Chapter 2 – An Invitation to Travel
"So tell me, friend Abergar," said Hassel, taking a sip of ale from his cup, "what brings you to the lofty Chetwoods?"
They were seated at a table in the corner of the Combe and Wattle Inn, one of the few landmarks of the tiny hamlet of Combe. It was early evening and the little tavern was alive to the chatter and bustle of the local people as they shared stories and gossip around the fire.
Abergar swallowed his mouthful of beer. "I am on a journey taking in the views of the world," he replied. "I seek only inspiration for my music, an appreciative audience and good fortune with my benefactors...," he added with a grin, then winced and rubbed his jaw which still hurt from the punch he'd received during his fight. “…though I was not expecting to encounter such harsh critics today," he grumbled.
Hassel grinned and nodded, supping once more from his ale.
They had arrived in Combe as the afternoon faded towards evening. The settlement was half hidden in its own little dell and could boast a blacksmith, stable, apothecary and some few houses, but not much more. Still, it seemed a pleasant enough place and Abergar was not in a position to be choosy about his lodgings after the day’s nasty experience.
Hassel had spoken to the mistress of the house – a kindly woman he seemed acquainted with by the name of Lizbeth Honeymeade – and had arranged a room for them both. Abergar had bathed his bruises and used a liniment his companion insisted would aid recovery and the pair had spent the evening enjoying the minstrel’s first decent meal for a while, sitting in the corner of the main room of the tavern. Abergar was slowly starting to feel like himself once more.
"But tell me, where do you come from?" asked the warrior. "Your accent is not that of a man of these parts."
"No indeed," replied the young minstrel lifting his beer to his lips. "I have come a long way...a very long way, in fact. I hail from the country of Rohan.”
"A Rohirrim…" mused Hassel, his eyebrows slightly rising. "You are indeed a long way from home, my friend," he said, taking another sip of his ale, "…though I wasn't aware that the men of that land had dark hair."
Abergar's face soured. "Let us just say there are …‘rumours’ concerning my parentage and leave it at that," he muttered.
Hassel read the signs and changed the subject. "So what brings you out of that fair land? There cannot be more to gain fortune from in the lands around Bree, surely?"
Abergar shook his head, swallowing another mouthful of beer. "I do not seek my fortune in gold...well, not especially now," he replied. "I came northwards because....well ...I was ‘invited’ to explore the realms outside Rohan." His expression did not suggest a willing departure.
"That sounds serious," said Hassel, his tone pressing for more details. Abergar looked toward the flickering flames of the fireplace for a moment and then spoke.
“I was a minstrel at Meduseld…that is to say the Golden Hall at Edoras…a good one too, though I say it myself. I played for the pleasure of the Horse Lords of the realm and (if I am honest) I even found special favour with my Lord, King Theoden, who often called for me to play. All that changed, however, some twelve seasons ago."
The minstrel’s face darkened. Hassel set down his cup, listening.
Abergar sighed and continued. "What can I say? The King took into his service …nay, into his confidence …a young man by the name of Grima. A more mean-spirited man it is hard to imagine. He seemed to delight in belittling those he deemed below his own standing and took whatever opportunities he could to improve his status; often at the expense of his peers. He was not well liked and seemed to take it as his role to cut down to size any other who sought the favour of the King."
"Let me guess," mused Hassel, "…one day you grew weary of him and throttled him with your lute strings." He chuckled at his jest but Abergar smiled ruefully and shook his head.
"Would that I had had the wit to think of that," he sighed. "No, I did much worse than that; I did nothing. I foolishly thought that, if I kept myself to myself and did not appear as one openly seeking the approval of my Lord, all would be well. How wrong I was in that."
"Then what happened?" asked the other.
“By the time I understood what Grima was trying to do ...that he was building himself up to be the foundation stone for his master's goodwill …it was too late. The Wormtongue – as we had come to call him – had indeed made himself appear indispensible to his master. He was always there at the King's side, looking down upon any who came to speak with him and even taking the privilege upon himself of presuming to speak for King Theoden in matters of the realm."
Hassels eyebrows rose up at this sudden twist. "That is presumption indeed," he observed. "And your King stood for this?"
Abergar set his beer down on the table top, heavily "Stood for it? He welcomed it!" he stated bitterly. "I know not what magic that creature possesses but it soon became apparent that the King valued his counsel....looked for it, in fact. Any who dared speak out against Wormtongue, or tried to bypass him to address the King were denounced as seeking to spread sedition in the realm. The one person Grima cannot not seem to fully counter is the King’s son, Theodred. The Prince is a man of great honour and the King’s love for him is clearly greater than his need for his advisor. Rohan, however, is a land under increasing danger from the realms around and so the Prince is often abroad tending to the care of Rohan’s borders, leaving Wormtongue to have the greater access to the King’s ear.
"Aside from his son, the one thing the King seemed to care for, aside from Wormtongue's counsel, was music. That was something he still loved and was something that I could provide for him," The young minstrel’s eyes seemed to come alive at the memory, “and yet, despite keeping my peace, it soon became clear that Grima also held the King's entertainers in clear contempt.
“I do not know…,” he sighed. “Perhaps he feared the influence that we alone still possessed over my Lord but he soon began to take control even of the music that was played for King Theoden."
"How did he do that?" asked Hassel, puzzled and leaning in to better hear the tale.
Abergar took another swig of ale and set the cup down hard. "Oh, he took it upon himself to state that our music was 'unfitting'; that some of the King's favourite lays were 'tiring him' and 'making him ill'," he continued, his tone hardening. "Just as if that were the case!" he spat. "Wormtongue was trying to remove everything the King held dear, demanding that we talk to him first, before we played for the King, and that we let him know what tunes we were to play and to change it if he felt it innappropriate. Can you imagine?!"
Hassel shook his head, listening as the minstrel continued his tale.
"For the longest time I kept my own peace but it seemed that even that was not enough and I grew angry when I saw the way in which Wormtongue began to address my Lord, even in public, as if he was an old man in his dotage. Still I said nothing, having seen the fate of others who dared speak out against him. For some reason… despite so many clearly disliking the man… he seemed to have the confidence of the King and it seemed that my Lord Theoden was actually taking him at his word when Grima told him that he was tiring or making himself ill."
Abergar stopped, momentarily, staring into the flames rising in the hearth.
"So what did you do?" asked the warrior.
"I took to writing new songs," replied Abergar. Seeing Hassel's questioning expression, he went on. "I thought that, if I could bring about some new music, using melodies similar to those I knew my King liked, but with different words, perhaps I could somehow bypass the decrees of Grima and pull the King from his decline. At first it seemed to work and I enjoyed seeing a measure of the old King returning to life whenever I played.
"But it was not to last. Somehow… I know not how… I made an error and turned him against me." Abergar sighed. "I didn't see it fully at the time....but I have had time to think...." he paused, looking thoughtful.
"An error....?" pressed Hassel, after a moment of silence from the minstrel.
Abergar looked him in the eye and leaned in to explain. "I believe that my mistake was in the stories that I decided to tell. I didn't see it then but in my time journeying North it has since become apparent to me that the King's advisor was not happy to hear me sing songs of the changes taking place in the lands around us. I spoke of the rise of the orcs in the lands to the North. I sang of the older days of our kinship with Gondor and I gave voice to light-hearted stories about the decrees of the lord of Isengard, the wizard Saruman, in his spire of Orthanc."
"I meant no harm in these. I merely wanted to make the King laugh again... and so he did. But one time when I played and espied Wormtongue, it became apparent to me that he was not liking the bond I had formed with the King, nor the tone of my lays and, before I knew it, it seemed that my services were no longer required and I was shut out of the King’s rooms and told that I was not needed as minstrel at Meduseld."
"At first I was saddened to think that I had somehow upset the King. I sought an audience but was told that he had found another minstrel. I spoke to the King's other musicians – what few remained – and discovered that this was not so and I grew angry to think that I was not being told the truth. And so, one day when I knew the King was to give audience to those of his people who requested it, I asked to speak to him. I was refused. So I sought out a friend of mine since boyhood – a fellow minstrel by the name of Beregar – and persuaded him to seek audience with the King on the premise that he might become his new minstrel. His request was granted and I accompanied him as his companion into the audience chamber. When he was called forward to speak, I stepped forward alongside him and addressed the King."
Hassel listened intently, waiting to hear the rest. Abergar's expression hardened as he snorted his breath out through his nose.
"It was the worst thing I could have done. I thought that my long service to the Lord Theoden would stand me in good stead. I thought that my talent for making him laugh would be armour enough against the objections of Wormtongue but I had badly underestimated his influence over the King. He immediately stepped forward to halt my words and we began to quarrel in the chamber. In the heat of the moment I said some unkind things to him....true, but unkind nevertheless....and in that moment, the true folly of my actions was revealed to me.
"As soon as I spoke up against Wormtongue, the King suddenly seemed to come alive once more, but not this time in good spirits but in hard temper and, before I knew it, he denounced me as an unworthy and ungrateful attendant. He accused me of mocking the good name of Rohan's neighbours and the kingdom's good friends and of mocking him as King.
"I was amazed and horrified by his words. They would have been upsetting enough to have come from Wormtongue, but at least I would have expected that. But to hear them from my own leige lord....." Abergar shook his head, reliving the moment "....I could not believe my ears. I was crushed. I saw then the dreadful sway that creature held over the King and I knew that I had made a dreadful mistake. Before I could even speak, I was seized and thrown out of the chamber and my friend Beregar with me."
"So what did you do?" asked Hassel, now leaning right in to hear every word. Abergar looked at him and bit his lip.
“I gave up," he said simply. “I do not say it with any satisfaction but I could not see what else to do. I had lost my place at the King's side. I had lost my money (for the King had paid me for my services and would do so no more) and I had lost the respect of those around me. No-one would speak to me. It seemed that Grima had given the word that I was to be shunned and any who spoke to me would face punishment. My friend Beregar tried to help me find work but none felt brave enough to risk the ire of the King's own advisor and I was not to be given succour of any form.
“Two nights after my disgrace in the King's audience chamber, a man came to Beregar's door with news that his father had been kicked while tending the horses at the harvest stores and needed his son. Beregar left to go to him but, before he went, he asked if I would fetch his lute that was sent for repair with a local craftsman, for he would need it later that day. I agreed and went to fetch it and, having done so, I decided to go straight to the stores to see for myself how Beregar's father fared. Upon my arrival there, I found him well indeed and learned that not only was he in good health but that he had not been injured at all.
“I returned to Beregar's door to see what he had thought of this turn of events but I could not find him. At first I was not concerned but, when he did not return after some hours had passed, I grew worried and went out to the stable to fetch his horse and look for him.
Abergar paused abruptly, his face suddenly stricken and his hands gripping the edge of the table as if for support. Hassel did not need the words to know what was coming next.
"....and that's where I found him," said the minstrel, quietly, his voice hoarse and toneless with sorrow. "He had been there some time. How long exactly I do not know but he was quite cold. They had …cut his throat and upon his face was a mark; the mark of a traitor. It was burned into his skin. They had branded him…whether before or after they killed him I know not."
The minstrel's eyes glistened in the firelight and he was silent, his face was flushed. Hassel said nothing. Questions now would seem disrespectful. He reached across the table and laid a hand upon the minstrel’s as a show of support, but Abergar drew his own hand back self-consciously and spoke again.
"Oh I don't doubt that he was the intended victim. I know why it was done. HE (Grima) wanted to send a message. He wanted to let me know that I was alone and that there were none who could aid me. He didn't care for the lives of others; he wanted to send a warning, both to me and to any who might consider helping me. He wanted to show that he was in charge and to make an example of me.
"And so I left,” he said simply, his tone returning to normal. “There was nothing left for me to do. I could not stay and let others suffer the fate of Beregar simply for knowing me. I had to leave. I had to let him know that he had won and remove any cause for further terrible examples to be set. So I stole a horse from the stables, I caused a commotion, nearly ran down the guards at the gate and I left. I wanted them to know I was going. I would let him think that I was running from him if it suited him to think so. I wanted my friends to be safe and if my reputation was the price to be paid for that then so be it.
"My one regret is that I did not go to his father that night and tell him of his son's fate. But I did not dare in case they were watching for me. My friend was already murdered. I could not risk the blood of his kin on my hands also."
Abergar drained the beer from his cup and planted it on the table with a thud. "And so here you find me," he declared, almost as if ending a happy story, though Hassel could see that his eyes did not tell the same tale as his lips.
There was a very long pause. Hassel could think of nothing to say and the minstrel offered nothing more. About them, the jovial banter of the tavern seemed almost indecent.
“A sad tale indeed,” said Hassel, fingering his empty ale mug, trying to think up some words of consolation. Catching the eye of the serving maid, he signalled for fresh ale and she brought them both a pitcher. “But, tell me, what are your plans in the northern lands? Will you settle here?”
“For a while at least,” Abergar replied, his expression hardening, “but one day… when the time seems right… I will go back. I will go home to Rohan and to the Golden Hall and I will bring payment to the Serpent of Meduseld – and those foolish enough to follow him – for the death of a good and true friend. I intend to bring home to Grima Wormtongue that there are things that his forked tongue will not best.” His eyes burned with a purpose that the warrior found unsettling.
But, as suddenly as it had appeared, the grim expression was gone as he reached beneath the table and brought up the battered remains of his lute. “But first, I must mend this,” he declared.
“But it is broken,” said Hassel, almost allowing himself to laugh. “Far easier for you to buy a new one, surely?” he reasoned, but the minstrel shook his head.
“No,” he said decisively. “This was his; Beregar’s. I took it with me that night in memory of him. It would dishonour me to cast it aside… though I admit I have not treated it with much honour today,” he sighed.
Hassel lent him an encouraging smile and reached across to lay a reassuring hand on Abergar’s shoulder. “Then we shall find someone who can fix your friend’s lute and upon it you shall yet play songs that would make him proud,” he declared. This time, the minstrel did not pull away but smiled for the first time in a while…and then winced as his jaw remembered its pain.
