Chapter 20. Peace and Safety

Eliniel stumbled, slipping on the wet cobbles, surprised and grateful when the guardsman took her arm to steady her. And so they walked, with his firm grasp on her arm, supporting her and somehow lending her strength.

They passed under one of the lamps at the same time as another hurrying couple, the tailor and his wife, but in such a hurry under the pounding rain that there was really no proper exchange of greetings, no explanation, no time... And in no time the news was all over the market square, travelling from one shop to the next, hurried knocks on the door as the families prepared for bed, that the disaster was spreading, and the greengrocer and his wife had been taken away in the night, and who knew what the morrow might bring... and such an upright family! Candles were lit, and people gathered for sober conversation, and some determined that in the morning they'd come forward to try to speak on behalf of those arrested, though a risk it might be.

It was still a shock that upright old Gwill and his son Gwillam had been taken away, and if rumour had it right, hanged. The word was that they had knowingly broken one of the edicts of the King. Edicts were serious business, clearly laid out, and those who were law-abiding had little chance of falling afoul of such things. But Gwill, who'd lived the life of an invalid after an accident while fishing with his sons, and Gwillam, slight, short, and soft-spoken... Hardly the stuff that ruffians were made of... And young Robin! It was said his name had been on the death warrant. That merry lad...

Airin knew nothing of the rumours, of course. She'd gone to see to her little ones after hearing the oldest cry out in dream, and taking him in her arms she rocked, and tried to sing. But the music was denied her, and the tears choked her throat, and in the end it was all she could do to murmur broken comfort, as she wondered if she'd ever sing again.

Eliniel had ducked her head as they went along, trusting to the guardsman's guiding hand, for the rain was pouring in earnest, almost as if they'd walked beneath the great waterfall where Gwill had fallen while fishing with his sons ten years before. The place was bad luck, and the greengrocer's family had avoided the spot ever since. First the ruffian, and nearly the young hobbits, and then their rescuer, and the next day Gwill...

Thus it was a surprise to her when they turned in to a gracious archway of stone that gleamed white in the light of the lamps hanging in the entryway, no soldiers on guard, broad windows in the face of the building to welcome the sun instead of blank walls signifying a gloomy interior. As they passed under the portico, she gasped at the relief from the rain's onslaught, adding, 'What is this? This is not the dungeons!'

'It is the Houses of Healing, ma'am,' her escort said, releasing her arm.

'Houses of...' she whispered in horror. They'd offer poor young Gwillam healing this night, and in the morning...? She could scarcely take in the gleaming floors and walls that surrounded her. The Houses of Healing were for nobles and officials and those of the common folk who were too ill or badly injured to be treated at home in their own beds by their own known and trusted healers. Turambor had argued that they ought to bring old Gwill here, as a matter of fact, after his fall, but Gwillam, young as he was, had been adamant that his father would prefer to die in his own bed, in his own home, and so they had nursed him there. It was a wonder that he didn't die, but Gwillam had always maintained that it was home and loved ones that brought him back to himself, and to health, and later, when Gwill regained the power of speech, he had agreed whole-heartedly.

'This way, ma'am,' the guardsman said, and she followed, scarcely noting the turnings, until they turned in at a doorway. First she saw Turambor, standing behind Seledrith, and then she looked to the near bed and saw young Gwillam, his face purple with bruises, his neck swollen and discoloured, and the man bending over him...

'My Lord,' Eliniel gasped, with as low a courtesy as she could manage, what with the great basket of baby she bore.

Seledrith rose hurriedly to take the basket from her, and uncovering the babe she sighed. 'Still sleeping, my little love,' and set the basket safely beside her as she took up her post by the bed once more.

'This is my wife, my Lord,' the greengrocer said, moving to Eliniel's side. 'Eliniel.'

The serious grey eyes met hers, and she felt a shock of recognition. She'd seen him this close on a previous occasion, as he'd entered Minas Tirith after the terrible battle that had nearly taken the City. She had been carrying water to the wounded, and seeing him worn and weary as he entered the City, had on impulse hurried to meet him, dipping the battered cup in one of the buckets depending from the yoke on her shoulders. 'Water, my lord,' she had said, not knowing if he were captain of some visiting force, or a lonely hunter lending his sword to the defence of Gondor. And he had taken the cup, quaffing thirstily, and thanked her.

'Eliniel,' he said, and she had the feeling that he remembered, all these long years later, even with the many people who must have crossed his path since then.

'My Lord,' she said again, at a loss.

The other man bending over the bed seemed not to notice the interruption. 'Application of ice, for the swelling,' he said, his hands gently probing Gwillam's throat. 'He survived the hanging, but as to his surviving the night... His breathing... The swelling is constricting his windpipe...'

'Please...' Seledrith whispered, sinking down beside her husband. She seemed to have forgotten her earlier bitterness.

'Please,' echoed Robin from where he stood by the other bed, Denny beside him. And in that bed...

'Gwill!' Eliniel gasped, hardly crediting her senses. The guardsman sent to bring the baby to Seledrith had said that Gwillam survived, but he'd said nothing about the old man. How...?

'The King has returned,' Turambor said, holding his wife close, just as he had on another day, long ago, when all the bells of the City rang in joyous welcome for her new-crowned King, and the people shouted and sang. And then he added, 'He returned in time to save them, old Gwill and his son.'

'But...' Eliniel said, and stopped. She did not want to bring the death warrant to the King's attention, if no one else had mentioned it to him, and yet she felt as if they were all poised on one of the slippery rocks above the waterfall, in danger of a deadly plunge.

As if he knew her thoughts, Elessar said gently, 'Their deeds far outweigh their trespasses. Though they were in violation of an edict when they entered the land of the Halflings, the lives they saved there earned them pardon, and favour.'

Tears came to Eliniel's eyes, far happier tears than she'd been fighting all through the day.

Turambor's arm squeezed her gently. 'Truly,' he said. 'Truly, they are safe.'

There was a soft sob from Seledrith, and she bowed her head over Gwillam as the healer whispered instructions to an assistant, who turned and hurried away. 'Truly,' she said brokenly, 'if only he might live  through the night...'

...and somewhere in the depths of the Citadel, the Steward poured himself another glass of strong spirits, and stared into the candle flame, and wondered how he could have been so cocksure and careless, and condemned innocent men, upright men, who had won the King's favour with their brave and selfless actions.