The hot sun of early Urimë beat down on the flattened pale
grasses of the practice field. Thorongil could see sweat beading on the
faces and necks of his men as they paused at the end of the exercise.
"Again," he said.
The five junior recruits pulled faces of varying dismay, but obediently
raised their weapons and ran through the drill once more. Thorongil had
paired Imrahil with himself; the scion of Dol Amroth strained to block
his captain's moves, but this was the most effective way for him to
learn as quickly as possible. Though Thorongil had made no undertaking
to promote Imrahil quickly, he intended to do so if he could, and so
far the lad showed great promise.
As they finished, young Arthad gave a shout. "Supply train!"
Sure enough, three wagons were creaking along the rough trail that led
from the great Harad Road to the site of the company's camp in the
forests of North Ithilien. Thorongil wondered if there would be a
letter from Finduilas either for himself or for Imrahil; the lady was a
faithful correspondent, and nearly every courier brought some missive
from the south for either her birth-brother or her adopted one.
Then he caught sight of the outriders accompanying the wagons. What
in Arda is the Lord Denethor doing here? He told the recruits to go
back to camp, put away their gear, and clean themselves up, asking
Imrahil in addition to tell the officers that they had a high-ranking
visitor arriving.
Hurrying forward, he wished that he had had warning of this visit. Not
that he feared that Denethor would find aught amiss, but an extra
inspection would have done no harm.
"My lord," he bowed. "What brings the Captain of the White Tower here
to Ithilien? What may we do for you?"
Denethor dismounted and handed his reins over, telling the man to be
sure to check over his horse's feet before placing it on the picket
lines or in the stables. "I come not as the Captain of the White Tower,
but rather in the stead of the Steward. He has asked me to survey all
of the camps and companies of Ithilien with an eye to determining their
best disposition."
"I see. Do you begin with us, or end?"
"Yours is the second company of Rangers that I will visit. I expect to
spend two or three days here before moving on. I would like to look
around the camp, of course, and probably accompany some of your men on
patrol as well," said Denethor.
"Of course, as you choose. Come, I will have a tent readied for you."
Thorongil glanced at the sun. "The evening meal will be served in less
than two hours. I generally eat with my officers and with several of
the men in rotation; I find that it helps morale to give the men a
chance to speak more freely. Will you join me?"
"Certainly. I am sure you will first wish to supervise the unloading of
your supplies, however."
"I do, so I will send one of the lads to fetch you when it is time." He
paused before a large tent and gestured at it. "You may sleep here;
normally it is used as the infirmary, but at present we have no men
wounded so gravely as to need it, and it is the largest available.
There is even a table within; I imagine you may wish to write down your
impressions of what you see here. One of the men will be here shortly
to see if you need anything else," said Thorongil.
"Thank you, Captain Thorongil. I am sure it will suit well." Denethor
sketched a bow and entered the tent.
Watching the unloading of the bags of flour and beans into storage,
Thorongil still wondered why the Steward had chosen to send Denethor
rather than coming himself, as was his wont. I hope this does not
mean that Ecthelion is not well. Perhaps he simply finds himself too
busy this year; he has always seemed to enjoy traveling around the
lands of Gondor. Had he been born into another family, I think he would
have made an excellent merchant!
"Here's the post, captain." Aldadil, his second, handed him the leather
pouch. "A fair few letters this time, it seems."
Thorongil quickly sorted through them. Mostly personal messages to the
men, one or two official communications for himself – though he rather
thought that Denethor might have more to give him – and, yes, a letter
from Finduilas to Imrahil. Taking his own, he handed the rest back to
Aldadil.
"See that these reach the men this evening. I wouldn't want anyone to
be delayed in hearing from his sweetheart or family! Those to the men
currently on patrol, you can leave with their tentmates or bring back
to me to keep for their return, as you think best. Oh, and make sure
that there is an extra place at my table tonight; Captain Denethor will
be joining us."
Aldadil's eyes widened. "Do you want the men on rota to sit there,
then, or not?"
"Whose turn is it?"
"It's all youngsters today: Imrahil, Arthad, and Baldor. Well, Baldor
isn't that young, I suppose, but he's from Pinnath Gelin and a bit of a
cut-up, so I think of him as one of the lads. I'll be there, of course,
and Dagnir, and sergeant Lasmir, but Ostoher is out on patrol. Suits
you?"
"That will be fine. I told Captain Denethor that I normally eat with
some of the men as well as my officers, so he'll be expecting that.
Just make sure that Denethor sits next to me, and perhaps place Imrahil
to his other side. Put Baldor at the other end of the table, I think,"
Thorongil instructed.
Aldadil winked, saying, "Your reputation for wisdom is once again
proved accurate! Don't worry, I'll make sure that Baldor is as far from
the Lord Captain as possible."
Thorongil went to his own tent to splash water on his face and change
into fresh clothing for the meal, something he rarely bothered to do
out in the wilds. Whatever Denethor is looking for, we'll show him
our best.
***
Denethor nodded politely, if rather stiffly, at both officers and
enlisted men as he moved to sit next to Thorongil's side at the table.
"I fear that we have only standard camp fare to offer you," said
Thorongil lightly. "The supply wagons came too late today for anything
more."
A wave of Denethor's hand dismissed the matter. "I would expect nothing
else. I do not require special treatment; in fact I prefer to share
what your men eat." He looked down at his plate. "Indeed, I see they
dine quite well."
"The advantage of the season; there are still enough abandoned farms
nearby that it is quite easy to get the men to gather a few fruits and
so on, as they return from their patrols. They know it will improve
their meals, at least for the time being."
"I see." Denethor turned toward his right.
Oh, no. I forgot to warn Denethor that Imrahil was maintaining
anonymity here. An ordinary recruit would not be known to the Steward's
Heir!
Luckily Denethor did not address the young man by name, merely
inquiring, "And how do you feel about acting as half-farmer, then? Was
this what you expected when you joined Captain Thorongil's company?"
"Not what I expected, no sir, but I don't mind it. I would willingly
pick a few plums, and even dig a few carrots, rather than live on dried
beans and bread all the time," Imrahil responded.
Thorongil added quickly, "Young Imrahil is one of our best new recruits
this year, Captain Denethor. I believe you are scheduled to go out on
patrol tomorrow, are you not, Imrahil?" At the boy's nod, he continued,
"Since you wished to join one of the patrols, I would recommend that
one. They will be sweeping southward as far as the waterfall of Henneth
Annûn, and then returning the next day."
Denethor raised a forkful of beans to his mouth. "That would suit. I
will wish to speak with you and your officers privately as well,
tonight or later."
"We are at your command, sir," said Thorongil, inclining his head in
respect.
The other man gazed at him a moment, plainly suspecting mockery, but
there was nothing to be said. The conversation at table then became
general, about the state of the roads and the weather – Lasmir claimed
it was the worst year for thunderstorms he had seen in twenty-three
years' service in Ithilien. Denethor listened carefully to what both
officers and men had to say; Thorongil was relieved that Aldadil was
sitting next to Baldor, ready to intervene if the latter began some
unfortunate story.
At the end of the meal he offered Denethor another mug of ale and a
pipe in his tent. The Steward's Heir accepted the first, but remarked
that he saw the pipe as a filthy habit.
"Perhaps so," Thorongil admitted, "but one I learned in my youth. I
have shared many a pipe with a companion."
"Such as?" Denethor lifted an eyebrow.
"The lord Mithrandir, for one. He visited Rohan while I was in
Thengel-King's service." True so far as it goes, if not the entire
truth of the matter.
"Ah. So you know Mithrandir. And what drew you to Gondor? I do not
believe I have ever heard your reasons."
Careful, now. I do not know why he enquires thus, but I mislike the
gleam in his eye. "I found life among the Rohirrim too limiting. I
wished to see more of the world, to find a place where I could hone my
skills and put them to good use," said Thorongil.
"Do you not find captaining a band of Ithilien Rangers too limiting as
well, a man of your evident abilities? I know the Steward sponsors this
company; I am surprised you have not asked him for more. No doubt he
would grant whatever you wished," Denethor shut his lips tightly.
Now we come to it. He fears my ambition, and is surely aware of the
rumors of my parentage. No wonder, then, that he sees me as a threat to
his position as both son and commander.
"I have no immediate wish to leave this station," he answered mildly.
"The Steward assigned me to serve in Ithilien, and here I will remain
until he chooses otherwise. I swore oath to serve faithfully, obey
willingly, and advise wisely; and should he ask my advice, I would say
to strengthen the forces here, yes, but also to look to the south. When
last I was in Minas Tirith I heard rumors that Umbar prepared for war.
I imagine you have heard them as well."
Denethor favored him with a long look, then raised his ale to his lips.
Setting the emptied cup aside, he replied, "Umbar may be a distant
threat, but Gondor's true enemy is the Dark Lord to the east. I would
support adding to the defense of Ithilien, but not diverting our
strength southward at this time, not until and unless we are more
immediately threatened there. Since I speak for the Steward, what would
your advice be to him there – to enlarge the present companies, or add
more of them? I am inclined to the latter."
Thorongil frowned, pondering the implications of the different
possibilities. "It depends on the number of good, reliable officers
available," he said. "More smaller companies would perhaps serve the
purpose better, but only if led by competent men."
"True," conceded Denethor, "though I think that need not be seen as a
grave difficulty. Many of our present lower officers might be worthy of
promotion, though their captains would doubtless regret the loss to
their companies. Would not your own second – Aldadil, is that not his
name? – make a fine captain?"
"He would," Thorongil agreed. "But the hour grows late. Shall we
discuss this further upon your return, two days hence?"
Denethor nodded, but remained seated.
"Was there something else you wished, my lord?" inquired Thorongil.
The Captain of the White Tower hesitated. "No – no – nothing. That is –
young Imrahil is one of those who will go out on patrol tomorrow, is he
not?"
"He is," said Thorongil, puzzled.
"Very well." Denethor nodded curtly and rose, bidding the other a good
night.
The next morning Thorongil beckoned Imrahil to him as the lad was
packing his gear to leave.
"Captain Denethor was inquiring about you last night. He wanted to be
sure that you were one of the men on today's patrol. Would you happen
to know why his interest?"
Imrahil grinned. "I can only imagine that he wishes to speak to me of
my sister."
"Finduilas? Why?"
"Why, because they have been corresponding since Narvinyë. She
says – and I expect she is right – that Denethor would like to wed her.
Though he has not yet said so to her in so many words, I
believe he may have spoken to our father. I received a letter from
Finduilas last night, you know, and while Denethor is probably not
aware of that, he may well hope I have fresher news of her than he."
"I see," said Thorongil thoughtfully. That would explain what I saw
at the Steward's dinner, last winter; though I am rather surprised that
Finduilas has made no mention of this to me. He clapped Imrahil on
the shoulder. "Ready to go? A two-day patrol should be no trouble to
you."
"Indeed not." Imrahil patted the breast of his tunic. "And I have a
charm for luck, now; Fin has sent me a rose from the gardens at Dol
Amroth, with the injunction to bear her in mind as I carry it."
"A kind thought." Thorongil paused for a moment, then added, "It might
be wise of you not to mention that your sister corresponds with me as
well as yourself, should the subject arise. Though she calls me a
second brother, I do not know but that Denethor might misconstrue her
affection."
"True enough," said Imrahil. "He seems not to be a warm man, himself,
and might not understand the emotions of others. I shall be discreet, I
promise." He looked over and said, "It seems that the others are all
now ready; so I will see you in a couple of days, captain."
Thorongil spoke a few words with Dagnir, who was in charge of the
detachment, and watched them depart. Denethor asks for no special
treatment, he thought, which is as well since we have little
ability here to provide such! I will be curious to know how he fares.
Commanding the Guards of the Citadel and acting as his father's
assistant is an honorable position, but not the best preparation for an
excursion into the back country of Ithilien.
***
Two evenings later the patrol returned, without incident. It seemed
that the drowsy heat was keeping even the Orcs denned up in their caves
in the Ephel Dúath. Thorongil was relieved; he had not seriously
worried that some harm would come to Denethor, but accidents could
always happen and it would not look well to have the man injured while
– in a sense – under his authority.
Denethor immediately went to his tent to write up his impressions of
the patrol and the company. Thorongil was in the midst of another
practice with his recruits, and was pleased to see Imrahil drop his
gear in his tent and come to join them.
"How fared you with the captain?" Thorongil asked in an undertone as he
showed the lad what he had missed.
"He is well enough as a soldier," shrugged Imrahil. "He made no
complaint at the pace nor the discomfort."
"And did he speak with you of your sister?"
Imrahil shook his head. "Hardly at all. He watched me a good deal, but
we spoke little. He did ask if she was well, the last I had heard, and
I assured him that she was, although distressed by our mother's
health." After a moment he continued, "Speaking of which, sir,
Finduilas begged me to ask if there would be any chance of my obtaining
leave to go home to visit before the end of this year; it seems
unlikely that my mother will live much longer." His face tightened and
he bit his lip.
"I will see what may be possible. I will certainly oblige you, if I
can; though it might cost you your anonymity, to have special
consideration given," said Thorongil. "We will speak of this again.
Now, take the stance as I showed you, and let us have at it."
His attention divided between his defense against Imrahil and the
actions of the other four recruits, Thorongil was nonetheless startled
when the heir of Dol Amroth managed a touch on his wrist.
"Well done," he congratulated the panting lad. "Especially coming at
the end of a long day! All right, now," he called to the others. "Put
up your weapons. We will practice again tomorrow, those of you who are
here. But now it's time for the evening mess, so off to your tents to
stow your things first."
The young men jogged off towards the line of flapping canvas, and
Thorongil followed more slowly. He saw Denethor standing, speaking with
Aldadil, but the men broke off their conversation as he approached.
"Did you enjoy your two days out in the hills?" he asked the other
captain.
"Well enough," said Denethor indifferently. "I was more interested in
seeing how your officer and men conducted their business, and the lay
of the land. I was just speaking with Aldadil here," he laid a hand on
the other's arm, "about the possibility of adding new companies. I
trust you would be willing to relinquish his assistance, should it come
to that? I would not rob you of all your officers, of course,
but you spoke well of his abilities and he sounds a likely man for
promotion. No changes would happen until after the year's turning, but
I thought you should be forewarned."
"I should be very sorry to lose Aldadil as a second, certainly, but I
would not stand in the way of his advancement," replied Thorongil,
receiving a broad smile from the man in question.
"Good. I will make note of that, in my report to the Steward." Denethor
looked toward the mess tent. "Is it time for the meal? You will excuse
me for a moment to get ready. I will be there shortly." He turned
towards his own tent.
Aldadil nudged Thorongil's arm, grinning openly. "How about that, then?
A promotion! Not that I haven't enjoyed serving under you, sir, but the
chance for my own command – well, you can see that I wouldn't turn it
down."
"No, of course not. We can talk about the differences between a second
and a captainship, over the winter, if you like, so that whenever this
might come through, you'll be prepared for it."
"Do you suppose that you'll get a new officer assigned in my place, or
will you just move everyone here up a rank, and find some bright fellow
to fill Ostoher's position? There are several likely possibilities;
Sarnegil, for one, or even young Imrahil, perhaps. He puts me in mind
of someone, that lad, though I'm not sure who," said Aldadil, brow
wrinkling.
"Ah, he looks like every other lanky lad, as far as I can tell,"
Thorongil turned the conversation, and chatting companionably, they
moved on.
We shall see what we shall see. I begin to understand Denethor's
purposes here; I wonder if he sees what he does as clearly as I.
That evening at dinner Denethor sat away from Thorongil, talking
earnestly with Aldadil on his left and Dagnir on his right. Ostoher's
patrol had returned late that morning and the junior officer sat
opposite the Steward's Heir, listening.
Thorongil smiled at the three enlisted men on his end of the table.
"Any news or complaints to give me today?"
They looked at one another, and Horon glanced furtively along the board
towards the other officers. "Not at present, sir, no," he muttered.
"I see," said Thorongil slowly. "Well, then, would you pass that dish
of beans along to me? I don't know what they've seasoned it with, but
it's more flavorful than usual." Taking a large spoonful, he tried
another topic. "Did you reach Henneth Annûn in time to see the
sunset from behind the waterfall?"
Horon's face broke into a smile. "Yes, we did. Who would have thought a
cave could look like that? Ciryon here said it would be better than
living in a palace."
"Not that he's ever been in a palace, I'm sure," Sarnegil interjected.
Ciryon dug an elbow into Sarnegil's ribs. "As if you have, either.
Captain, what would you say? You've been in both."
"Palaces have their uses, but for beauty I would take the Window on the
Sunset," Thorongil admitted. "Not that I am likely to ever spend much
time in either, any more than any of you."
"But you have to report to the Steward when you're in Minas Tirith,
don't you? And I heard that he invites all the captains to the Feast at
mettarë, those in the city at least, so you must have gone
last winter," said Horon.
Sarnegil added, "I heard the captain danced with the daughter of Dol
Amroth there. Reason enough to aspire to an officer's position for me!"
He chuckled to show that he did not really think that was a sufficient
motive.
Thorongil noticed that Denethor had turned his head at the sound of the
words "Dol Amroth." And you would expect otherwise? Best to shift
the topic, now.
He spoke to Sarnegil. "If you really are interested in the chance of
becoming an officer, then show it. We are always on the lookout for men
who want responsibility."
The fellow's eyes widened and he swallowed. "Thank you, sir. I will. I
mean, I do. I mean. . ."
"He's overcome," said Ciryon. "Don't mind him, he'll learn to speak
again sometime. Here, Sarnegil, have another helping of stew and you'll
grow up big and strong like the captain here."
Talk then turned to more general matters for a few minutes until the
meal was ended. When the three men had left to go to their assigned
chores for the evening, Thorongil stood and asked Denethor and his
officers to join him in his tent.
Handing around mugs of ale, he said, "You wished to speak with all of
us before your departure tomorrow, I believe, my lord."
The Captain of the White Tower nodded, accepting the drink. "Yes. I
have spoken with each of you already at least once, but to ensure that
everyone knows what the Lord Steward's plans are, this meeting is
wise." He sat stiffly upright on the one chair in Thorongil's tent;
Thorongil himself and the other officers made do with camp stools. "The
Lord Ecthelion is concerned about the encroachments of the Orcs and
other vermin into Ithilien and intends to strengthen our presence here.
The most probable decision – the one I shall certainly urge – is to
increase the number of companies, rather than the size of each. So it
is quite likely that some of you junior officers may be promoted and
dispersed. Captain Thorongil will, I expect, remain in his present
command here, where his talents at training recruits seem to be put to
good use. He has indicated that he has no particular ambition to move."
Denethor smiled coldly.
Thorongil heard the speech in wearied annoyance. That is not
exactly what I said. But to say otherwise now would only show me in an
ill light, caviling at changes and unwilling to accept the promotion of
good men. Cleverly done. Denethor will do well as Steward, someday, but
it will be best for me to be gone before that day arrives – unless I
choose to press my own claim.
Aldadil was looking at his captain in some surprise. He knows
better; we have spoken of the rumors from the south. No, don't speak,
man.
To forestall any time-wasting arguments he forced a pleasant expression
and said, "I will, naturally, do as the Steward decides. I trust that
you have a good report to make of what you have seen here in this
company, or you would not be considering promotion for my officers?" Two
can play at the game of compliment and undercut.
Denethor frowned slightly. "There is always room for improvement, of
course. No man may take his position for granted." He looked Thorongil
in the eye. "Whomever he may look to, in Minas Tirith. . . or
elsewhere."
The junior officers looked confused. "Excuse me, sir," said Dagnir,
"but who is in command, except the Steward?"
"None commands Gondor but Ecthelion," said Denethor. "I am sure that
you agree, Captain Thorongil?"
"I have said so," Thorongil replied quietly.
"So you have." Denethor pushed his cup away and stood. "I shall depart
early in the morning, and I have reports to write yet, so I shall bid
you all a good night." He ducked out through the tent flap.
Aldadil looked at Thorongil. "What did Captain Denethor mean, saying
you do not wish to move? You told me only last month that you hoped you
might serve in the south, should it come to war there."
"He hears what he wishes to hear, I think, as many men do," said
Thorongil. "The captain – and perhaps the Steward, though I do not know
– does not wish to think that war might be stirring in Umbar once
again, and hopes that by ignoring matters they will not come to pass.
But he has said that if a serious threat arises there, it will not be
lightly dismissed." He shrugged.
"He doesn't seem to like you very much," said Ostoher, speaking for the
first time. "It looked to me as if he were challenging you. And what
was that about looking to someone besides the Steward? You came to
Gondor from Rohan – but you've sworn oath to Ecthelion, surely he
doesn't doubt your loyalty?"
"I don't think he was speaking of Thengel," said Thorongil. No, I
think he spoke of Mithrandir. But why mistrust the wizard? Unless he
mistrusts me because I know Mithrandir, and Mithrandir because he knows
me? That makes no sense. At least I did not swear to Ecthelion himself,
but to Gondor. I could not take oath to a man whose rule I might need
to challenge.
"Oh, well. Denethor's a fine captain, I hear from my brother in the
Guards, even if he is a bit cold; and he's the Steward's Heir, so I
suppose it makes sense that he'd be worried about politics and loyalty
as well as military ability. Well, if he ever asks, we all know that
our captain is loyal, don't we, lads?" said Aldadil. He rose and
stretched. "I'm supervising watch tonight, so I'd best be off."
Ostoher and Dagnir remained for another mug of ale, then also bade
Thorongil goodnight. The captain worked on the company accounts for a
while, and was nearly ready to blow out the lamp when someone scratched
at the entry-flap.
"Come in," he called, blowing to dry the last line of ink.
A pause, and then Horon and Imrahil entered and hovered uncertainly
just inside the canvas.
Thorongil gestured for them to take the empty stools. "What is it,
lads?"
They looked at each other, clearly undecided as to who should speak.
"Well?"
Imrahil took a quick breath and began. "Well, sir, Horon and I were
talking tonight; sergeant Lasmir was showing us some tricks for
fletching arrows and the two of us were working together on it. Now,
Captain Denethor didn't say anything to me while we were on
patrol together. But Horon says he was asking a lot of the men there
what they thought about you, sir, and asking as if he had some hopes in
mind about the kind of answers he might get."
"That's right," Horon added. "I don't know why he didn't ask Im – maybe
he just didn't have time to talk to everyone – but he spoke with me,
and Ciryon, and Sarnegil, for sure, and I think most of the others. We
didn't have much bad to say, other than the usual sort of gripes, I'll
swear to that, but I thought you should know."
"I wish he'd asked me," said Imrahil. "I could have told him about your
training me and the others at swordplay. I learn more from you than
from the sergeant, and that's saying something." He blushed. "Why do
you think he was making all those inquiries, sir? Are you going to be
transferred?"
Thorongil shook his head. "Not that I know of, I assure you. I suppose
he simply wanted the viewpoint of some of my men on how this company
operates. If any changes are planned, I'm sure I'll be told, and I
wouldn't keep something like that secret from my men."
"Thank you, sir. That's a relief to hear," said Horon, and Imrahil
nodded agreement. "We'll be saying goodnight then. We just wanted you
to know."
"Goodnight," said Thorongil absently. This news gave him much to think
on. I knew Denethor disliked me; at least he seems unaware of my
friendship with Finduilas, since I doubt that would change his feelings
toward me for the better. But what other explanation can there be for
his questioning of the men, except an attempt to find reason to make
sure I cannot advance higher in Gondor's service?
He shook his head. The Steward's Heir. I wonder, does he wish his
father King, not Steward? It would not be surprising, if so. If he
should, he might find himself taken unawares.
