A/N: Enjoy today's update!
Chapter Three
Panic at the Ballroom
Amdirien awoke once more to the warm sun of Umbar lighting her spacious bedroom. She cursed whatever flapping, fluttering creature lived above her bed and loved to move around at night before making her way down to breakfast. She found Thorongil at their table unamused by the lack of cakes.
Captain Anders was running furiously about, seeing to matters of security for the night's royal ball. The local magistrates were terribly excited that they could now call it such, on account of the Princess's attendance. She for her part was nervous, though she wasn't sure why. While she had no experience attending such events with a gentleman at her side, she did not believe that was what bothered her. The Ranger was so loyal to her, and so cautious around her, that he didn't worry her in the slightest. There was something else; something vaguely frightening that she could not put her finger on but knew with certainty lay before her.
"Thorongil, are you looking forward to the ball?" she asked as he looked dejectedly at his plate.
Thorongil looked slowly up at her. "Take a guess."
"Then stay with my guard," she suggested. "Help with the defense. I'm worried, Thorongil. Something dreadful weighs on me, like I've never felt before."
Thorongil slowly nodded. Her tone worried him deeply.
"One other matter," added Amdirien. "You can speak to birds, can't you?"
"Yes…" replied Thorongil suspiciously.
"Well, can you go up to my room and tell off whatever lives in my rafters?" asked the Princess.
Thorongil laughed merrily. "Of course! That is why I came with you. First rate protection against birds! I also do small dogs and cats, for a reasonable surcharge."
He returned twenty minutes later. "She says she'll try to be quiet, but you ought to remember she was there first."
"Fair enough," replied the Princess.
That afternoon Amdirien met with many more bureaucrats and ministers of every imaginable office. Thorongil paced nervously about the palace, memorizing a great deal of the internal layout - though not all of it, as you shall later see.
The ball was suitably grandiose. No expense was spared; so much so that Amdirien could not help but think that surely they could be sending a bit more in taxes back to the royal treasury. She and Anders enjoyed a full orchestra, the best food imaginable, and met every high-ranking official in the city and the surrounding region. There was a great deal of dancing - far more than Anders was comfortable with - and many stories of war were told. At the latter, the Ranger excelled.
As the evening went on, Anders found to his great joy that he was not the only Ranger present. He eagerly introduced the captain of the Rangers in the south, Gadron, to Princess Amdirien. She politely shook his hand and let the two soldiers talk for a while.
"I need more wine," said Amdirien, reaching the bottom of her glass. "Would you like anything?"
"I can get that!" replied Captain Anders. "I'll only be a moment!"
"Nonsense," laughed the Princess. "You finally found someone interesting to talk too!"
"But Your Majesty..." objected Anders.
"I told you to call me Amdirien. You're not here as my servant; I shall get my own drink. Do you want anything?"
"No Your… Amdirien," replied Anders, audibly uncomfortable addressing her by her given name.
Amdirien smiled and walked off to the kitchens to find more wine. She found Pedron, Captain of the Tar-Minyatur, there for the same purpose.
"Enjoying your party?" he asked. "They clearly pulled out all the stops for this."
"Seeing as I arrived only two days ago I can hardly take credit for that," she laughed. "I wonder if they often hold such events? Even in Minas Tirith we rarely have such opulent gatherings."
"As a matter of fact they do," said Altazîr, joining them as well. "If they devoted half the effort to bringing order to this city as they spend dining and dancing, Umbar would be safe and secure."
As though to prove his point in the most horrifying fashion, there came suddenly a great sound of screaming from the hallway that led back to the ballroom. The cries were terrible to hear: surely it was murder, and they did not cease. Pedron, who had fought in the defense of Pelargir against the corsairs of Sauron, knew well the cries of men and women facing certain death. He knew immediately that an ambush and a slaughter must be upon them.
"We need to get you out of here!" he told the Princess decisively.
"Anders is back there!" she objected.
"There is nothing we could do to help him!" replied the sea captain, taking her by the arm with one hand and grabbing a particularly long carving knife in the other. "He would want you think only of your safety."
"Go through that door, turn left, then the third right, then the second left!" said Altazîr. He went rushing out of the room and turned right, to go back down towards to ballroom. "I'll try to marshal a defense!"
Amdirien dared not argue with Pedron. He had infinitely more experience in dangerous situations, and he was right - there was absolutely nothing they could do to help Anders. He led her exactly as Altazîr has suggested, and they came to a small door leading out of the palace. She could hear the sound of pouring rain outside. She went to turn the handle.
"Wait!" whispered Pedron. He looked up and saw a small glass window above the door: the sort one often finds when the ceiling is much higher than an exterior door frame. "I shall lift you up; tell me if you see anyone."
Captain Pedron slowly lifted the Princess up until she could just see the street outside. To her horror four figures in black hoods stood just beyond the door.
"Put me down!" she hissed, afraid to be seen. "Four men who look most unfriendly!"
Pedron quickly but quietly locked the door.
"I think I saw another way out, back a short ways," he said. "Follow me, as quietly as you can."
The snuck back a hundred yards and took a different turn. There were now sounds of fighting from many directions. The Dead Hand had made their play, and the men of Gondor seemed not to be faring well.
They came to another small door. This one had no glass.
"I'll slip out, and you lock the door behind me," said Pedron. "I'll knock in a common children's tune if its safe. Otherwise, you hide in a dark room and hope for the best!"
Amdirien nodded, shaking with fear. Pedron did as he said and after what felt like an age, but was really only thirty seconds, a Gondorian nursery rhyme was tapped on the door. Amdirien unlocked it and peered out.
"We need to hurry!" whispered Pedron.
Amdirien slipped out into the pouring rain. They were at the back of the palace. Not a soul was to be seen. They quickly scurried across an empty street and into an alley. The made their way between buildings until they had to cross a wide boulevard which led by the palace. Leaning out from their small side-street they could see the door they would have left by earlier. Four black cloaked figures stood in the gloom.
"Don't run across," cautioned Pedron. "They have no reason to suspect we have anything to do with their business. We are just two pour souls caught in this dreadful storm walking home."
Amdirien nodded, too frightened to speak. They boldly crossed the road. She dared not look to see if their foes marked their passage. As soon as they had crossed they made their way with deliberate speed towards the docks. Pedron meant to lead her back to his ship, and isolate her from the rest of the city. They walked for hours, trying when they could to hide from unnecessary eyes.
"Tell me about yourself," stammered Amdirien through labored breaths. She hoped his voice would calm her nerves.
"I have been a captain for more than half my life," he replied. "I commanded a small ship in the battle at Pelargir against the corsairs during the War of the Ring. Since then I have turned down every promotion beyond captain; you can't do as much good from an admiral's office, I think."
"They don't get to save Princesses," he added with a smile and a pat on her back. "You'll get through this, I promise. Next week we'll be celebrating my hundred birthday, and the horrors of tonight will feel like just a bad dream."
"One hundred!" gasped Amdirien. "You don't look it."
"My wife says otherwise!" Pedron laughed. "Me and the other captains used to joke that that was what we were fighting for: beat Sauron's legions so one of us could reach the century mark. I'm the last of that bunch, I'm afraid, but I haven't long to go."
They approached the dock where the Tar-Minyatur stood docked, towering even above the other warships along the waterfront. It was nearly midnight, and the storm made it hard for Amdirien to see more than twenty yards in front of her, save when lightning struck. Pedron's first officer stood on the pier, which looked oddly abandoned.
"This feels wrong," Pedron whispered. "Why is only my first mate in sight? I do hope the enemy hasn't taken the ship! Wait here, while I go investigate."
Amdirien waited by the building closest to the pier while Pedron went to inquire as to the situation.
"What news?" he cried. "Is the ship secure."
"It's rather complicated sir," Amdirien heard his officer reply.
"Well do explained…" began the captain.
Then in a flash of lightning Amdirien saw that the first mate held a drawn sword by his side. Before she or Pedron realized what was happening, his first mate stabbed him through the stomach and pushed him into the sea. Amdirien's heart froze. Her last ally was dead, and at the hand of his own officer. She was alone, betrayed, and surrounded by potential foes. Anders might already be dead, and Thorongil was nowhere to be seen.
She felt very dizzy, and she stumbled for the door of the building she huddled against. Her only thought was to go away from this terrible place. To her surprise she found that she stumbled into a tavern, and a busy one at that. Then to her horror she found that many of the men in the tavern were sailors and soldiers from the Tar-Minyatur.
She took a seat at the end of the bar and turned her head to the wall.
"What'll it be?" asked the barman.
"What?" she replied. "Nothing at the moment. I must first dry off a bit, if you don't mind, before I can even think of food. Do you know…"
Suddenly she was cut off by the sound of a voice she knew, and as she recognized it she grew even more afraid than she had been outside. It was the first mate.
"We sail for Gondor!" he roared. He then began giving orders to his men.
Of all the terrors and excitement Amdirien would face in Umbar, it was these moments that were the hardest for her to bear. Every second felt like an hour. The first mate knew her - he had dined with her more than once on the voyage south. At any moment he might spot her, sitting in a corner, and that would be the end of her. She sat silent, looking away from him, praying to Elbereth and all the Valar that he wouldn't notice her, but as he droned on and on she lost hope.
"Everyone get a move on, last man to the ship sleeps on the deck!" he roared, and all his men rushed out.
Then she heard footsteps walk up to her. She closed her eyes and silently begged the Valar for their protection.
"Have you decided if you want something?" said the barman's voice.
She carefully turned to look at him. The first mate was gone, along with his men.
