Chapter 7 - Old Bartleman’s Inn

Trust Strider and that dwarf to be at an inn when I finally locate them! Sleeping under the stars is apparently not good enough for them any longer. It had to be the dwarf. Inns have ale. Dwarves like ale. Still, in fairness, Strider also likes ale. Does fairness to a dwarf aid me in anything? Why do they like ale? It is so disgusting.

Rúmil laughed silently and deep within himself as he drew the hood of his cloak further forward. He wished suddenly for Gilúviel’s dark hair. This silver of his did not look too mortal.

Yes. Here I am mortals! Elf with long silver hair sneaking through your land. Remember elves? The ones you hate. The ones who eat babies? Look, there’s one right by the inn! Solitary. Got silver hair and it’s braided. Must be an elf! Kill him!

Haldir would not be pleased to learn that his younger brother had taken such a risk. In fact, Rúmil had the strong feeling that his older brother might kill him even if he managed to survive this night with the mortals.

I could cut off the braids? Be less noticeable that way. No, I think Haldir would kill me for that even if I survived all else. Family pride and all that. Warrior braids. Very important. Ai, silver is silver, short or long! Must remember to discuss this with the Vanyar one day. Besides, Longshanks would never let me forget if I cut it.

He grinned at the thought of his little brother. He did love Orophin too much. That was certain. Sweet Orophin. I do not deserve him, Eru. Let me but die before him. Life without him. . .better death for his brothers than his absence. Eru! Protect our treasure. He is the last of our jewels. The very last.

Rúmil had always had the gift of detaching one small part of his mind for his own. Not even his brothers could go there. It was the place he went in battles while his body continued to fight and the rest of his mind to calculate and function. It was the part that let him think how really ridiculous and ugly these creatures were who were trying to hack his own body to pieces.

Over the years, there had been some very confused orcs who had almost killed Rúmil. Somehow they never did seem to get used to an elf who laughed madly as he drove them back and killed them.

He looked at the inn and was not pleased. It was as everything mortal he thought. Dangerous and too contained. You went in a door, and you were trapped. He had no choice though. The mortals and that dwarf were here.

Perhaps Haldir is right about men. If I were seeking elves, they would have had the sense to stay out of even this wayside inn. I’d be safe in a nice tree somewhere, discussing things quietly with intelligent beings. Instead, I have to find them in this noisy den of men and Eru knows what else. I do hope there is only one dwarf here. One is quite enough. Legolas and his strange friends. Ai!

In the darkness, Rúmil drew his cloak closer about him. It covered most of his weapons and, more importantly, his hair and ears. It was all he had for protection. For one second more, he paused to gather himself and then pushed through the door.

Good. It’s noisy and busy. Less chance of notice. It’s late enough that they will have been drinking for at least two hours. Drunken mortals notice less. By midnight, I could bring a mûmakil in here without much trouble. Not midnight yet, elf, remember that.

Rûmil approached the innkeeper as if nothing concerned him other than a meal and some rest. Even before the war’s ending, the inn between two market towns had been used to travelers of every land. Despite this, the old innkeeper Bartleman could not help but note the height and graceful bearing of the cloaked stranger before him. It had been a long time, but once as a young boy he had seen other travelers like this. He shook himself mentally at his own nonsense. They came no more to this land. He was surely mistaken. He bustled forward with a welcoming air.

"Good master, I greet you. Have you room for another traveler?"

"Aye, sir, always room for one more here. I can give you a nice private room for ten pieces of copper or a shared room for less. You are abroad late?" Rûmil looked at the book the innkeeper thrust at him. Laying the money for a private room on the counter, he smiled and carefully noted down in it: "Samwise Gamgee, Bree, Breeland."

"From the north! You have been traveling indeed!"

"I have traveled far, seeking a friend that I am told would abide here. Two men and a dwarf? Be they here?"

"Ah, let me see. We do have a party of dwarves, about five traveling to Aglarond I understand. Perhaps that group?"

So much for one dwarf. Five and no doubt none of them Gimli. Ask about one dwarf and this fool wants to shove me among five. Let me try this again.

"Nay, the man I seek would have but one dwarf with him and perhaps another man."

Rúmil waited for the man’s obviously slow mind to process this. His eyes noted all the possible means of escape from this enclosed place as he stood there very still. Why do they like to be in these places? You can’t feel the air on your face here or see the stars. Nothing but rancid smoke from their pipes and the air thick with the stench of their bodies and the stale smells of the kitchens.

"Ah, then you want the one who travels with Lord Faramir. Wonderful man, Lord Faramir. Comes here often."

Often? I do not know this mortal, but this does not recommend him to me. Probably Legolas likes him though. Legolas, I wish you were well enough for me to talk to you seriously about this affection for mortals that you are developing far too quickly.

Thinking of the prince made even this part of his mind hurt. Legolas, if you will but get well, I will cheerfully embrace any mortal you choose as your friend. I will wash afterwards, but I promise I will do it. I will make Haldir do the same even. Haldir will not only wash. He will probably soak for three days and possibly drown me in his bathwater. Anything for you, Prince Legolas! Just survive this.

"I do not know Lord Faramir save from his name, but I believe the man I seek would be with him."

"Name of Strider? There’s a tall bloke with Lord Faramir. Doesn’t talk much, but I heard the dwarf call him that."

"Yes. They are here now?"

Bartleman was beginning to become uneasy at the total stillness of his new guest. He never moved as he spoke, nor did he draw back his hood as folks did when coming inside.

Old Bartleman was used to odd folks. Dwarves could be a rowdy bunch, but they paid for their damages readily and with good humor. They liked to drink and fight, just like men. Bartleman could understand that and enjoy it even. This tall still one with his cool voice made the old man somehow nervous.

"Aye, they are waiting in the Common Room until their food is brought to the private area Lord Faramir has secured for their use."

Eru bless you, Lord Faramir! Private. Perhaps there is something in you worth knowing.

"Please say to Strider that Mr. Gamgee has an urgent message for him and would speak to him in this private room. Do this now, good sir. I will wait here."

Something in the stranger’s soft and cool voice made Bartleman move more quickly than he had in many a year. Looking back to the corner where the stranger had withdrawn, Bartleman was amazed. He knew the one called Gamgee was still there for the door had not opened. Yet, in the dim light of the inn’s doorway, Bartleman could no longer see him.

*****

"Sam, what on Arda are" Strider stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the slender cloaked figure Bartleman was escorting into the room. ". . .you doing here? It is good to see you again, Sam."

Strider extended his hand to the cloaked elf, who had the presence of mind to take it. Rúmil had seen Aragorn do this once at Minas Tirith, and Haldir had told him it was some custom of theirs in greeting.

"Mr. Bartleman, Mr. Gamgee will be joining us at table. See that there is fruit and cheese as well as the meat you will bring us. You still drink wine, Sam? Bring your best wine as well as water, Mr. Bartleman."

Nice recovery, Aragorn. Full marks for that one.  Rúmil waited until his elven hearing told him that Bartleman was no longer outside the closed door. 

"By the Valar, Strider, I thought you were out seeking what hurt Legolas. I did not expect to track you to a drunken tavern!"

"Rúmil? What of Legolas? He is not. . ." Strider’s voice trailed off in misery, and Rúmil forgot a little of his anger.

"He lived still when I left Minas Tirith, a little more than a week ago. At that time, he was somewhat better." Seeing the smile light Aragorn’s face, the elf knew he had to control this quick rise of too much hope. "Haldir thinks the improvement will not last. Legolas’ strength is fading. I have been sent to bring you news, and to bring Gimli to him. Legolas would be with Gimli if the end comes."

Rúmil saw the dwarf’s face at his words and wondered. Never before had he seen such despair on any creature’s face. How could a dwarf look so for an elf? He admired the great courage that kept the dwarf silent as he sought to absorb the evil news.

"Be still! We will speak more later. The innkeeper returns." Rúmil pulled the hood of his cloak to cast a deeper shadow upon his face.

Bartleman was too curious now to stay away. He himself was bringing in the meal. He bustled about with the young maidservent Faramir had seen on previous visits.

The prince was watching Rúmil as closely as he could through the hooded cloak. Except for Legolas and Arwen, Faramir knew little of elves. He had met the brother of this one he thought. An elf called Haldir. A very aloof elf called Haldir. Faramir remembered being politely ignored after his introduction.

*****

Faramir had been the one to finally get Bartleman back out the door and close it. As an extra precaution, he threw the bolt. All the innkeeper’s curiosity remained unsatisfied, and Faramir knew that was not a good thing. He liked Old Bartleman, but the man had an ear for gossip and a quick tongue.

Faramir had found the old man’s ear for all that passed through his doors more than useful in the past. It was what had brought them to the inn these past few nights. The inn was a rich source of information if one knew how to listen and ask the right questions. They had learned much.

Hearing the bolt, Rúmil drew back his hood and Faramir was able to see him for the first time. He looked like the aloof elf Faramir remembered from the coronation. A little shorter and thinner, but the silver hair was exactly the same. The elf nodded at him at Aragorn’s introduction but said nothing. Faramir was starting to become accustomed to being ignored by elves. He settled back to observe.

Aragorn handed Rúmil a plate with cheese and bread and a small amount of the venison stew. Faramir saw the elf wrinkle his nose in distaste at the smell of the stew even as he dipped his spoon into it to eat. Unlike most elves, Rúmil ate what was set before him. This was useful in war.

"What news do you bring of Legolas? I must know more." For the first time, Gimli managed to speak. His voice was as steady as always.

That one hurts in his heart. He conceals it well. I give him that. He will know the worst and know it at once. That is like Haldir and I. Best do this swiftly and cleanly.

The elf chewed the tough meat and swallowed it with difficulty. He took the cup of water and almost drained it.

"When I left, he was in a curing part of this foul evil he bears. He was able to eat and smile and even laugh at a foolish letter from Pippin. The week before, Haldir says he was almost taken by death. By now, who knows? Haldir does not think the improved stage will last long this time. He is ever weaker and soon will have no strength left to fight." Rúmil took a deep breath. "Gimli, Haldir gave me Legolas’ words to you. Would you hear them alone?"

"Nay, lad, these friends may hear as well."

"He said, ‘Tell Gimli, it is growing darker and the walls seem closer to me. Tell him to remember his promise to the elf. The elf calls him and holds him to that promise.’ These are the words Haldir told me for him. I know not their meaning."

It took all Gimli’s strength not to bow his head and weep in despair. He felt Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder and looked up into the face of the king.

"I promised to never let him be alone in darkness again. I promised to come when he called me and to guide him through it. Aragorn, I must go to him at once!"

"At first light, Gimli. I shall ride with you. We will reach him in time."

The dwarf said nothing more for the rest of the evening, but all were aware of the deep sadness that came from him as he sat in the corner of the room, his entire being fixed on Legolas.

Aragorn turned back to the elf. "You said you brought news for me as well?"

"We have had news that Thranduil rides at the head of a great force of his warriors. We believe his course is towards Minas Tirith. I estimate he will be there in no more than two more weeks, probably less. Thranduil’s riders are skilled, their horses swift. They will rest little. As I left, Gilúviel had sent forth his own riders to try and learn more. We know not yet if the king has called upon the old alliance of the Galadhrim. It is likely, but we do not know for certain. Haldir has had no word yet from Celeborn. A rider has also been sent to him."

It was a soldier’s report to a field captain, brief and with all the known facts. Never had Faramir seen the king sit down suddenly as if overwhelmed. Faramir had never even heard of Thranduil.

"Who is this man, Aragorn? Who is Thranduil?"

Aragorn rubbed his face with both hands as if he was weary. "He is no man, Faramir, but an elf. The king of the largest elven realm in Arda. A warrior without peer. For too many years, he held back Sauron’s evil almost alone. We were complacent elsewhere, and Thranduil’s people paid the price for us. He trusts few even among elves. Galadriel and Celeborn alone, I think, have his full confidence. He and his people never stopped fighting. If we owe much to Frodo, we owe almost the same to Thranduil. With Galadriel and Celeborn, he held back the shadow in the North and protected our backs."

"Then, why is his coming a cause of your worry? Surely, he is a friend? Still, I see your face, Aragorn. You are almost frightened." Faramir glanced at Rúmil and saw the elf watching Aragorn closely.

"Thranduil has no liking for men. He lost his father and too many of his warriors in the Last Alliance. Isildur is a foul taste still in his mouth. He fought of late only for his alliance with the Lady and Celeborn and perhaps other reasons I know not. He did not fight for men. Of that, I am sure."

"Why would he ride with an army to Minas Tirith? I do not understand what concerns you and that elf?"

Rúmil arched an eyebrow delicately at this careless reference to him. Aragorn did not miss the look on the elf’s face and wished there were a way to kick his steward without being seen.

"A small concern of the elf is that King Thranduil also happens to be Legolas’ father. I dare say he is not best pleased with Gondor at the moment, and"

Rúmil smiled ever so sweetly at the prince ". . .his mood could rapidly worsen. Of course, perhaps his temper is a bit exaggerated? One could hope that is true. As I know him from childhood, I rather doubt this, but one could hope. I am only an elf. I could be wrong."

Faramir felt uncomfortable and that increased as Aragorn rapidly said something in elvish which sounded very much like it might be an apology for his own actions. On the whole, Faramir decided it was much easier to deal with dwarves.

"Rúmil is right, Faramir. If Thranduil wishes to make trouble, I assure you that he is quite capable of doing a lot of damage just on his own. If Celeborn has joined him, I do not like to think on that combination. It is an old alliance and well tested."

Aragorn gratefully took the cup of wine Rúmil poured for him. He noted none was offered to Faramir.

"Celeborn is temperate and would try and dissuade him, Faramir, but he would stand with Thranduil in the end. They do not fail one another those two, and that is my biggest fear." Aragorn bit savagely into his bread and drank his wine.

"Faramir, if Celeborn rides, so will Ithilien’s elves and Eru knows which others. Many owe Thranduil and Celeborn from the past. Gondor has not yet recovered from the last war. It is still weakened and disorganized. I do not want what has happened to Legolas to escalate into a new war against those who have been our friends. Rúmil, what do you think Gilúviel will do?"

"Try to calm his father and reason with him." Rúmil looked at Aragorn and felt sorrow. "Gilúviel does not want war with Gondor, Aragorn, nor do my brothers and I." The elf’s voice grew even quieter.

"I am sorry, but, if war comes, Aragorn, we will stand with Thranduil. Kinslaying is forbidden to us, and Celeborn is our Lord. Our loyalty and our lives are his. Legolas himself would have no choice to do otherwise."

Rúmil did not add that, in a final battle of elves and men, even Imladris would side against Aragorn. They would be the last to come, but they would in the end. There was no need for the man to know this until he had to face it.

It’s bad enough that I know this terrible truth. Imladris and Lórien against her husband and son. Her grandfather and brothers riding against her husband’s realm. This would destroy Arwen. This cannot happen. Ah, Rúmil, you are about to get yourself into serious trouble once more. Do you never learn?

"To fight against elves would kill me, Rúmil. It would be like fighting the other half of my heart. I would have to choose between my country and my very being." Aragorn bowed his head and leaned on his knees.

And now him. Curse him! How did I ever get to be friends with him? I should hate him and cannot. Why? Rúmil, you are a fool of an elf. If they give you a choice in Mandos, take orc. It would be so much simpler to be an orc. Someone points out your enemy to you, and you never question the fact. Yes, next time, I will choose orc. They are ugly, of course, but one cannot have everything.

Sighing at his own folly, the elf walked over and lay his strong hands on the king’s slumping shoulders.

"Then, Strider, perhaps it would be good if the two of us joined together to try and prevent this war? What do you think? Of course, it is only an elf’s idea, so it is a dubious one I am sure."

Aragorn looked up at the face of his friend and saw that same crooked grin he knew so well. He found himself smiling right back.

"You would have made a good orc, Rúmil, do you know that?"

"It has been mentioned to me at times. Usually by Haldir."

The elf’s face grew serious as he sat down beside the king and Faramir.  "This will not be easy, Strider. I spent much of my childhood in Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood? You are from Lórien." Aragorn was surprised. The brothers rarely spoke of their lives together even to other elves. He only knew Haldir had raised them after their parents were killed.

"My father was a close friend to the king, and they were young warriors together. When we lost our parents, Thranduil and Lalaith wished to share in our raising. You know it is important for elves to have family. With our own lady and lord, they became ours."

Rúmil’s eyes grew softer at the thought of the elf who loved him. Thranduil the Fierce had ever been the one to first hear and rescue an orphan with nightmares. He remembered that great booming laugh that chased away all the dark fears of the sleeping chamber even as the king lit a small candle to drive back the shadows and posted himself by the bedside as guard.  To keep away the orcs, he would tell Haldir's young brothers.

"Thranduil is not an easy elf. He is fierce and suspicious, especially of men, and he has a temper that it is wise to leave sleeping. Still, he is not as many paint him. He is just, even if the justice at times seems harsh, and he does not risk his warriors without clear cause. He will never attack Gondor until he is sure that the evil that has been done Legolas can be laid at your feet."

"I would do no evil to Legolas! He is my friend, Rúmil. You know that."

"I know also that to be a king is to bear the responsiblity for all your people and their actions. This Thranduil taught me. It is how he lives and judges. We must find the source of this evil and let him know that Elessar truly rules Gondor and will deal with it in strength."

"Aragorn, we have not shown Rúmil yet what we have found." Faramir bowed his head to the elf in what he hoped would be taken as apology. His reward was a soft laugh and a cup of wine handed to him.

"Yes, we also have news for you Rúmil. We do not sit idly here in this tavern. In the cave, we found much evidence and here this week, we have found confirmation." Aragorn thrust several parchments across to the elf.

For a time in the room all was silent as Rúmil read, and the others waited. Finally, the elf finished and sat perfectly still for several minutes with his head bent forward, silver hair masking his face.

As he lifted his head, Rúmil’s training as a warrior did not fail him. He kept his whole being calm as he turned to Aragorn and spoke in a quiet voice.

"If this is true, it means that Curunír yet lives." There was no smile on Rúmil’s face.