Chapter 88

Two Confrontations

We in Rohan might have been granted some respite, but the rest of the world had no such luxury. Thráin had achieved a great victory in Ithilien with Faramir and his men. They had no idea yet of the true magnitude of what they had done, not the full scale of it. Even though their thoughts were preoccupied with the battles that still needed to be fought, there was some time for joking and laughing, and so Gimli's Mûmak was called Nori, despite the fact that it was female, after the dwarf who had not only gone on a legendary quest, but who had also sprung his nephew from jail some thirty years previous, a suggestion from Faramir that was heartily seconded by Legolas and grudgingly allowed by Thráin.

But Sauron had decided he had waited long enough. His troops were moving ever closer to Erebor and the forces of Thoren's Alliance and it seemed to him unwise to allow any side any respite so that they might hurry to each other's aid. So he sent his troops forth to Gondor as well, to quell any resistance there before Rohan could decide that they now had enough time and men on their hands to hurry to the aid of their southern neighbours. Of course Thráin's idea to take some Mûmakil had thrown a bit of a spanner into the works, but against the might of Sauron, those might not seem like much of a threat.

In the north Thoren prepared for battle, much as he had done for the past months. It seemed wisest to do so, with the Easterlings moving closer. But they did not attack. Oh, they moved a little closer and then they set up camp within sight of the Free Folk Alliance. Instead of attacking, they simply went about their daily business, which threw everyone on the other side for a bit of a loop. Of course it did not take any of them very long to piece together that their opponents simply meant to wait for the reinforcements from Mordor, which was exactly what Thoren had set out to prevent. But by the time they'd worked it all out it was past noon, so battle was postponed until the next day.

We had no such luck with our confrontation with Saruman…

Beth

There was water everywhere. Beth had no cause now to wonder whether everything here had happened as it had in the book, because every single horse was up to its knees in brown sluggish water that Ents might find a treat but that made Beth look at it with slight revulsion. And there were trees everywhere.

But they were not quite like trees. It only appeared that way when they didn't move. But when they did they had arms and legs and heads, all covered with bark and leaf, facial features indistinguishable from the rest of their bodies until they moved them. Beth had read about Ents. She had tried to imagine what they looked like in real life. None of her imaginations had come close to the reality of them.

They were fast too. From a distance a big tree – no, sorry, Ent – moved in their direction with big strides that no human being could ever hope to match. It rumbled as it walked too, the sound a man might make deep in his chest to indicate either laughter or deep displeasure, only ten times deeper. It was almost more a vibration in the air than sound that the ear could discern.

There was no time to think on it. The tree – no, Ent – crouched down and unloaded two small shapes onto the floor. They immediately were up to their waists in water.

'Merry! Pippin!' Was it her imagination or were they taller than the last time she had seen them?

They smiled widely, waving with smoking pipes still in hand. Boromir was already off his horse, ignoring the fact that he had only one functioning arm and hoisted Pippin off his feet and into the air. 'It is good to see you again, Master Pippin!' he declared.

'We thought you had died!' Pippin told him in return. 'You really didn't look so well when we saw you last.' He studied the current state of his friend and added: 'You still don't look so well. We just can't let you out alone at all, can we?' He ended in a very fake put-upon sigh that somehow only added to the general elation.

Aragorn had got to Merry by that time so that Beth at least had the time to dismount, hopefully without looking like a complete fool. All her muscles ached – the second day on horseback was by no means an improvement on the first; if any it was worse – and it took her longer than she'd like.

Pippin was the first to reach her, brilliant smile upon his face. 'You got him this far,' he told her with a nod at Boromir when the joyful greetings were out of the way. He even winked at her.

Beth's eyes widened. 'You knew?' She wouldn't know how. It could have been instinct. It had to be, because he'd slept so much when they were on the river that he could never have known a thing about it then… 'You were never asleep, were you? On the river, I mean? You just pretended.' She didn't know whether to be impressed or annoyed.

'You were fooled, weren't you?'

'Why fool me?' It made little sense.

Pippin shrugged. 'You had it under control and it helps if someone knows that no one suspects. It worked, did it not? Here, have some leaf.' He held out a pouch of the stuff. 'Don't worry, Saruman had barrels of it. And he's not going to miss it now, is he?'

'It might calm his nerves,' Beth pointed out reasonably. 'And you'd be better off giving this to Aragorn, Boromir or Gandalf.'

She was rewarded with a puzzled look.

'I don't smoke,' she said. 'It's bad for the lungs.' At least the tobacco in her world was. This might not be quite the same. She'd never read a single thing about anyone dying from lung cancer in Middle Earth after all. Even so, better safe than sorry. There were enough dangers in this world without consciously adding to it.

Pippin looked at her like the Spanish Inquisition at a heretic, but shook his head and obligingly moved on to bestow his gift on a more willing recipient. It gave her opportunity to reunite with Merry, whose cold had been cured and who as a result was as vivid as she remembered him from Rivendell.

'Saruman has locked himself in his tower,' he told her and Gandalf whilst lighting his pipe. 'Treebeard says wood is no use against stone, so he's left him there.'

Beth looked up at the tower of Orthanc itself. It looked dark and uninviting. It seemed to suck the light out of its surroundings. It loomed over them, tall and imposing and as unmoving as the mountains. She wondered if Saruman would be as set and unmoving in his ways as well.

Boromir followed her gaze. 'If he had more of this gunpowder, would he not have used it by now?'

'Perhaps he has waited for our arrival,' said Aragorn. There was not one vying for the title of Optimist of the Century. Not that he had said anything Beth could disagree with. Of course the book had never mentioned anything of the kind, but the book had conveniently forgotten to mention the rains, Théoden's death at Helm's Deep and Théodred's survival as well. These days she had a healthy dose of distrust for the wretched thing.

Beth shrugged helplessly. 'I don't know,' she said. 'I just don't know. If he's stored it on ground level or below, then the water wouldn't have done it any good. But I don't know that either.' But she had a bad feeling about this whole thing. If nothing else depended on it, she would have urged them all to turn around and ride for Edoras as fast as they could. They did not need the palantír and they didn't need Saruman's toxic words. But they could not allow him to leave either.

Only if he dies will the Shire be safe. The thought still made her feel slightly queasy, but she knew she had the guts to see this through. She had to.

She looked at Théodred, who looked back at her. He nodded. She took it to mean that he understood full well how dangerous this whole undertaking was, but he would go and undertake it anyway. He'll be a good King, she thought, the kind his people need.

'Let's hope they threw it all at the Deeping Wall,' she said. 'He was certain of his victory, wasn't he? Why would he hold anything back if he otherwise threw everything he had at us?' That was the logical way of thinking, but who knew what went on in Saruman's mind these days?

Théodred mounted back up. 'We will not find out either way if we remain where we are. Come.'

So they came. Pippin had secured a ride with Gandalf and Aragorn was more than content to accommodate Merry. Even with this confrontation ahead Beth felt a sense of reunion, a comforting feeling that told her that they had been scattered all over, but that at least some part of their division had come to an end.

'Do we call for him?' Beth asked when they came near, directing her query at Gandalf, who after all had the most hands-on experience with the treacherous wizard. 'Do you think he knows we're here?'

'He knows we are here.' Gandalf looked worried and preoccupied. 'And he knows that what little hope he still has lies with us. The Ents will not show him mercy now.' Small wonder after what Saruman had done to the forest. 'But he may yet believe that his hope is with us, because we may have need to know the things that he knows.'

'Yeah, but we won't actually know when he's telling the truth or not,' Beth pointed out. 'He's a proven liar.'

Doubtlessly Gandalf had an answer up his sleeve somewhere, but he didn't get to utter it. As it happened, there was no need whatsoever to call for Saruman; he had appeared on his own. 'So you have come,' he said.

The voice was deep and it carried. In fact, it carried a lot further than Beth thought it could. Saruman had made his appearance up on a balcony quite a way up. You'd think he'd need to shout to make himself understood to the party assembled below. But he spoke in conversational tones, in the same way someone would say: 'Nice weather we're having, eh?'

Nobody quite knew what to say to that. It seemed a somewhat rhetorical question and more of an opening for Saruman to deliver some carefully prepared speech. It was easier for all involved to let him get it out of his system here and now.

So he did: 'Your father was wise, Théodred son of Théoden. Many times he made war and then made peace afterwards. Can it not be so with us? Shall we have peace between us?'

The words were nothing special in and of themselves. It was not a very good speech even. But the words rang with confidence and conviction, as though there was no doubt in the speaker's mind whatsoever that no matter what disadvantage he found himself at, the world would arrange itself in accordance with his wishes regardless. Still that was not all there was to it, because she heard that which Gandalf had warned them against. The words were compelling, more so than if he had just made a persuasive argument. Something about them tugged at her mind, made her want to see the wisdom in them and comply with all due haste, making apologies for any inconvenience he might have suffered in the meantime.

But they had all been warned. It was a little like knowing about the power of the Ring, Beth reflected; once you knew what it was, it was easy to recognise its machinations and arm yourself against it.

Théodred clearly thought the same. He glared up at Saruman: 'After what you have done, we will never have peace with you.'

Well, that at least was simple.

Saruman was not the type to spit at people. If he had been, Beth felt sure he would have done now. He turned to Gandalf instead and demanded to know what it was he wanted. 'But let me guess, the key of Orthanc or perhaps the keys of Barad-dûr itself!'

'Well, that'd be nice, if you happen to have them lying around,' piped up Pippin. It was as well that Gandalf sat behind him, so that he could not see the scorching look Gandalf unleashed at his back. He had however seen Beth and Boromir shake their heads to make him shut up, so he shrugged and added: 'Well, he was kind enough to offer.'

It was something of a mistake, because Saruman's attention had shifted from Gandalf to the rest of their little group. From such a distance it was of course difficult to be sure at all, but she had a lingering suspicion that he was looking at her.

His next words confirmed it. 'So you have brought her here, Gandalf,' he said. 'This little advisor of yours.'

Suddenly Beth wanted to be anywhere but where she was right now.

'Such information she carries and yet she knows so little.' Malice dripped from every word he spoke. 'You speak of good and its virtues, do you not, Gandalf, but there was nothing noble about what you did to her, was there?'

There wasn't. Regret and heartache, as Kate had told her. That was the price she paid. But Kate had mistakenly assumed that Gandalf got off scot-free. The weary lines etched into the wizard's forehead told another tale. He paid a price as well and he paid it in guilt and shame. He had paid it once and now he paid it a second time.

To her own surprise she felt sorry for him. 'You must have missed the part where I actually agreed to his conditions, mate,' she said, dropping any pretence that still remained. If Saruman was bringing everything out in the open, then let it be in the open. 'Yeah, I didn't choose this, but hey, I make the best of it. At least I try to help, which is more than can be said for you.'

Saruman ignored this. 'Her information is not enough for you, is it, Gandalf?' Bloody hell, he could have taken up taunting as a profession. 'But I can help you.' He reached into his wide sleeves and pulled out what looked like a black edition of a crystal ball. 'I have seen it all.'

'We'll call you Mystic Meg from now on then,' Beth muttered under her breath and it was not at all like her. But Pippin had started with the sarcasm and she was now so nervous and so on edge that it seemed the only way she could get rid of some of that tension.

Saruman looked at her again. He said nothing.

It was more than she could bear. 'Do you mind sharing with the class, then?' she asked. 'Or shall we make a game of charades of the whole thing first?' Somehow he got under her skin. She could not see his face in any detail, but she felt his eyes all the same, piercing, looking where he had no business. Her every muscle was coiled to run, but she could not, would not.

She imagined that he smiled. 'I have seen all that you have not,' he said. It was the first time he directly addressed her. The sensation was not a pleasant one. 'I wonder that you do not hate him, Elizabeth Andrews. You have lost all, long before you will lose your life. Does your kin not even now believe you dead?'

They did. There was no denying that. The words cut deep. They tore a wound that had not even begun to heal, that she kept so tightly wrapped up that she could ignore the fact that it was there most of the time. The power of his words did nothing to stem the tide of a loss that ran so deep she did not know if it would ever heal. It brought tears to her eyes, but she kept her voice steady when she spoke again: 'I thought you said you knew things I didn't.' Her emotional turmoil made the words come out sharp. 'This is old news, old man.' She turned to Gandalf and turned the acting up a notch. 'I thought you said this guy was impressive and dangerous. Are we sure he's the genuine article?'

Merry failed to disguise his bark of laughter as a coughing fit.

The words did what Beth had intended; Saruman's voice was cold and angry when he spoke. 'I have seen the death of your son, you miserable woman. I have seen the death of all that you cling to.' He held the ball up in triumph. 'Your child is dying even now. I have seen it.'

No. The cold enveloped her so quickly that she might have frozen on the spot. 'Harry.' The name was no more than whisper, but in the silence everyone heard it. No, no, no! It couldn't be true. She had sent him to where he was going to be safe. He was going to be inside in Erebor. No Enemy could get in there. Thráin had been so certain.

Someone closed their hand over hers. She had clenched her hands around the reins so tightly that the imprints would surely be visible later. She turned to the hand instead. Boromir's she saw when she looked down at it. She could not meet his eyes.

'We've heard enough,' Théodred declared.

Saruman however was not yet done. 'But this is what Gandalf does. You must know this by now, do you not, Elizabeth? The greatest harm comes to those he professes to love.'

There was poison in every word, but also truth. Those who got close to Gandalf got burnt. They had their lives turned upside down and when all was said and done they found themselves at odds with all the world they had known before. Gandalf gave them an ordeal by fire through which they came out changed.

But that did not make him evil. It only made him someone who fought evil. Shame and remorse, she reminded herself. He paid the price as well.

He certainly paid it now; the pain was in his eyes and written all over his face as Saruman drove words like daggers into his skin: 'What words of comfort did you give to the halfling, before you sent him to his doom? The path you have set him on can only lead to death.'

Damn and blast.

Everything hurt. Even breathing hurt, but she blinked the tears away and sought refuge in biting sarcasm. 'Well, someone has never met my cousin,' she said. And when she was sure that Saruman's eyes were once again fixed upon her, she continued: 'What, you think he hasn't got a snowball's chance in hell, do you? You see, he does.' What the hell am I doing? But anger was better than tears. It came easily to her now. Beth did not hate easily, but Saruman was a rare exception. It boiled in her veins and lashed out in words, because it had nowhere else to go. 'You haven't actually told Sauron, have you? You wanted his Ring for yourself, so you weren't going to tell him where he could get it. Big mistake on your part, pal. Or not, depending on your perspective, because all things told you don't want Sauron to win. You wanted to win. Well, how's that working out for you lately?'

Spite and lies, that's all he's got, she told herself. Hadn't she told it Gandalf herself, just now, that Saruman was a proven liar? Harry isn't dead. He can't be dead. But he had planted a seed of fear and dread that had already taken root. It was not so easily dismissed.

Saruman raised the ball high so that it was before his face. Goodness knows what he was going to do with it and nobody had a chance to find out. 'Saruman, your staff is broken,' Gandalf said, remarkably calm. Beth couldn't detect any anger or even judgement in his voice.

The staff broke as soon as the last word left Gandalf's mouth. The shock of that development made Saruman let go of the palantír. It sailed through the air and landed with a splash in the water at the base of the tower, yet it glowed so much that everyone could still see where it was.

'This is the game you play, is it, Gandalf?' Saruman was someone who understood hate, who had perfected it in a way very few had before him. 'To take all the power you may. But you will fail. This upstart Ranger will never be crowned King!'

'Shall we take a wager on that?' Boromir called up. The expression on his face might be called jovial if one didn't know better. 'You win and I'll give you the keys to Minas Tirith. Should I win you'll hand over the keys to Orthanc.' He nodded at Gandalf. 'We shall have them quicker that way.'

Aragorn tried – and failed – to not be completely taken by surprise by this. Boromir was not a man who wagered anything he was not absolutely certain he could win. He would certainly never hand his people over to the likes of Saruman, so to offer this he must be convinced that Aragorn would indeed end up as King. What's more, this told Saruman exactly that if Aragorn did end up with a crown on his head, it was with Boromir's full support.

'We've heard enough,' Théodred said again. 'This talking back and forth does no good. We have come here to hold the wizard Saruman to account for the horror he unleashed on Rohan. If you can explain yourself, now is the time to do so. If not, we will have a reckoning.'

Gandalf gestured not to, but Théodred was King of Rohan now. He was not obliged to answer to him. He may have done so out of respect, but it was not his duty. Beth suspected that his duty was very clear to him and that he did not believe it entailed weaselling information out of an obstinate wizard.

'But you must wish to know where your doom will be decided, do you not, Gandalf?' Saruman called down. Beth wondered if it was just her imagination that he sounded genuinely worried about what might happen next. 'Very well, I shall tell you. Remove your guards and I shall tell you. If you will let me only go free…'

The compulsion in these words was strong. Beth was not even the focus of it, but she almost turned Folca around to comply with his wishes.

It fell flat with Théodred. He said something in his own tongue to Éomer. But she did not need to understand it, because the latter produced a bow and arrows and pointed them at Saruman. That was the kind of action that needed no translation.

Saruman did not see; his gaze was fixed on Gandalf, the only one he could presumably still reason with. Beth did not think he stood much of a chance, but he still had something that Gandalf needed, which made him vulnerable to his manipulations, or so he'd like to think. He was not foolish enough to try these tactics with Théodred, because recent communications indicated that Théodred would sooner strangle him with his own guts than listen to another word he had to say.

It was all over in the blink of an eye. The book had completely neglected to mention that Éomer was more than fair as an archer. The arrow entered Saruman's body through the armpit. He flailed and tried to fight his balance and there were sounds that perhaps were meant to be words, but he could not get him out.

Saruman died and his body slumped over the railing of his balcony.

Jack

'I can stand,' Jack said and to his surprise found that he did indeed feel strong enough for such a venture. And it was well about time. Ten days had passed since the man had plunged a knife into his flesh. He should be well enough to move about.

'So can I,' Harry piped up, not one to let an opportunity like this go to waste. 'Please, Mrs Thora? It's my birthday tomorrow. I don't want any presents, honest. May I please get up?' He unleashed the puppy eyes that folk found hard to resist in general.

His young cousin had improved much. The wound no longer itched, he said, and given the fact that Jack had not seen him scratch at it for the past two days took that for the truth. The same could not be said about his own injury; the ache came and went, but the itching never ceased. It was maddening, more so than the pain. But itching would not stop him from getting up and going about his business.

Thora looked from one to the other and back again. 'How I ever wondered if you two were truly related by blood I'll never know,' she said. It was not a compliment.

Harry took it as one regardless and exchanged a triumphant grin with Jack. It had not been a refusal after all.

'Very well, you may get up,' Thora relented. 'Only for a few hours, mind you, and I'll want you back here for the night. You may feel better and you are both mending, but you are not yet well.'

Jack doubted if Harry had heard a word of this speech past the initial consent. He was already out of bed, pulling a tunic over his head. Jack caught a glance of the wound before the cloth covered it. Wound was no longer the right way to describe it. It had closed nicely and although it would undoubtedly be a scar forever, it was unlikely to trouble him much.

He has been lucky. As have I.

Dressing himself was still harder than he liked. The wound had been deep and he had done himself no favours getting up to quell a riot whilst still so severely injured. Thora never tired of telling him this, so he reckoned it must be true. She was no great admirer of his current actions either, but she knew better than to put an end to them.

'Would you like me to come with you?' she asked.

'No,' Jack said. 'Harry and I will walk together.' He meant no offence to his aunt, but he had seen entirely too much of her lately. 'Do me a favour and don't tell Duria either. I find I crave some peace and quiet.'

'Some would say this is the place to come in search of it,' Thora suggested slyly.

'Aye, and so it will be when you cease admitting my sister into these rooms.' He did not know what possessed her of late, but he had seen both Thoren and Cathy shoot her the occasional odd glance as well. She had been… off lately. Truth be told it had been since the days that she believed Narvi to be dead. She had recovered, but not all the way. Something had been knocked loose. Jack hoped it wasn't her wits.

'She outranks me, I'm afraid,' Thora said, wholly unapologetic.

'So do I,' he pointed out. 'For all the good that has done me these past days.'

'It's different when you're a patient of course.'

He should have known better than to try to argue with her; she was always quicker. If there was a loophole somewhere, she'd be sure to find it.

'Naturally. Are you ready, Harry?'

It was a foolish question. The lad was bursting with energy he had been unable to spend for weeks now. 'I've been ready for ages,' he said, shifting his weight from one leg to another in his impatience. 'Are you done?'

Jack nodded. 'Let us be off,' he said.

'Where are you bound?' Thora asked.

Jack had not the faintest idea. 'Everywhere and nowhere,' he said. 'Pretend I am Thoren on one of his days.'

He did not often recognise this restless streak that Thoren had in himself, not the way it manifested at any rate. He was familiar enough with the restlessness itself. Many days it would not let him sit and rest, driving him on at the forge or at the training fields. The restlessness with him stemmed from a sense of never belonging, never being truly at home. It had mostly gone now; he knew where he belonged, so now the restlessness changed form, but still remained. It went against the grain to sit and be idle when there was a war that needed fighting.

It occurred to him that he had not fought in it much at all so far.

Harry evidently did not mind. He took Jack's hand when asked and they set off for places unknown. Erebor was empty now, desolate in a way that Jack had not seen before. There were enough folk in it, but few enough of them showed themselves. The markets had halved in size. They spent some time roaming around the stalls anyway.

'If it isn't Young Harry!' They turned around. Alfur appeared from behind one of the stalls, his usual smile all over his face. 'That's a sight for sore eyes.' Then he grinned at Jack. 'And a sight to make eyes sore too. Good to see you both up and about again.'

Alfur had always been more Thráin's friend than Jack's, but they got along well enough. Harry adored him and clearly the feeling was mutual. The lad's face brightened. 'Mr Alfur!' he exclaimed. 'You're here!'

'Aye, someone's got to guard the Mountain and keep eyes on all the not so trustworthy folk. Tea?' He did not wait for an answer but led them to a small shop on the edge of the square. 'Hilda's still serving.' He nodded at the dwarrowdam behind the counter. 'Tea for three if you please.'

They took a table that offered a view on the market.

'You're not on duty?' Jack asked. It seemed unlikely.

Alfur grimaced. 'I am,' he said. He looked none too pleased with it, which was somewhat of a surprise. 'I'm meant to keep an eye on Farulf over there.' He nodded to the man a little way away, manning a stall with woodwork. 'You know Thoren ordered him released?'

Jack did know, little though he liked it. Folk did strange things in their madness, but it rubbed him the wrong way that the one who was so intent on killing him to prove a point to Thoren was now once again a free man. Clearly Cathy had her doubts about this as well, given that she had him followed.

'Aye,' he said. 'I know.'

Alfur grimaced. 'Mind you, if it'd been my choice I'd have turned him out with all the others. A body can always hope he'll do something foolish and is turned out later of course.' Forgiveness was not a trait primarily associated with the dwarves.

Harry listened to this with ever deepening frown. 'And the men who…?' He trailed off.

Alfur understood. 'One of them didn't make it out alive from his encounter with the Lady Duria,' he said. It was a remarkably tactful way of saying that the fellow had his brains bashed out with a candlestick. Harry had no need to know that. 'The other was turned out with the other traitors some days past. With the weather we're having I'd be surprised if he still drew breath.' He clapped Harry on his uninjured shoulder. 'Not to worry, my lad, they won't be doing it again.'

Harry nodded, visibly relieved. 'Thank you.'

'My pleasure, Young Harry.' He stole another glance at Farulf who was still where he was supposed to be. 'Ah, here's the tea.'

Jack had never quite taken to the beverage, despite his mother's obvious preference for it, but at least it was warm. Harry on the other hand set about preparing his tea with enthusiasm and practiced ease.

'Something tells me you've had tea before,' Alfur observed.

'Of course. I'm English,' Harry said. The tone indicated that Alfur had rather stated the obvious. 'We drink lots of tea,' he clarified when it dawned on him that Alfur of course didn't know this. He was quick and bright, this child. He looked at Jack. 'Your mum was English too, wasn't she?'

'So she was,' he agreed.

Nothing could be said against it, much as he had often wished for it. Not only was he half mannish, but he was half mannish from another world. Discovering that had initially convinced him more than before that he had no place in this world, that he was never meant to exist and that it went against all natural order that he drew breath at all.

That had changed and this young lad was to blame for much of that. This child who looked so like him made him wonder about his mother and her world, about that part of her that he had never fully understood.

'She liked her tea as well,' he added. Her tea, her jokes that no one quite understood, the wildly unfamiliar phrases and words that slipped out when she wasn't thinking about it. How had he never even suspected that she was not all that she seemed to be?

'Of course she did; she was English,' Harry nodded. He considered the matter closed and turned to Alfur: 'I've been released for my birthday,' he announced. This was not quite true, but Harry had asked it for a birthday present.

'Is it your birthday? I did not know!'

'Tomorrow,' Harry corrected. 'I'll be seven.'

'Will you be indeed,' Alfur played along. 'That is good to hear indeed. I suppose I should find you a gift of some kind.'

Harry looked torn between wanting a presence and appearing rude. He did not ask for much, Jack knew, but he did know that the boy had a piece of paper under his pillow counting down the days until his birthday. Apparently in this other world birthdays had been marked by happy celebrations.

And the world doesn't have much of that to go around.

He was not often impulsive, but he decided he could afford to be this once. 'Aye, you can bring it to his party tomorrow,' he said.

Both Harry and Alfur appeared somewhat taken aback by the announcement.

'It'll be in in our healing room, of course,' he continued, because now that he had started he might as well see it through. 'Aunt Thora would go spare otherwise, but it seems a shame not to mark the occasion. That's why Harry and I are about and about, you see. We are delivering invitations.'

The look on Harry's face suggested that his birthday had unexpectedly come a day early.

Alfur's eyebrows were up at his hairline. 'What are you doing here?'

The question was not directed at Jack.

It was however directed at Farulf, who had snuck up on them while they had discussed the rather impromptu birthday celebration. He stood just out of arm's reach, wringing his hands and staring down at the tips of his boots, as though waiting to be noticed.

There was none of that when he attacked me, Jack recalled. Most of that night was a blur, but Farulf's resolve had never wavered, that he knew. He'd come in under false pretences and with a plan, which he carried out without so much as a moment's hesitation. This subdued face only served to put Jack on his guard.

Farulf addressed his reply to Jack. 'I saw you here and I wished to speak with you, if I may. They would not allow me to see you at the healing rooms.'

Alfur was having none of it. 'Considering you were the one to put him there, that should not surprise you. A few steps back, now.'

Farulf's head snapped up. 'I am not a danger to him.'

'That's what we believed once.' Alfur reached under the table, presumably for something nice and sharp. It'd have to be him, because Jack had no weapon on him. It was a novel experience that he did not much appreciate. 'We'd be fools to take that on faith again.'

Harry scooted his chair back until he was well behind Alfur. His hands still clasped his cup of tea, but his eyes were wide in fear.

'Step back,' Jack ordered. 'You're frightening my young cousin.' Harry had seen far too many frightening things in his short life. Seemingly he had all taken them in his stride – he'd not even had nightmares about what had happened to him – but he had reached breaking point at last. His lower lip wobbled.

Farulf did no such thing. 'I only meant to say that I am deeply sorry for the harm I did to you, my lord. I hope you can forgive me.'

'I cannot,' Jack said bluntly.

That threw Farulf for a loop. 'I was told my actions were forgotten.'

'Not by me.' He never agreed with Thoren's judgement in the first place. He could not fault Thoren's reasons, but he reckoned there were other ways to throw the men a bone other than to release a would-be murderer into their home again. 'Nor forgiven, so you ought to save your breath. Be grateful that you still have your life.'

A glance at Harry taught him that his eyes were watery, but other than that he was holding up remarkably well. Yes, he was still behind Alfur, but he had not run. There is courage in the race of Men, Jack thought, even in the smallest of them. The idea that he had ever been ashamed of his kinship with this lad was now somewhat ludicrous.

'I would make amends, if I can.' Farulf was nothing if not persistent. Jack found new ways to be grateful that he received what mannish blood he had from another world so that at least he'd never have to acknowledge ties of kinship with the likes of him.

'Then leave my sight and take care to stay well out of it for the remainder of your stay here,' Jack said. 'I might not be in command of my own mind should I clap eyes on you again.'

Let him ponder that for a while.

Farulf finally took the hint, walked off, made some comments to the one who minded the stall and then stalked off.

Alfur knocked back the last of his tea. 'Well, that's me going off then. See you tomorrow!' He took off at a run. He was hardly the most inconspicuous minder, but Jack rather thought his ways very effective. Let Farulf know that he was watched. Those underhand secretive ways of the men were not in a dwarf's nature anyway.

'Time we were gone as well, Harry,' he said. 'We've got invitations to deliver.'


Next time: The Free Folk Alliance goes into battle. Beth deals with what she has been told.

You'll notice that this chapter is a little earlier. This is because I have quite a busy weekend ahead and I might not find the time to upload then, so better sooner than later. Next week's chapter will arrive on Saturday as usual.

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews would be so very welcome.