Afternoon/Evening
October 27th
Lugbac leaned against the warm stones of the chimney and watched the clouds roiling across the peaks of the Ephel Dúath. He was tired, but it was a good tired. Not like it was Before.
Before he spent whole days marching and killing, or marching and digging. Because he was so big, all the bosses wanted him to dig. He liked it much better now. He got to do all sorts of jobs: pick apples, chop wood, plough fields, or hunt for squirrels. Sometimes he had to dig, but it was different. Digging that new privy with Corbat two days ago had not seemed like work.
Today, he grinned, he built something. It wasn't as nice as Russ' lodge that Nik had helped build; but it felt good to tear down those wobbly old sheds behind The Black Cauldron and put the boards back together to make something better. When they'd finished, there hadn't been any gaps in the walls, and he'd overlapped the boards on the roof just like Celebsul had once shown him when he helped fix the barn roof at The Burping Troll. That'd been something Corbat didn't know how to do, but Lorgarth said it was a right smart idea and given them a whole apple pie to share.
Lorgarth was a good boss. Told you exactly what he wanted you to do, and wasn't always shouting at you. If he wasn't one of Gubbitch's boys, Lugbac thought he would like to be one of Lorgarth's. Of course that would mean being in town all the time, and that might not be a good thing. It seemed like he was always forgetting one of the many rules the men had and getting in trouble.
Lugbac closed his eyes and grimaced at the memory of the time he had let the pigs loose in the marketplace. He'd only wanted to pet the baby pigs, but the old sow didn't like the idea. Everyone shouted at him, but he had been much more careful this time. He'd done everything Sev and Gubbitch had told him to do; so far he hadn't been in trouble at all.
The thought worried him; there'd never been a time he hadn't been in trouble. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to think on whatever it was he must be forgetting. Suddenly his eyes flew open; Lorgarth wanted him to ask someone something.
Lugbac groaned; he'd been feeling so happy about how things were going he hadn't repeated the message out loud five times like Sev taught him. Clouting himself in the head, he moaned, "Think, think, what was the message?"
The sun had almost vanished when Lugbac remembered Lorgarth wanted someone to come see him. But who?
Giving himself a clout on the other side of his head, Lugbac went through the people at the stable yard. None of them seemed right, though the harder he thought the more difficult it was to match those pasty white faces to their strange sounding names. He moaned again.
"Whatever is the matter with you, Lugbac? I thought a cat had been stepped on from the racket being made."
The little hobbit's voice caused the orc to open one enormous bloodshot eye and whisper, "I forgot."
Erin concealed her grin behind the apple she was biting, and asked, "Forgot what?"
"Who I was supposed to give a message to." Lugbac added, "I remember the message though."
"That's better than nothing." Settling herself upon an overturned bucket, Erin said, "Tell me what you were to say, and I'll help you figure out who you're supposed to tell."
Lugbac eagerly repeated the message that Lorgarth wished for someone to come see him at The Black Cauldron as soon as possible, and then told how he had tried to think of all the people at the stable and how none of them seemed to fit.
"Hmm …" replied the hobbit leaning toward the orc. "What about someone who's not here?"
A puzzled furrow ploughed itself across Lugbac's forehead. "But there's lots of people not here?"
"Not that are supposed to be," answered Erin. "For instance, Alfgard's men. Some of them are supposed to be here, but they're at the inn."
Lugbac nodded slowly, then shook it quickly. "No, it's not someone from here."
Erin frowned. "That certainly narrows it down. What about Anardil? Lorgarth might not know he's gone."
"Anardil?" Lugbac said evasively, trying to figure out which of the white-faced tarks was Anardil.
"Sev's man. The one with one arm."
"Oh," exclaimed Lugbac in sudden comprehension. Then he jumped up to shout happily, "He's the one! Lorgarth wants to see him! I'll go tell him."
Erin sighed. She hated to disappoint the ecstatic orc. "Uh, Lugbac. He's not here. You can't deliver the message."
"But Sev can't leave. The dark man is sick, and Sev doesn't leave sick people. Even mean ones."
Choosing to avoid an explanation of why Anardil was not present, while Sev was, Erin asked, "Why would you think Horus is mean?"
"He was one of those in the cave. One who hurt Nik and Sev. That was mean."
Amazed that the orc had remembered all of that from a time nearly nine months before, Erin said, "Yes, but he apologised, and Sev forgave him. Like Meri forgave you when you crawled in the chicken coop."
Lorgarth squirmed, then asked solemnly, "Did Nik forgive him too?"
Feeling as if she were sinking into a bog, the hobbit said quickly, "I'll find Cel to come help you figure it all out in a moment. First, tell me when and why Lorgarth wanted to meet with Anardil. If it's important, maybe we could ask Halbarad for help."
"He just said, 'Tell him to meet me. I have news for him.'"
Erin chewed at her lip. "I think we should let Halbarad and Celebsul know about this." Then she added firmly, "But not Sev. She's worried enough about Horus and about Lord Oliphaunt asking questions about Anardil."
Like a miser confronting gold, Lugbac pounced upon the nugget of special interest to him. "Lord Oliphaunt? Where? I like oliphaunts. I haven't seen one for a long time."
Again struggling to maintain her footing on that slippery slope of comprehension, Erin said, "Not a real oliphaunt. Just a man who looks like one."
Giving a disappointed shrug, Lugbac declared, "That would be nice too. Where can I see him?"
Going down for the third time, Erin abandoned the conversation. "First, let's go find Hal. Then we'll see about the oliphaunt."
Lugbac sighed, "'We'll see' always means 'no'."
"Not always. Now come along, before my head explodes."
Lugbac stared at the hobbit with wide eyes. "Can you do that?"
Resisting the urge to moan, Erin said, "It's a once in a lifetime occurrence and I'm saving it for another day."
With another disappointed sigh, Lugbac followed Erin to search out Halbarad.
xxx
Appetising aromas of the evening meal curled invisibly from the kitchen of The Whistling Dog. Customers already gathered at tables, most sipping their ale or wine so as not to overfill their bellies before the food arrived. Convivial conversation lent a hum to the atmosphere of cheerful anticipation - except for in one corner of the room.
"Leave it," Neal hissed at his brother, one muscular arm pinning Evan into his seat.
"But," the youth hissed back, "he'll get us all into trouble."
"No. Watch. Carrick or Bevin will sort him out."
At the other end of the table, Osric leant back, his chair teetering on two legs, and a grin smeared over his face. "I'll say it again - I ain't staying in this boring pub. I ain't under arrest. I've got important things to tend to. Soon as I finish this ale, I'm going to the Cauldron and none of you can stop me." His small eyes flickered across the company, alighting on Ham. "You and Tom should join me; otherwise I'll leave you out of my plans. There's plenty of others with the brains to recognise a good offer when they hear it. And I've promised to meet some of 'em."
"We gave an oath to stay here," Tom ventured quietly, face troubled.
Bringing the chair back to all fours, Osric hunched forward and scowled in disbelief. "Stay in the village, you bloody fool! Not in the same damn building. And if I've got to stay in this sorry excuse for a town, I'm going to do something useful with my time."
"We told Captain Tarannon we'd keep an eye on you," Bevin muttered darkly.
"So you did." Osric rocked his head from side-to-side while contemptuously adding, "Mummy dear."
Anger stained Bevin's cheeks, but Carrick spoke next, setting heavy fists on the table. "If you must go to that sty, at least wait till after dinner, then I'll go with you. But I won't eat the slops they serve over there."
Everyone winced at the sacrifice Carrick offered … except Osric. "Please yourself. I'll eat here if somebody pays the difference. Food's cheaper at the Cauldron."
Snorting in disgust, Bevin reached into his pocket then threw a few small coins across the table. "For Carrick's sake, not yours. At least the condemned nursemaid should eat a hearty meal."
Osric's lip curled into an amused sneer, and he scooped the coins off the edge of the table into his palm. "So, who's buying the drinks?"
Drying glasses at the bar, Sira listened to the conversation and wondered fancifully whether some orcs could disguise themselves as men.
xxx
Knowing the final moments of dinner preparation were not the time to be dragging an enormous orc through the kitchen and dining hall, Erin led Lugbac toward the men's barracks set aside for The Burping Troll males. Celebsul might be there, or someone who knew where to find Halbarad.
Shivering in the wind which set the paddock grasses whipping, Erin aimed a baleful eye at the sky. There'd be rain tomorrow for certain - a solid drenching rain, from the looks of the clouds piling up against the eastern mountains. Lugbac's gleeful chortle interrupted her gloomy thoughts.
"Look, Erin." An enormous dirty finger pointed toward the paddock ahead. "The horses are dancing."
The possibility of wet weather was forgotten while the little hobbit and the misshapen orc watched the horses leaping and frolicking as the spirit of the wind filled them.
A voice, thick with the rolling accent of Rohan, came from a hitherto unnoticed figure. Raberlon leant against one of the paddock posts, bow-legged, iron-grey hair held back with a braided band of horsehair, so still and part of the scenery that Erin had not noticed him. He spoke, however, in Rohirric, so the hobbit lass could only respond to the twinkle in his eyes.
"They're so happy," she replied, and joined the man at the rail and stretched her hand through the fence to stroke a velvet nose.
"Aye." Raberlon said something again in the words of Rohan then his wrinkled face creased in a laugh as the hobbit looked puzzled. "Thy language tangles my tongue, lass, give me a moment."
Erin nodded and waited while the man closed his sun-washed blue eyes and frowned in concentration. Then he said haltingly, "When it came time to make the creatures of the world, the Lord of the Valar spoke to the wind, 'I will that a creature proceed from thee.' Thus, the horse was born from the wind. They are only remembering how they began."
The unlikely trio, hobbit, orc and man, stood and watched the horses frolic a little longer.
Lugbac's deep voice repeated slowly, "If horses are born from the wind, would oliphaunts come from the mountains?"
Raberlon peered up at the orc. "Hard to know where something comes from."
"Some things are easy," the orc said. He pointed to the hobbit. "Erin comes from the Shire where it's green and people like to eat. You and Sev come from Rohan where the hills roll like your voices. Russ comes from the tall mountains where the snow stays all the year. Elves come from places where the stars fill their eyes."
Erin blinked, while Raberlon stared, then squinted at the ungainly creature. Such near-poetry of thought certainly was not what either expected.
"And where do you come from?" the man asked.
"Me?" Lugbac went still, and his face twisted with pain. "I don't remember much from Before. Only a three peaked mountain and the marching and digging. Gubbitch says someday I might. But I don't want to. I like it better now. I've got my own blanket, and Gubbitch said no one could take it from me. I traded a stone for it."
Raberlon watched as the golden-haired hobbit slipped her hand into the orc's hideous paw, a brief, kindly grasp as one might give to a troubled child. More than one thought the folk living at The Burping Troll bewitched or simply mad for championing the rights of the worst enemies Man had ever known. More than once he or one of the other hands found themselves staring down someone who spoke poorly of Mistress Sevilodorf. They allowed no one to show disrespect to a lady of the family to which they had sworn oaths of loyalty, though they might criticise her amongst themselves.
When the men learned Alfgard had agreed to house the Uruk-hai and the strange shape-shifter during the hearing, several of them spoke out. The stable master listened to their complaints impassively, and then said sternly that by order of Esiwmas, head of the family, all courtesy was to be shown to their guests. Those who could not live with such decisions were free to take the matter up with him.
A bit more grumbling followed, but all the Rohirrim in Henneth Annûn were here by choice. They had left the Deeping Vale to build something new, something that would erase the memories of the war and help both Gondor and Rohan recover; thus they were willing to at least give Esiwmas and Sevilodorf a chance to prove their support of these creatures was more than bewitchment or folly.
For the last three days, the men quietly observed the three orcs and the shape-shifter. The little Uruk's poulticing of Alfgard's best mare the first night proved a topic for many hours of debate. The older orc, Gubbitch, possessed an air of authority which bothered many; yet it also had impressed them with his ability to control the slow-thinking Lugbac's desire to 'help'. And while Lugbac's breaking of an anvil caused great consternation, the creature's obvious devotion to Mistress Sevilodorf almost balanced the scale. The consensus of the men thus far was that these orcs, at least, appeared to want peace and were willing to abide by the rules of men.
"Aye," Raberlon responded to the orc's comments. "I heard about the stone. Mistress Sevil tells the story of it whenever she wears her bracelet."
"Sev tells stories about me?" Lugbac repeated with pleasure and a sharp-tooth grin which caused the old man to draw back with a shudder.
"Aye, she does." Raberlon pointed behind the orc. "Your boss is wanting you."
Erin leaned over to see around Lugbac's thigh and exclaimed, "Oh good, Hal's with Gubbitch. Let's go tell them your message, Lugbac; then it'll be dinner time." Looking up at the wizened face of the ancient Raberlon, she added, "Thank you, sir, for talking to us. Most of the men act like we're invisible."
Laugh lines appeared at the corners of Raberlon's eyes. "That'll change, lass, then they'll talk your leg off."
Lugbac's brows drew together, but before he could say anything, Erin pulled at his hand and replied hastily, "Thank you again. Come on."
xxx
Halbarad's frown upon hearing Lugbac's message set the lumbering orc to begin a howling protest that he had been good and none of it was his fault.
"Shut it, tha big lummox." Gubbitch thumped the big orc soundly in the shoulder. "We know it ain't nowt to do with thee." Cocking his thumb toward the main house, the orc chieftain said, "Him tha's looking for's a bit worn out."
"Is Anardil back then?" Erin asked. "He certainly would be worn out."
"Yes," replied Halbarad. "A long ride made even longer by a long walk due to a cast off shoe; but the effort was worth it; the hearing has been postponed and a new judge appointed."
"Good." Erin nodded emphatically and frowned as she planted one fist on her hip. "I will never understand how those men could sit there and tell such stories to Lord Valthaur. When I spoke at the hearing in Minas Tirith, he made me feel that he could see right inside me and would know if I were telling the truth or not. Not, of course, that I would lie, but you know what I mean."
The Ranger Captain nodded. "Lord Valthaur's astuteness is legendary."
"Aye, fat man's got a way of exposing thy innards," Gubbitch said. "Sees a body's wits turn, that one does. Looked me reet in eyes, every time. Not like most men. Aye." He nodded his scarred head. "Ah'd not want to defend a lie wi' likes of him starin' me in peepers."
Erin snorted. "Then I wonder where his attention was, when that Osric was telling his lies. Why -."
Her rant abruptly halted to the clanging of the dinner bell, and she gathered herself immediately.
"Well, then, that's dinner. Come, Lugbac, we have to tidy you up so you don't dribble grime in your supper. Follow me."
As the odd pairing of wee round hobbit and hulking, lumbering orc departed, Gubbitch squinted up at Halbarad.
"Reckon tha wants news of Lorgarth, then. Ah eat out back, anyroad – might as well go to Black Cauldron mesen, save thee missin' supper."
Frowning, Halbarad cast a wistful glance towards the house. "Unfortunately, Gubbitch, I think I had better go if Anardil is too weary. I imagine Lorgarth just wants to report that Osric is over there, again. Go eat with your lads, I'll be along later."
"Suit thesen," Gubbitch replied, and ambled off toward the promise of a good meal.
Sighing, Halbarad turned his steps towards the street, and the way to The Black Cauldron.
xxx
"Captain, to what do we owe the honour?"
The hearty, if rather sarcastic, greeting reinforced Hal's belief that Osric was an ass. Unfortunately, it also drew the eye of every one of The Black Cauldron's less than savoury patrons and made impossible any private meeting with Lorgarth the orc.
Eyeing the leering man and his ferret-faced tablemates with thinly veiled disdain, Halbarad replied, "Just taking a turn about the town, Osric. Introduce me to your friends."
"Why, Cap'n, I thought your assignment was a bit further to the north." Leaning conspiratorially toward the man on his right, Osric confided, "Captain Halbarad's in charge o' that madhouse called The Burping Troll." As the men nodded with understanding, he waved a hand from one to the other. "Sarmith and Baran, merchants from Cair Andros."
The man identified as Sarmith drew back and fixed Halbarad with a bleary-eyed stare, clearly well into his cups. "Come to town with the carnival, did you, sir? Right fine entertainment so far. Pity the Swerting's caused a delay; I might have to miss the ending."
"Right pity," Baran said with a belch. "We do love a good hanging."
"I'm afraid you gentlemen have been misinformed," Halbarad replied coolly. "The hearing is only to decide if a trial is called for. There will be no sentencing at this time, and most certainly no hangings."
"If'n you say so, Cap'n," Sarmith said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "But after listening to the tale Osric told the other day, ain't many left believing that monster deserves less."
Smothering another belch, Baran thumped the table with his fist. "Hangin's too good for the sorry lout. Need to find somethin' a bit more painful."
"I'm certain his lordship would be most delighted to hear your suggestions," Hal said calmly. "Though as I said, there will be no sentencing at this hearing. Now, if you will excuse me."
A quick scan of the room revealed both the fact that Osric was not wholly unsupervised, and neither was Lorgarth. While making his way to the dimly lit corner where Carrick sat sourly sipping a mug of beer, Hal caught the orc's eyes and nodded that he understood the problem. Whatever intelligence Lorgarth had for Hal or Anardil, they would have to find a subtler means of sharing it.
After drowning half a pint with Carrick and listening to a rather dull report on Osric's attempts to hire Baran and Smarith to take the places of Ham and Tom as his "partners" in business, Hal tossed a handful of coppers on the table and prepared to leave.
"Would you like another, sir?" a guttural voice said, and the thick-nailed fingers of an orc's hand reached out to take Hal's tankard.
"No, I think I've had enough for tonight. Unless you can suggest something else."
Lorgarth's eyes flickered toward the bearded Carrick, then back toward the bar where the owner, Drath, stood drawing pints and glancing repetitively toward their corner.
Finally, the orc shrugged and began wiping the table with a dirty rag while he muttered, "I was expecting that fellow who was looking for the snake last spring."
Catching on to the subterfuge immediately, Halbarad gathered his wits to play along. "He's been away for a bit. But I should see him soon. Did you have a message for him?"
"The snake's back. I think he came in with the lad Drath took on, that Odbut, or maybe the new one that turned up yesterday."
Carrick blinked and looked from the Ranger to the orc. "A snake's a rather dangerous pet."
Lorgarth gave a toothy grin, as he swiped the table in a vigorous pass. "I think it's the other way around, but you're right in saying a snake's a dangerous thing."
Halbarad lowered his voice to ask, "And do you think this new lad could lead us to the snake?"
"He might." Lorgarth folded the cloth and pretended to scrub at an imaginary spot. "Though he's more careful than I first thought - sneaking around at night. If you watch, you might catch him at it."
"Any lead is better than the ones we've been tracking. Thank you for the information, Lorgarth."
"T'aint everything." The orc gathered Carrick's now-empty tankard and cast Halbarad a keen look. "The new lad got a message a few hours ago. Delivered by a rather strange bird. A Gondorian peacock."
Halbarad blinked. "Indeed. One seldom sees that particular bird outside the walls of the White City."
"I can believe that," Lorgarth chuckled, sharp teeth glinting briefly beyond dark lips. "It didn't quite fit in here. Think it's used to more lordly surroundings, if you know what I mean."
Willelmus, then; with Khint in custody, he remained the only other possibility as a messenger for anyone lordly. Hal cast a glance about the tavern, at a drunk sprawled unconscious beneath a table, and a puddle of something he did not care to think of beneath another. The poor chamberlain must still be shuddering.
"A Gondorian peacock?" Carrick mumbled. "'Tis a wonder no one plucked its fine feathers. There's some in here would stoop to taking the gold from their mother's teeth."
"Yes, he was most fortunate," replied Hal to Carrick's confusion. "But such birds often have powerful friends." Seeing that Lorgarth had told all he could at the moment, the Ranger exclaimed rather more loudly than was necessary, "No, I'll pass on that mutton stew."
Lorgarth gave the two men a wink, then backed away apologising for disturbing them.
"Snakes and peacocks," murmured Carrick with a slow shake of his head. "Whatever is the world coming to?"
Hal stood and said, "Whatever honest men like yourself make of it, Master Carrick."
Carrick nodded and watched as the Ranger slipped from the room. For a few minutes, the Captain's words bolstered his spirits. But then a drunken laugh resounded from the table occupied by Osric and his new friends. Carrick plunged once more into gloomy thoughts and signalled the bar maid for another beer.
xxx
Unable to stand against the combined forces of Celebsul, Horus and Darien, Sev found herself evicted from the sickroom after dinner with instructions not to return until morning.
"And morning, madam, means no earlier than two hours after sunrise," the Silverbrook lord stated, before closing the door firmly in her face.
Only the fact that the haunted look which had marred his countenance for the past two days had been replaced by an almost boyish merriment kept Sev from pounding on the wood and demanding re-admittance; that and the image of Anardil still asleep in a room at the end of the hall.
Then there was the small matter of her hobbit guardian.
"Come, Sevi. Horus is looking much better. It's amazing how quickly someone can recover from a fever." Erin herded her friend toward the room they shared. "Besides, you need to take some time for yourself. I don't think you slept more than ten minutes last night. And I know you haven't sat down at the table and eaten a decent meal since Horus became ill."
The hobbit's gentle scolding continued as she bustled about their room. Somehow, within a matter of minutes, Sev found herself wrapped in a comfortable robe with soft slippers upon her feet, while the hobbit handed her favourite mug filled with hot chamomile tea.
"You sit right there while I fetch more warm water for you to wash," Erin admonished with a shake of her finger.
"Yes, ma'am," Sev replied dutifully.
"I'll bring back a tray of nibbles too. I don't know how you Big People manage on so little food."
Sev waited until the hobbit's footsteps faded, then set the tea on the floor and stood. If she sat for too long, she would indeed go to sleep and there were still things that needed doing this evening. Crossing to the bed, she noted the soft embroidered towel Erin had brought from home and the bar of soap wrapped in a clean handkerchief. Sev picked up the soap. Honeysuckle, just as she had expected.
Moments later, Erin bustled back in the door. "Sevi, I brought you some…"
The hobbit stopped speaking and settled the basket of pastries on the chair. Setting the pitcher of water in the basin, Erin gathered up the shawl from the back of the chair and tiptoed to the bed. Gently, she draped the garment over the slumbering figure clutching a bar of honeysuckle soap. Without a sound, for hobbits are known for their ability to move silently, she collected the items she would need for the evening and blew out the candle.
xxx
"Justice."
Russ rumbled the word quietly, tasting its sound along with the last of his evening pipe. As he looked up at the night sky, he saw pinpoints of stars glittering between long, dark swaths of clouds. Weariness tugged at his very bones, the urge to sleep lying heavy as a blanket of winter snow, yet his mind would not rest. Did he believe justice would be served here? Perhaps he did. Nik did. Halbarad did. Celebsul did. The fickle justice of men - and to what purpose?
So that Nik could enjoy the freedom any other being would have been born with the right to own. Yet Nik had been born a slave and lived as a slave, until the fall of Orthanc. Foul chance, indeed, that the freedom Russ tried to offer the little Uruk-hai had got tied up in the ill-guided tangles of Men. Now people kept trying to convince him that all the words, decrees, and piles of paper were needed to give Nik what the destruction of the Dark Lord should have granted him - the right to walk upright and free.
A memory leaked into Russ' awareness, and his massive shoulders rose and shuddered. He recalled his first instinct upon pulling the bedraggled, half-drowned Uruk from a river - throw it back. But mercy for all living things proved a far stronger urge, and at that time, Nik had seemed a pitiful, helpless creature. The days and weeks following Russ' acceptance of the orc as one of his helpers demonstrated that Nik was neither pitiful nor helpless - he possessed keen intelligence and amazing strength for such a small person. That intelligence and strength were the reasons why Nik had survived death, and also why he now answered to justice.
What had Nik done? He had fought for his life, and for the life of an innocent woman. The world seemed mad, indeed, when the innocent had to prove their blamelessness beyond question, while the guilty and duplicitous wore the appearance of truth. Those lying witnesses were beneath contempt, while Nik's nobility shone bright - forming the beacon that led Uruk and Beorning into this swarm of Justice. How many months had Russ nibbled uselessly at that decision, turning it over and over, a toothless squirrel with an acorn?
Yet Nik had cracked the greater nut. 'It's for Mistress Sev and Horus and Evan and everybody who speaks for me.' The heart in that stunted, unprepossessing body housed more honour than half the mansions of Gondor.
Something stirred in the undergrowth, bringing Russ' thoughts back to the here and now. He sniffed and located the black-and-white striped face and sparkling dark eyes of a badger.
"Hello, Brother Brock," said the Beorning, before tipping his head into a listening posture.
The badger emitted a staccato grunting and clicked his teeth.
"Yes, I have eaten well," Russ said. "And what do you here?"
The badger braced wide-set legs and growled, which slid into a brief churring sound, then another clack of sharp teeth.
"Aye," Russ answered whatever reply he received. "You are a brave leader. Here lie rich pickings of fallen apples for your family. But grave danger also lies in the orchards of Men."
However, nothing would deter the badger from risking his life to fatten his colony for the bitter season to come. Shuffling quietly into the safety of the hedge, the creature grunted his farewell.
"Goodbye, Brother Brock. May fortune go with you, and winter lie gentle over your sett."
Russ returned to his pondering. Men would never truly know the bravery and sacrifice of the animals that shared their world. But Nik was a person who could speak his honour in words Men understood - if only they would listen. It was so hard for Russ to stand aside and let his friend risk his life on the fragile chance that truth might prevail. How much easier to hide him away in safety and silence - not that Nik would agree to that.
No, the right thing was not always easy. But perhaps even Justice would at last bear fruit.
A man could hope, couldn't he? Yes, a man could always hope.
Russ puffed a little more, then tapped out his pipe and went inside for bed.
xxx
"Does the end justify the means, Anardil?"
At the quiet question from the darkness, he sighed. He had known the lines drawn deep upon his lady's face were not due merely to physical weariness. He would have done better to refuse the hobbit's offer to switch bedchambers, thus delaying this particular conversation for perhaps a day or two. By then, a true resolution to the situation would have been reached and with it a better understanding of the worth of their actions.
"Meleth nín," he began then stopped as she stiffened.
"Don't use that patient tone on me. I am no child to be placated with gentle words. I have done many things in my life of which I am ashamed, but until now I never attempted to weave my own truth."
"I would not dream of placating you, Sev; but do not be too harsh upon yourself."
"Too harsh," Sev exclaimed though clenched teeth, and twisted in his embrace to face him. "I might have killed Horus. His reaction to the fever-inducing herbs was far more extreme than I expected."
His reply breathed warmly against her face. "And if you had not 'woven' this illness? Would not the hearing have continued with Khint and Margul arranging the outcome as they preferred?"
"How does it make us right if in order to defeat those who flout the law, we do so ourselves?"
"Because Sevi, sometimes the end does justify the means." Quiet steel underlay his gentle tone. "Did you seek to stop the proceedings entirely, or delay them only to ensure true justice was done?"
"You're twisting things. Standing before the court and telling lies cannot be right."
"It is when you know, as we did, the court is unfair. Be strictly honest, Sev, what lies did you tell?" Anardil shifted his head on the pillow to better observe the shadowed planes of her face. "Horus was indeed ill. You speculated as to the cause of his illness, but made no definite statements. Nor did you allow Master Banazîr to do so. You sidestepped the truth and allowed others to draw what conclusions they desired."
"Not when Lord Valthaur asked where you were." Sev hugged her folded arms to her breast, an unthinking bulwark against her fears, and he shifted his arm warmly around her. "I expected him to assume like all the others that you had gone off on a trading venture; or since he knew your work for the King, to think that you were called away by duty. But when he made that comment about the roads being dangerous and asked where you were, I didn't know what to say. So I lied and told him I didn't know."
Anardil could not keep the laughter from his voice. "If that is the extent of your falsehoods, you are a petty criminal at best."
"Don't laugh at me, you … calculating observer." Sev slapped at his chest. "I am not used to covering the truth in such a fashion."
"No, when you wish to hide the truth, you refuse to speak." Again he felt her stiffen, but this time he continued, "The real question you must ask yourself is would you do it all again?"
She sagged against him and only the sound of their breathing filled the night. Then in a resigned tone, she said, "Aye, that is the heart of the matter. Yes, given the choices I had, I would do the same again. Forgive my foolishness, Anardil."
He tucked strands of hair behind her ear and dropped a kiss upon her forehead. "There is nothing to forgive, Sevi. I should not have placed such a burden upon you."
"If not me, who else? It is what I asked of you, to allow me to walk the paths you walk. " She drew a quick, strengthening breath and looked into his eyes, shadowed but so near. "I pray you will not cease doing so because of my faintheartedness. I will strive to be a more diligent student and learn the lesson you attempt to teach."
Silently, Anardil considered whether he did right in teaching such lessons. If he did so only because of his desire to have Sev by his side, he was doing her a great disservice. For as he knew, once one became aware of the many forms human treachery assumed, one could never again look at people without suspicion. But if she remained determined in her resolve to walk the shadowy roads he trod in the King's service, such lessons were essential for her survival.
"And I will learn yours," he said, deliberately setting aside the propriety of instructing her in the arts of subterfuge.
"Mine? What lessons do I have to teach?"
"To look beyond the darkness and shadows." He traced the line of her jaw, then punctuating each word with a kiss, he added, "To dream once more with the promise of laughter and love."
"Loof," Sev responded against his lips. "Where do you think I learned them?"
Thus peace came to the household and Ithilien slept.
xxx
As night drew its starry cloak over the Ephel Dúath, a stream tumbled whitely amongst jumbled boulders and the jackstraw tangle of standing and fallen trees. Here the earth had moved in the final throes of Mount Doom, sending great chunks of mountain falling into the forest below. Few ventured into this wilderness of trees and stone, but close by the stream, concealed from all but the most discerning eye, a small, smokeless campfire winked in the mouth of a hidden cave. Beside the fire crouched a solitary figure.
The snapping branch, which heralded Grom's approach from the darkness, would have startled a lesser man. But Margul placidly continued stirring the stew pot hanging over his small fire until the orc dropped down beside him.
Even then, he did no more than glance up and say, "I trust you fulfilled your errand."
Grom reached into the pouch hanging from his belt and drew out a small onion and a packet wrapped in tattered cloth. Settling the packet on the ground, the orc scrubbed away the onion's papery skin before offering it to his master.
Ignoring the packet, Margul accepted the onion and drew his silver handled knife. Slivers of pale onion sank into the depths of the thick beef stew, and Grom's stomach rumbled.
When half the onion had disappeared into the pot, silvery green eyes lifted to meet the orc's yellow-tinged orbs. Without a word, Margul tossed the remaining onion into the fire and wiped his knife clean. The blade glinted briefly in the firelight as it pointed toward the packet.
Nostrils twitching at the sharp scent of burning onion, Grom answered the unspoken question. "Some fancy man brought it. It's got the signal mark on the outside, but he weren't the one you've been meeting."
"Were you followed?"
"Nar, told Lorgarth the master had an errand for me." Grom sneered. "Got no business being a boss; he ain't no better than a snaga. Fetching and carrying for that tark scum, Drath."
"Master Drath." the man said quietly, tapping his blade upon his knee. "You will address even the tark scum properly."
Grom shrank back and mumbled, "Master Drath."
"Better. And remember, we must be extremely vigilant until I find out what happened to Odbut and the farm boy. I suspect one or the other may have alerted the authorities to my presence in the area. There have been too many Rangers wandering in the woods for my liking."
Slipping his knife into its sheath, Margul gave the stew another careful stir before picking up the message.
While his master read, Grom watched the stew bubble. His stomach rumbled again. Because of the fancy man and his message, that stupid git, Corbat, had drained the orcs' pot before Grom had a chance to take his full share. Now he'd never make it back in time for a portion of the leavings after the tavern closed.
Occupied with thoughts of stew, Grom failed to note the slow hardening of his master's features. However, with the brittle crumpling of the message by a tight fist, the orc hunched his shoulders and went still as a rabbit at the shadow of a hawk.
"Is this all there was?"
The icy precision of the words swept away all thought of stew.
Grom strove to keep his voice low and respectful. "Aye, sir, there weren't no more."
"Describe the man."
Swallowing hard, the orc began a stammering description of the messenger. When he described Willelmus' beak-like nose and haughty expression, Margul held up a finger to halt the scattered words.
Mid-breath, the orc's voice died. Long silent moments passed. Bit by bit the murmur of the nearby stream faded and the wind ceased to whisper in the forest, until the only sound remaining was the bubbling of the stew. The very smell of which now set Grom's stomach roiling with nausea.
Margul's knuckles went white as he again squeezed the paper within his fist. He began to speak softly. So softly, Grom could make out nothing but the fury behind the words. Then the man went still, and the orc crouched low in a pitiful attempt to avoid the unleashing of his master's rage.
But instead, Margul gave a bark of laughter and began to smooth the crumpled paper. He folded it carefully and tucked the page inside his stained coat. Taking up his spoon, he leaned over to stir the stew once again.
"So the muck has spilt close to the source this time," Margul spoke in quiet riddles, "and he wants no spots on his robes - wishes me to wipe the mess away. I wonder what ensues if the mud sticks."
Tipping his head, he said to the cringing orc. "If he thinks to break his promises, to cut his ties and leave me with nothing, or throw me to the wolves …"
Stopping mid-sentence, Margul paused and took a long breath.
"Nevertheless, I will do his bidding. That suits my own purposes well enough for the time being. There are those who have thwarted me too often. But they all underestimate my resources. And that," pale eyes glinted in the fire's glow, "is an error I simply cannot tolerate. After all, my very reputation is at stake."
Then the man smiled.
And the orc dared to smile back, for he recognised that look. It was the smile that fulfilled the promises the master had made to the servant. Promises of flesh, sweet and tender; of blood, hot and thick; and of revenge, terrible and swift. Yes, soon Grom would get to hunt, for his master's will and for his own pleasure.
xxx
TBC ...