CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
That evening, the royal family were gathered in the Main Hall which the twins, along with Faerveren and Rúmil, had spent the day decorating. Eldarion sat between Haldir and Túnír, Eldarion having insisted that the youth be by his side rather than at further down the table.
The kitchen staff had produced a bountiful feast, including a thick and chunky vegetable soup, made personally by Samwise Gamgee, who kept the recipe a closely guarded secret. Three slowly basted haunches of venison, courtesy of Tarcil's hunters, a couple of roasted wild boar, thanks to the twins, fresh trout, salmon and perch from Lake Evendim, and tureens of fresh, buttered carrots, parsnips, peas and mushrooms from the fertile soils around the city followed for the main course. The whole affair was rounded off with another of Sam's horded treasures; a rich and slightly peppered gravy, made using the juices of the meat and thickened with flour for the meat and a light citrus syrup for the fish. Dessert constituted of several nut and wild berry puddings, all made under the careful direction of Pippin Took. Merry had stood in the middle of the Kitchen and for once, was in charge of operations. Aragorn had burst out laughing at the sight of the blonde-hobbit standing on a stool in the middle of the Kitchen, brandishing a wooden spoon, directing what could have easily been compared to a military campaign. He had promptly been shooed out of the preparation area by the spoon wielding Rohirric esquire.
"There are times I envy you," muttered Túnír as the puddings, only fit for a King, were piled in front of them.
"I would gladly swap with you," replied Eldarion, as what seemed the hundredth person wished him a happy Birth Day. "You know how bad it is living in the public eye."
"Yes, and I was so glad when you and your family arrived," said Túnír with a smile, before stuffing his mouth with a mash of food. "'m keepin' my plaths as commoner."
"That much is obvious," laughed Eldarion. Túnír swallowed his mouthful and grinned. A few of the other diners turned their noses up at Túnír's lack of decorum but neither paid attention. The Elves around them were well adapted to life with human youths so remained unaffected by the display.
"Arahael are you alright?" asked Eldarion, stretching over to pick up a bowl of strawberry moose.
"Huh? Oh sorry Eldarion, I just have a nagging feeling that something is wrong," replied Arahael.
"That could just be Sam's sauce, it is rather heavy," replied Eldarion. Arahael smiled at him.
"Thanks Eldarion. Now are you going to do something with the moose or can I have some?" Eldarion immediately hugged the bowl to his chest causing Túnír to laugh and Arahael to pout.
A sudden commotion occurred at the door causing every guest to turn towards the entrance. When the doors burst violently open, Aragorn, Haldir, Glorfindel, Rúmil and the twins were on their feet along with Arahael and a few other rangers. Celeborn and Arwen quickly grabbed the girls while Eldarion and Túnír watched with caution hooded eyes.
"Aragorn….." gasped the intruder as he made his way to the high table, his face covered in scratches, a gash across one arm, a ragged wound on the other and a heavy limp in his leg. "The Stronghold….strange traveller….attacked…. five more outside…."
Here Tarcil crumpled to the floor. Eldarion sprang over the table to the fallen man's side, Elrohir quickly beside him. Arahael stood frozen in horror beside Túnír.
"Tarcil?" Eldarion asked shaking the man's shoulders. "Tarcil? Open your eyes if you can hear me!"
"My lord," whispered Tarcil, his eyes opening just a fraction.
"I've told you before my name is Eldarion!" said Eldarion, taking hold of Tarcil's hand. Tarcil gave a weak smile before closing his eyes again and his head fell loosely to one side.
"Uncle Elrohir, will he be alright?" asked Eldarion, turning a very concerned gaze to the younger Elf.
"His wounds are deep and beginning to fester," replied Elrohir. "They must be treated immediately before the poison spreads any further."
"His chambers are the same as Arahael's," said Eldarion. "Same corridor as mine, sixth door to the left."
"Thank you. Keep Arahael here until we get him stabilised. Elladan, Estel, I need your help," said Elrohir as he scooped the unconscious man into his arms. Elladan and Aragorn joined him as he left the hall. Eldarion swung on his heel, just in time to see Arahael collapse in his son's arms.
The celebration had come to hasty end and oddly it was Eldarion who assumed control of the situation while Aragorn tended to Tarcil rather than Arwen or one of the older rangers.
"Naneth, Daerada look after Faerveren and Imlosiel. Do not let them anywhere near Tarcil. Culas, prepare a group of scouts. You leave for the stronghold at dawn to assess the situation. Haldir, Rúmil, Glorfindel, I want you to go with them and take Faerlain with you. Nemír, sort out the five rangers who are outside. See that they are fed, watered and given a bed. Keep them away from Tarcil," he said. Those addressed acknowledged the commands given, Haldir and Glorfindel both with a gleam of pride shining in their eyes as Eldarion assumed the role of commander with ease.
As the guests filtered away, Eldarion vaulted back over the table and knelt down beside Culas and Túnír who was shaking, even as he held Arahael in his arms.
"Will my uncle be alright?" he asked.
"He is in the best hands," replied Eldarion. "The main concern for you is your father." The Prince reached out and rested a hand on Arahael's forehead.
"Oh no you don't, Arahael!" he muttered after a couple of minutes, shrugging off his robes and tunic, balling the smaller article of clothing up. "Túnír lay him down, use this to cushion his head."
"What's wrong?" asked Culas, as Túnír did as he was bid.
"He's in shock and his mind is closing itself off," replied Eldarion, spreading his robe over Arahael's chest. "We need to bring him back to us if Tarcil is to have any chance of survival."
"Do they….are they the same as you?" asked Túnír trying to think of a way to ask whether the two brother's were bond without actually having to ask the direct question.
"Similar but not the same," replied Eldarion. "If Arahael remains strong, Tarcil with have an innate sense to fight to return to him." He took hold of Arahael's hand and began to massage it between his own trying to bring some warmth back to the clammy limb, indicating that Túnír should do the same.
"How bad is he?" asked Aragorn as Elrohir placed Tarcil on the bed.
"Something has tried to take a bite from his arm and his ankle is broken. I'm not sure about the gash, that could have come from the same place as the scratches on his face," replied Elrohir. "Elladan I need a poultice for his wounds. Aragorn I need you to hold him still while I reset his ankle."
Aragorn shifted so that Tarcil was laying across his chest and wrapped his arms around the younger man's chest.
"Tarcil, I am really sorry about this," murmured Elrohir before sharply tugging at Tarcil's ankle. Tarcil stiffened as the pain registered in his mind but it was not enough to waken him. Elrohir bound the ankle quickly with lengths of cloth, attaching it to a wooden splint. He then turned and accepted the mixture that Elladan had prepared. Cutting Tarcil's shirt, Elrohir liberally spread the mixture over the wounds before covering them with linen strips.
"Who would attack our people?" asked Aragorn. "They haven't been much but silent protectors since the War."
"They are men?" offered Elladan, standing with his arms folded, now a bystander in the situation rather than a participant. Aragorn did not like the tone in his brother's voice.
"What are you implying, 'Dan?" he demanded.
"We have his word and nothing else to say what has happened," replied Elladan. "It could be as simple a fight got out of hand." Aragorn glared at the eldest Imladrian son while Elrohir had tuned them both out, concentrating on Tarcil.
"It is well that the Prince has dispatched a scout party then," stated Culas as he appeared in the doorway.
"Eldarion has sent out a scout party?" repeated Aragorn. Culas nodded.
"I am to lead them. Marshals Haldir and Rúmil and Lord Glorfindel are coming with us. We leave at dawn to access what has happened. Nemír is tending to the men who came back with Tarcil as we speak," reported Culas. "How is he?"
"Unconscious," said Elrohir, reaching for a fresh piece of cloth to wipe his hands. "His wounds aren't as bad as I suspected but he will have to remain in the city until his ankle is healed."
"Is he going to survive?"
"Providing there are no complications," replied Elrohir. "How are Arahael and Túnír?"
"Both in shock, Arahael had just come round when I left them. Eldarion is helping keep Túnír calm," returned Culas. "I will return to them to update them on Tarcil's condition."
Elrohir bowed his head in acknowledgment. He waited for Culas to close the door before whacking Elladan around the head.
"What was that for?" demanded the elder.
"You know perfectly well what that was for," replied Elrohir. "What kind of fight would result in injuries like this? Nothing short of battle would result in his injuries. And why would one who has ever lived his life in the wilds, who is unsettled in the peaceful world of the city, make up such a tale and create injuries that would keep him restricted here?"
"I….All I said was…."
"We heard you perfectly well Elladan, and I hope that I never hear you say something like that again," said Aragorn. "My men may hide the truth, tell stories but they do not lie out right, especially over something as serious as the safety of their people!"
"Enough!" barked Elrohir. "This is neither the time nor the place for this. Arahael should be at his side. It may help his recover."
Elladan caught the hint and excused himself to hunt out the healthier brother. Aragorn shifted out from behind Tarcil, laying his young kinsman on the bed, and pulled up the blue comforter over his cooling skin. Aragorn settled himself beside him.
"Fight pen dithen. Fight," whispered Aragorn, clasping Tarcil's hand in his. little one