Ullathor continued his search through the city archives, focusing on the early reign of Ciryaher. In the days that followed, he had new information to offer each time Frodo visited the library, some of it extremely curious.
The oddest piece came from the old logs of a captain of the Guard, whose duties included making note of every stranger who appeared at the city gate and asked to enter. The arrival of the Elves was described in a brief paragraph, and the captain had noted that after these unusual visitors were escorted to the citadel to see the King, they were made welcome as guests in the house of Lord Aiglemerth. In light of what had happened afterwards, this struck Frodo as a very strange and alarming choice for lodgings.
He asked Faramir, who knew a great deal of the city's history, especially where it concerned the Stewards and his own family.
"In those days, the great hall in the citadel was a place for the king to confer with his council and hold audience," Faramir answered Frodo's questions. "The King's quarters then were not so large nor so fine as the royal apartments are today. There was no guards hall--the guards were quartered in the old garrison on the first level--and the guest chambers behind the great hall weren't built 'til around 2500, so there was no place for guests to stay. Distinguished visitors were welcomed into the homes of the noble families. In spite of what happened to them later, it was meant as a sign of the King's high esteem for the Elves that he sent them to his Steward's house."
"But all the same," said Frodo, "it must have been an awkward situation all around. The Elves can't have felt very welcome if they knew how Aiglemerth was advising the King to refuse them aid." He wondered: Had the Elves known how Aiglemerth was working against them? Could they have been aware of the danger they were in?
Faramir also confirmed that Aiglemerth's house had later become the House of Hurin, the same house where Frodo, Gandalf and Merry were living now.
"It was the house of Aiglemerth's family, I believe," he told Frodo. "It wasn't until Hurin, who came from Emyn Arnen, that the house was made the official residence of the Stewards. It sat empty for many years after Aiglemerth's death, since his family line died with him, and all subsequent Stewards were chosen from among the other great noble families of the city, who already had homes of their own in the same street."
"He was the last of his line?" asked Frodo. "But you said there was a son. Aigande. What happened to him?"
"Aigande died before his father. He was killed in battle during the wars with the Harad, as a matter of fact. There is a famous old poem about it, written in his memory. I'm sure the library will have a copy--ask Ullathor if you'd like to read it."
"Yes, I will. Thank you." Frodo wondered again about this son of Aiglemerth's. He had been a young Man at the time of the Elves' visit, and must have been living in his father's house when their remarkable visitors were there. What had he witnessed? Had he befriended the Elves? That would explain why he'd taken up their cause when his father was advising the King to do nothing.
The last piece of information that Ullathor discovered in the old treasury accounts merely confirmed what Frodo had already guessed: in 1020, King Ciryaher had commissioned workmen to close off the old stairway in the secret tunnel, as it had fallen into decay and become a danger; a new stair was built. A new door was also ordered to be cut at the foot of the stair, to open directly across from the Stewart's house, but even before this work had begun, the King ordered the gates to the tunnel locked and the passage closed to all. The secret way had remained shut until the end of his long reign. After his death in 1159, his son Atanatar Alcarin had the gates unlocked and the passage was reopened for a few years, until "certain disturbances" caused it to be closed permanently. The entrance to the tunnel was then bricked up.
These facts, more than anything, told Frodo that he was indeed on the right path to the truth. Although the accounts did not specify what "disturbances" had led the tunnel to be closed, he guessed that the ghost had made some appearances there too.
One night near Midsummer, Frodo dreamt that he stood again at the foot of the stairwell that went up into the citadel. He was alone, but the Elf he'd followed through the tunnels in his previous dream must have just gone upstairs; he could hear voices murmuring above, but their words were indistinct.
Suddenly, the Elf's voice cried out, "No! I refuse! I would not betray him so."
Frodo tried to move, but felt as powerless to take a step as he had the last time he'd stood here. He shouted the name, "Elspar!"
Then he woke. He wasn't at the foot of the stair in the citadel, as he'd expected, but in his own bed. The cord that bound him to Merry was still knotted about his wrist. His own voice rang in his head, almost as if he'd shouted aloud, but as his drowsiness dissipated, he realized that he also heard another, softer sound. Someone was weeping.
Frodo lifted his head from the pillow. "Merry?" But Merry lay quiet beside him, fast asleep.
He definitely heard the sobbing. This was no dream, nor the sound of wind in the chimney or rain gurgling in the gutters, for it was a clear and still night. The sound was growing louder; it seemed very near him in the darkness of the room... and yet at the same time, it seemed very far away, as if he were hearing it echoed from the other side of a vast chasm.
He sat up. There was no light in the room beyond glints of moonlight that shone through gaps in the window-curtains, but he could discern the shapes of familiar pieces of furniture: the table he used as a writing-desk; the large and looming wardrobe; the wash-stand in the corner; the chairs by the fire... and something else. Another shape sat huddled before the fire, a shape like a Man. Its head was down and the broad shoulders shuddered with each sobbing breath. It sounded as if its heart were breaking.
"Merry-!" Frodo hissed urgently under his breath, and shoved his cousin to try and wake him. "Merry, look!" He did not dare take his eyes from the figure seated at the hearth, for fear it would disappear the instant he turned away.
Merry stirred sleepily. "What is it, Frodo?"
"Look."
Merry lifted his head to look, saw, and sat bolt upright, his eyes wide. "Frodo-!" He grabbed his cousin's arm. "What is that? Who-?"
The two hobbits sat staring at the sobbing thing beyond the foot of the bed, not daring to move and disturb it, but not certain what they should do. What did one say to a weeping ghost? Could they speak to it? Would it answer?
Then there was an odd rippling in the air, like rings on the surface of a pond, and the shape was gone. The room was silent.
Merry let out a huff of breath. "You're probably used to seeing ghosts all over, Frodo, but I never have before. What a fright to wake up to! Was that your Elf?"
"I don't think so." It was hard to tell in this faint light, but this figure had seemed brawnier than the slender Elf in his dreams, and dark-haired while his Elf was silver-fair. "I think it was someone else."
"The other Elf, you mean?"
"Perhaps." But Frodo wondered--Who had slept in this same room in this house two thousand years ago? A new idea was beginning to take shape in his mind: the Elf might not have been killed over the matter of sending Men to Dol Goldur, but for another more personal reason.
I would not betray him so, the Elf had cried. Betray who? The other Elf? Elrond? Thranduil? Aigande? What had he been asked to do? And who had he been speaking to?
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