homage paid to his Master.  But the Green Knight shook his head.

            “Nay, this shall not be,” he said firmly.  “I am not the knight whom you should follow.  Aldamir at least should lead us; it is to his fiefdom we ride, and for his people we fight.”

            The Red Knight shook his head.  “I am truly sorry, Lasgalen of Dale,” he said; “I am leading the northern flank.  I had a message from Prince Faramir this morning requesting it be so.  The rest of the knights have decided to rally round your standard.”

            “But as the greater part of these knights shall be Elves perhaps one of the Elvish lords should lead the southern flank,” protested the Green Knight, a note of disquiet in his voice.  “You should not request this of a knight of Dale!”

            “The Elven knights have agreed to ride beneath the banner of Men,” said Vorondil.  “They told us to choose one of our own to lead us, and we have chosen well.”

            “We follow the Green Knight,” repeated Malbeth.

            “Come!” smiled Vorondil.  “Delay us no longer, Lasgalen of Dale.  Ride at our vanguard and lead us to victory.”

            The Green Knight stood very still a moment, and all fell silent, watching him.  Bandobras held his breath as he regarded his Master, who stood with his head bowed, thinking deeply.  Even Baranil and Galás were silent, awaiting his decision.  At last the Green Knight looked up.  He removed his gauntlets and unfastened his basinet from the bevor.  He lifted the helm from his head and drew off the arming cap, revealing his face to the crowd of knights and retainers before him.  He looked severely upon them as they stared silently at him.

            “I cannot lead you,” he said.  “For I am not Lasgalen of Dale but Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen; I am no Man but an Elf.  I tell you again, the Green Knight shall not lead you, for there is no Green Knight.  I am the Prince of Mirkwood and a vassal of Elessar, and you must choose for us another leader, for I would not lead you in mendacity but show to you at last the truth.”

            Malbeth and Vorondil looked upon him in astonishment; there were murmurs coming from the crowd as the men saw him for what he was.  Cirien, Mardil, Aldamir and Araval looked from one to the other in consternation.  Only Hallas stood unmoved; the expression upon his face was one of a man who has made his decision and will not change it for any reason.  Then the other knights clustered together, speaking quietly.  The Elven soldiers stood still, arranged behind their lord, and Baranil and Galás waited silently.  Gimli shifted upon his heavy booted feet, and Bandobras, in a fever of anxiety, grasped the Dwarf’s hand tightly.  After some minutes the knights moved back, and Vorondil and Malbeth turned once again to the Green Knight.

            “We are wroth with you, Prince Legolas, for obscuring your face from us and denying us the grace of your presence,” said Vorondil solemnly.  “Many mysteries and tales bruited abroad this Tournament could well have been stemmed had you come to us uncloaked.  Yet I beg you this indulgence, that you will allow me to say this:  You are in grave error by saying there is no Green Knight.  Who was it then that threw Malbeth from his destrier not once but five times?  Who was it that bested me at the barriers, when no man had done so before?  It was neither Lasgalen of Dale nor Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen; it was indeed the Green Knight.  And we will not follow Lasgalen of Dale nor Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen into Amon Din to battle:  We will follow the Green Knight, for he would not be so churlish as to deny us this.”

            At his words the assembly of knights lifted their standards into the air and began to shout:  “The Green Knight!  The Green Knight for Gondor!”  Legolas stood in amazement listening to them, a look of incredulity on his fair face; he held up his hand for silence and when that had been achieved he said:

            “I am filled with shame and dismay, brother knights, for you have shown to me my error in mistrusting you with the knowledge of my name!  I am humbled and awed by your faith in me, and shall prove to the utmost your confidence has been well-founded.  There is truly now no hope of defeat today, for this congress of mighty men is filled not only with strength and skill and speed, but overflows with valor, kindness, boldness and grace.  The Red Knight, Aldamir of Amon Din, my friend and ally, shall find in this assemblage respite and triumph for his besieged people; alas for the enemies of Elessar!  Nothing may hinder us now.  Mount and ride, my brother knights!  I shall lead you as you have demanded.  To Faramir for Gondor!” 

            “For Gondor!” cried the knights, shaking their ensigns as Legolas mounted Hatchet, who was prancing and snorting with impatience.  Galás took his horse from the pen and mounted as well; in his hands he held the standard of Lasgalen of Dale; the crossed oak branches fluttered overhead.  He and Legolas led the company of knights out down the Tent City street, the hooves of the destriers and hackneys raising a great cloud of dust in the pale cool air.  All around was the sound of jingling harnesses, clattering armour, and the shouts of the knights as they cried, “The Green Knight for Gondor!”  At last the file retreated round the corner, the last straggling esquires galloping to keep up, and the dust was whisked away by a sudden brisk wind.  Gimli, after a moment’s thought, went to the pen to see to the other horses and ponies therein.  Bandobras stood staring after his Master, gulping back sobs, tears standing out shamelessly in his eyes; after a moment Baranil stirred, and looking down with a smile at the Hobbit he took him by the hand.

            “Fear neither grief nor weeping,” he said reassuringly, leading the Halfling down the same street the knights had just used.  His Elves followed behind them, some singing softly, others talking and laughing amongst themselves.  “It is seemly to regret the departure of loved ones.  Did we not love them so well, we should lament not their passing.  But I do not think you need fear for your Master’s safety.  Many times has Legolas of Greenwood the Great lead soldiers into battle, many times against great odds and into even greater danger.  He has yet to be bested by any mortal enemy!  These poorly-armed soldiers of a small insurrection shall fall as mown wheat before him.”

            “I suppose,” sniffed Bandobras, wiping his nose with his sleeve.  “I just can’t believe he went off like that without a proper breakfast.”

            Faramir was arranging the foot-soldiers upon the trampled grass of the field when he heard the sound of singing.  He turned and shaded his eyes against the rays of the sun, just peering over the peaks of the Ephel Duath, to see arriving in a great cloud of dust all the knights of Men from the Tent City, riding behind a single knight clad in bright armour.  Even from that distance he could see the long pale hair fanned out behind the rider as he led the group bareheaded, his green and brown banner streaming above him, a blue scarf tied to his arm.  He smiled and turned to the Elven King.  “Look, your Majesty!” he cried.  “It is as I said; they have chosen your son to lead them.  Now the company which has the longest to ride shall have the swiftest leader.”

            Thranduil came up to him from where he had been conferring with Beregond.  “Ah,” he smiled, seeing Legolas at the head of the approaching file.  “All those years giving him the most difficult of tasks appears to have paid off.  He shrinks not even from leading an army of Men and Elves mixed.”

            “I cannot imagine he gave into them without a fight,” said Éowyn from atop Windfola.  “Look!  He has uncloaked.  I am sure he used that as one of his arguments against it.  He is too passive, your Majesty; he ought to accept his due without question.”

            “It will grow easier for him with time, my Lady,” Thranduil said to her.  “But press him a little and he pushes back, I assure you.  Sometimes, I confess, a little too forcefully!  He will not be so reticent after he has assumed full reign of his people.”  And so saying Thranduil went back to his task of ordering the archers.

            When the knights had all arrived Faramir divided them equally between Aldamir and Legolas.  To Aldamir were given twenty knights of Men and a hundred Elvish knights, all mounted upon large dark horses and bearing lances and halberds in addition to their short, stout yew bows.  The bright surcoats and caparisons of the knights of Men stood out in sharp contrast to the rows of Elves in green and brown, their low dark helms not sporting the plumes and ornaments so favored by their mortal counterparts.  The remaining knights Legolas took among his own people, scattering the Men amongst the Elves, explaining to them he wanted his people to be able to recognize friend from foe, which could only be done by close association.  By his side rode both Galás and Hallas of Lossarnach.  Before the entire assembly Faramir called Legolas forward.  Now wearing his basinet, the Green Knight approached, his armour flashing in the early morning light, the green intaglio designs writhing and twisting over the surface of the steel.  He stood before the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen, lance resting upon the stirrup, his escutcheon strapped to his left arm.  Beneath him Hatchet shifted and champed, anxious to be on his way; his blood was up and he smelled the approaching conflict.  Overhead the carrion birds circled, but warily; so often had they been deceived by the Grand Tournament they no longer trusted the signs of battle.

            “Legolas Greenleaf, to you and your company has been given the longest trek,” said Faramir.  “You must ride the valley by the wall of the Pelennor up to the Stonewain, then cut north to meet the enemy’s southern flank by midday.  We shall be sending scouts from the center of the van to you, so that you shall have ample notice should aught go ill.  When the sun is at its zenith we engage the insurgents on three sides.  Caution your knights to watch carefully for signs of the captives!  We would not have the innocent slain in the rush.”

            “I have done so already, Lord Faramir,” said Legolas.  “Fear not!  Aldamir’s people shall taste freedom again by nightfall, and Elessar shall return to Minas Tirith with a goodly number of trials to judge.”

            “You plan to leave some enemies living this time, then?” asked Éowyn with a smile.

            Legolas bowed to her in his saddle.  “I deeply regret my actions of a few days past,” he said solemnly, “as it deprived my Lord and Lady of the pleasure of interrogating their detractors.  I promise to deliver up to you traitors and rebels by the dozen to satisfy your desire for vengeance.”

            “I expect no less from my champion,” said Éowyn.

            “If I might beg a favor from you, my Lady,” said Legolas.

            “Anything, my champion!” said Éowyn.

            “Will you watch after my esquire, my beloved Bandobras?” asked Legolas.  “It grieves me to leave him behind, but it would grieve me all the more to expose him to peril.  I would not have him pine after me, but be filled with the zeal of duty and the joy of doing good deeds.  Keep him busy, so that he will not languish in my absence.”

            “I shall see to it, Lord Legolas,” said Éowyn.

            “And my Lord Faramir, a boon also I ask of you, if you would hear me,” said Legolas.

            “You have but to ask, my friend,” said Faramir.

            “Gimli will be with the foot-soldiers, a lone Dwarf amongst Men and Elves,” said the Green Knight.  “I know that he cannot ride with us but still it distresses me to be apart from him in the heat of battle.  I do not fear his safety but it would ease my heart to know he is well-placed, with friends on all sides.  Can you do this for me?”

            “I shall put him with Beregond,” said Faramir.  “He need fear no ill will there!”

            “My thanks to you,” said Legolas.  “Now by your leave I shall quit you; we have many leagues to ride today, and many traitors to slay – I mean, of course, to capture!”  With that he saluted them both and turning Hatchet rode back to his phalanx.  Faramir and Éowyn watched him arrange his troop, hearing his clear voice calling orders even over the noise of thudding hooves and clattering armour; after a moment he gave one loud cry, and lifting up his banner they rode off to the Pelennor, leaving behind a great yellow haze of dust hanging in the early morning sunlight.  Éowyn turned Windfola and said to her husband:

            “My Lord, I quit you now, to return to my duties within Osgiliath.  Should the battle go ill, is there aught I should tell Elessar the King upon his return some two days hence?”

            “Yes, my Lady!” said Faramir, grasping her hand and kissing it.  “Tell him to find you a new husband, for if I do not return it means I have failed indeed and breathe no longer.  I do not mean to return to Osgiliath ‘til all these traitors have been hounded out, run down, and defeated.”

            “In that case it seems as though we shall be married many years yet,” smiled Éowyn, and rode back to Osgiliath to keep watch.

30.

            Legolas lead the vanguard past the new walls of the Rammas Echor while the sky grew ever brighter and white clouds streaked the deep autumn blue.  As they rode westward the great tip of Mindolluin gleamed like polished silver against the darker peaks of Ered Nimrais, piercing the mists that lay upon its lustrous head and shadowing its scored and pitted surface.  They passed empty farmsteads, mournfully settled in sere fields with cold chimneys; nor poult nor kine nor voice of man could be heard in the deserted pastures.  But behind them the sun shone warm and bright, casting their shadows long and distended upon the meads before them, and throughout the battalion fair voices were raised in song.  The Elvish knights sang in Westron in deference to their mortal partners; it was a gay and lighthearted tune, and by the second chorus the men sang as well, hearts lifting despite the ominous silence about them.  So the file progressed, with thudding of trotting hoof and jingling of harness, until they reached the north curve of the Great West Road as it crossed the Pelennor.  Here the Green Knight lifted his hand for a halt, and his knights drew in a circle about him.  He removed his helm and urged Hatchet into the circle to address them, and Galás stood by him bearing his standard.

            “In an hour’s time we come to the Stonewain,” he said to them.  “We shall proceed upon that course for four leagues, then cut north through the Grey Wood and climb an outer spur of Amon Din.  By the time we descend the spur we shall have espied our enemies.  Listen well, all of you!  Knights and esquires of Gondor, there are amongst these traitors men whom perchance you know, for they are men of your own lands despite their treacherous ways.  Should you find your sword arm weakened upon our employment through the sight of some well-known face, do not let your heart fail you, nor let the whispers of doubt assail you!  Turn instead to one of your Elvish brothers, for whom the enemy of their Lord is their enemy as well, and disclose unto them your doubts; they will do what your heart might tell you to refrain from doing.  And you Elvish knights, my people of the North, look you well upon the faces of the men with whom you are riding!  One mortal may indeed look much the same to you as another, and bear in mind these turncoats will be wearing the armour of the soldiers of Gondor.  Should any uncertainty beset you turn you also unto your mortal neighbors for guidance, for I shall not have it said friend slew friend upon the field of battle.

            “Remember you also the women and children held hostage by these conspirators!  They shall be overcome with fear and grief, and may not at once realize we come to rescue them and not to harm them.  Do them no injury, even should they contest you.  Protect and release them as best you may, and I need not tell you that should any find a man using a woman or child as a shield against you, you should hesitate not to slay the coward immediately and with ferocity.  These are the mothers and offspring of Gondor, betrayed and impoverished by an army of bullies and turncoats; what else have good knights and warriors to desire but to defend and safeguard the blameless prey of such base and violent beasts?  Our highest object for now is to bring these innocents back to Osgiliath where they may live out the winter in warmth, safety and wellbeing under the protection of Lord Faramir and King Elessar.  We know not whether there be ample food and shelter for them here, so if needs must we shall bring them to the keep at Amon Din, where Lord Aldamir’s seneschal will welcome them for the night.  Knights shall give up their horses to the weak and injured to make easy the road for them, whether to Amon Din this eve, or to Osgiliath on the morrow.

            “My Lord’s scout Himbaláth has informed me the army we shall be facing is ill-equipped and ill-prepared.  They have few spears and fewer bows, no cavalry at all save a few riding horses, and they yet know not our ranks have been swelled by the Elvish warriors.  We shall come upon them in their confusion and mow them down as a scythe in late summer.  Yet I tell you this – should any beg indulgence from you, casting down their arms and pleading for mercy, you shall give it them.  For we are not as they are, ignoble, corrupt, and avaricious; we are knights of Gondor, knights of Ithilien, and as such have before us a higher measure than they.  Disarm and bind them; trust them not but treat them with decency, remembering that when their trial is concluded before the King they shall be hung as traitors, which is their just due.  Give them not the satisfaction of being slain in the glory of battle!  They are not worthy of that honor.

            “Look!  Already the sun ascends her sapphire stair!  When she is at her height we descend the wooded hills to Amon Din.  At noon spears and lances shall be placed in their rests; swords drawn from their hilts, shields and escutcheons bound upon our manifers.  The enemies of the King know not their doom is at hand, and that doom is this regiment encircled about me.  You are fell, my brother knights; fell and fair, and the light shall flash from helm to cuirass and strike as lightning into the eyes of our foes!  They shall flee before us in dismay, and we shall crush them beneath our hooves, for they have slain the guiltless and plundered the helpless, and through our swords and spears shall freedom and deliverance be brought to our people.  Ride, then!  Follow the Green Knight from the valley to the forest that we may descend upon our foes like the blow of a hammer.  For Elessar and Gondor!”

            “For Gondor!” cried the knights, clashing their spears and lances upon their shields.  “The Green Knight for Gondor!”  The circle broke and Legolas and Galás rode out from among them, leading them west to the Stonewain.  When that goal they had achieved they turned east into the Grey Wood and left behind them the silent and sun-drenched fields, disappearing beneath the darkness of the trees.

            Slowly rose the sun in her course, coyly veiling her face betimes with white wispy cloud, yet casting down upon the meads of Ithilien her warm bright rays, which flashed and glinted upon the cuirasses and arms of the men who marched their steady way westward.  At the vanguard rode the Lord of Emyn Arnen, behind whom were arrayed his Rangers, and beside him was Thranduil of Mirkwood upon his dark charger, leading his archers.  Through the sea of summer-burnt grasses billowing against the wind came the foot-soldiers of Ithilien and the deadly marksmen of Eryn Lasgalen, cloaks stirring about their feet, their voices lifted in song.  They had taken turns teaching tunes from one group to the other, the Elves singing songs of Dale and in turn learning the odes of the Southern Rangers.  They were then in full cry, hoping to draw out the scouts of the enemy, caroling a Westron tune of war; Faramir sitting silent upon his destrier’s back heard to his amusement the Elven King humming carelessly along.

            There was the sound of hoofbeats then, and the song faltered; it was but Kaimelas however returning from a point patrol.  He galloped up to Lord Faramir and King Thranduil, his dark hair streaming behind him; in his hand he held some small object, which Faramir could not quite descry.  Saluting them both Kaimelas gestured to Baranil, Beregond, and Gimli, who urged their mounts forward.

            “Meivel and I came upon some men in the detritus of a farmstead there,” he said, pointing over the down they were approaching.  “They had secured for themselves a barrel of ale, and in their careless carousing fell easily to our arrows, but not before we pressed them for information.  Our enemy knows not of our proximity but believes any retaliation to be some weeks hence.  So far as we can tell our way is clear, for though you shame the birds with your singing no scouts have been flushed.”

            “Excellent!” said Gimli.  “I hope the Lion enjoys his surprise.”

            “You slew them then?” asked Faramir, disappointed.

            “We did not wish to at first, my Lord,” said Kaimelas.  “But as we prepared ourselves to bind and bring them they made an attempt to flee westward, so we shot them, not wanting our foes to be in any way alerted to our coming.  It was a pity, as we had hoped to glean yet more knowledge of them.”

            “What is that you are holding, my Kaimelas?” asked Thranduil.

            “I found this by the burned house,” said the Elf.  “It looks as though it were dropped in flight.”  He held out his hand and gave the small bundle to his King.  It was a child’s doll, made of wood and wrapped carefully in a scrap of wool; a face was painstakingly marked with ink upon its well-worn head.  It looked slightly singed on one side but was otherwise unharmed.  The Elven King turned it over in his hands, frowning; when he handed it to Faramir his eyes were alight with anger.

            “Whatever lord guides these soldiers has much to answer for,” he said.  “To meet warrior against warrior in battle is one thing; it is another entirely to waylay and abduct the innocent.”

            “Why did you take it?” asked Beregond of the Elf.

            “I wish to return it to its owner, if that be possible,” said Kaimelas.

            “Do so then,” said Lord Faramir, giving him the doll, “with all the blessings of the Lord of Emyn Arnen, good Kaimelas.  Have you any else to report?”

            “Meivel is prowling the verge of the Road,” said Kaimelas.  “So far it is clear.  He will signal us if it is safe to cross.”

            “Very well, we shall march to the foot of the last down and await his signal,” said Faramir.  Kaimelas tucked the doll in his tunic and turned his horse about.  The van watched him as he rode, skirting the approaching hillock and disappearing into the shadows on the other side.

            When they reached the low down Faramir and Thranduil called a halt.  They rested their troops while awaiting the signal from the Elvish scouts.  When Meivel’s whistle proclaimed the Road safe they marched once again, cresting the down and looking upon the dusty yellow track of the Great West Road.  It stretched from northwest to southeast at that point, winding about the rippling hillocks, settled upon the lower tracks like a ribbon carelessly thrown down upon the earth.  They could just see the darkness of the woods as a dark line before them.  On the opposite side of the road were Meivel and Kaimelas, sitting astride their great dark destriers.  Faramir and the Elven King led their people across the road to the fields beyond.  They could see arising from several of the folds of the meads light gray smoke, as of campfires, but the fields were empty save for a few birds watching them from their perches upon low gorse brushes, or startled hares dashing out from underfoot, tails flashing whitely at them. 

            They could now see Amon Din rising before them, its watchtower a small square dot against the bright sky; its dark slopes fell sharply down into the Grey Wood, which marched nearly to its peak.  The smell of smoke grew, and presently all could see the great haze of it rising in twisting columns, gathering in a low cloud and shuddering off to their left.  Thranduil shook his head and said to Faramir:  “Legolas will not like that!  See, it is blowing directly at him.  It will be all the more difficult for him to see where they should descend.”

            “It will also make it all the more difficult for our enemies to see him approach,” said Baranil.

            “I hope he comes in time,” said Faramir.

            “What, my Lord, do you fear for the outcome of the battle should Legolas be delayed?” asked Thranduil.

            “Nay, your Majesty!” said Faramir.  “I would simply not like him to miss anything.  Besides I do not want this Lion to run to the forest and try to hide there – it will be problematical enough to flush him out from among his men; I do not want to spend the next few days hunting for him in Aldamir’s woods.”

            “Elves are quite good at finding people in woods,” laughed Gimli.  “If you doubt me you have but to ask my father, and he will tell you!”

            Thranduil laughed as well, but ruefully.  “Well, Lord Faramir, should your Lion escape we shall indeed send out many scouts to bring him back to you,” he said.  “And I doubt not your Rangers are every bit as good at finding enemies in forests.”

            At once they saw two horsemen riding at a gallop towards them; Baranil cried out, “It is Meivel and Kaimelas!  They must have espied our enemies.”  Sure enough the two Elves dashed up to the vanguard, their horses’ flanks streaked with sweat.  They were both laughing, and Kaimelas was holding his bow; Faramir saw the quiver was empty.  “You are nearly upon them!” smiled Meivel.  “They have set up border guards but no scouts; they have no trenches, nor towers, nor any patrols at all!  The greater part of them is encamped in the next valley; there is a tent therein, and some few horses, heavily guarded; we are sure that is where their captain hides himself.   The soldiers appear to be unaware of anything untoward – they have cast aside their armaments, and are sleeping, or playing with dice, or quarrelling.  Save a few company commanders near the tent there appears to be little leadership or discipline.”

            “How were you able to get past the border guards to discern all of this?” asked Beregond.

            “Ah!  I fear the border guards are lax in their duties,” said Kaimelas, brandishing his bow.  “All of them have the appearance of deep sleep, though it cannot be very comfortable to so slumber with my fletching protruding from their heads and chests.”

            “Excellent!” said Faramir.  “Run through the ranks and tell our men we shall charge from the top of the hill.  Beregond, sound the trumpet when we are arranged at the crest.  Is there any sign of Aldamir or Legolas?”

            “Nay, my Lord,” said Kaimelas, checking himself before going into the troops.  “All is quite quiet and serene; our enemies have no thought of battle.”

            “Let us finish them then,” said Faramir, and drew his sword.

            Legolas held up his hand and the file paused.  He gestured to Himbaláth and Galás and they dismounted and crept down the hill.  They had climbed the spur of Amon Din steadily beneath the dark shadow of the trees, silent save for the jingling of armour and the thudding of hooves; all had been quiet and without incident.  But as soon as they had crested the spur all the Elves had lifted their heads, sampling the air and frowning; when their mortal neighbors questioned them they only said:  “Smoke.”  Soon it was thick enough for even those lacking Elvish senses to descry it, and it swirled densely about them, bleaching color and blurring sight. As they descended the smoke thickened; it hung heavy about the boles of the trees, obscuring the high branches and the further wood.  But though Legolas sent scouts forward no sign of the enemy had been sighted.

            After a moment the two Elves came back to the van.  “There is naught on the slope, my Lord, save rocks and trees,” said Himbaláth.  “But we will not be able to descend swiftly lest our horses stumble and fall, until we reach a gentle slope to the valley below; there the trees have been cleared and the rocks fail somewhat.  But still it will be a hard gallop after a slow and careful descent.”

            “Do you see the enemy?”

            “Nay, my Lord!” said Galás; “the smoke quite shrouds us still.  Though we hear them, and also the voices of women and children.  They are below us some four leagues.”

            “Then we must be silent,” said Legolas, “so that we may hear when Lord Faramir and King Thranduil engage them.  That will give us adequate time to descend this slope.  Tell the file to ride as quietly as possible, and when we reach the cleared area we will pause to form a line.  When I give the word you, Galás, shall sound the trumpet and we attack.”

            “We will tell them,” said Galás, and he and Himbaláth rode back to the file.  While Legolas waited he turned to Hallas, who was biting his lip and drumming his fingers upon the saddle horn.  Behind his visor Legolas could see his face was very white, for Hallas was a young man and as yet untried in true battle.   “Hallas of Lossarnach,” he said quietly, “no one would think any worse of you should you choose to ride further to the rear of the file; you are injured and unable to ride well.  There is no reason for you to remain at my side.”

            “I have honor to regain,” said Hallas looking at him, his jaw tightening.  “Already have I lost too much.”

            “You will gain little pleasure from your honor if it slay you,” said Araval from Legolas’ other flank.

            “I will gain no pleasure at all from dishonor if I live,” said Hallas.

            When Galás and Himbaláth returned to the van Legolas moved them forward again.  The horses descended slowly and carefully, their hooves slipping upon the steep terrain and stumbling over the rocks embedded in the earth.  When they reached the cleared area they could see little, for the smoke was blowing into their faces; however they could hear voices below them.  Once again Galás and Himbaláth crept forward on foot, their forms vanishing into the thick fog of smoke.  Then after a few moments they came running back.

            “We descend from the smoke in a hundred paces,” panted Himbaláth; “then you will see the encampment below us.  To our left are the prisoners, the women and children; to our right a great company of men.  They are foolish to set so little guard upon their flanks, for we from our height can see the Lord of Emyn Arnen and the Elven King approaching, though they are hidden from our enemies by a great fold in the earth.”

            “Then we are just in time,” said Legolas.  “Have everyone form the line.”

            “How nice to not be late for such an important engagement!” said Galás cheerfully as he turned to the knights.  “Of all social niceties punctuality is my favorite.”  After the line had been formed they waited again; then there was the sound of a horn from below them and to the east.  “That is Faramir’s horn,” said Legolas, loosening his sword in its sheath.  The men beneath them had begun shouting, and they could hear the tumult of orders being given and armour being hurriedly affixed.  Then Legolas cried out, “Lances!” and all the knights set their lances in their lance rests.  Galás set the horn to his lips and blew a great blast, and with a cry the Green Knight led the charge.

            As they swept down the grassy slope they could hear another horn blowing ahead of them; Araval cried out:  “Aldamir!”  Then suddenly they descended from beneath the blanket of smoke and they saw the valley before them, choked with men running in all directions like ants, scrambling for swords or safety.  From their vantage point they could see Aldamir’s red banner at the other head of the valley, where his knights were sweeping down upon their enemies; they could also see the archers send up a great rain of arrows into the midst of the oncoming company, which melted beneath the onslaught.

            Legolas led his knights west around the back of the encampment towards the prisoners, whom they could see staring with frightened eyes from behind the high pen walls; the soldiers guarding the pen looked about wildly at the approaching line, crying aloud in fear at the sight, for the Green Knight outgalloped his men upon his terrible warhorse, which bellowed and screamed at them; the high helm was crowned with flaring wings and his bright armour flashed.  The enemy soldiers tried to stand, but wavered, then broke and ran.  It was however to no avail, for Legolas and his knights pursued them, running them down with lances and striking at them with swords until all the guards were slain.  Then Legolas ordered a small company to defend the hapless prisoners, and turned east into the fray.

            He set his line against the rear of the enemy’s soldiers, pressing in toward the central tents which housed the officers, not wanting any to escape; however there the resistance was fiercest, and the soldiers all the better armed.  Legolas shattered his lance upon a great bawling captain, then swept his sword from its sheath and struck left and right as Hatchet with a loud squeal plunged into the mass of men.  His destrier kicked and pawed at the soldiers, striking at them with his great fullered hooves, and the Green Knight’s ancient and formidable sword cut a great swath through his enemies, beating a path to the tents.

            Then he heard a great cry of dismay, and looking round saw the red banner of Amon Din had fallen; calling to Galás to sound the horn again he shouted:  “To Aldamir!  The Green Knight for Amon Din!”  At once a company of twenty knights clustered round him, among whom were Araval and Hallas; when Galás had raised the brown and green standard of Lasgalen of Dale they fought their way north to Aldamir’s aid.

            Hearing his son’s horn a second time, King Thranduil looked to see the green banner cut through the throng of soldiers and realized Aldamir’s standard had fallen.  Calling to his archers they sent a great barrage of arrows to clear the way for the rescue party, and soon enough he could hear Legolas’ voice crying to his knights to raise the red standard again.  He turned to Baranil at his side and said:  “Tell the archers to draw swords!  We must needs go to the aid of the Red Knight; that is where the fighting is fiercest.  Faramir and Legolas’ other knights are holding it well enough here.”  Baranil nodded and sounded upon the horn, and soon Thranduil slashed through the pack of panicked soldiers, diminishing their numbers greatly and beating a path to the red standard of Amon Din.  There he saw Aldamir himself, upright still upon his horse but wounded in the arm, and his standard bearer had been slain; Himbaláth was holding aloft the red ensign and Hallas sat lashed upon his horse beside them.

            “Where is the Green Knight?” asked the Elven King.

            “He has gone back to the tents, your Majesty,” said Hallas.  “When we broke away from the rest of our group a large party emerged from the tents and fought their way through the line to the northwest.  Four of them were on horseback and broke through the knights, galloping to the forest.  Lord Legolas has gone in pursuit.”

            From the east there was a sudden loud cheer; they turned and saw that Faramir’s white banner was planted firmly in the center of the valley, and all about him were enemies slain or taken prisoner.  Beregond rode up to them, his sword dripping blood.  “My Lord asks me to tell you the greater part of the soldiers appear to have either been killed or have given themselves up,” he said.  “We need now to find some way to bind them, that they will not run off to the woods to perpetrate yet more trouble at a later date.”

            “Legolas suggested the walled enclosure there,” said Himbaláth, pointing back to where the prisoners were held.  “We may exchange women and children for insurgents.”

            “Galás would no doubt say that was an unfair trade,” said Gimli coming up to them.  His axe was notched but his eyes were bright and he was unharmed.  “Look!  Here comes Cirien; he seems as though he has all things well taken care of over by the tents.  At least I see no more enemies standing; that is a good sign.”

            The Yellow Knight cantered up to them, his standard bearer beside him.  “Hail, lords!” he cried.  “This was a short battle, was it not?  Hardly an hour has passed and nearly all our enemies are slain.”

            “And some of our own folk too, alas!” said Thranduil.  “But we have won the field and that is the principal thing.  What have you done with the surviving enemy soldiers?”

            “The few who fell not upon their own swords, cheating the hangman, are disarmed and lying upon the ground over there,” said Cirien, pointing back to the tents.  “I have five good knights guarding them.  There is yet a small pocket of resistance to the north, and I bethought me ‘twould be a great pleasure to fight there beside the Elven King, so securing my place in history.  Shall we dispatch them, you and I, your Majesty?”

            “It would be a great pleasure for myself as well, Lord Cirien,” said Thranduil, and he and Cirien with a company of knights and archers marched off.  After a time Faramir rode up.

            “Hail and well met, Aldamir of Amon Din!” he cried.  “This was an easy battle; if all our foes fell so quickly we would be fortunate indeed.  But my victory shall be incomplete until I have before me the Lion.  Has aught been seen of any lords or captains?  Has anyone espied Orodreth or his niece, or Eradan?  What has become of them?”

            “Perchance they are in the enclosure with the women and children,” suggested Hallas.  “Shall I go to see, my Lord?”  Upon his face was a look of hope and consternation mingled at the thought of seeing Dirhael again.

            “Very well,” said Faramir.  “Hador, do you go with Hallas to see; and tell the knights about the enclosure to free the prisoners and place the enemy soldiers therein.  Should either of those two lords be present bring them back here.  We yet have to determine who it was led this uprising.  Have no soldiers of rank been captured alive?”

            “Knowing the noose awaits them in Minas Tirith has no doubt encouraged them to die cleanly upon their own swords,” said Gimli.

            “Where is Legolas?” asked Faramir.

            “He went in pursuit of a small company that broke through the line,” said Gimli.  “Perhaps the Lion is at last being hunted by the goat.”

            “I hope so,” said Faramir.  “This charade has gone on long enough and I weary of it.”

            In an hour’s time all pockets of resistance had been crushed, and the few remaining soldiers stripped of armour and weaponry and set face down upon the trampled earth.  Beregond and Baranil walked with guards up and down the rows of soldiers but none questioned could answer who their captain or lord had been, save for a few minor captains already slain.  It appeared the orders for decampment and deployment had been sent by messenger and none had actually seen the face of the mind behind the matter.  And one of the captains questioned had been quite astounded at being caught so off-guard; apparently their leader had told them pursuit would be delayed, and all had been expecting reinforcements to come to their aid up the Anduin.

            “The Haradrim you mean?” Faramir asked the man, who knelt before him, trembling and grey-faced with fear.

            “I do not know, my Lord,” said the captain; “we were told only that allies from the South would swell our ranks and make our victory sure.”

            “Well, your allies were defeated by King Elessar,” said Faramir grimly, “and all these plans for insurrection brought to naught by his might and through the love of his friends.  You have sold your honor for nothing.”  The defeated captain hung his head at these words.  “How is it we came upon you so unprepared?  Any captain or lord worth his weight ought to have had you to set camp upon a hill, so that you would see any enemies approaching; also you have spent much time and effort upon the palisade about your poor prisoners and none upon your defense.”

            “We had not the time for that, my Lord,” confessed the unhappy captain.  “And there was great division in the tents of our leaders.  Some urged us to march upon Amon Din and take the keep for ourselves; others desired to wait until our allies could find us and strengthen our position here.  Then yesterday a group of men in rich robes with many soldiers came up, and the lords and the lady went into the tent – “

            “What lady?  Which lords?  Did you recognize them?” demanded Faramir.
            “I know not, my Lord,” said the captain.  “I did not see them; I was told this by another.  But he did tell me this:  that one of the men and the young lady were afraid, and the lady was weeping.  I do not think all came willingly here.”

            “Very well,” said Faramir.  “Take him away; he can tell us nothing more of import.”  When a Ranger had removed the prisoner Faramir turned to Aldamir.  “The lady must be Dirhael Orodreth’s charge,” he said.  “When Hallas returns we shall know whether they are with the prisoners, or were in the knot of horsemen the Green Knight hunts.  Well, I am sure someone shall find them, so it appears the greater part of our work here is done.  You ought now to send messengers to your seneschal, telling him of the deeds that have transpired here, for if nothing else it will ease his mind of this burden of worry, and what people who have taken refuge in your keep may feel appeased.”

            “There does not seem to be any reason to bring the women and children to Amon Din, however,” said Aldamir; “I have spoken to Meivel and he has told me there is a great stockpiling of foodstuff and fodder, kine and goods near the palisade, so we can set up camp here this evening in safety and comfort.  These miscreants carried all the good things away from the farmsteads after they had slain the men.”

            At that moment Hallas and Hador returned.  “The Lords Orodreth and Eradan were not with the prisoners,” said Hallas disconsolately.  “There were therein only the poor housewives with their offspring.  The rest of the knights have freed them and the Elves are making sure they are comforted and kept warm and fed; otherwise I do not think they have been greatly harmed.”

            Hard on their heels came the Elven King and the Yellow Knight; they both dismounted and approached.  “Has aught been seen of the Green Knight?” asked Thranduil, wiping the blood from his sword.  “I have spoken with some of his knights and none seem to know whither he has gone.  Galás also is missing, and some diverse others as well.”

            “They were last seen pursuing a small company of mounted men into the woods behind the palisade,” said Hador.  “Kaimelas, Mardil, and Malbeth were with them.”

            “It concerns me they have not yet resurfaced,” said Faramir; “they have been gone some time.”

            “It is not so easy to track enemies in thick woods,” said Baranil.  “Nor is it easy to fight them.  Besides these men they are pursuing are perchance the principal leaders of this insurrection; capture will mean public disgrace and execution.  Their fear will give them wings.  But fear not!  Legolas at least is master at such things; I have no doubt he will deliver these men up to you, either whole and hale, or perhaps just their heads should they refuse to yield.”

            “All the same I should feel more content if others were set in pursuit of the pursuers,” said Faramir.  “Who will go to Legolas’ aid?  Cirien?  Aldamir?”

            “You need not even ask,” said the Yellow Knight.  “We would ask your leave to ride with him regardless, my Lord.”

            “I wish to go too,” said Araval.  “Hador and I will ride with you once again.”

            “My Lord,” said Hallas, “I beg you to let me ride with them as well.”

            “You do not slip upon the cruppers then?” asked Faramir.

            “Nay, my Lord!  Ornendil did his work well,” said Hallas.  “And I am as yet uninjured and desire greatly to see to Lady Dirhael’s wellbeing.  Should she be with this company being pursued by the Green Knight I would rescue her.”

            “Would you indeed!” smiled the Lord of Emyn Arnen.  “Ride, then, and with all strength of heart and mind.”

            “With your permission, Lord Araval,” said Gimli, “and of course with your esquire’s, may I ride again with you?  If I do not see to Legolas’ safe return Bandy shall never forgive me.”

            “Ride with me, friend Dwarf,” said Baranil, “for I go as well, with my Lord’s consent; as Bandobras of the Shire would chivvy you for Prince Legolas’ welfare so would my Lady implore me.  And my horse is far stouter than good Hador’s little hackney; we shall ride all the swifter.”

            “Very well, then!” said Faramir.  “Ride and good luck to you; should any further aide be needed send back for it.”

            “We will!” said Cirien, and he and the others rode off, leaving behind the smoking battlefield.

31.

            Legolas upon his mighty destrier wound through the forest as it climbed the spur of Amon Din.  Every now and again he would pause and study the earth, seeking thereupon the marks of passage from the horsemen he pursued; Galás and Kaimelas also cast about upon either side of him, searching for hoof prints.  Behind them rode the Black and Silver Knights, swords drawn, peering into the trees about them cautiously.  The light beneath the great pines was dimmed, for the sun sank west upon the other side of the mountain and they were nearly in darkness, though it was but late afternoon.

Suddenly Galás cried out, pointing to the earth before his horse; when the others came up to him he said:  “Look, look!  I have found their tracks; they are circling this thicket and proceeding to that outcropping there.”  They followed the marks and saw that they led to a great jutting rock, overhanging a dark dell, about which were growing many thick and tangled pine trees, and holly bushes covered in vines.  The path was narrow with a sheer face upon the right, and slick damp rock on the left, so that they would be forced to ride single file.  Legolas frowned and lifted his visor, turning to the other knights.

            “I do not like this; there is no other way to encircle the rock,” he said; “the ground is too steep for our horses.  Either we ride into that dell and invite ambush, or we abandon our mounts and climb around it.”

            “We will waste much time that way,” said Malbeth, “and each moment that passes ensures the elusion of our enemies.”

            “I see no one about,” said Kaimelas cautiously, “and I neither hear nor smell anyone.  But the reek of smoke and clamour of battle still fills the air, and we are yet upwind.”

            “The very sight of this pathway chills my heart; I do not want to risk a trap,” said Legolas.  “Could we not tie our horses to these trees here and enter the woods?”

            Mardil studied the steep slope and grimaced.  “Not in armour certainly,” he said.  “We should bog down before we went but ten paces.  We are not clad for hunting but for full combat.”

            “We could remove our armour,” suggested Kaimelas.

            “Yes, and remove our protection as well!” said Malbeth.  “Nay, good Elf, I am more comfortable encased in steel, though I know you like it not.  It does impede us somewhat but we are the more protected.”

            “Each moment we debate gives our prey a few more steps,” said Galás.  “Well, my Lord; you have elected to lead us.  Whither shall we go?  Up the slope in naught but our under-linens, or down this pathway here?”

            Legolas chewed restlessly upon his lip, thinking hard.  When at last he spoke it was with great reluctance.  “We shall keep to the path, and hope my choice goes not ill.  There were but four of them, so far as we know.  And I begrudge this Lion every step and am very impatient to bring him down.” Then drawing his sword he led them in a file to the dell.

            They had gone no more than twenty paces when Galás gave a shout; there was the twang of a bow string, and Mardil’s horse fell beneath him, throwing him with a great clatter down the steep slope, where the knight landed upon a great boulder and was still.  The horse thrashed upon the narrow path, throwing up great clots of loam, until it too tumbled down the slope, struggling to regain its feet and squealing in pain.  From the top of the outcropping appeared the dark heads of men with bows and arrows.  Legolas shouted a warning, raising his escutcheon, but beside him Kaimelas with a strangled cry fell backward, grasping at the feathers protruding from his chest; his terrified mount squealed and bolted into the brake, where it floundered in the thick brush until another swift arrow pierced its eye and it dropped heavily, Kaimelas senseless beside it.  Galás whirled his mount behind a wide oak trunk, leapt from the horse’s back and set arrow to string, answering the volley.  One of the men tumbled from the rock and landed limply upon the loam beneath it.

            “Back, back!” cried Legolas, as Hatchet shrieked and bellowed beneath him.  “They are above us.  Back!”  An arrow struck his escutcheon and stuck quivering in the wood; another bounced off his cuirass and landed in the dirt by Hatchet’s hooves.

            But the men upon the outcropping heard him as well and leapt to the floor of the dell, letting fly their arrows with abandon; most missed their marks but some struck true, though the heavy peytrals and breastplates deflected the worst of it.  With a cry Galás fell, dropping his bow and clutching his side; Malbeth cursing turned his mount to shield him.

            Angrily Legolas spun Hatchet about, trusting in the Dwarvish armour he wore, and urged his snorting destrier into the dell, ignoring the cries of dismay behind him.  Brandishing his sword he cried out, “Eryn Lasgalen!” and charged into the midst of the archers.  Desperately they tried to pierce his armour but it was too thick for their short bows and the arrows merely bounced off of it.  Two stood against him but the other three fled shrieking from the huge warhorse as it lunged at them, and from the bright sword that hewed at them.  The two who remained were swiftly cut down, and lost in his wrath the Green Knight urged Hatchet down the pathway to pursue the others.

            One turned, eyes wild, and fitted an arrow to his string; Legolas however was upon him ere he could loose it, and rode him down.  Then there was another twang, and with a surprised squeal Hatchet fell to his knees, throwing his master to the earth.  One of the archers had found the notch in the peytral fastening, and the destrier was wounded, lying coughing up foam and churning at the dirt with his great hooves.

            Furious Legolas rolled to his feet; swift was he though impeded somewhat by the heavy armour, and pelted after the other two archers, who fled from him in terror.  He heard the sound of hoof beats behind him and cried:  “Malbeth!  Pass me!” and leapt to the side so that the Black Knight’s destrier could overtake him.  The dark caparisoned charger rushed past, snorting, and ere the two remaining men could gain the turn of the path he was upon them, striking at them with his sword.  Legolas put on a last reckless burst of speed and caught one as it turned to him.  He slew him quickly and turned to aid Malbeth, but the Black Knight had his man and sat upon his destrier, looking uneasily about for any other enemies.

            “My thanks,” panted Legolas; “I feared me they would escape us.”

            “They have done enough damage,” said Malbeth grimly.

            At once Legolas remembered their friends, and with a cry of dismay ran back down the path, tearing at his gauntlets to remove them.  He fell to his knees with a clang and a clatter by Kaimelas’ side.  The arrow was sunk deep in his chest, and his jerkin was soaked in bright red blood; his face was white and still, but to Legolas’ relief he yet breathed, though the fletching fluttered with each halting breath.  Hurriedly unlatching his helm from the bevor and flinging it aside he took hold of the arrow, and bracing himself against poor Kaimelas’ chest wrenched it out.  The Elf groaned but did not open his eyes.

            “Here,” said Malbeth, handing the Green Knight a cloth. “Stanch his wound; I shall see to the others.”

            “My thanks,” said Legolas again, pressing the cloth against his friend’s chest.  “O my Kaimelas!” he said sadly.  “That you should lead such a long and merry life beneath the dark eaves of Mirkwood, yet be struck down in Gondor!”

            “Let me be!  See to Mardil,” said Galás from behind him, panting heavily; “I shall not perish from this hurt, though I may wish it soon enough.”  Legolas turned; his seneschal had already plucked the arrow from his side and held his hand, shiny with blood, over the wound.  Groaning he crawled up to his lord.  “Well, as you said, my Lord, the perfect spot for an ambush,” he gasped, dragging himself to Kaimelas’ side.  “I am not certain I enjoyed being punctual for this particular party.  And in the end I see our armour availed us nothing.”

            “Malbeth and I are unhurt; our armour it was that saved us,” said Legolas.  He looked down at the great spread of blood upon Galás’ side.  “How bad?” he asked.

            Galás shook his head.  “I have had worse,” he said lightly, though Legolas saw his face was very white.  “It pierced naught but my flesh, and was deflected by my ribcage.  Here, my Lord, give that to me, and I shall press it upon Kaimelas’ breast; still our enemies elude us, for we have not come upon the horsemen yet, and you and Lord Malbeth must still pursue them.”

            With a sigh Legolas released his hold upon the scout’s wound, and Galás pressed down upon it, while his lord rose and went to the edge of the pathway to peer down into the gloom.  “Malbeth?  Mardil?” he called to the two dim figures below.  “Shall I come to your aid?”

            “If you would but collect Lord Mardil’s destrier, my Lord, I believe I can assist him up the slope,” said Malbeth, looking up at him from the nest of brakes where the Silver Knight sat.  “I have succeeded in removing the arrow from its forearm and though it may not bear a man’s weight I am confident it may walk, though it be slowly.”

            “What ho, Mardil?” asked Legolas, climbing down the slope, slower than his wont for he was hindered by the armour.

            “I fear me I have broken my leg, Lord Legolas,” said Mardil, grunting as Malbeth hauled him to his feet.  “It is not too bad but I cannot walk.”

            “He has also sustained a bad blow to the head, I fear,” said Malbeth, commencing to drag the Silver Knight up the steep slope.  “There is blood from the cut and a great lump forming.”

            “Well, we shall see,” said Legolas, and reaching the trembling war horse he spoke softly to it in his own tongue, until its eyes ceased to roll and its twitching subsided.  Then he took it by the bridle and led it slowly up the slope until it stood, tremulous and favoring its right fore.  The Green Knight shifted its peytral and ran his fingers over the bloodied gash.  The stallion whickered uneasily and jerked away.  Hearing the scrape and clatter behind him he turned and gave Mardil his hand, hauling him up from the fore while Malbeth pushed from behind, until the Silver Knight dropped panting upon the pathway.

            “Give me a moment,” said Legolas to them; “I must see to my own warhorse.”

            “An it please you,” gasped Mardil, as Malbeth began to unlace his greaves.  Legolas ran back down the path to Hatchet, but was too late; the destrier’s eyes were fixed and the blood upon its mouth already dried.  Sitting silently for a moment on his knees Legolas gazed upon the form of his dead horse.  Then he rose slowly to his feet, collected Galás’ trembling destrier, and led it back to his companions.  He looked down upon Kaimelas, thinking hard, then seeing a lump in the jerkin knelt and drew a small bundle from his pocket.

“What is that?” asked Galás in surprise.

“It is a doll,” said Legolas, unwrapping it and gazing down at it.  But instead of the rough wooden toy he held he seemed to see before him the burned homesteads and empty fields, and not hearing the voices of his friends about him he listened instead to the cries of fear and grief from the imprisoned women and children of Amon Din.  Then he suddenly jerked to his feet and dropping the doll began to unfasten the ties about his manifers.

            “What are you doing, my Lord?” asked Galás apprehensively.

            “Malbeth,” said the Prince of Mirkwood, his voice firm and brooking no disapproval, “you shall remain here with the wounded, tending and guarding them; when night falls put Kaimelas, if he still lives, upon your horse, and Mardil and Galás upon Galás’ horse; lead them gently down the slope to Faramir and King Thranduil and tell them all that has passed here.  Should Our Lady wish it I shall return before her stars appear, and we might have other festivities to plan for the evening.”

            “What do you mean?” asked the Black Knight, rising to his feet.

            “I am going after our Lion,” said Legolas firmly.  “But I cannot pursue him encased in steel.  Here, unfasten this; I cannot remove this cuirass on my own.  Galás, give to me Kaimelas’ bow and quiver.  Should I not return you are to do all I have said; it means I have failed and my blood has watered the slopes of Amon Din, as a libation to my friendship for Lord Aldamir.  But Lord Malbeth, as you have pledged your allegiance to me, show all the fidelity and fraternity to my kin here, and to your own kin Mardil, and see to their wellbeing.  And when they are safe with their lords you may come after me if you like, to carry my body back to my father so that it may be mourned properly.”

            “Do not speak so!” begged Galás anxiously.  “I have no wish to be a lord of Ithilien.  You must return, my Lord, to spare me that ignominy.  And anyway how could I explain it to your esquire?”

            Silently Malbeth assisted Legolas out of his armour, and at last the Elf stood before them, clad only in his arming doublet and breeches, barefoot and bareheaded.  He strapped his grandsire’s sword about his waist, slung his knife belt over it, and putting the quiver and bow over his shoulder addressed his men.

            “I go to hunt,” he said shortly, his gray eyes full of eager wrath.  “Stay not for me, nor attempt to follow, good Malbeth, for my feet unshod shall be swifter than yours.  Remember, when the stars show their bright faces you three must forsake me and turn your eyes to the East!”  And so saying he sprang into the forest, silent and stirring neither leaf nor branch, vanishing without a trace of his passage.

            Galás gave a great sigh and turned his attention to Kaimelas, finding an unsoiled spot upon the cloth to press down on the bleeding wound; Malbeth dropped back to his knees and began to examine Mardil’s leg.  They worked for a moment in silence, until at last Mardil spoke.

            “Merry Galás, you know your Lord better than we; do you think in your heart he shall return?”

            Galás turned to him, his dark eyes sparkling; he answered:  “If the Great Goblin of the Misty Mountains could not cause him to turn a hair, my Lord Mardil, I do greatly doubt this Lion shall manage to turn him from his purpose.  In truth I almost pity his prey, for when the hunting mood is upon my lord he is cold and resolute.  Fear not, my friends!  Many years have I been his companion in the hunt and he has not yet been bested.”  So saying he applied himself once again to the unfortunate Kaimelas, and Malbeth and Mardil sat back to wait.

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

            Swift as a passing breeze and as light as thistledown, the Green Knight circled the stand of trees surrounding the trampled path; he flitted from branch to branch like an errant gust of wind, noiseless and fleet upon his bare feet, his hands out of their heavy gauntlets grasping the bark easily and guiding him in his flight.  From time to time he lowered himself to the earth, scrutinizing the marks left there by horse’s hooves, but ever the trail wound higher and deeper into the fold of Amon Din, and the sun sank lower, covering him in darkness.  Legolas heeded that not, however, and with his keen eyes descried the broken twigs and crushed leaves of his enemy’s passage, his sharp ears attuned to any aberrant sound but hearing little.

            At last he came to the end of the trail.  Beneath him on the forest floor were the four horses that had borne his prey; they were tied up to trees, streaked with dried sweat and champing at their bits nervously.  Behind them was a stand of low boxwood and laurel, bent and trampled, and beyond that a rock face broken by a thin crack, the entrance to some sort of cave or underground passage.  As far as Legolas could tell the footprints led within, though there was some scoring as if a heavy burden had been dragged inside.  Doubling back from the clearing he dropped silently to the earth, drawing Kaimelas’ bow and fitting an arrow loosely to the string.  He cautiously crept forward, casting about with eyes and ears and nose; as he drew closer he could smell the acrid odor of sweating men, and heard the sound of boots upon rock.  Crouching behind an accommodating oak tree he peered into the clearing.

            At first even his eyes could see nothing; then after a moment he saw in the gathering shadow a face staring out of the crack in the rock; it looked to and fro, eyes wide and anxious.  Rising slowly to his feet to perceive more Legolas could see it was a big man, badly gone to fat, dressed in a rich red robe and holding a short, broad sword in one hand.  Though the visage of the man did not inspire confidence Legolas could see he held the sword both firmly and well, and upon closer scrutiny saw the shiny nicks in the metal that bespoke of recent usage.  Sinking once again to the earth, Legolas replaced the bow and arrow and drew his sword, then stood quickly and strode into the clearing.

            The man in the cave leapt in surprise, his face quite white; however when he saw that Legolas was an Elf he gave a cry of delight.  “At last!” he exclaimed, beaming.  “I had feared we were pursued by some of those terrible men from the camp.  How relieved I am to see you!  We have managed to capture the perpetrator of these vile acts; however it was at great cost to ourselves – we have wounded within our cave.  Come quickly!  You shall see for yourself who this wicked man is.”  So saying he stepped aside and waved Legolas into the cave.

            Legolas stepped forward, sword limp by his side; however when he was abreast the fat man he struck the same time the man did, the metal of their swords clanging together; the fat man cried out in dismay and tried to assail him again.  But Legolas swung the great sword back, striking the smaller blade and throwing his opponent back against the stone wall; with a swift twisting movement the man’s sword dropped ringing to the ground.  Legolas set the point of his blade against the quivering flesh at the fat man’s throat, fixing him with a cold stare.  The man lifted his chin, teeth bared, glaring back at him.

            “After you, my lord,” said Legolas quietly.

            The fat man ground his teeth together; his eyes flashed with anger.  “Who are you who dares raise a sword to Eradan of Linhir?” he hissed.

            “Do you not know me?” smiled Legolas.  “I am the Green Knight.”

32.

            Lord Eradan glared up at the Elf, shaking with wrath; however he soon realized Legolas had the advantage over him and dropped his eyes.

            “So you are Legolas of Mirkwood!” he snarled.  “The son of the barbaric Elven King of the north.  I suppose it were foolish of me to expect my men to curtail you.”

            “They did as best they could,” said Legolas; “blame them not for that!  It is irrelevant, though; such considerations are beyond them at present.”  He pressed the tip of Oropher’s sword into the sweating flesh of the man’s neck.  “And now, my Lord Eradan of Linhir, you shall turn with your back to me, and proceed down this dark corridor, so that I may see what it is you guard in here.”

            “And if I do not?” sneered Eradan.

            Legolas shrugged.  “It matters not to me; I have killed enough mortals today that one more is not likely to affect my conscience.”  He paused and looked keenly at the man, and then realization dawned upon him.  “But I see what is in your mind, Eradan of Linhir; I read it in your very eyes,” he said.  “You do not fear death by the sword, but humiliation and hanging, and I tell you I shall not slay you, but bring you before my friend Elessar, so that you may reap what you have sown:  destruction of fortune; devastation of honor; death in ignominy.  To hang you by your fat neck above the walls of the city is even then more than you deserve.”

            Eradan turned quite white at his words, and his hands trembled.  “I had heard the folk of the haunted wood were wild and cruel,” he said, his voice quivering, “but I knew not the full extent of their malice!  You know me not; why is it you hate me so?  For I see it in your face; fair though you be you are fell and terrible to look upon!”

            “Shall I give you my reasons in alphabetical order or in chronological?” asked Legolas dryly.  “Nay; it would take too much time – your evils are too diverse.  I shall simply tell you this last one – Kaimelas my friend has been pierced through with one of your men’s arrows – shall I not feel anger against you for that?”

            “Such are the fortunes of war,” said Eradan desperately.

            “This was not war,” said Legolas firmly, “and he was not fortunate.  Turn!”

            “He should never have been struck down had he not joined the march against my men,” protested the fat man.

            “He should never have been constrained to march against them had your men not run like ravening wolves through the farmsteads and meads of Elessar’s people,” Legolas retorted.

            “I am rich!” cried Eradan, making one last despairing plea.  “Release me now and I shall give you all the gold you desire!”

            “Why should I desire gold?” asked Legolas.  “I have already more than I could comfortably spend in my lifetime.  Besides you cannot buy innocence with money; the men that have perished by means of your actions will never return from Mandos to the circle of this earth, no matter how many coins and gems you distribute.  You have left behind you widowed farmer’s wives and orphaned children to face the harsh cold winter of their empty fortunes alone.  Now go!”

            Reluctantly Eradan turned from the Elf, and feeling the press of the sword upon his back moved with frustrating slowness into the darkness of the cave.  Legolas followed him, careful to keep the tip of the sword against him, and cast about the dimness for some other sign of habitation.  He could smell the heavy and overripe scent of the fat man in front of him, and the damp chill seeping from the stone around him; also he could hear rapid and hoarse breathing in the gloom, echoing off the walls hollowly; however there was no scrape of feet on stone, nor susurration of cloth as though someone were leaning against one of the walls.  All he could hear was the breathing, quick and anxious, resonating through the damp cold cave.

            At a bend in the passageway Eradan broke away and tried to run; however Legolas had expected this and sprang after him, striking him upon the head with the pommel of his sword.  The man fell heavily to the floor and lay still.  Grasping him by the ankle Legolas dragged him back down the passageway toward the sound of breathing, his sword at ready.

            However when he gained the inner chamber he saw, by the light of a guttering candle set in a cleft in the wall, two figures bound with ropes and gagged with dirty cloths, trussed like branded calves and lying upon the floor.  One was a man, his richly decorated robe torn and muddy, lying still and white; the other was a maid, crouching fearfully against the wall, dark eyes wide with terror.  Looking quickly about the room Legolas saw it was empty save for bundles cast in another rough corner; he released his hold upon the fat man’s ankle, sheathed his sword and drew his knife.  Stepping up to her he said,

            “Lady Dirhael, I suppose?  Well met, though I imagine you might wish the circumstances to be a little more auspicious.”

            She cringed back against the wall as he reached for her, for she could see naught in the dimness but a tall dark form, with bright eyes glittering down at her.  But he laid no hand on her save to loosen the cloth about her face so that she could speak.

            “Who are you?” she cried, her voice shrill with fear.

            “The Green Knight,” said Legolas with a merry laugh, “though you may call me Legolas.”

“You are an Elf?” she stammered, eyes wide and wondering.

            “I am indeed,” he said, crouching before her so she could the more clearly descry his face.  “I mean you no ill but am here to help you.  Fear me not; I am your friend.”  Seeing her relax at his words he cut through her bonds and released her.  She sat up rubbing her wrists and watched him as he cut through the ropes that bound her uncle, but did not speak; there was in her face a look of doubt and trepidation.  Then he took some rope from the bundles in the corner and tied Eradan firmly by his hands and feet.  When he had done this he resheathed his knife and sat before her, folding his long bare legs beneath him and resting his chin upon his hands.

            “So here we are!” he said, gray eyes twinkling.  “I am gratified to finally look upon the face of the one called my betrothed.  Though perhaps now you see me you may find my visage too startling to be a comfort to you.”

            “You are truly the Green Knight?” she stammered.

            “I am,” said Legolas. 

            “Yet you did not send me that letter, the letter purporting to plan a tryst between us?”

            “I did not, but I would hazard a guess as who did,” said Legolas, gesturing back to the prone form beside them.  “He has been very busy, has he not?  It seems not a day has gone by without some part of his plot unraveling upon us.”

            “I do not know,” she confessed, looking at Eradan with a shudder; “I do not want to know.  I know not why I am even here.”

            “Do you not?” said Legolas, leaning back upon his hands on the cold stone floor and regarding her with sternness.  “Well, then, my Lady, perhaps you can at least satisfy my curiosity a little bit.  If you do not know why you are here, then tell me, I pray you, how came you hear?”

            “Ah!” she cried, and shuddered, hiding her face in her hands.  “It was terrible, Lord Elf; I and my maid were sitting in the rooms we had at the Bridge Embattled, when in burst a large company of men, armed and clad in mail shirts; knocking my maid aside they put swords to my throat, telling me they would strike me dead if I resisted them; then they bound and gagged me and took me to Lord Eradan in the Tent City.  My uncle was there, also bound and gagged and seated upon a horse; how his eyes burned when he saw that I had been taken as well!”  She shivered, her eyes distant; then shaking herself she continued.  “Then they made me to mount and we rode off out of the gates, knocking down the guards there, and we rode and we rode until I was so weary I thought I would tumble from my horse’s back; finally we came to a deep dell where were camped a great army of men.  I was put in a tent and made to lie upon my face, and my uncle was taken from me; I lay there for over a day, and then I heard horns and the sounds of battle.  I was terribly frightened, for I thought I should be slain along with everyone else; however Lord Eradan came in with sundry men, and they took me up, and these sacks too, and took me to horse to ride with all haste from the scene of the battle.  We rode up into the woods, with the branches whipping and lashing at us as we passed, and as we were bound by our hands my uncle and I could not hold to our horses.  Though I fell not my poor uncle did, and was trampled by one of the soldiers’ horses, and fell insensible; as you can see he has not even yet recovered from this.  And they took us to this cave, and laid us here with the sacks, and as I lay I could hear Lord Eradan telling his men to set up an ambush further back so we would be safe from rescue, and then all was silent.”  At this she sat up, and looked Legolas full in the face; though his visage was stern she found some measure of comfort in it, for she said, “It was silent, Lord Elf, until I heard your voice, clear and cold as a wind from the peaks of Mindolluin, speaking to Lord Eradan, and I was even more afraid because I did not know who you were.”  The Lady Dirhael delivered this account with short and rapid breaths, as though in its recounting it terrified her as much as the actual events.  When she had finished Legolas laid a comforting hand upon her arm.

            “Well, now you know who I am and you know you have naught to fear from me!” he said, though his gray eyes were thoughtful.  “You do not know why you have been taken?  You did not overhear Lord Eradan speaking of his plans, or what he hoped would come to fruition by all this?”

            “He seemed angry only,” said Lady Dirhael thoughtfully, “angry and frightened.  He kept saying Lord Faramir had not the men to mount a successful attack, and that he was certain the Elven King would not come to Gondor’s aid.  It was King Elessar he feared, that he should return upriver before a proper escape could be accomplished.  And he was angry at you, my Lord; often I heard him grumbling about the Green Knight’s unwarranted interference, as though you had no right to intervene in the affairs of the south.”

            “Well, as your uncle has been taken as well perhaps his conversation may be more enlightening,” sighed Legolas, and taking Orodreth’s head into his lap he began to stroke the man’s face, singing softly as he did so.  Lady Dirhael watched him apprehensively, gazing into her uncle’s still white face and now and again flicking her eyes up to study the Elf’s features.  After a few moments Lord Orodreth groaned and stirred, and opening his eyes looked up at the inverted face above him, and frowned.

            “Who are you?” he whispered through cracked and bloodied lips.

            “Legolas of Mirkwood, the son of the Elven King,” said Legolas with a smile.

            “You did not tell me you were a prince!” cried Dirhael in consternation.

            “It is difficult to be regal under such circumstances,” said Legolas wryly, “especially as I am not clad in any rich raiment but am dirty and blood-splattered, and also much disheveled from my endeavors.”
            “He is also the Green Knight, Uncle,” said Dirhael, reaching forward to touch Lord Orodreth’s face.  “He has struck down Lord Eradan and is here to rescue us.”

            “And when you have sufficiently recovered I have many questions to ask you,” said Legolas, “and not I only, but Faramir too I am sure, and when King Elessar returns you shall be interrogated yet again, until you are tired of repeating yourself.  Lady Dirhael, is there a skin of water in this cavern?”

            “I do not know,” the girl confessed.  “I have seen no one save ourselves since we were placed here.”

            “Take your uncle’s head then,” said the Elf, “and I shall search some out.  I am sure Lord Orodreth is very thirsty.”  Laying the man’s head in his niece’s lap he rose and searched the chamber, opening boxes and sacks and making little noises of disgust as he did so.  At last he came back with a skin of water and some bread wrapped in a cloth.  “Lord Eradan did not intend to depart with naught to comfort him in his exile, I see,” he said, opening the skin and setting it to Lord Orodreth’s lips.  “That is quite a abundance of gold he has secreted here.  Drink a little, I beg you, my Lord, and when you feel you have recovered enough to talk I hope you will be good enough to clear some of this mystery up, that has surrounded the entire Tournament and so impeded my pleasure in combat.  And you also, Lady Dirhael, drink and eat and be strengthened; for though we shall be joined here ere long by our friends I know not if it shall be before nightfall, and I am sure you are hungry.”

            So Orodreth and his charge ate and drank, and felt vigor return to their limbs, and after a time Lord Orodreth felt so much better as to sit up a bit, though he was still quite pale and felt sickly.  The Green Knight waited upon them as gently and courteously as though he were the host in a marble hall and were clad in his white doublet and circlet, seeing to the serving of portions of fine ragouts and rich wine.  From time to time he noticed the two mortals looking at him in amazement, unsure of their circumstances, and he would smile at them and urge them to rest and be comforted, reassuring them their trials were over.  Finally Legolas put the skin and the bread away, and sitting cross-legged before them he said:

            “Now, my Lord, I have sundry queries to put to you, that I hope you shall be able to answer!  But before we go much further allow me to tell you that I am in the confidences both of Lord Faramir and of King Elessar, and indeed have been their friends for some years, so that you may not feel diffident in disclosing any tender secrets to my ears.”

            “I am so far beholden to you as to make such considerations unnecessary,” said Orodreth weakly.  “But I shall tell you all I can.”

            “Good!” said Legolas.  “First of all, when did you first suspect Eradan of treason, and when did Lord Egalmoth take you into his confidence?”

            “Eradan of Linhir has been the thorn in my side for many years,” sighed Orodreth sadly.  “Ever smiling, ever gracious, yet beneath that benevolent façade avaricious and resolute!  I know I am not a popular man, for I have had need to do things in my own lands that have seemed to other lords as harsh or pitiless, but what could I have done?  These past twenty years have been hard on we who hold lands down the Anduin; the corsairs and the Haradrim harry our merchant vessels and make off with all our goods and we are beggared.  In such circumstances it is more prudent to withhold both information and trade from one’s neighbors, for one can never know who will capitulate to the enemies of Gondor, and who will remain loyal.  So I did my trade in secret, forswearing the company of others in my fear, and ever Eradan pestered me for partnership, harassing my seneschal and bribing my guards until I was forced to withdraw completely and place my interests in foreign lands.  He of course was lauded by his neighbors for his generosity and open-handedness, for he gave great feasts and parties and drew all to his side with his blithe and merry ways, so convincing the poorer knights and lords to fall in with his schemes.  But Baldor of Lossarnach and various others knew the secret machinations of his plans, so we resisted him, though that did nothing to increase our popularity in the region, for Eradan in his liberality had become well-loved, and therefore well-trusted.

            “When Elessar was crowned and the Haradrim beaten back Eradan began to suffer losses heavily; as I had placed my interests elsewhere I was comfortable, but Baldor being at Pelargir had lost much arable land to the devastating battles that surrounded him and he was nearly beggared by the plundering corsairs.  I knew Eradan desired greatly to have Baldor upon his side, for his ports were extensive and he refused to sell to any not loyal to the king, and it was for that reason I agreed to give my charge in marriage to Hallas his son – “ here he fixed his niece with a steely glance “ – so that Baldor’s holdings would be strengthened through her dowry and he might be better able to resist Eradan’s pleas.”  At this Dirhael blushed deeply and looked down at her hands, which were clasped in her lap.

            “How was it, I wonder, that Elessar knew nothing of this, and kept him on his Privy Council?” asked Legolas.

            “Ah!” said Orodreth smiling.  “Eradan is very cunning, and excels at making people trust him; also he slandered Baldor and me mercilessly, so that we had no defense against his plotting; all believed Eradan and mistrusted us.  But not long ago, directly after the Tournament was announced, Lord Egalmoth came to us, and disclosed to us his fears and deep suspicions of his fellow councilor, saying he had chanced to look into the books and saw that Lord Eradan was keeping two sets – one he showed to the king and the councilors, and another, truer account, that reflected his depredations.”

            “He has embezzled all this then?” asked Legolas, gesturing to the sacks of gold.

            “Aye, and more beside; Egalmoth did tell me Eradan has been sending boats up the Gilrain to a cache on the islands there.  He is of Lamedon, you see; he has a mansion at Calembel.”

            “I know Calembel,” said Legolas.  “I have been there.  A rich town though overshadowed with fear of the Dead.”

            “It is not only the Dead they fear!” said Orodreth.  “Eradan has the face of a blithe and merry man but beneath it all he is hard and greedy.  It is even said he slew his own wife in order to secure her lands for himself, though this is base rumor only and I have heard naught to substantiate it.”

            “So what did you and Lord Egalmoth do?” asked Legolas.

            “We decided to play at his own game, putting on dissembling faces to all, and making up to him, in the hopes of discovering his goals,” said Orodreth, “but his plans were too far advanced for us, and when we saw he began to disrupt the Tournament to distract Lord Faramir from his plotting we knew we had run out of time.  Egalmoth’s spies began to disappear, and my own guards vanished, and then the letter to you, my niece, came purporting to dismantle the ties I had forged with Baldor – “

            “I did not know, Uncle,” the maid protested.

            “You behaved infamously,” said Orodreth sternly.  “And worse I had to feign approval, to make Eradan think Baldor and I had fallen out.  Poor Hallas!  It is too late I am sure to mend that particular bridge you have burnt, my niece, but when I see Baldor I shall apologize to him myself, and so shall you.  Anyway, Prince Legolas, when Egalmoth did tell me of your father’s generous loan to so strengthen the Pelargir, I rejoiced, for I knew I would be able to return my custom to my own lands as they would now be safe; but he warned me that Eradan panicked, knowing a new fleet would dismantle his plans completely, and from that moment on his thoughts were upon the defamation of the Green Knight, and how he could prevent those monies from coming into the war chests.  For once a deposit has been made a full account must needs be disclosed, and Eradan would have had difficulty explaining the gaps in the tally.”

            “I feared me it was my presence was the catalyst that drove him to these desperate acts,” sighed Legolas pensively, resting his chin upon his knees.  “Alas for Herion of Pelargir!  Had Eradan feared me less that knight need not have perished.”  He thought for a moment, his bright eyes fixed upon a spot on the floor.  “Is this the extent of his army then?”

            “It is,” said Orodreth; “I overheard him speaking to one of his captains concerning this.  They were filled with anxiety that their southern allies should be defeated by the king and they be left, pressed north away from their holdings, with nary an ally to see their safe passage to Linhir.  I did not see much of the battle, your highness; is it true then that Lord Faramir came upon Eradan’s forces upon three sides, and crushed them between them?”

            “We did, to the best of our abilities,” said Legolas.  “It is over now, I am sure, unless there remain some few rogue dissidents that have escaped our net, as Eradan tried to escape.  But we have him now – “  Legolas glanced over at the still figure of the fat man, trussed up like a pig, with a certain measure of satisfaction.  “And such is the configuration of this cave that I may defend us in it for some time.  I am certain that is why he chose it in the first place.”  He thought for a moment, then said, “And when did Eradan discover you two knew of his nefarious acts?  When did he strike?”

            “It was after Lord Faramir made the announcement that the Elven King was coming down the River to us,” said Orodreth.  “At that time Egalmoth looked into Eradan’s face and saw he knew why King Thranduil had come, though he feigned ignorance; then Egalmoth knew as well, and knew you for what you were – not a Man of Dale, but an Elf of Mirkwood.  And then he lost his nerve, for when Egalmoth came to me to tell me what was about to come to pass, and to warn me that our enemy would certainly bolt in terror, Eradan himself appeared with his men, imploring our friendship; when we instead asserted our loyalty to Elessar he ordered his men to bind and take us.  At that time poor Targil came in, for he was ever one of our closest confidants; seeing how we were beset he drew his sword, and Egalmoth drew his own; we fought as well as we could but were outnumbered.  The last I remember is seeing Targil slain upon the tent floor, and three soldiers assailing Egalmoth; then I was struck and all went black for me.  When I awoke I was bound and gagged, and Eradan was with his men planning his escape.”

            “Why was Lady Dirhael taken as well?  To secure your silence?”

            “Perhaps,” said Orodreth, “though I suspect he sought to buttress his holdings further by using us two, to secure lands to the south where he would be safe.”  He looked uneasily at his niece, who to Legolas’ amusement seemed to not have understood the implications of this and merely looked back and forth between them with an expression of bewilderment upon her face.  Legolas tipped him a wink and smiled, and Orodreth smiled back at him.

            “Well, you are both safe now,” he said, “and I shall see to it that Lady Dirhael is brought unharmed and secure to her own house, where she can go about finishing the items in her wedding chests.  For it would be a great pity to have so fair a maid kept lonely and unattached; I am sure you will be able to find some strange lord or knight willing to take her now.  Why there is a knight – an older man to be sure, fifty at least, and with a mole upon the tip of his nose – who is seeking a young and hale wife; perhaps now that Hallas has been freed your niece will do!”  At Dirhael’s exclamation of dismay Legolas gave Orodreth another surreptitious wink, and Orodreth laughed weakly.

            The three fell silent, the two mortals looking with scarcely concealed wonder at the slim white form of the Elf seated before them, his fair face pensive.  Then Legolas turned his head, as though listening for something; after a moment he said:

            “The sun has set and the stars are out; it is dark without and dark within now.  Lady Dirhael, you and I must find some cloths to make a pallet for you and your uncle to sleep upon, and I shall keep watch over you while you rest.  I do not think we need to look for any more company for at least a few hours, for Malbeth and Galás will only just be starting down the spur to Lord Faramir.  When they arrive I shall wake you, and then we may begin the happy task of bringing this traitor before Elessar for judgment.”

            He and the maid arose, and finding various bits of cloth and rags made a small bed in the corner; gently Legolas aided Orodreth to lie thereupon, and when he covered him against the chill of the cave the man said:  “I have yet another thing to confess to you, Prince Legolas.”

            “And what may that be?” asked the Green Knight, sitting back on his heels and looking down at him.

            “Egalmoth both feared and resented you, for you were not a knight of Gondor,” said Orodreth unhappily.  “Oft times he would rage to me that it were unfair to allow a foreign knight to so trample the pride of Minas Tirith.  But ere he died he knew you for who you were, and grudgingly said to me he hoped you would prevail, for the support of an Elven King would serve to help and sustain the kingdom of Gondor, and we could ill afford to turn such an ally into an enemy through our bias.  So you must know, O Green Knight, that though at first Egalmoth did dislike you and begrudge your might, in the end he turned, and had he not perished would have been your staunch friend and ally.”

            “Then I am all the more sorry to have never met him,” said Legolas, “and all the more filled with wrath at this traitor here – “ he nudged the still form of Eradan with his foot “—for denying me the pleasure of convening with so firm and tenacious a man.  King Elessar shall miss his council indeed.”

            “Is it true that the king returns victorious from his battle upon the Pelargir?” asked Dirhael as she lay down beside her uncle.

            “It is,” said Legolas rising to his feet.  “He will come back bringing Imrahil of Dol Amroth and Baldor of Lossarnach with him in his vanguard.  And as we speak Lord Faramir and my Lord Father secure the steps of Amon Din, nurturing and succoring its people.  Sleep now, and without fear!  Your nightmare is ended, and you shall awake to a bright and merry morn.  Sleep!  I shall watch over you.”  So Lord Orodreth and his niece fell asleep, with the image imprinted upon their drowsy eyes of a slim tall figure illuminated in a white glow that stood guard over them, and they knew the Green Knight though denuded of his magnificent armour was their champion and would protect them from all harm. 

33.

            As they rode up the steep slope of the spur Cirien oft turned his gaze upon his friend the Red Knight; the Lord of Amon Din had loudly proclaimed to them his wound was light but ever and anon he would blanch and clutch at his arm.  When he did so Cirien would ask of him: “You are certain, my Lord Aldamir, that you are yet hale enough to continue in this pursuit?”  And ever the Red Knight would harden his face and nod, and Cirien would return shrugging to his task.

            After some time Araval noticed this interchange and pushed his horse between them.  “Aldamir,” he said, his round jolly face grave, “there is no need to so impel yourself into further danger; I see that your wound is painful and perhaps impedes your strength somewhat.”

            “It is of no moment,” Aldamir insisted, laying his hand upon the bloodied bandage.  “To me it is of more import to return Prince Legolas to his father, for I would fain have it written in the annals of Gondor’s history that so fair and mighty a warrior was slain upon the hills of my homeland.”

            “Nor would I wish to read such a thing,” said Hador with a shudder; “O my Lord, please speak not so!  The very thought chills me.”

            “Lest others lay in secret about the trail I should fear no ill of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen,” said Baranil comfortingly.  Behind him Gimli sat, clutching his strong arms about the Elf’s waist; he was uneasy upon the great dark horse.  “Remember, good Hador, and you, noble Red Knight; Legolas Thranduilion has for years unnumbered fulfilled his father’s orders to secure his lands.  Hador, did you not say Legolas pursued but four horsemen?”

            “I did, but others may lie await in these dark woods,” said Hador, looking about him with somber eyes. 

            “Fear not!” said Hallas from where he was riding behind them.  He had ridden strapped to his horse the entire day but sat straight and tall as he had that morning; he was young and strong and still spoiling for adventure.  He spoke with confidence, for so great was his love and admiration for the Green Knight he did not believe any force in Middle Earth could do the Elf harm.  “For myself I doubt not Lord Legolas has already himself apprehended this traitor, and dealt him blows which have left the turncoat smarting.”

            “One may hope,” said Baranil.  “Good Dwarf, do you let go of me a moment; I am going to go point on foot, to see what I may descry further up the trail.”

            “Very well,” said Gimli nervously as Baranil slid from his horse’s back.  “How I hate the way you Wood Elves ride!  It is bad enough to be upon so tall a steed in a saddle; upon these bare slippery backs I feel all my insecurities rise.”

            “I shall return in a moment,” Baranil promised them, and slipped silently into the trees.

            The others waited for him as the dusk deepened; the sky grew violet and the trees stood black against the dome above them.  The insects buzzed fitfully and there was the low trilling of cicadas from further down the slope, but for some time they heard naught else.  Then in the distance ahead of them they caught the sound of voices, and Araval said:  “Hador!  Go ahead a little ways and see if you can determine whether these are allies speaking, or enemies; I would not want us to be caught unaware.”

            “Yes, my Lord,” said Hador, dismounting; he too disappeared amongst the boles of the trees.  But after a moment he came out again, smiling; he said:  “It is Baranil!  I recognize his fair voice.  Also he is speaking with Malbeth; I would know his peculiar turn of speech anywhere.”

            “Good!” said Aldamir.  “Let us wait here for them then.  Baranil will lead them back to us; let us not become separated in this dark forest.”

            Soon they could hear the crash and crack of horses moving through the thick underbrush, and at last Baranil appeared, leading Mardil’s horse, which limped piteously behind him.  With a cry of dismay Araval leapt from his horse.

            “Where is he?  Where is Lord Mardil?” he demanded, his jolly round face creased with worry.

            “Wounded but alive,” said Baranil, his face grim.  “It is as you feared, good Hador; there was indeed an ambush prepared for the Green Knight!  Take the Silver Knight’s horse, I beg you; we are attempting to move Kaimelas to shelter without injuring him further.  Galás tells me he has not yet regained consciousness since being pierced by an arrow, and I greatly fear we may not bring him back to Thranduil alive.”

            “Legolas!” said Gimli, his face blanching.  “Where is Legolas?”

            “Gone!” came Galás’ voice from the shadows; then with an effort his horse forced its way through the brake and he and Mardil appeared.  Mardil’s head was bare and bound about with a bloodied bandage; also his leg was twisted and he was white with pain.  Galás himself looked unwell, his jerkin soaked in blood and his face pale and weary.  Behind him came the Black Knight upon his own destrier, holding upright the limp form of Kaimelas the Elf, about whose chest was bound a darkened cloth. 

            “What mean you, ‘gone’?” demanded the Dwarf of Galás.  “Where has he taken himself?  What is he doing?  Why have you let him run off like that?”  He paled further and said, before Galás could reply:  “He – he has not fallen, has he?  I beg you, Galás, tell me please that he has not fallen!”

            “He is not fallen!” said Galás shortly.  “And I am well too, I thank you for asking!”

            “Are you much wounded, Galás?” asked Araval anxiously.

            “No more so than an arrow in the side would produce,” said the Elf.  “Of all of us I fear the most for Kaimelas here.  Arrows in one’s side prove to be vexatious indeed, but an arrow in one’s chest is in most cases fatal.”

            “Let me see,” said Cirien dismounting.

            They gently lay Kaimelas down upon the earth and Cirien examined him, his face grave.  “This is quite serious,” he said, “and I do not believe you ought to have moved him at all.  Nay, my Lord Malbeth, do not attempt to lift him!  Each time you do you jostle the wound and damage him further.  He must lie here for a while until the bleeding has stopped.”

            “It is not so bad now,” said Malbeth.

            “He still bleeds within,” said Cirien, “and that is the worst place to bleed, for there is no way for us to stop it.  Make him as comfortable as you can, my Lord; we must keep him here for the night.”

            “Perhaps so,” said Baranil, “but we must also pursue my Lord Prince.  Know you where he has gone, good Malbeth?”

            “I do,” said the Black Knight, “though Lord Legolas instructed me to bring his kinsmen to Prince Faramir and King Thranduil.”

            “I agree with Cirien that Kaimelas should not be moved right away,” said Baranil.  “Lord Araval, will you have Hador build a fire here, to drive away the chill?  And then perhaps one of us should ride down into the valley to inform our lords and betters of what has happened.”

            “But what did happen?” demanded Gimli.  “Where is Legolas?”

            “We were ambushed by archers,” said Galás, dropping stiffly from his horse’s back.  “Kaimelas’ and Legolas’ horses were both slain, and Lord Mardil’s wounded.  Kaimelas was shot in the chest, and I in the side, and Mardil thrown down the embankment, and his leg broken.  After slaying the archers Legolas went off in pursuit of the Lion alone.”

            “And you let him?” raged the Dwarf.  “I did not think Malbeth or Mardil would defy him but I expected better of you, Galás!”

            “I am not in the habit of disobeying my Lord,” said Galás shortly.  “I may tease and exasperate him but unto me his word is law.  When he tells me to go, I go.”

            “Even when he runs to death and ruin?” sputtered Gimli.

            “O he will probably not die, good Gimli!” said Baranil comfortingly.  “Look!  Lord Malbeth has his armour strapped upon the back of his destrier’s cruppers.  Lord Legolas will move all the swifter that way.”

            “You let him run off without his armour!” cried Gimli, nearly falling from Baranil’s horse in his agitation.  “He has no protection; he will surely be wounded, or worse!”

            “Think you so?” said Hallas in surprise.  “I should have thought the Green Knight would prove the deadlier enemy, allowed speed and silence in this manner.”

            “Well, if he should be slain it is up to Galás here to explain it to Bandy,” said Gimli angrily.  “All right then, who is come with me after him?”

            “If Gimli has no objections I shall certainly go,” said Baranil; “I promised my Lord King I would look after him, and as Legolas’ words are to Galás my Lord’s will is irreproachable.”

            “I shall go,” said Hallas.

            “And I,” said Araval and Aldamir at once.

            “I also desire to go,” said Cirien, “but who shall stay with the wounded, and who shall go to inform our lords of what has passed?”

            “I shall descend to the valley, with my Lord’s permission,” said Hador.  “I do not fear the darkness, and my hackney and I shall make swift work of it.  I shall go forthwith to Lord Faramir and King Thranduil and give them full account of our doings.”

            “That is well,” said Araval smiling; “you have fine woodcraft and I know you will not mislay your way in this forest.  Go with my blessing, my esquire.”

  “But who shall stay?” asked Cirien.  “We need at least one knight to stay with Galás and Mardil, for we do not know for certain all the insurgents have been driven from these woods.”

            “I am not so bad,” protested Galás; “but give to me my bow and I shall make a fair stand.”  He looked contemplatively at Mardil.  “Speaking of standing, shall I help you dismount, so you may sit for a while, Lord Mardil?”

            “Are you yourself hale enough to so aid me?” asked Mardil.

            Galás grinned.  “Perhaps not!” he said.  “But we should make a grand tumble at any rate!”

            “Hador,” said Araval, and nodding Hador assisted Mardil off the horse, though he was smiling as well.

            “That settles it!” said Baranil.  “If Mardil and Galás cannot even dismount without falling we must needs leave in charge over them some great and mighty knight, that could protect and aid them; also it were preferable to have someone nearby to see to Kaimelas’ needs should he awake.”

            “I shall remain, as was charged me by Lord Legolas,” said Malbeth reluctantly, “though I am unhappy to do so; rather would I ride to his rescue, but he asked me to look after his kin and mine and I would fain gainsay him.”

            “Then we shall be perfectly safe, O Black Knight!” said Galás with a grin.  “With your sword to protect us we need fear no ill, neither from knight nor nightingale.”

            “I commend you for your selfless bravery,” said Baranil; “I warn you, however, that with this one here – “  he gestured to Galás – “You will suffer such pangs of inner turmoil as to make the heat and peril of battle seem effortless and agreeable.”

            “What matters that?  Let us go!” said Gimli impatiently.  “Each moment that passes as you bicker back and forth casts my dear friend further into danger.”

            So they left Kaimelas, Galás, and Mardil under the guard of the Black Knight and bid Hador of Tarlang safe passage, and followed the trail back into the woods.  Ever it grew darker and the stars in the obscured sky above them shone the brighter.  Their horses crushed beneath their hooves the fragrant leaves of low pine and rosemary, and at one point the smelt about them the pungent odor of lavender.  The going was rough for the underbrush very scrubby and thick, and often their guide had need to wind about brakes and stands of thick-grown weed, that their laden horses could not penetrate.  As they went it seemed to them Baranil reflected the white lights above them, and his eyes in the darkness glowed.  Yet the gloom affected him not one whit; he bent over his horse’s neck to descry the marks of passage upon the ground beneath him, and rode with growing confidence up the slope of the mountain.  After some time had passed Gimli whispered:

            “Baranil!  You are certain you are following his trail?”

            “Yes!” said the Elf.  “And do not, I pray you, cling to me so tightly; you are very strong, and you press upon me so tight I am finding it difficult to breathe properly.”

            “I beg your pardon!” said Gimli, loosening his grip somewhat; and they went on in silence once more.

            After some time the mortals’ eyes could see glinting in the dim light metal in great lumped masses; Cirien’s destrier shied, and he pulled the dithering animal in a tight circle to keep him from bolting.  Baranil said, “Blood!” and urged his nervous horse forward.

            In the clearing lay the bodies of two horses, one clad in richly verdigrised armour, though very little of its splendid ornamentation could be seen in the darkness.  Gimli with a cry pointed and said:  “Look!  It is Hatchet!  O the poor stubborn maddening beast; I did not believe until now he had fallen, but seeing him in his marvelous shaffron lying there I am cut to the quick.  How angry Legolas must be!  And how sad our poor Bandobras shall be when I tell him; Hatchet was such a pet of his.”

            “The Lady Éowyn shall also feel within her the sharp pangs of disappointment,” said Cirien, “for I heard she wished to use him as stud within her own herd, to so improve the strength of the hindquarters of the foals next year.”

            “Brytta of Rohan shall be pleased though,” said Araval.

            “No doubt,” said Aldamir smiling at him.  “My friend, is there no circumstance, no matter its weight and disappointment, from which you are able to glean some small spark of hope?  I believe if I told you Middle Earth would come to a fiery end on the morrow you should only remark that we at least would all die warm.”

            “Well, that is true; we would, would we not?” said Araval innocently.

            They passed the dead horses and came upon the bodies of the archers.  Here Baranil dismounted once more and examined the ground.  “Legolas went into the woods here,” he said; “I can see the marks of his bare feet upon this bit of bloodied earth.  Then he passed up into the branches of the trees where we are unable to follow.”  He turned and looked back to them contemplatively.  “Well, at least you are unable to follow, my lords all; I of all of you am proficient enough to trail him.  Wish you to await me here while I go in pursuit of our truant prince, or do you desire instead to follow this trail, which no doubt is the longer route taken by the traitor, and meet me at its end?  I cannot promise you the objective shall be to your liking, but I at least will be able to move more swiftly than you.  Or if you like, I shall remain with you to track the trail of the enemy, for I see underlying the footprints of these men the marks of hooves heading deeper into the woods.”

            “Do you hear aught to tell you of what may be the fate of our friend?” asked Gimli.  “For I know you Wood Elves hear and see better than we; perhaps he is close enough for you to tell whether he lives or no.”

            “I have neither heard, smelt, seen nor sensed Legolas save for the faint traces of his passing some hours hence,” said Baranil; “either he is too far away for my senses to descry, or too silent and still.”

            “Say not that!” cried Hallas.  “You quite make my heart to turn cold.”

            “My prince is woodsman enough to lie quietly so that even a tracker such as Meivel could not hear him,” said Baranil; “however as we have been speaking quite loudly he is sure to have heard us by now, should he be nearby.  Well, gentles all, what say you?  Do I leave you here to follow his path, or accompany you up the trail there on the heels of the chief of miscreants?  Lord Aldamir, these are your woods; I hold by your decision.”

            Aldamir glanced over at Cirien.  “The Yellow Knight is wiser than I,” he said; “I shall defer to his acumen.  What think you, O knight of Langstrand?”

            “Were the choice mine I should ask this good Elf to go and go swiftly,” said Cirien, “and we shall follow the marks of the Lion so that, slow though we be, we may come upon our Elvish compatriots and come at last to their aid.  Is that advice to your liking, my friend?”

            “It is,” said Aldamir.  “Go you then, good Baranil, and with our blessings.”

            “And hope of good hunting too,” added Araval.

            “Tell Legolas to keep out of trouble,” called Gimli after Baranil had slipped into the thicket.  “He is so reckless; I am always surprised he does not get injured that often, for with his careless and rackety ways he ought to have died several times over by now.”

            “He will grow wiser with age, good Dwarf,” said Baranil with a low laugh from the darkness, and then he was gone.

            “Let us press on, my lords!” said Cirien.  “Night ages and with it hope dwindles.”

            It was now so dark they could not see the tracks they were following, and Cirien had need to dismount and lead his destrier, crouching down over the earth until he could see the marks of the churned dirt that told the tale of the fleeing horses.  At one point he paused, examining closely some great scufflings and broken branches; finally he shook his head and said:  “I can only see that something large has fallen upon these bushes here, but what it might be I cannot guess; whatever it was it is gone now.  I know not the riddle behind these signs!  But as no one is here we must needs continue in ignorance.”

            The stars spread their milky banner above them, glowing and twinkling around the dark brushes of pine needles and splayed leaves; it was now nearly impossible to see their trail, and they followed Cirien blindly, hoping he could tell the imprint of a horse’s hoof from the stray marks upon the rocky earth and trusting to his judgment.  And ever the air grew colder and more fragrant as they climbed, until at last they reached a bend in the path that overlooked the valley below them.  They paused to rest their horses and looked down at the hundreds of fires that burned thereupon, unable from this height to discern the dark masses of living people but comforted by the sight.  “Faramir and Thranduil are taking care of your folk at least,” said Araval to Aldamir finally, and then they pressed on until a curve in the trail plunged them back into darkness.

            Baranil followed not the physical manifestations of his prince’s trail, for that would in the darkness have been too arduous a task for even his Elven eyes; Legolas had fled swiftly yet erratically, casting about for scent and sound freshly laid, the traces of which had faded too greatly to be of any use to Baranil.  Instead in the stillness Baranil used his senses of smell and hearing, feeling from the trees themselves the traces of the other Elf, and finding from them the assurance of his Lord’s passage he set off as the woods sloped sharply upwards.  After some time he cast about, smelling kin upon the cool damp air, mingled also with the smells of mortal men, cold dirt, and hard stone.  He paused, listening; after a moment he heard a light voice calling to him in song, and with a smile he dropped down from the pine which bore him and strode through the underbrush towards the sound.

            Sure enough when he came into the clearing he saw Legolas, seated upon the ground in his arming doublet and breeches, his hair shining silver in the starlight.  He smiled at Baranil, arresting his song, and rising to his feet went to embrace his friend.

            “Well met!” he said.  “What kept you?  I have been waiting for you since midnight.”

            “The mortals impeded me somewhat,” said Baranil, answering his kiss; “they are following up around the side of the mountain and should be here shortly.”

            “Good,” said Legolas.  He paused.  “How is Kaimelas?”

            “Not well,” said Baranil, “though we are waiting until tomorrow to move him again.  Malbeth of Celos is guarding him, Galás, and Mardil further down.  Hador Araval’s esquire is gone to the valley to meet with Lord Faramir and our Lord King, and the rest are following.”

            “How goes the battle?  It is over then?”

            “It was very nearly finished when we left,” said Baranil; “there remained only the captain of this army of miscreants.  Is that he?”  He gestured to a bundle at the entrance of the cave.

            “Yes,” said Legolas.  “He would not be silent, but raved and wept and argued with me, disturbing the sleep of Lord Orodreth and his niece; even tying a gag about his mouth would not keep him still.  I dragged him out here so that his poor prisoners could get some rest.”

            “It was Eradan then?” asked Baranil, bending over and peering down at him.  “How peacefully he sleeps!  Though I am certain those contusions upon his head have not a little to do with it.”

            “He was very noisy,” sighed Legolas.  “I have been obliged to hit him upon the head at least four times.  Each time he awakes I tell him I shall not be constrained to strike him again should he be still, but the fear of hanging is upon him, and he thrashes and squirms and tries to shout so that I cannot hear the voices of the forest, and I am obliged to silence him once more.”

            “That does not seem very safe,” said Baranil doubtfully.

            “O it is quite safe!” Legolas assured him.  “At first I hit him with the pommel of my sword, but I have been hitting him these past few times with a rock, which is much safer.”

            “It is safer to be hit upon the head with a rock, than with the pommel of a sword?” asked Baranil in surprise.

            “Safer for my sword, at least,” laughed Legolas.  “I care not about the condition of this scoundrel’s skull.”

            “Well you seem to have things well in hand then,” said Baranil; “with your leave, my Lord, I shall take me one of these poor beasts tied up here, and go to find the others.  Have they been watered?”
            “You are as bad as my Lady Mother!” said Legolas.  “Yes, I watered them and let them eat some sweet grass over in that clearing there.  They have had a nice rest, and that chestnut mare in particular seems eager to go for a little run.”

            Sure enough, the chestnut mare was more than willing to bear Baranil back down the path, and sure of step and fleet of foot she and the Elf sought out the others. They greeted him with relief, and Gimli in particular was overjoyed to see him and plied him instantly with questions.

            “Yes, I have seen Lord Legolas!  Yes, he has captured Eradan!  And no, he is not injured!” said Baranil laughing.  “He stands watch over the Lion and guards all against the oppressor – not so great a task at this point, as the oppressor is bound, gagged, and unconscious.”

            He led them back up to the cave where Legolas waited.  Gimli at once tumbled from Baranil’s horse and rushed up to him, unsure in his relief and agitation whether to embrace him or to scold him.  To the others’ amusement he seemed bent upon doing both at once.  “Running off on your own!” he growled, his arms about Legolas’ waist; “Discarding my father’s armour!  Rushing headlong into danger!  Aulë, Legolas, when I get you back to your tent I am tying you to the center pole for a week!  I’ll tell Bandy to feed you and give you wine but under no circumstances is he to unbind you; I tell you I cannot take much more of watching you hurl yourself into trouble like this!”

            “There, there,” laughed Legolas, patting Gimli upon his shoulder.  “Do not squeeze so; you quite press the breath from me.  It is over; the Goat has captured the Lion.  Look!”

            The other knights were gathered about Eradan’s vast still form, looking down at him.  Hallas who still sat lashed to his horse said, “Eradan of Linhir!  So my father was right; many times have I heard him cursing his perfidy.”

            “Lady Dirhael stirs within,” said Legolas, giving Araval a secret wink.  “Do you wish to greet her sitting astride your destrier, good Hallas, or shall we unbind you?  At any rate the horses need to be looked to; whatever you decide your mount shall be fed and watered before we go anywhere else tonight.”

            Upon Hallas’ face was a look of deep consternation; he greatly desired to be unhorsed, for he was very uncomfortable, but to greet his former betrothed seated upon the ground unable to stand was not a prospect with which he could look to with great equanimity.  At last he realized he could meet her either already seated or have her watch him as he suffered the ignominy of being unseated by others; he said with shaking voice:  “I shall dismount, if there is any here who may aid me.”

            The others all dismounted, and Cirien and Baranil began to lead the horses into the clearing to cool grass and fresh water; Gimli and Legolas unstrapped the young man’s legs and helped him slide from his destrier’s back to the earth.  “It is uncivil and boorish to remain seated when a lady approaches,” said Legolas, helping him limp over to a boulder.  “Sit you here, and grasp this sapling with your hand; when she arrives you have simply to pull yourself to your feet and hold yourself upright using it as a steady crutch.”

            “Thank you, your Highness!” said Hallas.  He attempted to straighten his surcoat, and nervously checked his hair, which all day had been obscured by his helm now lying upon the grass.  “Is she hurt?” he asked anxiously.

            “Nay!” said Legolas; “well, save in spirit only; she has been greatly frightened.  But now you are here to banish her fears, good Hallas, as all lovers do when they meet with their heart’s lady.”

            “She is no longer my heart’s lady,” said Hallas firmly, but his words were belied by the look in his eyes when Dirhael appeared in the starlight.  Though her yellow gown, bleached white in the darkness, was torn and dirty she was tall and lovely to look upon, her black hair falling about her shoulders and her wan face fair.  Hallas tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat and he could only stand gripping the sapling beside him and watching her with a kind of wounded yearning.  She approached him hesitantly, her eyes contrite and sad, then perhaps seeing some of the longing in his own face she gave an incoherent cry and threw herself into his waiting arms.  The other knights exchanged glances and moved quietly away to give them some privacy, but in truth those two young lovers would probably not have noticed even had the entire court of the White Tower been present.  And Legolas watched them from the shadows beneath the trees, his gray eyes sparkling, a smile of satisfaction upon his face.

34.

            “Master Holbytla!  Master Holbytla!”

            Bandobras wrenched himself upward from his thick and cloying dreams towards the sound, shaking the sleep from his eyes and looking around.  It was very dark, and all he could see was the outline of the maid Éodild, silhouetted in the golden glow of a single candle.

            “What is it?” he asked sleepily, sitting up on his little pallet.

            “There has been a messenger come from the field of battle,” she said, and he could hear the excitement in her voice.  “It is one of the Elvish scouts; he has just informed my Lady that the victory is ours, and our casualties but light; all the unhappy captives have been freed and they will make their way to Osgiliath in two stages.”

            “Two stages?  What do you mean?”  Bandobras rubbed his eyes, trying to shake the cobwebby tatters of slumber from the corners of his mind.  “What is the time, anyway?  Is it night still?  It is so dark!”

            “It is two hours ‘til dawn,” said Éodild, rising and turning to go.  “The army will take two days to march back, on account of all the wounded, you see.  Is it not an astounding thing, master Holbytla?  Three score women and children safe and sound, and a force of five hundred reduced to a handful of prisoners!  Now I must go, master Holbytla; Queen Undómiel has sent my Lady back to bed but I felt I must tell you the news as soon as possible.”  And she hurried out of the room, her linen shift rustling.

            “Wait!” cried Bandobras; “what have you heard about my Master?  What about the Green Knight?”  But she was gone and did not hear him.

            “Botheration!” muttered the Hobbit.  “Couldn’t she just sit for a moment and let me ask questions?  And I’m sure I’m very glad to have heard we won the battle, but now I’m so wakey I’m never going to get back to sleep.”  He lay back down and closed his eyes, but after a few minutes of tossing and turning and punching down the lumps in his flattened pillow he sat up again.  “No choice for it!” he sighed.  “I might as well get up and get some breakfast.  I wonder if Ardún remembered to buy mushrooms yesterday?”

            He rose and pulled on his clothes, and running a perfunctory hand through his unruly curls he padded down the stone hallway to the kitchen.

            Ardún was awake, and moving slowly about the cavernous room, shuffling from window to window and opening the shutters to let in the cool air of the moist predawn.  He turned when he heard Bandobras’ feet pattering upon the cold tile, and smiled, as did most who looked upon the Halfling.  “Good morning, Ardún!” said Bandobras brightly.  “Though I feel I ought rather to say ‘good night’ again.  Did you hear the news?  King Thranduil and Lord Faramir and my Master and Gimli routed all of those bad men!  I am very happy to hear it, but O I wish I knew if they were all safe and sound – Éodild’s a good girl but doesn’t talk nearly enough.”  At Ardún’s surprised and disbelieving look, Bandobras said, “Well, I mean, she talks plenty, you know, it is just she talks about all the wrong things.”

            “I myself have heard the news just now,” said Ardún, turning to the inglenook to stir up the ashes.  “But so far lists of dead and wounded have not been forthcoming, so I fear I am unable to satisfy your curiosity.  And as to the Lady Éodild, she has been up and down the stairs twenty times at least, bringing messages from the queens to my Lady.  I would rather she let her sleep, but the little maid is very eager and does not think of such things.”

            Bandobras went to one of the windows overlooking the courtyard, and climbing upon a bench peered out into the darkness.  He could hear voices, speaking low and quiet, and against the dim gray stone could just see the darker shadows of figures moving about.  “Who is out there?” he asked.

            “It is Queen Undómiel and the Elven Queen, speaking with the scout and sundry others,” said Ardún.  Seeing the look of keen interest upon the Halfling’s face he said suddenly:  “O!  How vexing!  Look, I am out of wood; would you, little perian, be so good as to fetch me a faggot or two?  They are out in the courtyard.”

            Bandobras brightened and jumped down from the bench.  “Right away!” he squeaked, and heaving the door open bolted into the morning gloom.  Ardún chuckled, and kicked the stack of wood by the hearth back into the darkness so the Hobbit would not see it when he returned.

            “Good morning!  Good morning, your majesties!” cried Bandobras, running out into the courtyard.  The pavers were cold and slick under his feet, and he stumbled a bit on the broken stone.  He ran up to the cluster of Big Folk, finding Queen Edlothiel’s skirts in the circle and standing by her.  He smiled up at the two queens, and the scout and Rangers who had been speaking with them looked at each other and smiled as well.  “So it is good news, then?  That is what Éodild told me, though she didn’t tell me much else.”

            “We have just been discussing it, Little One,” said Edlothiel, taking his hand in her own.  “It was a grand battle and well thought out; the enemy was taken unawares and unprepared, by all reports.”

            “It is true,” said the tall dark Elf standing with them; “they were crushed underfoot like grass.  Many had not even time to arm themselves before being overcome.”

            “Were you there, then?” asked Bandobras eagerly.  “Please tell me, have you seen my Master?”

            “Not since late yesterday afternoon,” said the scout.  “A band of horsemen escaped, and he and various others went in pursuit.  The last we heard, Prince Legolas had harried them up the mountain to their lair, and though his men suffered injuries from an ambush laid they were victorious.  He apprehended the chief of the traitors himself, and it is only through concern for his injured compatriots he remained atop Amon Din during the night.”

            “Bandobras,” said Arwen gravely, “though Legolas escaped without injury, I must tell you this, that your surprise and sorrow shall be the lessened when your Master returns to you:  the ambush was fierce, and several wounded; also several horses were slain, one of them your Master’s.”

            The Hobbit’s breath hitched on the intake and he stared at her in horror.  “Hatchet, dead?” he cried, his brown eyes filled with dismay.  “O no, O no, O no, not poor Hatchet!”  And burying his tiny face in Edlothiel’s skirts he burst into tears.  The queen knelt, taking him into her arms and pressing him against her slim shoulder while he sobbed. 

            “Disdain not your tears,” said Edlothiel softly as he wept; “Hatchet was indeed a fine and noble horse, strong of stature and great of heart; I know that you and your Master shall miss him sorely.”

            “I’m sorry,” stammered Bandobras through his sobs; “I know it’s so terrible that all those poor people were killed in the villages and farmsteads, and that so many of our own folk were hurt, but O I wish Hatchet hadn’t of died!”

            “Think on it this way then,” said Arwen gently.  “The doors of Mandos have opened, and a great and fine destrier makes his way there, for Námo welcomes all those who die nobly and well in battle.”

            “Really?” said Bandobras, wiping his eyes and looking up at her.  Then he frowned and asked,  “What’s Námo going to do with a dead horse?”

            Dawn proclaimed her imminence through the lightening of the skies above Ephel Duath from velvety black to deep blue; also the stars faded, their fires banked in the heavens, and soon the soft sleepy trilling of birds began to fill the trees in the ruined stone city.  The denizens awoke, moving quietly in the morning hush, fetching water and wood and preparing to begin their second day in Osgiliath.  The air was damp and cold, and carried within it the scents of hard stone and moist earth; soon cookfires wound their smoky tendrils about the broken columns and crumbling walls, and mingled with the birdsong there was the merry piping of children’s voices.  Swallowing his tears Bandobras returned to Ardún’s kitchen (having forgotten to bring the wood, he was constrained to return to the courtyard again, apologizing and sniffling back his tears so that Ardún’s heart was wrung on the perian’s behalf), and set himself the task of preparing breakfast for the Lady of Emyn Arnen and her noble guests.

            Edlothiel had taken her son’s request to heart, and had so filled the Halfling’s hours with work and activity that he’d had no time to think, much less to worry.  He had seen to the feeding and housing of nearly a hundred villagers and farmers, so wrapped up in their care and comfort he’d not had a single thought for his own ease, and though when he’d tumbled into his bed the previous night he spared a brief apprehension for his Master’s well-being, he had been so exhausted by his labors he fell almost immediately into a deep and much-deserved slumber.   Seeing the value of keeping himself busy he threw himself into the preparation of breakfast for the four ladies, and by the time Ardún carried Lady Éowyn’s platter up the stairs even Éodild could not sample all the dainties and good things he had made for them.

            Also about the great wooden table were seated the Elven scout and several Rangers, who had been patrolling the outskirts not only of Osgiliath, but also its neighboring village and the Tent City.  As there was such bounty upon the board they partook as well, and so soothed the Halfling’s trammeled heart with their praise of his cookery he nearly forgot his grief.  And when he had finished the washing up of the dishes at the pump, Edlothiel sent him as a runner to the temporary settlement in the center of the city on so many errands he was kept busy until noon, overlooking even second breakfast in his diligence.

            He had just sat at the table in the kitchen to a thick slice of bread slathered in honey, washing it down with a tumbler of fresh warm milk under Ardún’s watchful eye, when the clang and boom of heavy iron bells shattered the afternoon peace and made them both sit up in surprise.  “What is that?” cried Bandobras, leaping to his feet and upsetting a tray of half-peeled apples in his consternation.  “Is that my Master?  Has he come back already?”

            “Nay!  It is too soon for Lord Faramir’s troops to have returned; they are not coming back until tomorrow,” said Ardún.  “If you would, good Bandobras, run to the guard at the end of the walkway going east from our courtyard, and ask him why the bells of the towers have been rung.”

            Bandobras bolted from the house without even a glance backward, so he missed the look of resignation upon the Man’s face as he gathered up the apples from the floor.  He had just rinsed the dust from them in the kitchen bucket, and set them back to drain upon the tray, when panting and flushed the Halfling burst into the kitchen.

            “It’s the King!” he shouted, nearly causing Ardún to drop the tray.  “King Elessar, I mean!  The Elves in the watchtowers have seen his ships coming up the River.  He’ll be here for supper, and we’re going to have a splendid feast!  Hurrah!”

            As the bells sang and swayed in their towers the criers ran through Osgiliath, spreading the news of the King’s imminent arrival; joyously the citizens crowded the banks and bridges, shading their eyes from the autumn sunlight and pointing out the glint of sails down the River.  Full of delight and goodwill they joined in with the Elven archers who prepared the evening’s feast, having culled flowers and herbs and wreaths of fragrant branches from the surrounding woods and meadows, where they were festooned about the walls and arches of Osgiliath.  Tables were laid and a dais built, over which was erected a great tasseled pavilion of gold and blue damask cloth; garlands of aromatic resinous boughs were tied up with bright ribbon and rushes strewn upon the damp cool tiles.  The walls of the city reverberated with laughter and song, Men’s and Elves’ voices mingled, and over all tolled the smallest of the bells in their campaniles, ringing and resounding and echoing from the hills of Ephel Duath to the slopes of Mindolluin, where the bells of the White Tower boomed back, their great bawling voices reduced to chiming miniature across the valley.

            By the time the sun threw her rays eastward back across the Pelennor to Osgiliath the Elves in the watchtowers reported the white-sailed ships hove to at the docks of the city, and a line of troops in shining armour entered the gates of Minas Tirith.  Then one lone boat detached itself from its moorings and beat its way up the sparkling surface of the water, its oars dipping in and out in time and its sails booming in the evening wind.  From its mizenmast, said the Elves, one could see the dark pennant floating, upon which gleamed a silver tree surmounted with stars.

            Thus King Elessar returned to Osgiliath as he had promised, victorious and in triumph; by his side was the brave Prince of Dol Amroth, beneath the standard of the Swan, and behind him a tall dark grim man, bearded and clad in brown, whom Bandobras thought he should recognize but could not recall the name to mind.  The plank was lowered and Elessar stepped forth, showered in flower petals from the windows of the walls above him, where the children stood, singing.  He approached and was greeted by the Lady of Emyn Arnen, who curtseyed and welcomed him; then he greeted his wife, kissing her soundly before the entire assembly.  He turned to Edlothiel and hailed her with pleasure.

            “How disappointed I am to have missed riding off into battle with your lord husband,” he said to her; “though I was well-attended down South it has been long since we hunted together.”  Then he stepped aside and Imrahil gave his greetings to the assembled guests.  During this time the man in brown watched, brow furrowed as he looked upon the Elven Queen and other royal ladies; in his eyes was a look of wonder and consternation.

            “This is Baldor of Lossarnach, Hallas’ sire,” said Aragorn at last, drawing the man forward.  He bowed, speechless, for the beauty and magnificence of the Lady of Emyn Arnen and the two queens had stilled his tongue, and he was abashed.  “Though it took much to convince him to accompany us his companionship has been fruitful, for he has at last disclosed to us the name of our traitor.”

            “So have we,” said Lady Éowyn; “in truth you shall see his faithless fat face on the morrow, for your Goat has him well apprehended and brings him to you as the firstfruits of the Elves’ gifts to Gondor.”  She turned to Baldor.  “Welcome to Osgiliath, Baldor of Lossarnach!” she said.  “Gladly do I greet you in health, and perceive your liberation was timely and efficacious.”

            “ I thank you, my Lady!” he said, bowing deeply.  “I am indebted greatly to his Majesty, who with pity and compassion did make my rescue a rout of our enemies.”  He looked anxiously about the assembled dignitaries.  “I know that my son is injured and low of rank,” he said with careful humility, “yet I greatly desire to look upon him and to speak with him, to reassure myself that he is well.”

            “He is not here, Lord of Lossarnach,” said Éowyn with a smile.  “So rapt was he upon the destruction of our foes he rode into battle at the Green Knight’s very side.”

            “How did he ride, my Lady?” asked the King in surprise.

            “Lashed to his saddle, your Majesty,” said Éowyn gravely.  “Fear not, Baldor of Lossarnach!  I have had reports from our scouts that he acquitted himself well upon the field of conflict and emerged unscathed, even to the scaling of the peak of Amon Din itself in pursuit of Eradan of Linhir.”

            Baldor beamed and his brow cleared.  “How like him that is!” he said with satisfaction.  “Even as a boy his hurts impeded him not in the fervor of his accomplishments.”

            “He is then a noble reflection upon his family,” said Undómiel, “and his father worthy of the accolades the people shall bestow upon him.”

            “Come!” cried Edlothiel to them then.  “My people await us and the feast is laid.  War and doom have passed us by and left peace in their tumultuous wake.  Eat, sing, make merry and rejoice!  The king has returned to his city in triumph!”  And turning she led them to the center square, which was filled with people, both Men and Elves, bringing in trays, platters, and trenchers filled to overflowing with food of all sorts:  Great smoking roasts of pork and beef and lamb, dressed with herbs and fruit; huge wheels of cheese in bright red rinds, creamy loaves of bread as big as bed pillows and dotted with olives and minced garlic cloves, cakes and dainties and sweetmeats and subtleties smothered in candied fruit, crystallized flowers, and clouds of clotted cream.  A great shout arose when Elessar ascended the dais and sat at the table there; before him was a great golden goblet and a jug of yellow wine, and behind him the curtains and hangings of damask and gold.  Beeswax candles glowed upon their candlesticks and all around was the sound of merry voices raised in high revel; children’s voices brittle with excitement, men’s and women’s voices chattering like magpies, and Elves’ clear bright voices singing and calling to one another across the courtyard.  In one corner upon a small stand was a group of musicians, which played while people ate and drank, and before long the space in front of them was cleared and circles of folk were formed to dance.  Elves danced first, their feet flickering lightly over the rushes in their intricate reels; then others joined them, men, women, and children, laughing and singing until the courtyard rang with mirth.  But one small figure did not rejoice nor join in the revelry; it was Bandobras the Hobbit, who sat forlornly upon the dark corner of the dais, obscured from the folk by a swath of damask silk, his chin sunk upon his little palm and his elbows on his knees.

After the stars had blossomed in the deeps of the heavens and the torches guttered and smoked in their dotage, the servingmen began to clear the tables, and mothers carried their slumbering children to bed.  The Prince of Dol Amroth and his retainers were led away to their especial quarters, and many other folk were dispersing for the night; Elessar sat, goblet in hand, watching the scattering people who sought their beds.  After a time he glanced into the corner of the dais and saw the small lonely Hobbit there.  He gestured and Bandobras came to him, his tiny face sad, to stand before the King with his little hands clasped behind him and his brown eyes filled with the detritus of two days’ labor and a week’s worth of worry.

            “What troubles you, O Bandobras of the Shire?” asked the King gently, laying a hand upon the Halfling’s curly head.  “I perceive your heart is heavy, and the joy engendered in this celebration and merrymaking has quite bypassed you, leaving you cold and desolate.  Is there aught I might do for you, to lighten your overburdened soul, in token of the honor and esteem I hold for your Master?”

            “Well, sir, that’s just it then,” said Bandobras with a great heavy sigh, his eyes glassing over with tears again.  “My Master’s not here, you see, and neither’s Gimli, nor Hador nor Aldamir nor any of those folk, and it just doesn’t seem right, you know, celebrating like this with them still gone.  And besides there’s all those other people, sir, who’ve lost their homes and the men have been killed, and there’s that Eradan, sir, who started it all – a horrible bad man he must be, I’m sure, sir, to want to do such things, and make men follow him – by all accounts he’s still living, and ought’n’t to be, if you don’t mind me saying it, sir, for I know it’s your business and not mine to decide that.  But it has been praying on my mind, you know, that winter’s coming and all that, and what shall all these poor people do?  They’ve got no homes and no crops, sir, and most of ‘em haven’t even got husbands and dads anymore.  Now, if they were Hobbits, sir, I’d say, just send ‘em to the Shire, and I’m sure my Uncle Pip’d be more than happy to take them in – but they’re Big Folk, and what do Big Folk do when such things happen?  Lady Éowyn says let ‘em live here, and I say ‘aye’ to that, but folk don’t eat stone, nor dirt neither.  And here we are, eating and feasting and having a grand time, but all I can think on is winter and spring, sir, and maybe folk going hungry, maybe – “ he gulped “ – maybe the little ones, which would be awful, sir.  So I was thinking to myself about the store-rooms here in Osgiliath, and the stuff that’s down there, and wondering how long it’ll last us – there’s quite a bit of it now, you know, but come summertime how much of it will be left?”

            “Your thoughts behoove you, good Bandobras,” said Elessar with a smile, and gesturing to a chair the little Hobbit climbed upon it and sat looking at him.  “It is true, autumn with its small-toothed nips gives way to the harsher bite of winter, and there are many people here whose homes and crops have been burned by the Lord of Linhir’s mutinous men.  However, the past two summers’ yields have been bounteous, and the storehouses of Minas Tirith bulge with abundance of grains and seeds; also, remember the fishing boats of the Anduin and the huntsmen of Ithilien and think upon the separate bounty of the earth, not Yavanna’s realm but Oromë’s, upon the boar and the deer and the pheasant and the wild goat.  Also your Master’s people bring with them not only their own foodstuffs but also their woodcraft, and there are as you know many good things to be harvested in the forests to eat.  My people shall not go hungry; this I swear to you, good Bandobras son of Reginard!

            “Also think you upon your Master tonight, and be not sad that he is truant; strength and cunning is in his hand, and with his friends he has secured the lands of the Red Knight against further want and privation.  They are I am sure celebrating on their own, for the scouts have assured me Eradan’s men did not only burn but also carried off, and there is plenty for the poor widows and orphans to feast upon tonight.  The gay and merry faces of our Elven neighbors, and the brave and fair faces of our knights, shall sustain their grieving hearts, and they shall be strengthened and fortified by them.  But you, O Bandobras,” he said, leaning down and fixing the Hobbit with his kind gray eyes, “you who have shown yourself disposed to watch over their well-being, you I shall ask to grant me this boon, that during the autumn and winter months you shall put your deep compassion for them to viable work, aiding your Master’s people in the repairing of this city to provide homes for them, and distributing the harvested bounty of the lands that they hunger not.”

            “O!” exclaimed Bandobras, his eyes shining.  “Well, that sounds marvelous!  I certainly shall, sir, I promise you, so long as my Master allows it – and from what I’ve heard him say he certainly will, he’s been pretty harrowed up himself on the people’s behalf – do we really have enough food for everyone, sir?  That’s a great load off my mind, I can tell you.  And do you really think the folk in Amon Din are celebrating tonight?  Just the thought of them having a party is enough to put my heart at ease, for all I could think on was the women and children weeping, and dead bodies here and there.  It’s a hard thing, sir, to lose one’s dad,” he said, his brown eyes owlish; “that I can say from personal experience.  But maybe I can take these children in hand and let ‘em know it’s not the end of things, though it might feel as though it is, and at least they still have their mothers – that’s something too.”

            “You shall give them the benefit of your great experience,” said the King.  “That in itself I am certain shall aid in their recovery from these losses.  And now, good Bandobras, I perceive from the presence of the brooms sweeping up the rushes that it is time for us to seek our bedchambers, for after such a week as this it is our just due.  Tomorrow after noon you shall see your Master again, and we shall begin the happy task of bringing the miscreant Eradan to justice, to pay him for his crimes against my people.”

            “You’ve certainly got my support there,” said Bandobras, sliding off his chair and straightening his waistcoat.  “Well, sir, thanks for the chat – I feel much better, I really do.  Good night!”  He turned to go, then was arrested suddenly by a thought, which made him turn back, his eyes wide with horror.

            “O, I have just remembered!” he said, wringing his hands.  “O it is a good thing Gimli is not here!  I ought to have been calling you ‘your Majesty’ all this time, and here I’ve been calling you ‘sir’!  I am so sorry, your Majesty!  Will you please forgive me?”

            “There is naught to forgive, good Bandobras,” said Elessar, smiling down at him.  “To tell the truth I did not even notice.  And I promise you I shall say nothing to Gimli about this.”

            “O, thank you!” cried Bandobras in relief.  “This courtly behavior . . . I don’t think I’ll ever get the hang of it.”  And giving a perfunctory bow to the King he scurried off.

35.

            The next day dawned sullen and gray, with a stippled lowering sky suspended about the slopes of the Ephel Duath, obscuring the peaks.  Birdsong sounded muffled and weak, and the air was still, pressing the scents of cookfires and humanity close to the earth.  Even the sun in her splendor could not penetrate the heavy curtain of gloom that hovered over Osgiliath and Minas Tirith, and her rising was marked solely by the lightening of the clouds to a lesser darkness.  Now and again thunder rumbled dourly in the distance, promising rain but withholding its oaths for a season; oft times the folk encamped in the stone city would hear its ominous grumbles and look up, but no moisture yet fell from the leaden sky.

            The Elves in the watchtowers looked to the east, awaiting the coming of the army from Amon Din, though their bright eyes were impeded by the roiling mists engendered in the clammy air; by midday however they rang the bells in the campaniles and shouted down to their mortal compatriots that the troops were returning, with three great lords at the head of the file.  Then all the folk clustered about the walls, peering across the fields to the Road, but all they could see was a great stir of dust hanging yellow over the sunburnt grasses.

            Bandobras, being but a very small Hobbit indeed, had great difficulty seeing over the walls of the city, and though he stood up on his toes and strained it was all he could do to peek his face over the edge.  He decided rather to climb upon the wall, as had several of the other children, and was just about to fit his foot into one of the clefts when a voice called his name.  He turned, and was surprised to see Lady Éowyn standing there, clad in a brown flannel dress and covered with a heavy cloak.

            “Well met, good Bandobras!” she said, smiling down upon the perian.  “I see you are anxious to look upon your Master again.”

            “I am indeed, ma’am – I mean, my Lady!” said Bandobras, turning and bowing to her.  “It seems more like a week than just two days since they rode off.  But I can’t see nothing from over this wall, so I’m just going to climb it and try to take a peek.”

            “There is no need of that!” laughed the Lady of Emyn Arnen.  “As Prince Legolas’ esquire you deserve a better view.  Would you, good holbytla, like to ride with us as we go out to meet them?  Queen Edlothiel and I are taking a small company with us to welcome them back to Osgiliath, and her Majesty suggested to me it would do your Master good to see you.”

            “Why, that would be marvelous!” cried Bandobras, jumping up and clapping his hands.  “Then I would get to see him before he gets overrun by all the other folk who want to congratulate him.  May we go now, my Lady?  I really don’t want to wait any longer!”

            “Come with me then!” said Éowyn, and led him from the wall down to the street.

            Waiting in a small group were Queen Edlothiel and several other riders; two of them were Lady Éowyn’s own Rangers from her personal guard, and the others Elven scouts from Eryn Lasgalen.  The Queen smiled down at Bandobras as he trotted up to them at Éowyn’s heels.  “So here is Bandobras!” she said.  “To see your face brings me great joy mingled also with regret, for though I know my son’s coming brings you much happiness, my heart tells me it is time to return you to your rightful duties by his side, and so rob myself of your presence.”

            Bandobras ran up to her and threw his arms about her knees to embrace her.  “O, do not be sad, your Majesty!” he begged her.  “It is too happy a day to be sad.  Just think!  My Master and Gimli and King Thranduil and Lord Faramir and all the rest are coming home, and the bad man who started all of this is captured and going to be punished, and all the people are going to have plenty to eat and warm houses to live in, and the Tournament will start up again and we’ll be able to watch my Master at the tilt!  You oughtn’t to be sad just because I’m going to do what I love to do anyway, which is take care of my Master.  Besides it saves you the trouble of having to take care of him yourself.”

            The Queen smiled, and the two Elven scouts laughed.  “So it does!” said Edlothiel.  “And I am very much obliged to you, Little One, for taking on so daunting a task, and therefore relieving me of the worry such a charge would engender.  Now I beg you, ride with me, so that I might have the comfort of your presence but a little while longer.”

            “Of course!” said Bandobras, and he allowed one of the scouts to lift him up on the back of the great roan mare who stood patiently by the Queen’s side.  Then Edlothiel mounted, and Lady Éowyn, and the others as well, and following the cobbled street headed to the gates.  The guards swung them open, saluting, and the horses left the clatter and rattle of the stones to thud upon the hard packed yellow dirt of the road to the fields.  Before them they could see the great cloud of dust kicked up by the men approaching, and through the swirls and eddies in the air now and again Bandobras could descry the dull gleam of armour, or the flicker of color from some raised standard.  Above them the sky grew ever dimmer, until at last the grim mumblings of thunder gave deed to their tongue and it began to rain, a thin trickle at first, but soon a steady downpour fell upon their heads.  Edlothiel pulled up her hood, and wrapped her cloak about the Hobbit to keep him dry, and they rode on.

            The rain accomplished one thing at least; the cloud of dust surrounding the returning army dissipated, and squinting through the dripping cloak Bandobras could at last see the three mighty lords who rode at the head of the army:  In the middle was Lord Faramir of Emyn Arnen, clad in black, beneath the white banner of the Stewards; to his left was the fair Elven King with his green standard, and upon Faramir’s right, gleaming in his burnished armour, was Legolas Thranduilion and his ensign of crossed oak branches.  Behind them were Gimli the Dwarf upon his stout hill pony, Aldamir of Amon Din in a simple doublet, his arm wrapped in a bloodied cloth; Araval of Tarlang and his esquire Hador, Cirien the Yellow Knight, his wise face inscrutable, and Mardil of Ethring, sitting stiffly upon a strange horse, his head bound in a rag.  Also there were the Black and Silver Knights, those mighty warriors beneath their separate standards, and Hallas of Lossarnach, riding beside a young maid wrapped in a cloak.  Behind them were the other knights, archers, and foot soldiers, all interspersed with the various farmer’s widows and orphaned children of Amon Din; cattle and sheep also there were, being hurried along by young boys with sticks, and great waggons bearing casks and sacks and other goods, with smaller children and young women with infants perched about the foodstuffs like sparrows clustered on haystacks.

            Bandobras’ heart gave a great leap when he saw his Master, though he was teased by the knowledge that something about him was not quite right; with a pang he realized the brilliant armour that Hatchet had so proudly borne was absent and the black horse he rode was clad in but a simple chainmail trapper.  But the horse was every bit as big as Hatchet had been, and perhaps of a more noble lineage, for its profile was straight and its hocks clean; it was strong-limbed and deep-chested, and sported a white blaze and two white socks.

            “Whose destrier is that, upon which the Green Knight sits?” asked the Lady of Emyn Arnen of the Queen.

            “I know not,” said Edlothiel; “I recognize it, but cannot put a master to its form.”

            “That is Piukka, Meglinidar’s steed,” said one of the scouts; “it is the only black horse we purchased in Dale.  I hope this does not mean some ill has befallen Meglinidar!”

            “The list of the dead and the injured has not yet passed into our hands,” said Éowyn; “let us trust to hope that most of our friends are well.”

            “My Master is well,” said Bandobras; “that is the biggest relief to me at least!”

            The three warriors rode ahead to meet the Queen and Lady Éowyn, and with many warm and affectionate words they greeted each other.  Bandobras for his part was not satisfied to simply salute his Master, but launched himself from the Queen’s arms upon the cuirass of the Green Knight, laughing with delight and relief.  Legolas caught him up in his heavy manifers, careful to keep the clawed gauntlets from piercing him, and lifting his visor he let the Halfling kiss him.  “Welcome back, Master!” cried Bandobras, flinging his little arms about the bevor in his attempt to embrace the Elf.  “O, I am so glad to see that you are not harmed; you have no idea how worried I’ve been!”  Turning to the Elven King and Faramir he added, “And it is also very good to see you, too, sirs – I mean, my Lord and your Majesty.  Sounds as though you gave that wicked man something to think about!”

            “Your Master did, at least!” said Faramir laughing.  “Eradan will go to trial before the King himself – that is, if he recovers from the many head injuries he sustained after his capture.”

            “After his capture?” said Éowyn in surprise.  “Did he fall from a horse?”

            Thranduil gave his son an amused look.  “That is a tale best told in private, I deem,” he said.  “There are after all certain proprieties held between captor and prisoner, that I think have been mishandled somewhat these past few days.”

            Legolas flushed.  “Had he but kept quiet – “ he began, but Faramir waved his protest aside.  “It is of no moment, my friend,” he said; “and of us all I believe you had the most reason to feel vexed with him.”

            “I see you are on Meglinidar’s destrier, my Lord,” said one of the Elves; “has aught happened to him?”

            “Nay, he is leading one of the wains,” said Legolas, gesturing to the great crowd behind them, which trudged slowly through the heavy rain and thickening earth.  “The injured and the frail ride with the victuals, and some hale warriors were needed to guide the waggon-horses.  Meglinidar loaned to me his steed, saying he might not ask for him back; apparently good Piukka here is not to his liking, being somewhat more headstrong than Meglinidar is used to.”

            “I am so sorry about Hatchet, Master,” said Bandobras, wriggling about until he was seated in front of Legolas.  “I – I hope he went quick and didn’t suffer much.”

            Legolas hesitated, looking down at his esquire’s wet curls.  “Well, Little One,” he said carefully, “he died doing what he loved – cut down in the midst of a mad charge; there are few who can boast such who have gone to the halls of Mandos.”

            “So Námo did want a dead horse,” said Bandobras thoughtfully.  “And this is Piukka, then?”  He patted the black stallion on its thick neck, and it twitched its ears back to hear him.  “He is a beautiful horse.  Will you ride him as you joust, Master?”

            “He has never charged a tilt before,” said Legolas; “I shall test him a few times before the Tournament resumes.  If he shies I will not joust at all, but forfeit; it is too late to train another destrier in that art.”

            “O I am certain Piukka will do well,” said Bandobras confidently; “he looks so intelligent, you know.  And he can’t be any worse than Hatchet was – do you remember, Master, how he tried to attack the quintain the first few times?  Whew!  How he bellowed when he charged!  But this good fellow looks much better behaved.  I am certain after Gimli adjusts the shaffron and crinet and cruppers to fit him he will be every bit as good a destrier as Hatchet was, and maybe if we’re lucky he won’t try to bite the mules.”

            “He will not bite; he is a good-natured beast,” laughed Legolas.  “Well, Little One, do you wish to get out of this rain, or would you rather go to see some friends?  There is someone I would like you to meet.”

            “I’ll go wherever you go, Master,” said Bandobras earnestly.

            “Very well!” said Legolas.  “My Lord Father, Lord Faramir, I am heading back to the waggons; I shall collect Gimli as I go.  My Lady Mother, Lady Éowyn, I shall meet with you anon.”

            “As you wish, Lord Legolas,” said Éowyn, and Legolas turned his destrier and rode back.

            Gimli greeted Bandobras with a gruff handshake.  “Staying out of trouble, are you?” he asked.  “I hope at least you have not driven the Queen to distraction with your chatter!”

            “I haven’t had much time to talk at all, Gimli,” protested Bandobras as they jogged along through the mud to the line of wains in the north end of the file.  “Honestly, I’ve kept so busy since you’ve been gone, feeding and housing all those villagers and folk.  And now King Elessar has asked me to help distribute all the collected food over the winter to the people here who’ve lost their homes.  Do you think that will be all right, Master?”

            “I have full confidence in your abilities in that area, my Bandobras,” said Legolas.

            “Of course!” muttered Gimli.  “If it has aught to do with food you may trust a Hobbit to see it done, and done properly – to Shire-standards anyway!”

            “Why, what other standards are there, Gimli?” laughed Bandobras.

            They rode up to a broad-beamed waggon covered with a canvas; sitting upon the seat holding the mules’ reins was Galás.  He was injured, Bandobras could tell, for he sat stiffly favoring his left side and had a great strap bound about his chest.  But his face was as blithe and merry as ever, and he greeted the Halfling with a smile.  “As you see we have brought you both bad weather and good tidings from the slopes of Amon Din!” he said.  “I do not mind the rain much but I think it ought to have waited an hour or two for us to get to some sort of shelter.  I do not know what the skies are thinking, to drench us so.”

            “At least you are not wearing full armour,” said Legolas.  “If I do not rid myself of this metal garment I am certainly going to rust shut.”  He removed his gauntlets, dismounted and lifted Bandobras from Piukka’s back to set him on the sideboard of the waggon.  Then he climbed up behind him and pushed the canvas aside.

            Lying among bales of sweet hay on the floor of the waggon was Kaimelas.  His bloodied jerkin was stiff and dark and a great swath of strappings was wrapped about his torso.  He was very white, but his eyes were open and he looked upon his lord with a weak smile.  Sitting beside him were two children.  Bandobras blinked, looking upon one of them closely; then his face cleared and he exclaimed:  “Why it is Miriel, the wood-cutter’s granddaughter!  Whatever are you doing here?”

            “There, you see, Lanna?” said the little girl laughing.  “It is true; it is just as I said: I have met a real perian.  It was he the Green Knight went to rescue in the woods, and my grandfather and I aided him.”  Turning to Bandobras she said:  “I was visiting with my cousin Lanna at her farm in Amon Din when the marauders came, and we were carried off.  I hope my grandfather is not too worried about me – I miss him so.”

            “I’m sure he’ll be very happy to see you,” said Bandobras.  “But why are you riding with Kaimelas?”

            “He brought my doll Isilya back to me,” said Lanna, showing the Halfling a small wooden doll.  “He even got pierced by an arrow trying to bring it to me, and as he is so brave we are sitting here keeping him company while we ride.”

            “Are you really very badly hurt, Kaimelas?” asked Bandobras anxiously.  “You do not look well at all!”

            “I am better,” said Kaimelas in a soft voice, but then he began to cough and the two little girls leaned forward, one holding his hand and the other stroking his hair.

            “There, there!” said Miriel.  “Do not try to speak, friend Elf; we will take care of you.  My grandfather says King Elessar is a great healer and I am sure he will have you better in no time.”

            “And well he must!” said Legolas.  “Kaimelas is one of my own people now and I have great need of so brave a scout.  Miriel, I have sent one of my runners to your grandfather’s hut at the edge of the forest; he will come to fetch you as soon as he can.  But I think Lord Faramir will want you to move to Osgiliath for the winter – after all, with all these people we will have great need of wood-cutters.”

            “That is just as well,” admitted Miriel, “for our house is very draughty in the winter-time; last year we could hardly sleep for being so cold.”

            “There is plenty of room in Osgiliath, Miriel,” said Bandobras; “so many houses, all ready and waiting for the people to move in!  And Lord Faramir has asked me to help distribute food to everyone – that will mean you and your family too, I guess, Lanna.  Perhaps we will all work together, and hand out wood as well as victuals.”

            “I would like that very much!” said Miriel.  “And we can keep an eye on Kaimelas too.”

            “That is a great comfort, Little Ones,” said Kaimelas weakly, and the little girls smiled and stroked his hair.

            “Well, since you are so well cared for, Bandobras and I shall quit you,” said Legolas.  “We must needs foregather with Elessar and the others for a council, to decide how best to deal justice to the people.  Fear not, daughters of Men!  Your king and your lords have your well-being foremost in mind, and though your futures are not fully determined they are secure.”  So saying he gathered Bandobras to him and they remounted; then bidding Galás farewell they rode through the rain to the gates of the city, where the King awaited them.

            There was no feast that evening; the rain fell in right earnest, soaking the open courtyard where the previous night’s festivities had been held; besides that the great number of grieving and injured folk that had filled the city gave a grimmer purpose to the evening meal, and the people of Osgiliath had for themselves many private feasts, inviting the widows and orphans of Amon Din into their houses to feed and comfort them as best they could.  Many of the knights and their retainers returned to their tents, and others to the comforts of the inns of the nearby villages; the city of Osgiliath which had so recently seethed with song and laughter and lights was dark and quiet, waiting beneath the weeping sky for a brighter morn.  In the Lord of Emyn Arnen’s house about his table sat the Lord and Lady, King Elessar and Queen Undómiel, the Elven King and his pale bride, the Green Knight and his two retainers, and to everyone’s surprise, Baldor of Lossarnach, Belecthor, and Orodreth.  The Ceremonies Master and the Lord of Linhir had regarded each other with suspicion at first, but upon learning that Orodreth had been one of the lords opposing Eradan Belecthor embraced him as a brother.  They had drunk a toast to Egalmoth, that brave but difficult councilor, and put aside their differences for the good of Minas Tirith.  Ardún and Bandobras had made ready a rich and varied meal for their beloved masters, and upon the sideboard was a profusion of good things:  smoking joints of meat, platters of stewed fruits and nuts, steaming rolls with brown chewy crusts opening to white soft centers, jugs of rich purple wine and crocks of briny olives, and, to Gimli’s disgust, a big bowl of mushrooms sautéed in butter and swimming in cream with fresh tarragon leaves.  Now, sated and warm, the companions sat about the table discussing Eradan’s depredations, and Aragorn was able to explain to them what he had learned from that miscreant during his interrogation that afternoon.

            “The most generous promise of gold, O Elven King, was the catalyst that set his machinations in movement,” said Elessar to Thranduil; “knowing your son jousted in the Tournament gave him the opportunity to undermine your confidence in me as a receptacle of your charity.  Seeking to defame and finally to hurt the Green Knight was his aim, for he believed the gold forthcoming would be withheld should your son be mortified in some way.”

            “My discovering his plot against Baldor here was then the reason he moved his troops to Druadan,” said Legolas thoughtfully; “with the King battling enemies in the south he must have thought to himself to secure his position in Amon Din, capturing Aldamir’s keep and holding it against any loyalists.”  He turned to Elessar.  “And then, Aragorn, he took my Bandobras from me, to lure me from the safety of Lord Faramir’s home, and so kill me to prevent any aid from the North.”

            “He was gravely in error,” said Thranduil; “far from withdrawing my promise by your death, my son, I should rather have marched upon him myself and taken my vengeance.”  He smiled at Faramir.  “With the Lord of Emyn Arnen’s permission, of course!” he added.  “I should not be so churlish as to pursue my enemies into another lord’s territories.”

            “And I would not have been so churlish as to have denied you that,” laughed Faramir.  “Indeed I am sure my Lady here would have welcomed you with open arms, and ridden with you had you desired it.”

            “So I should have,” said Éowyn; “my champion would have been avenged then.”  She looked at Legolas, who sat by the inglenook with the drowsing Bandobras on his lap; his brilliant hair gleamed in the firelight and his white doublet was edged in gold.  He had once again bound her blue scarf about his arm, and it hung softly shimmering in the flickering yellow light.  “Lord Legolas, when will you decide whether you remain my champion or no?  For Belecthor here has set the final day of the Tournament for the day after tomorrow, should the weather permit it.”

            “Let me ride Piukka some more,” he told her with a smile.  “He is not Hatchet by any standard, but perhaps he shall bear me as bravely and as well.”  He looked at Elessar, who sat with his fingers entwined about his wife’s hands; those two looked contentedly at each other, and pleased to be reunited.  “Aragorn, what of the lances?  When did Eradan effect that exchange?”

            “After you rescued Bandobras,” said Elessar, turning from his contemplation of his wife’s face back to Legolas. “Though he admits he had the lances prepared many months in advance – from the time you planned out the tournament, Belecthor, he had thought to disrupt it and so use that confusion engendered to force his plans through.  So it is certainly no fault of yours our Grand Tournament has been so fraught with interruptions!  You had at your side a cunning and furtive enemy, who cared not for either the health or safety of the knights entrusted to your care, but only for his own advancement; it is no wonder we were unable to keep the festivities from being upset.”

            Belecthor sighed.  “And at the end his intrigues came to naught, save for the deaths of twelve knights and foot-soldiers, and seven good Elves of Mirkwood,” he said sadly.  “Not to mention poor Targil and Egalmoth, and the unhappy farmers his soldiers slaughtered!  I never heard the reason for that, your Majesty; to what aim, for what purpose were those men killed?  Surely it would have availed him nothing to take possession of a land with no men to till it!”

            “It was in his mind to give the widows and children of those poor farmers to his men as prizes,” said Arwen, her fair face set and grim.  “Many of his soldiers had left behind families in their flight from Estel’s power, and Eradan recognized they would need some incentive to stay in Amon Din, and not return to their holdings in the south.  So he told them to pillage as they moved from their camp in Ithilien west to Druadan, and carry the goods and kine and women with them, as spoils of their ravaging.”

            “A sorry business!” said Baldor shaking his head.  “If only Egalmoth and I had been able to forestall him . . . “ he sighed and drained his cup.

            “The damage has been done,” said Orodreth, fetching a pitcher from the sideboard and refilling Baldor’s flagon.  “All we may do now is to try to repair what he has done.”

            “While we are on that subject then,” said Legolas with a smile, running his long fingers through Bandobras’ curls, “what say you two to the reconciliation of your charges?  That seems to me to be a part of the reparations there.”

            “Ah!” smiled Orodreth.  “My niece is a capricious maid, but I think she has learned her lesson; besides to her mind Hallas of Lossarnach, as one of the Green Knight’s companions, is even more desirable than before when he was but one knight in many.  And despite his temper he has proved a worthy man indeed, and should Baldor permit it I would be pleased to see our houses unite.”

            “I will speak with my son then,” said Baldor; “he loves her yet and I am sure it will take very little persuading on our parts to bring them together.”

            “Speaking of capricious maids,” said Gimli, “has aught been seen of Éodild and our friend Híldaf?  Walda of the Westfold has arrived and is seeking him out, to swear him in as esquire to him.”

            “So far as I know Éodild has returned to her rooms in the Bridge Embattled,” said Éowyn.  “I hope that she will show more patience than is her wont, for Walda will release neither of them from his care ere Híldaf completes his apprenticeship.”

            “What of Brytta?” asked Legolas, apprehension clouding his face.  “I saw him not upon either the field of battle nor in the crowds in Osgiliath.  Where is he gone?”

            “Back to Rohan, I believe,” said Éowyn.  “With his tail tucked firmly between his legs.  Do not look that way, my friend!  His hatred of the Green Knight is no fault of yours.  Ever he has been a rash and obstinate man and even Éomer, my long-suffering brother, tires of him on occasion.  It is very like him to leave on a whim, with no thought for the welfare or interests of others.”

            “I had hopes to reconcile with him ere the snow flew,” sighed Legolas, disappointed.  “I do not like to leave such a thing unresolved.”

            “You will be here many years yet, my son,” said Thranduil, “and our friend Gimli has his holding at Aglarond in Rohan.  You will have your chance to see this intractable Man again, I am certain.”

            “At any rate, his absence affects the Tournament standings not one whit,” said Belecthor.  “Lord Faramir and I have decided to pare down the list of knights remaining so that but two foot combats and two jousts are all that is needed to determine our winner.  You are one of those four knights, Lord Legolas.”

            “Am I?” said Legolas.  “Whom shall I fight then?”

            “Malbeth, Minardil, and Vorondil.  Aldamir of Amon Din ought to have fought before Minardil, of course, but as he was wounded in the battle he is disqualified.  You shall fight Malbeth first, and either Vorondil or Minardil in the ring, depending which one of them is the victor over the other, and then there shall be the joust of the winners.”

            “What shall you do with the money, my son?” asked Thranduil, shooting Gimli a little wink.  The Dwarf chuckled into his goblet.

            “I have not yet won it, my Lord Father,” chided Legolas.  “Those three knights are mighty men and their prowess in the barriers and at the tilt is legendary.  There is no guarantee the Green Knight shall be the victor.”  But Éowyn clucked her tongue and turned to Edlothiel.

            “He is so modest!” she said.  “But I have every confidence in my champion.  Have I not wagered my pride on the Green Knight?  He would not dare disappoint me.”

            “I dare many things,” said Legolas dryly; “however the gulf between intent and action is deep and dark, and many things may fly between.”  Shifting Bandobras in his arms he said to Gimli:  “Let us quit this assembly and get us to our tent then; my little youngling here has need of his own small cot, and I admit I am anxious for a quiet night – there have been few enough of those these past few days!”  He rose with the Halfling slumbering in his arms, and Gimli drained his cup and gathered up their cloaks.  Queen Edlothiel walked over to her son and kissed him.

            “Thank you for loaning your esquire to me!” she said, placing her white hand upon the sleeping Hobbit’s head.  “He is sturdy and good-hearted, and displays a deep compassion for the destitute.”

            “You have just described all Hobbits I think, your Majesty,” said Gimli, carefully tucking Legolas’ cloak about him so that Bandobras was fully protected.  Edlothiel watched him with a smile.

            “You love him too, do you not?” she asked gently.

            “Of course!” the Dwarf grunted.  “But do not let him know, I pray you, my Lady, or I’ll not hear the end of it.” 

            Laughing Legolas bid them good-night, and he and his friend went out into the rain.

36.

            The morning after Lord Faramir’s return to Osgiliath was gloomy and gray.  The clouds that had rolled in the previous day settled down like a great hoary hen roosting upon the earth, drowning the fields and cities with her steady downpour.  From every window and every campanile, from the watchtowers and the ramparts, folk looked out over the sere landscape cloaked in downy, misty gloom, watching the rivulets cut little canyons through the earth, flattening the grasses and running in small torrents between the broken pavers of the city.  All bethought to themselves that on the morrow the Tournament would surely be called off.

            The sun, however, did not hold to those gloomy predictions and thrust the clouds aside that evening, turning the sodden fields from pale colorless gray to brilliant blood-red and orange by means of a fiery sunset; the people looked up at the clearing sky, with its tattered scattering clouds, with hope, and the knights began to polish their armour.

            The dawn of the final day of the Tournament was brilliantly golden, the sunlight flashing through the clean air and upon the soaked fields to glitter sparkling on water droplets and in puddles; clouds of white touched with gold hurried quickly across the deep dome of blue, and clouds of black starlings touched with white speckles echoed this movement in their flight from treetop to treetop.  Belecthor’s men set to work preparing the barriers and the jousting quadrangle, and as early as the hour following breakfast, folk began to gather to watch the foot combat, anxious for a prime spot.

            Belecthor had thoughtfully provided hastily-constructed stands about the barriers, and opened up the back of the stadium too, to provide extra seating for the additional people, the orphans and widows of Amon Din and also the Elves of Mirkwood.  They settled and commingled, almost indistinguishable in the crowds one from the other; and as Faramir walked to his seats behind the royal box he passed many people in chattering groups, and smiled to see Thranduil’s and Legolas’ folk interspersed with his own, laughing and singing and talking.  Here and there he would see some child, recently bereft of home and sire, sitting beside an Elf or Elf maiden, eagerly conversing as though with his own kind; and here and there also he would see some knight, clad not in armour but in a simple doublet, deep in discussion with one of the archers or scouts of Eryn Lasgalen. 

            He went into the royal box to the back, where the cloths had been pulled away, and saw a great crowd had gathered there; Elessar and his Queen had already come, and sat side by side, he in black and she in silver.  To their left sat his own Lady, splendid in pale green, her golden hair wound into a living coronet about her head; to her other side sat Thranduil and Edlothiel in green and yellow.  Many others sat about them, and when Faramir approached one of them turned and saw him; it was Galás.  He grinned and waved, then made to heave himself to his feet; but seeing his grimace of pain Faramir waved him back to his seat.

            “There is no need of ceremony when the warrior is wounded,” he chided the seneschal, but let the Elf kiss his hand anyway.  “How do you feel, good Galás?”

            “Well, I shall not volunteer for pincushion duty again any time soon,” laughed the Elf.  “I am better, thank you, my Lord; King Elessar guesses the arrow broke one of my ribs, and that is why I find it so difficult to rise and to sit.  So long as I remain still it is not so bad.”

            “You will have to recover from this hurt soon, if you are to take up your duties under Lord Legolas,” said Faramir.  “A seneschal cannot afford to be still.”

            “For now Baranil takes up my slack,” said Galás with a grimace.  “He is so serious!  No one will know what to do with me when I resume my position.”  He gestured to Faramir to bring his face closer, and when Faramir bent down he said softly:  “Look you to the far right, my Lord, beneath that low curtain!  Do you not see man and maid within?  Can you not guess who that may be?”

            Faramir smiled at his look of low cunning and said, “I have not Elven eyes but even I can tell who it is:  It is Éodild and Híldaf.”

            “Aye!” laughed Galás.  “And see who is seated at the right hand of Lord Baldor, behind Lord Orodreth!”

            “Hallas and Dirhael,” said Faramir, laughing also.  “That is two, good Galás; is there yet a third pair of turtle-doves cosseted hereabouts?  For it is said in my land that good things happen in threes.”

            “Alas, no,” said the seneschal with an exaggerated sigh.  “I had hoped Andunië or Dúrfinwen, or perhaps Queen Undómiel’s maid Leithiel would have proved to be adequate huntresses, but it does not seem to be so – still my noble quarry remains untrapped.  It is quite vexing; my Lady Edlothiel charged me with finding him a consort, and so far I am thwarted.”

            “It is early days yet,” said the Lord of Emyn Arnen, clapping Galás on the shoulder and rising to find his chair.  “Perhaps during the feast tonight he may show a preference.”

            He kissed his lady and greeted the two royal couples, then sat upon his cushioned chair with a feeling of deep relief.  Éowyn smiled at him and took his hand in hers, and he brought her fingers to his lips.

            “You are thankful, are you not, my Lord, that this is indeed the final day of the Tournament?” she asked him gently.

            “I am,” he admitted.  “Naught has gone according to plan; there have been interruptions and deadly interludes throughout these games, and I confess I shall be pleased to see them come to a conclusion at long last.”

            “I acknowledge I shall not miss the interruptions at all,” she laughed, “but I am sorry to see the Tournament come to an end – to this end, anyway.  I had hoped it would be a clean sweep of some diverse mighty knights, rising to a stirring conclusion upon the sands of the quadrangle, and instead we have had treason and treachery, caltrops and conundrums enough to fill a book.  But I am glad Belecthor decided to end the Tournament in this way – at least our people will have some festivity to lighten their autumn, before the work commences of rebuilding the city and finding homes for everyone; and also there shall be a final winner – it would be distressing to have the contest uncompleted; I should always feel as though I had left some great thing undone.”

            Then Belecthor strode into the barrier, flanked by his herald and men-at-arms, and the stands erupted with cheers which grew in volume as the first two knights approached the barrier.  Minardil and Vorondil, in deep blue and in gray, stood to in their corners, while the herald with his knotted rope paced out their distances.  The people in the stands waved little flags of blue and gray, and also of green and black for the other two competing knights, as each displayed their preferences; there was an abundance of green in the crowd.

            “I see that my son is a favorite,” said Thranduil, leaning over to Faramir.  He had foregone his heavy crown for a light circlet of gold and silver entwined which bound his golden hair back from his forehead.

            “He has ever been,” said the Lord of Emyn Arnen, “but Bandobras informed me this morning that he has received no more tokens from hopeful young ladies.  He is quite disappointed, he said, for he meant to sew them all together to make a quilt for his bed – he would call it, he told me, the Frustrated Maiden’s Coverlet.”

            The Elven King laughed.  “That Halfling is the delight of my days,” he said;
”indeed I am not certain which attribute of his amuses me the most:  his impudent turn of phrase, or the way he has so turned my son’s life upon its head.  It shall be a sad day when he must needs be returned to his family in the Shire.”  And applauding with the rest Thranduil turned to watch the combat.

            Minardil was neither so mighty nor renowned a warrior as the Gray Knight, but he was a young and limber man and skilled at swordplay, and a fair match for Vorondil of Lossarnach.  Indeed the first four points were awarded to both knights, and the ring echoed with the clatter and clang of sword upon cuirass as they travailed together.  After a few fruitless strikes, though, Vorondil managed to land a rap upon the Blue Knight’s bevor, and the gray flag went up on the wall.  Minardil and Vorondil went forward to clasp hands, and the Blue Knight was cheered off the barriers with the crowd’s esteem as consolation.

            Then the Green and Black Knights came forward, and the noise of the crowd redoubled; many began the shout, “The Green Knight!  The Green Knight for Gondor!” and the knight in his brilliant intaglioed armour saluted the royal box.  The Elven King and Queen acknowledged his salute, to the gratification of the crowd, and the two knights entered the ring.  As Faramir smiled down at the green fluttering flags he espied at the side of the barriers Gimli the Dwarf, and beside him perched upon the fence was Bandobras of the Shire.  Bandobras turned about, feeling someone’s eyes upon him; when he looked up at Faramir he smiled and waved, then turned to watch the combat.

            Malbeth’s black enameled armour had been polished to high gloss, and the white plume in his basinet danced merrily in the breeze; Legolas before him stood slim and straight, silver echoed with verdigris, the great bat-wings flaring out from his helm like a dragon in flight and the red eyes gleaming.  The knights crossed swords and stood in their corners, waiting for the herald’s call.

            Malbeth struck first, his black sword whistling; Legolas caught the blade with his own with a sound like a bell being rung, and thrust him back.  Then he danced forward upon his light sabatons and struck a mighty blow to Malbeth’s fauld, denting it, and removed himself until his point could be acknowledged.

            Chagrined, Malbeth came in low, but the Green Knight was prepared for him and blocked him; their swords slid together with a great shower of sparks.  Legolas’ next blow went wide, and Malbeth struck it aside.  But the Black Knight’s next try struck the Green Knight firmly upon the manifer, right above Éowyn’s fluttering blue pennon, and Legolas’ next blow was parried; they retired to their corners with a point to each.  When Malbeth struck again the Green Knight was ready for him:  he blocked the blow and flung it aside; then when it was his turn to strike he struck true upon the Black Knight’s pauldron, chipping some of the enamel away so that the steel showed through.

            The crowd grew ever more agitated, and the flags waved like hummingbird’s wings; though many also chanted Malbeth of Celos’ name he had made his last good blow, and Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, with a quick feint to his left, landed such a ringing rap upon Malbeth’s cuirass that the knight of Celos spun and dropped to the earth with a surprised yelp.  The stands erupted in cheers and shouts and all rose to their feet, madly waving their little green flags, as the Green Knight’s color was pinned to the wall beside Vorondil’s.

            Éowyn and Undómiel were clapping and cheering in a most un-ladylike fashion, and Edlothiel was laughing at them; Thranduil, pleased, turned to Faramir and Aragorn and said:  “Well!  He did not do so badly, then, did he, for not being a swordsman?  Indeed he has done honor to his grandsire’s sword!”

            “He is progressively improved, your Majesty,” said Faramir; “I believe that with but a little steady work he could become a skilled combatant indeed.”

            “And now we must all rise,” said Baranil from beside Thranduil, “so that the good Belecthor’s men can return this box to its former state, that we might better see the jousting.”

            “I imagine it were difficult to watch it wrong-side-to,” said Galás; “would someone aid me to stand, an it please you?  Ah, thank you, Beregond!  Where is Bergil, your son?”

            “With Ethmor acting as a herald,” said Beregond, helping the seneschal to his feet.  “Though I doubt not Belecthor will have him up here in but a moment, delivering wine and sweets to the ladies.”

            “That is a much nobler profession, I deem,” said Galás.

            Before long the canvasses had been rehung and the chairs replaced, and the quadrangle filled to overflowing with people cheering and chanting one or the other’s favorites.  Also upon the air was the sound of whistling and blustering, for the wind had picked up and blown all the clouds away, and was shrilling and gusting through the canvas backs, tipping the ladies’ hats and blowing skirts and robes about peoples’ legs.  A few bright pennants broke their bonds upon the high poles above the stadium and drifted away, up into the blue sky, until they escaped even the sharp eyes of the Elves who sat with their mortal neighbors in the quadrangle.

            At last the knights with their retainers filed into the field, first Vorondil in his gray surcoat upon a great roan horse whose shaffron was surmounted with a spray of ostrich feathers; its fullered hooves flashed as it pranced and rattled its chainmail trapper.  Before him rode his esquire holding aloft his standard, gray with a wheat sheaf in black, for in Lossarnach were great fields rich with grain.  Behind him came the Green Knight, resplendent in his Dwarven armour, flashing and glinting from all surfaces; his esquire rode before him on his little Thistle, proudly bearing the crossed oak branches of Legolas’ spurious house. 

            The Green Knight’s destrier, however, was not the fearsome beast all remembered; he did not shake his crinet, nor bellow his scorn to the other steeds in the quadrangle, nor rake up the earth with his mighty hooves; instead he rode placidly, ears turned back to hear naught but his master’s voice, and his huge feet, nearly obscured by the silky white feathering round his hocks, set up great clouds of dust when they touched the earth.  If anything he was larger than Hatchet had been, and certainly greater of girth; Gimli had adjusted the armour to fit him and he bore it proudly but disinterestedly, not as his forbear had done.  He only twitched his long braided black tail a bit, and made his way silently to his end of the tilt.

            Ethmor stood with his pennant in the middle of the tilt (Bergil had, as predicted, been drafted to bring wine to the lords and ladies), looking right and left; Vorondil nodded, and Legolas too; the herald dropped the pennant and stepped out of the way.

            Vorondil spurred his charger, and Legolas spoke to Piukka; both mounts surged forward, hooves thudding upon the ground and stirring up clots of dirt.  The sun flashed upon the Green Knight’s coronel as it lowered to face Vorondil’s charge, and the dragon’s head struck true to the center of the gray escutcheon, flying off in an explosion of splinters and shards of wood; Vorondil’s lance however slid up Legolas’ besague and fell ineffectively to the ground.  Shaking his head Vorondil turned his destrier and went back to his retainers, and the Green Knight bent down to receive another lance from the Dwarf.

            While Éowyn was applauding, and Faramir accepting another goblet of wine from Bergil, the Elven Queen leant over and said worriedly, “That is one point to Legolas, is it not?”

            “Yes, my Queen,” Thranduil answered her, taking her hand.  “He is doing well so far.  Look, see how all the people cry out to him!”  And indeed all in the stands it seemed were calling out the name of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, Men as well as Elves; still in the midst of the cries came the chant:  “The Green Knight for Gondor!”

            “How disappointed everyone will be should the Gray Knight be victorious!” said Galás.

            “O, do not say that, lord Elf!” exclaimed Éodild from the other side of the box.  “That would be a distressing outcome indeed!”

            “But they are evenly matched, are they not?” asked Baranil.

            “They are,” said Híldaf with a smile, “but Lady Éodild will entertain no thought save the Green Knight’s victory.”

            “The Lady Éodild and I are in complete concurrence then,” said Thranduil, smiling at the maid, and beneath the regard of a great Elf-lord Éodild was for once too flustered to reply.

            Once again the two knights stood to the tilt, and the herald lowered the pennant.  Roan and black destriers charged, the roan jingling and jangling in his trapper and the black clanking and clattering in his armour; gray and green came together in the middle of the tilt, and with a great crack and crash both lances splintered upon the others’ escutcheons.  Vorondil swayed a bit upon the saddle, but straightened himself; Legolas turned on the saddle, watching him to make sure he made it back to his retainers safely, and returned to Gimli and Bandobras for another lance, his great black destrier churning up the dust with his huge hooves.

            “Though this horse is not so impressive as his other I believe it to be the better destrier,” said Éowyn; “it is heavier, I believe, and faster, and not so erratic as it charges – no doubt because it is not cow-hocked.”

            “Quieter, too,” said Belecthor with a smile; “and he does not dance about so before the pennant is dropped.  Though I mourn the loss of a good war horse I admit I greatly prefer its replacement.”

            “Is that two points then?” asked Edlothiel of Éowyn.

            “Yes, your Majesty,” said Éowyn; “if your son takes another point he shall be the victor.”

            “Well, that would not be entertaining at all!” exclaimed Galás.  “I had hoped to see at least two more charges.”

            The pennant was dropped and the two knights spurred their destriers to hurtle down the tilt.  This time the Gray Knight’s coronel struck Legolas upon the besague, knocking him backward onto Piukka’s cruppers, causing the Green Knight’s lance to go wide.  Edlothiel made a frustrated noise and Elessar shook his head.

            “How like him!” said Galás calmly.  “He always wants the other fellow to feel he is doing well.”

            “I hardly think he would endanger himself for Lord Vorondil’s benefit,” said King Elessar with a laugh.

            “No, your Majesty, you are probably right,” said Galás; “he is most likely doing this to annoy the Dwarf.”

            “Well, he has succeeded,” said Queen Undómiel calmly; all could see Gimli gesticulating wildly at the Green Knight as he handed him his lance.  Bandobras stood behind him, wringing his hands together and hopping a little on his toes in his agitation.

            “Two points to each,” said Thranduil nearly in a groan; Éowyn and Arwen clasped hands, and everyone leant forward.  The two knights stood facing each other down the long tilt, gray against green, and the crowd surged and bellowed about them.  The pennant dropped and the knights spurred their chargers forward.  Great hooves churned the dirt, the wind whirled the gray surcoat and blue token, and with a flash and bang the two knights met, once again splintering their lances upon each other; this time Legolas’ struck Vorondil in the charnel, knocking him nearly backwards from his destrier; Vorondil’s slid upon the Green Knight’s besague and broke upon the bevor, flinging the round coronel aside so that it went spinning across the lists.

            “Now what?” asked Edlothiel; “They both have three points!  How does one determine the winner?”

            “We break the tie, your Majesty,” said Belecthor.  “They continue to charge against one another until one strikes and one misses.”  He shook his head.  “It is often thus at the conclusion of a tournament, your Majesties, my lords and ladies; the two remaining knights are best at the tilt, and can hammer upon each other for some time ‘til one emerges the victor.”

            “O good!” said Galás.  “Then I have time for another goblet of wine.  Where is Bergil?”

            “I hope they do not run out of lances,” said Hallas.  “It would be a sore thing to forfeit at this stage.”

            “We have plenty of lances, Hallas of Lossarnach,” Belecthor assured him; “they shall be able to cover this entire quadrangle with splinters before we quite run out.”

            The Gray and Green Knights each made two more passes at each other, and soon shards of wood, as Belecthor had promised, were littering the ground where the destriers charged.  Each knight had amassed five points and they were at a stalemate.  Legolas sat straight upon Piukka’s back, and the great horse did not even appear to be sweating at all; Vorondil however held his side frequently and shook his helm as though to clear his head; his horse was puffing and blowing, and shifted uneasily upon its feet.

            “It will come down to which knight is hardier, not stronger, I fear,” said Elessar.  “I am not certain Vorondil will make the next pass.”

            “It was that last charge, I deem, my Lord,” said Faramir; “the Green Knight’s coronel struck Vorondil upon the helm.  I was sure he would fall, but he managed to keep upright.”

            “This will be the deciding pass I believe,” said Thranduil.  He paused, then looked at Elessar and Faramir; in his eyes was a bright mischievous light.  “This warlike pastime appears to be quite enjoyable,” he said, smiling; “I would not be averse to trying it myself.”

            King Elessar looked upon the Elven King, eyebrows raised; then he said, “Well, then, your Majesty, we ought to take advantage of the amenities before Belecthor’s men have dismantled them.”

            “And when shall that be, pray?”

            “Next week, is it not, Belecthor?”

            “It is, my Lord,” said Belecthor with a bow; “I should be honored to have you try your skills at my tilt, your Majesty.”

            Edlothiel said nothing to this exchange, but only sighed.

            They waited for Vorondil to collect himself; the Green Knight and his black destrier stood patiently at one end while at the other the Gray Knight’s retainers rushed to and fro, bringing cups of water and cold cloths to their master.  At last Vorondil lowered his visor and nodded to Ethmor.  The herald dropped his pennant, and the two horses charged.

            The roan destrier was tired, and his rider not as alert as he should have been; therefore his lance missed its mark and went wide, while the Green Knight’s coronel struck him squarely upon the besague, so that he spun and dropped from his horse’s back and landed with a clatter upon the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust.  His horse, weary and streaked with foam, stumbled to a halt, and the Green Knight turned his black destrier about, disdaining the roar of the crowd to see for himself he had not harmed his brother knight.  While the people leapt to their feet, crying his name and waving their green pennants, Legolas trotted up to where Vorondil lay and lifted his visor; however one of the Gray Knight’s esquires at that point helped his master to sit up, and removing the helm Vorondil smiled upon Legolas, reassuring him of his safety; only then did the Green Knight turn to the crowd and acknowledge them with a wave of his hand. 

            Gimli and Bandobras had joined hands and were dancing about, laughing; the Lady of Emyn Arnen and the Queen of Gondor were embracing, and everyone else in the royal box cheered along with the rest of the crowd.  Éodild embraced Híldaf, much to his embarrassment; Dirhael embraced Hallas, who did not appear to be embarrassed in the least; and Thranduil cried:  “Did you see?  Did you see my son?  What a mighty blow, a great victory!” and Edlothiel sat quite still, her face in her hands; after a moment had passed she raised her head, and her eyes were shining.  At last Legolas untied Éowyn’s blue scarf, and affixing it to the tip of his lance approached the box.  Still the folk in the stands cried, “The Green Knight for Gondor!” until the Lady of Emyn Arnen stood and motioned for silence.

            Legolas had removed his helm and sat straight upon Piukka’s back, his bright hair streaming down over his pauldrons, smiling; he lowered the tip of the lance to the front rail, and the dragon’s head coronel grinned up at her; she reached down and untied the scarf, then held it out.

            “You have returned my token to me, Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood, as my knight and true champion,” she said in a loud voice; “you have proved yourself the mightiest man – “ she paused, nonplussed with her long-rehearsed speech a moment; Legolas however merely laughed along with the rest of the crowd  “ – the mightiest knight in Gondor,” the Lady of Emyn Arnen amended, smiling.  There was applause at this, and when it died down she turned to Faramir.  “The prize, my Lord!” she said, and held out her hands to him.

            Faramir rose, a leather sack in his hands.  “Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, as the victor over all other knights in the Grand Tournament, you have won the prize,” he said; “to you, as promised, from my Lady’s hand, are awarded five hundred gold pieces.”  And he handed the sack to Éowyn, though as it was heavy he kept one hand beneath it.

            “I beg you, my Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen, stay your hands,” said Legolas; “I have a boon to ask of you.”

            The people in the stands quieted and leant forward to listen; Éowyn said:  “Speak, Prince Legolas!”

            “I accept the prize of gold upon one condition only,” said Legolas, “and that is you shall keep it, and distribute it amongst the poor folk of Amon Din and the Druadan, who have been bereft of their homes and livelihood, that they may rebuild their farms and livestock, and not feel the bite of poverty.  And I ask all who sit here to remember that I go not to the lands of my father, but remain here in Ithilien, to build me a fiefdom of my own; all shall be welcome there, be they Elf, Man, Dwarf, or Halfling; so long as the Eldar remain in Middle-Earth shall a remnant of my people there dwell, to provide succor and help to the peoples of Gondor, to the peoples of Ithilien in particular, and we shall in coming years aid and assist the destitute of these lands.”

            Faramir and Éowyn smiled at each other, and Thranduil chuckled openly.  “So be it,” said Faramir, and the crowds once again gave up their shout:  “The Green Knight!  The Green Knight for Gondor!” until the Ephel Duath rang with it, and its clamour could be heard across the Pelennor in Minas Tirith as the red sun set.

            That night there was a feast to rival all other feasts held in Osgiliath, whether in antiquity or current times; the square was not large enough to hold such a press of people and nobles so the great field east of the staging area was chosen to hold the banquet.  Great trestle tables were set up in long lines, a huge kitchen erected beneath a tent sporting three spits, two ovens churning out loaves of bread, and an ice house; twenty casks of wine were broached and no one could count the number of bowls, tureens, platters, trenchers, dishes and pans filled with good things for all:  casseroled game hens swimming in creamy gravy, roasted vegetables dotted with blue-veined cheese, entire sides of beef studded with garlic cloves and bunches of basil, huge looped ropes of sausages smoking hot, thin skewers of seasoned venison and onions, speckled trout steamed whole stuffed with slivers of carrots and garlic and dripping with butter, rib roasts so tender a child could pull the bones, pheasant and grouse roasted to a turn, huge hams glazed with honey, veal and lamb shanks simmering in rich wine sauces, and platters of fruits both sugared and dried, raw and roasted nuts, heaps of hot white rolls, buckets of olives and pickled vegetables, a mountain of roasted potatoes with clotted cream, and huge river prawns skewered upon rosemary sticks.  While the last vermilion streak to the west sank behind Mindolluin and the evening sky darkened and purpled above the moaning winds, the dimpled surface of the Anduin threw back the glittering faces of the stars in their courses and the pines soughed and sighed, rustling their black branches and rattling their leaves; the field echoed with song and music, laughter and merry voices, as the people rejoiced together.

            Upon the dais were the Lord and Lady of Emyn Arnen, clad in the black and silver of Minas Tirith beneath the snapping white banner of the Stewards; with them were the King and Queen of Gondor, resplendent in their riches; the mighty Prince of Dol Amroth clad in blue, with his daughter by his side; the Elven King and his Queen in bright green and yellow, their pale heads crowned with mithril that mirrored back the glory of the stars; also among them were diverse other folk, knights and their retainers that had won glory in the preceding weeks:  Aldamir of Amon Din, the Red Knight, wounded but still hale; jolly Araval of Tarlang with his merry esquire Hador; Mardil the Silver Knight, who walked upon crutches; wise Cirien of Langstrand beneath his yellow banner; Beregond and Belecthor and Galás and Baranil, each eating and drinking and making merry.  Gimli and Bandobras were there as well, the Halfling at last being allowed to sit and eat, and not to wait upon his master.  But most splendid of all lords present was the Green Knight, magnificent in his white bejeweled doublet, with his long pale hair affixed with his gleaming coronet; he seemed to float above the ground, his feet flickering upon the grass as he danced to the music played in the pavilion; he danced with Bandobras in his arms, he danced with Éodild and Éowyn, with Undómiel and her lady’s maids, with his mother and her maids, with Dirhael and all the other young maidens there.  At last, weary of this sport, he returned to the dais, and sat upon a cushioned chair beside his friends King Elessar and Lord Faramir, taking from a serving-boy a cup of wine and smiling upon the revelry.

            “And have you danced with all the maids and ladies, and having sated your desire for feminine company come to pay your respects to the Men?” asked the King dryly, and the Green Knight laughed, his voice clear and happy.

            “I believe I have, at that,” he said, his gray eyes twinkling.  “I spoke with my Lady Mother not long ago; she begged me to dance with at least one maid more than once, to therefore show my preference; I responded however that I found all the ladies so lovely and fascinating I could not make that choice and so insult the others.  She was not pleased with my answer.”

            Faramir laughed, and the King smiled and said, “Nay, I do not believe that answer would satisfy her!  Tell me, my friend, why does she tease you so upon this point?  What is it about you and your current circumstance that causes her to so desire that you wed?”

            “I am not certain, Aragorn,” admitted Legolas, stretching his legs out before him and taking a deep draught of wine.  “Perhaps it is that I am at long last leaving my home and settling elsewhere; or perhaps she feels I shall rule my people better should I have a wife.  You are safely married, Aragorn; perhaps you ought ask her this yourself.”

            “No!” laughed the King.  “I have no desire to so embroil myself in this plot of hers.  But knowing your disinclination to choose a mate I shall tip the wink to my own bride, that she try as best she might to dampen the hopes of her own maids, who flock about you as wasps round a honey-pot.”

            “At least it is only the Elven maids who now pursue you,” said Faramir, refilling his goblet from the pitcher on the table.  “Since your true identity is revealed all your mortal admirers have sought other subjects upon which to lavish their attention.”

            “There is that comfort, at least,” agreed Legolas, and the three fell silent, watching the people at their dancing.  After a moment Legolas sat up, set his goblet down, and rose swiftly to his feet.  “Look there!” he cried, pointing into the crowd.  “Do you not see that young maiden in the blue dress, the one with the roses in her hair?  I am sure I have not yet danced with her; I have been very remiss.  I shall rectify this immediately, if not for my own sake, at least for my Lady Mother’s!”  He began to descend the steps of the dais, then on an afterthought turned.  He looked at the Lord of Emyn Arnen, his bright eyes alight with mischief.  Then he gave a deep bow.

“Thank you, my Lord, for the lovely party,” he said, his voice pedantic and childlike, and sounding exactly like a little boy reciting his mother’s lesson in good manners.  “I had a wonderful time.”  Then with a wink he was back in the fray seeking out the maid with the blue dress, while his two friends laughed.

37.

Dear Pippin,

I have just been informed by Gimli, who is sitting here beside me at my desk in Osgiliath, reading over my shoulder and casting many aspersions upon my handwriting, that I have not begun this letter in a manner fitting an Elven prince writing to the future Thain of Tookland.  Although I find it a waste of both paper and ink, to please him I shall relent and begin anew.

From Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, the Green Knight of Ithilien, Champion of Lady Éowyn of Emyn Arnen, of the Nine Walkers,

To Peregrin Took, Son of the Thain of Tookland, Guard of the Citadel, Kinsman and Companion of the Beloved Ringbearer, Slayer of the Great Troll, Elf-friend and beloved of the Men of Gondor,

Greetings and Salutations to you, and to your friend and companion Meriadoc Brandybuck of the Nine Walkers, Master of Buckland, Knight of Rohan, and Nazgûl-Bane.

Gimli thinks that will do.  I shall continue with my epistle now.

Pippin’s chuckles woke Merry from his dozing by the fire.  He blinked, looked about the snug sitting room in their house in Crickhollow, and stretched comfortably.  It was evening, and the weather sobbed and howled its lachrymose song without; the rain was mixed with sleet and ice coated the glazed windows.  But inside their house it was warm and cozy; Pippin’s widowed sister Pearl, who kept house for them, sat by the hearth knitting stockings; the kettle was simmering gently in the inglenook, and Holbard Boffin had just delivered some letters from the post office in Bree.  One of these, a large cream-colored envelope, had been addressed in a thin graceful script to Peregrin Took, and Pippin had declared he would leave the mysterious epistle until after he had dealt with his other affairs, so as to give him incentive to wrap up his unpleasant duties more rapidly.  Merry had agreed, read the short amusing letter from King Éomer to them both, and afterwards had dozed off in his squashy armchair.  It was Pippin’s amused snort that had woken him.

            “What is it, Pip?” he asked with a yawn.

            “It’s a letter from Legolas,” said Pippin, still chuckling.  “I haven’t heard from him in almost a year.  I can’t wait to hear what he and Gimli have been up to.”

            “Read it aloud,” suggested Merry, knocking the cold ashes from his pipe onto the hearth.  “Pearl and I could use a dose of his light-heartedness, couldn’t we, Mistress Pearl?”

            “All right,” said Pippin, and began the letter again.  After he had read the convoluted introduction Pearl grimaced.

            “Did he have to use so many titles?” she asked.  “That sounds rather pompous.”

            “O, there is nothing pompous about Legolas!” laughed Merry.  “Never fear, Mistress Pearl; he’s an Elf and a prince besides, but a capital fellow anyway, and quite amusing; very handy in a tight pinch too.”

            “I wonder where Dol Galenehtar is?” mused Pippin.  “I’d heard Faramir had given him some land in Ithilien; perhaps that’s what he’s named it.”

            “I know ‘Dol’ means ‘tower,’” said Merry, “but what does ‘Galenehtar’ mean?”

            “Not sure; my Elvish was never good,” said Pippin.  “Maybe he’ll explain it later.”

Greetings from the ostensibly warm and merry south!  Though at present it is rising winter, and the rains have set in; the streams and waterfalls of my fiefdom are swollen and black and there is talk in Osgiliath of the laying out of sand-bags to prevent the eastern wall from collapsing.  It is for that purpose Gimli and sundry of his companions are here, to oversee the construction, for if Osgiliath’s river-wall falls it will mean the destruction of at least three great houses.  Loath was he to leave Aglarond and its glories of gold and gemstones, its glittering caverns and lofty lights, its wealth-choked halls and

            There was a straggling inky smudge after that, which Pippin puzzled over until he read on:

Gimli has just struck me upon the arm.  I do not think he appreciated my description of his home.  I ought to be kind to him, for he has just given me the blueprints for my own tower, the construction of which shall begin this summer.  I shall name it Dol Galenehtar, which means Tower of the Green Knight.  Already I have contracted with Cirien of Langstrand for the delivery of white marble to sheathe its façade, and many skilled artisans and stone-masons have been hired to see to its formation.  I hope that you shall see it when it is completed; it shall be a marvel of architecture, full of soaring arches, ornate stonework, statuary and open-faced buildings embracing groves of trees – a delightful marriage of forest and masonry.

Gimli is smiling.  I think I have propitiated him.

            “Are you sure those two are friends?” asked Pearl.  “They sound as though they have a rather tentative relationship.”

            “Well, they are Elf and Dwarf,” said Merry with a laugh.  “And they were always scrapping with one another, even after they became friends.  But they are very attached to each other, and would do anything for the sake of their friendship.”

I am surprised I have not heard from you, especially as my last letter was written so long ago; I can only assume it went astray and you have never received it.

            “Well, that’s a stunner!” cried Pippin.  “You mean I’ve missed one of his letters, and he’s been waiting to hear from me?  How vexing!”

            “I’ll wager anything it was Butterbur’s doing,” said Merry darkly.  “Ever since he took over the post in Bree all sorts of things have gone missing.  That Man could lose his own house, foundation and all.”

I am certain in fact you have not received it – you surely would have responded, considering the news I had for you, when I was in my Lord Father’s realm in Eryn Lasgalen, which you call Mirkwood.  I shall suppose therefore you are so far ignorant of those things that I have caused to be accomplished, which affect you and your kin so closely, and therefore I shall reiterate what I wrote previously.

            “What on earth is he playing at?” asked Merry.  “I can’t imagine anything happening in Mirkwood that would have anything to do with us here in the Shire.”

            “Hush!” said Pippin, throwing him a dark look.

Out of my concern for your sister Pearl Took, recently bereaved wife of your cousin Reginard, please convey to her forthwith the assurance that her son Bandobras is well and happy.

            “What?” cried Merry, sitting up so quickly he knocked over his teacup.  Pearl turned quite pale, and clutched at her breast, her eyes staring.  Pippin looked amazed at the letter, re-read the sentence to himself, then looked up at her, his eyes alight.

            “Bandy’s alive!” he exclaimed.  “Pearl!  Your Bandy’s alive!”

            “How on earth did he get to Mirkwood?” demanded Merry.  “Read, Pip, or I’ll flay you alive!”

            “Patience, patience!” said Pippin crossly.  “Wait a moment, I’ve lost my place.”

            “O hurry, Pippin!” gasped Pearl.  “O, I can hardly believe it!  I – I – “

            “Whoop!”  Pippin jumped to his feet, flinging the letter aside.  “Help me here, Merry, Pearl’s fainted.”

            It took the two Hobbits a moment to revive Pearl; they lifted her feet onto the cushion, loosened her stays, rubbed her wrists and laid a cold cloth on her forehead.  When at last her eyes fluttered open they set her up on the couch, Pippin covering her with a fur rug while Merry fixed her a cup of tea.  After she feverishly assured them she was well and wanted above all else to hear the rest of the letter, they sat back down and Pippin continued, his two companions listening intently.

As I traveled east through my Father’s realm, I came across him in company with a rough group of Dwarves out of Ered Luin; though they with fear denied it to me most strenuously, it was evident in my eyes that the little lad was being mistreated, which so turned my heart to flame I had the greatest task to curb my temper and to keep my sword sheathed.  I rectified this appalling situation immediately, took the poor thing before me upon my horse and brought him to my Lord Father’s house, where my Lady Mother and her attendants made such fuss and bother over him I am sure he became well simply to escape their attentions.  During this time Gimli came to visit me, and instructed us that Bandobras ought to give his plaint to King Thorin Stonehelm of Erebor, that those vile miscreants who so robbed and enslaved him would receive just punishment.  It was too late for me, however; already his charm, which I am sure you know he possesses in great measure, had begun its nefarious work upon the court; he convinced my Lord Father therefore that I take him as esquire to repay his debt to me, though I amended the traditional five-year apprenticeship to naught but a year, knowing he should be returned to his home as soon as possible.  It was then I wrote to you, sending the letter to Imladris to be forwarded on to Buckland, saying that he was safe and in my care, and that we were going down to Gondor for the Grand Tournament in Osgiliath, which, between Gimli and Bandobras, I was constrained to enter myself, though much against my better judgment.

I fully expected to hear from you by autumn at the latest; however the turmoil and commotion engendered by the Tournament (that is a long tale, and better suited to be told in person)

 (Gimli disagrees but this letter has gone on long enough; I have just told him if he is so anxious for you to hear how I became Lasgalen of Dale jousting as the Green Knight, he can write to you himself)

 so delayed any correspondence from the north-west through Amon Din and Rohan I decided to wait.  But now it is mid-winter, and I am concerned; my letter has been mislaid I guess, and I hope fervently this one reaches you in a timely fashion.

Gimli has just admitted that Bandobras will no doubt give you the full tale when you see him.  His only concern is that he will leave out the salient points, such as the treason of Lord Eradan and the loan of gold from Mirkwood to Gondor; it is a convoluted story though, and I cannot imagine it will concern you overmuch.  Of greater interest to you is the well-being of your nephew Bandobras, my esquire and beloved friend; I admit it is with great reluctance I shall return him to his family, for I greatly desire to keep him for myself; he is as you know a delight, and also a clever and bold little fellow (he has had his first man, I should tell you; a full-grown warrior, and Bandobras slew him all by himself, the brave little one); he is also I impress upon you full of compassion and munificence, for he has taken upon himself the task of distributing our stockpiled foodstuffs and goods to the disaffected peoples of Amon Din and the Druadan who are ensconced here in Osgiliath  until their lands can be renewed; also my Bandobras has made many friends among the children orphaned by this unfortunate circumstance, and he is quite popular with them; great shall be the dismay in Ithilien when we depart for the Shire this spring.

            “He’s coming back!” cried Pearl, nearly dropping her tea in her excitement.  “My Bandy’s coming home!”

            “Certainly sounds like it,” said Pippin, very satisfied; “and we shall see Legolas again, which is definitely gratifying.  It’s been a few years.”

            “Spring, too,” said Merry thoughtfully.  “I wonder if Gimli will come as well?”

As spring, 2 May to be precise, marks the anniversary of his swearing his fealty to me, upon the dissolution of our covenant we hope to meet you in the town of Bree, at the Crossroads; Gimli and I are planning to come up the Greenway with a faction of Men from Gondor who are plotting out the lands around Lake Nenuial, where our friend Aragorn, Strider to you, will construct the seat of his northern kingdom.

            “May the second!” said Pearl, clasping her hands, her eyes shining.  “Why, that is only three months off!”

            “I always thought Strider’d have his palace at Fornost,” said Merry thoughtfully.

            “Well, Lake Evendim, or Nenuial as Legolas calls it, is much better property; a prime spot, you might say,” said Pippin.  “I’d rather live lakeside than by the Downs.”

            “Yes, indeed!” said Merry with a shudder.

Should this letter also go off course, and you not be there when we arrive, we shall travel straight to Buckland, to your house in Crickhollow, and seek you out there; barring catastrophe I am sure we shall meet up with you.

            “No fear!” said Pearl.  “I’ll be in Bree on May the second.  I’ll not miss out on the opportunity to get my Bandy back as soon as possible.  To think we all thought he was dead, and here he’s been with this Elven Prince! Fancy that!”

            “There are worse folk he could’ve foregathered with,” agreed Pippin.  “Though I’ll warrant Legolas has spoilt him something terrible, the little urchin.”

            “And an esquire too!” said Merry, his eyes twinkling.  “Why that makes three Hobbits sworn into the service of the Big Folk – you in Gondor, Pip, me in Rohan, and now Bandy in – what was it Legolas called it, Dol Galan . . . “

            Pippin scanned the letter.  “Dol Galenehtar,” he said.  “Tower of the Green Knight.  There’s a tale worth hearing behind that, I’ll wager.”

            “If Gimli’s designed it I wouldn’t mind seeing it myself,” said Merry.  He winked at Pearl and said, “What do you say, Mistress Pearl?  Shall we travel down south to Gondor, to meet all the fine folk we’ve foregathered with, so you can meet Bandy’s new master?”

            “Master, indeed!” sniffed Pearl.  “No, Meriadoc, I’ll wait in Bree for him myself.  What on earth was this Elf thinking, taking my Bandy in as an esquire, and letting him kill one of the Big Folk at his age?  Very slack, to my way of thinking; are you certain sure he’s taking good care of my Bandy?”

            “O yes, Pearl!” said Pippin.  “And I’m sure Bandy only killed the man because it was absolutely necessary – what with treason and soforth that he’s been talking about, sounds as if there was a bit of trouble in Ithilien, and our Bandy got caught up in it.  No, Pearl, he’s safe enough with Legolas and Gimli to look after him – and if he’s got skilled enough at swordplay to kill a full-grown Man, then I’m sure Legolas has done a first-rate job training him as an esquire.”

            “That’s not a skill he’ll use again, I hope,” said Pearl.  “Bandy’d be better off learning more practical stuff, like running a farm or handling legal work.”

            “Sounds like he did,” said Pippin, looking down at the letter.  “See what he’s written here?  He has taken upon himself the task of distributing our stockpiled foodstuffs and goods to the disaffected peoples of Amon Din and the Druadan who are ensconced here in Osgiliath until their lands can be renewed; – sounds as though Bandy’s been doing charity work, and responsible for some great organizing of it besides.  And remember, Merry, Legolas is never idle – always has to be doing something, going somewhere.  I’ll bet you a bottle of Old Winyards Bandy’s learned a heap of things he’d never have picked up in the Shire, even from us.”

            “Well, I suppose,” Pearl conceded, but she still looked unconvinced.

            “What else does he say, Pip?” asked Merry.

            “Let’s see,” said Pippin.

And now for my secondary purpose in the writing of this letter:  There are items of interest I am charged with conveying to you, and greetings also; I had best commence them, lest this letter ramble on and become a book and not an epistle.

Gimli has just told me I am too flippant.  I believe he means it to be a reprimand, but to me it sounds more akin to a compliment.

Merry laughed, and even Pearl smiled.

Éowyn the White Lady of Rohan is great with child; indeed she is nearly wonderful with it; she has waxed like the full moon and can only move her vast bulk if aided by

There was another smudge, and then the letter continued:

Gimli has hit me again, and told me I am churlish to be so uncomplimentary, especially as I am Lady Éowyn’s champion from the Tournament.  Well, perhaps this time he is right.  The child is due any day now, and she is quite uncomfortable; Aragorn however assures us all is well, and foresees no difficulty in bringing the babe forth in the fullness of time.  Faramir is hoping for a girl; Bandobras is hoping for a boy; Éowyn, so she said to me this morning, is only hoping it will soon be over.

            Pearl sighed.  “I remember that feeling well enough,” she said.

Osgiliath is going to be rebuilt; Faramir is eager to lure the folk who have lost their homes and villages to Eradan’s men to live therein, once the houses are refortified.  Most of the western portion of the city is quite livable; we have been staying there, or in Minas Tirith, for the duration of the winter; we cannot build our fiefdom until spring.  My Lord Father has granted me four hundred Elves, and I am hoping to draw in the Wanderers as well, to give them safe haven until that day they sail to Valinor.

My Lady Mother is convinced I shall not make a good vassal of Gondor lest I am wed; therefore ere she departed Ithilien for her own home she did charge my seneschal, Galás, the task of finding me a wife. Though he is sanguine he has a hard row to hoe, for I am not amenable to this, and shall resist him with all my strength.  Indeed he has all but convinced Arwen Undómiel’s ladies in waiting that I am but biding my time ‘til the trees bud to select one of them to reign by my side, and it is for that reason I have chosen spring to quit Ithilien and leave behind this specious duty, in the questionable hope by the time I return they shall have forgotten it.

            “Poor fellow,” sighed Pippin dramatically, winking at his sister; “it must be an awful thing to have achieved one’s majority and be constrained to find a wife.”

            “Now, that’s not fair,” protested Merry, turning quite red.  “When Dad took me aside and asked me about ‘Stella he didn’t put any fatherly pressure on me, he was just looking out for the Bolgers’ interests.”

            “O, of course!” laughed Pippin.

Aragorn has made as I suspected a superlative monarch, forcing the modification of his kingdom to accede to his rule and crushing beneath his heel the dissident factions to the south.  His Queen also I am constrained to say is beloved as she is wise, and though she is for some reason obscure to me unable to sit upon his Privy Council, through quiet guidance and evenhanded judgment she has proved herself as capable as her royal husband in the management of the King’s affairs and is praised by nobility, gentry, and commoner alike for her acumen.  This astonishes me not one whit, as I have by great fortune had the opportunity to so observe my Lady Mother in the selfsame stead; however it seems to me she is observed as the exception to the rule and not an exemplar of a true type, which quite puzzles me.

            “Good for him,” said Pearl.

My own administrative duties are so far light, for as you know Elves are an easily governed people, sober and continent

(Gimli has taken objection to my use of the word “sober,” for he feels the dissemination of my wine barrels is far too lavish; however I treat the word not in its potable sense but in its general outlook; my people do not require much in the way of policing)

and  I fear it will be the greater task to order the interaction between my people and the mortals who surround us; though they at the time accept our intrusion upon their fiefdom, I fear it is primarily due to my generosity in their distress; we shall see their true posture when the goods are gone and they are compelled to feed themselves.  Also many groves of grape and olive shall be ceded to me, for Faramir lacks the men to tend them; it is my concern that discord shall arise when the profits are not turned to Ithilien but to Dol Galenehtar primarily. 

Gimli says I am too pessimistic, and that it disturbs him for it is so unusual in me.  Perhaps he is right, and I am wrong; I hope that I am wrong, for of all the things I desire for Ithilien peace is the uppermost – harmony ‘twixt my people and Faramir’s.

            “Gimli’s right I think,” said Pippin; “he’s being awfully cynical.”

            “O I don’t know,” said Merry thoughtfully.  “Men and Elves haven’t always mixed well you know; I think if it’s up to Legolas and Faramir things will run pretty smoothly . . . but it’s all those other folk under them one has to worry about.”

Ithilien shall be to me as Dale is to my Lord Father.  I desire Ithilien to look upon us as Dale did to Eryn Lasgalen, but only time shall tell, and of that I have a sufficient amount I guess.

I apologize deeply, my dear Pippin, for inflicting upon you so long and arduous a missive; I swear to you I am finished – at least for now – as is indicated by having said all that was required of me (also a good bit more that was unrequired) save sundry greetings from your friends.

Arwen Undómiel sends to you two blessings of the Eldar upon those beloved by the Elves; Éowyn bids me commend her unto you and unto her friend and fellow warrior Meriadoc; Faramir begs to send his deepest regards to one lately in his father’s service; Aragorn asked me to say this:  “Strider shall come up to Bree and buy a cup of ale for his three favorite Hobbits.”  And as to what Gimli would say to you, reticence and a delicate conscience forbid

There was another smear of ink; upon reporting this both Merry and Pearl laughed.

I ought to wear my polder-mitten, to so prevent this peevish Dwarf hitting me so often.  I am instructed to send to you his deepest and most tender regards, and an enormous desire to share a pipe and a bag of pipe-weed with you upon our arrival – an occurrence I anticipate with not a little trepidation, and I beg you to pardon me should I sit upwind of you during this episode.

I shall not wait upon your reply, for should spring come and I hear not from you I may not wait, but meet you upon the second day of the month of May at the Crossroads in Bree.

Affectionately yours

Legolas

P.S.  Gimli has instructed me to end the letter in a more fitting manner.  How is this?

With profound and gentle sorrow that our paths are so sundered, and coupled in the company of unfathomable sentiments of affection towards you, beloved Peregrin son of Paladin, of the Tower Guard and with fulsome regard to your station and person, I remain

Your adored ally and comrade in arms,

Legolas Thranduilion

P.P.S.  Gimli thinks that will do.

L.

            “Well, we’d best be writing to Butterbur,” sighed Merry as Pippin handed the letter to Pearl to reread. “So as to make sure we have some rooms at the Prancing Pony.  It’s a long way from Gondor and almost anything could happen to them in the meantime.”

38.

            When the cherry and plum trees were white with bloom, the lawns rippling emerald and the daffodils in full blow, when the white narcissus nodded to their reflections in the ponds and the frogs and crickets sang of love in the evenings, when robin sparred with finch and bluebird with titmouse for laden pine boughs, when the trees unfurled their tender leaves and the ploughs turned up great furrows of rich brown earth, when the sun drifted westward in her course and bathed the streams and ponds in a mellow golden glow, a gaily colored waggon rolled into the square at Bree.  It had stretched over its high upper slats a green painted canvas, and at all four corners were tall poles sporting bright pennants bearing an ensign on green of crossed oak leaves.  And as though this were not unusual enough to cause the housewives to lean out their windows to look, and make the loungers at the fountain take their pipes from their lips in astonishment, leading its mules was a stout and smiling Dwarf; seated beside him was a small and discontented Halfling, and riding upon an enormous black horse at their side was a tall Elf with shining hair.  The Elf was singing, his clear warm voice ringing through the alleyways over the clatter of hooves on the cobblestones, and now and again the little Hobbit by the Dwarf’s side would look over at him, his eyes full of longing.

            As they rattled through the square the song ceased, and the Elf sat silent, his gray eyes lost in thought.  He had cast back his hood so that the brisk breeze stirred the flaxen tendrils of hair to float about his head, and fair though he was the men watched him with suspicion, for he was passing strange to them.  Of Dwarves they knew aplenty, but one of the Fair Folk was a mystery, unknown and uninvited.

            “Where is the Inn, Bandy?” asked the Dwarf.

            “On the east side of the square,” said Bandobras.  He looked over at his Master.  “Must I stay, Master?  For I truly, truly do not want to.”

            “For shame, Bandy!” chided Gimli.  “Do you not wish to see your mother again?   Think of how she has missed you!”

            “O I do indeed want to see Mother again,” said Bandobras quickly.  “I have missed her something terrible.  And I want to see Clementine and Celandine Took and Borgad Bolger and Madder Brandybuck and his sister Arnica, and Uncle Pip and Aunt Vinca and all.  But most of all I want to stay with you and my Master, and not stay behind in the Shire while you ride away and leave me.”  And his eyes filled up again with tears, as they had done at least once a day since they had quit Osgiliath two months before.

            The Elf edged his horse up to the side of the waggon and held out his arms silently to the little Hobbit; without a word Bandobras clambered into them and let his Master settle him down before him upon the broad bare back of the destrier.  So he sat and sniffled to himself, and Legolas held him close, while Gimli sat frowning with a fierce expression on his face, and blinking very rapidly.  After a moment he cleared his throat a few times, then said with forced cheerfulness:  “Ah, here it is!  The Prancing Pony.  This is where Pippin said they would be staying.”

            They rattled and jangled under the arch into the courtyard, and there, seated upon wooden benches beneath the swinging sign of the Inn, were Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took.  They both leapt to their feet with cries of delight when they saw whom the waggon bore, and rushed forward to greet them. 

            “At last!” cried Pippin, “we have been waiting three days here, just in case you arrived early.  My sister is nearly mad with anticipation and worry.  Bandy!  What a relief to see you, you little scalawag!  We had given you up for dead.”

            “O I am awful sorry, Uncle Pip,” said Bandobras contritely from his perch atop Piukka.  “I truly did not mean for my prank to go on so long – I only meant to make everyone sit up and take notice, so to speak.”

            “Well, they did at that,” said Meriadoc, taking the mules’ reins from Gimli as he dismounted.  “Threw the whole of Tuckborough and Buckland together into such an uproar as hasn’t been seen since old Bilbo disappeared.  We thought you’d gone to see Sam and Rosie Gamgee – wasted two whole days hunting for you in Hobbiton.  What on earth have you got up to, you scoundrel?  A good thing it is you ended up in the care of our friends here.”  And so saying he embraced Gimli.

            Legolas dropped lightly from Piukka’s back and set the little Halfling gently upon the cobblestones.  Then he knelt and took both Merry and Pippin into his arms, holding them tight.  “How glad I am to see you two again!” he said.  “It has felt longer than the span of time it took, even to me.”

            “That’s saying something then,” said Pippin cheerfully.  “Now let me at this truant nephew of mine.”  He took Bandobras by the shoulders and looked down into the younger Hobbit’s eyes, studying him carefully.  “Well, you don’t look any worse for the wear,” he said after a moment; “in fact you seem to me to be twice the Hobbit you once were.  Odds bodkins, Bandy; I am so glad to see you!”  And he embraced the Halfling roughly.

            “Come, come!” laughed Merry.  “Don’t keep him all for yourself, Pip.  You know Pearl’s been hopping up and down in frustration.  Let’s all get indoors and start the reunion.”

            “O no,” said Bandobras solemnly.  “I need to see to my Master’s things, first.  I am his esquire, you know.”

            The two other Hobbits stared at him in amazement, and Gimli hid his smile behind his hand.  But Legolas did not smile; instead he looked down gravely at his esquire.  “My dear Little One,” he said gently; “do you not see this good Hobbit who stands behind you, waiting only to take charge of our belongings?  It is his task to see to my horse and Gimli’s pony, and to our mules and the waggon; it is for that purpose he has been employed.  You know it is no longer your duty, my Bandobras; you must give this up to the ones who shall now serve us.”

            Bandobras looked up at his Master with brimming eyes, and turned to see the Halfling stable-hand, who stood deprecatingly in the shadow of the archway.  “Beggin’ your pardon, folks,” he said with a grin, tugging at his forelock, “but if’n you’ll jest go on in there, Master Butterbur’ll take you in charge, an’ I kin see to yer ponies.”  He looked a little apprehensively at Piukka, for his head barely reached that great destrier’s knees.  “Not given to buckin’, now, is he, sir?” he asked Legolas.

            “Not at all, my dear Hobbit,” Legolas assured him with a smile.  “My Piukka shall follow you in full obedience; he is a good horse.”

            Reassured the stable-hand took charge, and the companions quit him, though Pippin noticed Bandobras held tight to Legolas’ hand as they went.  As they were walking up the front steps to the Inn Merry asked:  “Where is Arod?”

            “At Dol Galenehtar,” said Legolas; “he ages, and I was loath to take him on such an extended trip.  So I am sending him to the outlying fiefdoms on stud service, to so improve the stock in Gondor.”

            “He really did need the holiday, too,” added Bandobras gravely.

            They laughed at this, though Bandobras did not know why; when they entered the Inn Butterbur himself stood there, wiping his hands on his apron and smiling nervously.

            “Welcome, welcome!” he said, his eyes darting from Gimli’s to Legolas’ faces.  “So these are your friends you were waiting for, Master Brandybuck?  Good, good!  I have rooms for you – quite close to the Little Folks’ rooms too – rather well-appointed, as I’m hoping you’ll agree, for those as don’t like ‘em we’ve got another suite prepared too, though it’s a tad more money – but here you’ve got a room, and a sitting room beside, all with comfortable chairs and a fireplace.  And food – I’ll send Nob to you; got a nice roast on the spit, and fresh bread, and beer besides – never heard no one to say nothing bad about my beer, not since Gandalf put that spell on it.”

            “Then I shall certainly try it, good innkeeper,” said Legolas to him politely.  “I am certain we shall find the accommodations exceptional; each traveler upon the Greenway to whom we spoke said naught but good things concerning your fare and hospitality here, and I know we shall be most contented.”

            “Beer sounds good, too,” said Gimli, his face brightening.  “We’ll have some of that straight off, if you please.”

            “Of course!  Nob!” shouted Butterbur.  “Nob!  Beer for the newcomers!  Make yourselves at home, gents; I’ll have Anson take your things in.  O, I almost forgot!” he said, turning at the doorway.  “Folks’ve been gathering nightly for the past week, gentlemen, awaiting your arrival; they’re hoping to foregather with you and hear news of the lands down south, if you will.  So come on into the common-room, if you please, after you’ve had a bite and a sup, and we’ll treat you right handsome.”

            Gimli glanced at Legolas, expecting him to object, however the Elf said graciously:  “Of course, good Innkeeper!  A tavern at the crossroads hears all news first, and yours shall be no exception.”

            Butterbur’s fat face brightened; he had been expecting this strange Elf-lord to refuse.  “Capital!” he cried.  “O just wait until I tell old Tom; he swore up and down you’d object to mixing with the likes of us, your Honor, but this’ll be a feather in my cap, I can tell you.”  So saying he bustled off, shouting for Nob at the top of his lungs.

            “Wonderful!” said Merry as they headed to their rooms.  “I didn’t realize you were so well versed in tap-lore, Legolas.”

            “I have seen my share of taverns, Merry,” admitted Legolas with a smile; “I know how hungry Men are for gossip, and the inns are the seats of news.”

            Suddenly there was a loud cry from down the dark hallway; a Hobbit-matron had exited her parlor, hearing voices; when she saw the group approaching she rushed up to them sobbing.  “Bandy, Bandy!” she said, and Bandobras ran into her outstretched arms.  She held him weeping, clutching him tightly; after a moment she held him at arm’s length and said:  “My little Bandy!  Look at you!  How tall you’ve gotten to be!”  And she embraced him again.

            “There we are, then!” said Pippin, looking a little abashed.  “Let’s go into the parlor, shall we, Pearl?  Then I can introduce you to our friends here.”

            The parlor room was high-beamed with white plaster walls, and a cheery fire crackled in the grate.  In it was an odd assortment of furnishings, being of various sizes to accommodate both Big Folk and Little Folk, and there was a Dwarf-sized chair for Gimli besides.  He looked about the room making contented hrrmph-ing noises in his throat, then rubbed his hands together.

            “Splendid!” he said.  “I feel I shall sleep well for the first time since we quit Gondor.”

            “Pearl,” said Pippin to his sister, “these are Legolas and Gimli, whom we told you about.  They’re not nearly so strange as they seem at first.  Chaps, this is my widowed sister Pearl, who keeps house for Merry and me.”

            Pearl turned at the hearth, her arm still curled protectively about her son’s shoulders; she looked up at Legolas with a defiant and stubborn expression upon her rosy face.  Seeing this Legolas sank to one knee before her and took one of her hands in his own.

            “Hail and well met, Mistress Took!” he said to her.  “For well over a year has my good little esquire spoken naught but superlatives of you; in his travels he has met many great and wondrous ladies and queens but you have ever been the chief lady in his heart, and it is with joy I return him to your care.”

            Pearl’s eyes softened, and she glanced down at Bandobras, who stood biting his lip and staring at his toes.  “Well, I thank you, then, Master Legolas, for taking such good care of him,” she said; “if he had to get lost at least he got found by the likes of you.”

            “A pleasure for me to meet you,” said Gimli, also taking her by the hand as Legolas rose to his feet.  “I tried as best I could to keep Legolas here from cossetting him overmuch; I fear I made little inroads but rest assured he does not seem to me to be too badly spoilt.”

            “O, I like that!” exclaimed Bandobras indignantly, and Gimli laughed and ruffled his brown curls.

            “Do not think so ill of me, Bandy!” he said.  “You know I take great pleasure in teasing you.  Besides ‘twixt the two of us, Legolas spoiling you and I shouting at you, I am sure we struck some good middle ground.  I at least believe you have turned out quite well.”

            “Do you really, Gimli?” asked Bandobras, looking up at him amazed.  “Well!  And here I thought I was naught but a thorn in your side.”

            “You were truly a thorn in my side,” laughed Gimli, “but it is those things we work hardest upon that we love the most dearly.”

            At this point Nob came in bearing a great tray of food, roast and cheese and bread and a large pitcher of beer.  When he had set it upon the table the group fell to as best they could, for with the odd-sized furniture it was a challenge to acclimatize themselves; however by placing the Hobbits upon high cushions and making Legolas to sit upon a pallet on the floor they were able to make do, though Bandobras loudly complained about the lack of mushrooms, and Legolas was then constrained to explain to Pearl how well he had eaten since Bandobras had taken charge of the food.  They ate and drank, making but desultory conversation, for it was obvious to all that Bandobras was discontented, and his mother disappointed; when at last even the Hobbits had eaten enough they sat back, and Merry, Pippin, Bandobras and Gimli lit their pipes.  Legolas sighed and turned to Pearl.

            “I had hoped, Mistress Pearl, to break Bandobras of this habit ere returning him to you; Gimli has encouraged him however, and I fear my efforts were fruitless.”

            “Well, that’s not so bad now,” said Pearl.  A few glasses of beer had mellowed her considerably, and seeing how gently the Elf treated her son went far to convince her he had been a worthy master.  “His Dad smoked too, and though he’s a tad young to have contracted the habit I don’t think it’ll hurt him much.”

            “If you think this is bad, Legolas, wait ‘til we get into the common-room,” laughed Merry.  “It’s naught but smoke in there.”

            “You needn’t go in if you would rather not,” said Gimli seriously to his friend.  “I am certain these Men have seen few if any of your folk; you shall be a curiosity to be stared at and whispered about, and I would not have you made uncomfortable.”

            “That will concern me not,” shrugged Legolas.  “Have I not been but a curiosity to most folk since I set out traveling with you three, Gimli, Merry, and Pippin?  Save in Lothlórien only have I been the sole Elf in company with many mortals; my skin is not so thin that I shall find their interest a burden.”

            They went into the common-room after that, though Pearl insisted she keep Bandobras back in the parlor, saying, “Now, that’s no place for either a female or a child, so if it’s all the same to you gentlemen I’ll just put him to bed.”  Bandobras’ protests availed little save to win Legolas’ assurances he would look in on him before going to bed himself; it was only then he consented, though with an ill grace, to staying in the parlor with his mother.  As Gimli had indeed predicted Legolas was greeted cautiously and eyed from a discreet distance; however after some time, when his smiling and benevolent face, and light and infectious laughter, had overcome their sensibilities the Dwarf was astonished to find Legolas seated comfortably at another table with Pippin, two other Hobbits and several local Men, discussing crop rotation and the best way to construct a two-ox plough; in one hand was a tankard of beer, and with the other he scratched Butterbur’s cat behind its ears as it purred in ecstasy. 

            Soon someone called for a story, and despite Legolas’ laughing remonstrations Gimli stood by the hearth and gave, in a deep and rolling voice, a full description of Legolas’ deeds upon the lists and the fields of Amon Din; this met with such astonished delight amongst the crowd they peppered Legolas with questions, which he answered with an easy grace.

            “Nay, I know not whether Híldaf and Éodild shall be wed; Híldaf must needs begin his apprenticeship anew, and that will mean five years beneath Walda.  Belecthor?  He has retired to Minas Tirith for now; there is talk of his overseeing another tournament this autumn.  Yes, Kaimelas has recovered, though not completely; he shall ever have a weakness about his lungs, I fear; I shall keep him close to home and watch over him most carefully.  Nay, I did not see Brytta of Rohan again; when we stopped in Meduseld he was not in King Éomer’s court.  Eradan?  Yes, he was indeed hung, I fear; King Elessar erected a gibbet in the square of Osgiliath and there he was summarily executed for his many heinous crimes.  O aye!  Hallas of Lossarnach and Dirhael Orodreth’s charge were married last winter, and already she is looking forward to producing Baldor a grandchild this autumn.  Indeed yes; the farmsteads have been rebuilt and the ploughs are at work as we speak, so that the fields of the Pelennor, and those west of the River to Amon Din shall once again blush green with wheat, oats and barley.  My own fiefdom?  Well, we have many hectares of vineyards and olive groves; that and the building of our city shall take up much of my time when I return.  O but of course, gentles all; should you desire to brave the miles you shall be most welcome there; I shall refuse no travelers from my gates.”

            At last the fire burned dim, and Butterbur called Time; the patrons filtered out, and Legolas stood, stretching his tall frame up so that his fingertips grazed the plaster ceiling.  Merry and Pippin smiled up at him.

            “Well, you have made Butterbur quite a triumph this evening, Legolas!” said Pippin.  “I do not think he has had such a full house in many years.”

            “Indeed no!” said Merry with a laugh.  “Not since we came back from the War at any rate.”  Then he too stretched, and capped it with a tremendous yawn.  “I think it is time for us to retire,” he said, rising to his feet.  “Look! Gimli is already nodding.  I think we ought to roll him to your rooms, Legolas.”

            The three friends took the drowsy Dwarf beneath the arms and lifted him; he blinked and said, “What excellent beer!” and managed to totter down the hallway.  They dropped him upon his bed, and ere they left Pippin said to the Elf:

            “Now don’t forget, Legolas, you promised to look in on my nephew before you went to bed.”

            “I have not forgotten,” smiled Legolas, loosening the fastenings of his collar.  He stood before the unshuttered window, the starlight falling upon his pale head and reflecting back the heavenly light as an aureole; for the first time that evening the Hobbits were struck anew by his strangeness.  Pippin swallowed.

            “Legolas,” he said, “what are you going to do about Bandy?”

            Legolas looked at him in surprise.  “Do?  What mean you, Pippin? I have brought him back as I promised; I do not propose to take him again from his poor mother.  Gimli and I shall leave without him.”  As he said this he looked very sad, and Pippin’s heart turned over.  He stepped over to the Elf and took his hand.

            “Bandy won’t be a child forever, you know,” he said; “he’s but a few years shy of the age I was when I set out with Frodo.  Just because you leave him now doesn’t mean you must leave him forever.”

            Legolas looked down at him smiling; then he sank to his knees and embraced Pippin warmly.  “Thank you, inestimable Took!” he said, kissing the Hobbit on the cheek.  “You lighten my heavy heart immeasurably.  I had feared that once he were recovered his family should never be persuaded to release him to me again.”

            “Well, I’ll have to work on Pearl a bit,” admitted Pippin; “I wouldn’t mention it to her just yet – she’ll need to get over being so relieved he’s back, you know.  But just wait ‘til he’s in his ‘tweens and she’ll be glad enough to let you have him for a time.”

            “You may not want him by then, though,” added Merry.  “But it’ll be a good time for you to take him on as a proper esquire – he’ll need some firm guidance, and a lot of hard work; I’ll wager you can give him a lot of both.”

            “I shall think on it,” said Legolas, rising.

            “Will you chatter all night, or desist and let a poor tired Dwarf get a little sleep?” growled Gimli from his bed.  “I would have thought you would be tired of talk by now.”

            “Elves never grow tired of talk!” laughed Legolas.  “But I do apologize, Gimli; I shall take my conversation elsewhere.  Good-night, Merry, Pippin; we shall see you tomorrow; I am going to look in on my little Bandobras, and then check Piukka and Thistle and the mules.”

            “Good-night, then!” said the Hobbits, and went to their own rooms.

            Legolas and Gimli stayed one month in Arnor; after two nights in Bree they went to Crickhollow, and then on to Tuckborough, where they were presented as heroes and rescuers before the Great Took himself; after this they went up to Hobbiton and stayed with Sam and Rose Gamgee, much to the dismay of the tenants in New Row, who had hoped with the disappearance of “the last odd Baggins” that Bag End would no longer house strange and outlandish folk.  Then for a week Legolas left them to hunt in the woods of the White Downs, seeking out those of his own kind who wandered alone, to so convince them to go with him to Gondor.  But when he returned his face was downcast and he seemed very sad.

            “What is it, Legolas?” asked Sam anxiously, while Elanor climbed up on the Elf’s lap, and Rosie went to fetch him a cup of tea.  “Could you not find any Elves about?”

            “They would not come,” he said; “they press westward instead, to wait for Círdan at the Havens; they mourn for days lost and have no interest in the peoples of Middle-Earth any longer.  They would not come with me.”

            However it was not in his blithe nature to remain so sad; by the following day he was more himself, and so encouraged Elanor in her depredations that Rosie in frustration drove them out of doors to play in the party-field.  There Gimli sat, his back against the little mallorn, smoking his pipe with Sam, while Legolas romped with Elanor and her playmates until the sun set; then they came in for a late tea, the Hobbit-child already slumbering upon the Elf’s shoulder, his flower-strewn hair cast about her like a cloak.

            At last the daffodils faded, and the sky paled, and the rich earth of the fields put forth green shoots, and it was time for the two friends to leave.  They bid good-bye to Sam, promising him many letters and imploring Rosie to allow him to visit them; they rode to Crickhollow to collect the mules and their waggon, and to say a last good-bye to Merry and Pippin and Pearl, and especially to Bandobras.  The little Hobbit was disconsolate, and wept when Legolas embraced him, clinging to him so tightly with his small arms Gimli thought he would have to pry him off; at last he let go and stood back to watch his Master mount Piukka, and with many waves and cries of “Good-bye, good-bye!” the Elf and the Dwarf at last rode up the lane to the Brandywine Bridge to join the Great Road there.  They rode in silence with but the chirping and chattering of the morning birds their only accompaniment, Thistle’s little hooves clippety-clopping, and Piukka’s great feet thuddity-thudding.  After some time Gimli looked over at his friend, and was grieved but not over-surprised to see tears glimmering afresh in Legolas’ bright eyes.

            “Be not so sad, dear Legolas,” he said gently; “we shall return anon and bring the little miscreant back to Gondor with us.  We have only to wait some years for him to be old enough, and I am certain his mother will let him come to visit a while.”

            “In the meantime however shall I miss him greatly,” sighed Legolas sadly.  “Though he cast but a little light, being but a very small person, bereft of that glow I fear I shall find my life the dimmer.”

            “Well then so shall I,” admitted Gimli gruffly; had he expected his friend to tease him on this point he was disappointed, though Legolas did at least smile, which was gratifying.  They rode in companionable quiet for a time, and when they stopped to water the horses Gimli said, “You did not mean it, did you, Legolas, when you said you would take him on as your esquire again?  That will mean five years with him in your service, and it will be a burden on you I fear, for you have much yet to do for Dol Galenehtar, for its construction and maintenance.  Training him in the knightly arts shall be yet one more load for you to bear.”

            “But I require an esquire, Gimli,” said Legolas solemnly, stroking Piukka’s flanks as the horse drank.  “All knights must needs have an esquire about, if not for the esquire’s benefit then for their own.”

            “You are not truly a knight of Gondor though,” said Gimli.
            “But I am the Green Knight,” said Legolas, “and that entails an esquire; the Green Knight is a strange knight perhaps, but that only necessitates yet a stranger esquire, does it not?”

            “O I suppose!” grumbled Gimli.  “And I suppose you shall pamper and spoil and over-indulge the little urchin so that he is stranger yet, and completely useless as a proper esquire!”

            “Ah!” laughed Legolas.  “But that is my privilege as an Elven Prince.  I place my feet in two worlds, dear Gimli; one in the frantic mortal world of Men, and one in my own staid and sedate lands.  It has ever been so for me.  Chide me not, my friend; I have so few bad habits, you must let me indulge in my fondness for spoiling little children.”

            “I would rather you simply took up smoking!” said Gimli peevishly.

            “No chance of that!” said Legolas with a laugh, and led Piukka back to the Road.

A/N:  Well, it's been a long time coming, hasn't it?  Thanks to all of you who have enjoyed this story enough to write such kind and glowing reviews . . . and thanks to those of you who have enjoyed it, plain and simple, the way I expected it to be enjoyed.  This has been a bit of an albatross for me, but I'm sure, after the initial elation at having finished it wears off, I'll be pining for a sequel . . . we shall see!

Le Rouret

I've gotten a couple of requests for definitions of some of the more obscure parts of armour and armaments I've mentioned in the story.  Sorry for all the confusion!  And thank you, everyone, for paying attention enough to care!  ;-)

Words to Know:

Arming doublet - Clothing worn under armour

Aventail - neck-guard

Besagues - circular shields on cuirass protecting the armpit

Bevor - chin and neck guard

Caltrop - illegal 4-spiked throw, designed to cripple horses and knights

Cantle - back of saddle

Charnel - raised decoration on breastplate

Coronel - decorative end of blunted lance

Crinet - armoured neck guard for destrier

Crupper - armoured haunch guard for destrier

Cuirass - body armour

Cuisse - thigh armour

Destrier - Warhorse

Escutcheon - shield upon which a coat of arms is displayed

Fauld - skirt of cuirass

Gardbrace - shoulder reinforcing plate

Greave - shin armour

Letters Patent/Patents of Nobility - written proof of the nobility of an individual

List - tournament grounds

Manifer - lower arm armour

Numnah - pad under saddle

Palfrey - light riding horse

Pauldron - shoulder armour

Peytral - chest guard for destrier

Poleyn - knee armour

Pommel - end of hilt of sword

Polder-mitten - elbow-flange for deflecting lance’s blow, on right arm

Quintain - swinging device, fitted with a shield and a weight, to train knights to joust

Rondel - guard on hilt of dagger to protect the hand

Rouncey - hackney, lower class riding horse

Sabaton - shoe armour

Shaffron - armoured face guard for horse

Tilt - wooden barrier separating charging horses during a joust

Vambrace - arm armour

Vamplate - hand guard on lance