Author's note: I couldn't leave you long after that cliffhanger. Here you
go.
***
The first thing Sal was aware of was the burning pain in his arm. On instinct, he tried to lash out at his attacker, bringing his good arm round to strike, but a strong hand caught it.
"Peace, you are among friends." Sal snapped fully conscious and realised that King Elessar was kneeling by his side, cleaning the wound in his arm. It was only a shallow graze, but it was swollen and red. Blood seeped from the cut even as King Elessar tried to stop it. Suddenly queasy, Sal leaned to one side and emptied his stomach on the ground.
He was ashamed that he should be so weak at the sight of his own blood, and apologised.
"No need," the king said, "the blade was poisoned, you are fortunate to even be alive." Sal tried to sit up, and felt the king's hands supporting his back. They weren't in the same place as they had been when the orcs attacked, and the sun was now high in the sky. How long had he been unconscious?
The rest of the company seemed uninjured, except for a graze across Pippin's cheek. Somehow they had all come through the attack alive. Sal looked at the king. With blood and dirt smeared on his face, his hair hanging in greasy strands and orc blood staining his clothes, he certainly looked more like Strider than the great King Elessar. He bound up the cut on Sal's arm with clean cloths, pronouncing that he would live.
"Why?" Sal asked, summoning up the courage at last. "The penalty for lifting a weapon against the king is death. Why did you not just let me die?"
"Do you want to die?"
"No."
"Then do not complain. There is no sense in killing when a more productive punishment is available. Perhaps you shall die before this work in finished, perhaps not. We shall both have to see when the time comes." Sal knew that the conversation was over, but still wasn't satisfied. He had no idea what the punishment was to be, or why they were making this journey. All he knew was that there was a chance he wouldn't die. For the first time since he had been found in the king's chamber, bearing a dagger, Sal had hope.
The king stood, and went to look at Pippin's graze, but he didn't need to do anything for that. Gimli sat, sharpening his axe, while Legolas was sorting arrows in his quiver. Even Sal could tell that some were orc arrows, but most were the elegant arrows the elves used. The two halflings sat talking, and King Elessar sat down beside the, drawing his sword and proceeding to clean it. Sal felt alone as he watched these friends. He didn't belong with this company, but for some reason the king though he should come.
With nowhere else to look, his gaze fell on the ground. The sword he had seized in desperation lay by his feet. It was sheathed again, and Sal wondered why it was there. Why hadn't the king wrapped it again? A terrible thought occurred to Sal, that perhaps the sword had been for a special purpose, perhaps a gift, and Sal had ruined it by wielding it in battle. He hadn't seen any other option at the time, but still he felt guilty if he had ruined the king's plans, as he had ruined his own life through folly.
He stared at the sword. It was finely crafted, with a clear stone set in the hilt. Sal frowned, as it looked as though there was something in the stone. It was probably just something underneath the sword, being distorted by the stone. Finally, curiosity overcame him, and he picked up the sword. No one said anything. Either King Elessar didn't notice, or he didn't mind. Sal looked at the stone, and saw that there was indeed something in it. A dark strand of hair. The irony of it made him smile, that he had sought a lock of hair from the king, and had taken one without realising it.
He glanced up to where King Elessar was talking with the halflings, before drawing the sword. He knew he was likely to be punished for this, but for some reason he needed to. The blade was straight and narrow, engraved with symbols he didn't understand, but guessed from their shape to be elven. He ran his fingers along the writing, wishing he knew what it meant.
Suddenly a shadow passed between him and the sun. Sal looked up fearful, as the king stared down on him. He was black against the light, and Sal couldn't see what expression his face was showing, but guessed it to be anger.
"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, putting the sword aside. King Elessar crouched down beside him, picking up the sword again, his face showing kindness rather than anger.
"Beware of your curiosity," he said, "it can be dangerous." Sal might have imagined it, but he thought the king glanced towards the halflings as he spoke. Then he smiled, and placed the sword in Sal's hands again. "There are other more certain dangers ahead of us, and you will need a weapon."
"Thank you," Sal managed to say, surprised and delighted to be granted such a fine gift. The king stood and turned away. Looking at the thing he held in his hands, he found the courage to ask, "What does the writing mean?" No sooner had he asked, than he realised he was giving in to curiosity, just as he had been warned not to only moments before. But the king wasn't angry about this either.
"Fortune," he replied, and again Sal wondered at the irony of it. It was almost as if the sword had been made in response to his desire for a lock of the king's hair. He looked closer at the stone, and saw that the hair was the same colour as the king's. But that was impossible. This sword must have been made long before Bergil made his suggestion.
Still, he could imagine that this sword had been made for him. That he had been given his token of fortune, even though he knew it could not be so.
***
They did not move on again until the following day, as the king didn't think Sal was recovered enough. Sal had to deal with his feelings of guilt, that by simply being there he was ruining the king's plans. But the king didn't seem to blame him, so Sal soon put those fears aside.
Merry decided to cheer Sal up, but telling him all about how he had received worse injuries during his first battle. Pippin joined him and together they told Sal of the fights and battles of their quest, careful to explain just how poorly they had fought. For Sal it seemed incredible that these two, famous heroes in Gondor, should admit to such failings, but their talks had the desired affect and Sal was soon laughing with them, forgetting about his own wound. The two halflings spoke often of Frodo, with more respect than they spoke of each other. When they spoke, it was always of his doing in the quest, not of what he was doing now.
"Why didn't Frodo come?" Sal asked.
"He. he went into the west with the elves," Pippin said sadly, and Sal cursed his curiosity. The king certainly knew what he was talking about. Sal had brought sadness to these two by reminding them of something painful. But soon they were laughing again. The loss of their friend, though still painful, was one they had grown used to.
"We should rest now," King Elessar said, as the sun sank towards the west, "we shall need to rise early." He then proceeded to appoint watches. Sal wasn't given one. Whether it was because of his wound, or because the king didn't trust him, he wasn't sure.
They all lay to sleep, taking turns to sit on watch and look into the inky blackness surrounding their camp. But even Legolas with his elven sight couldn't see the figures in the trees, and even the sharp ears of the halflings didn't pick up the sound of the footsteps that went past. Through the night, the company slept on peacefully, unaware of those watching from the shadows, all armed for battle and alert for the trespassing of their enemies.
***
Author's note: I couldn't bring myself to kill Sal in the second chapter. I may not feel the same about killing him later, but you'll just have to wait and see about that.
***
The first thing Sal was aware of was the burning pain in his arm. On instinct, he tried to lash out at his attacker, bringing his good arm round to strike, but a strong hand caught it.
"Peace, you are among friends." Sal snapped fully conscious and realised that King Elessar was kneeling by his side, cleaning the wound in his arm. It was only a shallow graze, but it was swollen and red. Blood seeped from the cut even as King Elessar tried to stop it. Suddenly queasy, Sal leaned to one side and emptied his stomach on the ground.
He was ashamed that he should be so weak at the sight of his own blood, and apologised.
"No need," the king said, "the blade was poisoned, you are fortunate to even be alive." Sal tried to sit up, and felt the king's hands supporting his back. They weren't in the same place as they had been when the orcs attacked, and the sun was now high in the sky. How long had he been unconscious?
The rest of the company seemed uninjured, except for a graze across Pippin's cheek. Somehow they had all come through the attack alive. Sal looked at the king. With blood and dirt smeared on his face, his hair hanging in greasy strands and orc blood staining his clothes, he certainly looked more like Strider than the great King Elessar. He bound up the cut on Sal's arm with clean cloths, pronouncing that he would live.
"Why?" Sal asked, summoning up the courage at last. "The penalty for lifting a weapon against the king is death. Why did you not just let me die?"
"Do you want to die?"
"No."
"Then do not complain. There is no sense in killing when a more productive punishment is available. Perhaps you shall die before this work in finished, perhaps not. We shall both have to see when the time comes." Sal knew that the conversation was over, but still wasn't satisfied. He had no idea what the punishment was to be, or why they were making this journey. All he knew was that there was a chance he wouldn't die. For the first time since he had been found in the king's chamber, bearing a dagger, Sal had hope.
The king stood, and went to look at Pippin's graze, but he didn't need to do anything for that. Gimli sat, sharpening his axe, while Legolas was sorting arrows in his quiver. Even Sal could tell that some were orc arrows, but most were the elegant arrows the elves used. The two halflings sat talking, and King Elessar sat down beside the, drawing his sword and proceeding to clean it. Sal felt alone as he watched these friends. He didn't belong with this company, but for some reason the king though he should come.
With nowhere else to look, his gaze fell on the ground. The sword he had seized in desperation lay by his feet. It was sheathed again, and Sal wondered why it was there. Why hadn't the king wrapped it again? A terrible thought occurred to Sal, that perhaps the sword had been for a special purpose, perhaps a gift, and Sal had ruined it by wielding it in battle. He hadn't seen any other option at the time, but still he felt guilty if he had ruined the king's plans, as he had ruined his own life through folly.
He stared at the sword. It was finely crafted, with a clear stone set in the hilt. Sal frowned, as it looked as though there was something in the stone. It was probably just something underneath the sword, being distorted by the stone. Finally, curiosity overcame him, and he picked up the sword. No one said anything. Either King Elessar didn't notice, or he didn't mind. Sal looked at the stone, and saw that there was indeed something in it. A dark strand of hair. The irony of it made him smile, that he had sought a lock of hair from the king, and had taken one without realising it.
He glanced up to where King Elessar was talking with the halflings, before drawing the sword. He knew he was likely to be punished for this, but for some reason he needed to. The blade was straight and narrow, engraved with symbols he didn't understand, but guessed from their shape to be elven. He ran his fingers along the writing, wishing he knew what it meant.
Suddenly a shadow passed between him and the sun. Sal looked up fearful, as the king stared down on him. He was black against the light, and Sal couldn't see what expression his face was showing, but guessed it to be anger.
"I'm sorry," he said hurriedly, putting the sword aside. King Elessar crouched down beside him, picking up the sword again, his face showing kindness rather than anger.
"Beware of your curiosity," he said, "it can be dangerous." Sal might have imagined it, but he thought the king glanced towards the halflings as he spoke. Then he smiled, and placed the sword in Sal's hands again. "There are other more certain dangers ahead of us, and you will need a weapon."
"Thank you," Sal managed to say, surprised and delighted to be granted such a fine gift. The king stood and turned away. Looking at the thing he held in his hands, he found the courage to ask, "What does the writing mean?" No sooner had he asked, than he realised he was giving in to curiosity, just as he had been warned not to only moments before. But the king wasn't angry about this either.
"Fortune," he replied, and again Sal wondered at the irony of it. It was almost as if the sword had been made in response to his desire for a lock of the king's hair. He looked closer at the stone, and saw that the hair was the same colour as the king's. But that was impossible. This sword must have been made long before Bergil made his suggestion.
Still, he could imagine that this sword had been made for him. That he had been given his token of fortune, even though he knew it could not be so.
***
They did not move on again until the following day, as the king didn't think Sal was recovered enough. Sal had to deal with his feelings of guilt, that by simply being there he was ruining the king's plans. But the king didn't seem to blame him, so Sal soon put those fears aside.
Merry decided to cheer Sal up, but telling him all about how he had received worse injuries during his first battle. Pippin joined him and together they told Sal of the fights and battles of their quest, careful to explain just how poorly they had fought. For Sal it seemed incredible that these two, famous heroes in Gondor, should admit to such failings, but their talks had the desired affect and Sal was soon laughing with them, forgetting about his own wound. The two halflings spoke often of Frodo, with more respect than they spoke of each other. When they spoke, it was always of his doing in the quest, not of what he was doing now.
"Why didn't Frodo come?" Sal asked.
"He. he went into the west with the elves," Pippin said sadly, and Sal cursed his curiosity. The king certainly knew what he was talking about. Sal had brought sadness to these two by reminding them of something painful. But soon they were laughing again. The loss of their friend, though still painful, was one they had grown used to.
"We should rest now," King Elessar said, as the sun sank towards the west, "we shall need to rise early." He then proceeded to appoint watches. Sal wasn't given one. Whether it was because of his wound, or because the king didn't trust him, he wasn't sure.
They all lay to sleep, taking turns to sit on watch and look into the inky blackness surrounding their camp. But even Legolas with his elven sight couldn't see the figures in the trees, and even the sharp ears of the halflings didn't pick up the sound of the footsteps that went past. Through the night, the company slept on peacefully, unaware of those watching from the shadows, all armed for battle and alert for the trespassing of their enemies.
***
Author's note: I couldn't bring myself to kill Sal in the second chapter. I may not feel the same about killing him later, but you'll just have to wait and see about that.