The excitement following the news of Cirandil's arrest hadn't died down--although the true reason for his continued detainment was a secret known only to a few people--but within days of the young Man's return, the city's inhabitants were talking of another surprising turn of events: there were to be changes in the King's council. Larengar spoke of retirement, which was not so astonishing for a man of his age and long years of service, but the much younger Imatibin had actually resigned.
Frodo saw the latter on his final day as a councilor. He had just returned from a ride with Eowyn and Merry; his friends had gone on to the stable with the mare and ponies, leaving him waiting before the great hall when Imatibin emerged and stopped short at the sight of him. It was an awkward moment. Frodo didn't know what to say.
Imatibin dismissed the hobbit's attempts at condolences. "At least, my brother's reputation has been redeemed," he answered tersely. "It seems that only one of us can be in favor at a time. I understand it was partly your recommendation that led the King to see Gefetibin, and I must thank you for that, Frodo--but I wonder if you made other recommendations to My Lord Elessar as well, hm?"
Frodo knew what Imatibin was insinuating. "I only reported what I discovered," he answered primly. "I never advised the King to expel you or anyone else. He hasn't, has he?" It would surprise him to learn that Aragorn had; although the matter had been settled quietly, without a scandal, Imatibin was right about Carathir's taking the treasury gold. It would be unfair to dismiss him over it.
"No, the King didn't ask me to leave, but it's obvious he finds me untrustworthy in light of your... discoveries." He frowned down at the hobbit. "The day Lord Elessar first introduced you to the council, young Cirandil said only what we all were thinking. How we smiled to see such a tiny, harmless-looking creature called a famous investigator! Had we known what lay behind that childish guise, we would've been more careful with our words to you."
"You took me for a fool and tried to use me against each other," Frodo retorted. "You can't blame me if your own tricks have turned back upon you."
"Oh, but I do," Imatibin hissed, and Frodo saw how bitterly this Man hated him. He recoiled at the intensity of the emotion directed at him, and if Merry had not returned just then to walk home with him, he would have fled.
As they walked down through the tunnel to the sixth level of the city, Frodo told Merry how Imatibin had frightened him. "It was really quite chilling, the way he glared at me. I wouldn't be at all surprised to find poison in my soup at dinner tonight--if we were having soup. Thank goodness we've taken precautions!"
Since Frodo had grown wary of poisoning, Merry carefully monitored everything his cousin ate: he went shopping every morning and locked the freshly bought food in the kitchen larder; he had the only key. He made Frodo's breakfasts, luncheon, and tea himself, and sat in the kitchen while the day-servant cooked dinner. No visitors were permitted in the kitchen. Merry had explained to the servant that these odd precautions were necessary for Frodo's health; the servant, who knew that the little master had been ill and knew nothing of the mysteries of medicine especially where halflings were concerned, took no offense.
As they approached Gandalf's house, they saw that a visitor in the hooded robe of a healer stood on the doorstep and was trying the latch. "The door's locked," Merry called out. This was another precaution.
At his voice, the visitor turned and they saw that it was Methilde.
"Hello!" Frodo greeted her. "Merry, you remember Methilde. I'm sorry," he explained to her as they came up to the front door, "but we keep the house locked up, and the day-servant is given firm instructions to admit no one when we aren't home."
This explanation only made the young herbalist look puzzled; Merry told her, "Frodo's been threatened by the poisoner."
Methilde went pale, then red. "But h- how? That's impossible. He's been arrested. All the city thinks so. It was Cirandil." A flicker of pain and anger crossed her face as she spoke his name. "Do you say now that he isn't responsible for my aunt's murder?"
"No," said Frodo, "I don't think he is." But he didn't tell her where his suspicions currently lay. "The poisoner is still active. He sent a note to Cirandil to warn him away--he and Tharya would be next if he saw her again."
"The lady of the court you told me about?"
"Yes, that's right. He's terribly afraid for her."
"Both are taking precautions against poison now too," added Merry. He unlocked the front door.
They went into Frodo's room. The hobbits invited Methilde to have tea with them, but she refused.
"I can't stay long. I only came to find out how you were after your illness," she told Frodo. "It's good to see that you looking so well. The Master Healer will also be pleased." As she looked around the room, her eyes found the table beside the bed; the last time she'd visited, a small bottle of medicine had sat upon it, but now it was gone. "Have you taken all the sleeping potion the Master gave you? We can have more sent up to you if you require it."
"That's very kind, but no, thank you," Frodo answered. "I haven't needed it lately. I've been sleeping quite well on my own." He smiled at Merry, who grinned in response. Since they'd become lovers, he hadn't dreamt once of Sam. "There's still plenty left, but I've put it away until I have need of it."
Methilde lingered awhile longer, until after Merry left them to make the tea and she saw that Frodo had settled comfortably in his chair by the fire. "I really must be going now, Frodo. I've other errands to attend to," she said as she went out. "I'm glad it isn't Cirandil. He was such a pleasant young man."
Contrary to Frodo's expectations, there was no poison in the dinner, and he didn't see Imatibin or any of the Council the following day. That night, he and Merry and Gandalf dined in the royal chambers.
The next afternoon after the luncheon hour, Beregond came to the house to see Frodo. His face was drawn and grim as he said, "You must come with me to the garrison hall, Frodo. One of the guardsmen there has died. It appears to be another poisoning."
Frodo felt a slow chill creep up his spine. "Not Cirandil?"
"No, not Cirandil. It was the guard who was set to keep watch on him. Alaric."
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