A/N: A knave here means a man born of humble birth or a servant.

Chapter 21 – Slaves and Knaves

The Haradrim departed soon after dessert with many bows, thanks and good wishes. The Fellowship, Elladan, Elrohir and Faramir had remained a while longer, speaking aloud their earlier observations of the Haradrim’s tale of Hildifons and their insight into Isengar’s history in their land. After much discussion, Aragorn had dismissed his friends for the night. Frodo had begun to leave, then doubled back, sending Sam home with the others. There was something Frodo needed to speak about to the king and he saw no better opportunity to do so than now.

Gandalf, Elrohir and Elladan had not known anything about Sam spying on Aragorn. They had been both surprised and amused by the prospect, and just as baffled about Aragorn’s acceptance of it as was Frodo. He now intended to discover the reasoning behind it, for he could not believe that Aragorn would put Sam into harm’s way so carelessly.

Frodo reentered the King’s House and padded down the hall to the study. He nodded at the guards on duty and knocked upon the door. He could hear Aragorn, Faramir and Gandalf speaking inside. At his knock, the talking ceased and Aragorn called out. “Enter!”

Frodo entered. “Aragorn, might I have a word with you?” He had not intended to sound cross, but his words were sharp even to his own ears. He took a deep breath.

“Of course, Frodo. You are always free to speak with me whenever you wish,” Aragorn said, both intrigued and alarmed. The hobbits rarely addressed him formally in private, or even public, which could only mean that Frodo wished to discuss something of importance with him. If he was in any doubt, he need only look into Frodo’s eyes, which were glaring up at him, cold blue and heated with ire.

Frodo took another deep breath. He had not expected to be so agitated and even he was alarmed by the irritation coursing through him now. “I’m not interrupting?” he asked, doing his best to sound cordial. He almost succeeded.

“No, you’re not,” Aragorn said. “What did you wish to speak about?”

“Sam,” Frodo said. “It is treason, is it not, for any of your people to spy on you? I doubt very much the court would care that he had your permission. Why then did you give him permission to do so?”

“Shall we leave?” Faramir asked.

“You can stay,” Frodo said. He crossed his arms and waited patiently.

“Frodo, I assure that Sam is perfectly safe in his endeavors. I would have never given my permission if I thought he would come to harm. You do know that?” Aragorn said.

“I do. What I don’t know is why you allowed it in the first place,” Frodo said. “Someone else could have realized what he was doing. At the very least, Sam’s character could have been soiled, to say nothing of your own. I will not have anyone thinking ill of him.”

“How long did Sam spy on you before you realized what he was doing?” Gandalf asked Frodo.

“The Shire is not Gondor,” Frodo said, “and I am only the Master of the Hill, of little importance as such things go.”

“How long, Frodo?”

“Nearly a year,” Frodo admitted.

“How did you discover his indiscretion?” Gandalf asked next.

“Merry told me about it,” Frodo said. “At Crickhollow. But this is not the Shire. There he risked nothing but a few sharp words from his father.”

“And so he risks nothing now,” Aragorn said. “It is treason to spy on the king or any member of his court or cabinet, when one is spying with the intention of harm. Sam was merely concerned for my welfare. He wasn’t looking for ways to sabotage myself or the city. He was only looking for a reason for my distraction of late, hardly a crime worth mentioning, much less punishing. As for why I allowed it, I did so because you can prepare your entire life for something and still not know what to do once you have it. I allowed it because knowing that someone I respected so highly might be watching me at any moment helped me to keep my bearings. I didn’t want him ambushing me from behind a corner or a bush should I do or say something foolish.”

Frodo smiled at this, relaxing considerably. “Dearest Strider, Sam would never ambush you in the middle of spying on you. That would rather defeat the purpose.”

Now Aragorn and the others laughed also. “Right you are, my dear hobbit,” Gandalf said. “Aragorn has much to learn still of hobbits.”

“He does indeed,” Frodo said. “Sam told me everything he discovered. Be grateful Merry doesn’t have all the information, but even so, it won’t be much longer before he pieces it all together, if he hasn't already. You’ll want to keep on your toes, Aragorn. Merry has finished his prank on me and that gives him far too much free time. He’s focusing on you now, and he will not be merciful.”

“I shall be on the lookout,” Aragorn said.

“I’ll tell Sam he may commence his spying efforts then,” Frodo said, though he had no intention of doing so. Still, if it helped Aragorn to think that Sam might be lurking, he saw no reason to end the charade altogether. “Can I give you one piece of advice? Don’t hide your secret lists and calendars in a secret compartment in your hutch. You may as well paint a target on it.”

“There’s a secret compartment in the hutch?” Faramir asked, looking at the hutch with interest.

“Gandalf showed it to me,” Aragorn said, flabbergasted. “How did Sam find it?”

“He’s a hobbit of many skills. Good night, lads,” Frodo said, turning to leave. Only then did notice a curling piece of parchment on the desk. The parchment was held down with paperweights on each corner and looked much worn by many handlings. He stepped forward and looked upon a map of Harad, showing the five realms, five palaces and the temple of the Eye. Within the borders of each realm were written three sets of numbers.

“What is this? What are these numbers?” he asked.

Faramir stood beside him and pointed. “An estimation of the number of each House. The numbers for the Houses of the Sea and Earth are very rough estimations, as best as Queen Farzana can guess. The counts represent the number of royals, nobles and merchants, the number of slaves, and the number of Gondorians, held as captives or hidden as refugees. This last is the least reliable number.”

“Slaves? They are not to be freed then?” Frodo asked, turning to Aragorn. “Surely you do not mean to ally yourself with someone who would treat others in such a manner.”

“There is much we do not understand of their ways, Frodo,” Gandalf said. “We do know that they treat their slaves fairly.”

“The Faithful Houses do at any rate,” Aragorn said. “Queen Farzana, Queen Semira of the Sun and King Carthos of the Stars will reestablish the laws for the protection of slaves in the other Houses once they are liberated of their tyrants. And before you judge them too harshly, you must understand, Frodo, that to them, Sam is your slave.”

Frodo had been about to argue further, but at this he closed his mouth and seemed unable to think of anything to say.

“As Master Jodocus, Mistress Porcia and all the knaves and maids of this household are my slaves,” Aragorn continued. “They see no difference in the way we treat our servants and the way they treat their slaves.”

“But… But that’s preposterous!” Frodo finally exclaimed. “Sam is not my slave! He can do as he wishes whenever he wishes. He can leave my employment if he so wishes, though I am thoroughly grateful that he does not, even after all I have put him through. Can a slave do those things? They are sold and branded like cattle, children taken from mothers.”

Aragorn sat forward grimly. “We have been told many lies and misconceptions about Harad. Believe me when I say I have questioned them thoroughly on this matter. To them, all men and women of humble birth, commoners or working folk if you will, are to become slaves once they reach their majority, if they do not join the military or secure an apprenticeship to learn a trade. Every effort is made to keep families together, though Queen Farzana admits they can improve in this area. If they are split up, they are allowed to keep in contact and to see each other on holidays. Most often, it is husbands who are separated from their wives and children, rather than mothers from children, which is no happier a circumstance. Should the mother fall ill or die in childbirth, then it is often the case that the children will be returned to their fathers or kept in the house where their mother served, raised as foster children to their masters. Children are not sold. That is a crime that will not be tolerated. Of course, boys become men at the age of thirteen there, and girls become women as soon as they begin their courses.”

“So young?” Frodo asked, appalled.

“It is not so very different from us,” Faramir said. “The age of majority here is fifteen. You can imagine my shock when Pippin told me that he is still considered a child among your people, though he is now twenty-nine.”

Frodo nodded. That was something they had all noticed long ago, how quickly the children of Men grew up. “What else have they told you?” he asked.

“Their slaves are compensated. They are given food, clothing, shelter, and money for their personal expenses in exchange for their service to their masters. Their children are even educated alongside the children of the house. They are given their own time to do as they wish, special holidays and the like. They may not marry without permission though. That must be negotiated by their masters. Obviously, a master would prefer marriage between two of his own slaves than risk losing one to someone else or having to trade one for another.”

“And if they defy their masters?”

“It would be no different than if one of my men defied me,” Aragorn said. “Their punishments are perhaps harsher than I would like them to be, but life in general is harsher there. Their laws are concrete, and slaves are judged no differently than the nobles or proprietors. They are not treated as animals, this I do know. If you don’t believe me, you can ask their slaves. You’ve already met several of them.”

“I— I didn’t realize,” Frodo said, as shocked by this as everything else he had learned. He had known Razeena was a freed slave, but hadn't realized that the other attendants and servants were still slaves themselves. “What about the…” He swallowed, cleared his throat. “The eunuchs?”

“As Razeena explained, the eunuchs agree to become such,” Aragorn said. “I am sure they think me quite foolish to take into my confidence men who have families of their own, for in times of great hardship, a man will think of his family before he thinks of his master. What if Sam had already been married to his Rose?”

“I would not have allowed him to come,” Frodo said.

“I told him he was to accompany you,” Gandalf said.

“Then you would have just had to learn to live with disappointment,” Frodo said. “I love you, Gandalf, but you are not at liberty to give orders to my servants if I do not agree with them. If Sam had been married, he would have stayed, no matter how great his desire to see elves and protect me."

“And Middle-earth would be lost,” Aragorn said. He shook his head. “No, they have their reasons for doing as they do. Loyalty for them is a tricky business; they have lived too long with deception. If a man is not willing to give up his future for his master, then he is not worthy of that trust. I do not agree with them in this, as they no doubt have their disagreements with my policies. We must be able to look past such disagreements. Allies are made in such ways.”

“Then I envy you your position even less,” Frodo said. “I believe Merry is right.”

“About what?”

“You do need a distraction. If you’ll pardon me.” And with that he left.

“What does he mean by that?” Faramir asked.

“I’m afraid to ask,” Aragorn said. “Come. Let us speak of this for a time, though we must each retire to our beds soon. Tomorrow will be a busy day.” They turned to the map and studied it. “The queen insists they do not require our help, but I feel I must insist upon sending some eventually, if not immediately. The Houses of the Eye are ruled by the Black Númenóreans. They are as much our responsibility as they are the Houses of the Faithful. I need a proposal the queen cannot refuse.”

An hour later, he saw Faramir and Gandalf to the door. Faramir turned towards his house and Gandalf to the tunnel-way. Aragorn retired to the guest chamber in which he has been staying since his inauguration. He would not enter the master suite until the arrival of Arwen at Midsummer, which was just as well as the master suite currently looked like it had been hit by a wind storm.

He changed into his sleeping gown, careful not to disturb his valet’s slumber in the attached room. He then sat upon the windowsill and looked out towards the northwest and Rohan, where his beloved waited.

“Soon, my love. Soon.”  

Frodo was so deep in thought on his way home that he did not at first realize that he was being followed. The moon and stars were covered by clouds, which promised a wet tomorrow for the groundbreaking of the Pelennor, and there was little light to see by. Not that this bothered Frodo of course. Since his long ago stabbing by the Witck-King, his night vision was much improved and he could spy movement in even the darkest of shadows. The only time his vision had failed him entirely was in Shelob’s lair, and that was a darkness he did not wish to think about now.

He pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated instead on Aragorn’s words about the slaves of Harad. Despite such reassuring news, he still felt horrified that the Haradrim would think Sam his slave, rather than his dearest and most trusted of friends. Yet was it a misconception worth correcting? Was Aragorn right and they simply could not understand the distinction? He remembered then what Bodil had said about servants in Gondor. They are not given a voice of their own but are instead considered part of the household they served, with no consideration to their family origins. Did the people of Gondor believe that Sam went with him to Mordor only on his command, when there could be nothing further from the truth?

It was as these thoughts were rattling about his brain that he heard the footstep behind him and a pebble skipping upon the cobblestones. Frodo stopped and turned.

“Is someone there?” he called, squinting into the shadows. Yes, he could see someone lingering in the tunnel. “Who is it? Show yourself.”

The shape retreated further into the tunnel.

“You are of the Guard of the Tower,” Frodo guessed, “sent by your King to make sure no harm becomes me. Best to walk beside me then, where you will be of most use.”

The form hesitated then stepped forward out of the tunnel. The guard bowed in apology.

“How long have you known?” asked Adrik.

“Long enough. You are betraying nothing, have no fear of that,” Frodo said. “Come lad, walk me home and talk to me. Keep the shadows at bay.”

“What do you wish to speak about, Frodo?” Adrik asked, coming to stand beside him.

They turned and walked together, taking their time now to enjoy each other’s company. In the stables, they could hear a couple of the horses whinnying and smell fresh hay. A brief memory of Bill the Pony bolting in terror from the Gates of Moria came to Frodo’s mind, but this too he pushed away.

“Do you have any family?” Frodo asked.

“My father alone is left to me,” Adrik said. “He is a great man.”

“Tell me about him.”

“His name is Kirtis,” Adrik began. “He was a Guard of the Tower in his younger years, before he was injured in a scrimmage at Osgiliath. Now he teaches battle tactics and ambush techniques to the young recruits. They listen to him, or he will set them to run ten miles in half an hour. Of course, that too is a lesson: no matter how much of a hurry you’re in, you must pace yourself or you’ll pass out.”

Frodo laughed. “Your father is a smart man. How was he injured?”

“His arm was cut off by the enemy. He nearly died, but for Boromir. He stuck his hand right into my father’s limb and pinched the vessels closed until a healer could be brought to his side.”

Frodo felt slightly woozy at this colorful explanation, but Adrik remained nonplussed. All in a day of a soldier, apparently. “Does your father ever miss his arm?”

Adrik nodded. “Oh yes. Sometimes, he still wakes in the middle of the night, clenching at it in pain, as though it were really still there. It happens rarely now, not like before. When he was first injured, it hurt him all the time. They call it a phantom arm, or leg, or hand, whatever the case may be. It is said that the ghost of the missing limb remains with the body, so that in death you may be whole again.”

Frodo reached over with his hand and felt the nub of his missing finger. “Is that what they say?”

“It is,” Adrik said, looking down. Frodo felt his gaze and pulled his hand away. Adrik looked up again and continued. “The healers have a numbing balm. It helps my father greatly. It’s odd. I’ll hear people who knew my father before his injury say how grand and valiant he was, how strong and able, and how tragic it is that he was cut down so young. But I was only six when it happened and I barely remember him as he was before. To me, he is still all those things and more, because he wouldn’t allow his injury to hold him back. He still trains with the Guard, still goes on maneuvers with us, to teach us in the field, and he still commands the respect of all around him, just as before if not more so now. Some say he is less able now. I say they haven’t even begun to see of what he is capable.”

“You are very wise, as is your father,” Frodo said. “Is he at the barracks now?”

“Nay, we have a house in the citadel. All the senior officers do. My father has been spending his days at the Houses of Healing, helping to cheer the wounded soldiers by barking orders at them and commanding them to get better so they can get back to their posts.”

“He raised you alone?”

“Since I was ten. My mother died in childbirth, her and the baby. I had a younger brother, Dagnir. He was two years my junior. He died of an apoplexy a few years ago. He was training one day and he just fell over. At first they thought he’d passed out from heatstroke, but when the sergeants got to him, he was dead. He was only fourteen.”

“I am sorry. You must miss them both terribly,” Frodo said, taking Adrik’s hand. Adrik looked down in surprise, but squeezed gently in return before letting go.

“I do at times, but then I remember that my mother would only lecture me for feeling pity and my brother would tease me mercilessly for weeping like a girl. Then I get up, get dressed and get to work. It’s lonely sometimes, with just my father and myself, but I am to be married soon. It will be nice to have a woman in the house again.”

“Congratulations! Who is the lucky lass?”

“Her name is Feija and she’s a wench at The Serpent and The Hare,” Adrik said. “She has eyes of brightest green and her laugh can bring dawn to the darkest day. She was sent away with the other refugees, to her cousins in Poros Vale, but she will be returning next week. We are to wed this summer.”

“She sounds lovely. I am sure the two of you will be very happy together,” Frodo said.

“Thank you, my lord,” Adrik said.

They reached the Fellowship’s house and Frodo opened the gate. Frodo paused. “May I ask you a question, Adrik?”

“Of course,” Adrik said.

“Why does Aragorn have guards following us? Is it because of the Haradrim in the city? They do not wish us harm,” Frodo said.

Adrik shook his head. “I do not know, my lord. I only know those are the orders I was given. I do know that you have always been followed, even before the Haradrim arrived.”

“Are there rogues in the city?” Frodo asked.

“A shady character might come now and then, even in times of calm and order,” Adrik said. “They are not always spotted before they can do harm or damage. I do not believe you to be in danger, but it never hurts to take precautions.”

“Better safe,” Frodo said, leaving the rest unsaid. “Thank you, Adrik, and well wishes again to you and your bride.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Adrik said, bowing. He waited until Frodo was safely inside, then crossed the street to the shadows to take up his nightly post.  

Frodo went upstairs. The house was already asleep and the passages were dark. He didn’t need much light though and made it upstairs with silent steps. He entered Sam’s room and was not surprised to find his friend already deep in slumber. He stood for a time at the foot of Sam’s bed, musing again over Aragorn’s words.

No matter how the Haradrim saw things, Sam was not a slave, yet as a servant, he had given up so much to follow Frodo. He had nearly given his life and Frodo knew that he would continue to serve his master with little thought to himself if Frodo allowed him.

“So I won’t let you,” Frodo promised, a soft whisper in the dark. He moved up the side of the bed and pulled the blanket over Sam’s shoulders. He went into his own room and firmly closed the door. “I won’t let you.”

Yet what would Sam do if he were set free?

To be continued…

GF 6/22/09
Published 7/27/09