Chapter Eighteen

January 30th Evening
The Burping Troll

Lanterns glowed warmly on this, his final evening at the Inn, as Darien answered Elros' summons that he was wanted in the Rangers' upstairs office room. There he found Halbarad and the elf, Celebsul sitting at the big desk. The Ranger captain glanced up from the papers spread before him only long enough to nod greeting, but Celebsul's handsome face seemed to soften in a look of compassion that Darien frankly did not want. He knew the petition for giving the orcs protection had been finalized, and that others, himself included, had been consulted over its content. Tomorrow he and Halbarad would ride to Henneth Annûn, towards whatever doom awaited him. He would be glad to be gone, to sever the ties of loyalty and affection with those of his own who remained. Horus' watchful silence was a loyalty he did not deserve, and the boys Evan and Neal would do well to pursue their young lives unhindered by his uncertain doom.

Whatever his fate, whether he was condemned by law for his crimes or censured by fellow men for daring to champion even one of their ancient enemy, it would not be pleasant, and he had no wish for anyone to be plagued by sympathy for him. He had kept to his room as far as possible, trying to spare Sevilodorf and Anardil sight of him; their icy anger chilled him whenever he passed, and he could not blame them. The rangers and the elves, however, for the most part treated him with civility and, after an initial coolness, the hobbits had thawed, trying to coax him from his room. When that failed, they resorted to bringing ridiculously laden plates of food.

It brought back memories of Landis. 'It's a fine inn with a merry crew of hobbits, bless them. I wonder how many of the tales of this place are true. It's certainly unusual, but I didn't see a warg nor a balrog.'

Darien had seen both now, but Landis never would. The voice of the ranger brought him from his reverie.

"Are you ready for the morning? Do you need anything else for your own defense or to aid the petition?"

Shaking his head, Darien replied, "No. The petition is well drawn. It has the facts and sound logic and presents Gubbitch and his fellows in the best possible light. It may eventually persuade the open-minded, but against memories and emotions, it will have little force."

The elf spoke, "If it will help, I will come with you and add my voice."

"Not yet." Darien grimaced. "It remains to be seen whether I will even be given the chance to present the petition. And if I am so allowed, we do not know how hostile the opposition will be. If it is a hopeless case, better that others are not embroiled." With a bitter smile, he added, "You don't want any more hot-heads descending on you."

Halbarad nodded his agreement. "Let us be sure of the ground before we bring in reinforcements. This will be a long and tedious process, for the most part." Then he recalled his second question. "Is your defense in order, Darien?"

"I have no defense. I am guilty." He sounded very matter-of-fact.

"You are too hard on yourself," Celebsul commented. The elf was appalled at the change in the man whom he had first seen just a few days earlier; Darien looked gaunt and many years older. "At least speak the facts and tell of your intentions honestly. Then let those who know how to judge wisely measure the extent of your guilt."

"Aye, do that." Halbarad agreed. "Now will you join us downstairs for supper and a drink? You may not be free to do so for a while, after tonight."

"Thank you, but no." Darien said. "I'll not dampen the pleasure of others. I'll be ready at dawn." Then he turned and walked swiftly to his room.

xxxxxx

At the light tap on the door, Darien lifted his arm from his eyes and rolled off the bed to his feet. Having learned that refusing the hobbits' offers of food only resulted in them bringing forth a larger selection, he now accepted their frequent trays as gracefully as possible. With Horus' assistance he had managed to make it appear that he had eaten at least a portion of what they presented. Fleetingly, Darien wondered what Horus had been doing with all that food.

"Coming," he called as the tap repeated. Swiftly he swept the scattered sheets of discarded attempts at writing out the events of the past few days off the small table and into a drawer.

After straightening his tunic and running a hand through his dark hair, Darien pulled the door open. His eyes, lowered in expectation of finding a hobbit lass bearing a laden tray, lifted in surprise to meet those of the Rohirrim woman. For a moment, they regarded each other.

"What may I do for you, my lady?" Darien said with a small bow.

"I am not your lady," Sevilodorf said sharply. As Darien began to apologize, she waved him off and said, "Nor a high born lady and I much prefer Sevilodorf."

"As you wish, Sevilodorf."

Sevilodorf studied the man calmly. He had kept himself carefully out of her way for the past two days. Which, considering her mood, had probably been a good idea. Sitting idle when she knew there were tasks she had not completed irked her. If she appeared in the kitchen offering to help she was driven away by the hobbits; and the only time she had even been allowed near the barn was the day they returned to the Troll, when she had insisted upon checking on Dream. Hours of idleness had left her time to think and Anardil proved a patient listener as she worked through her thoughts. Gradually Sev had arrived at the conclusion that she was not fulfilling her promise to Landis.

"It is my understanding that you have refused to come down to dinner again."

"Aye, my … good woman." Darien gave a slight nod. "I would not inflict my presence upon you."

"That's ridiculous," Sev said acidly. "You have begun a task that will require us to work together for many months. A task I would very much like to see resolved favorably. It is in the best interests of both of us to find some way to get along. And that is not possible if you are going to wallow in guilt and indulge in self pity."

Darien drew back at her harsh tone. "But I am guilty."

"So are we all. We each and every one of us played a part in the massive stupidity that led to all of this. I knew that goading the man was stupid, yet did it anyway." Sev paused as his face hardened. "You blame yourself for Grady's actions. Why?"

"Why? Because I was the leader."

"So every single thing that went wrong was your fault?"

"Yes. It was my responsibility. I must make the amends as he is not able to do so."

"Amends? To whom? To me?"

His eyes drawn irresistibly to the fading bruise upon her cheek, Darien nodded stiffly. "For the injuries done to you and to the uruk-hai, Nik."

"I would think that standing before the courts pleading the case for orcs will be restitution enough for Nik. It is not an easy task you have undertaken."

"And what of you, lady? How do I make restitution to you?"

"It was already made. Another did it for you. And to him I promised that I would try to forgive. But nmad, what good is my forgiveness if you don't forgive yourself?" Sev pointed a stern finger. "That, Darien is my claim on you; for Landis' sake, forgive yourself. Enough lives have been wasted on this, don't waste another."

Darien's eyes glazed. 'For Landis' sake.' She had found the only words that could cut through his grief and self-loathing. He thought on what she has said for a moment, then he exhaled deeply and his eyes refocused on her.

"I would not have asked your forgiveness, I sought only to apologize. I made terrible threats to your safety, and though I do not expect you to believe it, I would never have carried them out. I confess the same cannot be said about my threats towards Nik, but … now I know better. If and when I have earnt the forgiveness of you both …" His voice trailed off, lost for the right words.

Sevilodorf's impatience was palpable. Darien decided that the right words better be brief. "But you have made your claim, and I will honor it to the best of my ability."

"Good. Now, you will escort me to dinner. Your arm, sir," Sevilodorf declared imperiously.

For an instant Darien's mind went blank, but then the habits of a lifetime moved his feet. He was meant to be a gentleman, and a lady requested that he accompany her. Her fingers on his sleeve were scarcely more than a brush of leaves, but he closed the door behind him, and then matched her pace carefully towards the stairs.

xxxxxx

The muffled thump of feet on the stairs brought only moderate interest to those awaiting supper in the inn's common room. There voices ebbed and flowed in easy camaraderie. Evan's youthful tenor cracked on the brink of manhood as he and the hobbit Milo laughed together, the lower tones of Bob, Elros and Anardil rumbled comfortably near the fire, and ever and anon the sweeter notes of Anoriath and Elanna punctuated masculine discussion. From the kitchen burst a silvery gust of hobbit laughter, which seemed to blow Meri and Erin through the open door, smilingly bearing the first trays of food.

But all voices stumbled to a halt as the footsteps ceased and lantern and candlelight lit the faces of the two dismounting the stairs. Every eye in the place fixed upon the unlikely pair in astonishment. Darien sternly schooled his face to a mask of cool composure, but Sev simply lifted her chin a fraction.

"Good evening, all," she said. "Meri, can we set an extra place for supper?"

Realizing that she was staring at their emerged recluse, Meri closed her mouth sharply. "Of course! Absolutely!" Instantly she beamed as she swept into hostess mode. "Master Darien, we'll seat you right there next to Horus and Evan and Neal. You boys will behave yourselves, now, won't you? No kicking each other under the table or I'll send you both to your room. Milo, would you please bring that chair over here? And an extra setting will be needed, and -."

As the hobbit bustled around cheerfully bullying everything into order, Darien and Sev proceeded into the room and people began gathering around the long tables, benches and chairs scraping the wooden floor. With growing pride, Anardil stood watching his lady and her escort approach. So, she had made her peace with the man who had caused her so much harm. If her anger was stilled, he would let his go also, for she was the mirror to his soul. A truce, he decided, allowing them all to move forward to whatever the future held.

With a nod Sev indicated where she would sit and Darien guided her to her place. With no surprise he saw that Anardil waited for them, now pulling out a chair. Sev continued her perfect poise as she murmured thanks and took her seat, but Darien was only too glad to have completed this duty. He had no wish to provoke her one-armed beau, and stepped back as swiftly as courtesy permitted.

Yet when the men's gazes chanced to meet ... there was no hostility. For the first time, Darien looked into sea-grey eyes and saw simply a man. There remained wariness, of course, but Anardil now looked back at him with what may have been honest puzzlement, as if he wished to understand the riddle embodied in the man before him. 'I have no answers for you,' Darien replied in his thoughts. 'Once I was sworn to lead and defend. Now I am sworn to defend what was once my enemy, having failed those whom I should have protected.' He returned Anardil's silent nod and turned away, towards his final night with the last of his people, before uncertain fate beckoned in the morning.

As Darien retreated to the table where Horus and the remainder of his folk waited, Anardil took his seat at Sev's side in thoughtful quiet, and began idly turning a spoon in his hand. Sev slanted a look at him amid the busy clatter of seats moving and dishes being put on the tables.

"If you have something to say," she said quietly. "You might as well say it."

Anardil frowned at the spoon, and pursed his lips.

"Well?" she said.

Sev was aware of Elros and Anoriath's eyes on them across the table and knew that beneath the cheery chatter, the room must be alive with unspoken speculation about her surprising entrance. But when Anardil raised his head and set down the spoon, his eyes shone warmly at her.

"You never cease to amaze me, lady," he said softly, and lifted his hand to stroke the heavy fall of dark hair down her back, which would soon once again be confined to its practical braid.

"I did what I must," Sev replied, watching as Camellia set a tureen full of rich stew on their table. "If I am to work with the man towards seeking protection for Gubbitch and his band, then it makes little sense for us to remain at odds. And I frankly grow weary of his sackcloth and ashes."

"Aye, you did what you must." Anardil smiled. "But you did it far more gracefully than I could have managed."

"It required no grace," said Sev, and looked at him solemnly. "I remembered a promise I made. I will not see suffering where none is required. And I will not have Darien abasing himself further when there remains yet a task before us."

Nodding thoughtfully, Anardil said, "You know the task you have allied yourself with is a nearly impossible one."

"Yes," Sev replied firmly. "But unless we wish to abandon Gubbitch and his lads to the whims of fate, unless we wish to wash our hands of them despite their efforts to win free of Shadow and to even befriend us ... there is no other course. Someone else will come after Darien, and without protection by law they will be fair game."

She took a breath and looked down at her hands on the table. To her surprise her fingers were tightly clenched, and she willed them to relax. "They are orcs ... but these few are people. I have to at least try. It would be faithless of me to turn away from them now, when they did not turn away from me."

"Then it is a strange fate that brings you to make allies of one who was an enemy, to defend those who once were an older enemy yet."

"There were no enemies, here, Anardil!" she retorted. "Don't you see that? None of us were enemies. Not the orcs, not even Grady. I do not forgive him, but I might understand him, for I know what it is to hate and fear so greatly that almost any escape is welcome."

Anardil reached to clasp the fingers of one hand, drawing his thumb gently over her knuckles. His grey eyes met her blue ones searchingly, but there was a smile lurking within as he spoke:

"Who in this world of ours, her eyes
In March first opens, shall be wise."

Frowning in embarrassment, Sev tried to pull her hand away, but his fingers tightened. "No, meleth nín," he said gently. "I do not jest. I swore once to cherish and honor you, and that includes honoring your promises and your crusades. I may not always understand, but I'll try to."

Wishing to conceal the slow flush warming her cheeks, Sev said tartly, "I certainly hope so. I would think a man in the business of intelligence, as you are, should become an artist at grasping the strange and peculiar and even becoming at ease with the absurd."

His bright laughter came as a surprise, and then he gave her fingers a squeeze and let go. "Bless you, lady, since coming to this place I have long since quit trying to categorize what is peculiar or absurd. But pray do tell me if it should arrive and I fail to see it!"

Then amid laughter they turned to their meal. Down the table Celebsul smiled quietly to himself, and at another table the piping voice of Milo arose, as he regaled Darien and his three followers with yet another tale of the Shire. Camellia's silvery giggles mingled with their voices, and somewhere under the tables a large, furry form settled and sighed contentedly. If there was anything Warg knew about suppers around here, it was that she could expect lots of leftovers.

Though the horizon of the future held a distant cloud of uncertainty, since amnesty for Nik and Gubbitch's small band would be a contest won with judicious words, not swords, here at last the first forward steps had been taken. And so the Inn of the Burping Troll fed its folk and its guests, and this night there was peace and laughter.

xxxxxx

February 1st (Shire calendar has no January 31st.) Morning
The Burping Troll

Morning sunlight bathed the long front porch of the Burping Troll in warmth, and Anardil stretched his long legs from his chair onto the porch railing, with the intent of soaking up every bit of it he could. Although the rescue of Sev and Nik had been almost three days ago, he was not sure he would ever shake the cold and damp of that endless night out of his bones. Through the door of the inn, which was propped open to catch the rare warmth of the breeze, he smelled the succulent aromas of cooking. The hobbit lasses seemed to have begun cooking when Halbarad rode out that stormy night and had not stopped since. Anardil had never realized there were so many varieties of warm gruel and hot soup, until he found himself on a hobbit regimen of health restoratives. Meri, Erin and Camellia were absolutely certain that every one of them had come home on the brink of death. Not that Anardil minded. Between sunny hobbit smiles and delicious hobbit cooking, he thought he could take their doctoring endlessly. He smiled at the sound of the lasses' merry voices within and let his eyes drift closed.

He stirred again to other laughter, and glanced out on the sun-bathed yellow lawn beyond. There the two lads who had ridden with Darien lay sprawled in the dry winter grass. Evan's broken leg remained wrapped securely, but he now had two crutches carved by the elf Gambesul to navigate on, and the sunshine probably did him good. Just now the boy sat before an odd assemblage of carved wooden bits, the pieces to a puzzle that Aerio had presented to him at breakfast. Evan had sniffed that he was too old for puzzles, until the wily young elf had smirked and asserted that Evan could never solve this one. Two hours had passed, while the boy tried to fit the intricate shapes together, and so far he was only about one-quarter through. His brother Neal of course was of little help, and even now got a back-hand across the stomach for teasing. Never mind that Neal had even less luck than Evan, when he had tried.

Other eyes watched them as well, as at the far end of the porch Horus kept silent vigil. The dark, solitary man spoke seldom, but his courtesy was exquisite and his care for the brothers gently constant. Before leaving with Halbarad early this morning, his captain Darien had charged him with one final duty, assuring their welfare until the boys were safely home. Now Horus' quiet watchfulness reminded Anardil of nothing so much as the regard a great tame cat, such as the nobles of Harad sometimes hunted with. Like those cats Horus was a creature apart, for the homecoming he would lead his young friends to would not be his own. As if feeling Anardil's study, Horus turned his head towards him and met his gaze. Then his white teeth shone in a smile, as Neal yelped and rolled away from another swing from his younger brother.

"I almost had it!" Evan cried. "If you would only quit trying to help!"

"No you didn't!" Neal laughed. "Look, that piece can't possibly go there!"

Chuckling, Anardil returned Horus' smile and shook his head. No, despite all that had happened, these three were not his enemy. Not even Sev had any reservations about treating them with the same politeness she gave any guest at the inn, and even reserved a touch of motherly concern for the boys. Sev and Anardil both found they could no longer hold the harsh measure of blame against any of these lost souls.

As if conjured by his thought, footsteps trod softly on the boards behind him and a sweet whiff of honeysuckle touched his senses. Anardil looked up and smiled as Sev stopped beside him. One of the gifts he brought north with him had been several bars of honeysuckle-scented soap, a remembrance of their first meeting in Pelargir. It delighted him that she used it exclusively now. And she looked lovely, her dark hair for once hanging unbound almost to her waist, save for a small braid that drew the dark tresses from her brow. This laxity was of course only because she was forbidden to do any labor until the third day of her rest had passed. Tomorrow he knew she would again return to her chores and her customary braid. But meanwhile...

Reaching up to draw his fingers through the long, silken strands, he asked, "Is it almost time for second breakfast?"

"Second breakfast?" Sev laughed as she drew a chair close beside his. "Those hobbits will have you fat as suckling pig if you keep letting them feed you like that!"

"Yes, but it is for my health!" He assumed a mournful expression. "You know how cold and awful it was, rain and snow and sitting for hours in a freezing saddle..."

Sev snorted. "Are you sure you aren't the one with a head injury, not me?"

They both laughed and Anardil held out his arm, smiling as Sev leaned into his embrace. Her softness fit against him as if made to be there, and her hair was cool against his cheek, the sweet summer scent of flowers filling his senses.

"I love you, lady," he whispered, and felt her arms slide around his middle and hold on.

Ai, how horrifyingly close he had come to losing this. Anardil tightened his embrace and willed the ache in his throat to subside. Certainly he could have found a more docile woman, one who would never dream of mad things like trading with "rehabilitated" orcs, who would never put herself in the way of mercenaries and brigands and heaven knows what else roved the far roads of Middle Earth. He could have found a sweet, placid lady, who stayed quietly at home and did not drive Ranger captains to pull out their hair for fear of what new peril she might drop into, and who would never, ever swear to stand before the Steward of Gondor and fight for the rights of one of Man's most ancient enemies, an under-sized uruk-hai.

Ah, but where would be the challenge, the adventure, the passion in that? For the same fire that so frightened him was what he loved most, the tilt of her chin, the spark in her eye, the quiet steel that announced for all to see that she knew exactly who she was, and go hang what anyone else thought. She was every bit as nonconforming as he, both of them refusing to be bound by convention into the stuffy, narrow slots that stuffy, narrow people thought everyone should live in. And they both carried their private ghosts, their private demons, but together the nights were made less dark and the shadows less pressing. Strange though fate might be, it had led him at last to precisely where he belonged.

"Are you hungry?"

Anardil was learning not to jump when soft-footed hobbits appeared magically at his elbow, but it took some practice. "Well, Meri, I'm not sure. I just -."

"Oh, don't be silly, you must have a little something." Meri planted her small fists on her hips. "We have nice, hot soup that we just made and we need you to sample some. How will we know if it's any good of we don't get second opinions?"

"I, uh..."

"I'll be right back! Don't move, we'll bring it out to you." Meri beamed a huge smile, and she scampered back inside.

Anardil sighed, and then tapped Sev firmly on the head when he felt her laughing silently against him. "Now you stop that. It's only a taste of soup."

Sev's laugh became audible as she sat up. "You simply cannot say no to hobbits."

"I didn't notice you howling in protest."

With a casual shrug, Sev said, "As you say, it's only a taste of soup."

Indeed it was. Soup so thick the spoon stood up in it. Meri and Camellia both grinned from ear to ear as they arranged dishes and napkins and silverware on a nearby porch table. What they had neglected to tell was that the 'taste of soup' would be accompanied by an entire round loaf of bread, wedges of three types of cheese, an apple apiece, and two enormous steaming chunks of baked yellow squash slathered in melted butter and honey.

"Now, make sure you eat enough," Meri said with mock sternness. "You Big Folk never take proper care of yourselves."

"It will help you regain your strength, you know," said Camellia, happily ignoring the fact that nobody's strength was debilitated and the effects of Sev's concussion were waning rapidly.

Beside all that bounty Erin plunked down half a pumpkin pie - "to fill in the corners," she said.

"Well, don't just sit there like a moon-calf!" Meri dragged a chair from the table and patted the wooden seat. "Come, sit here, hurry up! Don't let your soup get cold."

Trapped under the benign dictatorship of jolly little people who stood barely past their waists, the two humans had no recourse but to obey. Then the hobbit lasses skipped back inside, leaving Sev and Anardil to stare before them in something very close to dismay.

"My. Are you going to eat all that?"

They looked to see Bob poised with one foot on the bottom step, looking up at their laden table with a grin. Anardil sighed again and said, "Help?"

"Gladly!"

Bob bounded up the stairs and swung a chair around. All three were working on the hobbits' rich fare when other soft footfalls squeaked the boards, and Celebsul came to stand at the table.

"Second breakfast, I see."

"Yes," Sev replied dryly. "Someone cannot resist hobbit charms. Are you at all hungry? I cannot eat all this soup."

"Not and save room for the pie!" Bob grinned.

Celebsul chuckled softly, and accepted the half-full soup bowl Sev handed him and leaned a hip against the porch railing. Anardil pulled off a chunk of bread and handed that to the elf, as well. Then Bob licked off the spoon he was using and offered that to Celebsul also, but the elf merely snorted softly at the Ranger's mischievous grin and picked a clean spoon from among the napkins.

As the foursome quietly ate, Warg padded up to lay behind Anardil's and Bob's chairs and daintily accept the morsels they slipped to her. More laughter rang from the lawn and they watched as Evan shoved his elder brother flat to the ground. Both lads were laughing as Evan jabbed his finger in Neal's chest amid his assertions that he was a "toidi" when it came to puzzles. Perhaps when both were rested and healed the contest would become more earnest, but to Anardil's eye it seemed Neal's resistance to his little brother's bullying was lackadaisical at best. Neal had also nearly lost the one true anchor left in his world. Most likely his heart was simply not in putting Evan in his place, when it was still so wholly filled with relief that he was alive.

What would become of those two youngsters? Anardil knew not. He only hoped that Neal would follow the wise course and at least see that Evan was allowed to follow the calling of his choice. Neal might find himself offering his sword in the King's service, but Evan was not made of such stern stuff. Whether he one day returned to their father's forge or followed their mother's gift of healing, Evan deserved a chance at a useful and happy life.

As for Horus ... no man could tell his fate. Horus was from another folk entirely, the people of Far Harad, and if he was indeed the sole survivor of a company of Haradrim soldiers, as Anardil suspected, then Horus was now a man without tribe or home, dishonored simply for having lived when all his brethren died. Darien and Landis had given Horus back his honor by accepting him as a warrior, but now even that loyalty was fractured and rested on uncertain ground. When he had returned the boys to their home ... what became of a man who had no place in the world? What if Darien now went willingly to his own destruction, leaving Horus with no captain at all? Anardil felt a breath of cold touch his neck and wondered if the day would prove cooler than he thought.

"What's he up to?" Bob lifted his chin towards the yard.

There Aerio was now walking toward the two youngsters, who sat up warily as the tall elf approached. Aerio was again wearing his trademark superior smirk. However, he simply spoke a quiet greeting and sat down in the grass beside them. In seconds he and Evan were both bent over the puzzle as Aerio earnestly described principles and pieces, and directed the boy's fingers among the many wooden bits. Anardil looked up to see a faint smile on Celebsul's face as he watched over the rim of his soup bowl.

"Building bridges, perhaps," Celebsul said.

Some moments later Warg whuffed quietly, and three dark, misshapen forms lurched from the ranks of barren trees at the bottom of the yard. From thin shadow into pale winter sun they came and in the lead, Gubbitch's ugly face was already twisted into a broken-toothed grin.

"Ey up, Cel me ol' mucker!" the orc's gravelly voice called, and he waved a gnarled hand. "Does tha fancy a game?"

Celebsul laughed quietly as he set his now-empty soup bowl on the table and stepped to the top of the stairs. "Of cribbage?" he asked. "Why, certainly, it's been a while."

"Reet then."

Gubbitch tramped forward and Anardil realized the other two were Titch, the littlest of the lot, and the big slow one called Lugbac. Out on the dry lawn the two human youths sat watching in open amazement as the three orcs clumped up the driveway. At the foot of the stairs they halted.

"G'wan, then," Gubbitch said, and elbowed Lugbac in the ribs.

The big orc mumbled something and just stared down at his shuffling feet.

"Tha daft chuff," Gubbitch said. "Tha 'as to talk for 'im to 'ear thee." Looking up onto the porch apologetically, the orc leader made eye contact with Anardil. "'e's freetened tha'll eat 'im or summat."

"Frightened? Of me?" With an inner start of surprise Anardil remembered that he and Lugbac had an unfinished trade to complete. Mustering a smile he said, "He doesn't look particularly appetizing, compared to hobbit cooking. But I do have something for him."

Then he pushed back his chair, arose and left Celebsul and the others to welcome the orcs. In his room he rummaged among his gear, pulling out the bedroll he used in his solitary travels. Before moving north from Pelargir he had made certain to buy some good, thick blankets, which were now bound together with his older ones. After he threw the bedroll open across the floor, he squatted on his heels to contemplate the length of bedding, breathing its smoky odor of many campfires. He did not need to sacrifice a brand new blanket. An orc would probably be content with anything that did not have holes in it. For that matter one of Lugbac's mates might later thump him over the head and take it from him - although upon reconsideration he decided thumping Lugbac was not something the smaller orcs would find easy to do. Anardil's hand strayed to one of the older lengths of wool ... and he paused.

"Ahh, Sevi," he growled to the empty room. "What are you doing to me?"

With that he peeled up one of the new blankets, flipped it across his bed for folding, and returned his bedroll to its corner. Best get this done before his good sense pointed out just how daft he was. But then again, he was staying at an inn with a warg for a watchdog and a Balrog for a bartender.

When he returned downstairs, he found Celebsul and Gubbitch seated at a window table, with cards in their hands and a cribbage board set between them. Titch and Lugbac perched side-by-side on a bench nearby, not making a sound. Little orc and large orc both had their hands folded neatly in their laps, and Anardil was struck with the absurd thought that they looked like unruly boys who had been reprimanded for rowdy behavior.

He paused uncertainly, for he truly had no idea how one approached orcs for so benign a purpose as handing over a piece of bedding. Yet surely he who had faced countless of their kindred in battle could manage a simple trade, and he resolutely strode forward. The instant Lugbac saw the blanket folded in Anardil's arm, the orc's eyes went wide and his face was split in a truly hideous, broken-toothed grin. Standing before him, Anardil found himself horribly fascinated by the right bicuspid's jagged edges, and was jarred to awareness by Titch's sharp hiss.

"'ere, tha soft dollop, shut thy gob!"

Instantly Lugbac clamped his lips tight, but his beady eyes nonetheless danced in delight. Big-knuckled paws took the blanket reverently, and Anardil watched as broken nails gently caressed the material.

"'e likes it," Titch said, head bobbing vigorously.

"That's ... ah ... good. Yes. Ah..." Failing at words, Anardil cleared his throat and backed away, and frowned to see Sev across the common room visibly muffling her laughter.

"I am glad to see you give fair value in your trading, Anardil," she said as he came to her side. "Though if you set the price that high for one stone, I may find it hard to compete with you."

"One stone?" Anardil tried to look innocent.

"Don't be obtuse. Lugbac traded you a stone for the blanket. I wasn't struck deaf, you know. So where is it?"

"What?"

"The surprise."

"Surprise?"

"Yes, surprise." Sev looked up at him sternly. "Don't think I don't know you're up to something."

"Why, I don't -."

"Yes, you do." The soft male voice in Anardil's ear nearly stopped his heart, but the cool press of metal into his hand lessened his shock, as he turned to face Anbarad's sedate smile.

"How did you -?"

"Elves don't need sleep as you do," Anbarad said smoothly. "I rode down to Henneth Annûn during the night, and found the lapidary at his labors first thing this morning." Anbarad frowned lightly and added, "You would think those people down there have never seen an elf before. Feh."

With a shrug, the tall elf retreated back out the rear door whence he had come. Anardil turned to find Sev eyeing him with a measuring look.

"Yes?" she said.

The grin Anardil felt growing on his face was too big to be contained, so he did not even try. Deliberately he turned away from Sev, wishing first to assure himself of the craftsmanship of the piece he had commissioned. Satisfied, he turned back and held out his hand. In it lay a simple, curved silver band whose slender arms resembled twining vines or knotted silver cords. Set at its center was Lugbac's bloodstone, now tumbled to a soft polish that echoed the muted gleam of silver.

"For you, my lady," he said gently. "It is a bloodstone, the stone of healers and warriors, and of wisdom and idealism. Celebsul chose this particular stone for you, as we are told you have a birthday ere long."

Sev laughed softly as she took the bracelet. "A gemstone found by orcs, chosen by an elf, express-delivered by elves and given by a rogue. It's lovely, Anardil. Thank you."

Then she clasped the band about her right wrist and turned it to catch the light. "And yes, I do have a birthday coming."

She smiled up at him, caressed the side of his jaw, and was halfway across the room before Anardil realized she had not said when her birthday was.

Nonetheless, he stood smiling contentedly as he watched Sev stop at the cribbage table, where orc and elf set down their cards to admire the result of Celebsul's choice in stones. Anbarad and Firnelin had carried the stone to the lapidary in Henneth Annûn two days ago, whilst making sure Darien's men were safely away, but Anardil had feared that the elves' eagerness to see the piece finished was vastly premature. Certainly he never dreamed any of them would ride down there of his own accord. However, since Anbarad had, and since the lapidary had evidently been impressed enough by either the elves or Sev to hasten his work ... Anardil smiled.

"In days of peril, firm and brave,
And wear a Bloodstone to her grave."

If the elves did not tell her the whole verse first, he would do so later. Yet the gift was not from him alone, nor would he claim it as such. That thought stopped him and he pondered it. Orc and elf and man were bound in the making of a woman's gift, even as their lives had so strangely and tragically intertwined just days before. Was there perhaps a sign to be read in such a simple coincidence? Being just a man he had no gift for unraveling such riddles.

Thus Anardil sat to watch an elf and an orc bend earnestly over their game, muttering mysterious things such as "15 for 2," or "18, and 2 for the pair" as the pegs moved up the board. If there were a sign, he hoped, in the end, it might prove that if simple beauty could come from tragedy and hurt, perhaps idealism and bravery could meet wisdom on equal ground.

Methen

Footnote: bloodstone verse by Sandi Davis circa late 1800's, reprinted by William T. Fernie, MD in "The Occult and Curative Powers of Precious Stones" Harper & Row San Francisco; 1973

AUTHORS' NOTE:

Please look for the sequel to this story, "Obsidian", in which Darien pursues his quest to make amends for his deeds, the orcsface the bewilderingconcepts of rights and law, and new enemies appear with even darker designs to threaten the friends of The Burping Troll. Mithril Semi-Finalist 2004: Best novel/serial and Best Fourth Age or beyond