Nobody seemed to understand how he felt, certainly not his fellow Breelanders.
"Be reasonable, Beomann," Tim Brockhouse said patiently. "We Breefolk aren't warrriors, neither the Big nor the Little." Tim was a Hobbit. "What good would it have done us, or the Rangers, if we'd known all this? We'd only have worried ourselves sick over things we couldn't help."
"Tim's right." Geoff Heathertoes agreed. "We're plain, practical folk in Bree, not heroes or wizards. The Rangers were quite right to let us tend to our business in peace."
"While they defended us!" Beomann demanded.
"Why not?" Dan Rushlight chimed in. "That's their business isn't it? Let them get on with it I say." frowned a little. "Mind you we could have been a good bit kinder and more helpful, would have been too if we'd known."
The other Men and Hobbits nodded agreement. "Well we know now don't we?" said Tim's brother Tam, "We'll make it up to them."
"Oh you're all hopeless!" Beomann cried, and slammed out of the room.
He stormed down the long, empty palace corridor and out a door opening onto a sort of hanging porch or gallery looking over the city to the Lake only to find it already occupied.
For a moment he completely failed to recognize the Man in dark grey velvet perched on the parapet between two sleander pillars. Then he did and his jaw dropped.
"Gil?"
He nodded, eyes glinting amusement. "I clean up well, do I?"
That was an understatement! Gil's hair was clean and combed and crowned by a thin circlet of silver twisted with gold and there was a chain thick set with pearls glimmering against the soft velvet.
He looked like a prince and Beomann remembered abruptly he *was* a prince, descended from the King who had disappeared and close kin to the one who'd returned, and his hurt, frustration and anger overflowed.
"You didn't tell us! The Elves and Dwarves knew all about you but you hid yourselves from us, your own people! It's not right, it's not fair!"
Gil looked at him in astonishment as he continued bitterly. "But maybe you were right, the others don't seem to care there's been a war going on for a thousand years with us knowing nothing about it, coddled like we were children." Beomann's eyes filled with tears. "We were the King's people too, as much as you, he should have trusted us."
"It was not a lack of trust." Gil said emphatically, got up from his perch to put two firm hands on Beomann's shoulders and transfix him with a level silver-shot stare. "There are no braver or loyaler folk in all Middle Earth than our own country people, and nobody knows that better than the House of the Kings. Men and Hobbits alike fought valiantly in the Witch Wars and paid a bitter price for it. They died by the thousands in the plague years, were driven from their lands by the Enemy and lost nearly half their men to war.
"When your fathers swore allegiance to the Kings we swore in return to defend you from foes." a wry twist of the lips. "It seemed to Aranarth that while you had more than kept your side of the bargain we had done a very poor job of keeping ours."
"That wasn't your fault."
"In a sense it was." Gil said soberly. "The Dark Lord cared nothing for Men of your kind or Hobbits, it was Isildur's heirs and the Men of Westerness he sought to destroy. It was never your war."
"Tell that to Frodo Baggins."
Gil blinked, then laughed. "You're right of course. The fight against the Shadow belongs to us all, and it was not the 'High Men of the West' who won this battle." he shrugged. "Forgive me, sometimes we tend take to much upon ourselves." continued. "Aranarth thought to give your people time to recover and rebuild, and afterwards there seemed no reason you involve you directly as you were doing good service as you were."
Beomann gave him a look of open skepticism and he smiled. "No truly, not only did you grow the food we needed to sustain us but you kept Arnor from turning entirely into the Wild."
The younger Man thought that over. "Well...maybe you've got a point there. But I still think we should have been told."
"Maybe we were wrong." Gil conceed, flashed a quick smile, "it wouldn't be the first time. But please believe we meant no slight to your people's valor or their loyalty."
"All right." Beomann mumbled, feeling mollified almost in spite of himself, and a little silly.
"I'm glad your folk hold no grudge as we will be needing your help badly." the Ranger continued.
"*Our* help?" Beomann repeated, incredulously.
Gil nodded, picked up the letter he'd been reading off the parapet ledge. "Aragorn - Strider, the King - has in his infinite wisdom resolved to rebuild the cities." his dry tone suggested he was none to enthusiastic about the idea.
But Beomann's eyes glowed. "Rebuild the cities? Norbury and Sudbury and Wutherington?" (1)
Gil's eyebrows rose a little and he tilted his head thoughtfully. "The idea appeals to you?'
"Of course! You need us to help with the building?"
A shake of the head. "No, we'll have the Dwarves and our kin from the South to help us there, We need you to teach us how to live in a settled country again." Beomann stared and he smiled wryly. "We've lived lone in the Wild for more than a thousand years, and its been at least that long since we practiced any trade but war." his face turned suddenly sad. "Much has been forgotten," he continued softly, "commerce and crafts and the growing of food. We can relearn those things from you."
Beomann had a brief, incongruous vision of a class of solemn Rangers listening attentively as he lectured them on innkeeping. "If that's what you want." *********************************************
1. Norbury is Fornost, Sudbury Cardol and Wutherington was the city that once stood on the slopes of Weathertop beneath Minas Sul, the Tower of the Winds.
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