Chapter 18 – Sador

Court finished just after the noon hour and Aragorn retreated to his private study above the King’s Hall to prepare for his private interviews. On the docket today were Soroush and Ashtir of Far Harad, Prince Imrahil, and Erkenbrand. The Rider arrived first.

“An errand-rider arrived this morning with a message from my king,” Erkenbrand said. “They would have departed Meduseld yesterday and will arrive here on the eve of Mid-Year’s day. King Éomer regrets that he will not be able to come for the holiday, but he will arrive a fortnight later. It is his intention to depart the following day with the remains of King Théoden. He will be more than honored to escort the hobbits to Rohan, as will we all.”

“This is excellent news,” Aragorn said, feeling his heart lift. He retained his calm demeanor, giving away nothing of the elation he felt. Only a very few people in the city knew that Arwen would be arriving with the escort from Rohan. He would have shouted it from the rooftops, but he had promised his foster father discretion, so that the soon-to-be queen’s first day in the city would not be overwhelming. In truth, Aragorn could hardly believe the day was approaching so swiftly, after so many long years of waiting.

“How are your neighbors?” Aragorn asked next.

“They are adjusting to the city and bemoaning that they will have to depart so soon,” Erkenbrand said. “More than a few of my Riders will be bemoaning their departure as well. They have made fast friends among the Haradrim, a surprise to us all.”

“I am pleased to hear it. The queen and her court are also becoming good friends with their neighbors here in the Citadel. This bodes well for our alliance.”

“King Éomer will be disappointed to have missed them.”

“If all continues to go well, they may yet come to visit the city again some day,” Aragorn said. “Is there anything further you wish to discuss?”

“That is all, Your Lordship,” Erkenbrand said. He stood with Aragorn and bowed.

Bergil walked him to the door and saw him outside into the antechamber, where the next person was already waiting. Bergil whispered with the guard and turned towards Aragorn, who was already sitting.

“Master Ashtir of Far Harad for Your Lordship,” Bergil announced with a bow. He stepped aside at Aragorn’s nod.

The translator entered the conference chamber and bowed in Gondorian fashion, fist over heart. His raven hair was hanging loosely past his shoulders, rather than plaited in the Haradrim style, and he had somewhere acquired clothing: brown breeches, leather boots, grey shirt with a ruffled muff, and a brown coat. Aragorn would not have recognized him without the introduction, so complete was the transformation from savage to diplomat.

Aragorn acknowledged his guest with a bow of his head, and gestured for his guest to sit. “Soroush did not wish to attend?”

Ashtir sat stiffly on the edge of the seat and clasped his hands in his lap. “His home is in Harad with his family, Your Highness. He is happy there,” he said. “I come to speak only for myself and any others who may wish to return to Gondor. It will sadden me to say farewell to my cousin after all we have been through together, but in truth gladly would I remain here and reclaim my rightful name when the embassy leaves. I wish to travel with them to Pelargir and then continue on my way to my homeland in Belfalas. I yearn to see my family and discover what became of my betrothed.”

“Of that I can assist you already,” Aragorn said. “There are several wounded soldiers in the Houses of Healing from your homeland. Their captain-general, Brondir, son of Brandor, stated he knew you. He was most uplifted to learn of your fate.”

“Brondir is here!” exclaimed Ashtir, his face lighting up with joy. He forgot his apprehension entirely. “That clumsy oaf became a captain-general? Truly your situation must have been desperate.”

Aragorn laughed. “I know him to be nothing more than a decorated and well-admired leader of Men, and he remembered you and Soroush immediately.”

“We lived on neighboring farms, Brondir and I,” Ashtir said. “Soroush would stay with my family over the summer, and the three of us would get into such trouble. Brondir was younger than us and so still in his training when Denethor ordered us to march. How he envied us that day. Is he gravely injured?”

“He was fortunate. He suffered nothing more than a couple of broken ribs and a fractured wrist,” Aragorn said. “He volunteers at the Houses of Healing to assist his fellow soldiers and tell them stories. He is most eager to see you. You may go the Houses after our meeting. I have informed the master healer that you will be coming. Do you know where it is?”

Ashtir nodded. “I thank you, Your Highness.”

“As for the news I received from him,” Aragorn said, growing serious again, “much of it is grim. I will allow you to hear to worst of it from him; it may come easier to hear from a friend than a stranger. Know that your sisters and their families are well. You have many nieces and nephews now. Your brothers-in-law run the farm together.”

He paused to allow Ashtir time to absorb this, for there was only one reason his brothers-in-law would be in charge of the farm, of which his mother would have taken command after her husband and firstborn son failed to return from battle. She would have managed the farm only until her younger son come of age, but it was not he who managed it now. Ashtir swallowed, his eyes misting, but he retained composure and nodded for Aragorn to continue.

“Your betrothed married two summers after your failed campaign,” Aragorn continued. “She removed with her husband to Dol Amroth.”

Ashtir slouched at this news. “I expected as much,” he said gruffly. He cleared his throat before continuing. “Is she happy?”

“So far as Brondir knows, she is. Her husband is lame in his right arm, so cannot fight. He is a merchant and is known for his kindness and generosity. He adores his wife and child.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Ashtir said and smiled wistfully. “I thank you for telling me these things, Your Highness.”

“You are most welcome, Sador,” Aragorn said. He grinned at Ashtir’s look of surprise. So long it had been since he was last addressed by his given name that he had forgotten the sound of it. “If you wish to remain in the city, I have a position for you in my cabinet of advisors. You know the Haradrim better than any of my men, and the Haradrim trust you. You would be not only an advisor but my chief ambassador to Harad; there need be no reason for you to say farewell to your cousin entirely. You may take up quarters in the city once you find a suitable home if you wish. Until then, you will be housed in the citadel. Your appointment will begin in the spring, to allow you time to return to your homeland and visit your family. Prince Imrahil will be departing the city next month. You may travel with his company, as they will be passing through Belfalas.”

Now Ashtir was astonished, for he did not expect such a generous offer. Pardon only he had sought and then he had expected to make a new life by his own means, whatever those may be. “I—Thank you, My Lord! I am honored.”

“You accept the position then?” Aragorn asked.

“I do.”

“Then welcome, Sador, son of Tangor!” Aragorn said and rose to shake his hand. “You will of course be required to pledge fealty to me and the kingdom before you can take up your new position. This you will do the day the Haradrim depart the city; on that day, you will no longer be bound by your pledge to the queen.”

Ashtir nodded. “Of couse, My Lord. I would expect nothing less.” He took his King’s hand with a firm grip. Bergil stepped forward to escort Ashtir to the door but the man was not ready to depart just yet.

“What of your pardon to the other refugees?” he asked.

“I’ve already written it and it is signed,” Aragorn said. He reached for three sealed scrolls from the shelf behind him and handed them to Ashtir. “Queen Farzana will carry these to Harad, one for each House of the Faithful. Return now to your queen. You will remain in her allegiance until the Haradrim depart the city.”

“As you command, Your Highness,” Ashtir said with a bow, but still he did not move to leave.

“Is there any other business you wish to discuss?”

“One more thing only, Your Highness, if it is permissible.”

Aragorn sat again and indicated for Ashtir to do likewise. Ashtir took his seat and breathed deeply. “I am a farmer, Your Highness,” he began. “Gladly will I serve you as your advisor and ambassador, but I fear I may grow slothful without soil to till and crops to grow. I thought I would go mad in Harad until my queen permitted me to assist the farmers. You said I may take up residence in the city, but I was wondering if there is available farmland?”

“You will not have much time to devote to a farm, Sador,” Aragorn said kindly.

“Nor did I have much time to help the farmers in Harad, but even an hour a day was enough to ease my mind. The farm of my homeland is not great. At least, it is not great enough for two to share,” Ashtir said. “My brothers-in-law share it out of necessity I deem. It will not be difficult to convince one of them to join me here.”

“What if you should one day marry and have your own sons?” Aragorn asked.

“I do still hope to marry, if I am lucky enough to find another. I will cross that road when I come to it.”

Aragorn considered the man for a time, then nodded. “One of my dearest friends is a gardener and would not be happy should he be denied access to growing things. Even when he could not garden, he still had plants and flowers to admire and trees against which to lean. As soon as he was brought to his home here, he gathered what seeds and plants he could and went to work in his garden. I could not imagine denying him such joy as he takes in getting his hands dirty, and so I will not deny you.

“There are some farmlands available for anyone willing to claim them, but yours is not the first request. I will see what can be arranged. Go home to your family and when you return with them in the spring, it will be settled. You will not be able to begin work on a farm until that time at any rate. If we should find suitable farmlands before you depart, you can give your plans to the builders for a house before you leave. They can at least build the necessities: the kitchen, parlor and a bedchamber or two.”

“You are most generous, My Lord,” Ashtir said with a bow of his head. “I can see now why your men sing your praises so loudly.”

Aragorn rose and Ashtir too regained his feet. He bowed again, then turned and followed Bergil to the door. He stepped into the antechamber and walked a good distance down the hall before letting out a whoop of excitement. A startled cry around a near corner followed a half-moment later. He leaned around the corner to find a woman carrying a tray of food and looking startled. When she saw him, she frowned with derision.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “A good day to you.”

“A good day to you, sir,” she said and watched him curiously as he went down the stairs. She shook her head and continued to the conference chamber.

The guard in the antechamber saw her approached and knocked on the door, which Bergil opened a few moments later. He waited for the tray and took it from her, then carried it to the side table where Aragorn took his meals.

“Your luncheon is arrived, Your Lordship,” Bergil said.

“I will eat later,” Aragorn said, absorbed in one of the many scrolls upon his desk.

Bergil bowed. “Excuse me, Your Lordship, but Sir Pippin said to always insist that you eat your food. ‘A king needs his strength and wits about him.’ That’s what he said.”

Aragorn chuckled and put down the scroll. “Then I shall eat now. I wouldn’t want my misbehavior getting back to Hobbit ears. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He rose and came to the table. The tray was loaded with enough food to fill an oliphaunt. “I see he’s had words with the cooks as well.”

“Sir Pippin and the others worry about you, sir. They think you’ve lost weight,” Bergil informed him. “They think that perhaps you are not eating enough, and that the lack of food is making you restless. Perhaps this is why you are seen so often on the parapet, looking out over the lands.”

Aragorn looked at Bergil closely. “Did Merry or Sam put you up to this?”

“Put me up to what, sir?” Bergil asked, confused.

“Never mind. Join me. Pippin will be no happier if I allow you to faint from hunger.” After they stood a moment looking upon the West, the King sat.

“I don’t faint, Your Lordship,” Bergil said, taking the seat across from Aragorn. “That is something only girls do.”

“Is that so?”

“It is, Your Highness.”

“I thought so once myself, until one day in my youth I was overcome with fever during a training exercise. Had I known that boys also faint, I wouldn’t have attempted climbing that cliff wall. It would have saved me a mighty headache.” Aragorn laughed at Bergil’s look of surprise. “Do you think less of me now?”

“Of course not, Your Lordship!” Bergil assured.

“Shall we eat then?”

They each served themselves from the tray and ate. Bergil was famished, having not eaten anything since breakfast, but he forced himself to eat at the same pace as his king, who was thankfully eating with a healthy amount of zest. Much to Aragorn’s surprise, he cleared his plate and even had a bit of seconds before sitting back with a satisfied sigh. He drank the tea and was surprised again to discover it was the yogurt juice of the Haradrim. The juice had been popular at the feast and the receipt was highly requested. For the buttery to be making it said much of the drink, for soldiers were traditionally only happy with mead.

He poured another draught and returned to his desk and scrolls while Bergil finished his meal, cleared the table and carried the nearly-empty tray back to the antechamber. There the attendant was speaking with the guard while she waited, but she hopped to her feet the moment the door opened. She took the tray from the lad, said good day to the guard and retreated down the hall. Bergil then returned to his king’s side.

“Your Highness,” he said, steeling himself. Sir Pippin had told him not to be afraid to ask his king questions.

“Yes, Bergil?”

“I am confused about something the translators said the other day,” he said.

Aragorn looked up from the scroll he was studying. “What might that be?”

“They said that they feared returning to Gondor after staying so long in Harad because they feared Lord Denethor would try them for treason. But, it wasn’t their fault what happened.”

“That might be, but they gave their allegiance to the enemy,” Aragorn said.

“So then why do you not try them for treason now?”

“Because they are no longer our enemies,” Aragorn said. “At least, the Faithful Houses are not. They never were, though we could not have known that sooner. It was one of the Dark Lord’s greatest devices, separating the races of Man, Elf and Dwarf. He knew once divided we would be weakened and his victory all but guaranteed. That he was so successful in separating the Men of the West from the Men of the South, even during his long absence, is one of his more tragic victories. Had we but allied ourselves to each other sooner, his legions perhaps may not have grown so strong.”

“The Faithful Houses,” Bergil said, thinking. “You gave Ashtir, or Sador I should say, three scrolls, one for each of the Faithful Houses. What of those in the Houses of the Eye?”

“If they are not dead or imprisoned, they are allied to the Enemy,” Aragorn said simply.

“And those imprisoned?”

“They will never survive an attack on the palaces. They will be slain. In this I do not doubt the Queen.”

“Everyone in the Houses of the Eye is evil?” Bergil asked.

“Everyone has the capacity for good and for evil. It is what we choose to do with it that matters,” Aragorn said. “There will be those in the Dark Houses who will seek refuge in the Faithful Houses. There are also those who will seek entry only to corrupt those Houses from within.”

“How can you tell the difference?”

“There are those in the city who believe the embassy to be just such a group: spies of the Enemy. What do you think?”

Bergil thought for a time, aware of his King’s eyes upon him but knowing he was not pressured to hurry his decision. At length he spoke. “I believe they can be trusted, Your Highness. Their eyes are kind and they love laughter. Their music celebrates life rather than death, and they are loyal, even to strangers of foreign lands. I believe they are good.”

“You are most astute, Bergil,” Aragorn said with approval. “I believe they are good as well. Others will come to understand these things in time. That the Haradrim work alongside our own people to rebuild the Pelennor has already bridged many of those gaps between us.”

“Perhaps one day I can go to Harad as part of an embassy,” Bergil said.

“Perhaps. Now look sharp, lad. Prince Imrahil will be here soon.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Bergil said. He took his position behind his King, ever at attention.

To be continued…

GF 6/6/09
Published 7/7/09