Chapter 12: The King's Justice (Legolas & Co)
C/W: some violence, unwanted touching (but that's all)
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The elves spent the rest of the day in the human town trading to set up their cover story. A corner of the market was dedicated to the sale of animals, so a few horses were picketed there. When word started going through the crowd that there were Northmen looking to buy, two men came forward with beasts of their own. The three elves soon found a rhythm, with the elf-men looking animals over and then indicating to Lossrilleth if they were interested in purchasing. She then taught the men of Middle Earth the meaning of 'horse trading'. By early evening, they had four beasts in total, including the original bay mare and a muscular gray gelding that was sweet on Lossrilleth.
As the market was packing up, Brigid approached the elves timidly, whispering to them, "I've been spreading a rumor about Northmen coming to trade horses…"
Lossrilleth saw her and smiled brightly, leaning close to her ear to whisper, "Costume work very good. Your gem merchant cheat you. I scare him. Where we stay with horses now? We go Minas Tirith."
Brigid beamed at the elves, delighted that their scheme was working. "Follow the King's road to the way station – a league out of town. For a few pennies each night you can stay in those places under the protection of the King's army. It's cheaper than an inn, and it will be good once you are traveling with more animals. You should ride, fair lady. The last Northmen were here eight years ago. They had two ladies with them and they never walked on the road, they always rode horses."
"We thank you. Valar bless you!" Lossrilleth said with feeling. She offered the woman a silver coin. "For your service."
Brigid shook her head, pushing Lossrilleth's hand back. Remembering the sad little girl in the Lord's garden, she whispered, "For your daughter." All three elves touched their hearts and extended them to Brigid, who curtsied quickly and walked off, smiling.
The elves had seen a lady riding side saddle earlier, but had not thought to try to procure such an impractical looking piece of equipment, so Legolas secured a saddle blanket around the gray and mounted, pulling Lossrilleth up behind him so she could use him to keep her balance while sitting to the side. Thranduil chose the only horse large enough for him that they had seen all day – a handsome, but ill-tempered, buckskin stallion that behaved for the elf nonetheless, for it knew a herd leader when it saw one. With the rest of their new charges led on ropes, the elves finally left town, heading for the way station.
They were not the only travelers on the road that evening. Many of the merchants from the market were trundling carts down the path toward the way station. The place would have been hard to miss. A simple post fence surrounded a large yard with a silk bell tent in the middle. A variety of men milled about the yard, chatting, drinking ale, and eating from a cauldron of pungent stew the elves could smell all the way from the entry gate. At the entrance, two soldiers asked for three silver pennies for the travelers' entry and feed for their horses. (Lossrilleth did some math in her head and realized they were going to need to actually make some profits in order to make this work. She would have to think about how to achieve that…)
"Entry includes ale, but you got to pay for the stew separate. Where you from, then?" said a guard who looked barely old enough to have left home.
"North," Thranduil replied from the head of their column.
The young guard was about to protest, but the older one leaned down and said (quietly enough humans would have missed it), "Don't hassle them, the King's orders are to encourage foreign trade on public roads. Who cares where they're from?"
The elves settled their horses into a set of simple stalls, then found a corner where they could listen to the men's chatter for any interesting information. All three were uneasy watching the gaggle of half-drunk men standing around the fire, loudly laughing as twilight began to fall. They missed the quiet of the woods, but with more horses and warnings of robberies along the road, they had no good choices. The occupants looked mostly like traveling merchants, though there was a man with finer cloth and what looked like two private guards sitting near the fire watching the antics with a half-smile.
The elves quickly realized there was no water – ale was all there was to drink. The alcohol wasn't going to bother them, but they would have preferred water. Lossrilleth insisted on followed Legolas into the center of the yard to claim a few pints, although he'd urged her to stay with his father on the sidelines. As she walked past the fire, a large drunk man who had been dancing to the tune of a tin whistle grabbed Lossrilleth hard by the waist, one hand grazing her breast, and spun her around, shouting,
"Will ye not take pity and share yer love with us lonely men, lass?"
In what seemed a split second, she managed to dislocate the man's thumb, while Legolas whirled around and had the man on the ground with a knife at his throat as he howled in pain.
"I kill you," Legolas spit out in heavily accented New Westron, wishing he had paid more attention to the dry language book Lossrilleth had encouraged him to read.
"Peace, friend," the well-dressed man said to Legolas, approaching quickly and staying his knife hand. "If you kill him you'll only have more trouble. We'll submit him to the King's justice. I'll witness for you and he will be punished."
Thranduil had appeared at Lossrilleth's side within seconds, a protective hand on his daughter-in-law's shoulder for all the men to see.
"Move aside, get him up," ordered the captain of the guard as he ran over from his post at the gate. "What happened here, a brawl?"
"He touch me," Lossrilleth said bitterly.
"It's true," the well-dressed man said. "I saw it happen. This man assaulted the lady and her companion defended her."
"My husband," Lossrilleth clarified. Given their time and place, she imagined that detail would matter.
"There you have it, Kingsmen," the well-dressed man said. "You cannot deny a husband's right to defend his wife's honor. This man is the culprit and must be punished for assault and breaking the King's peace."
The soldier nodded. A lady's word and witness from what looked like a minor noble was good enough for him. "Assaulting a lady under the King's protection and breaking the peace is three lashes and all night in the stocks. But why is the lady not in the pavilion?" he asked, turning to the fair strangers and pointing at the silk tent surrounded by half a dozen King's soldiers and what looked like two of the well-dressed man's private guards. "She shouldn't be out here with the men."
The elves looked at the tent, realizing their error. That answered why there were no women or children about the station, then.
"We do not know," Lossrilleth said, looking upset. The guard wanted to let out a frustrated sigh but contained himself. Ignorant foreigners causing trouble – just his luck on his first command.
"The man will be punished, but the lady goes into the pavilion where she belongs," the guard said, trying to sound decisive as the intimidating tall man beside the pale woman burned a hole through him with his gaze.
Legolas had taken his wife possessively by the arm. He was about to insist they stay together, when the finely dressed man intervened again.
"You have the right to join the night watch over the pavilion when your women are inside. Two of my guards are there now – my wife is there. I'm sure she would enjoy some company, dear lady," he said, bowing politely to Lossrilleth. "Join our watch rotation," he said to Legolas and Thranduil, "We all have something precious to protect, we'll all feel better for it."
The guard interrupted him. "The husband can give the lashes if he will, it's his right." The elves watched as the large drunk man's shirt was removed and his head and hands were locked into the wooden stocks. He stood there groaning and cursing, trying to find a good place for his feet. The guard offered Legolas something round looking, but the elves just looked confused – there was a lot of new vocabulary in this conversation.
"Very well," said the guard, steeling himself. He did not like giving lashes, but he knew his duty. As he unfurled the nasty looking leather whip, Lossrilleth finally realized what was going to happen. She let out a gasp and took a step back, wondering if she could intervene before the violent act took place.
"Don't watch, madam," the finely dressed man said to her with kindness.
Lossrilleth stared at him for a moment as the guard approached the stocks. To the rich man she quoted from the abbess's poem, "Am I a coward, to look away from suffering caused by own hands?" The rich man was impressed with the woman, who watched with determination even as revulsion passed over her face. The quote from the great teaching poem, The Fool's Journey, spoke well of her. She set her jaw straight and held Legolas's hand tight, making herself watch the soldier set his feet and delivered the blows.
Legolas and Thranduil could find no pity for this foul man who dared to touch the elleth in their charge, watching with their eyes full of steel. Legolas half wished he had understood when they offered him the whip, for he was enraged at the man and at himself for turning his back for a moment. The horror he had felt when he saw that drunk, dirty man with his hands on Lossrilleth… Thranduil looked on with the appraising eye of a former ruler, considering what passed for the King's justice in these lands.
A final crack rang out among the silent bystanders. Another guard threw a large barrel of liquid onto the man, who shrieked.
"Salt water," the rich man explained. "Cleans the wounds but hurts like fire."
Lossrilleth was disgusted. Her whole body was tense and shaky. She took her ellyn aside, not wanting to speak Sindarin too openly as there could always be someone who recognized the old language.
"I am going into that pavilion now. I have no choice. I cannot contribute to this brutality and drunk men will always be tempted to behave badly. You understood what the rich man said, yes? You can stand watch with his soldiers along with the King's guard."
"We need to stay together," Legolas protested, feeling raw.
"Ion nin she is safer in there with the other ladies," Thranduil said firmly. "We will keep watch close by. Lossrilleth, take your rest with that knife in your hand."
Legolas held both of her hands, not daring to do anything more intimate while so exposed. Neither knew what to say, so they let their mixed-up mess of emotions flow between them. Lossrilleth knew it could have been much worse. She had seen so much worse in her old world of men. But she did not wish to bring up this knowledge, for it had pained Legolas terribly when she'd mentioned it before.
For Legolas, guilt over letting this happen mixed with heartbreak over the hurts he suspected lurked in her past - for he had noticed that being grabbed had surprised and disturbed her less than than the whipping. Finally, they separated, and Legolas escorted her closely to the mushroom-like tent.
The rich man followed the fair strangers as they walked towards the pavilion, calling out when they got close. "Amity, my dear, another lady is joining you. She's had a scare. Will you help her settle in?" (Legolas was greatly encouraged to see how easy it was to speak with the women inside.)
"Of course!" a light voice called out through the thin walls. At the entrance, the head of a short young woman appeared, dark curls popping out of her braided hair. She reached out her hand to Lossrilleth, who accepted it gracefully and disappeared inside the tent. Legolas stayed close, scoping out the pavilion to determine where he should stand guard. The rich man gestured to Thranduil to follow him, showing the elf where he and his guards had set up their bedrolls close to the pavilion.
"Join us," he offered. As they were in the closest place to the ladies that was allowed by the guards, the old king agreed. He moved their belongings, making sure his son had seen the change.
"I am sorry for your troubles. I am afraid our country has not made a good impression to you" the rich man said. "I am Farren Steward, at your service, sir." He bowed to Thranduil, who politely returned the gesture. Like many elves, he had good intuition about people, and he had a positive feeling from this man.
"I am Téodor," Thranduil replied, using the name Lossrilleth had suggested for him. Pointing at Legolas he said, "We come from North. My brother Leif, his wife Elsё. We trade horses."
Farren offered him a pint of ale that he had had his men bring back from the public fire, which had picked right back up despite the man groaning in the stocks a few feet away. Thranduil accepted the drink – it was not his excellent Dorwinian wine of days old, but it would have to do.
Farren sipped his ale and said, "I am bringing my new wife home from our wedding. My King asked me to take a census route during our return, so our road is longer than it could have been. She doesn't care for it, but we must do as we are asked. Your brother seems very worried about his wife – are they newly wed as well?"
Thranduil digested this explanation. He didn't know some of the words (census?), but he thought he mostly understood. Finally replied, "They are married long. She is too beautiful."
Farren and his men nodded in understanding. Elsё was very striking – it did not surprise them that she was getting unwanted attention. One of the hired men commented, "See that's why I always say ye should find a plain girl with a good heart. Marry a beauty and ye'll spend yer days keeping other men's' paws off her."
Thranduil did not want to get into talking about women with these men, so he changed the subject. Gesturing to the man in the stocks, he said, "Your King is strong."
Farren looked at his ale, keeping his expression carefully neutral. "Strong, yes, that he is," he finally agreed.
That interested Thranduil. This King was feared, but maybe not respected. He recalled the abbess's warning that the King was in conflict with the Order of the Faithful.
"We know old stories in this land – King Elessar. This King is same… people?" Thranduil asked, missing words he was looking for.
Farren looked surprised for a moment. "Yes, the King is of the line of Aragorn Elessar and the Queen Arwen. He was very great; perhaps it is not strange that he is famous even outside our lands. But it has been a long time since the days of Elessar. All has changed, though we still owe much to the men of old. Much is now made of having an ancestor who fought in the great war against the tyrant Sauron. I have one myself, but I am from a long line of youngest sons, so I have only a vague kind of nobility to claim – no title or lands to my name. A good thing the King finds me useful, I gather!" The man was looking a little flushed around the face, as he was well into his second pint of strong ale and talking loosely.
Thranduil made sure to keep sipping his ale, sprawling out on the rough chair he occupied so the men would remain comfortable with him. He thought the information he was getting could be useful, but he was also curious about Farren. The youngest son of youngest sons… of who, he wondered.
"Who is ancestor?" Thranduil asked. "We know Sauron war story, maybe I know."
Farren laughed with delight. "The people of the North are well educated, it seems, if even humble horse merchants know the old stories. My ancestors were called Faramir, the steward of Gondor, and Eowyn, the shieldmaiden of Rohan."
Thranduil let his surprise show on his features. Now he was impressed. From what Legolas had told him from his long years dealing with the Reunited Kingdom after the war, Faramir and Eowyn were both good and important people.
"We know this story," Thranduil said. "Good ancestors." He raised his glass in honor in the way of men.
Farren bowed in appreciation, raising his glass in return. "To those that came before – may they rest in peace and glory." Thranduil solemnly joined in drinking to the dead with the noble man and his guards.
After a few minutes of silence Farren asked, "Where will your trading route take you? We are going to Minas Tirith. The census route would be good for buying horses… You could journey with us. The ladies would be easier to protect together, and my young wife could use some company."
That was interesting, Thranduil thought. "We go to Minas Tirith, yes. I thank you for… ask. Talk to brother Leif. I take watch." The old king wanted Legolas's input on this notion. His son had dealt with Gondorians a great deal before journeying to Valinor. Thranduil stood and bowed to the men, walking purposefully over to Legolas.
Taking his son aside, Thranduil asked in Sindarin, "How goes it with the ladies?"
"They are fine," Legolas replied, feeling calmer. "The woman is friendly and young. Lossrilleth is comfortable with her. She is good with humans."
"I will take the watch now," his father said. "That man is the descendant of your old friend Faramir, and the shieldmaiden Eowyn. He is called Farren." Legolas's eyes widened in amazement. Faramir had been a very great man and a friend; Eowyn the bravest woman he had ever met.
"He has offered for us to travel with him to Minas Tirith while he finishes some task the King has set him," Thranduil explained. "I have given him the names Lossrilleth chose for us and stated our errand. Go and talk to him, take your impression of him. We will speak later about whether we should take his offer. He was talking about the King earlier – he is in Aragorn's line but I think all is not well. I will be curious to learn more, but we should be cautious."
Thranduil took Legolas's place and said quietly into the pavilion so Lossrilleth would hear him, "Iell nin, I am here now."
"All is well, lord father," she whispered back through the silk walls, not wanting to wake the young lady who had finally fallen asleep near her.
