CHAPTER 15

It was called a Ranger waystation. And that had been its original function. But as the settlement grew, it began to take on more uses. The Rangers kept supplies there, true, and used it when they were in the immediate area, as a base. There were sleeping quarters, and a small stable, and a small armory. The Rangers were often in and out; Mellor and Eradan were not the only ones who patrolled that part of Eregion. Still, there were not that many Rangers, and much of the time the place was unused.

Valacar, owner of The Eagle’s Nest, and a few others who had settled in the area were former guardsmen and soldiers. They were quite capable of keeping the peace in their businesses when some of the coarser sorts of travellers came through; but they lacked a place to keep the malefactors, so they had sought permission to build a small cell at the back of the building, and when no Rangers were there, some of them took it in turns to sleep there if anyone were locked up. So far, it had only consisted of the occasional petty thief or obstreperous drunk, but now it was inhabited by four sullen hobbits.

There were no Rangers now, for Mellor had gone out to try and find a trace of the Ruffians who had slain Sandyman, and Eradan had ridden out to catch up with the King’s Messenger, who was on his way to Bree.*

There were only two small beds--of course those went to Targon and É othain; the rest of the Men had placed their bedrolls upon the floor.

The Men made themselves at ease; Leodwald and Adrahil drew the short straws for the first watch. The rest of them sat about and talked among themselves, less constrained in their demeanor and language than they had been among the hobbits. They did not, of course, count the prisoners, who were sitting silently enough and unnoticed. The Men had long ago fallen into the way of the other hobbits of ignoring the prisoners as much as possible.

The cell was really a section about seven or eight feet square, divided off the rest of the one large room by a wall of planks on one side, and “bars” made of sturdy poles lashed together. The bars opened in the center rather like a gate, and when closed, were secured by a chain and sturdy padlock. It was a rather flimsy cell, if it had ever been intended to hold a violent and determined Man, but it was certainly more than adequate to keep the four hobbits who now inhabited it.

When they had been placed there, Clodio had whimpered “They’re putting us in a cage like animals.”

“Oh, do hush, Father!” snapped Clovis, who had no sympathy for his father--after all, if they had not been trying to cover for their father, he and Cado would not be in this fix.

Cado shook his head and allowed his father to lean on him. He was worried about the old hobbit. Granted, he’d never been the kindest of parents, but he was family, after all. He sighed, and wished, not for the first time that he had a different family altogether. He bet things would have been different if Paladin Took had been *his* father. He sure would have had more sense than to run off out of the Shire after that crackpot Baggins if *he* were heir to the Thain.

Dago just leaned against the back wall and pursed his lips. Once they left here, they would be gone far enough away from the Shire that perhaps an escape would not be impossible. The question was, did he want to find himself saddled with the Bankses when he made his move? And did he want to get away, only to find himself wandering in a perhaps dangerous wilderness, or to fall in with dangerous Men? The discovery of Ted Sandyman’s body had shaken the prisoners as well as the other hobbits, when they heard about it. The fool had gone to take up with those he thought of as allies, and been slain for it--in a blood-curdling manner, if what they overheard was correct. Dago thought he needed still a good deal more information.

Targon and Éothain were not there; they were over at the inn talking to Fredegar and Berilac about tomorrow’s journey, for it was now about time for them to move on. The rest of the Men were taking the opportunity to finish up with some necessary personal chores. Artamir had decided to wash the tunic he had been wearing, and mend the one in his pack. As he sat tailor fashion and shirtless, sewing up the tear in his spare one, Borondir gave a laugh.

“Ho! Artamir! What happened to Morwen?”

The other Men turned to look as Artamir displayed his upper arm, where a high-prowed ship crested a wave beneath a stormy sky. It was an impressive and elaborate piece of art.

He laughed. “She’s still there somewhere, but now I need not be reminded of her every time I take my shirt off. I was lucky enough to come across a travelling needle artist in Bree. So skillful was he that even I cannot tell where her name once was.” For when he was seventeen, Artamir had decided to show his undying love for his childhood sweetheart by having her name tattooed on his arm. She rewarded his devotion by throwing him over not a month later, for someone with more wealth and prospects than a young soldier.

In the cell, Dago suddenly perked up his ears. He crept forward, so that he could see as well as hear. The other three looked puzzled, but then Cado’s eyebrows rose, and he, too, listened more carefully.

Artamir continued. “I got a bargain as well. For some reason the Northerners are not so fond of tattoos. Especially the pheriannath, who think they are only for criminals. So he was quite glad to get a customer at all.”

Borondir nodded. “So, the faithless chit is no more then?” he laughed.

Artamir chuckled. “In name at least. I did see her not long before we left, walking behind her merchant husband, with three children at her skirts, one in her arms, and from the evidence of my eyes a fifth on the way--unless she has merely become fat. I fancy she cast me a look of regret, but I did not let her catch my eye.”

“I daresay!” was Borondir’s reply. “Well, you’ll have far less trouble now finding a new love now the evidence of the old one is gone!”

Danulf was looking at the ship. “I have a bit of skill with needles and ink, but I could never attempt anything that elaborate. That is beautiful work.”

“Ow!” said Artamir, as he pricked his finger. “I could wish I had more skill with *this* sort of needle!”

The conversation drifted on to other things, but the hobbits in the cell were looking very thoughtful.

_________________________________________________

At The Eagle’s Nest, Targon and Éothain sat at a table with Freddy and Beri. The two hobbits found themselves sitting upon cushions, and had begun to realize that this was going to be the state of things from here on out. They had left the lands where hobbits were known, and accommodation would not be to their scale any longer.

“Once we cross the Greyflood, there will be no more rivers until we come to the Isen at the Gap of Rohan,” said Targon. “But there are several larger streams to ford. The waters will be high after all the summer rain we have had.”

Freddy’s relief at discovering that they would not be crossing any more rivers for a good while was tempered by that news. A stream could be just as bad as a river if the water were high and swift. Well, as the saying went, he would just cross them as he came to them. Still, it gave him a fluttery feeling to think about it.

“We’ll be drawing nearer the Misty Mountains, as well, won’t we?” asked Berilac.

“We will be skirting the edges of them, to be sure,” replied Éothain, “yet we will not be climbing so much as the foothills. We will pass through just south of the Wizard’s Vale when we come to the Gap of Rohan. We may perhaps make a stop near there. We shall need to let the Ents know of what the Shire decided about the Wizard’s treasure.”

“We might see Orthanc?” asked Freddy, “where Saruman lived?”

“It is quite possible,” replied Targon. “It will depend on the Ents.”

Berilac shook his head. “Ents. I should very much like to see one of those creatures. Merry swears that they are the reason he and Pippin grew so much!”

Éothain grinned. “If they so wish you to see them, you will, otherwise not--or if you do, you might take them for naught but trees. But I fancy that Treebeard may wish to look upon you. He was quite taken with your kin. I think that hobbits were something altogether new to him.”

Across the room there was a burst of hobbity laughter. Jolly, Rolly and Denny were all playing at dice; apparently Jolly had found himself very lucky indeed, and the others were twitting him, and jokingly accusing him of unfair advantage. Targon’s eyebrows rose, as he listened, but there was only more laughter. He shook his head.

“What is it?” asked Freddy.

“Among Men, such a remark, even in fun, would certainly lead to a quarrel and perhaps violence--especially if there had been much ale consumed.”

Freddy chuckled. “I can think of perhaps a few hobbits who might take offense at such a thing--remember Gil Chubb, Beri? He takes offense at everything. Lotho was another. But it is very unusual for hobbits to take such a thing seriously, and certainly never among friends.”

Beri’s attention had been caught by another scene. Mistress Poppy and Viola had finished their tea with Mosco, and were rising. Beri figured that the healers might be going to their room. He stood up and excused himself, and headed over to their table.

“Pardon me, Mistress Poppy,” he said, “would you object if I asked Miss Viola to take the air with me?”

Viola looked up at him and smiled. Poppy chuckled. “Not at all, young Berilac. Please be cautious, though, we are not in the Shire.”

Mosco looked at his Aunt Poppy, as if he were going to offer to go with the pair, but Poppy shook her head before he said anything. Berilac offered his arm, and he and Viola left the inn.

“Aunt Poppy, are you sure that it is wise to encourage them? After all Miss Viola *is* going to be a healer.”

“And healers seldom wed. But it is not unheard of. I do not object to his suit, nor does my apprentice seem to. I am keeping my eyes open, lad, and I think that it will be all right.”

As the pair went out, Legolas and Gimli entered the inn, holding the door for them as they passed. They exchanged amused glances.

“They make a nice couple, do they not?” said the Elf speculatively.

“I daresay they do. But you should keep your pointy Elven nose out of it. They are managing just fine without your help. Don’t forget what happened when you tried to ’help’ Merry and Estella a few months ago.”

Legolas flushed. That had not been one of his better ideas. He sniffed, and said haughtily “That was different.”

Gimli guffawed. “I suppose it was at that. Come now, my friend, are you going to have an ale with me before you go out to hug your trees for the night?”

The Elf grinned, and followed the Dwarf to a nearby table. Gimli was staying at the inn. Legolas was not; nor was he staying in the waystation with the men. Instead, he had found a grove of beeches just south of the town, and had been spending his nights there.

Berilac and Viola strolled down the side of the road. There really were no streets to speak of yet in Tharbad, but the Greenway ran right through the center of the little town.

Viola looked about her with wide eyes. “This is not as big as Bree, yet these buildings still seem to loom over me.”

Berilac stared up at some of them. Most of them were only a couple of stories, and there were a few that were only one story, yet to hobbit eyes they were still intimidating. He placed his other hand over hers, that rested on his arm, and gave it a comforting pat. “I keep thinking of what Merry and Pippin have told me of the places we are going to in the South. They will make even Bree seem very small indeed.”

“I do not know very much of where we are going,” she said. “Mistress Poppy doesn’t really seem much interested in the surroundings if she can only find some healers that know things she doesn’t, and so of course, she has not thought to find out and tell me,” she added with a rueful chuckle.

Beri laughed. “Mistress Poppy does seem to be a bit single-minded at times. Let me see--what has Merry told me of Edoras? He said that the King there has a fair golden Hall. It is a tall building such as are found in Bree, built of timbers, but large, very large--he said that it is larger even than Brandy Hall. There are long steps leading up to it, and guards who stand at the doors even in times of peace, and allow no one to bear weapons within. From what he says, the Hall is bright with carvings and tapestries. There is a dais with a large throne where the King holds court.

He is full of praise for their king, Éomer. From what he has told me, the King is a year younger than Pippin, if you can imagine that, and he has a golden beard. He is first cousin to our Éothain, by the way, on their fathers’ sides; and he was nephew to the late king by way of his mother.”

Viola nodded thoughtfully. Why, she had known their Éothain was close kin to the King of Rohan, but she had not realized just how close.

“The thing that most impressed Merry were the Royal Stables--don’t laugh!” he said to her incredulous snort. “Truly, he told me that the stables are as well built if not more so, than the houses! And he said that grooms and stable hands are held in high esteem there--it is not a job just anyone is allowed to do. Among the high-born folk and the gentry, younger sons will often try to get a position in the Royal Stables. He said young Rohirrim who can prove their skill in caring for horses, and can learn to train them well, often gain great wealth and honor.”

She shook her head. “It is not that I don’t believe you, Beri, but I find it hard to imagine. This Rohan sounds like a stranger place than I had ever thought it might be.”

_______________________________________________

Éomer had finished with the morning audiences, and was quite ready to get away from his throne and the Hall. He turned to his guest, who stood on his right. “Well, brother, will you come ride with me this afternoon?”

“I should like that above all else, if my lady wife, your sister, will be joining us,” replied Faramir courteously. They *were* still in the Hall after all, and a certain formality was only proper.

“Keep Éowyn off a horse when the chance presents itself? I am not such a fool as that,” her fond brother chuckled.

But before he could act on dismissing the court for the day--not that there was much to dismiss, these days of peace--the doorwarden entered the Hall. “My Lord!” he called, “a messenger of Gondor has arrived, bearing word from the North!”

Éomer sat back, “Well, Hending, show him in!”

Hending stepped back and spoke to the one who waited outside the door, and then went in to announce: “Éomer King! Haldad of Gondor, messenger of King Elessar of Gondor and Arnor, High King of the West.”

Haldad entered the Golden Hall briskly, stopping midway to bow to the king of Rohan; his eyes took in the sight of the Steward of Gondor, and he also sketched a little half-bow in his direction. Aragorn’s messengers were accustomed to stopping in Meduseld to deliver messages there and to receive others. It was a good arrangement between the two kingdoms.

He was dusty and travel-stained, and had not stopped to clean up on his arrival. He knew that the King of Rohan appreciated promptness more than a nice appearance.

“My Lord, I bring word to you from Sir Meriadoc of Buckland, and from your cousin Lord Éothain!” He fished in the pouch, and drew forth two thick letters, which he stepped forward to place in the king’s hand.

Éomer looked at them and sighed. It was good to have word, but it would be hard work to read the letters. Still, Faramir and Éowyn were here. “Was there any other message?” he asked.

“Lord Éothain wished me to give you his fond greeting; he is looking forward to seeing you.”

“Very well, thank you, Haldad. Please refresh yourself and take your ease before you resume your journey. Will you stay for the noon meal?”

“Thank you, my Lord, I will do so, though I must be on my way soon afterward.” Dismissed, the messenger retreated from the Hall, and was made welcome by one of the servants, who would see to finding him a bath and a room to rest in until time to dine.

The King picked open the letter from his cousin first, his brow furrowed as he read. He stopped, and began again, and then shook his head. “Faramir,” he said “does this letter say that my cousin is bringing hobbits here to me for *judgment*?”

Faramir took the letter from his brother-in-law and scanned it quickly. “Indeed it does. This is going to be very interesting.”

Éomer groaned. “You could not see your way to staying until they arrive, could you?”

Faramir laughed ruefully. “I fear not. My presence will be needed in the City soon, and then I must also return to Ithilien for a while.”

“I was afraid of that.”

____________________________________

* You can find out about Mellor's and Eradan's errands in my story "An Unexpected Guest" also on Stories of Arda.