Two Sides of a Coin

Chapter Seven: Blind Judgement

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in making new landscapes but in having new eyes." -Marcel Proust

Shastan stirred, opened his eyes, then came to the horrible realization he had overslept. It was already midmorning and too late to prepare breakfast before traveling. Shastan was about to groan over the prospect of journeying the whole day without food in his stomach, when suddenly he smelled smoke.
The Swerting sat up to see a small fire some yards away with a pot heating over it. As if in answer to Shastan's puzzlement, Ladril returned to the pot with a ladle and gave the contents a quick stir.
He was cooking breakfast.
Shastan blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again. In response Ladril looked up and gave a sly grin.
"Shaaastan!" He piped. "Wake up and eat your breeaakfast!"
Shastan pulled himself off his mat, but as he approached the fire pit he was still completely baffled.
"I thought you refused to do slave work."
"This is not 'slave work'." Ladril retorted. "This is 'performing a service out of gratitude'. You want to eat?"
At length the Swerting nodded and sat himself down, taking a bowl of soup as Ladril handed it to him. He took a taste while the ranger turned back and served himself.
"...Not bad," Shastan commented.
"Indeed, considering I had no idea what I was doing," Ladril admitted. "You carry a vast amount of spices I've never seen before."
"They come from my Home, that's why. Fresh grinds from special desert plants. They are a lot stronger than the spices your folk use."
The ranger was about to nod, but quickly he looked up. "How do you know what spices we use? You mean to say you have had our food before?"
Shastan turned away and did not answer.
"...Fine." Ladril finally said. "I will just add 'enigma' to the growing list of your oddities. And speaking of oddities, what on earth is that?"

Shastan saw that Ladril was pointing to a fine, long rod propped against the tree. Its tip boasted a broad spearhead and a thick, red tassel.
"A ceremonial spear," Shastan said in answer.
"Yes but where did it come from?"
"I saw it in a pile of loot at the orc camp yesterday, so I bartered for it while you were still tied to the tree."
Ladril's jaw dropped. "You bartered with orcs?"
"...I should rather say I spooked them into giving me the spear," Shastan smirked in reminiscence. "Since it came from my Homeland, I convinced the orcs that some dead Swerting will haunt them until he retrieved his weapon. They kept insisting they found the spear by the road, but they got scared enough and handed it to me."
"But what would you want with a spear? It is no use to us in the wild," Ladril insisted.
"It is if we meet more orcs."
"Yes, but if you throw it and miss-"
"Basra's Exalted Name!" Shastan cried, thoroughly appalled. "You do not throw a spear!"
Ladril stared. "...I give up. What are you supposed to do with it then?"
"Well..." Shastan pondered a moment. "I suppose I will just have to show you sometime." With that the Swerting finished the last bit of his soup. "This was very good. I shall look forward to breakfast tomorrow."
"That is where I'll make a deal with you."
"What deal?"
"I will make you all the breakfasts you want from now on, providing you unshackle me."
"No," Was the flat reply.
"Stubborn!" Ladril spat. "Always stubborn, that's what you "Swertings" are! You will not cooperate and you will not listen! I cannot imagine how our two countries could ever get along!"
Shastan thought a moment. "...Then it makes sense that we are at war."
Ladril was about to refute him, but then considered this statement. After silently conceding, all argument ceased between the two men for the rest of the morning. Their things had yet to be packed and the journey ahead promised to be very long indeed.

The road cut into a cool forest, which made most of the traveling quite pleasant. But in the woods' silence Ladril felt uneasy; every step they took on the gravel road seemed to alert every creature to their presence. Having made only a narrow escape with the orcs a day before, the ranger felt they ought to be especially cautious.
"We are inot/i getting off the road," Was Shastan's answer when Ladril voiced his suggestion. "Do you want us to get lost again?"
"I thought you had a knack for finding your way."
"I had a knack for finding the road. And now that I am on it, I am staying on it." Then the Swerting smiled. "You still owe me half of your country, by the way."
"If you think I was actually serious about that-"
Shastan quickly held up a hand for silence.
"...Did you hear something again?" Ladril whispered. "How is it you always hear better than me?"
"Don't hear," Shastan said. "Smell."
The ranger took a whiff of the air. To his surprise he smelled smoke. Smoke was coming from up the road, where it curved away from view.

The two men stared after it warily.
"I'll go-"
"You can't go, it's too dangerous-"
"Well you're tied up-"
"If you unshackled me like I told you-"
"Just stay here. I'll go off the road-"
"Now you'll go off the road?"
"-And sneak up from the side. That will put them off guard-"
"-Unless they are expecting it."
"I'm going."
"And I'm coming."
"Fine."

The Swerting and the ranger hid their heavy packs by the wayside and slid into the forest. They followed where the road curved and the smell of smoke grew stronger as they crept along. Shastan, with a firm grip on his spear, peered cautiously over a bush and received a full view of the smoke's source.
"Well? What is it?" Ladril asked.
"A campfire on the road."
"Filthy orc-vermin," The ranger hissed in disgust. "Are no roads safe anymore?"
"Well," Shastan turned to Ladril. "I wouldn't call an old man 'orc-vermin'."
Ladril blinked. "...What?"

The ranger peered over the bush also, and there indeed was an old man sitting in the middle of the road, dressed in nothing but rags and tending a frail fire.
"We got worked up for nothing," Shastan commented. "Should we talk to him?""I think we ought to remain wary," The ranger admonished. "We still do not know what side he's on."
Shastan stared at Ladril. "...I think either way he is an enemy to one of us."
Ladril thought a moment. "All right that's true. But what I meant to say was-"
"-When you two are done bickering," The old man called. "I will invite both of you...or one of you, or none at all, to share my fire. Depending on if you two feel like finishing each other off before finishing with me."
Shastan and Ladril stared at the ragged man.
"Ah, bandits are not so hesitant," The old man speculated. "Which implies that you are the opposite. Therefore come sit and bicker no more."

After a moment the two youths stepped out of the brush and onto the road. The old man remained unmoved, his eyes still fixed downward.
"Who are you?" Ladril demanded.
"No one, sir." Was the answer.
"From what country are you?"
"No One belongs to no country."
"What side are you for? Gondor or Mordor?"
"No One is on neither side."
There was a confused pause.
"...And you are No One?" Shastan tried.
"As I said, sir."
"Do you jest with us?"
"On the contrary, I speak quite plainly. No One belongs to no country and No One is on neither side. Furthermore, No One is honest and these days No One shows much tolerance."
"Just what are you getting at?"
"No One knows."

Shastan gave up on the whole matter, but Ladril remained persistent.
"Could you...tell us something iwe/i should know?"
"Ah! Glad you asked," The old man pointed directly behind him. "There is a spring of clear water some fifty paces that way. That is something you ought to know."
"Splendid!" Shastan said. "I am going back to get our flasks, then."
"What should I do?" The ranger asked.
"You can stay with this fellow," Shastan smiled and turned to the old man. "You will look after him, won't you sir?"
"If he requires looking after." The fellow answered.
With that Shastan trotted back down the road. Ladril grumbled and sat next to the ragged man, who was still tending his fire.
"Are you just insane, or were you actually trying to be insightful?" The ranger finally inquired.
"What one man may label as lunacy another man could prize as philosophic. Insanity and insight are, like so many other things, two sides of the same coin."
After Ladril consented at length, the old man leaned towards him and nodded in the direction Shastan had gone.
"What do you think of that fellow you travel with?"
"...Do you want me to be honest?"
"That and nothing else."
Ladril looked down the road contemptuously. "I think he's an idiot."
"Interesting," The fellow nodded. "You know what one man may call an idiot-"
"-Will you please stop that? I cannot stand silly metaphors."
The old man shrugged. "Very well...why do you follow him, then?"
"For apparent reasons," Ladril displayed his shackles before the old man, but he paid them no heed.
"What's the real reason you follow him?"
This caught the ranger off guard. His thoughts went back to the night he was trapped in the pit, and when he was at the mercy of a branding iron.
"I suppose..." He said at last. "I suppose I am indebted to him."
"For being indebted, it sounds like you do not get along with him."
"How can I? He's always acting indifferent and elusive-"
"Like he has a secret?"
"...Him? Not really. He's not one to harbor secrets."
"Aren't you?"
Ladril gave a startled pause. "...Yes. But he would not understand."
"Why not?"
"Come now, even you can see we are utterly different! We simply cannot think the same way!"

At this moment Shastan returned, having chosen to lug the heavy packs along with the flasks. He dropped the bags and plopped down in exhaustion.
"Here Laaderil," He tossed the flasks to the ranger. "You get the water."
Ladril raised a brow. "You actually trust I won't run off?"
"Of course," Shastan patted the bags. "Because I have got all the food."
The ranger huffed and trudged into the woods. When he was far from view, Shastan turned to the old man.
"Well? What has he been saying about me?"
"He says you two do not think the same," The man replied.
"Isn't that the truth."
Shastan rested back with an arm propped under him while the old man leaned forward and asked "What do you think of that fellow?"
"Honestly?"
The ragged man nodded.
"I think he's an idiot."
"...Really?" The fellow slowly nodded. "Interesting. I was just saying what one man may call an idiot-"
"You are not going to be metaphoric, are you?"
The old man stopped. "Can't stand metaphors, eh?"
"No."
"All right..." The old man rolled back his torn sleeves. "Why do you travel with him, then?"

"Simple. Because he owes me his services. I saved his life, you know." Here Shastan sighed. "-Although he is making mine rather difficult."
"You do not get along with him?"
"How can I? He babbles and babbles about practically nothing. It's as if-"
"-He has a secret?"
"Why on earth would Laaderil have a secret?"
"Don't you?"
Shastan hesitated. "...Yes. But he would never understand."
"Why not?"
"Because it's just as Laaderil said. We cannot think the same way!"

At this time Ladril came back with the flasks nearly brimming. He handed one to Shastan, and both men took a moment to enjoy the refreshing spring water.
"Can I offer you two a word of advice before you depart?" The old man asked.
"Certainly," Ladril said, wiping his mouth.
The old man sagely cleared his throat. "There may be moments when you do not understand each other, but with time and patience those difficulties will pass. That is the miracle: no matter how dark things get, brothers always pull through."

There was stark silence as the words filtered in, then the Swerting and the ranger violently choked and spat out their water.
"--You think...we're brothers?!" Shastan cried.
"Ah, yes!" The ragged man clapped his hands as if he won a game. "I am clever aren't I? I figured out you two were related before you could even tell me!"
"But he's a...and I'm a..." Ladril pointed between himself and the Swerting in utter bafflement, but a sharp glance from Shastan conveyed that the old man was obviously crazy.
"...Well we really must be going," Shastan quickly gathered up the bags. "Thank you for your advice. We shall reflect on that thoroughly."
"No trouble at all," The man cheerfully smiled.
"Grab your things and run," The Swerting muttered to Ladril and then bolted up the road. Ladril was about to follow in suit, but paused a moment while looking at the old man. He quietly leaned down and waved a hand in front of the fellow's face. Finally understanding, he now ran to catch up with Shastan.
"Can you believe that?" Shastan said once they were out of earshot. "I should have known from the start. The man is absolutely crazy!"
"He's not crazy," Ladril stated. "He's blind."
The Swerting stopped in his tracks. "...What?"
"He's blind, Shastan. I checked myself. He didn't know I was a Gondorrim and he didn't know you were a Swerting!"
Shastan thought reflectively. "And he called us brothers."
Ladril hesitated, then nodded.

...There was an awkward silence.

"He's still crazy." Shastan concluded.
"Yes. Absolutely." The ranger quickly concurred.
With that they continued on their journey.