The old garrison hall lay just within the great gates of Minas Tirith. The outer portions facing the gateyard had been partially destroyed when the city had been breached during Sauron's assault; the building was no longer used to quarter guards, but the broken walls had been repaired and the remaining rooms were used for storage, and to house prisoners when necessary.
"He gave no explanation for his sudden flight?" Frodo asked as Beregond escorted him down through the city later that day. The captain had shaved and changed into a clean uniform since Frodo had seen him at the citadel. Since the morning, Beregond had also tried to question his prisoner, as he explained to Frodo when he'd come for him.
"No, none," said Beregond. "He's told me nothing. I am heart-sore that he makes no effort to acquit himself of the accusations against him. As he will not say otherwise, we have no choice but to think the worst." He sounded as if he sincerely despaired for the young Man. "In truth, Frodo, I fear he's been driven mad. He's taken no food nor drink since we brought him here. He seems to think everything is poisoned. He says he will only speak to you. Perhaps he'll tell you what he will not tell me."
As they approached the entrance to the garrison hall, the guard on duty opened the doors for them. Beregond led Frodo through a large room with thick walls made of huge square stones that served as a refectory; there were several long tables, each beneath a narrow slit of a window that let in light, and a few guards sat eating their dinners. At the opposite end of the room, Beregond unlocked another door. There was a corridor beyond with small rooms that had originally been meant for guards on duty, but were now cells.
Only one cell was occupied, and its door was open. A young guardsman stood at the entrance, bearing a small loaf of bread and a bowl of stew on a tray. "You might as well eat, Cir," he said to the prisoner within the room. "Do you think to escape the gibbet by starving yourself to death?"
"No," said Cirandil, "I mean to live." Even before he and Beregond approached the cell door and Frodo saw the prisoner, he could hear the ragged edge of fear in Cirandil's voice. "I will not touch a bite, unless you join me."
"Is that why you wanted me to come here?" Frodo asked as he stepped into the doorway. "To taste your food?" He saw Cirandil now; the young Man, seated on the hard-looking bench of a bed against the far wall, had the haggard and haunted look of an animal at bay, but his expression brightened when he saw the hobbit.
"No, not you," he told Frodo. "You are in as much danger as I am, little one."
The guard tore a piece off the loaf of bread and dipped it into the stew. Cirandil watched him anxiously as he ate. "Does it taste odd to you?" he asked.
"It's more salty than I like, but wholesome," answered the young guard after he'd swallowed his mouthful. "It isn't poisoned, if that's what you fear. Will you have the rest now, Cir?"
"Leave it, Alaric. If you are still alive an hour from now, I will eat."
"The stew will be cold."
"But I will be certain then that it's safe."
The guard rolled his eyes, but at a nod from Beregond, he left the tray on a table by the door and went out.
"As you see, I've brought Frodo to you," Beregond said to Cirandil.
"Thank you for that, Captain," Cirandil replied. "Will you leave us now, I pray you? I want to talk to the little investigator alone."
"Surely you know I can't do that," said Beregond. "My Lord Elessar would never allow it."
"Do you think I'm too dangerous to be left with the little one?" the younger Man asked back with a hoarse and unpleasant laugh. "I don't intend to harm him, Captain, I promise you! But my words are for him and no other."
"I will stay alone and listen to what you have to say," said Frodo. "But if it has to do with these murders, you realize that I must repeat it to Captain Beregond and the King."
"I've no confession to make--at least, not as you think. I'd rather they not hear what I have to tell, but you are no soldier, Frodo. You might understand why I did... what I did." Cirandil glanced up at his captain, and his face went red. For all his size, he looked like a shame-faced boy who feared a scolding from his elders. Frodo felt sorry for the young Man, and at the same time was touched that Cirandil, for all his irrational stubbornness and defensiveness, had turned to him to confide in. He wondered what Cirandil was so anxious for Beregond not to hear.
"It's all right, Captain," Frodo said.
Beregond nodded solemnly and went out, but he left the door ajar and Frodo was certain he did not go far down the corridor.
"Why can't you tell them, if you've done nothing wrong?" the hobbit asked once he and Cirandil were alone.
"They will call it cowardice," Cirandil answered. "I am no coward! I've fought orcs many times in battle and been wounded grievously, and never once did I fly nor flinch at any blow. None may question my bravery. But how do I battle this?" He took a folded square of paper from the breast of his jerkin and gave it to Frodo. "I received it the day before I left the city. It was placed in my quarters at the guards' hall."
Frodo unfolded the note. The paper was somewhat worn, dirty, and crumpled at the edges, as if Cirandil had been carrying it with him for days. The words were in the Common Tongue; the letters looked somewhat oddly formed to hobbit eyes, but they were easy enough to read: Leave the Lady Tharya, else you and she will Die as the others did.
"Is this why you left the city?" he asked. "Do you have any idea who wrote it?"
"The one who poisoned my uncle and Caradan," replied Cirandil with another sour laugh. "I don't have to be an investigator to guess as much! But I don't know who it can be. Since I received it, I see enemies everywhere. All hands seemed turned against me. Every drop of water might be poisoned. I dared not eat a bite of food nor take a drink. It wasn't safe for me to stay in the city--I must leave or starve, or else eat and be certainly poisoned as my kinsmen were. They were brave Men as well, but it did not save them. And I thought of Tharya. She might be in danger because of me. It was for her sake as much as my own that I fled. Is she well?" he asked suddenly, eagerly. "Have you seen her, Frodo?"
"She's been sick with worry since you've gone, but she's come to no harm," Frodo told him.
Cirandil looked relieved to hear this. "But who knows about us? While I lived in the wild, I could eat what game I hunted myself and drink from clear streams, and know that she was safe as long as I was far from her. Now I am brought back, we are both in danger again." He sat forward and reached out to grab the hobbit by the arm; Beregond, who'd been watching from a discreet distance outside, came to the doorway. "Tell Tharya for me: eat or drink nothing unless it has been prepared by her own hands, or others eat it too," Cirandil hissed urgently. "You might do the same, little one. Have a care what you eat, if you wish to live to see your home again."
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