Written for the birthday of Just_Ann_Now who requested a tale about Thorongil in Rohan.

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“Your name?” Thengel asked, stifling a yawn. These hungry hire-swords were drawn to Edoras like flies to a manure heap.

“Thorongil, Sire.”

“Who is your lord, and why have you left his service?”

“I travel on errantry, Sire.”

Or was sent away in dishonor. Why does he not name his lord? Thengel pointed to the huge scabbard slung across the stranger’s back. “Why do you carry a second sword? It must hinder you greatly during battle.”

“’Tis an ancient heirloom. I carry it for… good luck.”

Thengel cleared his throat. “Marshal Todric will send word if we need you. Next!”