Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them back safely when I’m done.
Author's Note: Well, if this story hasn't made an unexpected turn, I'm a dwarf. Forgive me if my dates aren't correct; this story is rapidly becoming AU. Once again, my thanks to Pip Brandygin for the beta.

Chapter Ten: A Story

Aragorn gave Eowyn his very best stern look. Pippin privately thought that the ranger king had been practicing it for years, and stifled a grin. Eowyn, however, glared at him with all the tenacity the shield maiden possessed, well and truly nettled.

“If I am to live here in peace, I’d like to know what you are being so ambiguous about! There are more secrets in this place than people; I thought that secrets and deceit would die with the Shadow. A girl was murdered up there, I know that, but I somehow doubt that you are old enough to have met her. Something else happened, you said, so tell me what it is!” Eowyn broke off and glared at him, her chest heaving with emotion. Bergil looked awed by her, as awed as Pippin felt. Eowyn glanced over at them and noted their open mouths. “Yes, I am going to yell at the King. Some things just must be done. Now look, you-”

“Viper?” Aragorn suggested dryly. “Peace, Eowyn, I will tell you what I know. But first I need a promise from Bergil.”

Bergil jumped at the request, and bowed low. “Anything, my lord king.”

“First of all, stop calling me that. ‘Sir’ will do nicely. Second, I want you to swear that you will not repeat what I say, nor tell anyone what went on this evening. Do I have your word?” Aragorn asked, deadly serious.

“Yes, sir,” Bergil said. “I swear never to tell.”

Aragorn nodded at him and smiled. “Good. Come back with me a little, all of you.”

He led them a few feet back down the passage so that they would be safely away from any prying ears. Once there, he set Eowyn’s candelabra on an empty shelf and leaned against the wall.

“A long time ago, there was a young princess from Dol Amroth. Her name was Finduilas, and she and the Lord Denethor were deeply in love. They were wed, and Finduilas came to live in the City. In time, she had a son named Boromir. Are you with me so far?”

They nodded wordlessly. Aragorn returned the nod with one of his own.

“Very well. When Boromir was perhaps two, the lady left him in the care of a nurse and went off to seek solitude from the court. She was with child again, and she wanted some peace, as well as some exercise. She thought that perhaps walking in the empty wing would be an amusing way to spend the afternoon.

“When Finduilas did not return for the evening meal, Denethor and the currant steward, his father Ecthelion, sent out a search party. They spent hours searching, until at last one of the Tower guards, Thorongil, thought to look in the unused wing. He led his party to it. There, they found Lady Finduilas lying on the floor at the far end of the old ballroom, a pool of blood around her. She was sick and in shock, for something had frightened her so badly that she miscarried. They took her back to her rooms, and she lay ill for a long time.

“Shortly thereafter, Finduilas confided to Thorongil that she had found a bedroom in which a young woman had been murdered by her father, the steward Belecthor. The horror that it awoke in her was acute, and it never fully left her.”

Aragorn stopped and looked at them all. Three grim faces stared back at him, pale in the flickering candlelight. “More may have happened,” he admitted. “I do not know everything that Finduilas saw that day, and I left before Faramir was born. I do not doubt that the knowledge preyed on her, and aided in her demise. I do know that I would prefer you not to have the same sort of experience.”

Pippin was frowning at him. “I thought you said that a man named Thorongil was there?”

Aragorn smiled, a sly look in his eyes. “A man may travel under many names. Strider, Elessar, Aragorn. Thorongil. Now, we really must return to the ball.”

*****

“Where were you?” Merry demanded, striding across the room towards Pippin as the young Took emerged from the refreshment room. Pippin had been gone for a long time, nearly an hour to Merry’s mind, and the Brandybuck had been worried.

Pippin gave Merry a wane smile, reaching up to pull his mask down from the top of his head. The ribbons hung loosely around his ears. “It’s a very, very long story. I’ll tell you later on, but all I can say now is that Aragorn is lucky that Eowyn didn’t bash his head in with a candlestick.”

Merry grinned and nodded agreement, despite his rampant curiosity. “Well, nothing much has happened here. Lady Lothiriel has been dancing with Eomer since you left, and he seems quite besotted with her. Frodo has kept up his riddle game, and there’s been no sign of your ghosts.”

Pippin nodded, taking his mask off. “Good. I don’t think that I could handle ghosts right now, not after the story Aragorn just told us.”

“Where is Eowyn?” Merry replied, looking around curiously. The White Lady was nowhere to be seen in the ballroom.

Pippin grimaced, smoothing the ribbons before tying the mask on tighter. “She’s in the refreshment room, trying to wrestle a bottle of wine from Bergil without causing too much of a fuss. I was just coming to fetch you to help me keep her from drinking herself into oblivion.”

Merry immediately started across the ballroom, his green eyes gleaming behind his own mask. “As amusing as that would be, we can’t have it happen. Eomer would kill us both.”

Pippin hurried to follow him, glad to have shifted responsibility onto his elder cousin. There was only so much he could handle, and a drunken Big Person was not one of them. Merry marched straight to the refreshment room, Pippin trotting at his heels, and could only laugh aloud at the sight that met their eyes.

The refreshment room was empty but for Bergil and Eowyn. Bergil was dancing around the table, holding a wine bottle deftly out of the way of Eowyn’s reaching hands. Eowyn looked about ready to dive over the table at him.

“Give it here, lad, and I won’t be forced to throw things at you!” she snarled, and Bergil had to duck under the table as she rushed around it.

“That’s what Father’s friends say to me when they want more ale,” he panted, hugging the bottle to his chest. “The king said I mustn’t let you have any!”

Eowyn sighed and leaned against the table, putting on her most convincing and reasonable voice. Bergil stayed out of her reach, giving her his most polite glower. Merry and Pippin glanced at each other, curious and amused.

“Bergil, lad, I am a princess in my country,” Eowyn said. “After my brother, I have the most power. If you give me the bottle, I will grant you lands in the hills of the Westfold, and horses, too.”

Bergil thought about it. His eyes darted around the room at the other tables, and the hobbits saw a hobbit-like twinkle in his eyes.

“Any wine bottle?” he asked.

“Any,” replied Eowyn.

Bergil nodded. “And do I have your word for the house and horses in the Westfold?”

Eowyn nodded back at him. “Yes, or in Ithilien, if it pleases you. I give you my word of honor as the White Lady of Rohan and the future princess of Ithilien.”

“This is going to be either good or bad,” whispered Merry. Pippin nodded, trying hard not to laugh.

Bergil paused a moment longer, then said, “I’ll give you a wine bottle if you shut your eyes.” Eowyn acquiesced, putting her hands over her eyes to show him she took him seriously. Bergil marched around the table, replacing the unopened wine bottle for an empty one that the servants had not cleared away yet. He stashed the full one under a cake stand.

“Here you are, Lady Eowyn,” he said, and set the wine bottle in her hands.

Eowyn’s eyes flew open, staring in horror at the empty bottle. Merry and Pippin collapsed in chairs screaming with laughter, and Bergil grinned up at her, giggling a little.

“You said that I had to give you a bottle of wine. You didn’t say that I had to give you a full bottle,” Bergil said.

Eowyn looked from the lad to the roaring hobbits and back again, reviewing their conversation in her head. “That’s… that’s…”

“Semantics,” a voice in the doorway supplied. Eowyn groaned; it was Faramir.

“Good work, Bergil,” Faramir said, laughing a little. “That was quick thinking. I believe we owe you a house somewhere?”

Bergil grinned and nodded. Eowyn muttered something unflattering under her breath, and Merry came to the lad’s aid with a chortle.

“Really, Eowyn, that was terribly funny. You have to admit that he has you. Why do you want wine, anyway?” he asked.

Eowyn grimaced at him. “Because I need a drink. That’s all. Hello, Faramir.”

Faramir nodded at her, coming to her and putting an arm around her shoulders. “Where have you been, dearest? People have been asking after you.”

“We went exploring,” Pippin said quickly. “But Aragorn found us before we could go too far, and he made us come back. Then he told us a scary story to make sure that we stayed here.”

Faramir glanced at them all, Merry, Pippin, Eowyn, Bergil. Of the four, only Merry looked entirely innocent; Faramir doubted that he had been along on the adventure, and recalled seeing the hobbit in the ballroom just a few minutes before.

“You didn’t happen to see anything bad, did you?” he asked. “Or anything that you shouldn’t have?”

They all looked at him, surprised. “What do you mean?” Eowyn asked sharply.

Faramir shrugged; he had been trying for a joking tone. Obliviously the merry mood of a moment ago had become tense and was now gone. “Illicit trysts, wrestling matches, the like. That’s all.”

“Oh,” said Eowyn. “No, we just had a bit of a scare.”

“She almost killed the king,” Bergil said, nodding towards Eowyn. “With a candlestick.”

Eowyn gave Bergil a sharp glance; he returned it with a comical look of his own. Despite herself, Eowyn had to admit that she liked the lad.

“I thought that he was the Witch-king; he appeared so suddenly out of nowhere,” she admitted, and Faramir laughed aloud.

“And so you want to drink wine to drown out the embarrassment,” he guessed.

Pippin rolled his eyes at Merry; Faramir had missed the point completely, but he was trying. Faramir seemed to sense this, for he quickly became serious and held their gazes like the captain he was.

“Look, I don’t know what is going on tonight, but if it makes you naturally merry folk so tense, it cannot be good. You can tell me anything, you know, but I will not press the matter,” he said. “Just please do not do anything stupid.”

They could only nod. Faramir nodded back at them, gravely. There was a long moment of silence, so quiet they could hear the candles dancing and guttering in the lamps.

Then the silence was broken by a blood-curdling scream from somewhere outside. Faramir turned and dashed out of the room, closely followed by the others. They hurried into the ballroom, where the music had stopped playing and there was a general murmur as the nobles demanded to know what was going on. Aragorn, who had resumed dancing with Arwen, was parting crowds as he rushed across the room towards the outer doors. He was closely followed by Legolas and Gimli, and the sons of Elrond were rushing to join them. Faramir fell into step behind them, and Eomer joined him.

“Eowyn!” shouted Arwen, running to them and grabbing her friend’s arm. “Where have you been? Do you know what is happening?”

Eowyn shook her head, dragging Arwen with her as she battled the surging mass of people around her in order to reach the door. It had shut behind their men, and two guards stood in front of it. They stood aside for Eowyn and Arwen.

“I was bargaining with Bergil; wine in exchange for land,” she said to the queen. “I’ll explain later; it’s a long story. Come, all of you!”

Pippin, who had pressed close to his friend, looked back over his shoulder to see that Frodo and Sam had joined them, as had Lothiriel. They all looked as tense as Pippin felt. He wondered what the scream had been about, and what could possibly have happened. Then, the doors opened and they emerged into the warm summer night.

The men were standing in a small, silent circle at the far end of the courtyard, close to the empty wing. They were all staring at something that lay at their feet. As they neared, Pippin felt his stomach roll over. Lying on the cold stone of the courtyard was a woman in ball dress. She was dead.

TBC