“Lady Morwen?”

Morwen turned at the voice to see Thorongil hurrying down the hall after her. She smiled.

“I’m not going far, Captain, just to the stables.”

“May I join you?” he asked, catching up with her.

“Of course, if you wish.”

She continued on, with him walking at her side, and slightly behind. That position, she thought with amusement, was going to become permanent if Thengel didn’t hurry back to relieve him of his duty. Since the day he’d left—four days ago now—Thorongil had appointed himself not only her protector, but her shadow as well. Either he was taking his orders to “watch” her to the extreme, or he was rapidly becoming bored of his steady diet of inactive court life. It was probably a mixture of both.

However, she wasn’t about to complain. With Théoden’s exuberant presence so markedly missing, she felt far too restless staying in her rooms alone, so she usually ended up drifting wherever her whim took her. With Thengel gone, and his warnings about “spies and conspiracies” still crowding her mind, Thorongil’s companionship was more than welcome as she wandered about aimlessly. What she found astonishing was his dogged determination to keep up with her, despite her seemingly pointless schedule.

“Aren’t you getting a little tired of this, Thorongil?” she asked abruptly, as they descended the steps of Meduseld at an unhurried pace.

Thorongil looked up at her, his weathered face full of confusion. “Tired of what?”

She laughed. “Let me rephrase the question: aren’t you getting a little tired of watching me all day long as I wander about doing nothing?”

“No, not really…”

She laughed again. “I never took you for a liar.”

“I’m not.”

“Come, surely you can’t be enjoying following me around like this,” she insisted teasingly.

At that, he smiled in return. “Well, although being your bodyguard doesn’t involve quite the same element of…excitement as riding out with the soldiers, it does have its merits, I suppose.”

“And what, do you suppose, those merits might be?”

Thorongil pretended to ponder the question for a moment or two. “Well, at least I haven’t yet been beaten, shot, stabbed, or run through by anyone’s sword…”

She raised an eyebrow. “Definitely an advantage, I’d say.”

“Yes, rather desirable, in fact. Especially in comparison to listening to Lord Fordón talk all day.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

They reached the stables, and began to walk down the long line of stalls, occasionally stopping to admire and stroke different horses. Thorongil watched Morwen carefully as she continued to talk cheerfully. There was something very different about her this morning. Not only did the cloud of overwhelming worry that had been settled over her for the last couple of days seem to have lifted, but she was actually quite cheerful. No, cheerful wasn’t quite the word—glowing was a far more apt description of the queen this morning. She was glowing with an inner radiance that, quite frankly, was bewildering.

He watched her some more, half afraid there was something wrong, and this new-found cheerfulness was nothing but a mask to cover her feelings. The more he watched, however, the more genuine her joy appeared. After fifteen more minutes of unusually buoyant and talkative conversation, he was completely, and utterly lost. Just two days ago he’d been hard put to get a wan smile out of her, now she seemed to be making a complete turnaround. He was just about to shrug it off as yet another of the mysterious moods of women he’d never understand, when Morwen caught him staring at her.

“Thorongil, is something wrong? You look troubled.”

He cleared his throat, hardly feeling capable of putting his concern for her into an intelligible sentence. Embarrassed to be caught staring, he stammered, “Well…it’s nothing really…I…was…”

“Yes?” Morwen was unrelenting. “You were saying, Captain?”

Thorongil flinched as her gaze held him unwaveringly. “I was merely lost in thought.”

“And what were you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“Thorongil, in my experience, you have never been a man to sit around thinking about absolutely nothing.”

He grinned. “There’s always a first time.”

“Yes, well this isn’t it. If that expression on your face is any indication, you were thinking about a great deal. What are you worrying about?” She was determined to get an answer.

“My Lady…”

“Ah, no excuses. Don’t try to sweet talk me. It won’t work.”

He sighed. “I am merely a little…concerned for you.”

“Concerned for me?” To say she was confused would have been an understatement.

Thorongil steeled himself in preparation to say one of the oddest sounding sentences he’d ever said. “Yes. You’re just so...happy, suddenly. ”

Morwen didn’t appear to notice how odd it sounded. A small, almost shy smile hovered on her lips, as she looked down at her hands. “Oh yes, that. I didn’t realize I was being so obvious.”

“It’s not that I’m not happy you are happy,” Thorongil quickly interjected. “And I’m glad you’re being obvious about it, but…”

“But you would like to know what in Arda is the matter with me?”

“Well…yes.”

She looked up at him again, an excited flush warming her face. “I suppose, after the way I’ve been chattering, I owe you an explanation. But please, don’t tell anyone else what I’m about to tell you. For now, I wish it to remain a secret.”

“Of course, if that is what you want.” He smiled encouragingly. “I won’t repeat a word, not under pain of torture.”

She gave the same, slightly shy smile. “I don’t believe this is the kind of information anyone tortures others to gain…”

“Now you certainly have me curious. What is it, my Lady?”

She swallowed once, bit her lip, and then her almost feverishly bright eyes met his as she blurted out, “Thengel and I are going to have another child.” As if she felt the need to apologize she added, “I wasn’t certain for a while, although I had my suspicious a day or two before Thengel and Théoden left. I didn’t want to bring it up then, because I knew he wouldn’t have left if I asked it of him, and I didn’t want to have to make that choice. Théoden would have been so disappointed… Besides, I wasn’t absolutely certain then, but now…” She stopped, as she felt her happiness surge to a nearly uncontrollable level.

Thorongil didn’t even attempt to halt the grin that slowly spread across his face. “I’m so happy for you, Morwen—and Thengel. If you had told Thengel and Théoden before they left, and they’d decided to stay, I’m not quite so certain that the prince would have been as disappointed as you think.”

Morwen smiled, and this time he completely understood the slightly dreamy look her eyes. “Mmm, perhaps you’re right. Still, I didn’t want to hold him back. There will be plenty of time for this news when they return.”

Thorongil nodded. “I suppose there will be.”

“I’m actually rather glad you did notice. I don’t know if I would have lasted another hour without telling someone.”

“Are you…alright, then. You don’t need to sit down or…something.” Thorongil looked closely at her, searching for any signs of weariness.

Morwen chuckled. “No, Captain, I’m quite alright for the moment being, thank you.”

She took a deep breath. It was, indeed, a good thing Thorongil had noticed. The pure joy of the news was so all-consuming, she’d been distracted from anything else. Now that she’d finally unburdened her heart, she might be able to put more attention into her other task.

So far, she felt a miserable failure, and unqualified for the task on the whole. What was she supposed to be looking for, anyways? Spies and conspiracies, she thought dryly. Rather vague ideas to go hunting after, as it was proving. She was beginning to see just how big and heavy a burden it must have been for Thengel. It was depressing, not to mention frightening, to look at everyone as a prospective traitor.

Thorongil noticed the sudden change in the queen, as her expression began to fade to a more thoughtful, serious expression. “My Lady?” He could guess all too well what occupied her thoughts.

“I was only trying to imagine Lord Fordón as a spy,” she joked, trying to brush it off lightly.

Thorongil’s smile was grim. “As much I would liketo think of Fordón as being behind any conspiracies, I’m afraid that would be rather biased of me. There are so many other possibilities to consider. Possibilities that must be considered.”

“But who else?” Morwen exclaimed in frustration. “I’ve been over the lists again and again—I just can’t see it. How can we know that there is a conspiracy? This all makes me feel so ridiculous.”

“I know. I believe Thengel feels the same way. But I would rather feel ridiculous and be wrong, than shrug this all off and later have it proven right. The consequences could catastrophic, to say the least.”

Morwen knew he was right, but she found herself becoming increasingly irritated with the whole idea. Perhaps it was because she knew he was right. She didn’t feel angry towards Thorongil—she was quite aware none this was his fault—but she found herself snapping at him nonetheless.

“Well perhaps you know who’s behind this ‘mysterious plot’, then?”

Thorongil appeared not to take any notice of her sarcastic tone, considering the question carefully before answering. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I know who is doing the plotting, but I just might have a guess as to who might be.”

Already regretting her harsh words, Morwen said seriously, “Go on. I’ve run out of opinions myself, and I’m about ready to hear some else’s.”

“Then I shall give you mine, though I think you may already know who is at the top of my list of suspects.”

“I think I could guess, but I’d rather hear it from you—along with your reasons.”

“Very well then. I shall be blunt: I don’t trust Captain Heolstor. As for why I distrust him, that could take a bit longer to explain.”

Morwen gestured around them at the horses. “I don’t think either one of us has much on our schedules today, besides standing around the stables. It’s not as if we’re pressed for time, and I’ve wanted to know for a long time exactly why you and Heolstor have never gotten along. We have all afternoon, and no one to eavesdrop besides the horses, so take your time, Captain.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have too many solid facts to base my dislike of him upon. I don’t think I could tell you, myself, exactly why we’ve never worked well together. In fact, our natural animosity has never seemed to spring from mydislike of him, so much as from his dislike of me. Oh, we’re both quite civil whenever we happen to meet, but… I’ve tried for quite some time to shake my inclination towards distrusting him, but I’m beginning to think it’s futile.”

“How so?”

“I really think if he had his way I’d be dead.”

Morwen started at his words, scrutinizing his face for any signs that he was teasing her. There was no humor in his eyes. “You can’t be serious?”

“I am entirely serious.”

“Captain Heolstor? But he’s so…normal, so decent. I’ve never known him to be anything but a perfect gentleman, and a good soldier.”

Thorongil fell silent. How could he explain it? How could explain his suspicions of Heolstor, who did seem so “decent”? To all outward appearance he was just what she’d said, but every once in a while, when he looked into Heolstor’s eyes, or watched him smile, he was certain he saw something besides a “perfect gentleman” lurking there. Sometimes he was certain he saw something quite different lying in wait behind his too-perfect smiles. Yes, perhaps that was just it: everything about Heolstor seemed too perfect. No one could be that good-natured and congenial allthe time.

“Please, try to explain. I want to understand your reasons. I know you don’t jump to hasty conclusions.”

At Morwen’s urging, he tried again. “Have you ever looked Heolstor straight in the eyes? Have you ever studied the way he smiles? I know I may sound obsessed—and as paranoid as Lord Mannalic—but there is something horribly wrong about him. A couple of days ago, as we were talking before the council meeting, I was almost certain I saw hatred in his eyes. Perhaps not against me, but certainly against someone.”

Morwen tried to digest the idea. Heolstor—plotting? The words just didn’t go together. “I don’t know. I’ve never really noticed him all that much, to tell you the truth.”

“Precisely my point. Heolstor is not the type that anyone takes that much notice of. He’s intelligent, skilled with the sword, and good with men. His father before him led an Eored, and his father’s father before him. He’s a natural at what he does, and no one stops to question him. A year ago—even a month ago—I don’t think I would have stopped to question him myself. At first I thought it was just my imagination…but now I’m not so certain.”

Morwen narrowed her eyes in thought, as she began to sort through her memories of Heolstor, in the years she’d known him. Certain expressions, and certain looks, that she hadn’t known what to make of at the time, came back to her. A spy? A traitor? Was it possible that, even after all these years of service, Heolstor was planning something against his king, and against his country? It still seemed improbable—but no longer impossible. The more she thought about it, the less she liked it, and the more she began to believe it.

When she finally found her voice, it was reluctant and halting. “I…think that I may…begin to understand what you mean. Heolstor…” There she stopped. It was difficult, to think about going back and facing him, now burdened with suspicions. Suspicions of the worst kind. “How long have you guessed he was…what you believe him to be?”

“It’s nearly impossible to say. I don’t think I’ve ever trusted him.”

“Your, and Captain Heolstor’s, dislike for each other has been remarked upon more than once in court. That was never any secret,” Morwen goaded lightly.

Thorongil held up his hands in a claim of innocence. “It was not Iwho was the instigator of the ill-feelings.”

“Ah, I see—he started it?” Morwen teased.

“He did. If you could have seen the look he gave me when we were first introduced, you would agree with me.”

Morwen ran her hand along the smooth, well-groomed flank of the nearest horse. “I hope you’re wrong about him,” she said softly.

Thorongil began to absently run his fingers over the horse’s soft coat as well, his mood instantly turning sober once again. “So do I. But we’ll have to watch him.”

And he did hope he was wrong, with all his heart. Although Thengel and Counselor Silfren suspectedsomething was amiss, there was still no proof, and while there was no proof there was still hope that their suspicions could be false. He desperately clung to the hope that Heolstor wasn’tbehind anything, and that no one else was either, for that matter.

***

As the coarse sound of cawing wafted in through his window, Heolstor jumped from his chair with more alacrity than any sound of a human’s approach induced in him. He bounded over to the door, quickly locking it, and then over to the window.

“Come in, my friends,” he said, with far more warmth than he’d ever shown one of his own kind.

The Crebain flew in through the window one at a time, landing softly on various pieces of furniture. The leader stayed on the windowsill in front of Heolstor.

“Here,” the large Crebain croaked loudly.

Heolstor flinched. A loud Crebain mean usually meant an irritated Crebain, and there was nothing quite so risky as having your room filled with loud and irritated Crebain. “Yes,” he said amicably. “You are here. Right on time, and even a little early.”

“Here,” the bird reiterated, even louder. “Wants.”

Heolstor swallowed, thinking out each word carefully. Crebain, when they talked, tended towards monosyllabic sentences, although they probably could have spoken more. They were always brisk, and to the point, which was useful, but it could also be confusing to grasp their meaning. “Wants?” he inquired.

The volume of the Crebain’s voice grew, as it became apparently more frustrated. “What wants?”

Heolstor nodded, smiling. “Ah, you wish to know what I want?” His eyes shot to the bird’s foot, where a reply to his last message should have been.

Wonderful. Mehdal had either not received his message, or had failed to think a response necessary. He wanted reports—full reports. Mehdal knew that. Apparently the constant close proximity to Dunlendings was telling on his mental functions.

Realizing that the Crebain was still waiting for him to reply, he forced his anger to the background. “Mehdal sent no reply? He gave you no paper in return?”

“Meh-dal gone.”

Mehdal gone? Could the creature mean that the man was dead? “Mehdal is…dead?”

“Not dead. Gone. Stupid ones take paper.”

From the mounting volume of words the bird was using, it was obviously becoming impatient as well as frustrated. Heolstor found himself at a sudden loss for words. If he pried too much further, he would only make things worse, but he had to say something. “Is something wrong, my friend?”

“Food.”

“You are hungry?”

“Yes. Stupid ones break pro-mise. No food.”

With dawning understanding, and fury, Heolstor finally understood. Somehow, the Dunlendings had been the ones to meet the Crebain and take the note. Of course the idiots would be too dense to understand the importance of feeding the birds. Mehdal would never hear the end of this from him, letting Dunlendings take messages. Now he would have to make up for his subordinates’ stupidity.

“My friend, please forgive the stupid ones…” He had to force himself not to roll his eyes. Making apologies for Dunlendings… The thought was repulsive, but he had no other choice. “You must forgive them, they are idiots,” he added, as a very satisfactory self-appeasement.

The Crebain seemed hesitant, so Heolstor moved quickly towards the table where his own meal lay. Picking up the platter, he brought it to the window and set it down. “Here, take this now. I will soon have the rest of your food to give you, but take this in apology.”

In the end, the Crebain were but animals, and at sight of the rich food the dozen birds seemed to forget their momentary distrust, swarming towards the windowsill, and quickly devouring the offering in a matter of minutes.

When the feeding frenzy had finally died down, the Crebain left one by one until only the leader remained.

“More say?”

Heolstor was gratified to find the question spoken more quietly than before. “Yes, I do have one more thing to say. I would have you bring another message to Mehdal.” Bending over a piece of paper he had ready on the desk, he scrawled a hasty letter, and turned back to the window. “Will you deliver it?”

The bird hesitated reluctantly. “Must go…back to stupid ones?”

“Yes, if you will. I assure you, I will personally see to it that you receive your food regularly.”

“Yes. We will do.”

The bird stood still, compliantly allowing Heolstor to tie the paper to his leg with a small piece of string, and then flapping off after the other Crebain. Heolstor clenched and unclenched his jaw. Hopefully, this time, Mehdal would receive it in person.

He turned back to face the room.

Feathers.

Black feathers dusted the room lightly—they were everywhere. Heolstor closed his eyes briefly, and then bent over to pluck a few off the floor at his feet. Time to start picking up the evidence.

Oh, the things I do for power…

***

On the outside, Eothald smiled. On the inside, he was in turmoil. Today he felt…strange. No, correction, for the last couple of months he’d been feeling strange. At first the feeling had been faint and indescribable. Now the feeling was still just as indescribable, but not nearly so faint.

Thoughts and emotions were bombarding him. The frightening thing was, they didn’t feel like his own. It was as if someone was whispering in his ear. He found himself turning his head abruptly to look behind him, almost expecting to find someone standing by his shoulder. Of course, no one was ever there. But the voice in his head didn’t go away. If anything, it grew more persistent.

Horrible ideas came to him, only lately they hadn’t seemed quite as horrible as they used to. Some of the thoughts he’d heard for so long, he’d forgotten they were whispered in a foreign voice.

Listen to me.

The voice was as relentless as always, constantly whispering to him every waking hour. Even as he was dropping off to sleep, and in his dreams, it haunted him, and terrified him. Or at least it had. Slowly, gradually, he was beginning to accept its intrusion. It was either that, or go mad. He wasn’t about to tell anyone that he was “hearing a voice in his head”.

Yes, he was beginning to accept it. Now, whenever he thought too much about it, all he felt was a faint bewilderment. The voice was very familiar, although he couldn’t quite place it. It was as if he’d heard it—perhaps even heard it many times before—but now it just seemed like some distant memory of long ago. Every once in a while he’d think he’d heard it again…

Stop thinking about it so much, just accept it…

As always, the voice was soothing, encouraging him to forget all about his fears, and listen. He’d never been strong enough to resist it before, at least not for very long, and he certainly wasn’t strong enough to fight it now.

Thengel is gone now—now is the time for you to prove your worth.

How? He knew that Thengel had given him this temporary power hesitatingly, but he also knew that Thengel had hope for him. Hope that he might actually do something commendable, and show himself to be truly worthy of the responsibility that one day might be his. It was a heavy burden to bear… In all truth, he didn’t want the position, and he had even stronger reasons to shun it for, in order for that to happen, both Thengel and Théoden would have to be dead.

Don’t think of that. Only think of pleasing Thengel while he’s gone. You’ve always wanted his approval—gain it now.

Again, his instant response was: how? How could he prove himself worthy? How could he show Thengel just how seriously he took the responsibly given him? He’d never been a man of much determination or strength, and even now he quailed at the thought of all the power he held.

Don’t think about that either! Just think of how proud the King will be of you.

But…what could he do? So little was happening in Edoras, and in all of Rohan. At the moment, even the Dunlendings seemed to have given up attacking them in favor of settling down for a time. It wasn’t that he was wishing for trouble, on the contrary, Eothald had freely admitted to himself long ago that he was a weak man by nature, and he’d never wanted strife of any kind.

You are less of a coward than you think, Eothald, son of Eostald, and you will prove it. You will see your opportunity, and seize it. You are not so weak as you think you are.

But he was! He was sure of it. The last time he’d checked, he’d definitely considered himself a coward. What was going to change that now? Even his strongest desires had rarely motivated him to any great feats of will-power.

But proving yourself won’t be so hard. You merely have to show the King you are capable of handling a crisis in his absence.

But there was no crisis. He was beginning to feel slightly dizzy at the way the words were ringing in his ears, forcefully imparting their wisdom. Why did that voice sound so familiar?

Listen!

He did listen, forgetting all other speculations as the harshly-spoken command seemed to split his skull open. It was so loud…

Listen…

There. The voice was soft again, bearable, even soothing. He listened, partly because he had no other choice—after all, it was in his head—but also partly because he wanted to. He was weak, and the voice was so confident and unfaltering. It seemed to know everything, and exactly what to do about every circumstance. Eothald couldn’t help but admire the strength he heard. He also feared it.

Suddenly, a happy, but shocking, thought occurred to him. Was the voice his own? Was he becoming stronger? The thought of someone else’s voice being in his head was disconcerting to say the least. Could it be…? Could that confidence be his own? Perhaps he was, after all, stronger than he’d imagined. Perhaps he did have the power to rule Rohan, should something happen to Thengel.

Yes, you are stronger than you think. You have the ability, as well as the right, to rule. Don’t underestimate yourself.

For the first time in a long time, Eothald felt a spark of enthusiasm over his new-found power. Power. A shiver ran down his spine. He’d never imagined it could sound so incredibly tantalizing…

You can do so much while Thengel is gone—so much to help him. He means well, but he can not see all. Often, he overlooks things in his weariness. But you are young and fresh. You will see things where he has missed them.

That thought bewildered him. What was there for Thengel to miss? Everything was peaceful.

Everything seems peaceful. But peace can be deceiving.

Eothad didn’t know about that. Peace was…peaceful. And all the peace he saw going on seemed genuine enough.

This peace is deceiving. Trust your instincts. Can’t you see there is trouble brewing?

Eothald tried hard for a full two minutes to trust his instincts, but he simply couldn’t findany instincts to trust.

Think.

Easier said than done, he thought irritably.

Think of people, think of faces. Who would strive for power?

No one he could think of. Certainly, there were men who seemed naturally inclined towards positions of power and influence, but none of those men did he consider to have bad intentions of any kind. There was Anborn: honest and blunt to a fault, but a good man, and very patient as well as obedient to his king. There was Thorongil: honorable, good with men, obedient to his king as well…

Thorongil. Surely you must see who he really is. Surely you must see behind that artful mask he always wears?

To Eothald, that was the most stunning statement he’d heard in a long time. Thorongil? For a moment, he felt an overwhelming desire to start laughing hysterically. The voice, however, didn’t seem to be amused.

Thorongil is not what he seems to be. He is not some honorable knight, serving faithfully so many years without any expectations. He is like every other man, and he is beginning to hunger for power and position. Can’t you see? Are you completely blind? He didn’t grow up in Rohan—he is an imposter from the North—and yet, already, he has moved quickly. In a matter of years, see how far he has come. Most men only receive the kinds of favors he has after half a life-time of service, having proved their loyalties many times.

Eothald tried to absorb the information, but found himself floundering. The voice continued.

Thorongil is smooth of speech, and has ensnared your king with his clever words. He holds the rest of the Council under his influence. Silfren, and even Thengel himself, cannot see past his façade. You must.

If Thorongil was only after power… Then how was he planning on getting more? Whose position did he hope to get? Commanding an Eored was one of—if not the most—honored and respected of positions for a soldier. After you became Marshal of the Mark, there were few ranks you could rise. Silfren had been a Marshal, and he’d risen to become Thengel’s advisor. It was a privileged position, if not terribly exciting. Surely, as a soldier, that wasn’t what Thorongil sought? After advisor that left…the king.

Precisely. I knew you would see it. Thorongil must be dealt with.

Dealt with? He didn’t like the sound of that. Thorongil was one of Thengel’s most favored captains. He’d seen firsthand just how close the royal family was to him—they treated him as if he was family.

Again, you arrive at the right conclusion. Thorongil is close to the royal family. Too close. Thengel trusts him too freely, and unless something is done he will have cause to regret it. However, at this point, even if he could see Thorongil unmasked, he would not have the strength to deal with it. He counts Thorongil as his friend.

But…wasn’t he?

No. Thorongil is Rohan’s enemy. As such, he must be eliminated, one way or another.

Eliminated. Eothald didn’t like the sound of that much better than “dealt with”. Both sounded far too violent and sinister. Even if he wholeheartedly wished to physically stop Thorongil from doing whatever it was he was doing, “eliminated” instantly brought pictures of himself engaged in mortal combat with the captain. Not a pleasant thought.

You need not go out and challenge him to a duel. Elimination of Thorongil can be carried out in many ways, and his death is not necessarily the only, or wisest, course. You must gather evidence, prove he is guilty, and then let him be dealt with publicly.

But of what could he accuse Thorongil? He had his own private suspicions now, but who else would believe him? To all outward appearances Thorongil was a loyal soldier who faithfully served his king.

Have you not seen how often he has been with the Queen lately? Everyone in Meduseld is sure to have noticed that.

So?

So, there are certain implications that can be used in our favor.

But surely even Thorongil wouldn’t consider something like…that.

Does it matter? You know that he is guilty of treason. Besides, if you look for evidence, you may be surprised at exactly what Thorongil might consider doing in his drive for power. Do what you must with him, for your king, and for your country. Thorongil cannot remain.