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Chapter Eighteen
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SUMMARY: Bard has a long, long day.
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"I am just a poor boy
Though my story's seldom told
I have squandered my resistance
For a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still, a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest.."
The Boxer, by Simon and Garfunkel
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City of Dale, 6th of March 2944 T.A.
Bard wasn't sure whether his husband had spoken a losta-luith last night to make sure he got a good night's sleep, but if Thranduil had, he was glad of it. This was going to be an interminable day.
This morning, Bard and Thranduil said little as they washed and dressed, both understanding that talking through the heavy silence that used to be filled with the dog's resonant snores, grunts and sighs wouldn't do much good anyway. It used to be that Thangon was the first to stir in the mornings, but during the past year, that had gradually changed. For the past three months, Bard was already up and ready when he squatted down and scratched the dog's wide head, saying, "Wakey wakey, pal. Time to face the day."
It wasn't complete silence though. The storms Thranduil had predicted swept through the area, dousing the Dale in cold, pre-spring rain, leaving a chill in its inhabitants that only a warm fire and a hot drink could remove.
"It seems fitting," Bard observed quietly, while Thranduil brushed his hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. He glanced over at the window, where the ping and pong of raindrops drummed against the small, diamond-shaped panes, their rhythm rising and falling according to the wind's instructions. "Though I'm sorry you have to travel in this."
"I have ridden through worse, Meleth nîn."
At breakfast, the Kings noticed Percy had dressed in layers to combat his arthritis, and thanked Hilda for the willow-bark tea, though he refused the knitted shawl she wanted to throw over his shoulders. Bard wouldn't be surprised if Hilda would take it down to the Steward's study and draped over the back of a chair. Just in case.
The first issue to be addressed in this debacle were a visit to the Healing Hall to see the victims. Bard refused Greta's offer to summon a carriage, insisting a little rain wouldn't hurt him.
"We'll be fine, but thank you," he said. Then a thought occurred to him. "Tell you what," he told the housekeeper. "This is a bad day for bad joints. Send word to Daffyd and Powell to ask around and of any of the elderly need transport today, and have them bill me personally. And see if Daeron can come and check Percy over."
"Yes, My Lord," Greta curtsied with a smile.
"That was kind of you," Thranduil approved.
"My Da used to suffer from chilblains," Bard shrugged absently. "Even Elven healing can only do so much for old bones." He buttoned his coat and pulled the leather cloak over his shoulders. "What time do you leave?"
"Not for another thirty minutes." Thranduil was putting on his own wraps, while their escorts, Morwë and Legron stood ready.
"We'd better hurry then."
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The smooth slate tiles of the courtyard were like grey glass, littered with the occasional errant dead leaf from the flower beds. The sharp tang of dampness cooled Bard's nose and cheeks almost immediately. Not for the first time did he give thanks for the changes his marriage had wrought; he no longer suffered from the elements like he used do, and truly pitied those who did.
While the cortege was being arranged to take Stablemaster Voron's body back to the Palace, Thranduil accompanied Bard went to see Haden and Amrol at the Healing Hall, and were relieved to see that they were showing improvement. Haden was still resting in a Healing Sleep, but Amrol was awake and was being interviewed by Feren and Chief Tom. The three thieves had positively identified, but according to Amrol, there was no sign of Jack near the stable that day.
"You're sure?" Bard asked.
"Yes. As I told the Commander and the Chief, Haden and I were patrolling the street and saw the wagons in front of the stables, which we thought was odd. We entered the building and were shot."
"They must have known you would come, and were ready for you," Chief Tom said, grimly, as he wrote down notes in a small book.
"I agree," Feren nodded. "I am surprised the foal made no noise."
"I am not," Thranduil rested his fingers against his chin. "When we met up with them, there was a knife to Trastapîn's throat. Having witnessed the behavior of Mistanâr and all the horses yesterday, I am convinced her mother urged her to be silent."
What was this? Discomfited, Bard's eyes darted to his husband, his face tightening into a neutral mask.
"Ivran and Cwën told me about that," Feren said, the awe in his voice was laced with barely-controlled annoyance. "Had I been made aware of any sort of possible danger, My Lord, you must know I would have taken steps long before this."
"Of that I am sure, and I share your frustration," the Elvenking's lips pursed slightly. "I sent a bird to Elrond just this morning, and I will send a messenger from the Palace with a full account of yesterday's events. I am hoping to have some sort of explanation within the next few weeks."
Bard kept his voice even as he offered Amrol an Elven salute. "I am glad to hear you'll make a full recovery. You have mine and Dale's sincerest gratitude."
"Thank you, My Lord; I was merely doing my job."
"You did that, and much more." He turned to Thranduil. "May I speak with you a moment in private?"
"Of course."
After a respectful nod to Feren and Tom, they found an empty room, and Bard shut the door.
"I don't like being taken unawares like that," he said, glowering at his husband. "You want to fill me in here?"
Thranduil squeezed his eyes shut with a slight nod. "Of course, you do not. Forgive me, Meleth nîn. but there was no opportunity. I meant to tell you when I went back for you, but Thangon was so ill and when he died, I was worried about you and the children…" his eyes fixed upon Bard's with genuine regret. "Something…astonishing occurred out there yesterday, and I am still trying to make sense of it myself."
Chagrined, Bard's posture relaxed. "No, you're right," he said, "I shouldn't doubt you like that. It's just been a hard…" he swallowed. "Two things: do you have time to tell me know, and should I be worried?"
Thranduil opened his mouth to answer, but three sharp knocks on the door prevented him from speaking.
"Oh, shit," Bard mumbled. "Come!"
Legron stuck his head in. "I am sorry to interrupt, Aran nîn. Captain Dior asked me to tell you they ready for you, and cannot delay much longer."
"Menathab, ci athae," Thranduil told Guardian, before he turned back to Bard. "As Feren said, you needn't worry about security; he has that all in hand. As to what occurred, ask Tauriel, Ivran and Cwën. They can tell you what they saw." Thranduil took him in his arms and kissed his temple. "I will be back as soon as I can," he whispered into his ear. "Will you be all right?"
"Oh, don't worry about me; you've got the harder job." Bard hugged him tighter. "Give Voron's family my condolences. I'll be sending a formal letter and a commendation as soon as I can."
"They will appreciate the gesture."
"And see if you can send someone to oversee the stables. I still think an Elf should look after them."
"I agree. I plan to speak to Falarion when I get there." Thranduil kissed Bard on the cheek, squeezed his hand, and was gone.
The King of Dale straightened his shoulders, and went out, encountering the Chief and the Commander who had just exited Amrol's room.
"My Lord," Tom looked up from his notes with a nod. "He is sleeping."
"When would be a good time to meet for a progress report?"
Tom said. "We've got several more witnesses to speak to, and I want another chance to talk to Jack. He claims he knew nothing of this."
"Do you believe him?" Bard turned to Feren.
"I am not sure," Feren said. "He appeared genuinely distressed when he was told of the events, but I sense there is something he is holding back."
"What about Evan?"
"I do not believe he had anything to do with this," Feren said firmly.
"I agree," Tom said. "And, begging you pardon if I'm out of line, but I've sent word to my wife and those in the Market to pass that word along. There's been some talk, and we're not happy about it." Tom's eyes were uneasy. "I sent a message to Percy and Alun, right before we came here, so…"
"No, that's fine. You're right," Bard assured them both. "I'll meet you in my study at two this afternoon?"
"Yes, My Lord," they said.
"If you need me, I'll be at the Royal stables for an hour or so, then back home for the rest of the day."
Thranduil hadn't been exaggerating when he said they'd scrubbed down the stables. The floors were immaculate. Not a speck of blood could be seen, and all traces of its coppery smell was replaced with the usual smells of fresh timothy hay, and the faint musk of horse. Voron had kept this building meticulously clean, from the wooden floors right up to the rafters which bore no spider webs or even dust. The loft was nice and dry, and two kittens were wrestling in what hay was left after the winter. All appeared as it should be, but for the unease of its inhabitants after their adventure yesterday.
When Bard entered the stable and walked down the wide aisle, every horse but his own froze, some with hay still dangling from their mouths. Fînlossen tossed his mane and stomped a greeting, but made no sound. The King of Dale took the hint, and kept his pace slow and easy.
In the last box stall on the right, Mistanâr had crowded her foal into a corner, presenting herself as a shield between Trastapîn and the world.
Next to them, Tauriel was in with Lasbelin, stroking his nose, and talking softly to him. The stallion's gaze never left that of his family's, but he allowed the Elleth's touch and nickered softly.
Bard stopped halfway down the wide aisle with a soft whistle motioned to his stepdaughter. "How are they?" he asked softly, when she left her horse and came to stand next to him.
"They will allow none but me to approach, and even then, Mistanâr will not permit me near her foal. Trastapîn was so frightened she lost control of her bodily functions when I fed and watered them." Tauriel rubbed her upper arms in distress. "How could they think I would hurt them?"
"It isn't you, love," Bard told her gently. "It's part of mothering. When Sigrid was a baby, she was colicky—" at Tauriel's confused look, he explained, "she cried a lot, and sometimes the only thing that would quiet her down was swaddling her up in a blanket nice and tight. Like a cocoon. I think your wee one feels too much with the world right now, and this is her Mam's way of making it smaller, so she can cope with it. They trust you, I'm sure of it."
"I think I will leave them alone today, though their stall has to be cleaned eventually. I am hoping I can persuade Lasbelin to help them switch back and forth, but not until tomorrow. I would like to remain here today, if that is all right with you?" she asked, green eyes were full of worry.
"That's a good idea. Don't worry about the kids; they don't have school, and they don't feel like going anywhere. I just need to ask you something, then I'll leave you alone."
"Certainly. They've cleaned Voron's office," she gestured to the door at the end, and stopped herself.
"I think we should," he pointed to the guards at the entrances to the barn, "This all needs to be kept quiet, until we know what's going on." He placed his hand on the small of her back and ushered her inside.
Bard leaned against the desk and gestured for her to take the chair. "Your Ada tells me something unusual took place out on the road? Just start at the beginning."
Tauriel swallowed and began to recount everything, from Lasbelin's reluctance to leave Dale, to Bofur's warning, and all that occurred before and after Trastapîn was rescued. Tears of guilt and regret filled her eyes. "I did not realize," she murmured. "I just…did not."
"This wasn't your fault," he rubbed her back.
"I disagree," Tauriel nodded, her lips quivering. "I am so sorry about Thangon, Bard."
"Oh, that wasn't your fault either. And the more I think about it, the more I agree with your Ada; Thangon died the way he always lived, and would've been miserable had he been allowed to grow old and decrepit."
"Perhaps," she said, but her eyes did not agree. "I shall miss our walks in the evenings."
"Go anyway," he encouraged. "Ada enjoys that time with you. Now, tell me what else happened, love."
As she continued the tale, of the horses paying homage to the foal, Bard's jaw went slack with awe. Then again, was he really all that surprised? Even someone as unschooled as he sensed something special in Trastapîn, though until yesterday he hadn't had the time or the inclination to think about it much.
"I cannot help but be angry," Tauriel was saying. "I hate feeling taken so unawares like this!"
"That makes two of us, and trust me, Ada is plenty mad himself. The thing is, I can't see Elrond keeping something like this from us, can you? I doubt even he could have predicted this." He studied his stepdaughter's bowed head. "Are you going to write Vildan and tell him what happened?"
"I think I have to," she said, sadly.
"You miss him a great deal."
"Sometimes I think it would have been easier if I had never met him," her green eyes held the faraway look of memory. "I was hoping it would have gotten easier with time." She bit her lip, and after a moment's hesitation. "I fear that my heartache might have distracted me from looking after Mistanâr as well as I could have."
"I don't believe that for a minute," Bard said firmly.
"No, it is true." She admitted. "Some days, it was just too hard to spend much time with Mistanâr, and when she gave birth, I was glad I did not have to think about riding her and such for a long while. I told myself that she needed to be left alone to nurse and—"
"But that's true though," he rested a hand on her shoulder.
"It is, but it wasn't my reason, do you not see? I should never have taken Lasbelin away to Erebor—"
"Stop. Stop right there, love. You need to lay the blame—all the blame—on those bastards who did all this. Lasbelin might not have been much help, even if he had been here," he leaned his head down to find and meet her gaze. "Maybe it's selfish, but I'm glad you weren't here, either. You could have been killed, too, and it would have broken all our hearts. Stars, it was bad enough to find Amrol and Haden lying there with arrows in their chests; the thought of Ada or I finding you in that same condition makes me want to lose my mind!
"And let's think about this: Voron was the master of these stables, and no one in Dale knew Elven horses like him. He would have made sure to talk to your Ada if he'd have sensed any danger, right?
"Sometimes things, unexpected things, just happen. All we can do is be thankful that they're back there," he pointed to the stalls, "safe and sound, and that Amrol and Haden are going to be all right. We'll have a memorial service here for Voron, a small ceremony for Thangon, and move on, a bit wiser." He rubbed her upper back.
"I think you're right to stick around here, but you skipped breakfast, didn't you?" At Tauriel's sheepish nod, he smiled. "Cook has been turning himself inside out to make sure we're all still eating, so I can send you something from his kitchens when I get back. Unless you'd like something from Adila's? The Long Lake isn't open just yet, but I can get you a good supper from there if you like?"
"Something from Lewis would be fine," a smile teased the corners of her mouth.
"I don't doubt it."
"If you think it would help, I'll order the guards to keep everyone away from the building to give those poor beasts a little peace and quiet."
"That would be best. I can look after the other horses; it will keep me busy. I might stay here tonight, as well."
"However long it takes." he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "I'll send some of your things, and have a cot set up in here."
Tauriel reached up and grasped his hand with an affectionate squeeze. "Thank you, Bard."
The King of Dale went back to the Castle, where he met up with Ivran and Cwën, who reiterated Tauriel's version of events, adding a few details of their own. Still shaking his head in wonder, Bard went to the kitchens and where the housekeeper and her husband were conferring.
"Tauriel will be staying in the stables and help them calm down. Could you see to it she gets some hot meals? Also, I'm thinking the guards down there are still shaken up, so maybe we could send them something sweet to snack on? If you need to get something from Byron's Bakery, just bill it to me."
"If it pleases you, My Lord," Lewis said stiffly, "but I am perfectly capable of seeing to it meself."
"Oh, you!" Greta jabbed her husband. "Pay him no mind, My Lord; he's just mad because Byron's beat him at cards three weeks in a row."
"Confound you, woman! The poor King's got too much on his mind to worry about that!"
"So," Bard smothered a smile, "is there a debt, or is this merely a matter of honor."
"It had better just be honor, My Lord," Greta gave her husband a sweet smile, "because if you boys have been gambling with real gold, Heled and I will pierce your ears and make you wear those coins as jewelry."
Bard chuckled softly as he left the kitchen. And in truth, he was grateful for that brief moment of levity. It was a reminder that this chaos and uncertainly won't last, and the sun will come out again.
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After a hot lunch of soup and fresh rolls with the children, Bard and Legron ventured out into the wet again to see Evan and Eryn.
"My Lord Bard!" A panicked expression flitted across Evan's features as he opened the front door. His eyes were red from lack of sleep and his dark hair was slightly disheveled.
"My Lord Evan," Bard paid him courtesy. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, but it's important that we talk."
"I was awaiting your summons, but you did have to inconvenience yourself like this, especially in this weather."
"It's a lousy day to be out and about," Bard said, pulling back his hood. "May we come in?"
"Stars, where are my manners?" Evan stepped aside. "Please; come in!"
Thanks," he said, letting Legron help him with his cloak.
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The house Evan had bought for his bride was in the same neighborhood as Daeron and Rhian, and was laid out in a mirror image of their home. Lots of room for children, when they came along, as well as formal dining room and parlor for entertaining. The house was furnished in brighter colors, and along with portraits of family on the mantle, several childish works of art could be seen here and there from grateful students.
"Can I get you something to eat or drink?"
"If you've got the kettle on, some tea will be nice. Where's Eryn?"
"She's upstairs. My mother-in-law is here; she brought something to help Eryn get a little rest," Evan's eyes scanned the ceiling. "I can get her if you need to—"
"No, son; let the poor girl sleep. Is there somewhere we can speak privately?"
"We can go into my study," Evan said with a resigned nod.
He led Bard to a downstairs room at the end of the hall, where a fire was laid, ready to light. "Just let me pop into the kitchen and ask Lydia to get us something."
While he was gone, Bard grabbed the flint and steel from the mantle and expertly lit the fire. It was just taking hold when Evan returned.
"Thank you, My Lord. I was hoping I would have a chance to speak with you sometime today, but I wasn't sure what I should do, and," Evan's gaze fell. "I know you've been…busy."
"No, it's better this way," Bard rose to stand then stepped over to take a seat in one of the nearby chairs. I've been told there are rumors that cast your character in doubt, and having the King of Dale coming to you is the fastest way to quash that nonsense."
"I appreciate that," Evan took the other seat. "I've worked hard make a good life and a good name for myself here." He leaned forward, his face earnest. "I promise you; I'd never laid eyes Ronald, Gustav or Stan until they showed up in Dale, two weeks ago, claiming to be friends of Jack's. I didn't think anything of it at the time; of course, I had no idea any of this would happen!"
"That's what I was wondering about," Bard smiled up at Eryn's mother entered with a tray of tea and snacks. "Thank you, Lydia" he said, as she poured out and handed him a cup and saucer.
"Pleasure's mine, My Lord," she said, exuding anger and disapproval. She handed a cup to her son-in-law, each avoiding the other's eyes.
Evan said nothing, but the stiffness in his shoulders and the tension in his face clearly indicated the poor man hadn't had a pleasant time of it.
"Lydia?" Bard smiled up at her. "While Evan and I are talking, would you mind taking my guard into the kitchen and helping him dry out our wraps? I'm sure he'd like something hot, too."
The woman, clearly unhappy at being dismissed, bowed her head. "Yes, My Lord." But before she exited the room, she said, "I just want to say that my Eryn has done nothing wrong! I never thought Jack should have stayed here with them, and I don't want anyone thinking she had anything—"
"I know," Bard set down his cup and ushered her to the door. "Lord Thranduil and I think the world of your daughter, and our Tilda loves her. No one is accusing Evan or Eryn of any wrongdoing; I'm just here to get some information, that's all. If you'd give my guard a hand, please?" he politely led her out and shut the door.
"I am so sorry!" Evan winced, and slumped against the high back of the chair.
"I don't blame Lydia, really. She's just worried about her daughter, and you and I both know how much she adores you." He settled himself back down and took a sip. "Now, I know you've already spoken with Feren and Tom, but I want you to tell me anything you can think of those men and Jack."
"All I know is they asked Jack to speak for them, and he did."
"They claimed to be from East Bight, where you grew up. Didn't you at least know of them?"
"I'm five years older than Jack, and we didn't run in the same circles of friends." Evan shrugged and spread his hands. "All I knew their families was that they weren't the most reliable sort of people, if you get my drift. When I heard they came to Dale, Jack only mentioned them a time or two.
"Despite the bad reputations of their families?"
"Well, to be honest, yes. My dad taught me not to judge a man by his beginnings, but on his own merits, and since they didn't cause any sort of trouble, I took them all at their word." Evan huffed a wry laugh. "And look what happened. I was such an idiot."
"It's not a bad way to go, Evan. I tell my kids the same thing. How much did Jack have to do with them once they moved here?"
"Nothing that I know of, My Lord. I've told the Chief and the Commander such."
"Fair enough. Just call me Bard, all right?" he waved a hand absently. "We're just two friends talking, here."
"Thank you. Anyway, as far as I know, Jack went to work in the brickyards every morning, came home in the evenings, and only really went out once or twice a week to the Long Lake, where he and his friends played darts. Nothings missing from the house, that I could see, and if there were any sort of nefarious comings or goings, Eryn and I knew nothing about it. We had a girl come in every day to see to the house, and she said the same to Tom and Feren." His mouth thinned into an angry line. "She quit this morning, thanks to all this. Eryn burst into tears, which is when I sent for her mother."
"Ulmo's balls," Bard cursed under his breath. "Well, maybe her parents insisted on it. Give it some time and hopefully this will straighten itself out." He took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. "According to Percy, Jack moved to Dale using you as a reference, and a letter from his mother, who is your older sister?"
"That's true," Evan nodded, and took out his keys and opened a drawer at his desk. "Here's the letter Evelyn sent when Jack came." He handed it over. 1
Bard took the paper and skimmed its contents. "This is pretty much the same as we have, except for the personal family news." He set the page down on the desk. "We'll have to someone down to East Bight and make inquiries. Let me ask you this: Do you think it's possible, that Jack got into some trouble with those men down there, and your sister sent him here to get away from them?"
"Believe me, I've thought about it." A muscle in Evan's jaw twitched. "If that's the case, then Jack came here under false pretenses."
"If that's the case, and we don't know that it is, yet, 'false pretenses' is the least of it, I'm afraid. Which is another reason why I wanted to talk to you, as a friend, to give you some time to prepare yourself." Bard set the saucer down, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, and in a reluctant tone, said, "There has been a murder and two attempted murders in my Kingdom, and if it is proven that your nephew knowingly withheld information that might have prevented it, the law states he must be tried right along with those three men."
Evan's his face went white to the lips.
"Before I continue, just keep in mind that Feren and Tom are still looking, and they might find something that exonerates Jack."
Evan's throat bobbed a couple of times. "What else?"
"There will be a hearing in my court in three days' time, where the men will be formally charged and remanded for trial. You, as member of my Council, you would normally be expected to help preside, but as a member of his family, I must demand that you recuse yourself. Of course, you can support him, but you'll have no authority in this matter."
"That's…actually a relief."
"I was hoping you'd say that. Not that I believe you wouldn't be impartial, but let's make sure this is all above board."
"What happens after that?"
"Well, the crime took place in Dale, so the trial must be here, but the victims are Elves, and Thranduil has the right to be present. Whatever happens, their sentences will be pronounced and carried out according to the laws of the Woodland Realm, which falls under the purview of King Thranduil and his Council, and I have no say in it." 2
"And that sentence would be?" Evan's voice was thin.
Bard's lips pursed into a thin line, and said nothing.
Evan buried his face in his hands and began to cry.
"I really am sorry." Bard stood and patted him on the shoulder.
He saw himself out.
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ELVEN TRANSLATIONS:
Menathab, ci athae – Yes, we shall go; thank you.
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NOTES:
1 Broken Wings, Ch. 35: /works/20519588/chapters/58357912
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2 What Makes a King, Ch. 22: /works/10838010/chapters/26202933