Tarkil and Haldon returned to their quarters after finishing their breakfast in the mess hall. As they passed his private quarters, Herudil called out, "Tarkil, change into the uniform you wore for the coronation and report back to me. Your presence has been requested."
Haldon raised an eyebrow as they turned into the company's quarters. "What have you done this time, little brother?"
Tarkil shrugged and went to his cot to change, taking extra care with his appearance, wondering who had requested his presence and why he needed to be dressed in such finery. The stiff embroidery on the collar chaffed and he ran a finger around the neckline. He felt conspicuous in such finery, conscious of the silver threads gleaming where he preferred to blend into the shadows. He walked across to Herudil's room only to have to wait while the commander finished with the burdens of his command.
Herudil glanced up to see Tarkil leaning against the wall, fiddling with the hilt of his broken sword. "Take that off. You will not need a sword where we are going."
Tarkil sighed and removed the scabbard from his belt, returning to their quarters to place it on his cot before Herudil gestured for him to follow. They strode across the Citadel, and Tarkil's worry burgeoned when the Commander led him into the great Hall of the Kings. Herudil bade him to stand to the side as he disappeared into the crowd leaving Tarkil to listen to farmers dispute over cropland and grazing rights, and watch petitions be presented to Aragorn. Elessar, Tarkil reminded himself, relaxing slightly as he watched his kin pronounce judgements and preside over the court. Indeed, the King who sat on the throne carried himself differently than the Ranger from the North who had helped train him on occasion. Strider had disappeared. Even Aragorn was gone. In his place, sat a stern King, wise and majestic. The Dunedain noticed the change begin on the trip down to the Pelargir as the layers of the rough Ranger of the North peeled away revealing his benevolent and noble manner; when he stood before them on the Pelennor fields no trace of Strider could be seen, Aragorn stood before them with the proud bearing of the ancient kings of Númenor. To see Elessar upon his throne sent a thrill of pride through the Ranger whose family had fought for a thousand years to see their kin crowned.
The day dragged on as morning turned into afternoon; Tarkil shifted his weight from one foot to the other and rolled his shoulders to stop the ache in his back. His stomach growled, reminding him of his missed lunch, all the while he wondered why he had been summoned to stand in the hall. He took more interest in the attempts of a heavy-bodied fly that buzzed about the columns and repeatedly bounced into a window high above in its attempt to escape than in the men presenting petitions for two villages that fought over fishing rights to the same stretch of the Anduin.
The bright summer rays of the afternoon sun slanted through the windows high in the wall before Herudil returned to stand by him, but when Tarkil attempted to question the reason for his presence, Herudil bid him to be patient and wait. So he waited. Tarkil started when an aide called out his name and commanded him to stand in front of the King.
"Go on, lad. The king summons you." Herudil put a hand to the ranger's back, propelling him to move. Tarkil walked towards the White Throne, hearing his footsteps echo against the pillars and high arched roof. He bowed low to his king, aware of all the eyes of the court on him, and the whispers of the nobles who surrounded him.
When he straightened from his bow and stood at attention, he saw Aragorn's eyes sweep down his uniform, settling upon his swordless belt. When the king's eyes lifted to meet his, Tarkil thought he detected a strange glint of amusement in them.
"I understand you lost your sword at the Black Gate and now you have none to defend your king," Elessar pronounced sternly from his throne. "An unarmed ranger, while still offering a great deal of skill, is one who is severely hindered in their efforts to defend me, would you not agree?"
"Yes, my lord Elessar," Tarkil said, now feeling naked without his blade, wondering if he was about to be dismissed from his oath. He heard a movement behind him but did not dare remove his gaze from his king.
Elrohir and Elladan strode past him, gracefully mounting the steps till they stood on the dais beside the king and, giving an elegant bow, presented a sword in a finely wrought scabbard to the King who stood to receive it. With another bow to their foster-brother, the twins left the dais to stand on either side of the bewildered Ranger.
Elessar removed the sword from its scabbard and swung it lightly; it sang as it soared through the air. Resheathing the sword, he gestured to Tarkil to stand on the dais in front of him.
Overwhelmed, Tarkil walked up the stairs and stood at attention in front of his king. "This sword is Aranaur. The mirdain of Lindon forged it for a Captain of Eärnur. It fought in the great battle against the Witch King in Angmar and in many battles in defence of Gondor since. May it serve you well, Tarkil son of Beleg. You have earned it in your loyal protection of your king and your land." Aragorn held out the scabbard and sword to Tarkil who could not mask the astonishment he felt.
Tarkil looked at Aragorn as he accepted the gift, seeing the compassion and strength he had revered when he swore his oath to him as a Ranger twenty years before. Overcome by the moment, he knelt and offered up his sword. "My lord Elessar, when I joined the Rangers I offered you my sword in protection of the Realm of the North. I offer it now with my oath of fealty to the King of the United Realm. I swear to serve you with steadfast loyalty and honour in peace or war. May my courage and strength protect the weak. May my sword defend all in your realm against your foes and deliver justice against wrongdoers according to your laws. My heart, mind and body are yours to command until my lord release me, death takes me or the world ends. So say I, Tarkil son of Beleg of the Dúnedain of the United Realm."
Aragorn returned Tarkil's new sword once more, smiling as he looked down at the young ranger. "And once again I hear your fealty, this time as Aragorn Elessar, King of the United Realm, and I accept your oath nor shall I forget it. I give you my oath in return – to reward you with abundance, fealty with love, valour with honour, oath-breaking with banishment. Till death take you or I release you or the world ends. Stand, my young kin."
Tarkil grasped his sword and stood, bowing once more to Aragorn before turning to walk down the stairs. He paused in amazement for in the middle of the hall the Grey Company stood at attention, all resplendently arrayed in their new uniforms. He took his position amongst them. The company saluted their king and smartly turned on their heel, the arches echoing with the cadence of their exit.
The Grey Company marched across the Citadel till they reached their quarters. Falling out of formation the men offered Tarkil their congratulations.
"Had to do everyone one better, Tarkil. Just like you!" Haldon grinned but he pulled his brother into a hug and slapped him on the back. "It surprised me to see you kneel down and offer your oath like that. "
Still in shock, Tarkil's fingers fumbled as he attempted to fasten the new scabbard to his belt. "I just …" Words failed him and Haldon laughed to see his brother speechless.
"Get changed; we are taking you to the tavern down on the first level to celebrate." Haldon hurriedly changed and joked with Theron and Meglin as Tarkil fiddled with his uniform waiting for the others to leave. In exasperation, Haldon chided his brother for dawdling and said they would meet Tarkil at the tavern.
Gradually the quarters emptied until Tarkil found himself alone in the company's quarters and sagged onto his cot, staring at the silver etchings on the scabbard of his new sword.
"What troubles you, Tarkil?" Herudil asked from the door.
"I do not understand this. I did nothing more than any of the others; I simply did my duty. Why was I honoured with so fine a sword?" He finally voiced the question that plagued him. He fingered the silver pommel, then wrapped his fingers about the hilt and removed a small portion of the blade to see an elven inscription traced into its length.
"You missed much while you were in the Houses of Healing, Tarkil. All the other Rangers had to endure this 'punishment', too." Herudil chuckled. He walked over and sat on the cot opposite the bewildered ranger. "As for what you did to deserve it - the King is aware of your actions before the Black Gates; he knows how you saved him from being pierced by an Orc's arrow that day. He simply wished to thank you, Tarkil, and knowing your sword had been shattered, replaced it as a king may choose to do for a knight who has proven himself in battle."
"But surely a much plainer one would have done," Tarkil said.
"This was not the only sword handed out but as for why this one was chosen for you – Elladan and Elrohir chose it. They noticed it hanging on a wall in the King's study. It is a kin to the one Haldon carries that was forged for that same fight against the Witch King. So when Elessar mentioned he wished to have one commissioned to replace yours, they suggested he give you that particular one." Herudil saw Tarkil's bewildered look stayed on his face and patiently explained. "That sword serves as their thanks for saving Aragorn from that arrow. Do you remember the twins questioning your ability to fight when you joined the Grey Company? I will say it for them, since they are not good at apologizing but they had to admit you have proven yourself worthy innumerable times and this is one way they had to thank you."
Tarkil remembered that week all too clearly. It had begun as soon as he and his brother had joined the company at Tharbad after saying farewell to Poppi. Borgil, the man who had given him such grief the fall before, had stared at Tarkil and immediately approached the commander.
"You should not allow him to accompany us, Halbarad." Borgil argued. "He is too inexperienced, even his brother! They should both be sent back."
Tarkil and Haldon exchanged a glance, as Elladan and Elrohir turned to stare at them. Haldon had been told of the tension between his brother and the former commander and scowled to be caught within its net.
At the next brief stop to rest their horses, Elrohir approached the brothers insisting on inspecting their swords, spears and bows. He unsheathed Arathand, Haldon's sword. "I remember this blade – it was made by a smith in Lindon before the fall of Angmar. It has been well cared for and should serve you well." When he looked over Tarkil's sword, Berior, he declared it to be adequate.
While his twin inspected the two Dúnedain brothers, Elladan approached Halbarad. "These two are children. And the youngest one we know – he has a temper, he attacked this man by putting a knife to his throat last year. If he fails to control himself, he may put us all in jeopardy."
Tarkil noticed a satisfied smirk appear on Borgil's face as the Peredhil took up his cause. Tarkil felt sure Halbarad would order him to return to Rivendell and steeled himself to argue for his continuation with the Grey Company until he heard Halbarad calmly reply, "Both Haldon and Tarkil are proven in battle, and both volunteered to fight with us. I am satisfied with their abilities, my lords, despite their youth."
The twins then insisted on testing their skill with both blade and bow. The brothers panted with exhaustion by the time the twins declared them 'acceptable'.
Tarkil and Haldon noticed that Halbarad scowled as he pulled the Peredhil aside. They tried not to eavesdrop but their commander's deep voice carried across to them. "I will not have you injuring my men before we get to Aragorn's side. We need each and every one of them – your own words, may I remind you, my lords. In Aragorn's absence, I am their captain, not you. I told you they are ready to fight, and yet you question them. And in questioning them, you question me. I appreciate you have thousands of years of experience, but do not question my authority in front of my men."
The twins demurred to him and as they rode hard once more, Elrohir pulled his horse alongside. "Tarkil, when we have breaks, I shall instruct you on how to improve your stance and your form. Your blade work will be fine against Easterlings and Southrons, but there are ways to improve; I shall show them to you."
True to his word, when they stopped to allow their horses to rest, Tarkil found himself unable to enjoy the respite that his brethren enjoyed as the Peredhil insisted he practice with them. But even with his exhaustion, he found their instruction useful and saw himself improving. And so must have some of the other rangers who soon approached to ask for help in improving any weaknesses they had in attack and defence. Tarkil had to admit during the battles on the Pelennor and the Morannon that the extra practice had come in useful more than once, the tips they had offered proved to save his life.
Tarkil looked once more at the sword he had just received, still amazed at the quality of the work when Elladan and Elrohir entered the quarters.
"Our young friend here is in awe of the sword you chose, my lords." Herudil grinned wryly.
"If we were full-elves we would declare you elf-friend, but unfortunately, you must settle for simply being our friend." Elladan smiled. "If ever you have need of us, we shall be there for your assistance. Indeed that is true of any of the Grey Company."
"Now, get changed. The rest of the group wish to buy you an ale or two," Herudil said as he stood.
The feeling of shock gradually wore off. Tarkil changed and accompanied the commander and the Peredhil across the Citadel towards the tunnel to the lower levels.
"There you are, Herudil. I am glad you found him." Prince Imrahil, obviously irate, stalked towards them. "I will have you apologize to my daughter, soldier. Your remark to her the other night was completely inappropriate." The Knight drew himself up to his full height and stared at Tarkil, one hand on the hilt of his sword.
The intensity of his gaze surprised Tarkil who felt that it might have been Elladan or Elrohir staring at him.
Herudil cleared his throat. "My lord Imrahil, this is not the man you seek."
Imrahil did not blink nor remove his gaze from the Ranger as he replied, "I do not know what game you play, Herudil, but my daughter's chaperone pointed him out. This is indeed he."
"No, my lord, it is not. I understand your confusion, but this is his younger brother. Many people tend to mix them up, though if you see them together you shall see the difference." Seeing the knight raise an eyebrow in question, Herudil sighed and turned to Elladan. "My lord, could you seek out Haldon and send him up here immediately."
Tarkil and Herudil waited upon the green sward while Imrahil paced in irritation until Elladan and Haldon returned. Haldon bore no sign of his bright grin, Tarkil noted.
"My lord." Haldon bowed before the Prince, his manners and tone impeccably polite.
Imrahil's eyes darted between the two brothers and snorted, then snarled at Haldon. "My daughter's chaperone reported that during the time you spent with my daughter at the ball two nights ago, you made a crude remark to my daughter."
Haldon looked confused for a moment. "I most humbly apologize if there was any misunderstanding, my lord. I was most careful in my speech with your daughter. I did not proposition her or use any foul language. "
"I am referring to that obscene riddle you told her. While you may use uncouth talk to your women in the wilds of the north, such behaviour is not tolerated here in the civilized circles of Gondor."
Herudil arched an eyebrow, his tone cold as he faced the Prince. "My lord, may I inform you that you address the king's kin. And while we may not have stone cities such as those here in Gondor, you will find that we are not uncivilized in the north. The culture of the Dúnedain thrives amongst our people."
Elrohir whispered to Tarkil, "perhaps you should leave now, we will join you later. It is likely this will take a while to smooth things out here as these men strut and posture."
Tarkil walked to the first level to join the others at the tavern. He hesitated when he saw Borgil, pipe in hand, standing at the entrance.
"Borgil," Tarkil said stiffly. Even though they had fought for the past months side by side and each had fiercely protected each other's lives, Tarkil still felt tense around the older man.
Borgil regarded him for a few moments, an unreadable expression upon his face. "Do you have a few moments before you go in?"
Tarkil followed Borgil along the street, wondering what more could possibly be said between them.
Borgil turned down a small alleyway and gestured to a bench before he broke the silence between them. "Would you sit?" He waited for Tarkil to seat himself then started pacing before finally stopping to face him. Borgil took a breath, releasing it heavily before speaking again. "I owe you an apology. Several actually. First for the way I baited you last fall about your brother."
Tarkil nodded, remembering the weeks following his brother's death, listening to Borgil's taunts about Valandur's cowardice in fleeing Sarn Ford. "I am afraid I did not handle it well myself."
"Perhaps not, but I am not sure I would have reacted any differently. When we returned from Tharbad, I … met a ranger who managed to flee into the wilds and escape the Nazgûl." He paused as he glanced over at two soldiers who hurried towards the circle's gate. "He told me he and your brother had been ordered to take a message to Aragorn -- to warn our people of the attack and get reinforcements. He said a Nazgûl pursued them and nearly caught them but Valandur drew the wraith away by himself which allowed this other man to escape unscathed."
The younger ranger briefly closed his eyes and nodded his head. "Thank you for telling me that. When Angrim and you … when he was found where he was, it was hard to understand why he would be so far from his post. Who was the ranger? I would like to meet him and talk to him about it; I would like to know about my brother's last days."
Borgil hesitated for a few seconds, "His name is Forodir. He is my only son."
"Your son was at Sarn Ford?" Tarkil met Borgil's gaze. "But you did not meet him until after that mission to Tharbad? So you thought he was dead, too."
Borgil nodded, "That is why I was so angry during that trip. I went looking but I never found my son's body. I could only assume it had been washed downstream or the Nine had done something evil to his remains." He leaned against the stone wall, looking away as he quietly spoke. "So when we found your brother's body and I saw him get the burial denied my son …"
"You thought my brother abandoned his post and left your son to die at the hands of the Nazgûl," Tarkil finished. "Why did you not tell me?"
"I thought you knew. I thought everyone knew." Borgil shook his head. "But when I returned from Tharbad, I found Forodir had returned home safely. Shortly after that, word came that they needed men to help Aragorn fight in the south, and I volunteered. When I saw you and Haldon join the group – I knew my son survived because of your brother, but I did not know what to say to you in recompense for my accusations last fall."
"You act as though you feel guilty because your son lived." Tarkil frowned. "I do not believe he could have done anything to have saved Val. Had he stayed you would have lost your son to them."
"You are a better man than I, Tarkil. I certainly did not react as graciously when I thought my son had died, but you do not understand. Your brother sacrificed himself for my son – and here you and Haldon were heading south with us to what I felt was going to be a certain death. I did not expect any of us to return, Tarkil." Borgil rubbed his hands across his face. "Those arguments I had with Halbarad when you first joined us, I hoped to convince Halbarad to force you to return home so I did not have to watch either of you die. I did not wish your family to go through the pain that I did when I thought my son had died."
"So that is why you kept arguing with Halbarad about having me sent back north." Tarkil finally grasped what it was Borgil told him and a weight lifted from his shoulders. "When you said I was too young and inexperienced, I thought you felt me unworthy to fight with you; I thought you believed I would be a coward – like you had called my brother last fall."
"I am sorry about that. And I apologize for my arguments with Halbarad against you. You handle your blade with skill. You are equal to any of us, Tarkil. I hope you can accept my apology."
The younger ranger gave a small nod of his head in thanks. "I am proud to stand beside you here today and call you my friend." He held out his hand as Borgil reached out and grasped it firmly.
"Thank you, my friend. I will fight at your side anytime. Now we should join the others. So what was happening that delayed Herudil?"
Tarkil snorted as he told of Prince Imrahil's ire at his brother and soon the two men were laughing as they walked into the tavern.
The watch on the citadel changed before Herudil stomped through the door, Haldon trailing behind. He grinned wryly when he saw Tarkil and Gethron shift over on the bench, making room for him to join them. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Haldon told the tale of how he had been taken to the Prince's quarters and made to apologize to the lady Lothiriel.
"I cannot believe you propositioned Prince Imrahil's daughter so boldly! I thought you would have had the good grace to control yourself in such company." Tarkil scowled at Haldon.
"I did NOT proposition Lothiriel. I simply told her a riddle and one she found amusing, I might add. It was that old biddy who interpreted it so rudely and told Prince Imrahil I insulted his daughter, not Lothiriel. I cannot help it if their minds are perverse," Haldon protested.
"Just what was you said to her?" Meglin asked. "What was this riddle?"
"It is the one you told me the other day, 'Kil, so really you should have been there to apologize, too." Haldon slapped Tarkil on the shoulder as his brother groaned and buried his head in his hands.
"That riddle is fine for the taverns or mess halls of soldiers, but not fit for a chaste maiden," Tarkil chastised his brother.
"She laughed at it; she is not one of these fussy refined court ladies. Lothiriel was raised amongst horses and soldiers and appreciated the joke. She did not seem at all offended by it, and she told a few jokes of her own before that were even bawdier, ones that even the Rohirrim would have appreciated. That is why I felt it safe to tell her that one. I did not realize she would tell it to that old biddy who accompanied her. Anyway, that is not why we are here tonight." Haldon stood up, a tankard of ale raised high. "Gentlemen, tonight we toast my little brother, who finally managed to get off his back and onto his feet after taking a nap at the Morannon. Today the king honoured him by giving him a new sword. May he have the strength to thrust his blade deep!" Laughter and snickers rippled through the group as they toasted to Tarkil.
The toasts continued, glasses drunk and refreshed, until the barkeep called for the last round.
Notes:
Aranaur King's Flame
Arathand King's Shield
Tarkil's oath of Fealty: I know this is different from the words Tolkien had Pippin speak to Denethor. I think the oaths may have started out similar but after thousands of years of separation, I think they may have evolved.
Aragorn's response: I deliberately changed the response changing 'oath-breaking with vengeance' to 'oath-breaking with banishment.' I do not see Aragorn swearing vengeance upon someone the way Denethor would.
The story of the tensions between Borgil and Tarkil is found in 'Promises to Keep', also on this site.