Silfren stretched his cramped legs, reveling in the soft feel of the chair beneath him, as opposed to the saddle he’d been sitting in for hours at a time each day, for the last four days. There was one thing this journey was most definitely proving to him: he wasn’t as young as he’d thought he was. There was nothing quite as invigorating as a couple days of riding, but he was discovering that, at this stage in his life, damp air and constant jarring weren’t quite so easy to shrug off as they used to be. Recklessness hurt at his age.

At his age, however, he could also afford a little denial. He wasn’t quite as young or agile as he used to be, but he was most certainly not old. Give him a sword and he’d prove that on any man who would face him. The way every bone in his body ached could be attributed to being unconditioned to such riding, as much as to advancement in years. After all, he hadn’tbeen doing nearly as much riding as when he’d been a captain, riding out into the field with his men. He might be middle-aged, and bit out of shape, but he could remedy the latter of the two problems. When they returned to Meduseld, he’d have to exercise his horse a little more often.

But that was work for later. Right now he intended to take his reward for the last four days in the form of sitting in a chair next to the fire and soaking up the heat until the chill was gone from his bones. In a day or two his muscles would be hard enough for the ride back—he hoped.

Halodawn didn’t boast of very many houses, and the thatched house he was sharing, along with Thengel and Théoden, was small, but comfortably so. Although there were two rooms—one for sleeping, and another for general purposes—the three of them had instantly been drawn to the second room, with its roaring fire. Besides, Théoden was too exhausted to make it any farther.

Before he’d taken five steps inside, the young prince had flopped down on the nearest piece of furniture, which happened to be one of the long wooden benches that sat next to the table. Now he sat sideways on the bench, one leg dangling on either side, slumped sideways across the table. Despite the awkwardness of the position, and the hardness of his “pillow”, Théoden had instantly fallen asleep.

Now Silfren sat in companionable silence next to Thengel, with Théoden’s soft breathing, and the crackling of the fire, as the only background noise.

Turning his head just slightly to eye Thengel, he said quietly, “Well, the young prince is to be congratulated; we did make it in four days.”

“Yes…” Thengel sounded equally tired. “I didn’t think we were going to make it in such good time.”

“You mean you didn’t think I was going to make it.”

Thengel chuckled softly. “You? I was thinking no such thing. You’re perfectly capable of keeping yourself in the saddle for such a short journey.”

“I’m glad you think so. For a while there I wasn’t so certain myself.”

Thengel raised an eyebrow. “Well I hope you weren’t expecting me to offer to let you ride on my horse with me.”

Silfren gave a quiet laugh, trailing off at the end as his eyes came to rest on the exhausted form slumped across the table. His eyes twinkled fondly. “He wants to be just like you.” He looked back to Thengel. “And you know something, my friend? He is succeeding already.”

“The endurance he has showed over these last days is remarkable.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of stubbornness. He seems to have picked that trait up quite nicely.”

Thengel feigned indignation. “It was not I who taught him that trait,” he protested, although he carefully kept his voice low enough not to wake Théoden. “It was either you or Morwen—or very possibly the both of you. With such pig-headed examples it would have been a wonder if he had not picked up on it.”

Silfren smiled condescendingly. “If pushing off the blame on me helps, my Lord, do go right ahead. That’s what councilors are for.”

Shaking his head, Thengel rose wearily from his seat. “You know something, old friend? You are infuriating.”

“Thank you; I know.”

Thengel rolled his eyes in mock exasperation, as he walked quietly over to where Théoden slept. Gently, he picked him up in his arms and moved into the next room, carefully depositing him on one of the beds and tucking him under the blankets. Théoden yawned, eyes fluttering sleepily, as the movement woke him.

“Is it time to get up already?” he mumbled groggily, beginning to sit up.

Thengel pushed a lock of unruly hair back from his forehead. “No, it’s not time to get up.” Before the softly-spoken words had left his lips, Théoden’s eyes had drifted shut again, and he’d dropped back onto the bed, his breathing evening out in sleep. “Sleep well, my tough little soldier.”

He was just straightening from his crouched position next to the bed when he caught the sound of the door opening and shutting in the next room, and then a raised voice. Hurrying back to Silfren—and their visitor, whoever he might be—he closed the door, so that Théoden wouldn’t be disturbed.

Their visitor was a young man, who now stood panting breathlessly in the doorway. His eyes darted from Silfren to Thengel, and the flow of words halted briefly as he bowed.

“Your Majesty…”

“Yes?”

At the invitation, the young man burst out between hasty gulps for breath, “Lord Mannalic…he sent me to…ask you to…come. Quickly. He says it is…most urgent. Dunlendings and Crebain have been spotted.”

Both Thengel and Silfren’s initial reaction was to dash for the door. But before either had done so, it hit them just who was talking about Dunlendings and Crebain having been spotted. They exchanged wry looks.

Settling back into his chair, Silfren offered helpfully, “Don’t worry, my Lord, you go ahead. I shall stay here with the Prince.”

Shooting the councilor a withering glance that clearly said just how grateful he was, Thengel followed the young messenger, who was finding the situation anything but amusing.

“Very well, take me to Lord Mannalic.”

“This way, Your Majesty. Lord Mannalic is waiting for you at the edge of town.”

It was a good thing Thengel had a guide to show him exactly where “the edge of town” was, or else he might have walked right past it. The major difference was that here, at the border, the rough road that wound through town became just a little rougher, and the grass on either side a little taller.

They stopped, and Thengel frowned as he looked around and saw no one. Before he could ask his guide where Mannalic was, a fierce whisper came from the grass to their left, and a short, wiry man stepped out onto the road. The two men who followed him, although of average height, looked like giants in comparison.

“Thengel-King, thank the gods you have come!” the small man exclaimed, in the same hushed voice he’d used to call to them from the brush.

“Of course I have come, my friend. You said that there had been a spotting of…Crebain and Dunlendings?”

“Yes! I saw them, with my own eyes!” Lord Mannalic beckoned to them. “We have no time to lose—they may have already left by now.” And he disappeared back into the tall grass.

Thengel had to crouch low as he entered the brush, in order to be hidden, for the tallest of the grass at most came up to his shoulders. He noted with amusement that, ahead of him, Mannalic was barely stooped over. With the energy of a someone half his age, the grey-haired man led the way through the endless sea of grass. Finally, he turned to Thengel.

“We’re almost there.” He pointed up ahead. “See that barn?”

Thengel nodded. Ahead, he could make out the shape of an old, dilapidated-looking barn, tilted dangerously far to one side.

“That’s where I saw them go.” Lord Mannalic moved forward again, tiptoeing quietly over against one of the walls, his entourage in tow. He put a finger to his lips, and then pressed his face against a crack in the wall. The two men, who continued to stick closely behind him, put their hands to the hilts of their swords.

Despite himself, Thengel found himself caught up in the moment as well, his hand automatically finding its way to his own sword.

After a few tense moments, Mannalic turned back to them, a puzzled expression on his face.

“Anything?” Thengel queried.

Mannalic shook his head and whispered back, “I don’t…know.” He shook himself. “Come, draw your swords—if there is any enemy within let us surprise him!” He boldly led the charge around the barn, and in through the broken-down door.

A flurry of wings greeted them, and for a half a second Thengel almost expected to see a group of Dunlendings in their midst. Was it possible that, after all these years of seemingly imagined alarms, Lord Mannalic’s fears were actually true? Of course, he had been right several times, more or less. Usually less. Where he saw wargs, there might be an infestation of wolves; where he saw orcs, there might be a few particularly ugly robbers. However, that had always been the extent of the parallel.

But his small concern was quickly put to rest. The flurry of wings settled, as the birds alighted in the rafters. The ordinary, black birds. The crows. And there wasn’t any evidence of greasy-haired Wild Men to be found. Silence filled the barn, interrupted only be the occasional caw from one of the irritated crows overhead. He looked over—or rather down—at Mannalic, who was surveying his surroundings with a look of profound bewilderment.

“But I saw them. I was certain of it…they were bigger yesterday…” he muttered, in a rather pathetically lost-sounding voice.

Thengel resisted the sudden urge to pat the man on the shoulder. It felt as if he was trying to console a small child. The whole situation fell amusingly close to reminiscing of one of the many nights he’d experienced with Théoden, assuring him that there were no wargs under his bed.

“Lord Mannalic…” he began, hesitantly. “I can see how it would be an easy mistake to make. Crows—Crebain—there isn’t always a huge distinction. You probably just got the two confused.”

“No,” Mannalic said firmly. “They were Crebain, not these crows! It wasn’t even growing dark out. I saw them, with my own two eyes.”

Thengel swallowed. This wasn’t going to be easy. He was beginning to appreciate Captain Anborn’s patience and endurance. How had he consoled the man for all these years? With candy? Enough of that, he admonished himself. He couldn’t appear condescending. Mannalic might be prone to…hallucinations, but he was still an intelligent and conscientious man, and had to be treated as such.

Mannalic studied the King’s face and sighed. Wonderful. They all thought he was an idiot. Not that that was anything new. All of Rohan, doubtless, thought he was an idiot, with all his constant worries. Sometimes he himself began to believe he was truly an idiot. Either that, or mad, seeing things that weren’t really there. That option was rather frightening, so he usually chose, at moments like this, to consider himself an idiot.

Lately, those feelings of stupidity had been growing.

Last time, when Captain Anborn had come, and he’d led the Captain on the wild goose chase after the Dunlendings, and had come up with nothing more suspicious than a couple of dirty-haired boys, he’d just about given up. No, he had given up. He’d all but promised himself not to contact Meduseld anymore. He’d decided that enough was enough. He wasn’t going to be the laughingstock of Rohan anymore, and he wasn’t going to bother poor Captain Anborn again. Anborn was patient, but he could tell that his constant “alarms” were beginning to wear on him.

Now he was beginning to feel downright foolish. The King himself had come. How was he to know the King would come? At first, he’d been hesitantly grateful. After all, if the King saw for himself the trouble brewing here, and testified as much, then people would have to take him seriously. Now, however… He was back to where he’d begun. Actually, he was worse off. The King was laughing at him. Not openly, certainly—he was far too polite and kind for that—but he could see clearly the way Thengel’s mouth was fighting not to curve itself into a grin.

Oh, he’d certainly done it this time. He’d never live it down.

As he’d done uncountable times, he began to sift through his memories, analyzing each picture that sprang into his mind’s eye. Was he really imagining things? Exaggerating? Had the birds really been larger yesterday? Had those gruff men really been Dunlendings? He stopped there. Yes. There was one thing he was certain of, he had seen those men. He hadseen those men, and heard those men—and smelled those men. He smiled in triumph. No matter how vivid his imagination was, he couldn’t possibly have imagined that smell, he was certain of it.

Of course, he couldn’t tell that to the King, as irrefutable evidence. His smile fell. He had seen Dunlendings, and Crebain, he knew it. But how was he ever going to convince anyone else?

***

Over the next couple of days, Morwen found herself as closely shadowed by Thorongil as ever. Like a protective older brother, he was always there, unobtrusively offering his advice and protection. She’d give up long ago trying to figure out exactly how he did it; whenever she opened her door, he seemed to appear out of nowhere to escort her. Whenever she asked him how he managed to always be there just when she needed him, he would only give her an enigmatic smile.

However he did it, he never seemed to grow tired of his duty, and for her part she was extremely thankful for her inexhaustible bodyguard and impromptu councilor. She had to wonder how Thengel had known she would need Thorongil’s help and protection.

Looking into the long mirror before her, she reached back, separating her hair into three even sections and beginning to braid it with deft fingers. I’m not risking more knots until he returns, she thought wryly. It appeared she was spoiled completely, without Thengel to patiently undo them for her. Thoughts of her husband almost instantly made her feel impatient. Had it really only been a week since he’d left?

Rolling her eyes, she pulled her half-finished braid over her shoulder and combed the snarls out of the end. She was beginning to sound like some love-struck girl, waiting for the return of her suitor. But was she so very far off from being just that?

She missed him so much, and wanted so badly to tell him about their new child. Maybe it would have been better to have told him before he left. But, for now, she had to content herself with imagining how happy he would be when she told him, and hope that he would return soon so she could actually see his joy at the news.

Turning her thoughts away from the baby before the excitement built up to bursting point, she thought instead of her plans for the day. Her plans for the day, such as they were, could scarcely be considered a schedule. She could sit around in her room until late afternoon brooding, or she could go and find a new setting to brood in, or she could find Feorh and pester her into letting her dosomething worthwhile, and only be turned away. Washing dishes was not something a queen did, and Feorh would never allow it. Little did Feorh know just how much this queen would enjoy doing something so un-queenly.

Her mind was going far too fast, and her body far too slow. She needed something to do. If she could only put her hands to something, she might distract her brain for a moment or two. If someone didn’t offer her a simple—and preferably long and tedious—task to do, she was going to march out there and start mucking the stables. That was desperation for you. Just thinking about the reactions that might garner brought a smirk to her face.

She was so used to having a purpose for every day, things to fill the hours with. She may have not been the ruler of Rohan, but there were so many quiet and unobtrusive ways a queen could help her husband. Thengel never hesitated to ask for her assistance or advice, and even when she hadn’t truly been busy, she’d felt useful. However, that kind of help wasn’t an option at the moment. The whole point of Eothald taking control was so that he could learn and prove his abilities as a ruler. Morwen couldn’t interfere, even if she’d felt comfortable enough to do so.

But thinking about all that was fruitless. No tasks were forthcoming, and mucking the stables was beginning to look like her only alternative, when a whim struck her. A rather amusing whim.

Tying off her braid, she rose and silently crossed the room, willing her dress to quit rustling. It was time to do a simple experiment in regards to Thorongil and his inexplicably perfect timing. She’d begun to wonder more than a little if he slept outside the door to her room, like a faithful guard dog. How else could he manage to always be there when she planned on going anywhere? Time to solve the mystery.

She cracked the door open, searching the halls for any sign of Thorongil. No one. She cracked it open another fraction, straining to see if he was there. A slow smile spread across her face. He wasn’t. Opening the door fully, she slipped out into the hall.

“Going for a walk, my Lady?”

She jumped, a small exclamation of surprise involuntarily escaping her at sound of Thorongil’s voice behind her. She whirled around, and there he was, leaning casually against the wall, mostly hidden in shadow, watching her with amusement shining in his silver eyes.

“I didn’t mean to startle you…”

“Well you certainly succeeded,” she remarked with an irritated edge to her voice. For just a second there, she’d thought she’d actually caught himoff-guard for once. “So that is your secret: you sit here and smoke all day.”

She eyed his pipe, and he lowered it, attempting to surreptitiously flick its contents into a nearby potted plant.

He offered her a sheepish grin as he placed the pipe into one of his many pockets. “Only some of the time.”

“Well, to answer your first question, yes, I think I will go for a walk. It’s either that, or sit in my room and die from boredom.”

Straightening from his position against the wall, Thorongil offered her a lopsided smile. “Now that is a feeling I understand completely.”

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re bored as well?”

“It would seem you and I are both trapped in the same position, my Lady, temporarily ‘relieved’ of our normal occupations. Perhaps we can find some way to entertain ourselves.”

“Perhaps a ride, later? First though, there is something we need to discuss.”

“Oh? What is that?” He stepped into stride beside her, as she began to move down the hall.

“You, Captain, have been withholding information from all of us,” she said, managing to say it with satisfactory sternness. “For someone to be withholding information from his king, and queen,is serious indeed.”

“My Lady, I…that is…” Thorongil frowned in bewilderment. “May I ask what information you speak of?”

“Your birthday.”

The unexpected response caught him completely unprepared, stopping him mid-stride. “My…birthday?” He was simultaneously relived, and more bewildered than before.

“Yes, your birthday. You know, the day you were born? We all have one, my dear Captain, and yours is very soon. Only two days away, if my source is accurate.”

Thorongil frowned. He hadn’t told anyone it was his birthday, at least not that he could remember. “Yes, of course… But may I ask who this ‘source’ is?”

“Théoden told me.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Come now, there is no need to look so embarrassed. It’s not as if I’m going to ask you how old you are.” Less teasingly, she said, “Thorongil, you must know you’ve become nearly as close as family to us; at least allow us to give you a small celebration. In any case, now that you’ve told Théoden, there’ll be no backing down. We may not be able to celebrate on the exact date, but trust me, Théoden won’t forget easily. He fully intends for you to have a proper celebration—with lots of presents.”

Thorongil matched her smile. “Well, in that case, I don’t believe I can easily refuse.”

“Don’t even try.”

A door opened to their left, and Feorh bustled out into the hall, her arms full of cleaning implements. Too full, as it proved. With a resounding clang, a large bucket fell to the floor. Automatically, Morwen’s head turned at the abrupt interruption, eyes seeking out the source of the noise. Unfortunately, while her attention was elsewhere, she took another step. The fact that Meduseld was built on a hill meant that not all the floors were completely level—and as luck would have it, there was a small step down directly in front of her. Her foot came down at an awkward angel, twisting to the side, and her leg suddenly gave out.

With reflexes made faster by years of battle, Thorongil moved quickly to support Morwen. “Are you alright?” he asked, still supporting the queen as she caught her balance.

Morwen bit her lip, and allowed him to support her as the sharpest pain lessened. “I think I may have sprained my ankle, but I don’t think it’s too bad.” Bad, no—embarrassing, yes. “I am well, thanks to your fast response.”

Before either of them could say another word, they were interrupted by a voice behind them.

“And so our suspicions are confirmed.”

Thorongil and Morwen turned their heads and saw Eothald, with four guards standing behind him. Thorongil turned to face him, Morwen still leaning heavily on his shoulder in order to take the weight off her sore ankle.

Eothald spoke again. “Is this how you repay the king who has shown you so much trust and favor? Is this how you repay Thengel after all these years? As soon as he turns his back, I find you plotting against him.”

Thorongil stared in confusion. “Lord Eothald, I don’t understand—”

“Naiveté doesn’t become you, Captain. You are caught in the act, with the Queen still clinging to you. Don’t compound your sin by being a coward.”

Despite the fact that her ankle was now beginning to throb, Morwen hastily released her hold on Thorongil’s shoulder, straightening herself to glare at Eothald. “What do you speak of? Thorongil has neither broken Thengel’s trust, nor played the coward. Speak plainly.”

“Your anger is understandable, my Lady, the Captain here is smooth of speech and manner. I’m sure he has convinced you that he means no harm, but I assure you he is far more dangerous than you suspect.”

Morwen clenched her jaw, narrowing her eyes at Eothald. “I saidspeak plainly. I have had enough of hearing your vague and baseless accusations. You will tell me now exactly what it is that you claim Thorongil has done.”

“Forgive me, my Queen, if I have upset you. However, this bitter duty must be done for Rohan, no matter how distasteful it might be.”

Thorongil stepped into the heated conversation. “Eothald, please… There must be some misunderstanding. I can’t even begin to understand what you’re accusing me of, but I assure you, I have done nothing against Rohan or Thengel knowingly. On my honor, I would die to protect both.”

Eothald was silent, and for a moment Thorongil thought he saw uncertainty flash across his face. But then it was gone, and he was speaking in the same tight voice. “See? Can’t you see the lie behind those easily spoken words?”

“I see only the man who has served Rohan faithfully all these years, a man that I trust as a brother.” Morwen’s voice was deadly calm. “You will leave now Eothald. You are drunk if you think that he means me, Thengel, or Rohan harm.”

“Oh, I am not drunk, my Queen. I am completely sober and aware of whom I am accusing of what. And, seeing how I am the one Thengel left in charge, I will be the one giving orders here.”

Thorongil and Morwen could hardly believe their ears. This angry, controlling man in front of them seemed like a stranger. They had never seen Eothald fight for anything. He had always been quiet and unassuming to the point of shyness. This self-assured man in front of them hardly looked or sounded like the laid-back Eothald they knew. But he didn’t sound drunk. Besides, Eothald was known for passing out before he had been well and truly drunk for long; he didn’t grow angry on alcohol, quite the opposite in fact. Apparently Eothald wasn’t half done talking, either. Whatever he was talking about, he certainly appeared to believe it himself wholeheartedly.

Thorongil stepped forward and laid a hand on Eothald’s shoulder. “Lord Eothald, please, calm down. As I said, there must be some misunderstanding. I have done no ‘plotting’ of any kind.”

Eothald shrugged off the placating gesture. “Don’t touch me again, Captain. And I warn you not to try any of your clever words on me. I won’t fall for them, and fully intend to see you get what you deserve.”

“I am loyal soldier of Rohan—”

“‘Loyal’,” Eothald spat out the word with disbelief. “Any soldier who does as you have done is no friend of Rohan, but her enemy. Are you not ashamed of yourself, Captain? Thengel considered you his friend, yet now, you would attempt to seduce his wife.”

There was a long, astonished silence, as Morwen and Thorongil attempted to digest the accusation. If Eothald hadn’t been so obviously serious, they both might have begun to laugh. As it was…apparently Eothald expected a serious answer.

Morwen stood rigid as a statue. “How can you say that—how can you even think it? Everyone knows the nature of our friendship. How dare you accuse him of that? How dare you accuse me of that?”

“My Lady, of course I don’t accuse you of anything. The blame does not lie with you; it is the Captain who has so deviously sought your attentions…”

“Ah, I see, so I am simply too naive to know when a man is trying to gain my affections?”

“Not at all, my Lady, I merely meant that Thorongil is—”

Morwen rolled her eyes, and supplied, “‘Smooth of speech’? Well let me tell you one thing, Lord Eothald, Thorongil is a highly intelligent man, but he is neither devious nor deceitful, and he has given no cause for your hatred.”

Eothald sighed patiently. “I know this must be highly painful for your Majesty to grasp… But it is for the best, believe me.”

“I don’t believe you!”

Eothald stepped forward and grasped her hand. “Just come with me, my Lady. You need not witness this painful scene.”

Morwen jerked her hand away. “What ‘painful scene’?”

Eothald closed his eyes briefly. “If you insist on watching it is none of my affair, I merely seek to spare your feelings in what I am sure is an emotional situation. Please, if you would step to the side…” He turned to the guards behind him, motioning them forward, and then turned back to Thorongil. “Captain Thorongil, you are under arrest—on the charge of treason.”