Okay, my dears. Newest chapter up and ready to go. No questions or comments from the previous chapter, so I don't really have too much to say. I hope that I did justice to the white wizard, and continue to do so in this chapter as well. I hope to hear some feedback. We are ever closer to the next part of the story and the end of this part of the tale. I hope you are enjoying yourselves, because I am!
Chapter 13 - Getting a Clue
James' scales across his face were dulled with a layer of dirt as he worked; his sharp claws more effective at digging into the soil than a hand rake. They were in one of the Greenhouse nurseries of Imladris, and James was helping Tesare tend to some of the delicate plants and to plant the seeds of a few new ones to be ready for planting in the spring.
The whole room smelled of earth and greenery. James liked the smell; it was a smell of life and renewal. His time in Rivendell had been quite enjoyable these past few years. Though the initial mistrust had made it impossible for him to go anywhere alone, his patient tending of the hearts of the inhabitants of Imladris had paid off. He was trusted amongst the people, his chief supporter being Lord Elrond.
He looked over at Tesare as she worked. She was more subdued now, her heart burdened for the loss of her husband. But James believed that the timely discovery of her pregnancy had saved her. She was a very lovely elf- well that was stupid to say…as all elves were so frigging beautiful. But James found that the elves he actually liked were more apt to be found lovely in his eyes than the elves he found annoying or just did not like at all.
For example: Even Lord Elrond had his own deeply tragic handsomeness. His face, while smooth, was shadowed with a kind of grief that no man should bear. His bearing was regal and solemn, and though the weight of his past would have broken the shoulders of lesser Elves, and taken the hearts of Men, Elrond stood tall and proud.
And on the other hand there was a 'special' elf by the name of Saerlas who, despite the years James had spent in Rivendell, hated James with a fiery purple passion. James found him condescending and arrogant. And because of that his good looks seemed superficial and annoying. James went out of his way to make special kinds of hell for Saerlas. The male elf was in charge of various house-hold duties that were integral but boring in their domesticity. James liked to mess with that boring little schedule. Misplacing towels, 'accidentally' putting purple dye into the man's personal soap that was invisible until it touched hair….
They hated each other quite equally.
"Well, Naurlam, I do believe we have done what we can for the day," Tesare's melodious voice sounded. James placed the large seed of the plant they were working with into the hollow he had dug, before spreading the softened soil back over it. Then he sprinkled some water over it to moisten the seed and soil, before dusting off his claws over the bucket.
Tesare stood slowly, her round belly an impediment to speed. Elven pregnancies were both similar and dissimilar to human pregnancies in many ways. The child grew at the same rate. That nine-month span of growth followed by the delivery. They were also moody little bitches. James would never speak it aloud even if he could, but pregnant women were by far some of the most unstable people he had ever been introduced to…and he had been in the presence of a frigging Dark Lord.
According to what he had picked up, the deliveries were also a bit different. Not so much in mechanics, but elven deliveries were a bit less…..violent. Less blood, less pain, much more beautiful. It was a bit unfair to the human women, in his humble male opinion, but he wasn't the one who wired the plumbing at Creation, so he couldn't say anything.
The past months had been quite entertaining for James. It was a learning experience and a TV drama, all rolled up into one nice, pregnant package. Apparently elf pregnancies were few and far between, not having the need to reproduce in a rabbit-like persistence like their human counterparts. Pregnant elf-women were celebrated and damn-near worshipped. And when it had become common knowledge that it was he that had most likely saved the unborn life inside her, he also became a bit more liked around Rivendell. But because she was almost a celebrity just for being pregnant, she could get away with a metric shit-ton of shenanigans. James was impressed.
Tesare liked to bake. A lot. It was another one of those quirks of expecting women. He had lots and lots of aunts and uncles, and all of his aunts had developed some sort of quirk or hobby that they did repeatedly during their pregnancies. His Aunt Hermione cleaned the bookshelves. At anyone's house. Didn't matter where they were, if she was there and there was a book shelf, that thing was damn-well getting cleaned. His Aunt Penelope (Uncle Percy's wife) had taken to sewing. He himself had benefitted from that hobby when she made him a pair of sturdy woolen slippers. He would love to have another pair of those…
"Oh, Dragon, I feel very tired today," Tesare commented, trudging slowly with her hilarious little pregnant waddle. James snickered behind her and she didn't even turn around to smack him in the nose with the wicker basket she had been carrying seeds in. "Doesn't matter if they have scales or not, men are unappreciative…" she grumbled.
Doesn't matter if they have pointy ears or not, women are bloody confusing. James grumbled to himself, reaching up to rub his snout.
"Move your feet, Ithilrhas. You have already been dead twice over!"
Draca only just dodged the heavy swing of the sword of the man in front of her, her chest heaving with exhaustion. She brought up her elven blade in time to deflect the second swing he aimed at her, but a twist of his blade knocked hers from her hand. It was flung in a wide arc, catching the light of the afternoon sun before it stuck solidly in the dirt. The man's sword tip rested coldly against her neck.
"Do you yield?" the man asked, a grin on his broad face.
"Yes," she gasped. He lowered the blade and Draca collapsed to her knees, huffing like the Hogwarts Express.
"Very disappointing."
She looked up at Saruman as he stood regally at the gate of the practice field. She struggled to her feet, wiping her sweating hands on her pants and moving sluggishly to retrieve her sword. Saruman had insisted she learn sword handling, and he said that the men of Rohan were good at the skill and were not averse to teaching a woman. Their shield-maidens were legendary.
"She's getting better, Lord Saruman. But you're right…she needs to move her feet," the swordsman said amicably. Draca dusted the dirt from her blade and sheathed it with only the small whisper of steel against leather.
"Come, Ithilrhas, we will eat in my quarters before we practice your magic," Saruman said shortly, turning in a small whirl of his white robes and walking away. Draca drooped a bit. While it was true that she had been beaten soundly, she had lasted much longer than she ever had, and even got in a few good swings of her own! She felt a large, warm hand on her shoulder and turned her head to see her sparring partner giving her an encouraging smile.
"He's always brusque, dear Lady. I find your progress pleasing and well on-schedule for someone of your stature and bearing," he said. He was a handsome man, with the common blond hair of the Rohirrim and the beard to match. Draca found the people of Rohan to look almost Swedish or German…some of the bigger warriors, though, looked like some angry figures out of Norse mythology.
She liked their beer. And they found it surprising not because she was a woman, but because she was a woman who wasn't from Rohan. Her silver blonde hair didn't fit in with their golden locks.
She walked on tired legs back to the quarters her teacher held in Meduseld. He was a respected member of almost every society, and there were perks to being counted as one of the Wise and being a friend of the free peoples. The room was well decorated, a large window letting in natural light to illuminate the rich tapestries and finely carved bed frame.
A table was set up near the window and their lunch was already sitting there beneath covers. He politely saw her to her seat and then took his own chair, removing the covers of their plates with flair. But then again, Draca thought wryly, the White Wizard rarely did anything without flair.
They ate in silence, their sustenance being a tasty soup with vegetables and a piece of soft brown bread to eat with it. Saruman drank from a chalice of fragrant wine and Draca preferred clear water when the sun was up. They had done this each day in the several months that they had been in Rohan. Draca would rise early and practice her bow with the archers to warm up before practicing her swordplay until lunch. After a meal with her teacher in his quarters, she would practice her magic with the White Wizard.
Magic in this world was so familiar and yet utterly foreign. This magic was just a bending of one's Will and using the element of magic to attain what one wished. Basically, all she had to do is want something, and then let her magic accomplish it for her. It was much less confined than the precise, narrow channeling of the magic in her own world. She wasn't sure which one she liked better. On one hand, the magic of Arda was very easy to cast, even if it took practice to wield it well, while on the other hand if one knew the proper spells, a much more powerful version of this magic could be cast.
They sat opposite each other on the thick rug as they meditated. The curtains had been drawn, casting the room into darkness. One candle sat between them, the flame sputtering and flickering as if in a windstorm as the invisible magic swirled about them.
"Asatoma sad gamaya
Tama soma jyotir gamaya
Mritorma amritam gamaya."
Draca was unfamiliar with the language that the chant was in, but the words spoke of ancient wisdom and power. He had taught her the chant the first time they had meditated. It was simple and easily remembered, but the magic that it drew in could be overwhelming to control.
Magical meditation always left her feeling tired and worn. A magically exhausted Draca stumbled from Saruman's quarter, her hair mussed from the tremulous waves of magic. She was unaware of the conversation of the guards as she trudged back to her own room.
"Great Béma above…that man gets more action than a war-horse!" One guard mumbled to his companion, watching as the green-robed Lady Wizard trudged back to her room. They didn't understand the meetings that went on between the two wizards in the afternoons, and so their minds supplied a reason for the thoroughly ruffled appearance of the lady.
"I believe she gets ridden just as often!" his companion supplied, and the two snickered at their own joke. "Seriously, though….the girl is absolutely edible. She's got the look of Elves about her…have you seen? She has the pointed ears. Rumor has it that Elves have a sensitivity about their ears, be it to sound or touch. I'd sure like to test that…" he growled.
"She's the ward of the White Wizard. It doesn't take a genius to know that he is a selfish man. He would peel the skin off of your back and blow you up like one of Mithrandír's fireworks!" the first guard argued.
"I bet I could make that wizard bitch keen like a wolf in heat," his companion continued. "She comes to drink with the soldiers sometimes. I would bet three silver coins she is just too shy to ask anyone for a good fuck. All she needs is a strong man to approach her." He said, nodding to himself.
"Ai, man…when you're sailing over the moon with your entrails on fire I don't want to hear any of your whining!"
She held the mug of ale in one hand, laughing at the antics of two dancing soldiers. They were quite plastered already, and were giving quite a rowdy performance of some Rohirric drinking song. She couldn't understand all of their slurred words, but she caught the word 'horse' a lot. Which was both amusing and disturbing.
Several other women dotted the pub, most of them serving, but there were a few others that were there simply for the enjoyment of the ale and atmosphere.
"Hello there, Lady Wizard."
She looked up, recognizing the handsome face of one of the guards from the Meduseld.
"Hello there, dear guardian of the palace," she said politely, nodding her head. Her hair was pulled mostly off of her face, allowing a few of the silvery strands to dance over her shoulders and contrast with the green cloak she wore.
"Name's Brinley, my Lady," he said, bowing low before the Green Wizard.
"You must call me Ithilrhas then, sir Brinley!" she laughed.
"Aye, fair Lady Ithilrhas. What brings you to gift us mere mortals with your presence?" he asked conversationally. She placed the mug down on the bar.
"I enjoy the atmosphere. It's very….happy here." She said, glancing around at the laughing faces. A man drew out a well-worn fiddle and was met with roars of approval from the people. He struck up a lively tune, and suddenly Brinley grabbed her hand.
"Dance with me, magic-weaver!" he laughed, swinging her into his arms. She shrieked with laughter as they twirled about amongst the other bodies, laughing and dancing as though the world stood still but for a few precious moments. When the song ended, the crowd roared for another one, and Brinley drew a breathless Draca back in for another dance.
She finally managed to convince him to let her sit for a breath. He led her back to her seat, sitting her down on the stool and bowing over her hand. His mustache tickled her hand when he kissed her fingers.
"I was honored to dance with you, Lady Ithilrhas," he said. She picked up her mug and saluted him with a laugh. His grin broadened when she drank, and he bowed to her once more before slipping off into the crowd.
She only ever allowed herself one mug of ale. She paid her due with a coin from the small allowance Saruman gave her, and headed for the door. The ale wasn't sitting well with her tonight and she wanted to rest so that she would be refreshed for archery tomorrow.
The cool air felt very good. She hadn't even realized she was sweating until the droplets of moisture on her skin super-cooled in the night air of Rohan. She shivered and drew her cloak tight around her. She took several steps forward and stumbled. Strong hands grasped her arm, pulling her up gently. She raised an unsteady gaze to the face of her rescuer.
"Brrllly…" she slurred the name terribly as she felt the world tilt dangerously.
"A good thing I noticed the lady looking a bit grey. Allow me to help you." She nodded, but regretted it immediately as she almost lost her supper on Brinley's boots. He walked with her gently, the blonde wizard leaning heavily against him as she stumbled onward. They seemed to walk forever before she vaguely heard the opening of a door. She was ushered inside and heard the soft snick of a lock.
Her thoughts were as clouds in a hand, slipping airily from her grasp and scattering wildly. She could not understand why Brinley had followed her into her room and locked the door behind them. She took a step forward and tripped over a shield on the floor. Why was there a shield in her room? Gracious…she wasn't in her room. But then where was she?
"You have no idea what you do to me, Lady Wizard," Brinley said conversationally. He unclasped his thick cloak from around his neck and tossed it aside. He was watching her try to find her feet as he unclasped his tunic and unlaced the shirt beneath it. He pulled them both off in one swift movement, baring his chest as he did. He had the solid build of the Rohirric soldiers, and a few well-earned scars dotted his body. "I have watched you for weeks. I envy the White Wizard his play. What must it be like to take a woman with magic involved? I would bet my last silver coin the experience is breathtaking." He purred.
She felt his strong grip on her arm again, pulling her to her feet from where she had fallen over his shield. She felt the clasp of her cloak release and he threw the green fabric aside as he worked on the laces of the back of her dress. The world became very cool as the fabric pooled at her feet. She was clad only in the cotton underdress that she wore beneath her main dress.
She whimpered as she felt his hands on her. She could get no bearing on the world. Everything swam as though she were underwater. Her legs trembled and threatened to give out.
He cupped her breasts through the material of her underdress. Her nipples hardened under the ministrations and he groaned as he felt the stirring in his groin. His hands traveled upward, cupping her face and drawing her close. Her eyes were dilated with the drug he had used to make her agreeable. Her pupils were so wide that he could only see a sliver of the pretty grey of her eyes. Pity that, because she had such lovely eyes. He tilted her head and leaned forward, nibbling at her earlobe gently. He was rewarded with a soft sigh. Encouraged, he stuck out his tongue and ran the tip up and over the pointed tips of her ears. This time his reward was an eager, throaty groan that almost proved his undoing.
As it were he drew back, grasping the material of her underdress and ripping it in his excitement. When her breasts were revealed to him he fumbled for the laces on his trousers, pushing her back until she fell against the bed. He covered her body with his own, stealing a furious kiss from her as he shoved up the cotton of her underdress. He finally freed himself with a satisfied groan. He grabbed himself eagerly, shoving up one of her knees to give him better access.
And then the door latch slid out of place with a loud click, which was the only warning he got before the door blew open quite forcefully. He looked up at the doorway, his face going ashen when a white-robed figure stepped into the room, two armed guards entering behind him.
Brinley stood, tucking himself away as quickly as he could.
"What…er…what is the problem, Lord Wizard?" he asked nervously. Saruman's dark eyes bored into his, and he quailed beneath that dark gaze. "Surely it ain't a crime to enjoy the company of a lovely lady for the evening?" he asked. It rather ruined the moment when Draca fell quite solidly off of the edge of the bed, whimpering like a kicked puppy. "Must've…must've had too much ale…"
"Brinley, you swine! Never thought I'd see you drug a lady!" one of the guards growled, moving forward and grabbing him roughly. "You can let the blood settle back in your head in a cell tonight, you fool!" And Brinley was dragged shirtless from the room. The other guard stood with Saruman as he moved quietly towards the struggling woman. He bent down and picked up her discarded cloak.
He supposed she wasn't at fault. She was but a woman, after all. For all her training, her magic, her abilities…she was still a woman. With every weakness and fault that women held. They were easily led astray with the right words. They were pleased by trinkets and empty promises. They were like the jewels they were so fond of: pretty to look at, but useless for anything else. He dropped the cloak over her trembling form, hiding her barely clothed body.
"Have a maid take her back to her room. And let it be known that my recommendation for the stupid lad is five lashes for every day she spends getting that horrid toxin out of her system," he said, before turning on his heel and walking from the room. The guard went quickly to fetch someone appropriate to haul a half-naked wizard lady back to her room.
It took Draca three days to get the drug out of her system, and Brinley was hauled to the center of Edoras and given fifteen lashes publically for assault on the ward of Lord Saruman.
Saruman decided to leave after that display of untrustworthiness. King Thengal had apologized thoroughly for the guard's behavior, but Saruman merely waved it aside as continuing the training of his pupil at Isengard. He assured the embarrassed King that he would return. And so Draca and Saruman set out from Edoras after several months, their provisions provided by the King himself and their horses taken care of as well. Their mounts were replaced by sturdy Rohirric mounts.
Draca was impressed but missed the soft brown eyes of her smaller mare. But the King insisted on giving them the powerful mounts as a peace offering to the White Wizard. Saruman accepted the gift with soft words of thanks to the King.
"Come now, Ithilrhas. We head for Isengard,"
So the two wizards and their two horses left under the early sun to head towards the tower of Orthanc, where the White Wizard made his home. They arrived at the imposing black tower of Orthanc after six days of lazy travel. It had been a rather quiet trip. Draca did not know whether to ask forgiveness for imposing on Saruman's mercy or thank him profusely for helping her.
As the horses trotted up the trail to the outer ring of the tower, Draca sped her horse up a bit and grasped at her teacher's white sleeve. He looked at her sharply and she flushed.
"I never thanked you...for interrupting Brinley's attempt to...er...-"
"You are my ward, and I take my responsibilities seriously. Besides, you cannot be completely held at fault for the affliction of being a woman. Better men than a common palace guard have fallen to the unintentional wiles of women," he said simply. She let her hand fall from his sleeve limply, her mouth open in offended shock. She so wanted to reply to that, but she knew that he would wear the backs of her legs down if she snapped at him now.
She scowled angrily and sulked for the rest of the trip.
Harry sighed softly and shoved the papers away from him, letting his head fall forward with a thump. He couldn't concentrate. His thoughts were scattered at best.
"Captain Potter?"
He lifted his head to look at the Auror that was shuffling nervously in front of him.
"What is it, Aarons?" he asked tiredly.
"Sir...with all due respect...we all believe you should go home, sir. You look terrible. We know that it's been hard on you, these past few months...and you've been working non-stop on that and been keeping your other duties up..." he trailed off at the look of fire in Harry's eyes.
"So you've all just been discussing my health behind my back? I see. Get out, Aarons. I'll deal with this the way I see fit, and it won't be to go home and curl up like some coward!" he hissed. Aarons opened his mouth to reply, and Harry stood up, green eyes blazing with magic. "Get out!" He roared. Aarons fled.
Harry sank back into his seat, just as tired as before he had stood. He roughly pushed his ruffled hair away from his face. He was greying early. The good genes of the Potters were known to stave off grey hair until well into their eighth or ninth decade of life, but Harry was going grey at fifty. Hell, even Lucius Malfoy looked better than he did, and that slime-ball was pushing ninety.
"A-Auror Potter?"
He looked up, an angry retort on the tip of his tongue before he saw who was standing there. Perseus Pettigrew stood at his office door, shuffling nervously at the door frame. Perseus was his father's son in looks. He had neatly trimmed blond hair and watery blue eyes. He had a lightly pointed nose and rounded cheeks, making him look rather like a chipmunk.
"What is it, Perseus?" he asked. The young man gulped.
"I...I just heard something that might be important...about James..." he said softly. Harry stood sp fast it knocked his chair over. Perseus winced.
"Look at me, Perseus. What did you hear, lad?" Harry asked desperately. Perseus was terrified of Harry, and Harry knew it well. Perseus felt that Harry should hate him for what his father did. The lad was always so humble and subservient around Harry that it made the older man feel guilty. Sirius really didn't have anything to do with Perseus, even though he was Orion's friend. He didn't out-right mistreat him, but he certainly didn't warmly welcome him either. Sirius could sure hold a grudge.
"James was...was studying Time Turners. I just heard that he had gotten hold of one..." Perseus said.
Harry's face went ashen. Time Turners? If James was messing with time then he could be...anywhere. No, not anywhere. He could be anywhen. But...but it did give him somewhere to go...
"Did you hear anything else about it, Perseus? Anything at all that might be important?" Harry asked.
"I belive...that James was asking everyone if they had any mithril. I don't know how or even if those two are related...James has been known to take several projects on at a time..." Perseus said.
Harry righted his chair with a flick of his hand and straightened up the papers on his desk. He started to the door, and noticed Perseus shifting his shoulders up in a defensive position.
"I will take this information to my team. Thank you, lad." Harry put his hand on Perseus' arm. "Listen to me, Perseus. You are not your father. You are a good man. You have good friends, and you are helping them as you can. James would do the same for you, and that in and of itself is the testament of your character." he said firmly. Perseus looked up at him, searching his green eyes for something. Then he smiled, and it transformed his boyish face handsomely.
"Thank you, Mr Potter. And let me know if I can do anything else to help." Perseus stated, his voice a little firmer. Harry gave him a thin smile, and nodded.
"If I need you I'll call for you, dear boy."
Well, well. A few steps forward and a few steps back. Now Harry may be on the right path to help James. Maybe. Possibly? Eh.
So I hope that I've still got everyone's interest. I hope I'm still doing justice to half-evil Saruman.
The chant that they use for meditation is a yoga chant that I found online. This is what it means:
From ignorance lead me to truth
From darkness lead me to light
From death lead me to immortalityI thought it was appopriate. :) Be sure to review, or even like or follow. I love new people and new thoughts!