My Sword Weeps
by Agape4Rivendell
Chapter 36: A Heated Exchange
Once they had entered their room,
Ragnhild made
Targon sit. "Do you know what happened with our guards, with Balan and
Baran?"
"No, Ragnhild. I was in the kitchen when I heard the shouting and
noise. I ran to the pub and found them already bound and being led out
the door."
She cursed quietly. "I do not know what we will do; how we will rescue
them. I must find out the charges against them."
"Mayhap the stranger has an idea. He seems kind enough."
"I cannot leave you here alone. The wound is too fresh."
"Erendis will look after me if you ask her."
Ragnhild smiled. "So you already trust the innkeeper's wife?"
"I do. She gives me cookies and lets me help her in the kitchens. They
have the most wonderful pan that folds over and they make these light
little sandwiches, hot sandwiches, in them. She was going to show me
how to make them - with floor and water, salt and..."
Ragnhild laughed despite her fears. "You enjoy the kitchen, do you
not?"
"I do."
"I have a place I need you to go, once you have rested. Perhaps
tomorrow would be soon enough. It is Lord Dagnir's house. I have found
an old friend who has agreed to procur you a position there as cook. I
need you to keep your eyes and ears open. Aerin is already there. She
will be scullery help. Will you do that?"
"Of course." The boy's face lit up. "For Gondor."
"Sh! And yes, of course, for Gondor."
She found Erendis in the hall with her hands full of sheets and
towels and such. "Forgive me. I must thank the stranger, but I cannot
leave Targon alone."
Erendis smiled. "Of course you must not. I'll go. I need to bring hot
water for you for your bath. It is overdue."
Ragnhild had to stifle a laugh. She must smell badly if the woman
was ready to throw her in a bath. True, she had not bathed on the road.
'Well, nothing to do for it now, but take the dratted thing.' She
walked purposefully towards the pub. As she neared, the noise deafened
her. There seemed to be an argument going on and a young noble seemed
to be the center of it.
"You are too young to remember the time the Corsairs came up the
Ringlo."
"You are a dotard to believe that they could possibly, in their
ships, come up the Ringlo. It is a tale. The draft of their boats would
cause them to founder. No Corsairs every attacked Tarnost."
"But the Elves said they had. Many ages ago," the first speaker
attested.
"Elves! Pah! Who believes what an Elf says."
"Some of us are descended from Elves," another voice spoke up. "So
you better watch your tongue, young Minaster. Besides that, the land
changes. The river could have run deep enough, back in those times, to
allow ships to sail up it."
"I think," the young man blushed, "that perhaps it is you, Hador, that
should be watching your tongue!"
"And what will happen to me? Will I end up in your father's dungeons
like those visitors?"
The young noble stood up and strode forward. "Better there than
with a noose around your neck," the young man spat. “Those men are
strangers and acted oddly. They are only going to be questioned.”
Another man held the one named Hador back. "Stop it now, the both of
you. None of this will bring the Steward back."
Ragnhild's ears picked up. What were they talking about? She
stopped in the doorway, grateful that she arrived in time to hear this
conversation.
"Who would want to bring back the Steward?" Another scowled. "What did
he ever do for Tarnost? Or for Calembel?"
A soldier stood; his right arm dangled useless at his uniformed
side and a scar ran still red and angry across his left eye. "The
Stewards of Gondor have kept us safe these many ages. Denethor knew the
Enemy well; I fought by his side once in Osgiliath. He was a proud and
brave man. And I will kill any man, or boy," he looked with disdain at
Minaster, "who would say anything different."
Silence, as much as was possible in such a place, filled the pub.
None spoke for many moments. Ragnhild wanted to run over and hug the
man; instead, she stood still and waited. She could not believe the
foolish, proud son of Dagnir would not speak again. His gall surprised
her.
"I am not saying that the Steward was not a good man. I am saying that
none of the Stewards ever cared about what happened here in Tarnost.
All they cared about, and will still care about if that boy ends up
with the Rod, is for Minas Tirith. It is their city that they value,
not ours. I am tired of paying taxes and sending our men to die for
their city. Send soldiers here to protect us, then I will care about
the Stewards!" He flung some coins at the innkeeper and strode out the
door, his head held high. A few men followed.
The pub quieted for a few moments and then the place erupted into
laughter. "Young foolish peacock!" one of the patrons shouted. "Should
be locked away until he's grown into some sense!"
"You best watch your tongue, Galdor. I wouldn't be surprised to
find you and Hador missing. You know it happens too often lately." The
pub became quiet again.
"We have fallen very far, my friends," Hador said quietly, "if a
man cannot open his mouth without worrying where it will land him."
None spoke further upon the matter and, eventually, talk turned to
crops and animal husbandry and such. Ragnhild left the shelter of the
doorway and walked forward. Some looked in surprise, but most had
recognized her from the afternoon's events.
"How's the little one?" "Is the boy going to recover?" "Is there aught
we can do for the little one?" The shouts of concern rang around the
room.
Tears filled her eyes at the distress for Targon. She smiled
warmly. "I thank you all for your concern. The boy should be up and
running errands by morning." They laughed and turned from her, giving
her some privacy.
She walked slowly towards the table where the stranger sat. She had
noted that he had not joined in the discussion between the noble and
the other patrons. He stood and offered her a seat.
The innkeeper brought a flagon over. "Some of our best brew, healer.
This should take away the sting of the happenings today. I'm sorry you
had to see us at our worst."
She smiled and touched his hand lightly as he passed the drink. "I
cannot thank you nor your wife properly. Your kindness..."
"Is the norm for Tarnost. What you saw this afternoon is not us. At
least, it was not us in the past. Do not think poorly of us."
"How can I when you treat me so well. And Targon. I think he has fallen
in love with your wife."
The innkeeper beamed. "And why not? The lad likes to cook, we
noted, and isn't she the best in the land. Tomorrow morning you'll
taste her biscuits, then you'll know I speak the truth!" He winked and
left her.
“So now you know something about our people.” The stranger sat still.
‘What is he saying,’ she thought quickly. ‘Is he friend?’
“Your men were taken because they were recognized. They should not
have come here. The Steward should have sent someone who had not served
with Prince Imrahil just two summers ago.”
“You turned them in?” She stood; the heat of her scorn knocked the
chair over.
He looked about the pub, noted the interest, and motioned for her
to sit. She also noted and cursed herself for reacting so violently.
“I did not turn them in, but someone did.” The man spoke in low
tones. “I served with Prince Imrahil myself ten summers ago. Most men
of Tarnost do if they do not serve with the Steward. It was never my
honour to serve with Denethor, though I much wanted to. None can listen
to Hador’s stories without desiring to serve under the Steward. When
life has quieted, you should spend time with our most famous soldier.
You would enjoy his tales.”
She sat. “Life will not quiet, at least not very soon,” she murmured.
“There is no Steward at the moment.”
He sat back, a look of astonishment upon his face. “We heard that
Denethor’s son, Boromir, had perished through fever. Does not Faramir
now rule?”
She almost choked on the ale she had just attempted to sip. After
she caught her breath, she looked at him. “Let us start over again,
from the beginning. My name is Ragnhild and I am from the Mark. I have
come from Minas Tirith because my skills were not good enough for the
Houses. I brought two orphans with me. We are hoping to settle here.”
“And I am Queen Berúthiel.”
She blushed furiously at the scorn in the man’s voice.
