Once they had entered their room, Ragnhild made Targon sit. "Do you know what happened with our guards, with Balan and Baran?"

"No, Ragnhild. I was in the kitchen when I heard the shouting and noise. I ran to the pub and found them already bound and being led out the door."

She cursed quietly. "I do not know what we will do; how we will rescue them. I must find out the charges against them."

"Mayhap the stranger has an idea. He seems kind enough."

"I cannot leave you here alone. The wound is too fresh."

"Erendis will look after me if you ask her."

Ragnhild smiled. "So you already trust the innkeeper's wife?"

"I do. She gives me cookies and lets me help her in the kitchens. They have the most wonderful pan that folds over and they make these light little pastries, hot with meat in them that you can eat as you walk. She was going to show me how to make them - with floor and water, salt and..."

Ragnhild laughed despite her fears. "You enjoy the kitchen, do you not?"

"I do."

"I have a place I need you to go, once you have rested. Perhaps tomorrow would be soon enough. It is Lord Dagnir's house. I have found an old friend who has agreed to procure you a position there as cook. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Aerin is already there. She will be scullery help. Will you do that?"

"Of course." The boy's face lit up. "For Gondor."

"Sh! And yes, of course, for Gondor."

She found Erendis in the hall with her hands full of sheets and towels and such. "Forgive me. I must thank the stranger, but I cannot leave Targon alone."

Erendis smiled. "Of course you must not. I'll go. I need to bring hot water for you for your bath. It is overdue."

Ragnhild had to stifle a laugh. She must smell badly if the woman was ready to throw her in a bath. True, she had not bathed on the road. 'Well, nothing to do for it now, but take the dratted thing.' She walked purposefully towards the pub. As she neared, the noise deafened her. There seemed to be an argument going on and a young noble seemed to be the center of it.

"You are too young to remember the time the Corsairs came up the Ringlo."

"You are a dotard to believe that they could possibly, in their ships, come up the Ringlo. It is a tale. The draft of their boats would cause them to founder. No Corsairs every attacked Tarnost."

"But the Elves said they had. Many ages ago," the first speaker attested.

"Elves! Pah! Who believes what an Elf says."

"Some of us are descended from Elves," another voice spoke up. "So you better watch your tongue, young Minastir. Besides that, the land changes. The river could have run deep enough, back in those times, to allow ships to sail up it."

"I think," the young man blushed, "that perhaps it is you, Hador, that should be watching your tongue!"

"And what will happen to me? Will I end up in your father's dungeons like those visitors?"

The young noble stood up and strode forward. "Better there than with a noose around your neck," the young man spat. “Those men are strangers and acted oddly. They are only going to be questioned.”

Another man held the one named Hador back. "Stop it now, the both of you. None of this will bring the Steward back."

Ragnhild's ears picked up. What were they talking about? She stopped in the doorway, grateful that she arrived in time to hear this conversation.

"Who would want to bring back the Steward?" Another scowled. "What did he ever do for Tarnost? Or for Calembel?"

A soldier stood; his right arm dangled useless at his uniformed side and a scar ran still red and angry across his left eye. "The Stewards of Gondor have kept us safe these many ages. Denethor knew the Enemy well; I fought by his side once in Osgiliath. He was a proud and brave man. And I will kill any man, or boy," he looked with disdain at Minastir, "who would say anything different."

Silence, as much as was possible in such a place, filled the pub. None spoke for many moments. Ragnhild wanted to run over and hug the man; instead, she stood still and waited. She could not believe the foolish, proud son of Dagnir would not speak again. His gall surprised her.

"I am not saying that the Steward was not a good man. I am saying that none of the Stewards ever cared about what happened here in Tarnost. All they cared about, and will still care about if that boy ends up with the Rod, is for Minas Tirith. It is their city that they value, not ours. I am tired of paying taxes and sending our men to die for their city. Send soldiers here to protect us, then I will care about the Stewards!" He flung some coins at the innkeeper and strode out the door, his head held high. A few men followed.

The pub quieted for a few moments and then the place erupted into laughter. "Young foolish peacock!" one of the patrons shouted. "Should be locked away until he's grown into some sense!"

"You best watch your tongue, Galdor. I wouldn't be surprised to find you and Hador missing. You know it happens too often lately." The pub became quiet again at the innkeeper’s words.

"We have fallen very far, my friends," Hador said quietly, "if a man cannot open his mouth without worrying where it will land him."

None spoke further upon the matter and, eventually, talk turned to crops and animal husbandry and such. Ragnhild left the shelter of the doorway and walked forward. Some looked in surprise, but most had recognized her from the afternoon's events.

"How's the little one?" "Is the boy going to recover?" "Is there aught we can do for the little one?" The shouts of concern rang around the room.

Tears filled her eyes at the distress for Targon. She smiled warmly. "I thank you all for your concern. The boy should be up and running errands by morning." They laughed and turned from her, giving her some privacy.

She walked slowly towards the table where the stranger sat. She had noted that he had not joined in the discussion between the noble and the other patrons. He stood and offered her a seat.

The innkeeper brought a flagon over. "Some of our best brew, healer. This should take away the sting of the happenings today. I'm sorry you had to see us at our worst."

She smiled and touched his hand lightly as he passed the drink. "I cannot thank you nor your wife properly. Your kindness..."

"Is the norm for Tarnost. What you saw this afternoon is not us. At least, it was not us in the past. Do not think poorly of us."

"How can I when you treat me so well. And Targon. I think he has fallen in love with your wife."

The innkeeper beamed. "And why not? The lad likes to cook, we noted, and isn't she the best in the land. Tomorrow morning you'll taste her biscuits, then you'll know I speak the truth!" He winked and left her.

“So now you know something about our people.” The stranger sat still.

‘What is he saying,’ she thought quickly. ‘Is he friend?’

“Your men were taken because they were recognized. They should not have come here. The Steward should have sent someone who had not served with Prince Imrahil just two summers ago.”

“You turned them in?” She stood; the heat of her scorn knocked the chair over.

He looked about the pub, noted the interest, and motioned for her to sit. She also noted and cursed herself for reacting so violently.

“I did not turn them in, but someone did.” The man spoke in low tones. “I served with Prince Imrahil myself ten summers ago. Most men of Tarnost do if they do not serve with the Steward. It was never my honour to serve with Denethor, though I much wanted to. None can listen to Hador’s stories without desiring to serve under the Steward. When life has quieted, you should spend time with our most famous soldier. You would enjoy his tales.”

She sat. “Life will not quiet, at least not very soon,” she murmured. “There is no Steward at the moment.”

He sat back, a look of astonishment upon his face. “We heard that Denethor’s son, Boromir, had perished through fever. Does not Faramir now rule?”

She almost choked on the ale she had just attempted to sip. After she caught her breath, she looked at him. “Let us start over again, from the beginning. My name is Ragnhild and I am from the Mark. I have come from Minas Tirith because my skills were not good enough for the Houses. I brought two orphans with me. We are hoping to settle here.”

“And I am Queen Berúthiel.”

She blushed furiously at the scorn in the man’s voice.