Chapter Ten

October 26th - Emyn Arnen

The morning sun blazed almost painfully bright, by the time Anardil urged his horse clattering up the last lane into Emyn Arnen. Although the trees shivered brightly in cloaks of autumn colour, the lawns beneath lay verdant in dappled sunshine, Ithilien finding its mirror in the gardens of the Steward's estate. However, the one-armed man had only fleeting appreciation, his attention instead directed towards the cobblestone way that led to the stables of the White Company. Almost sixty miles had passed beneath Gomelfaex's hooves since just past midnight, and now Anardil felt certain one more jolt would unhinge every bone in his body. At the sound of his approach, a stable boy came bounding out to meet him with a gap-toothed grin.

"Good morning to you, sir!"

"Hello, lad." As he halted, Anardil smiled down at the boy, grey-eyed, tall and gawky, clearly the son of a Ranger and likely to be a Ranger himself, one day. "Would you lend a bit of kindness to a tired horse?"

The boy's expression turned pitying when he cast his glance over the big grey, for Gomel stood gaunt with weariness and dirty streaks of half-dried sweat marred his grey coat. "Oh, aye. I'll walk him cool and rub him down until you won't see a spot of sweat on him."

Chuckling, Anardil swung heavily from his saddle, off the wrong side, as was his one-armed way. "Bless you, and Gomel blesses you. Tell me, lad, is our Lord Faramir about?"

Already absorbed in stroking Gomel's sleek neck, the lad shook his head. "No, sir. He's gone out on a scout. Been three days gone."

Anardil's stomach plummeted to his boots. Something of it must have showed on his face, for the boy spoke hastily.

"But he's due back today. We're supposed to watch for them home this afternoon. My father is with them, you see."

Absently smiling at the boy's visible pride, Anardil replied, "Thank you, lad. I suppose I'll just find a comfortable place to swing my heels until then."

"Don't worry about Gomel - is that his name? I'll take the best care of him."

Anardil smiled half-heartedly and drew his hand along Gomel's rump when the big horse clip-clopped past, docile as a dog at the boy's heels. Where, then, should he park himself to do said heel swinging? His smile warmed as the answer came to him.

Moments later, he made his way to a small, cosy house set beneath shading trees, but he did not go to the door. Instead, he made his way around back, for he heard familiar voices. Behind the house, open lawn and scattered trees offered haven, while in their midst stood a straw archery butt, marked with a cloth target. From it already jutted several arrows in a commendably tight group. Facing the target stood two of his dearest friends on earth, comrades of his ranging days and all the long road to war's end, and until recently part of the family of The Burping Troll.

The archer took her stance - for woman she was, tall and well made, with short-cropped black hair ornamented only by a single long, thin braid. Another detail startled Anardil - a cleverly contrived knapsack on the woman's back, which held a dark-haired infant child. Abruptly she flowed into the smooth movement of draw, aim, and release. Another shaft fled truly to impale the target's centre.

"Beeeeeee!" squealed the infant.

"Anoriath, I'd say that bow suits you well," said the tall man who stood watching.

"Yes," she replied, lowering her arms to offer her companion an arch smile. "I am quite pleased with it. For once, Elros, you chose the right gift."

From his place amongst the trees, Anardil grinned and stepped forward.

"Indeed, Elros," he said. "You've finally found the way to your lady's heart - more weaponry."

"Dil!" Ani cried with a laugh, while the babe burbled, "Deedeedee!" Elros gave a great whoop and bounded towards their guest.

In the next instant Anardil found himself crushed in a bear hug. As he returned it, he let himself sag briefly into his friend's embrace.

"Ah, Elros, Ani, you both look wonderful. I've missed you."

A white smile brightened Elros' handsome face, while he held Anardil off by both shoulders. "Yes, we still owe a visit back to The Burping Troll. What brings you here unexpected? Is everyone well?" Concern furrowed Elros' brow as he stepped back for a better look. "Why, you are dust and horse sweat all over."

"No one is wounded or in need of rescue, if that's what you mean." With a wry grin, Anardil reached over Anoriath's shoulder to caress the baby's cheek, deciding that safer than attempting to hug an armed mother. "You look wonderful, Ani. And if you'll feed me, I'll tell you all the news."

Anoriath snorted and pointed sternly towards the house. "Elros, your turn to cook."

At that, Anardil laughed aloud. "Motherhood has not gentled her, my friend."

"No," said Elros, although he cast Anoriath a fond smile. "But I don't mind serving lunch. I can slice bread and peel apples with the best of them. Come, rest, and we'll hear your tale."

xxx

Henneth Annûn - Early afternoon

Wait, they had begged him, and so he did. Waiting in itself did not trouble Russ, for a Beorning seldom had much to be hasty about. But this, dilly-dallying whilst others did deeds that he could not, well, it began to rankle on a man.

Nonetheless, Russ schooled himself to patience. While he broodingly watched, the wiry form of Nik sprang cheerfully about the paddock with a lanky six-month old colt at his heels. Alfgard had introduced the little uruk to a late-born foal who resided at the stables, and the placid mare in fact seemed relieved to let her little one find another playmate. Carrots and sweetmeats proved all the bait needed, and now Nik gambolled about like a youngster, himself, for all the world as if the colt were an oversized dog.

Russ snorted softly in amusement as the colt abruptly kicked its heels high and bucked off across the pen. Nik's unhandsome grin beamed whilst the little horse bounded and kicked, then spun and raced back to slide to a halt at Nik's side. The uruk's sharp laughter rang while the colt nudged him trustingly for more treats. A confounded shame that men could not use the common sense most animals possessed.

"Good reason I prefer four-legged company," Russ mumbled to himself, and leaned one massive hand on a fence post.

A soft padding of feet caught his attention, and he looked to see the rounded, diminutive form of the hobbit lass, Erin, approaching. In both hands, she held up a covered basket and smiled winningly.

"Good afternoon, Russ," she said. "Although you don't take tea, do you, I thought you still might want a little tea-time snack."

Bemused, the big man reached down to lift the cloth, and blinked to see several plump, sugar-frosted cinnamon buns. Moreover, he could smell their fresh-from-the-oven fragrance, which immediately set his mouth to watering.

"Thank you, don't mind if I do."

The buns were small as teacakes in his big fingers, but he took care to savour each succulent bite.

"You know," said Erin, "I've heard farmers say that dogs are an excellent judge of character. I wonder if horses can be, too?"

Gazing out where Nik sprang about like an overgrown frog and the colt frolicked around him, Russ' expression softened.

"Yes," he said. "Horses don't speak much, but they see many things. They are wiser than most people think." He paused, considered, and then added, "Though of course sometimes they can be terribly flighty and frivolous."

He looked down to see the hobbit lass' eyes were wide with amazement. "What?" he asked.

"Do they really talk?" she asked.

"Yes. To those who have ears to listen. Which most do not."

"Oh." Erin frowned at the cinnamon bun she pulled apart with her fingers. "Goodness, I should hope my chubby Caranroch doesn't tell any dreadful tales on me. I do try to be kind to him."

An unexpected chuckle rumbled from Russ' broad chest. "I think he does not have any complaints."

"That's good." Erin dimpled and then licked her fingers before taking another bite of sweet cake.

Russ looked up to see Nik walking back towards him, grinning widely and out of breath.

"What a friendly little fellow," Nik said. "I think he will be very easy to train. All he wants is to be friends. Oh, is this second lunch?"

"No, silly," said Erin with a laugh. "Hobbits only have second breakfast. This is actually the time for tea, only we don't exactly have tea at the moment, only some sticky buns. They're still warm."

Eagerly Nik dove into the basket, and mumbled his thanks around a gooey mouthful. "Say, Teach." He swallowed quickly at Russ' warning look. "Should Anardil be at Em - Emin - the place where the Steward lives, by now?"

"Emyn Arnen," Russ replied, trying to decide whether to indulge his sweet tooth and have a second treat. His sweet tooth won out. "And yes, he should be there."

"Good. Then I suppose he'll be back tomorrow. Do you think he'll really stop the hearing? I mean, it's stopped now, with poor Horus sick, but I suppose it will start again as soon as he's better."

A mouthful of half-chewed sweet bread abruptly turned to glue in Russ' mouth. He swallowed heavily.

"I do not know, Nik. We are trusting a great deal to a man of whom we have had no more than a brief glance."

Nik munched some more of his cinnamon bun, unaware of butter frosting on his nose. "Well, Captain Halbarad said Lord Faramir is a very noble man. That he is a brave warrior and descended from one of the noblest bloodlines in all of Gondor."

Russ grunted and debated wiping his sticky fingers on his trousers. "Neither nobility nor bravery make a man wise."

Shrugging, Nik agreed. "True. But he also said Faramir is a man of honour. That means being fair and telling the truth, doesn't it?"

As he looked down at his diminutive friend, Russ nodded slowly. "Yes, honour includes that. But it is rarely so simple a thing."

Frowning, Nik chewed a moment then swallowed again. "Lord Valthaur is very honourable; anybody can just look at him and see that. But Captain Halbarad is honourable, too, and he doesn't have servants or eat off fourteen plates at once."

Erin giggled while Russ squinted. "Fourteen plates?"

"Not actually, but that's what Mistress Sevi said it looked like, when she saw him at breakfast." Nik concentrated briefly on licking frosting off his fingers, then asked, "Do you think honour is something people are born with? Or can it be something they go and learn?"

"Nik…" Russ sighed and dusted his hands free of crumbs.

However, before he could think of a suitable response, Erin frowned prettily and replied, "Now, Nik, you should know that honour is not how one looks, or who their grandfather was, or how many plates they use for luncheon. It is trueness of spirit, and honesty even in the face of things that make a person uncomfortable."

The little uruk wrinkled his brow in thought, and popped the last bite of cinnamon bun in his mouth. "Then what about people like that Cullen? I heard Anardil say that Cullen only tells the truth if it's to his own benefit, and the rest of the time he says what he thinks people want to hear. Does that make him dishonourable?"

Now there was a kettle of fish Russ had no desire to get into. What he thought of that squirming whelp would not help Nik's frame of mind in the least. He slanted a glance at the hobbit lass, and saw Erin purse her mouth in a little moue. Her reply proved to be a good deal more charitable than anything he might have said.

"It's a sad thing to say," Erin replied, "but yes, I believe Cullen is dishonourable - or maybe he's just behaving that way. I suspect most good people are born with it, like a seed put in their heart, but sometimes it needs help to grow. Poor Cullen is not a bad boy, but he is not very clever, and he doesn't respect his father. I think he might learn honour as he gets older, when he realises that trying anything else just gets him in trouble."

"So people can learn it?"

Looking at Nik's hopeful expression, Erin laughed and glanced up at Russ. "Nik, you are already honourable. I don't think you need to worry about a thing."

Russ' heart sank as he watched Nik sigh and turn his attention back towards the colt and its mother across the pen. "I think I know what you mean, though, about telling the truth even if it's uncomfortable. I told the truth about the cave, and about how that man, Grady, died, but those other men told other things. They were dishonourable … and nobody said anything to them."

With effort, Russ bit back the caustic retort that formed, for his small friend did not need to hear his bitterness. Instead, he said, "That is the difficult side of honour, Nik. Not all men have it, simply because it can be such a treacherous thing to hold onto. Sometimes it leaves a person standing alone, while others choose an easier road."

Face troubled, Nik looked up at the Beorning. "But that's why it's important, isn't it? Because sometimes the right thing isn't the easy way."

"Yes, Nik." Russ lifted his heavy head and stared across the rooftops, feeling dully chagrined. The shape and movement of things that happened here turned almost within his grasp, so near the frustration grated at his insides, but he found himself powerless to turn away from the uneasy truth. "Because the right thing isn't always easy."

The hobbit's round face softened as she added, "That is why we have friends, Nik. Sometimes people have to work hard to make the right things happen. Anardil will talk to the Steward today, and I know Lord Faramir will make sure the right thing happens."

She hesitated until Nik looked at her, and added, "When two honourable people meet, Nik, there are no lies or deception. We will hear the truth, here. I promise you that - even if we all have to ride to Emyn Arnen and sit right in Lord Faramir's parlour until he talks to us!"

Nik's grin began to reappear at Erin's suddenly fierce expression. Before he could respond, though, her thought rushed on ahead.

She scooped up the basket and abruptly said, "This is too much thinking for a sunny autumn afternoon. What I really think we should do is tell each other stories."

Russ quite literally stared with his mouth open, at a total loss how to respond to that unexpected declaration. Fortunately, Nik recovered quicker.

"Stories?" he inquired eagerly. "Oh, I like stories. In the evenings, Teach often tells me tales of people and places and long ago things. What kind of stories do you like?"

"Well," said Erin, "I think we could take turns. I will tell a story about the Shire, then Russ will tell a story about the Misty Mountains -."

"I will?" asked Russ.

"Of course you will. And then you, Nik, could tell a story about living out on Russ' farm. Don't you think that would be fun?"

"Yes, I do," replied the little Uruk-hai. "But don't you think we should get something for the picnic basket, to nibble while we talk?"

"We'll make a hobbit of you, yet!" laughed Erin. "Come along, we'll get a bit of something to tide us over, and then we can sit under Alfgard's big chestnut tree. Come, Russ, don't just stand there."

The Beorning merely shook his head in wry amusement, but he followed the two small beings anyhow. He rather supposed this was a ploy to keep him from brooding overmuch, whilst they all waited for an uncertain outcome. Perhaps he should be annoyed; but then again, it was a fair autumn day. Telling tales was indeed a more pleasant pastime than gnawing his paw over things beyond his control.

xxx

Emyn Arnen - Mid-afternoon

Talk between old friends and a lunch on the lawn proved a most enjoyable way to pass the time, despite the sense of urgency niggling at the back of Anardil's mind. Between their warm company and the babe crawling about looking for things to stuff in its mouth, he wished he could linger to savour the moments spent. However, fatigue and a full stomach over-rode impatience, and he fell asleep in the sun almost between one word and the next.

He awoke much later to find a blanket thrown over him, the sun had moved, and Elros' hand rested on his shoulder.

"Faramir has returned," said his friend.

Rising he felt even groggier than when he laid down. Nonetheless, he bid his friends a hasty but fond farewell, and strode forth. He found men of the White Company filing down the narrow way into Emyn Arnen like wolves returning from the hunt. Soft-footed and tall in their garb of green and brown, they bore with unshakeable confidence the great bows of the Ithilien Rangers, and keen swords hung by their sides. Faramir paced at their head with grey eyes alight, a statesman now, perhaps, but ever a Ranger at heart. Anardil understood that particular affliction well, and he stood aside from their approach with a one-sided grin.

Of course, Faramir spotted him immediately, and waved his men on as he stepped to the curb. "Well met, Anardil." One eyebrow lifted subtly. "At least I hope so. I trust you are not here on a social call?"

"No, my lord." Anardil met Faramir's searching gaze soberly. "I fear I bring a knot that wants your governance in untangling."

Beneath his hood, Faramir's expression turned grave. "I see. What is the nature of this knot?"

"The hearing in Henneth Annûn, my lord. I fear the witnesses have been tampered with, instructed to give false evidence."

Stateliness seemed to wrap about the young Steward like a second cloak. "By whom?"

Grimacing, Anardil replied, "That, my lord, is the knot."

Briefly, Faramir closed his eyes, and then speared the former Ranger with a glance. "Meet me in the library in one hour."

xxx

Ensconced at last in a comfortable chair amidst walls of books, Anardil sat beneath Faramir's brooding stare and willed his thoughts to clarity. Faramir had sought his own brief refreshment, garbed now in grey robes with soft shoes on his feet, but if he felt any weariness from his three days on patrol, he showed no sign. Thus, Anardil gathered himself to give his report. Of Margul he spoke firstly, and of the errant merchant's deeds in the past year, and the peculiar associations he had struck up in the village of Henneth Annûn.

Said he, "I believe Margul came to Henneth Annûn last spring for the sole purpose of disrupting the first orc hearings. He presented himself as the man of wealth and prominence all knew him to be, but he secretly set the boy, Cullen, and Sira the barmaid to spy on those testifying in support of the writ. I believe he thought himself completely justified in using every means at his disposal to assure that a change of law never happened. But it did - and he ruined himself in the process. My lord, you have Captain Halbarad's reports: the details are all there."

Ticking the items off one finger at a time, Anardil continued, "Sira claimed he planned to kill her and throw her head over the city walls, and blame orcs to inflame public opinion. Cullen is mortally terrified of him. That strange girl turned up dead in his house, and she is presumed to be yet another lackey of his. And then he disappears. Plus there is the orc attack on Sevi and our folks just outside the village. My lord…" He let his hand drop to the arm of the chair. "I'd bet anything I've got he was behind that, too. He's got the orc, Odbut, on his leash, now. Surely those others were his, too. Sira mentioned Odbut and other mercenary orcs."

"Sira was Margul's mistress, was she not?" asked Faramir, frowning.

"Yes, and I admit that damages her credibility. But when she sought my lady out, yesterday, to warn that Margul was back, she was truly frightened. Furthermore, Cullen's behaviour mirrors the same fears."

"I am to act on fears, Anardil? I need stronger evidence than that, if I am to halt the proceedings of the one hearing that may prove an orc innocent."

"No, my lord." Anardil puffed a short breath and bowed his head to pinch the bridge of his nose. The nap seemed to have only muddied his wits further. "The facts are these. Last spring, Margul hired Cullen and Sira to spy for him, while he plotted to disrupt the orc hearings. Now, he has made threats on Cullen's life, and the lives of his family. Which Captain Tarannon has taken seriously enough to post two Rangers at Farmer Tiroc's home whilst Cullen is in protective custody. Those threats were conveyed by Margul's orc, Odbut, when he told Cullen to watch for a signal from Khint, Lord Valthaur's clerk. And three of our primary witnesses have abruptly and drastically changed their stories, after having been seen in conversation with Khint. They have further almost removed themselves from their old circle of friends, which tells me they have found new ones."

"And you say that this boy, this Cullen, in panic blurted Lord Valthaur's name? Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," Anardil sighed. "Last spring, Margul directed Cullen to deliver a parcel to Lord Valthaur in Minas Tirith. What it contained, I don't know, nor can I imagine why Margul didn't send it by a more reliable courier. For all I know it was a box of rare Haradrim tea, but … why, if that were Cullen's only association, did he blurt Valthaur's name as the connection between Khint and Margul?"

"He did not tell you, when under questioning?"

With a chagrined wince, Anardil said, "He would only tell us that Valthaur terrified him, when he made his delivery. Though granted, Cullen has barely left the farm. Perhaps simply being in the same room with a man of Valthaur's authority was, of itself, enough to scare the simple fool half to death."

"I see." Faramir's fingers tapped a slow drum-roll on the arm of his chair. "Meanwhile, you are satisfied that Khint, at least, is involved in underhandedness."

"Yes. Absolutely. Why was Cullen supposed to watch for a signal from Khint - and then respond to it by running to Margul's pet orc? Why did previously friendly witnesses suddenly change their stories - using wording, mind you, that was not their usual manner of speech?"

Abruptly Anardil leaned forward, as a new thought leapt to mind. "And for that matter, Khint was not in court with Lord Valthaur yesterday, while those men gave false testimony. Why not? Did Valthaur send him on an errand? Or could Khint concoct a believable excuse for Valthaur to dismiss him for the day? My lord, I am suddenly finding it very troubling that a law lord would hold forth in court without his clerk at hand, and I cannot account for the man's whereabouts. Furthermore, our three turned witnesses disappeared directly after the hearing adjourned for the day, and they don't have any friends in town to stop with. Thus, I have to ask, are they being kept somewhere so that we can't question them until too late?"

"Yet you say they have already testified," the steward reminded them. "Perhaps they are simply celebrating the occasion with a three-day debauch."

Anardil paused, studying the younger man's face. "If that is so, one has to wonder if they were paid for changing their testimony. I seem to recall Darien mentioning he still owed them wages."

A tilt of Faramir's head conceded the possibility. "Be that as it may, your fickle witnesses are but pawns in the game. Our question is who is moving the pieces."

"Yes." The former Ranger lowered his head to drag his fingers through his tangled black hair. "And who the players are: Margul, certainly; Khint, probably; Valthaur … I cannot see it. I cannot imagine a man of his reputation undermining his own proceedings. Why else would he accept the case? Though he was not first on the list originally, was he?"

"No, the gentleman first on the roster took suddenly ill, leaving Lord Valthaur as second choice. But he accepted willingly, I assure you."

Mouth pursed, Anardil pushed his thoughts further. "Lord Valthaur was second choice. Does Khint serve as clerk to this other fellow?"

"No, he is personal servant to Valthaur, alone."

"And Khint has resided in Minas Tirith with Valthaur all these past months."

"Yes." Grey Númenórean eyes watched Anardil with the keen patience of a hunter.

"Has Valthaur taken any cases outside the city, since last spring?"

"No." Faramir shook his head. "His work has all been in Minas Tirith. Travel has become increasingly difficult for him, in recent years."

"Then Khint would have no inkling of anything to do with this case, until his master agreed to hear it, correct?"

"One would presume so. He would not learn of any particulars until Lord Valthaur chose to share them."

A slow growing sick feeling began to gather heavily in the pit of Anardil's stomach. "Then how under heaven was he able to arrive in Henneth Annûn two days before Lord Valthaur, and establish contact with Margul almost as soon as his feet hit the ground? Margul is a renegade, my lord. How would he be able to communicate at all with the clerk of one of the most powerful men in the realm? Unless he has help. Who is that help, Lord Faramir?"

"You had Cullen delivering a parcel to Lord Valthaur last spring. Do you suppose Margul could use the same or similar couriers to pass messages to the clerk?"

"Yes … but do you think Valthaur could be so entirely blind?"

"Perhaps. The case was actually reassigned several weeks ago. There exists ample time for Khint and Margul or any set of conspirators to set wheels in motion. In certain high circles, at least, word of Valthaur's involvement in the case was known some time before the hearing began."

"Of course." Anardil slumped in his seat and rubbed his brow. "I should have realised that. But where does that leave us? Margul is a fugitive from the City, a suspected murderer. One would think his connections amongst his patrons there are broken. Thus, how could he discover Valthaur's appointment when he is hiding in exile?"

"Perhaps…." Faramir's fingers rapped a quick drumbeat on his chair's arm. "It is the other way around. Someone in the City contacted Margul."

Anardil stared at him as mental gears turned again. "Aye. And Khint had plenty of time to do that. As Valthaur's clerk, it is entirely possible he had a previous acquaintance with Margul. Undoubtedly, many men share Margul's stance against any considerations for orcs, even some of his former clients. For Khint to get a message to him might be easier than we like to think. Blast…."

The steward's gaze grew shadowed as he settled back deeper in his chair. "Tell me what you think, Anardil. What is your gut feeling? I see in your eyes that you are reaching some uncomfortable conclusions."

"I am." Anardil swallowed, seeking to push down the knot of unease. "I think Valthaur must be aware of something. And if he is not involved, I think he must be turning a blind eye to his clerk's activities, tacitly approving them by his pretend ignorance, because Khint is serving a cause that Lord Valthaur privately agrees with."

"As you say, Valthaur has a very great deal to lose. Why would he permit this?"

"Because if Khint is caught out … Valthaur could disown him. He could claim the same theory I've been wrestling, that Margul bought Khint's collusion and that the two of them are conspiring after their own agendas. It would be an easy thing for him to brush Khint off to his own fate, leaving Valthaur looking like the victim of a faithless servant."

"Unless we can catch Margul and wring the truth out of him."

"Yes. Unless we have Margul."

One dark eyebrow lifted slightly. "Then I think you must find him, Anardil."

Anardil's sigh gusted all the way from the soles of his boots, and he scrubbed his hand over his face. "I was afraid you'd say that. And you are right. But the man is wily as a fox. We'll need to lay some sort of trap, some sort of plot or ploy to either draw him out or track him down…"

"But not today."

Anardil jerked his now-bleary gaze back to the steward's face, and saw Faramir wryly smiling.

"You are nearly out on your feet, Anardil. I want you to eat and rest, and not show your face to the waking world for at least eight hours. No -." He flung up a hand to ward the protest forming on the former Ranger's tongue. "You have given me much to think on. You certainly have convinced me that the hearing cannot proceed as matters stand. Will you return directly?"

"Yes, as soon as possible."

"Very well. Then leave me to pace and ponder, for now." Faramir braced his hands on his chair and pushed himself to his feet, reminding Anardil that he was not the only one weary from his toils. "When you return, you will carry my orders to take in Khint for questioning, and directing a reappointment to the bench, and asking Lord Valthaur to step down. That is the cleanest way I know to remove all taint from these proceedings."

As Anardil stood, he said wryly, "I doubt he will be pleased at that news. Has he ever lost or been removed from a case?"

Thoughtfully Faramir shook his head. "I don't believe so. Nonetheless, if his personal clerk has tampered with witnesses and corrupted the outcome of these hearings, he knows that the law and the demands of justice require that a fresh hearing be convened."

The steward reached to lightly touch Anardil's shoulder, turning him towards the door. "Rest, and I will send someone to wake you when I have composed my thoughts. I've some studying to do, and I suspect the hour will be quite late."

Anardil inclined his head respectfully. "I will be ready as soon as you command, my lord."

"Sleep, first." Faramir's touch became a firm palm between Anardil's shoulder blades. "I'd hate to learn you fell asleep off your horse half way back to Henneth Annûn and were eaten by wargs."

With a dry chuckle, Anardil nodded acquiescence. "As you command, my lord. But it is not only the miles that I find wearying. I confess the world itself is beginning to dizzy me, when I find myself arguing on behalf of orcs in opposition to one of Gondor's highest lords."

"The world changes," agreed Faramir. "But we must change with it."

"My lady and I discussed something very similar to that," Anardil acknowledged ironically. "Good day, my lord. I will await your word."

By some osmosis known only to lords and their servants, a man waited out in the corridor to show Anardil to a small but comfortable room in the guest quarters. By the time he shut the door, tossed down his saddlebags and shrugged off his cloak, weariness had begun pressing leaden hands on his shoulders. Nonetheless, he summoned the strength to make it to the bathhouse, where he sank gratefully to his collarbones in steaming hot water.

A pity, really, that he could not replicate his favourite previous visit when Sev shared the warm luxuries of the bath with him. Smiling, he leant his head back on the warm copper sides of the tub and let soft images of shining blue eyes and a delightfully rounded form guide him almost to sleep. He rousted himself just when he was about to turn into a man-sized prune, and fumbled his way back to his room.

There he dropped to his pillow with barely the awareness to kick off his boots. Let stewards, kings, and the powers-that-be carry the worries of the world, for now. While the sun still shone in its slow descent towards the western horizon, Anardil welcomed the dreamless depths of sleep.

xxx

TBC ...