Tarciryan pulled his son from the grip of the guard, and pushed him behind him. The family’s guards drew near, their eyes hard as their hands went to their blades and drew them. Eärnil, broke free from the grasp of his mother, and stood before his father. ‘This is the man who saved me! Put your blades away! We should be thanking him, not threatening him.’
The truth of Eärnil’s words struck him, and Tarciryan relaxed, signaling to the family’s guards to sheath their swords. He reached out his hand to the guard and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘My apologies, good sir. And we do thank you for your service to us.’
Pelladal, it seemed was the man’s name, and now that he looked closely at him, he could see he was a member of the Guard of Osgiliath. ‘A favor Pelladal,’ he asked, drawing his son back close to him, ‘will you send a message to the King’s residence that we will be there directly. And will you accompany us there.’
He looked at where the cart had crashed into the stall, and up the lane from where it must have come. He motioned for one of his guards to come near and drew the man aside, whispering in his ear. The guard nodded his head once in understanding then disappeared into the throng that had gathered round the site of the accident.
‘Let’s mount up then,’ he said, directing the other guard, Caeran, to bring round the horses. He pulled Eärnil up into the saddle before him and bade Pelladal take the boy’s horse. Miriel rode close beside her husband, with Pelladal before them, and Caeran, behind whose one hand held the reins of his mount, and the other rested on the pommel of his blade.
[ July 23, 2003: Message edited by: Envinyatar ]
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‘Many are the strange chances of the world,’ said Mithrandir, ‘and help oft shall come from the hands of the weak when the Wise falter.’
– Gandalf in: The Silmarillion, 'Of the Rings of Power and the Third Age'
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