Author's Note--This chapter has actually been written for a while, which is why I'm posting it so soon after the other. I knew what was happening here, so I said what the heck and went ahead and wrote it. But then it took a long while to backfill in what happened previously. I will add that doing it that way was very frustrating for me and my family ("Why don't you post the done chapter, Mom? Why on earth are you writing another?"), and I will avoid doing so ever again, if I can help it! There are some people out there who have been waiting very patiently for this chapter. I won't say who they are, except to say that--this one's for Dwimordene!
The night of the day the King was crowned, the streets of Minas Tirith ran with wine and merriment, and the party continued for the next five days and nights with no signs of stopping. During that time, the King held court each day, welcoming embassages, and trying to deal with the vast amount of business that lay before the Crown. The huge influx of people for the ceremonies, including the large number of soldiers with back pay in their pockets, and a burning desire to celebrate their unexpected survival, made a deal of work for the City Guard. I took a shift during the day, as I had promised Lord Hurin I would, and I would spend the evenings with my Ranger friends, though I never stayed out late. I never saw Faramir during that time--he and the Lady Eowyn celebrated with the mighty by virtue of their exalted rank. But I knew that in two days time, the King would hold a court at which he intended to honor those of the armies who had distinguished themselves, and that Faramir would be present at that court that he might oversee the distribution of those honors to his Rangers.
The third evening, as I was going off watch, Lord Hurin came up to me in the street and asked if I would stay on until midnight, as one of the Guardsmen had been knocked unconscious trying to suppress a drunken brawl. I agreed to do so, and accepted his fervent thanks, and made my way to the post I was to cover, which was in the tavern district. To say that it was lively would have been an understatement, and by the time my extra watch was over, I'd taken a smash by a bottle on my bad shoulder and was tired, hungry, in pain and out of sorts. Before I trudged my way back up to the Citadel, which was ablaze with lights and music, I stopped by the Red Dog and purchased several hot meat pies, a jug of cider and a piece of cheese. They did the food up in a napkin for me, for they knew I would return it, and gave me a substantial Guardsman's discount, for I'd removed a troublesome drunk just the day before. So I was in a somewhat better mood as I started back to my quarters.
As I was passing the Houses of Healing, I noticed the dark peacefulness of their gardens, and it occured to me that I had been overmuch stimulated of late, and that some quiet and solitude would go well with my dinner. So I let myself into the gate, and made my way to the darkest and quietest corner, where the benches were beneath the branches of the trees. But someone else had had the same idea, or the same craving--a large man was seated upon one of the benches, leaning back against the tree behind it, wrapped in a cloak. The glow of a pipe illuminated his face but dimly, and there was a scent of pipeweed on the air.
"I beg your pardon," I said, turning to leave. "I did not know anyone was here."
"There are benches aplenty, Guardsman," the man said quietly. "By all means sit. I am not adverse to the company of one--I simply came here to escape the crowd for a time."
"As did I," I admitted, seating myself on the bench nearest him. My night vision had not completely adjusted to the dimness of the garden yet--I could barely discern a pale face with chiseled features, and dark hair. I set the jug of cider beside me on the bench and spread the napkin open. The savory scent of the meat pies wafted into the air, and I thought I heard a sniff.
"Would you care for some?" I asked. "There are more vegetables than meat in truth, but the tavern keep has a clever hand with spices. I'm more tired than hungry, and there are plenty of them here."
"They do smell good," the tall dark man admitted. "Since you are kind enough to offer, yes, I would like one." I held one out, and it was engulfed by a large hand upon which I felt the roughness of sword and bow calluses. I withdrew my hand, uncorked the cider jug, and removed my helm with a sigh of relief. The hair Mablung had cut when he set my stitches was now growing out and was a short irritating stubble at the back of my head. I scratched it.
"I am Hethlin, daughter of Halaran," I said by way of introduction, and picked up my own meat pie.
"I am called Thorongil," said the man, evincing no particular surprise at the concept of a woman city guard, and then there was nothing more from either of us for a few moments but the sound of chewing. When I'd finished my first pie, I picked up the jug, took a drink, wiped the mouth of it with my sleeve, and passed it to my dinner companion, who did the same and set it back down. I offered him another pie , "--for they really aren't very good cold--" and he accepted it, but declined a third. He did, however, take a piece of cheese when it was offered, and some more cider. Then he went back to his pipe and watched me finish my meal, which took a little while, for despite what I had told him, once I started eating, I found I was actually very hungry and finished the rest of the food without pause.
"You would be the one called Snowsteel, " he said at length. "The Lord Faramir's lady ranger."
"Aye." I was unsurprised at his ability to identify me--my hair must have shone like a beacon in the night. Not for the first time, I contemplated the uses of dye when I returned to Ithilien. Walnut, perhaps. Or maybe something green? "And you must be with the Grey Company."
"How is it you are so sure of that in the dark?" He sounded somewhat amused.
"It was Elrohir who named me thus, so you must know him. And you speak with the accent of the North, and you smoke that pipeweed that all those Rangers are so fond of. Not that I've ever understood the appeal of that, though it does smell good. It seems an unhealthy habit to me."
He chuckled. "It may very well be. But it can be a comfort on a cold night watch. Helps you stay awake."
"Lets anything with a nose within half a mile know you're there, don't you mean!"
"Well, 'tis true you have to choose the occaision carefully, but I'll warrant that were you in Eriador, and I wanted to stay hidden, you would not find me, pipe or no. And you should not condemn a vice till you've tried it. So, since you were kind enough to share your supper with me...." he held out the pipe, and I took it, placed it between my teeth still warm from his mouth, and inhaled deeply. The resulting coughing fit went on for some time, and he laughingly patted me on the back gently, removed the pipe from between my trembling fingers before I set myself on fire, and offered me the cider jug. I took a deep swig, then a deep breath.
"Valar! That's horrible!"
Thorongil chuckled again. He apparently found me to be quite amusing.
"Small breaths at first, till you become accustomed. You are too bold, Snowsteel. Your father was much the same."
I sat up straight. "You knew my father?"
"Aye, I patrolled with him often in the North. A good man. I have been told of your loss, and I am sorry. I would very much like to have seen him again."
"Then....he wasn't in disgrace? He hadn't done anything.....wrong?"
"Wrong? Why would you think that?" He sounded genuinely surprised, and that heartened me.
"Because he wouldn't talk about why he and Mother left the North, and he wouldn't let her talk about it either. He said he would tell me when I was old enough, and then he was killed before he got the chance to tell me. I was afraid that he'd done something awful, that he'd been cast out for some reason." The Northern Ranger tapped down his pipe, took out a small pouch, refilled it with his weed, and resumed puffing.
"No, he was not cast out. He left of his own will. And he committed no crime, save to love where some thought he should not."
"Mother?"
"Aye. She was related, through collateral line, to the Chieftain himself, and many thought that she was one that Aragorn should wed."
"The King?" I was surprised. "They thought she should wed the King? Oh dear, did he love her?" I felt a chill. If my father had offended Aragorn, where could I possibly go to live? He was king of Gondor and of Arnor now, and Rohan was his ally. I contemplated a future in Harad, and was not reassured.
"Lady, whatever is the matter, you're pale as your hair!" There was genuine concern in his voice, and after a moment, realization. "Oh, no, it was nothing like that! Yes, the King loved your mother, but only as a dear kinswoman." I let out a sigh of relief. He paused for a moment, and seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
"Your father seems not to have been a very...forthcoming man. Do you know aught of the history of your house?"
"You mean, about the Witch-King and the traitor? I know...a little. I know that one of my ancestors betrayed the king Arveleg, and caused his death, and that he was blood-bound to the Witch-King."
"Ah, he told you that much at least then." I did not correct his assumption. "Well, because of that, the house of the Eagle was widely held to be cursed. And events over the years seemed to bear this out. Your line never thrived, and was often fraught with misfortune, yet it never entirely failed either. The men of your house remembered their disgrace, and sought to atone for the shame their ancestor had brought upon them. Thus, they were always at the forefront of battles, and proved to be fell warriors time and time again, though because of their boldness they often fell in battle untimely young. Yet, always could they find wives, and always there was at least one heir."
"Your fathers had an alliance with the Eagles of the Misty Mountains, and upon occaision the great birds would lend their skills to the Dunedain, if one of your house was involved. Yet despite their valor in war, and their special abilities, they were always somewhat shunned by the other Dunedain."
I was irritated. "Why? Because of what one man did fifteen hundred years ago? How long does it take to atone for a mistake? And while they were about it, if they were shunning my father, why didn't they shun Aragorn too? HIS forefather kept the Ring, and caused no end of trouble, but nobody seems to mind about that!"
Thorongil suddenly started coughing. I supposed some smoke had gone down the wrong way. I didn't exactly feel that I should take the liberty of slapping him on the back, but I offered him the cider jug, and he took a careful swig.
"Yes, well, hmmm, you make a valid point there," he wheezed, "And I can see why you would feel that way, though I'd never quite considered it in that light before."
"The reason that they were shunned," he continued after a moment, still a little raspy-voiced, "was that it was believed that the blood-bond still existed. There was a prophecy that said that at some time in the future, the Witch-King would rise again, and call again upon the House that had served him so well. At that time, they would either betray the Dunedain once more, or repudiate the Witch-King, and end the curse. So each heir to the House of the Eagle lived wondering if he would be the one to be called. And the other Dunedain were wary of offering friendship, lest they be involved in the betrayal."
"Well! At least I don't have to worry about that now, thanks to the Lady of Rohan." I was not adverse to giving Eowyn the credit for ending the curse--it was not as if anyone (except perhaps my dreaming friend Faramir) would have believed anything I said about my meeting with the Witch King.
"Yes. The Lady Eowyn was very valorous indeed." His voice was rather expressionless of a sudden. "I would imagine that the destruction of the sorcerer involved would mean the end of the blood-bond. So all that worry was for naught, no one was ever called, and perhaps your House has a brighter future now."
"My House ends with me."
"Rule may pass to a female, if she is the only child. It was thus in Numenor, long ago."
"It ends with me." I reiterated, though I gave no other explanation. I'd only just met the man, after all.
"You still have not explained how my father and mother fit into this," I reminded him. He sighed, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, cradling his pipe in his big hands.
"You needed the background to go on with. So--your mother Liraniel was a lady of the highest lineage of the Dunedain, a fitting wife for the Chieftain himself. And your father was also of an ancient house--but one considered to be cursed. And there was a third party, also of an ancient house, but one uncursed. His name was Terenoth, and he was your father's sword-brother and boon companion. Often they patrolled together in the Wild, and many times had they saved each others lives. They were of a like mind in many things--and as it turned out, that included the woman they both loved. But your mother chose your father over Terenoth, and this drove a wedge between them."
"Terenoth, who had ever chosen to ignore the curse that hung over your house because of the love he bore your father, suddenly remembered himself of it, and when your father and mother announced their betrothal, he began to endeavor to stir up bad feeling against him, talking of the ill-fortune that often befell brides of the House of the Eagle, and saying that Liraniel should marry Aragorn instead."
"And finally, when that did not serve his purpose, he drew steel on his sword-brother at the wedding itself." I looked at him, wide-eyed at the enormity of that breach of custom, and he nodded sadly.
"I was there, and I saw it all. Fortunately, your father was not sorely wounded, but our laws are adamant as regards such an offense, and Aragorn was forced to exile Terenoth."
"Well then, that solved the problem, didn't it?"
"I wish that it had. Terenoth's family was understandably wroth at what had happened, and Liraniel's kin felt that this was simply a confirmation of all that Terenoth had been saying about the curse. Halaran, though he was blameless in this matter, began to feel that his continued presence in Arnor would cause strife and dissension among the Dunedain--which was a weakness we could not afford. There were so very few of us left. So despite our Chieftain's entreaties, he made up his mind to remove to the South, and Liraniel, though it meant she left all her kin and all she'd ever known, agreed that they should do so. Your mother and father loved each other very much."
"That part of the story I already know, my lord Thorongil," I said softly. His teeth flashed whitely in the darkness as he smiled. He was a very comely man, I could see that now, though somewhat noble and stern in visage.
"I am glad that you do. You realize, of course, my lady Hethlin, that you are the King's ward, and I suspect that very soon now he will be taking a personal interest in your welfare."
"What!?"
"Have you not been listening to what has been said here? Your mother was a distant kinswoman of the king, and you can trace your lineage in unbroken line back to the Faithful themselves on both sides of your family. Such pure blood is rare now in Middle-Earth--the lineage of the kings of Rohan does not go back one third so far!
You are anything but a farmer's daughter, Hethlin daughter of Halaran and Liraniel."
"Well there's some good news that's about two months too late," I muttered to myself. Not that it particularly mattered. Whether I was a lady, or a princess, or whatever, I was one without family, without wealth, without land, and because of my past, definitely without prospects.
He looked at me quizzically. "Did you say something?"
"Nothing, my lord....I mean, yes, my lord. How well do you know the King?"
"King Elessar the Elfstone of Gondor and Arnor? Not well at all, yet. But I have more than a passing acquaintance with Aragorn son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain of the North. Why?"
"What you said about him taking an interest in me--what do you think he will do?"
"If I know Aragorn, and..... I rather think I do, he'll do nothing without consulting with you first. So it is not so much a question of 'what will he do?' as it is a question of 'what do you wish to do?'"
"The Lord Steward had offered me the Ranger captaincy of North Ithilien."
"Pardon me if I say you seem very young for that position."
"I haven't been 'young' for a long time now, my lord," I said quietly, somewhat stung by his skepticism.
"Do you think you could do that?"
"Lord Faramir says I can, and he's very seldom wrong. And I know the territory like the back of my hand. Better even."
"I didn't ask if the Steward thought you could do it, I asked if you thought you could." His tone was sharper of a sudden, and I bridled.
"Yes! Yes, I could."
"Hmmmmmm." He leaned back against the tree, as if satisfied about something, and I groaned as I realized something.
"You aren't just a member of the Grey Company--you're a captain!"
He started a bit. "What makes you say that?"
"You were just giving me the Captain Look."
"The 'Captain Look'?"
"You know what I'm talking about! When you look at a man, and try to decide--is he rested? Well fed? In good spirits? Healthy? Can he go the distance? The Captain Look!"
Thorongil tipped his head back against the tree, and began to laugh. "Guilty as charged, Ranger! Guilty as charged!" I watched him in aggrieved silence, until his laughter ran down and he wiped his eyes with the hand not holding the pipe.
"What if the King offered to find you a husband--what would you tell him, Hethlin?" he asked at last.
"No."
"Just that? Just no? Most young women your age long for a husband."
"I am not like most young women my age," I said flatly. "The answer would be no."
"There is no young man you fancy, then?" He gave me a very penetrating look. Even with the dark partially obscuring it, his was a hard gaze to endure.
"No."
"You've never met any young man that you would consider marrying?"
"No." I said it stoutly as before, but I was beginning to be unnerved by his unwavering regard.
"Somehow, I think you are not being entirely truthful with me, lady Snowsteel."
"Just because I shared my meat pies with you doesn't mean I have to share my secrets as well, Captain Thorongil." It came out a little more tartly than I had planned, and he raised his eyebrows.
"No, I suppose you do not. Every lady should keep a few secrets for herself." He stood up and stretched, a tall man indeed, with a sword that was so much a part of him, that I knew even before he moved there was no way I'd ever be able to take him.
"I owe you a meal, lady ."
"Should I claim it soon, Captain? Will you be returning North now that the King is crowned?"
"Actually, it's taken me such a long time to get here, I thought I might linger a while."
"Well, if you liked the pies, the tavern's called the Red Dog, and it's down on the fifth circle. Fortunately, it's not called that because they use dogs in the pies! Their prices are reasonable, and that's a good thing. Keep hold of your coin as long as you can--you'll find this is an expensive city to live in, Captain." He made a funny sort of snort.
"I will bear that in mind, lady Hethlin. A good evening to you."
"And to you, sir." And he bowed and I bowed in return, then he departed, and after he was gone, I finally sought my bed. And though I am not Faramir, I had a dream for once, of a crowned and faceless stranger who twisted my life to a pattern of his own choosing. It was not a peaceful night.
The night of the day the King was crowned, the streets of Minas Tirith ran with wine and merriment, and the party continued for the next five days and nights with no signs of stopping. During that time, the King held court each day, welcoming embassages, and trying to deal with the vast amount of business that lay before the Crown. The huge influx of people for the ceremonies, including the large number of soldiers with back pay in their pockets, and a burning desire to celebrate their unexpected survival, made a deal of work for the City Guard. I took a shift during the day, as I had promised Lord Hurin I would, and I would spend the evenings with my Ranger friends, though I never stayed out late. I never saw Faramir during that time--he and the Lady Eowyn celebrated with the mighty by virtue of their exalted rank. But I knew that in two days time, the King would hold a court at which he intended to honor those of the armies who had distinguished themselves, and that Faramir would be present at that court that he might oversee the distribution of those honors to his Rangers.
The third evening, as I was going off watch, Lord Hurin came up to me in the street and asked if I would stay on until midnight, as one of the Guardsmen had been knocked unconscious trying to suppress a drunken brawl. I agreed to do so, and accepted his fervent thanks, and made my way to the post I was to cover, which was in the tavern district. To say that it was lively would have been an understatement, and by the time my extra watch was over, I'd taken a smash by a bottle on my bad shoulder and was tired, hungry, in pain and out of sorts. Before I trudged my way back up to the Citadel, which was ablaze with lights and music, I stopped by the Red Dog and purchased several hot meat pies, a jug of cider and a piece of cheese. They did the food up in a napkin for me, for they knew I would return it, and gave me a substantial Guardsman's discount, for I'd removed a troublesome drunk just the day before. So I was in a somewhat better mood as I started back to my quarters.
As I was passing the Houses of Healing, I noticed the dark peacefulness of their gardens, and it occured to me that I had been overmuch stimulated of late, and that some quiet and solitude would go well with my dinner. So I let myself into the gate, and made my way to the darkest and quietest corner, where the benches were beneath the branches of the trees. But someone else had had the same idea, or the same craving--a large man was seated upon one of the benches, leaning back against the tree behind it, wrapped in a cloak. The glow of a pipe illuminated his face but dimly, and there was a scent of pipeweed on the air.
"I beg your pardon," I said, turning to leave. "I did not know anyone was here."
"There are benches aplenty, Guardsman," the man said quietly. "By all means sit. I am not adverse to the company of one--I simply came here to escape the crowd for a time."
"As did I," I admitted, seating myself on the bench nearest him. My night vision had not completely adjusted to the dimness of the garden yet--I could barely discern a pale face with chiseled features, and dark hair. I set the jug of cider beside me on the bench and spread the napkin open. The savory scent of the meat pies wafted into the air, and I thought I heard a sniff.
"Would you care for some?" I asked. "There are more vegetables than meat in truth, but the tavern keep has a clever hand with spices. I'm more tired than hungry, and there are plenty of them here."
"They do smell good," the tall dark man admitted. "Since you are kind enough to offer, yes, I would like one." I held one out, and it was engulfed by a large hand upon which I felt the roughness of sword and bow calluses. I withdrew my hand, uncorked the cider jug, and removed my helm with a sigh of relief. The hair Mablung had cut when he set my stitches was now growing out and was a short irritating stubble at the back of my head. I scratched it.
"I am Hethlin, daughter of Halaran," I said by way of introduction, and picked up my own meat pie.
"I am called Thorongil," said the man, evincing no particular surprise at the concept of a woman city guard, and then there was nothing more from either of us for a few moments but the sound of chewing. When I'd finished my first pie, I picked up the jug, took a drink, wiped the mouth of it with my sleeve, and passed it to my dinner companion, who did the same and set it back down. I offered him another pie , "--for they really aren't very good cold--" and he accepted it, but declined a third. He did, however, take a piece of cheese when it was offered, and some more cider. Then he went back to his pipe and watched me finish my meal, which took a little while, for despite what I had told him, once I started eating, I found I was actually very hungry and finished the rest of the food without pause.
"You would be the one called Snowsteel, " he said at length. "The Lord Faramir's lady ranger."
"Aye." I was unsurprised at his ability to identify me--my hair must have shone like a beacon in the night. Not for the first time, I contemplated the uses of dye when I returned to Ithilien. Walnut, perhaps. Or maybe something green? "And you must be with the Grey Company."
"How is it you are so sure of that in the dark?" He sounded somewhat amused.
"It was Elrohir who named me thus, so you must know him. And you speak with the accent of the North, and you smoke that pipeweed that all those Rangers are so fond of. Not that I've ever understood the appeal of that, though it does smell good. It seems an unhealthy habit to me."
He chuckled. "It may very well be. But it can be a comfort on a cold night watch. Helps you stay awake."
"Lets anything with a nose within half a mile know you're there, don't you mean!"
"Well, 'tis true you have to choose the occaision carefully, but I'll warrant that were you in Eriador, and I wanted to stay hidden, you would not find me, pipe or no. And you should not condemn a vice till you've tried it. So, since you were kind enough to share your supper with me...." he held out the pipe, and I took it, placed it between my teeth still warm from his mouth, and inhaled deeply. The resulting coughing fit went on for some time, and he laughingly patted me on the back gently, removed the pipe from between my trembling fingers before I set myself on fire, and offered me the cider jug. I took a deep swig, then a deep breath.
"Valar! That's horrible!"
Thorongil chuckled again. He apparently found me to be quite amusing.
"Small breaths at first, till you become accustomed. You are too bold, Snowsteel. Your father was much the same."
I sat up straight. "You knew my father?"
"Aye, I patrolled with him often in the North. A good man. I have been told of your loss, and I am sorry. I would very much like to have seen him again."
"Then....he wasn't in disgrace? He hadn't done anything.....wrong?"
"Wrong? Why would you think that?" He sounded genuinely surprised, and that heartened me.
"Because he wouldn't talk about why he and Mother left the North, and he wouldn't let her talk about it either. He said he would tell me when I was old enough, and then he was killed before he got the chance to tell me. I was afraid that he'd done something awful, that he'd been cast out for some reason." The Northern Ranger tapped down his pipe, took out a small pouch, refilled it with his weed, and resumed puffing.
"No, he was not cast out. He left of his own will. And he committed no crime, save to love where some thought he should not."
"Mother?"
"Aye. She was related, through collateral line, to the Chieftain himself, and many thought that she was one that Aragorn should wed."
"The King?" I was surprised. "They thought she should wed the King? Oh dear, did he love her?" I felt a chill. If my father had offended Aragorn, where could I possibly go to live? He was king of Gondor and of Arnor now, and Rohan was his ally. I contemplated a future in Harad, and was not reassured.
"Lady, whatever is the matter, you're pale as your hair!" There was genuine concern in his voice, and after a moment, realization. "Oh, no, it was nothing like that! Yes, the King loved your mother, but only as a dear kinswoman." I let out a sigh of relief. He paused for a moment, and seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
"Your father seems not to have been a very...forthcoming man. Do you know aught of the history of your house?"
"You mean, about the Witch-King and the traitor? I know...a little. I know that one of my ancestors betrayed the king Arveleg, and caused his death, and that he was blood-bound to the Witch-King."
"Ah, he told you that much at least then." I did not correct his assumption. "Well, because of that, the house of the Eagle was widely held to be cursed. And events over the years seemed to bear this out. Your line never thrived, and was often fraught with misfortune, yet it never entirely failed either. The men of your house remembered their disgrace, and sought to atone for the shame their ancestor had brought upon them. Thus, they were always at the forefront of battles, and proved to be fell warriors time and time again, though because of their boldness they often fell in battle untimely young. Yet, always could they find wives, and always there was at least one heir."
"Your fathers had an alliance with the Eagles of the Misty Mountains, and upon occaision the great birds would lend their skills to the Dunedain, if one of your house was involved. Yet despite their valor in war, and their special abilities, they were always somewhat shunned by the other Dunedain."
I was irritated. "Why? Because of what one man did fifteen hundred years ago? How long does it take to atone for a mistake? And while they were about it, if they were shunning my father, why didn't they shun Aragorn too? HIS forefather kept the Ring, and caused no end of trouble, but nobody seems to mind about that!"
Thorongil suddenly started coughing. I supposed some smoke had gone down the wrong way. I didn't exactly feel that I should take the liberty of slapping him on the back, but I offered him the cider jug, and he took a careful swig.
"Yes, well, hmmm, you make a valid point there," he wheezed, "And I can see why you would feel that way, though I'd never quite considered it in that light before."
"The reason that they were shunned," he continued after a moment, still a little raspy-voiced, "was that it was believed that the blood-bond still existed. There was a prophecy that said that at some time in the future, the Witch-King would rise again, and call again upon the House that had served him so well. At that time, they would either betray the Dunedain once more, or repudiate the Witch-King, and end the curse. So each heir to the House of the Eagle lived wondering if he would be the one to be called. And the other Dunedain were wary of offering friendship, lest they be involved in the betrayal."
"Well! At least I don't have to worry about that now, thanks to the Lady of Rohan." I was not adverse to giving Eowyn the credit for ending the curse--it was not as if anyone (except perhaps my dreaming friend Faramir) would have believed anything I said about my meeting with the Witch King.
"Yes. The Lady Eowyn was very valorous indeed." His voice was rather expressionless of a sudden. "I would imagine that the destruction of the sorcerer involved would mean the end of the blood-bond. So all that worry was for naught, no one was ever called, and perhaps your House has a brighter future now."
"My House ends with me."
"Rule may pass to a female, if she is the only child. It was thus in Numenor, long ago."
"It ends with me." I reiterated, though I gave no other explanation. I'd only just met the man, after all.
"You still have not explained how my father and mother fit into this," I reminded him. He sighed, and leaned forward, elbows on knees, cradling his pipe in his big hands.
"You needed the background to go on with. So--your mother Liraniel was a lady of the highest lineage of the Dunedain, a fitting wife for the Chieftain himself. And your father was also of an ancient house--but one considered to be cursed. And there was a third party, also of an ancient house, but one uncursed. His name was Terenoth, and he was your father's sword-brother and boon companion. Often they patrolled together in the Wild, and many times had they saved each others lives. They were of a like mind in many things--and as it turned out, that included the woman they both loved. But your mother chose your father over Terenoth, and this drove a wedge between them."
"Terenoth, who had ever chosen to ignore the curse that hung over your house because of the love he bore your father, suddenly remembered himself of it, and when your father and mother announced their betrothal, he began to endeavor to stir up bad feeling against him, talking of the ill-fortune that often befell brides of the House of the Eagle, and saying that Liraniel should marry Aragorn instead."
"And finally, when that did not serve his purpose, he drew steel on his sword-brother at the wedding itself." I looked at him, wide-eyed at the enormity of that breach of custom, and he nodded sadly.
"I was there, and I saw it all. Fortunately, your father was not sorely wounded, but our laws are adamant as regards such an offense, and Aragorn was forced to exile Terenoth."
"Well then, that solved the problem, didn't it?"
"I wish that it had. Terenoth's family was understandably wroth at what had happened, and Liraniel's kin felt that this was simply a confirmation of all that Terenoth had been saying about the curse. Halaran, though he was blameless in this matter, began to feel that his continued presence in Arnor would cause strife and dissension among the Dunedain--which was a weakness we could not afford. There were so very few of us left. So despite our Chieftain's entreaties, he made up his mind to remove to the South, and Liraniel, though it meant she left all her kin and all she'd ever known, agreed that they should do so. Your mother and father loved each other very much."
"That part of the story I already know, my lord Thorongil," I said softly. His teeth flashed whitely in the darkness as he smiled. He was a very comely man, I could see that now, though somewhat noble and stern in visage.
"I am glad that you do. You realize, of course, my lady Hethlin, that you are the King's ward, and I suspect that very soon now he will be taking a personal interest in your welfare."
"What!?"
"Have you not been listening to what has been said here? Your mother was a distant kinswoman of the king, and you can trace your lineage in unbroken line back to the Faithful themselves on both sides of your family. Such pure blood is rare now in Middle-Earth--the lineage of the kings of Rohan does not go back one third so far!
You are anything but a farmer's daughter, Hethlin daughter of Halaran and Liraniel."
"Well there's some good news that's about two months too late," I muttered to myself. Not that it particularly mattered. Whether I was a lady, or a princess, or whatever, I was one without family, without wealth, without land, and because of my past, definitely without prospects.
He looked at me quizzically. "Did you say something?"
"Nothing, my lord....I mean, yes, my lord. How well do you know the King?"
"King Elessar the Elfstone of Gondor and Arnor? Not well at all, yet. But I have more than a passing acquaintance with Aragorn son of Arathorn, Chieftain of the Dunedain of the North. Why?"
"What you said about him taking an interest in me--what do you think he will do?"
"If I know Aragorn, and..... I rather think I do, he'll do nothing without consulting with you first. So it is not so much a question of 'what will he do?' as it is a question of 'what do you wish to do?'"
"The Lord Steward had offered me the Ranger captaincy of North Ithilien."
"Pardon me if I say you seem very young for that position."
"I haven't been 'young' for a long time now, my lord," I said quietly, somewhat stung by his skepticism.
"Do you think you could do that?"
"Lord Faramir says I can, and he's very seldom wrong. And I know the territory like the back of my hand. Better even."
"I didn't ask if the Steward thought you could do it, I asked if you thought you could." His tone was sharper of a sudden, and I bridled.
"Yes! Yes, I could."
"Hmmmmmm." He leaned back against the tree, as if satisfied about something, and I groaned as I realized something.
"You aren't just a member of the Grey Company--you're a captain!"
He started a bit. "What makes you say that?"
"You were just giving me the Captain Look."
"The 'Captain Look'?"
"You know what I'm talking about! When you look at a man, and try to decide--is he rested? Well fed? In good spirits? Healthy? Can he go the distance? The Captain Look!"
Thorongil tipped his head back against the tree, and began to laugh. "Guilty as charged, Ranger! Guilty as charged!" I watched him in aggrieved silence, until his laughter ran down and he wiped his eyes with the hand not holding the pipe.
"What if the King offered to find you a husband--what would you tell him, Hethlin?" he asked at last.
"No."
"Just that? Just no? Most young women your age long for a husband."
"I am not like most young women my age," I said flatly. "The answer would be no."
"There is no young man you fancy, then?" He gave me a very penetrating look. Even with the dark partially obscuring it, his was a hard gaze to endure.
"No."
"You've never met any young man that you would consider marrying?"
"No." I said it stoutly as before, but I was beginning to be unnerved by his unwavering regard.
"Somehow, I think you are not being entirely truthful with me, lady Snowsteel."
"Just because I shared my meat pies with you doesn't mean I have to share my secrets as well, Captain Thorongil." It came out a little more tartly than I had planned, and he raised his eyebrows.
"No, I suppose you do not. Every lady should keep a few secrets for herself." He stood up and stretched, a tall man indeed, with a sword that was so much a part of him, that I knew even before he moved there was no way I'd ever be able to take him.
"I owe you a meal, lady ."
"Should I claim it soon, Captain? Will you be returning North now that the King is crowned?"
"Actually, it's taken me such a long time to get here, I thought I might linger a while."
"Well, if you liked the pies, the tavern's called the Red Dog, and it's down on the fifth circle. Fortunately, it's not called that because they use dogs in the pies! Their prices are reasonable, and that's a good thing. Keep hold of your coin as long as you can--you'll find this is an expensive city to live in, Captain." He made a funny sort of snort.
"I will bear that in mind, lady Hethlin. A good evening to you."
"And to you, sir." And he bowed and I bowed in return, then he departed, and after he was gone, I finally sought my bed. And though I am not Faramir, I had a dream for once, of a crowned and faceless stranger who twisted my life to a pattern of his own choosing. It was not a peaceful night.