OBSIDIAN

By

Celebsul, ErinRua and Sevilodorf

Being the Second Part of the Stones Trilogy

Chapter One

14th February
Emyn Arnen

Darien sat with his long hands clasped between his knees, head stooped. A low table beside his chair reflected his image back from its highly polished surface. There was more grey at his temples now, he noted fleetingly, but his main thoughts swarmed with the words he had rehearsed time-and-time again.

A sigh escaped his lips. Waiting. Almost all he had done recently was wait. He was a man of deeds, not words and waiting. Though a landed lord, he fought and farmed - well, once he did. Now his fingers twitched in protest at their inaction. Sitting up, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a small stone. It sparkled in his hand like black glass, a memento given by an elf to a Ranger Captain to pass on to Darien. The ranger, Halbarad, had repeated the elf's words as requested. "Obsidian - fused from the depth of Mount Doom - thus even the most fearsome thing can bring forth beauty. The stone will help transform darkness into light, despair into hope."

A slight smile touched Darien's features. He had thought often of this gift. It was the mirror to his soul. His own unintended dark deeds had led him to despair. And his self-imposed penance was to bring hope to the small band of orcs that he had once sought to exterminate. Where then he had thought all such creatures evil beyond redemption, now he sought for them to be given the protection of the law.

Leaning back to stretch his neck, Darien's hand swept through his black hair, a spark of thought glimmering again briefly on how these last days had increased the grey. The inner changes were too dramatic not to have left such marks on his external appearance. No doubt the lines in his face were deeply etched from recent grief; the loss of his oldest and dearest friend. And from the shame of knowing that his actions had led to that death and to others.

He had also endangered the life of an innocent woman, and deserved a major share of the blame for the injuries she suffered. Yet she sought no revenge, the lady Sevilodorf, wanting only that he succeed in his mission to find justice for the likes of the orc, Gubbitch and his band, and the small uruk-hai, Nik, who dwelt in peace with his fearful friend, Russ the Beorning.

Thinking back, Darien recalled the day when he and his men had been forced to realise that not all of Sauron's minions could be simply dismissed as beasts. From the wreckage of his failed mission to slaughter them, those orcs had worked tirelessly to rescue friend and enemy alike.

After came the reckoning, when amidst the dead and wounded, a pact was forged from the tangled steel of many opposing certainties. Who does not think their own measure of what is right is the true right? All those gathered in that place had been good, kind people, yet they had struggled bitterly to find a way forward that could be accepted by each of them.

Now in his palm, the obsidian, mined by an orc, given to an elf and passed on to a man in the hope of strengthening his resolve; so many fates and friendships rested upon Darien's success or otherwise. As he gazed down, his hand began to tremble. Making a fist, he gripped the stone tightly and inhaled a deep breath.

In battle Darien had been strong and fearless, but what awaited him was a very different fight, what he needed was a very different strength, and fearlessness was beyond him. Even if he were to win, he would be vilified by many who once thought well of him. What honour he had, and that was precious little now, would be stripped from him, and it would feel worse than the stripping of skin. He knew as a certainty that he would face contempt, for the person he had been just a few days before would despise any man who attempted to defend the obviously indefensible.

A slight twinkle reached Darien's blue eyes as an image suddenly sprang to mind. He was standing before the King's Justices in a vast courtroom, and at his own side towered the horrendous figure of Sauron. "Your Lordships, I know this being has done much wickedness in the past, but he has promised to reform and live amongst us in peace. I plead that Sauron be granted amnesty." Darien might have laughed out loud but at that moment the door opened, bringing him to his feet and his senses.

xxx

A Cave in Mordor

The cave was cold and damp, devoid of any comfort for the dying orc. His last meal had been over a week ago - a dead rat that had probably also starved in this barren wilderness. It had all been a stupid mistake. He did not regret leaving the pack, but he should have risked venturing amongst men. At worst, it would have resulted in a swift death, not this lingering torture of hunger and feebleness. He could do no more now than move his head to lick at the water trickling down the cave wall.

He'd escaped from the pack in early winter by pretending to go hunting. Had he announced that he intended giving up the robbing and killing of men, his fellows would have executed him on the spot. An orc that did not fight the enemy was both insane and useless. But he had not been insane, just weary of the endless battles and brutality. One of the oldest orcs to survive the last war, he possessed wisdom enough to know that his breed were doomed to dwindle and die out, lacking the guiding will of an overlord equal to Sauron.

It was one thing to struggle for dominion, to hope to become the elite and have mortals bow in deference, but that could not happen now. Even the haughty elves had conceded governance of this land to men. But the other orcs carried on like a careering chariot without a driver, taking down whatever stood in their path but heading ultimately to their own destruction.

At least he had made a choice, taken his fate into his own hands. But then his wanderings led him into a region where winter bit cruel and hard, and after struggling to feed himself, he had foolishly eaten unknown berries. They made him ill. For weeks now he had been losing weight and strength. His body oozed with sores and his bones gleamed pale through tissue-like skin. Much of the time, his mind wandered in mist while he waited for the end.

And what of that end? What ultimate destiny stretched before him? Did Mandos keep a hall for orcs? Would Eru claim kingship over their distorted souls? Or was he bound for the same void where Melkor dwelt? The latter he feared, for he had spent his long life in the service of the dark lord and his dreadful captain. Had he tried living among men, he could have done something redeeming, something that the Valar might regard as 'good'. He was not sure what, he did not fully understand 'good', but he bitterly regretted the missed chance.

The orc's head rolled back, and in his final, fevered dream, he walked towards the city of Emyn Arnen.

xxx

Northern Ithilien

The Inn of The Burping Troll stood rooted firmly in the earth of Northern Ithilien, a bulwark against both weather and foes and a welcoming haven for any weary travellers who might be seeking the eastward roads. This time of year, however, travellers were few and far between. Shadowy green firs and the sculpted bones of barren oak and ash kept watch along the roadside and also over the brown patch of garden behind the inn. The earth slept still in winter's embrace, and for at least one inhabitant of the inn, spring would be welcome.

Erin the hobbit sighed deeply as she gazed upon the tangle of dead stems that marked the tidy rows. Long months had passed since the last fruits of the kitchen garden were harvested and she and her two hobbit-lass friends completed their preserves for winter use. She was ready for the welcome sight of growing things, for the green heads of jonquils to thrust forth from rich loam, for ferns to curl up from deep beds of fallen leaves and the bright faces of violets to nod along the stream banks. She missed green grass to roll in and vendors selling flowers in Henneth Annûn and above all, she would give almost anything for a fresh sweet carrot.

Once more she sighed, and poked a furry toe at the withered remains of last autumn's pumpkin vine. A crunch of footsteps reached her keen ears then, and she looked up. Someone was walking out there in the woods, and they were not taking any particular pains to go quietly.

The hobbit lass waited, peering through the grey boles of the sleeping wood. Seconds later a dark form appeared among the trees, lurching along in a peculiar, unlovely stride that bespoke only one creature of Middle Earth; an orc.

Erin squinted - then smiled.

"Gubbitch!" she called. "You silly thing, why don't you use the road?"

The gnarled figured stumped and crunched his way towards her, mashing an ungainly path through a briar thicket before coming at last into weak February sunlight. His dark, grim face contorted into what passed for a smile amongst his kind, a smile of many fearsome and colourful teeth.

"Ah don't reckon tha'd want likes of me to fright tha customers, eh?"

"Oh, for pity's sake -." Erin laughed a merry tinkle of sound. "They already left! And it was only some of the king's road surveyors."

One gnarled shoulder lifted then dropped. "Dunno wot's to survey. Ro-wad is reet where they left it."

"Why, I suppose it is at that!" Dimples appeared in the hobbit's round cheeks.

Gubbitch peered then at the bare garden and cocked his scarred head. "Is tha lookin' for summat?"

"No …" Erin's gaze returned to the somnolent earth and the smile slipped wistfully from her face. "I'm wishing for spring, I think. I miss flowers and fresh fruit. I want all the trees green again. I wonder what people are doing down in Henneth Annûn. I wonder what Mistress Devana might be sewing for spring clothes." Once again she gave a great sigh. "And I think I could almost use just a bit of a holiday."

"'Oliday?"

The orc's quizzical look - or what she read as quizzical - clearly indicated that the term had no meaning to him, and Erin giggled.

"A holiday is few days in which to do absolutely nothing but what one wants to do."

"Oh." Gubbitch's brow wrinkled even more hideously. "Ah does that most every day."

Hobbit laughter rang out, and Erin's mood fell away. "Well, come in, then."

Nor was there the least strangeness in the fact that she turned her back towards that ancient enemy or that there was no hostility in his intent. After all, this was the infamous Burping Troll, and the fact of a reclusive band of "rehabilitated" orcs living nearby was but one of many peculiar tales told. How any orcs had found soul or conscience to live as anything but killers and marauders was a mystery even they could not answer.

As Erin started towards the kitchen door she began enumerating on her fingers. "We have sausages left from breakfast and sweet buns and Meri is just finishing a great big pot of chicken soup and she promised dumplings too. And we're all out of buttermilk - in fact, I'd hope someone is going to Henneth Annûn for that and some more cheese - but we have lots of butter and fresh bread and I just know you must be famished. Oh, and we still have some pumpkin pie and I found some more blackberry jam."

"Did tha, now?" Yellowed eyes brightened, and the orc lumbered after the hobbit's round form.

xxx

Emyn Arnen

Faramir himself held the open the heavy oak door inviting Darien into his office. The prince was unfamiliar with the landholder, but he had used the time since this minor lord's arrival into his custody to find out as much about him as possible.

On the other hand, Darien had seen Faramir before, albeit at a distance, and had heard rumours of his scholarship. Nothing immediately marked the prince out as a warrior, or someone of high office, but as the lord approached his superior, his eyes met the unwavering steel-blue gaze that told of determined power and authority. Darien bowed to his prince before entering.

Nodding his acknowledgment, Faramir said, "I apologise that I have kept you waiting so long. Please take a seat."

As his glance swept around the office, Darien noted that this was not a room of state, but a relatively small place in which the prince probably carried out his everyday paperwork. However, arched windows along one wall bathed the surfaces in the mellowing light of late afternoon, and a banked fire glowed warmly in the fireplace. The few chairs were of the same type, the same height and the same practical level of comfort. Darien sat down and watched with trepidation as Faramir detoured around the desk, seated himself and drew a wad of papers to the fore.

"You are petitioning for the rights of orcs, yet you are … or were an orc hunter? Am I right?" the prince asked.

Darien was expecting exactly this. He replied without nod or change of expression, "Yes."

'This man seems a coil of repressed emotions,' Faramir thought, and then tried to thaw the stiffness out of him. "I must confess to having hunted orcs all my life, like most men. I still do. My records show that you are well respected, and admired by those who owe fealty to you. You have conducted yourself in the field of battle with honour. I hear that you had compassion even for the enemy, where it was due."

"Yes," Darien repeated mechanically then in the ensuing silence he felt obliged to elaborate. "A man may be misguided or coerced to fight alongside the enemy. Once he has seen and accepted the error of his ways, it would be wrong to hold his past against him. If an enemy can become an ally, then our troops are strengthened and our opponents' are weakened."

Faramir nodded then spread his hands on the desk, either side of Halbarad's petition. "But now you make pleas for creatures other than men, for orcs that were bred to be evil."

Darien bowed his head. "If you think that makes me a fool or a traitor, then you judge me no more harshly than I judged others."

Smiling, unseen, Faramir explained, "I have recently met some of the orcs who dwell near The Burping Troll; the same that I believe brought you to a change of mind. They seem no threat; in fact they are held in esteem by some people whose opinions I value."

Darien looked up at his prince, a tinge of colour rising to the peaks of his cheekbones. Then he relaxed by the merest fraction. "You did not have problems with such a contradiction?"

"I know the rangers there very well. When they told me those orcs are peaceful, I listened and reserved my judgement. The rangers proved correct, as far as I can discern."

"Then you are wiser than I for I could not accept that when I was told."

The prince now shook his head. "I said I knew and trusted the people. To you they were strangers. I am not condoning your actions, but you stand accused of no recognised crime. Sevilodorf of Rohan will not condemn you. She wishes nothing more than that your petition will succeed."

Darien's only response was to cast his glance briefly towards one of the tall windows, maybe to draw some of that light into his soul.

Continuing, Faramir explained, "For that to happen, we need much more information, more evidence. Are the orcs of The Burping Troll the only exceptional ones, or is this something that needs addressing across the whole kingdom? Are there instances where men befriended orcs only to be later slaughtered in their sleep? If the Grand Council is to consider this matter, we need facts and witnesses, we need a full and honest account of the truth."

The light and the prince's words had kindled a glimmer in Darien's eyes. "Yes, sire. For if there is any situation we have not assessed, any argument we have not heard, then it will surface at the council as proof that whoever presents the case has been negligent; there will be many more people who wish this to fail than who want it to succeed. The slightest flaw will be used to rip the petition to threads."

"More than that, Lord Darien." Faramir finally graced the man with his name and title. "I will not allow this to go forward unless I am fairly certain it will both succeed and command wide support; otherwise the cost to the kingdom would be too dear. We are struggling to rebuild cities, lives, and trust between men. To ask an unwilling population to accept and even protect some of our lifetimes' enemies would be to divide the loyalty of the realm. I will not risk that. You must construct a case that will change hearts as well as minds, and if you cannot, then the law will stand as it is."

"That is not going to be easy," Darien admitted.

A wry expression twisted Faramir's mouth. "No, I'd say almost impossible. And I cannot even offer you any assistance; it is essential that I remain impartial."

Nodding in agreement, Darien reflected for a moment then explained, "I still have a few resources, and maybe there are one or two people who would help or advise me."

"I hope so." The prince rose to his feet.

Darien immediately did likewise; etiquette between nobility and royalty required it.

Faramir dismissed the lord with as kindly words as he could, "Go and build your case, Lord Darien. Return if and when you are sure you can persuade me to allow it before the Council."

Darien bowed, but delayed his departure for a final question. "Sire, this may take me a long time. Meanwhile, what of the safety of the orcs at the inn?"

"The rangers will do their best to ensure no more hunters go after them. Orcs may be outside the law, but any that choose to live in peace will have some measure of protection, as much as the king's men are willing and able to provide."

With a nod of gratitude and a final deep bow, Darien left the room contemplating what his next action should be.

xxx

It had been the first day of February when Captain Halbarad rode with Darien to Henneth Annûn. From there, other rangers escorted the repentant orc hunter on to Emyn Arnen and into the palace of Prince Faramir, a journey of three days in total.

Once at the palace, Darien had been informed of the prince's absence by a rather haughty chamberlain. "Prince Faramir has important duties that will keep him away from the city for quite a few days. I'm instructed, sir, to give you quarters in which to wait until the prince returns."

The rooms allocated to Darien were as befits a royal residence, but despite being well housed and fed, the days had crawled past, each one longer than the previous. In all that time, the only person he spoke to was the chamberlain. The man was insufferably formal, maintaining a cold distance by the use of impersonal addresses, 'your lordship' or 'sir'. He appeared three times a day to pompously announce each meal as a silent young woman carried it into the room.

Darien's audience with Faramir did not take place until the fourteenth of the month, much later than he had ever imagined. And after the audience there was little of the day remaining in which to start the long ride back to Henneth Annûn. But start he did, for he could not endure another minute of waiting.

xxx

"How did it go?" Eowyn's bright blue eyes danced with interest and concern as she looked across the small dining table that she and her husband used when they were alone.

Faramir cocked his head to one side, a variety of subtle expressions animating his face. His wife referred to the interview with Darien, a subject about which they had both worried. "I wish I could have offered more support and encouragement, help even."

"I know," Eowyn responded with sympathy, gesturing for Faramir to begin his soup. "But we agreed that we cannot be seen to take sides. It is hard though, especially when you consider those interesting orcs that we met at Halbarad and Elanna's wedding. But, as you have said, how do we know if they are rare exceptions? To risk a divisive legal challenge for a handful of orcs who can be just as safely guarded by rangers …"

"Is using a sledgehammer to crack a nut," Faramir finished Eowyn's sentence, pointing with his spoon at her own neglected bowl. "But I still feel uncomfortable, allowing the man to take the burden upon himself …" Then, in response to his wife's raised eyebrows, "Yes, it was his choice and, in some measure, to ease his feelings of guilt, I suspect."

Eowyn smiled then explained quietly, "I feel far more uncomfortable about leaving him for so long with no other company than Willelmus."

Laughing gently at the reference to their chamberlain, Faramir agreed. "Unfortunate timing. There was the wedding to attend and messages to be sent to and from Elessar. Everyone was particularly busy, due to our preparations and subsequent absence."

He lowered his voice and continued, "Willelmus, being the only one on our staff who cannot do other than his birthright-assigned role, was the obvious person to leave in charge of guests. Though he has since complained that it was beneath his dignity to have to tend our orc-hunting lord."

Eowyn's eyes widened. She put down the glass of wine from which she had been about to sip. "The nerve of the man!" she exclaimed in outrage, but then suddenly started giggling.

"What?" Faramir wanted to share in this amusement.

"Could we exchange him for one of those orcs at the inn? I'm sure they'd do a better job."

Luckily, the prince was neither eating nor drinking at this moment, for laughter exploded from his mouth. When he had recovered sufficiently, he replied, "Oh, Eowyn, please don't tempt me."

Composing her features, the princess turned back to more serious matters. "Darien will no doubt find assistance on his endeavour. I'm sure the folk at the Troll will help, and his comrade, Horus, said he would return to the inn as soon as possible."

It was now Faramir's eyes that widened with shock.

"What?" Eowyn asked, though she had a sinking feeling that she knew what her husband was about to say.

"I forgot to tell him."

"Oh, Faramir! You get all tied up in matters of state and sometimes let small, but important things get lost."

"It is not lost," the prince declared, ringing a small bell that resided on the table.

Within moments, Willelmus entered the room. "You wished something, sire?"

"Yes. Take a message to Lord Darien. Inform him that the man called Horus has escorted the two injured boys back to the Blackroot Vale, but he will be returning."

The chamberlain sniffed. "I'm sorry, sire, but the lord has left already. He said he would be riding out immediately. Shall I compose a letter instead?"

With a sigh and a rueful glance at his wife, Faramir shook his head. "No, Willelmus. That will be all."

xxx

TBC ...