14.

            King Elessar strode through the dusty earth of the Tournament grounds.  The air was thick and humid with the smell of horses and hot leather; off in the distance, rebounding from the valleys of the Ephel Dúath came the faint sounds of thunder, like ghostly drums.  Within the walls of the enclosure a great roar had risen, and the king could hear the cries of his people cheering on Lasgalen of Dale as he jousted against his detractor, Brytta of Rohan.  He listened, but could not hear any voices chanting Brytta’s name.  Elessar begrudged Lasgalen the joust; according to the Tournament rules it was unnecessary, as an outside agent had conspired to interrupt their contest of arms, but Brytta’s rumour-mongering had so influenced the denizens of the Tent City that Faramir had insisted.  Belecthor had agreed, and both men had arranged the match, so that Lasgalen of Dale could face the wrath of one who felt he had been wronged.  The king heard the thunder of hooves, and the bellow of the Green Knight’s terrible destrier, and after a great crashing noise the voices of the people in the stands swelled again, crying aloud the name of the Knight of Dale.  Hallas of Lossarnach’s unwarranted attack this morning had swung the pendulum of public opinion round in Lasgalen’s favor, though the king knew not whether the Green Knight would prevail and so salvage his good standing.  Beneath the sounds of the Tournament rumbled another growl of thunder from the valley, and the air stirred sluggishly, swirling dust about Elessar’s boots.  The breeze was fitful, tugging at his linen doublet and pulling his hair upon his head so that it whirled into his face, where it stuck to his sweat-soaked skin.  He looked up at the sky, and noted that there were no longer any birds flying there; even the hawks had sought shelter, and he knew it was going to rain.  At first he hoped it would not interfere with the Tournament; then he checked himself, and realized that the Tournament had already been interfered with, and Belecthor was right to be so cautious.  He crossed the pathway around the back of the stadium and approached the leeches’ tent.  At its entrance were two guards, clad in the green and brown livery of Ithilien: Faramir’s personal sentries.  Their helms were low, with long cheek-guards and nose-guards decorated with etched leaves; upon their surcoats were embroidered trees.  In each of their hands they bore a staff shod with metal and a long green bow.  Tall they were and grey-eyed, the Dúnedain of the South.  They each did obeisance to their King as he approached, yet before he could enter the tent the flap was pushed aside, and Lord Faramir looked out.

            “Ah, there you are, my lord,” he said, emerging and bowing before his sovereign.  “I was about to send a guard to fetch you.  There is much to befuddle us within the walls of this canvas house; come inside, my king, and I shall disclose my findings to you – though I doubt you will make much more sense of them than have I.”

            “Well met, Lord Faramir,” said Elessar, smiling a little at their lack of formality before the lesser guards of Osgiliath.  “May we not leave the door open?  It must surely be stifling within the tent; the canvas is dark, and there are no window openings.”

            “Such was the nature of my inquiry, my lord,” said Faramir, holding the opening aside for his king to enter, “that I bethought it best to keep as discrete as possible.  I tell you truly, my friend, that this tale does baffle me, and my captain Beregond.”

            Elessar ducked beneath the flap of the entrance and at once the heat and smell of the healer’s domain struck him.  The air was suffocating, thick with the odor of flesh and sweat and metal, and of hot, curdling blood.  It was dark within, lit only by two smoking lamps upon stands; the wooden ewer had been overturned and its dusky contents had soaked into the rushes on the floor.  Beregond the captain of the guard stood within, flanked by his comrade; two healers were folding up linens and handing soiled bandages to an assistant.  At a swift look from Faramir they took up their things and went, leaving the Steward, the King, and one lone patient within the tent.  Beregond and his fellow guard stood silently by the entrance flap.  Upon the pallet furthest from the entrance lay Hallas of Lossarnach.  He had been stripped of his armour and arming doublet, and lay upon his stomach, his left knee bound in bloodied cloths, with but a sheet of linen covering him.  His face lay buried in his arms upon the pillow, and he did not turn when Faramir approached him.

            “Hallas of Lossarnach, son of Baldor,” said Faramir firmly, “your king has come to you.  Stay this hiding of your visage, and turn your eyes upon your monarch, who has condescended to hear your suit!”

            Hallas turned his head, and looked up at his lords; his face was mottled and tear-streaked, and his hair hung thick upon his forehead.  “My Lord Elessar,” he said in a choked voice, “your majesty, have no mercy upon me, for I am desolate and wretched, and no longer wish to live in this world, but be consigned to my fate.  Strike me therefore, that I may die and be troubled by my misfortunes no longer!”

            “’Twould be a harsh punishment, indeed!” said King Elessar mildly.  “Death by your sovereign’s hands, for losing your temper and striking your foe in the ring?  Tell me, Hallas son of Baldor, for what reason should the king grant your supplication?  As I know it, you are but the sole heir of a lesser merchant prince, who is unlikely to procure another inheritor of his property, as your mother is deceased; it would be unjust of me to slay you, and leave your father childless.”

            “My father is a good and noble man,” said Hallas, looking up to his king with eyes burning in his face.  “He deserves not such a son, who can win neither hand-combat nor hand of maiden.  I have failed him.  Before he can look upon me with disappointment, I beg you, my king, to slay me!”

            “You deserve not death for this,” said Aragorn, pulling forward a low stool and sitting beside the young knight.  “Punishment would be just, perhaps, but not death.  The Green Knight is not seriously harmed; in fact, at this very moment he faces his detractor, Brytta of Rohan, at the tilt.  I have spoken with Belecthor the Ceremonies Master.  He has informed me the established method of castigation for your misdeed is expulsion following flogging; but as you have been efficiently hamstrung by your opponent, he is willing to forego the whip and to eject you simply.”

            Hallas looked upon his king with grey eyes filled with despair.  “Then I have lost indeed,” he said bitterly.  “I have mislaid both honour in death and honour in victory; I have naught to go home to.”  He turned his head upon his arm and once again hid his face from Elessar.

            “Can you not tell me, Hallas son of Baldor, the cause of your grievance to Lasgalen of Dale?” asked the king.  He kept his voice gentle, as he could see Hallas was both very young and very distressed.

            “He has robbed all from me, your majesty,” said Hallas into the crook of his elbow.  “With a stroke of his sword he has stolen my gold; with a stroke of his pen he has robbed me of my heart.”

            “His pen; your heart?” said Elessar, frowning.  “What do you mean, Hallas?”

            “That is the first part of the mystery,” said Faramir behind him.

            “There is no mystery, my Lord Faramir,” said Hallas.  “Lasgalen of Dale is taking my Dirhael from me.”

            The king was so astonished by this statement he was struck dumb for a moment.  He stared down at the knight of Lossarnach in surprise, and said, “Dirhael, daughter of Andior, Orodreth of Linhir’s niece and charge?”

            “Yes, the same,” said Hallas, still to his elbow.  His voice was thick and choked with thwarted passion.  “He has treated with her to dissolve our betrothal, and she has accepted him, for he is the wealthier knight.  It was for that reason, my king, that I struck him, for so lost was I in my fury and perturbation that I hated him, and wished for nothing less than his death, to reprove him for his apprehending my Dirhael.”

            Elessar was amazed, and looked to Faramir for aid.  The Steward removed from a pocket in his tunic a folded piece of parchment, set with a broken seal in green wax that had borne the impression of a rune, now indecipherable.  He handed the letter to Elessar, who read:

            Lady of night, lady of starlight, my Dirhael, my beautiful one!  Speak but

            one word to me and I shall swoon; look but my way and I shall grow faint

            and weak in my sinews; lift thy hand to me and all darkness shall fall

            before my eyes!  Forsake the child with which thou hast dallied in thy youth

            and come to me as a grown woman, worthy of the riches and the honour

            and the station I can bestow upon thee.  Great are the halls of my fathers

            and plentiful the storehouses; jewels and crowns and rich furs I shall drape

            across thy white brow and alabaster shoulders; gold shall be in thy cloth and

            precious stones in thy collar.  My father shall treat with thine uncle and thou shalt

            be indeed my lady and the fulfillment of my desire.  Keep then this letter as thy

            token for my love and dispense with all thy worldly appointments; at the

            winning of this tournament I shall lay my trophy at thy feet and take up thy

            hand as my wife and true lady.  I shall unveil my face before thee and thou

            shalt find in me the accomplishment of thy longings.  Fear not for thy future,

            then, my Dirhael, for when my father and thine uncle are complete in their

            negotiations shall our hearts be made as one!

            Lasgalen Oakleaf of Dale

            The king read this missive through two times, then folded it up and handed it back to Faramir.  The steward said, “We took this at force from Lady Dirhael, who was loath to give it up to us; with many oaths and tears she at last surrendered it to us.  Egalmoth it was who found her out, though it was Eradan who first pointed us to Orodreth.”

            “Hallas,” said Elessar of the knight upon the pallet.  “Did Lady Dirhael indeed believe this letter came from the Green Knight?”

            At this Hallas raised his head and looked full upon his king.  In his eyes there was a glimmer of hope.  “She did, my lord,” he said, his voice trembling.  “She told me it was slipped beneath the lintel of her door, in the room of the inn in which she is staying.  Her maid had seen the perian earlier that day, so she was all the more convinced the letter and his suit were legitimate.”  He waited for Elessar to speak, but the king only sat thoughtfully, eyes fixed upon the far wall of the tent.  Outside there was a low rumble of thunder, and the pattering of rain upon the roof of the tent turned into a low drumming noise.  It seemed very dark inside now, the smoking lamps giving off but a dirty yellow glow; it appeared to Hallas that the king’s mind was turned inward, away from the matter at hand.  Yet when his piercing grey eyes fixed upon the younger man, he knew Elessar saw more than what was present.

            “Lasgalen of Dale did not write this letter,” said Elessar.  Faramir moved, looking as though he were about to speak, but seeing the expression on his king’s face he remained silent.

            Hallas did not say anything for a moment; the thunder spoke again, and there was the sound of water gathered in the creases of the tent spilling upon the ground.  He turned on his side, moving his leg carefully, and looked full into his lord’s face.

            “Did he not, your majesty?” he said, hope kindling in his eyes.  “You are sure of this?”
            “I know his hand well,” said Elessar.  “Those were not the letters he is accustomed to using.”

            Hallas’ face fell.  “His esquire mayhap wrote it, then,” he said sadly, “or his armourer.  Dirhael believed it was he; she must have had just cause to so think it.”

            “Lady Dirhael may have hoped she had just cause,” said Elessar.  “But Lasgalen of Dale did not write this letter, nor would he have set his seal upon it or approved of it.  It is not in his nature to seek union with those bespoken of by another.”

            “I should not have thought it in his nature to seek union with any maid,” said Faramir dryly.

            Elessar turned to the steward and smiled.  “Do you not?” he asked.  “You have not seen him at the Midsummer’s Festival in his home land, then, when all maids clamour for his hand in the dances, and for his attentiveness in the feasts.”  Faramir raised his eyebrows to this but did not reply.  The king turned back to Hallas.  “Hallas son of Baldor, your lady was deceived; this epistle was sent her by one desirous of severing your union, and fostering hatred ‘twixt you and the Green Knight.  He is treating no betrothal with her uncle.”

            Hallas shook his head stubbornly.  “My Dirhael is lovely, lovelier than all the ladies attending this Tournament, save your ladies only,” he said.  “She has sat up in the front seats, in full view of all the knights at the joust.  I am certain he has looked upon her, and loved her, as all who see her do; he is a rich lord, as is evidenced by his armour and his retainers, and has all the wealth to offer her that I lack, that I hoped to acquire in trial of arms here.  It is no good – he has won her heart, and I have lost it, and the Tournament as well.”

            He looked so dejected here that Elessar took pity upon him.  Here was a young and very naïve knight, unused to the whims of maidens and the caprices of their hearts; the king thought to himself that the young woman would not be much of a treasure to be won if her heart could be swayed by one poorly-written note.  And besides, despite Hallas’ rich praise of his beloved, he could think of no maiden in the royal box who would so capture the attention of a visiting knight; perhaps he was bemused by the beauty of his own bride, but he had seen none that seemed unduly lovely to him.  He rose and crossed to Beregond and his fellow guard.

            “Captain,” he said, “I apologize for sending you out on such a mundane errand, and in such a heavy rain; yet I beg your indulgence upon me in this.  Go you to the tent of Lasgalen of Dale and bid him come here, yet do not accompany him; instead go to my own tents, where the lords Eradan, Egalmoth, and Belecthor do wait upon me, and inform them of all we have heard here.  Again, do not come back here, once the Green Knight has been summoned; it is our will his face should remain covered.”

            “Yes, your majesty,” said Beregond, and they went out.

            Then the king told Hallas to lie upon his stomach, and he uncovered the wound; he saw where the leeches had stitched it up together with gut, and laid a poultice of fragrant herbs upon it.  Then he wrapped it in clean cloths he found in a barrel, and taking a white tunic from a hook by the back curtain he dressed the young knight.  He and Faramir aided him in sitting up, putting cushions behind his back, and then they sat beside him and waited.

            They had not long to wait, for forthwith the tent-flap opened, and a dark and dripping figure entered; the face beneath the cowl was hidden in shadow, and the wet cloak covered him from shoulder to calf.  At the opening of the entrance a cool, damp breeze swirled, stirring the tongues of flame in the lamps to dancing, casting eerie shadows in the corners.  Hallas shivered when the hood turned to him, and unseen eyes regarded him in the blankness.

            “My friend,” said Elessar, rising and holding out his hand to the Green Knight.  Lasgalen did not hesitate, but took the king’s hand in his own, bowing.  Faramir also rose, and the Green Knight greeted him silently.  Then he stood back and looked upon Hallas once more.  Hallas gazed up at him in apprehension, unable to see the face beneath the shadowed hood.

            “Hallas of Lossarnach,” said the king, gesturing, “I present to you Lasgalen of Dale.  Lasgalen of Dale, Hallas of Lossarnach had what he felt just cause in striking you today in the barriers.”

            “Had he?” said the Green Knight in a low, muffled voice.  “Speak, then, Hallas of Lossarnach.”

            There was a rumble of thunder, muted within the tent.  Hallas took his courage in his hands and spoke.  “Green Knight, you have turned my lady’s heart away from me,” he said in bitterness.  “You looked upon that which belonged to another and desired her, and you have set in motion all the machinery to take her from me, and for that I hate you!”

            The Green Knight did not answer him, but instead turned his hooded face to Elessar and the steward.  Elessar said, “A letter was received by his betrothed, bearing your name, purporting to plot an elopement between you and she, once the Tournament is wound up.”

            “Indeed?” said the Green Knight, and his soft voice sounded amused.  “That is quite gratifying.  Might I know the name of my fiancée?”

            “It is Dirhael daughter of Andior, my beloved!” said Hallas angrily.  “You have conspired against me, you two, seeking to both beggar me and defame me by your perfidy!”

            At this the Green Knight began to laugh gently, and the king said:  “Cease tormenting the youngling, my friend; uncloak before him, and we shall extract from him an oath that he reveal nothing shown him in this tent, until after the Tournament has closed.”

            “Very well, Aragorn,” said the Green Knight, more loudly this time, and Hallas could hear his voice was light and clear as birdsong.  Lasgalen threw back his hood, scattering droplets of water behind him, revealing a face covered from the throat to the eyes in a swath of linen, a knitted cap upon his head obscuring him from crown to brow.  Down came the linen, off went the cap, and the thong that tied the pale hair was removed and the cascade flowed down about his shoulders.  Hallas stared up into the face of the Elf in astonishment.

            “Are you satisfied, Hallas of Lossarnach?” he asked, a smile upon his lips.  “Do you now see me for what I truly am?  And do you understand the absurdity of your accusations?  Or shall we fight a duel, you and I, battling each other to the death for a maiden I know not, nor covet?  For you should know that an immortal Elf, giving himself to a daughter of Men, forsakes his kin and his immortality, and I am not so weary of my people yet, nor do I wish to renounce Valinor.”

            “Who are you?” gasped Hallas.

            “You need not know his name,” said the king firmly.  “Know only that he is the son of an Elven noble, who has entered this Tournament in disguise – and, I might add, against my preference.”  He looked upon his friend with a smile, and the Elf gave a silvery laugh.  “You need bear him no animosity.  I am sure your Dirhael is safe from his predations.”

            “Very safe,” said the Elf.  He sat upon the stool by Hallas’ pallet and extended one long, white hand to the knight.  “I hold you no grudge, son of Baldor of Lossarnach!  Of the two of us I dealt you the weightier blow, and I fear it will be some time before you joust again.”

            “If at all,” said Faramir.  “He attacked an rival; within the barriers it is an offense punishable by permanent expulsion.”

            Hallas took the Elf’s hand, reluctant at first.  “I have wronged you,” he said slowly.  “Please forgive me, Lasgalen of Dale!”

            “There is naught to forgive,” said the Elf, clasping his hand warmly.  “I deceived all in the stands, in the barrier, and at the tilt.  None think me any more than a man.  I do not blame you for your rancor.  Were it my beloved being lured away, I should strike hard and in anger as well.”

            “All the same,” said Hallas, his face falling once more, “Dirhael has wronged me, by casting me aside with so little provocation.  So perhaps it is just as well she will not marry me now, as I cannot win the Tournament and so provide for her comfort.”

            “Surely her dowry would have imparted sufficient funds for that,” said Faramir.  “Orodreth of Linhir is a very wealthy man.”

            Hallas shrugged.  “Perhaps; I do not know.  I did not care, so great was my love for her.  My father and her uncle, her guardian, handled all the negotiations.  I only know that my father bid me marry her at once, to secure the income for our estates, for we are poor, though our family is old and well-connected.  But it will not happen now, and I suppose I shall marry a rich and ugly woman, for I know I shall never love another.”  He heaved a great sigh, and Lasgalen looked up at the king and the steward, his fair face grave.  He rose to his feet and stood before his friend, and there was a war waging behind his bright eyes.

            “You were right, I think, Aragorn,” he said; “my entering this tournament has robbed the children of the race of men.  I did not think to win it in truth, but here my presence has deprived a true knight of his chance for the gold.”

            “I think not, my friend,” said Elessar, putting one hand upon the Elf’s shoulder.  “After all it is not your race that has divested this knight from his place, but a letter sent in malice.  We must needs ascertain the purpose behind the sending of this note to Dirhael before any blame can be placed on you.”

            “And you have repaid me thus,” spoke Hallas from his pallet, and the Elf turned to him.  “You have revealed to me the duplicity of my lady’s heart, which might not have been discovered until after we had been wed.  For that I owe you a debt.”

            “The debt is paid in full,” said the Elf, gesturing to Hallas’ leg.  “Long shall I have departed from this land before you walk without pain.  And this I promise you:  If there is aught I can provide for you, any dainty or sweet or comfort, I shall send my esquire to you with it, to ease your convalescence, for a man of action deprived of his mobility soon becomes discontent.”

            “I thank you, my lord Elf,” said Hallas, deeply moved, and feeling a warmth of affection for the Elf.  “Never before have I spoken with one of the Fair Folk, and I count myself twice blessed to have both fought you and befriended you.  When I have sons, I shall tell them tales of the immortal people of the forests, and garner admiration in their eyes when I tell them that I tried myself against an Elf in a tournament, and was bested only by my own temper.”

            “A fine tale, though marred by a moral!” laughed the Elf, obscuring his face once more.  “My father would say that is the privilege of all who are unfortunate enough to raise sons.”  So saying, he waved his hand to the men, and quitted the tent, vanishing with a cold gust of air into the heavy rain.