Chapter Three: The Company Completed

The first day set the company into a habit. They woke early and travelled late, stopping for rest when necessary and for a meal only once during the day. They ate good, warm breakfasts and suppers, though, and Gilliam managed to get used to three meals a day by keeping dried fruit and a water bottle always handy. Elena and Gala rode the wagon most of the time, with the others taking turns at resting on the seat, or seats, when the girls stretched their legs. Mircal and Gala were the best drivers, but Elena and Gilliam knew the basics and were eager to learn more. Niphredil told them that the horses could pull the weight of all of them in the wagon, but not at great speed, or if forced to speed, not for long. Her plan for a bandit attack was simple: the princes would take the two horses and the heaviest bundles, the others would abandon the wagon, taking what they could carry and run into the forest, and she would face the threat with her magic. But no enemy attack was likely. Every night they kept two guards, each taking turns as often as the others, more to practice for wilder times than real reason, and the men slept on the ground, the women in the wagon.

Arnor was not a wilderness anymore, but a thriving land, with three dukes and a Steward ruling it under the crown of Gondor (or Gondor, Arnor, Enedwaith, Umbar, Nardor and West-Khand, as the official name of Elessar's realm now was. Nardor, fire-land, was the area that once had been Mordor, and the fields in the desert, tended by liberated slaves and hopeful immigrants, extended a bit every year. Without the actions of a knight known as Sir Niphredil the White, Western Khand might not be a protectorate.*)

A day's journey after Bree, they came to a crossroads and an inn called 'The Ancient Crown'. That was because some old manuscript mentioned an inn named 'The Crown' on a place near it where there now remained only the piled stones of a ruin. 'The Forsaken Inn', it had been called when Niphredil's father took the road to Rivendell. 'The Ancient Crown' was a new building, and its sign was not an ordinary crown, nor the coin with that name, but constellation known as Elendil's Crown.

'Well, that's a clever symbol for sure. Elessar wears no heavy crown, and the stars of Varda sure are ancient.' Niphredil pointed out.

'It is so big! I mean, so is the Pony, but there at least we have hobbit-sized tables and rooms.' Elena felt suddenly shy. So far four of the company had been of familiar height, for she was used to Gilliam's size, Niphredil was tall but appeared slim and almost frail – although Elena knew it was an illusion, for it took strong arms to draw a bow the size of Cúlind. Even many Breeland men might have trouble trying it! And Gala had become a friend to her already, closer at least than any girl ever had been to her in Bree. It was really nice that the dwarf-maiden and Gilliam got along so well, since he was the one that was up on the bench with them more than the others. His walk was not as brisk as it had been on the first day; he was not used to so much exercise combined with few meals, while Niphredil seemed only to feel younger every day. She never leaned on her staff, but carried it on her shoulder like a spear, and sometimes thumped it on the ground almost playfully. A less convincing wizard was hard to imagine – she looked more like a child on her way to a fancy dress party, trying to be Gandalf but forgetting the false beard and making a robe of her big sister's party dress despite the colour. As she stood on the doorstep of the inn she seemed to regain her dignity. She straightened her hat and gave her bow into Mircal's hands, who stood beside her like a true squire would.

They stepped in without knocking, as was the human way, and surveyed the room. The customers silenced one by one and turned to look at the strange group. There were some dwarves at a low table, the only low table in the room, but most of the people were humans – tall Gondorian immigrants, dark-browed and travel-weary Enedwaith merchants, two golden-haired large men who must be from Rohan, and the short and light-boned people from around the Long Lake.

A plump woman greeted them and asked what they would like- beer or a meal, and perhaps rooms? Gilliam's mouth watered at the mention of food, and Elena nudged him to silence – it wasn't his decision. To his relief, Niphredil announced:

'All of it, please: two rooms each for three, one dwarf-sized if possible, a meal at a table where we all can sit, and beer – how many of you want beer? I'll have tea, but I think the good landlady must have some apple wine stored here, for we walked past her bountiful orchard.' Niphredil spoke the order briskly.

'You are correct.' The landlady admitted. 'I am Gwyneth. Welcome to the Ancient Crown!'

Mircal and Gala asked for wine, Gilliam for beer, Elena for tea and Neldohír cold water. They were shown a human-sized table and the women given some high stools to sit on. The drinks were brought by serving girls, then a meal of stew and bread, cheese and eggs. Neldohír requested fresh vegetables; he never ate meat or anything cooked, and avoided even animal milk and eggs.**

They slept in two human-sized rooms, and were ready to continue the journey after a good breakfast. Soon after the inn they came to a village named Starlight. There were no gates, no fence, just a group of newly-built wood and stone houses gathered together. There seemed to be some kind of a gathering at the marketplace. Niphredil told her company to stop and listen. They heard two male voices arguing:

'And I tell you you aren't going to hang an innocent man!'

'How do you know he is innocent?'

'Because none of you has any reason to blame him for the crime! There is no evidence pointing to him, there has been no hatred between him and the victim, and he was elsewhere when it happened.'

'So he says! But he is a liar!'

'When has he lied to you, Faltor? Or to anyone in Starlight? Tell me. I know of no such incident.'

'He pretended he was human!'

'Is this true, Narannon? What have you told of yourself when you first came here?'

A third voice, deep and resonant, answered:

'I have told the truth. I am Narannon Peradan, half-man, shisakû***, and my mother was a woman of the Black Lands. I have not spoken of my father, no lie nor truth, and no one has asked about him.'

'See! He made you believe he was ordinary! Most the people here know not such fancy foreign words like Peradan or shis-whatever.'

'Having secrets is no crime. Aren't you born a bastard too, Faltor? You should know how hard it can be. One cannot choose one's parents. And until he has been found guilty of the killing in a fair trial, you will not harm Narannon. If you disobey this order, you yourself are a murderer and will have the punishment you deserve.'

'Why are you protecting him? You are no true soldier of Gondor, Marshall, or you would know who is an enemy! That's what comes of promoting wildfolk over the West-born! I have a drop of Numenor in my veins, and I say you are not good enough a chief for us!' The one called Faltor said this like a challenge.

The crowd, silent so far, became a roaring throng of argument and dispute, the people shouting into each other's mouths. It seemed the man named Faltor had a wider following than the one called Marshall. The company still couldn't see the central figures, but they did see a noose of rope hanging from a branch in a nearby pine.

Niphredil forced her way through the crowd, Mircal, Neldohír and Gilliam at her heels.

'I have heard enough! Are you holding a trial or having a shouting competition?'

They could now see the three men: Faltor was a strongly-built Gondorian, Marshall a short and dark Enedwaithian, and Narannon hid in a hooded cloak so that they could only see he was of average height and had a tanned face. He stood calm and silent although it was his life that was under dispute.

'And just who would you be?' Faltor asked.

'Niphredil the Green, last of the Istari. Or if it pleases you, Sir Niphredil the White, Knight of Gondor, Archery commander at the war of Khand.'

'Indeed? All I see is a little girl with a big stick.' Faltor's voice was full of derision.

Niphredil stepped towards the gallows-tree, reaching up with her staff to touch the noose. It burst on fire and burned into ashes fast like a little piece of string.

The crowd was silent once more.

'I have heard you accuse this man of a killing, Faltor. Who has been killed?'

'A young maiden named Merka.'

'Tell me all you know about it. One speaker at a time.'

Faltor and the other villagers told the story, eager to see some kind of justice attempted, if only so that they could criticize it:

Merka, a farmer's daughter, had been on her way home from her betrothed. The youth had seen her go and take the shortcut through a grove of maple. That was the last time Merka was seen alive, about midnight a week ago. The following morning Merka's family noticed she was missing. With the help of the young man they sought the path and found her corpse. She had been stabbed to death with a long and sharp kitchen knife. The knife had been found two days later, thrown into a stream. The villagers each sought their kitchens to see who had lost a knife, but the owner of the knife was not found. It might not even have been made by their local smith - the smith, when asked, said it looked like journeyman work. The girl's body was inspected before burial by her mother – Merka had only one wound, but that one right through her heart. Her purse with a few coins, and her silver buttons and earrings were still on her, so theft had not been the motive. Also she had not been raped, for she had died a virgin. Merka had no enemies that anyone knew of.

Niphredil asked them why they had suspected Narannon. The one to reply, however, was the accused himself.

'Because of what I am. I am a half-orc, although I prefer to call myself half-man.' Narannon told her.

'I see.'

'Look, then.' Narannon lifted the hood from his head, revealing a balding head of grey hair, malformed ears, squinting eyes, thin lips and a broken nose. He didn't look evil or stupid, but not particularly handsome either.

'And where were you, Narannon, the night Merka died?' Niphredil asked.

'I was drinking my home-brewed beer with my neighbour, Sergen. We talked late into the small hours of morning, and then he went home and I fell asleep in my chair. I was inside my own home all night, although since I live alone, no one can prove it. But nobody saw me leave home, either. And Sergen was with me at the time Merka walked home. Sergen's wife can prove how late he came home. With very rich language, actually.' Narannon smiled.

'Very good. Narannon, do you have any opinion who killed Merka?' The wizard-woman asked.

'No. I knew her by name only, but I think she had no enemies in Starlight village. This is a peaceful place and a murder has never happened here, not in the time I've lived here at least, and that is almost from the beginning.' Narannon informed her.

'So you think it might have been an outsider.' This was not exactly a question.

'Yes. But again, I have no idea who. No suspicious people have passed through here that we know of, only merchants and immigrants, and a messenger the day before Merka died.' the half-orc said.

'I would say this little wizard appears quite suspicious herself! How do we know she is not an evil wizard, like Saruman?' Faltor put in.

'Because she is a knight of Gondor, and I serve her as a squire!' Mircal declared, opening his black cloak to reveal the white tree embroidered on his tunic.

'Would I dare wear this cloth if I had no right to it, I ask you? And would the king make a knight of a woman unless she deserved it? Sir Niphredil is older than she looks, so you may have forgotten the stories that once were told about the White Knight.'

'I have not forgotten.' Marshall knelt down.

'I may be only a common soldier born in Enedwaith, but I remember her from the years she spent in Gondor after the Khand war. You were our hero, all of us who were not Gondorian born but yet wished to serve the King. And I remember the story of your father. You taught us that one's birth and past are not what matters, the most important is a faithful heart.' There were tears in the old soldier's eyes.

'Thank you. My heart is still faithful, although I now serve all peoples as I once served Elessar and his realms.' Niphredil told him. 'Please stand up.'

'Then pass judgement on this man, as you are highest in position here, unless one of your companions is higher?' Marshall looked at the Company, one by one.

'None is.' Mircal said quickly. He did not wish to be revealed as a prince of royal blood.

'Hear my decision: this man is innocent and you may not put him to another trial without a good reason. He is a citizen of Arnor since he has lived here – how long?' Niphredil asked.

'Fifteen years.' Marshall answered.

'I repeat: he is a citizen. He is free to live where he wishes without being persecuted. Narannon Firegate, do you wish to continue living in this village? There is an option: I have need of help on my voyage so I would welcome you to join our company. You would get food and whatever lodging the rest of us have, and treatment as an equal. Later on, there might be payment in money, but also a danger.' Niphredil offered, knowing this was all meant to be.

'I have no wish to remain here. I will pay my rent to my landlord and pack some possessions, and join you in this place. I thank you kindly for this opportunity and I promise that I will give you all the help I can. I am old, but not feeble.' Narannon flexed his arms.

'You are welcome. Understand that I am not doing this out of charity but out of real need of you. People of Starlight village, the meeting is over. Go about your business and continue your market day. I offer my commiserations to the mourners of Merka and my sincere wish that the killer is found and punished.' Niphredil spread her arms in a gesture of benediction.

Slowly the crowd dispersed, some relieved no hanging took place, others frustrated at losing their scapegoat, and some muttering lewd suggestions about what the 'wizard-girl' needed a half-orc for. Elena, Gilliam and Gala had heard everything and seen most of it too, standing on the bench of the wagon.

'So he is the seventh of us. Brough by fate indeed!' Gala remarked.

'Yes. Think about what would have happened if we hadn't been here just now!' Gilliam shuddered,

'They would have hanged him, Marshall was losing in the argument.' Gala stated her firm opinion.

'Yes, they would. He sounded like a good person. What did he look like?' Elena asked the men. Niphredil looked thoughtful so nobody disturbed her.

'Well, he had strange ears, with uneven edges, like they had been torn, only they matched each other, so he must have been born with them. And his hair was grey. He looked old.' Neldohír described Narannon.

'He must be. He must have been born soon after the Ring War, after that time there have been no orcs in the Black Lands.' Mircal told them.

'He looks old, yes, but orcs get wrinkled faces at a young age. Unless they are killed, they are a long-lived race. They are descendants of elves, twisted by Morgoth's madness. Narannon can yet be made into a warrior. I think he has never wielded a weapon, choosing to disown his enemy blood. I have no doubt his mother was raped.' Niphredil explained.

At this, Elena and Gilliam met each other's eyes. They remembered the tragedy of their grandmother Lily Maggot. Having been raped by a human, she died giving birth to Eowyn, their mother, who was then adopted by Lily's bethroted, Merry Brandybuck. Despite her having no Brandybuck blood Merry had opposed his daughter's marriage plans with her 'cousin' Marron. When Niphredil and Tom Bombadil helped the siblings' parents to get each other, everyone had felt the last traces of Lily's misfortune had dissolved.

*Historical note: of course I'm being imaginative here, but I really think Elessar extended his kingdom quite a bit – I could say his rule was a Golden Age for mankind, at least for his subjects – something like King David's Israel, only on a larger scale. Then Eldarion would be the Solomon of peace… or I could compare it to the United Kingdom itself, a realm that still holds some of its imperial might, and Tolkien lived it true – born in South Africa, later corresponding with his son Christopher whom the war took around the world…

**Sosiological note: This has nothing to do with the 'living food' diet some modern people choose for ethical reasons or because of the belief that it is good for them. Neldohír is half Ent, he doesn't need to drink the Fangorn waters and he can eat solid food (do ents have teeth? He does, anyway), but Ents never use fire and certainly no animal-origin ingredients in their drinks, except maybe honey which is prepared by bees but contains only flower meads. Neldohír eats as he does because that is what his body needs. Unlike a vegan, he has no objection to killing animals or enemies.

***Linguistical note: 'Narannon Peradan' is Sindarin, meaning: 'Firegate half-human'. 'Shisakû' is my own invention of the black speech, also meaning 'half-human' and an insult used by full-blood orcs. We know from 'The Scouring of the Shire', however, that 'Sharkû' means 'old man' so I just presumed 'kû' was the part meaning 'man/human'.