2984, Staddle, smial at Goat Run 2, late autumn
The two Rangers and the orcess were readying the smial for the arrival of the four youngsters. They were not expecting a clip-clop of hooves and being hailed from the road.
"Rangers, ahoy!"
The two men stood in front of the smial, eying the four cloak clad rangers on the road. One of them flipped back his hood and asked.
"Any of you answers to Aravir, son of Arador?"
"Don't be silly, Haladan, you've known me for ... "
"This is Court Business, please. Any of you answers to Aravir, son of Arador?"
"Aye, it is I." The baffled and worried Aravir slid into the formal phrasing.
After Haladan and another Ranger confirmed his identity due to knowing him in person, Haladan asked.
"Do you, Aravir, son of Arador, accept the Court Ordered Servitude of Aithon, of no house, Swearing to his Supervision and Slaying if need be?"
At this one of the other riders swept back the hood of another, revealing Aithlon. He was slumped in the saddle, his cheeks were puffed up from fresh branding, and he looked two hundred years old.
"FATHER!" – Tarkil rushed to his sire.
He was intercepted by the third rider putting his horse in his path. He gestured towards Haladan.
"Tarkil, you have no known father. From hereinafter you are now known after your mother as son of Glynda, and your House shall be your own."
Aravir barely had the lucidity to stutter out the question.
"And what are his crimes against Folk and Land?"
"Murder and Filicide. In Cold Blood and without remorse."
It took a moment for Aravir to process the information.
"He killed Thannor?!"
Haladan nodded and repeated the formal request.
"Aye, I take upon me his Servitude and swear not to Stay my hand and Slay Aithon when I judge it right." - the son of Arador gave the necessary formula.
"Thus he becomes your bond and burden". Haladan completed the due process.
He jumped off his horse and walked up to the still astounded Aravir and took him by the shoulders. Looking into his eyes he broadened the picture.
"Let the horse rest the night, we rode hard to catch Tarkil here and not to pass him on the road. Once he takes care of his father send him to the Angle the fastest possible. Inzilbeth is at the capital and needs him. She's in the Chieftain's care. The children are taken care of, they're at the village with Olwina and Beleguron. Aragorn and most of the jury ran though hoops not to have to sentence Aithon to death. Infamy, Striking from the Rolls, Branding and Banishment was the least they could do. Aithon did himself no favours by refusing to say why he killed him, saying only he was too ashamed of Thannor's acts to say. "
He checked if Aravir was still on the same page with him, or had his attention wandered.
"Aithon also got off relatively lightly as the Pure Bloods could not lay a mark on him. Even though Thannor was their moving force, Aithon's numenorean bloodline is as pure as Isildur's piss. They could not press too much against Ye Olde Bloode of Numenor."
He passed a satchel.
"Here you have the sentence and letter from your nephew. In short - as long as Aithon doesn't set foot in the Angle nobody will bother him. In the Angle - or in the Holds - he is to be killed on sight. Of lesser things - a group of four Dunlendings, a lass included, hailed us and claimed you were their leader. Asked me to relay that they should be here in half a candlemark. You are expanding - orcs, Dunlendings - whatever next, trolls? Never mind - we have to ride on, cousin. Namarie!"
He clasped his arm and went to his horse.
()()()()()()()()()()
Seeing Tarkil embracing his father the blue eyed ranger called out:
"Take him inside! I'll mind the horse!"
The big Ranger led his shuffling (Eru!) father into the smial. The elder knew Ashtuzual by hearsay (Aravir had been positively verbose - as Ranger's go - on her subject during their summer campaign) only but did not seem to mind that there was an orcess fussing over him. He was probably beyond caring at that point. It was her attempt to administer salve to his still raw brands that made him notice his surroundings.
"No girl, leave it be. It is my burden to bear. Now leave us alone, I have something to tell my only child." He spoke in harsh whisper.
She looked up to Tarkil who nodded almost imperceptibly to humour the old man.
Aithon looked at his son.
"Idiot. You should have told me everything twenty years ago. Inzilbeth finally told me. Same fool as you. I chanced upon her crying. Of course she tried to push me off, like so may times before. But this time I pried the truth out of her. About what had happened twenty years ago. Of how you had met. Of how you had done right with her. About that man berating her for being a Rohiric whore breeding useless half blood whores whenever he had the chance to do so. About such talk not moving her. She never told you of this?" He looked at Tarkil questioningly.
"I thought so. Same fool as you." He repeated.
"But this time that man had added that all my grand-daughters were for fit for was a brothel, that they were too low to be wives or mothers of Dunedain. That once a Blood Purity Law was passed it was to the whorehouse with them. That she could start training them already. Passing on the skills she had learned in Rohan." – he spat out the hateful words, words meant to hurt as much as possible.
"After she calmed down I caught up with him, repudiated and killed him. Then I gave myself up to the Court at the Capital. End of tale."
He glanced at the side table with the steaming stew and tankard.
"I see Aravir's betrothed has taken care of me. Leave me now. Ride to Inzilbeth and beg her for forgiveness for the twenty years of torment your stupidity and cowardice had given her."
"Your joint stupidity and cowardice." he added, to weaken the blow.
"Now go."
In the door Tarkil still managed to catch a mutter:
"I could've resolved it twenty years ago ... " - he almost turned back but he heard something sounding like a sob.
"Both are mine and Glynda's. Elbereth - how could they be SO different?!"
He gave his father the privacy he had requested.
()()()()()()()()()()
Once the newcomers had been taken care off and settled down Tarkil dragged Aravir out for a talk in the stable.
"I've never told you why I had not acknowledged Thannar as brother and why my home was closed to him. Inzilbeth hated him with a passion burning as hot as the forges at the Oronduin. Wouldn't pee on his grave, says she."
Aravir grunted to show that he was listening and to keep him going.
"We've kept it between ourselves to keep my father from the pain of knowing of what scoundrel Thannor had grown up to be.
"We two were on a courier run to your esteemed nephew masquerading as Thorongil in the Southern Kingdom. We were passing through the Westmark as his latest missive told us to seek him in Dol Amroth so we wished to take the direct route over the mountains. We ran into a skirmish between a company of Rohirrim horse – an eored – and an orc warband. We helped kill a few. The local lord – Eohric Eomersson – invited us to a feast to celebrate the hunt and his seneschal's son's first kill. "
Tarkil swallowed. His face became a mask and his voice was emotionless – the time honoured stance for speaking about emotional issues.
"The feast was despicable. Disgusting. After an hour the lady of the house and other high ranked women left. Then the filth dropped any veneer of civilisation. The only thing they did not do was shit in the corners. The Riders took the serving wenches whenever the urge came upon them, covering themselves with their cloaks for some shred of decency. The high point of the feast was the young Rider celebrating his first kill by ... by "bloodying his sword" with a servant on furs laid out in the middle of the hall. He took her like an animal, from behind. To the hoots and cheers and encouragement from the revellers. She was young, fifteen, if anything and she looked exactly like our niece Puignis. The hair colour was wrong, of course, but the face, the eyes ... "
"Like horses, Holy position for Eorling" – my neighbour had noted with appreciation in broken Westron, adding that under the bad king Thengel such good old Eorling customs were being forgotten. Not like under good old King Fengel."
Aravir could hear his friend swallow again. He passed him the waterskin.
"I left at that point. I felt dirty. Ugh. At dawn I heard my brother speaking with somebody in our room and sat up in bed immediately. You know, the Ranger reaction. He was ... fondling the breasts of a young servant with one hand, the other busy deep up her skirt, his elbow hitching the hem up to her knees. Then with a smile to me he grunted:
"Not interested. Try him" - and jerking his head in my direction he pushed the dishevelled girl at me.
With tears in her eyes and clenched teeth she offered herself – her maidenhead - in return for being taken away from that place. When she said she was going to be the sword blooding centrepiece at one of the next feasts ..."
Another swallow. Tarkil held his head in his hands. He evidently was making breaks in the story not to weep.
"The man who used to be my brother told me I was being an weakling dolt. He told me ... to agree to whatever the girl wanted, to have a quickie – if I had the itch - and then to leave her. We were to deliver letters, not some irrelevant serving girls, he said."
...
"Grow up, be tough, he said."
...
"He even took the packhorse."
...
"We barely made it, I had to kill or maim several Riders and horses. After all those years Inzilbeth still refuses to speak of Rohan or to use her previous name. Once she learnt our language she hasn't spoken a word of Rohirric. She wants no truck with people for whom it matters more who covers their mares than who fucks their daughters."
Tarkil wept long and bitterly into Aravir's shoulder.
.
AN:
Written with inspiring yammering of TommyGinger