Disclaimer: The OCs are mine. The others aren't. Can't tell the difference? That's your problem, not mine. :)

A/N: As usual, thanks to Tangelian Proudfoot for squeeing over the chapter before I post. ;) I don't think anything requires any additional explanation.

__Chapter 8__

It is a well-known fact that rumor flies on faster wings than truth, the outlandish nature of those augmented fictions more readily shared than the drab reality of the matter. But this time, the hearsay spreading through the third circle was not so far from the truth.

A burly sour-faced man strode up to the counter and beckoned to the barkeep, who hurried over, two pints in hand, nervously eyeing him and his companion, similar in build and temperament. "We need to talk," he said in a low voice and the barkeep nodded in understanding. The man and his companion moved to a table in a shadowed back corner where they could see without being seen.

After some minutes passed, Joram came and joined the soldiers, sitting down heavily while wiping his hands on the towel tucked in his belt. "What do you want now?" he asked peevishly, glaring at each of them in turn. For though they were soldiers, they were unofficially in his employ. He would have them do him favors, like jailing unruly or unpaying customers, and in return they asked their own favors, like free ale and certain amounts of money if a job was particularly difficult or unsavory. It was a typical arrangement of extortion and bribery, and had served both sides rather well.

The first man leaned forward. "We gonna lose our jobs 'cuz o' you," he hissed. "And we can only guess what's gonna happen to you."

Joram looked from one to the other, confused. "What you sayin'?" he growled, expecting it to be a low joke.

"Remember the li'l runts you had us take outta here?" the other asked with a sneer.

"Yeah, what 'bout 'em?"

"They rilly *was* friends o' the King!" the first roared, slamming his fist on the rickety wooden table, spilling his drink. The noise drew curious stares from the rest of the customers, all other conversations dying down. Joram glared at the soldier, and none of them said anything for several long minutes. When nothing further happened, the patrons returned to their drinks and previous conversations.

Finally Joram reacted. "You ain't serious!" he cried. "You just pullin' one over on me."

Both soldiers shook their heads. "Word is them was two o' the halflings that was important in the War." the first contributed.

Joram paled. "D-does the King know about what.... happened?"

The soldiers looked at each other and shrugged. "Hard to say. He's been busy with all them foreigners." The second one leaned forward and continued, "If he don't already, he will soon. I heared that filthy guard Esli got promoted by the King hisself! An' you know Esli don't like you none. He'll be sure to tell the King."

Joram's face darkened in anger. "Esli! How'd he get hisself promoted?!"

"He was on duty in the gaol when the King come 'n spring the li'l rats. But how that put 'im in the King's favor I don' know..."

"If the King sprung 'em, he *already* knows what happened, you dolt!"

The first soldier took a large swig from his mug and wiped his mouth on his grimy sleeve before answering. "Nay. He knows they was in gaol, but he don't know yet who put 'em there! 'E's been too concerned with the sick one to git to thet part yet."

"Sick one?" Joram asked, again confused.

"Aye. One o' 'em's real sick. Folk say he got sick in gaol. So's you better watch you'self, Joram. If 'e dies, it gonna go real bad wi' you."
"If I go down, I'm takin' the both o' you with me," Joram said stiffly, scowling at each disheveled soldier in turn. A pause, then "What you gonna do?"

"Tha' depends. What do you want us to do?" asked the second with a gleam in his eye. "An' be sure, it'll cost ya."

With a dismissive wave of his hand, he replied, "Eh, the usual terms will do."

The soldiers exchanged glances. They had anticipated that. "Double," the first replied smugly.

"Double! You tryin' to ruin me? I already stand to lose more than the both o' you combined!" Joram cried in dismay.

"Which is why you should pay more to git outta it," the soldier rejoined with a sneer.

Joram sighed and wearily passed a hand over his perspiring face. "How much time have we got? I need to think."
"Hard ta say. The King may wait 'til the runt dies or gits better, or he might to som'thin' sooner. Nobody knows."
"Well... come back tomorrow. I'll have a plan by then," Joram declared briskly as he stood. As he moved away to attend to his customers once more, the soldiers watched him with malice in their eyes.

"Should we do it, then?" the second whispered eagerly.

The first sat thoughtfully, then slowly shook his head. "Let's see what 'great plan' 'e comes up wi', and if he don't make it worth our while, *then* we'll do it."

They both returned to their drinks and silently watched the usual comings and goings.

~~~~

Several hundred feet above The Angry Bull, another conversation was taking place. King Elessar was sprawled on the couch he currently called his bed, Gandalf in the upholstered chair by his head, and Faramir next to him in a chair borrowed from the hallway. All three fixed their attentions on Esli, who sat nervously fidgeting in the high-back chair pulled over from the stern wooden desk. He blushed and struggled to regain his tongue, cowed by having three distinguished personages from the War train their eyes upon *him*.

"Now, my dear Esli, we will not hurt you," Gandalf assured him, trying to keep the mirth from his voice.

Elessar took a sip from his wine as he commented off-handedly, "We have plenty of time. It'll be several hours yet before the ambassadors rouse from their drunken stupor." All in the room held similar glasses, though Esli in his nervousness seemed to have completely forgotten about his. After another silence seemed to stretch interminably, Elessar said, "Now, the gaol records indicate that Tenin and Meshi brought both Frodo and Sam in, at different times. What do you know about them?" He referenced some parchments in his hands, procured forcefully from the gaol earlier that morning.

"They are soldiers, among the more unsavory lot o' them, and quite mean. They and the others working in the gaol greatly enjoy tormenting prisoners in any way they can, pouring water over them, denying them the use of the privy, forcing them to fight one another so the guards can gamble on the results..." he trailed off as the King's face darkened, angered further by each indecency enumerated by his informant.

"Is that all?" he growled, though Esli seemed to understand the King's anger was not directed at him.

"Oh, no, sire. I'm sure there's more, but I cannot bear witness to it myself, and rumors cannot always be believed."

Elessar nodded, staring down at the pages in his lap, collecting his composure. Faramir was likewise disturbed; this behavior even towards criminals was not to be tolerated. Gandalf, implacable as ever, gave no indication of what he was thinking.

"So why was it the same two soldiers bringing in the hobbits? And who told them to bring them in?" Elessar finally continued his questioning.

"Well, those two rascals have an 'arrangement' with the bar owner, and they take care of anyone he wants to get rid of."

"What do you know of this bar owner? His name is . . . Joram, correct?"

Esli clenched his jaw and fisted his hands in fury. He spat out, "Yes. His name's Joram. An absolute waste of space is what he is. A scoundrel and a murderer, besides."

Gandalf and Elessar exchanged a meaningful look. There was obviously more to this than originally thought. Gandalf took the lead. "It sounds as though you have a personal quarrel with this Joram," he commented placidly.

"Yes, I do!" he cried, leaping from his chair to stalk the room in his agitation. "He staged a bar fight that resulted the death of someone I cared for..."

Elessar held up a cautioning hand. "I think you'd better start from the beginning."

This prompted a torrent of words to spill from Esli, detailing the story of his brother-in-law and comrade in arms, who had gotten on the bad side of Joram's legendary temper. A large brawl was staged while they were on duty, and they were called to disband it. They'd quickly been caught up in the fight, all its participants suddenly turning on the two soldiers, who were overwhelmed. Both were injured, his partner having been stabbed repeatedly. "He was bleeding too much... I couldn't stop it!" he exclaimed, remembering the full horror of that night. "We were dragged out and dumped in the alley. No healers were called, no aid was given. Nothing. We were left there, and I could not help him. My own injuries were severe, so I could not go for aid. We were not found and cared for until morning, when a kind old housewife further down the alley brought out her trash. But by then it was too late." He buried his face in his hands and wept. "It was a sore blow for Jael. Her brother was all the family she had left..." he shook his head in sorrow as he sat wearily back down, his energy completely spent in his outburst.

"I thank you for telling us this," Elessar told him gravely. "Now these wrongs will be addressed properly."
But Faramir was disturbed. "Why was this not brought before my father? He should have addressed it at that time."

Esli nodded at him. "The matter was brought to your father, my lord, but he . . . had other things diverting his attention," he answered as diplomatically as possible.

Faramir shook his head in dismay. "Yes, I have no doubt that he did. I wonder, how many other injustices have gone unredressed?"

"There is no way to tell," Gandalf answered sagely. "We can only correct those brought to our attention."

The others nodded in agreement, and it was quickly decided. The men involved in Frodo's case would be brought into custody by nightfall. Faramir soon left with Esli to take down the necessary information to ensure the proper men would be arrested.

Elessar stared into the fire thoughtfully, then said, "But what is to be their punishment? I must be just and merciful, yet all I want to do is make them suffer as cruelly as they have made others suffer..."

Gandalf said nothing, knowing the King would settle on the best solution is given some time to think. So when the King suddenly sat up, Gandalf knew he'd come up with a good idea.

"I shall consult with Frodo. He is the victim of their cruelty, he shall decide their punishment."

~~~~

As Frodo began a slow return to consciousness, he felt too comfortable to move. He was cozily wrapped in several soft blankets and quilts, though not tightly enough to inhibit his breathing, which was unusually uncongested. He took an experimental breath; no, wasn't back to normal yet. His breath caught a little, then he sighed carefully, successfully staving off a cough. For now.

Gradually he became aware he was leaning against something warm and soft, adding to his feeling of contentment. Frodo let another small sigh escape as he snuggled a little further into his nest. When the cushion behind him moved suddenly, almost as if holding back a chuckle, he realized it was not a some*thing* but a some*one*. That thought woke him up a bit more as he tried to figure out who was holding him this time. He settled on the most likely one: "Sam?" he whispered tentatively.

This time the cushion *did* laugh softly. "No, indeed, Master Hobbit. He is sleeping next to you, if you care to look."

It was a gentle female-sounding voice, but no voice he recognized. He turned his head slightly to confirm Sam's presence, and quickly turned back, blushing. It was certainly a female he was leaning against! And she'd put his head right... He shifted uncomfortably and tried to think about something else. "Wh-who are you?" he finally squeaked.

"A friend," she answered simply. "And the wife of a friend."

While cryptic, at least she gave him some answer... he continued with the next question typical among hobbits. "Have you any children?"

When she failed to respond for several long minutes, he realized he must have committed a huge blunder. "I-I'm sorry...I shouldn't have asked," he apologized humbly.

"No... no, that's all right. You had no way to know. No, I do not have any living children," her voice cracking painfully on the last phrase.

Frodo's mouth went dry as he realized how badly he'd made a mess of things. "I'm very sorry," he said earnestly, pity for this sad woman making him want to help her in any way he could.

She sniffed and seemed to bring her emotions under control. "Since you are awake, will you take some broth and tea?"

He considered her request. He was not particularly in the mood for food or drink -as always seemed to be the case when someone tried to press them upon him- but he also did not want to resist her, seeing that she was obviously still recovering from whatever had happened. So he acquiesced and took some broth and some tea without complaint.

By the time she took the mug away from his lips, he was hardly able to keep his eyes open and had begun to slump further into the blankets. "Just go back to sleep, little hobbit. You need your rest to recover," she said reassuringly.

"Please... what is your name?" he murmured drowsily.

"Jael."

"Jael..." he repeated, trying to tuck the name into his memory as he drifted back into slumber.

Jael smiled down at her small patient as his eyes slipped closed once again. It cheered her heart immensely that he seemed to be improving somewhat, no doubt thanks to the King's ministrations the night before. They'd given Frodo the peppermint and athelas breathing treatment again when the King returned after the banquet's end. He'd slept peacefully the entire time, though soon after the King left to get some rest his sleep turned fretful. Even her low singing could not calm him, so she'd climbed onto the bed, wrapped him snugly, and held him in her lap, gently rocking until he quieted. She'd been afraid of disturbing him if she tried to put him down, so there she stayed, loosely holding his small hands through the bedding layers.

About an hour later, the King again returned. Sam had just woken up and was on the other side of the bed, efficiently changing into his usual attire. As he threw his nightshirt in the corner before climbing back up to see to Frodo, he briefly wondered how he'd come to be wearing the shirt. He couldn't seem to remember changing...

"How is he doing?" asked Aragorn quietly, putting a hand to Frodo's forehead.

"Still about the same as before. He did wake up an hour ago, and took some broth and tea before going back to sleep. He seemed coherent the entire time."

"Good, good," Aragorn murmured. "And what about you?"

Jael blushed at his attention. "I'm fine. I'm afraid I dozed earlier while he slept."

"That's quite all right," he smiled reassuringly at her. "You need to keep up your strength as well."

Frodo's three caretakers made soft small talk for some moments until Aragorn remembered what he'd come to say. "When Frodo wakes, I need to discuss something with him."

"What?" asked a certain sleep-slurred voice.

"Forgive us, Frodo. We did not mean to wake you."

He would have waved it off, but his hands were wrapped in the quilts. "That's all right," he said instead. "You didn't wake me, I was waking up on my own. So what do you need to discuss with me?"

Aragorn sat on the edge of the bed to more easily meet the hobbit's eyes. "The punishment for the men who imprisoned you. Sam, I want your opinion as well."

"But Aragorn," Frodo protested, "we don't know they meant us any harm."

Aragorn shot him an incredulous look. "You ended up in gaol, Frodo! And you cannot tell me those guards meant well."

"How was the barkeep supposed to know about hobbits? You know as well as I that most of the people in this city still think halflings don't exist," Frodo persisted.

Aragorn sighed. "Even if you really were children, that barkeep should not have sent you to gaol. He will be punished, along with the men working for him and the guards at the gaol who were mistreating the other prisoners."

Frodo shook his head in defeat. "All right, if you insist, but I ask that you be lenient. For my sake."

"What would you have me do to them, then?"

"I don't know…" he said thoughtfully. Sam said nothing, but scratched his head, also deep in thought.

Before either of them had any ideas, a servant entered with a message for the King. Aragorn scanned it quickly, a slow smile creeping across his face. "Perfect!" he declared, smiling at the hobbits. He waved the rolled message in their direction. "I do believe I have part of the punishment right here."

TBC