Wowee, another chapter so soon! I'm glad you guys are still enjoying with me. I'll address a couple concerns from the last chapter.
The foul-mouthed guards: Perhaps I went a little overboard with them, or it felt like it, but my opinion was that even people who are considered 'good' in other ways can do/say terrible things when the object of their conversation or actions isn't considered an equal to them. Now, that's not to say that if the right people heard them that they wouldn't get in immense trouble. But the only people listening to them were Cerena and Haldir. Haldir doesn't understand Common(though I suppose against me, no one really told them that), even if he might be able to pick up on attitudes or tone. And they likely believed that even if Cerena said word-for-word what they were talking about, that no one would believe her. Were you angry that the one did something bad, or were you just mad he was talking about it?
Her treatment: I see an angry Elrond confronting Gandalf in the future. But let's be fair to Gandalf for a moment: literally the only reason he's even in Middle Earth is to get rid of Sauron. He freaking came back from the dead to do it. And while he would not do something to harm her or anyone else on purpose, he likely knows more than he's letting on. And I promise her treatment will get better. Minas Tirith is going to be a busy place in a few days, and she'll get some time alone during that. Besides, let's see if Denethor changes his mind after really getting to know her visions.
Chapter 55 - The Bare Necessities
Cerena sat up at the sound of the door unlocking. She was quiet, looking at the new guard with suspicious curiosity. "I would like to apologize about last night. I had no idea that Hamron would allow those two dolts in here. He's been relieved of duty over you and I'll be in charge from now on. My name is Dylton," he said. Then he seemed to realize he was holding a tray. "Ah, I've brought something to break your fast. I know your meal last night was a little disappointing. Again, Hamron was remiss in his duties. So, being as I actually take my charges seriously, I was able to get some meat for you. Being in this hall gets you a little more leeway on your menu than if you were down in the lower levels," he said. He walked the few steps to the little desk and sat down the tray.
"You aren't…disgusted to be in charge of an orc?" Cerena asked quietly. The man seemed a little surprised at her honest question.
"Well…I can't say that it's the most glamorous assignment I've ever had. But if you're asking if I have some deep-seated hatred for a female, pregnant orc, then you might be disappointed to know that I do not. I'm more curious than anything else. Besides, I'm not paid to like prisoners, so long as you don't try to escape then we'll get along just fine," he said, a jovial grin on his face.
Why couldn't this guy have been here last night? Instead she'd had to suffer the indignity of someone trying to lift her skirts and then the discomfort of a whipping. Well, those bastards from last night were lucky she couldn't actually fight back, or they'd have been in trouble…
"That's a lovely dress. My Samil has one about the same color. She made the dye herself," he said, sounding extraordinarily pleased.
"It was a gift from Éowyn of Rohan," Cerena said. The guard blinked.
"The King's niece?" he asked.
"I did some work in Rohan for several years. I can fight a bit, and saved a few of the right people. I've met the King and was known to his niece. She let me borrow this dress to present a good front to the Steward," Cerena answered honestly.
"Well, if you're telling the truth then you're an interesting specimen, that's for sure," he said. Cerena bristled a bit at the suggestion she was lying, but couldn't really argue the point because this man had no real proof of her claim. Anybody could lie and say they knew people. And besides, he did make the caveat that she could be telling the truth. It was more than some people would have done.
She was about to ask him a question when her stomach made itself known, growling rather loudly. She felt her cheeks heat up as the guard stifled an amused look.
"I'll leave you to your meal, then. I know my sis was always hungry when she was pregnant. I'll see if I can get you three meals instead of two, you know, since you're not just eating for yourself," he said. "If you need anything else, just ask," he added. As he turned to go Cerena had a thought.
"Do you think…" she started, and he paused to look at her. "Well it's just…my shift is ruined from the whipping. And I…I'm already at a disadvantage to be presentable to the Steward…I might be able to repair it if I could get to my bags. I brought needle and thread…but they're with my wolf in the stables," Cerena said.
"Ah, I'd heard about that. Wolf the size of a horse, they said. I'll see what I can do, but we'll likely have to search it well before we can bring you anything," he warned. Cerena nodded and then he was gone, shutting the door behind him and locking it. She sighed.
The meal this morning was a sight better than her previous one. Two soft-boiled eggs, a thicker oatmeal porridge, three little fish, and a handful of little early radishes, their greens still intact. She ate these first, actually enjoying the peppery taste of the radish greens and the mild, tasty crunch of the radishes themselves. The eggs were still warm, their centers not quite set and nearly like custard. This actually gave her hope that it might not be so bad in Minas Tirith. There were bad folks everywhere, it wasn't exclusive to one ethnicity or race, but there were also good people.
The oatmeal was plain but warm and filling, and the little fish had a soft, sweet taste. The darker part of her mind enjoyed the light crackle of tiny fish bones, but she was also careful not to choke on them. She'd had worst meals, and even no meals at all, so that was something. When she was finished eating she turned her attention to the books left on the table. They were all in Sindarin, encompassing quite a wide variety of topics. One was a sort of biography written about some famous merchant. Another was a short history of Lossarnach, and the bountiful plants it produced.
Cerena began to read that one, as it was actually written in an interesting way. Most books of this time were all so dry and uninteresting. And while this one was no award winning book series, the author cared enough to make a few jokes here and there, as well as give poetic descriptions of the flowers and trees of the region. So entranced in the book was she that she missed the door opening. It wasn't until someone cleared their throat that she looked up, and nearly pissed herself to see Dylton right beside her.
"Sorry to interrupt you, but the Steward has sent for you. I'm to escort you to his study," Dylton said. Cerena swallowed and put her book down. When she stood she smoothed down her skirt, adjusting the folds of fabric so that they would hang correctly. It took a moment for her to put her boots back on, and she nearly fell on her face in the process. "Careful, there. Don't need a bloody nose to see the Steward," Dylton cautioned her.
She straightened up, wincing when her back pulled. She saw Dylton give her a pitying look.
"Perhaps when we are done with the Steward I might convince one of the healers to come look at your back. It wouldn't do for an infection to take hold, after all," he said, leading her from the room.
"What do you care?" Cerena asked, a little confused. This man was a far sight different than her warden from the previous day.
"Those marks sting something fierce without treating, and I would be neglectful of my obligation if I allowed infection to kill you," he clarified.
"And you know what those whips feel like?" she asked tartly.
"Well yes, actually. Anybody with the authority to use them has to face five lashes with them so we know how they feel. It's the same with the prisoner's rod, as well. We're not barbarians," Dylton said. Cerena remained silent on that regard.
"I've had worse," she finally said, remembering being stuck in the infirmary at Rivendell for weeks.
"Yes, well, be that as it may, I'll send a page to see if anyone is willing to look at you," he said, and that was that.
Dylton walked her through several halls, and Cerena had no hope of memorizing the way the first time. These halls were all done in similar colors to the hall of kings. White and black stone, with silver and gold accents throughout. The tree of Gondor was on many tapestries, in the hard to achieve Gondorian blue color. The seven white stars were stark against their cobalt field. There were sets of guards every so often, and some of them gave her different looks. A few of the familiar distasteful ones, some curious. She was relieved not to see any more that looked lustful.
Dylton knocked twice on the Steward's door, and opened it when he heard the voice of Denethor.
"My Lord, I have brought the orc as you asked," he said.
"Good. Let her in, you may wait outside," Denethor said. Cerena was allowed into the room and could not help but look around. The room almost reminded her of Elrond's study, in a way. There was a wall filled with different books, and another was strung with maps of different areas of Gondor. The neat Tengwar labels named the areas; Lossarnach, Dol Amroth, Ithilien, and others. Denethor was marking a parchment with a neat quill, his hand movements as sharp and precise as he was. "Sit, orc, I have some questions for you," he said.
Cerena moved and sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk.
"Thank you for your hospitality, my Lord, it is far more than I deserve," Cerena said, again adopting a soft meek voice. After a moment he put down his quill, setting the parchment aside to dry so he didn't smudge it.
"I heard there was an issue last evening," he said expectantly. Hamron had been demoted a rank and been put on mucking duty for the lower-level dungeons for his little stunt. Danon and Hastor had been given the same punishment they'd had the orc endure and sent home without pay for several days to recover. He didn't like people trying to sneak around and undermine his authority. Did those idiots not think he would have found out? Regardless, he wanted to hear it from the orc's mouth.
"I was surprised by a guard making an attempt to lift my skirt for his amusement. I slapped him, and suffered fifteen lashes," Cerena said succinctly. Denethor looked at her for a moment, watching her. She had her hands in her lap, but she was clutching the material of her dress. He could see the tips of her boots sticking out from under the edge of her skirts, and noted that what he could see was very well made. They were made for her, not just cobbled together from scraps like other orcs he had seen. Though she appeared aloof, the line of her back and shoulders was stiff. Despite the soft mien she was presenting him, she was ready to run or fight. He also happened to know that she had left two swords with that hellish wolf that was locked in his stable.
"They were right to punish you for laying hands on a guard," Denethor began. He saw her shoulders rise ever-so-slightly. She was defensive about it. "However, I distinctly recall forbidding you to be harassed. I have dealt with the ones responsible," he continued. There, her shoulders lowered again. He very nearly smirked. "Now, you told me you are a seer. I have little forbearance or mercy for liars and fools, so I must insist you present me some sort of evidence. I'll not waste resources on a common animal," he said. He watched as her brows furrowed slightly. She was either calling up a lie or a vision. They'd see which.
"You sent your son, Lord Boromir, to seek council at the elven sanctuary, Rivendell, regarding troubling dreams," she said then.
Denethor was not a man who was prone to, nor enjoyed being part of, surprises. But hearing those words from the mouth of this she-orc stopped him dead in his line of thought. The reason for Boromir's departure had been kept fairly guarded. There were only a few others who knew, among them was Faramir, and despite his air-headedness at times he was a capable captain and not prone to cavorting with orcs to tell them of top state secrets. So she had either tortured or tricked a lot of powerful people, which was unlikely given Gandalf's obsession with her….
Or she was telling the truth about being a seer.
"Did you see what happened at the council?" he asked. Cerena could have laughed, but instead turned her expression light, as if she were pleased to be able to provide information. Fooling Denethor was not an option. He was not a man to be fooled. He could read people, she remembered, and trying to pull one over on him would just end up getting her in trouble. She gave him a truthful recounting of what happened at the council, including many of the people that were there. She did not call Aragorn by name, though, simply calling him 'a Man.' This was true. Aragorn was 'a Man,' even if he was so much more.
She told him about the Ring. Here was the only time she used the barest of truths. She did not identify the Ring by its title, either. She described it as a plain trinket, as a Lord might buy a Lady, that seemed to fill everyone there with dread.
Denethor watched her as she spoke. This council had been a remarkable show of Lordly strength. Such prestigious attendants. He was glad that Boromir had been able to make it, though he was sorely sorry that his son had been half-starved by the time he entered the elf-court. Boromir was a hardy lad, though, and the orc-seer had said he was at the council within hours.
When she mentioned the ring, he felt his blood run cold. Not so long ago, when Gandalf had been in the city asking to use some of the oldest files that Minas Tirith held, he'd been sorely tempted to tell the man to go away. There were far more important things at hand than whatever could possibly be found on dusty parchments littered with riddles in languages and dialects that few could read anymore. But Gandalf had come with no ill will, in that curious way of his, asking for a favor as a grandfather might ask. The old man could be grating at times, but he could not deny that his wisdom and aid had been used many times in Gondor's history.
That didn't meant that Denethor hadn't had someone double back to look at what Gandalf had been researching. Though much of it was of that unreadable scratch, there had been several articles mentioning Isildur and the Last Alliance. It hadn't made much sense then, and he'd eventually stopped trying to puzzle out Gandalf's curious study. But the moment this little monster mentioned such a bauble, he knew exactly what Gandalf had been seeking information on.
A ring…the bane of Isildur….the doom of men. This could surely only be it….
"What did they decide to do with the ring?" Denethor pressed.
"They designated a group to destroy it. A hobbit brought the ring to Rivendell, and said he would take it to Mordor. Gandalf said he would go with him. The elf Prince, a Dwarf, another Man, and Lord Boromir. He said if the council decided the Ring would be destroyed, he would bring the Might of Gondor behind them to see it done," Cerena said. Denethor felt a simultaneous swell of pride and irritation. Irritation that they would destroy such a valuable tool, and Pride that Boromir would be smart and honorable enough to put himself in the midst of such an expedition.
"Lord…if I can be so bold as to move to a different topic…" Cerena started tentatively. At first Denethor just stared at her, his eyes hard. He needed more information on this council. But he also needed this Seer to be willing to tell him things. He had spoken harshly and rather hastily of her yesterday. Verily, he'd thought she might be a fraud at that time, some strange stray that Gandalf had found and adopted, like an injured dog that someone found adorable. Perhaps there were things he could do to coax visions from her. If stressing the creature interfered with her sight, he might be able to provide an opposite reaction if she were treated well. He would look into moving her to a better room. She'd still have a guard, of course, useful stray or not no one ignored the teeth and claws of a wildcat just because it gave them cow-eyes.
"If it is relevant to Gondor you may proceed," he said eventually.
"Not all of my visions are so clear as this council," she prefaced. "I witnessed the council as though I was a member. But sometimes I see them as flashes, or tiny bits of sound and light. I have seen visions of an army, Lord. An army of men and orcs, marching against Minas Tirith," Cerena said. She saw a brief flash of emotion cross the Steward's face, and realized she likely wasn't supposed to see it. She looked down at her hands as they worried her skirt.
"Minas Tirith stands as a gatekeeper to the rest of Gondor, did you know that, orc?" Denethor asked. "We are the first defense against the forces of Sauron. Mordor is like an anthill of late, a writhing mass of black soldiers," he continued. "That you have seen this tells me you are truthful about your powers. Tell me now, orc, if you have seen any of the movements of this army," he said.
"The army already moves against you. They have taken Cair Andros and invaded Anó are headed for the Rammas Echor to come at the city through Pelennor Fields," she said. Denethor had been informed of the moving of an army through that area, and his captains had advised that the unit was going to do just as she said. Taking the Rammas Echor would guarantee a breach of the Pelennor, and make it easy for them to approach the main Gate of the city.
The Dark Lord was a persistent bastard, and no one could deny that. Ever encroaching, ever a game of keep-away with Gondor. Would he ever see peace for his country? He was weary of the fight. The orc shifted slightly and broke his reverie. He looked at her, again studying her while she sat. That crown on her forehead bothered him. Now that he realized the thing told truths, he couldn't actually dismiss her claim of being a Lady under an orc King. Did such a thing really exist?
She was not like any orc he'd ever seen or faced. She was not a stooping, bow-legged goblin with a mouth full of crooked, rotten teeth. She'd travelled with Gandalf through the light of the sun with no ill effects. Indeed, if it were not for the subtle things that marked her as inhuman, she had the coloring of a Southerner. Those big ears, sharp teeth, and those monster eyes, though, were far more indicative of a child of Morgoth.
"Orc, you present a conundrum to me that I am not so interested in having to solve myself, so you will answer my questions honestly. Your only warning is this: I am adept at detecting dishonesty," he said, his voice sharp with warning. Cerena swallowed.
"I have heard that the Lord Steward is skillful at reading the intentions of Men. What hope could a lowly orc have of fooling such a great and powerful man?" she asked earnestly.
"You said yesterday that you are a Lady under an orc King. At first I dismissed the claim as frivolity, simply because it sounded so improbable. But I am no fool. Now that I know I can see falsehoods in you, I realize now that you were not lying. You either truly believe you are a Lady under an orc King, or this is truth. So tell me, Lady orc, about this orc King," Denethor said.
"My Lord Steward, this tale is rather long, but it is very interesting," Cerena hedged only slightly. Denethor made a motion for her to continue. So she first told him of the High Orcs, the perfection of the corruption Morgoth cast upon the elves. He was silent as she spoke, his sharp gray eyes sometimes lowering in thought as she told her story. He listened as she told him about the Black Crescent Valley, hidden underground in a swath of land between the end of the Misty Mountain range and the Angmar range. She spoke of Durbûrz, and saving his son, Visht. The underground city with its glowing crystal lights and carved streets.
Eventually she recounted that she had been found out for a seer, and kidnapped for information. The Steward watched her countenance melt into fear as she recounted her torture and rescue by elves. She had actually been to the same elf-sanctuary Boromir had gone to. He stopped her when she started on her campaign into Rohan. Not because of the actions themselves, but the companions she had taken.
"Stop," he said sharply. Cerena paused mid-sentence. "You mention those names so casually. It is not the practice of elves to reuse names, especially ones that were attached to such well-known figures," he pointed out.
"It's true. These are the originals. Ereinion Gil-Galad and King Oropher of the woodland realm. They were re-embodied in Valinor and sailed back to Arda. They accompanied me on my campaign in Rohan," she added. Again, he could sense no falsehood in her. She was either really damned good at lying….or she wasn't lying. He didn't know which he found more unlikely, or more disturbing. "They did not return to reclaim their thrones, but came because of their love of Arda. They are…not what you might think when you conjure up an image of warrior elf-Kings. They are almost like brothers, fighting with each other with words and hands," Cerena added. Denethor stared at her for several long moments, trying to work out what the hell was happening before him.
"What are you?" he asked, a little exasperated. Cerena looked down at the floor.
"Some days I don't even know, myself," she said.
"You have given me much to think on, orc. There is more I would discuss with you another time. For now you will return to your cell. The elf that traveled with you is restless to make sure of your well-being. I will allow him to see you this evening, if for no other reason than I do not need a hyperactive elf in my halls," he said, sneering a bit. Gondor might have a high respect for elven culture, but no one could deny that at times elves were strange things.
"Thank you for your overwhelming grace, my-,"
"I hate sycophants as much as I do deceivers. Gratitude is one thing. Stop grovelling," he snapped at her. Cerena bowed her head.
"Of course, Lord Steward. I know…that I have no right to ask…but I wonder as to the safety of my wolf? She is a tame thing, she can talk, even! She has been a loyal companion to me," Cerena said.
"The mongrel is locked up away from the horses. I'll have someone feed it later," he dismissed. If he could keep her beholden to him by throwing a few scraps of meat to an overgrown dog, then who was he to try and stifle this veritable fount of information? Perhaps there was a grain of hope against the darkness, after all…
"Thank you, thank you, Lord," Cerena said earnestly, curtsying again. He dismissed her with a wave of his hand and she approached the door. When she opened it she saw Dylton standing and speaking with the other guard. When she shut the door Dylton stepped forward.
"Come, then, I sent word to have a healer meet us at your room," he said. Cerena gave him a shy smile.
"Dylton has an admirer," the other guard said in a low, sing-song voice. Dylton frowned at the other guard.
"I shouldn't be admired for having common decency for a state prisoner," he said sharply.
He was silent as they walked back towards the hall she was being kept in. By the time they had returned, there was an middle-aged man in loose-fitting brown trousers and a green over-robe. He was holding a medicine satchel in his hand and had a rather sour look on his face. A page stood at his side.
"Sir Dylton, I've brought Healer Oranor to see to the…the orc," the page said, startling when he saw the creature in question. Cerena simply lowered her gaze, looking at the interesting wood and marble motif of the floor.
"I haven't all day, let's see to it and be done," Oranor said impatiently. Dylton unlocked the door to her room and allowed her and the healer inside. "I need to see the marks in question. You'll need to remove your dress," he said matter-of-factly. Cerena took a step back, running into Dylton, who laid a hand on her shoulder to steady her. He didn't miss the way she flinched.
"Was there no woman who would come?" Dylton asked. Oranor gave the guard a scandalized look.
"You would ask a woman to tend an orc?" he asked. Dylton harrumphed.
"A female orc, yes," he said.
"There was no one else willing to see to the thing. I took pity on the monster and showed up. You're welcome to stay in the room for propriety's sake," Oranor said tartly. Dylton was torn. It certainly wasn't very proper to have a male healer be so intimate with a female. But this was not a Woman. She was an orc, and they were limited to whoever was willing to look at her. He didn't want to leave her alone, though. Oranor was a good healer, but he was a sharp-speaking arse and it was clear that he frightened the orc. He took a breath.
"I will stay in the room to make sure nothing untoward happens. We will turn while she bares her back, won't we Oranor?" he said, looking at the healer. He could tell the man was about to argue, so he mustered up the hardest look he could. The healer faltered at the sight.
"Er, yes, we will," he agreed. Cerena was not happy with the situation, but did not really see that she had much choice.
"Fine," she said shortly. The two turned their backs to her and Cerena turned, slipping off the heavy dress. She untied the front of the shift and slipped it from her torso, before using her dress to hide her breasts and turning her back to the men. "I'm ready," she said. She heard Dylton hiss in a breath.
"I don't know why we're making a big situation out of this. The orc has clearly seen worse," Oranor complained.
"So? If someone comes with a broken finger and they've broken an arm before, you don't derogate them, you heal them of their current problem. Stop being an ass. She's an orc, but she's the Steward's orc right now, and you'd do well to do your job and then leave," Dylton replied impatiently. Oranor moved forward and pulled her chair from the table, turning the seat out.
"Kneel here, orc, and I'll see to your back," he said. Cerena moved and knelt on the seat, careful to keep the material of her dress covering her front.
Oranor examined the stripes. The skin there was already inter-crossed with older scars, leaving a dark silver tinge on her brown skin. The fresh welts were lighter in the middle, with the ends of the lash black with bruising. They'd used a lightweight whip which only bit in a few places. About half the marks had a splotch near the end where the skin had broken. He removed a small wad of gauze from his bag and a container of aloe. He wet the gauze with the fragrant gel, using it to gently wash and clean the places where her skin had broken. She shifted slightly in discomfort at the first touch, but the aloe did its job and by the third wound she was far more relaxed. He took pity on her and swabbed some of the cool liquid even where the skin was not broken to soothe the heated welts, satisfied when he saw some of the tension bleed from her shoulders.
When he had washed the wounds he dabbed a bit of ointment to keep infection away and encourage healing. He heard the orc make a soft sniff.
"Calendula and…eucalyptus?" Cerena asked softly. Oranor was impressed at the orc's sense of smell.
"Yes. I use a calendula ointment with a few drops of eucalyptus oil. It is good at fighting infection in minor wounds," he said.
"Yes," Cerena agreed, her voice thick. The scent reminded her of Elrond. He smelled of calendula on the days he mixed ointments.
"This should be the only application of medicines she needs," Oranor said. "However, I'll come back tomorrow and check the wounds. So long as they are healing well she'll be fine," he added.
"Thank you, Oranor," Dylton said. Oranor made a noise of assent before walking out of the cell. Dylton stayed only long enough to tell her he would see to her lunch, before she heard the door shut and lock. She made sure he had left before she stood and eased her shift back into place. She felt immensely better as she slipped the heavy dress back into place.
There was not much to do in this room other than read, unless they were able to get her bag to her. At least then she might be able to repair this damn under-dress. As it were she had no such thing, and the only thing worth doing was reading. She sat at the little desk and quickly finished the book on Lossarnach and moved onto the biography about the merchant. She regretted it. It was simply a penned dick-sucking of whoever this merchant had been. It was written with few to no errors, but Morgoth's hairy balls was it boring! She was nearly in tears trying to read it before the door unlocked and Dylton brought her a tray. He saw the slightly distressed look on her face and paused.
"Is something the matter?" he asked.
"I've never read a more boring book in my life," she whined. He laughed at her and set down the new tray, retrieving her old one.
"I'll send a page for a few new ones for you. And, lucky you, I was able to get permission for you to eat three times a day," he boasted. "It's no grand meal, but the stew is hearty and the bread is fresh," he said. Cerena turned in her chair, looking down in the bowl of stew. There were large chunks of vegetables and meat swimming in a thickened sauce. The little loaf of bread he brought with it was thick, brown and smelled lovely.
"Thank you, Dylton. You're treating me very well. I thought after last night that my time in Minas Tirith was going to be awful," she said honestly.
"Please don't judge us all on the ham-headed actions of a couple. Those of us who work in the halls of the Steward are well-respected among the people of Gondor, seen as trustworthy and honest. We are supposed to rise above and beyond the common rabblery of men," he said, seeming very proud. Cerena considered her next words.
"Well…it wasn't just the guards last night. There were two, just before my first meeting with the Lord Steward…they spoke just awfully to me, and even spoke of the mistreatment of a prisoner," she said carefully, judging his reaction. His brows furrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down.
"That's a heavy accusation. What did they say?" he asked.
"I don't know if they were trying to intimidate me, but one said he would lie with she-orcs if they looked like me. The other mentioned a prostitute he'd tried to get with, but when she denied him he beat her until she acquiesced," Cerena said. Dylton was quiet for several moments.
"I do not want to believe what you are telling me," he said finally. Cerena wilted a little under his troubled gaze. "There was an incident…an accusation…I'll have to look into this," he finally said. "Thank you for telling me. Please, enjoy your meal. I'll try to get you more books soon," he said, and then he turned and was gone. The door shut and locked.
Cerena broke the bread, smelling the loaf and enjoying the rich, yeasty aroma. She dipped a chunk into her stew, catching a potato with it and popping the whole thing into her mouth. The stew was flavored mostly by the vegetables and meat. She didn't even think there was salt. She'd love a mound of black pepper to dump in it, but for the moment it was filling and food. She saved a large chunk of bread to carefully mop her bowl with, enjoying every last drop of her lunch. She sighed contentedly and decided to give up on the previous book in favor of her last one.
It was a book on native animals of Gondor. It read like a textbook, meaning that it was dry and purely factual. It was better than the book on the merchant, but not by much.
It was evening by the time she heard the door unlock again. She looked up from her seated position on her pallet, expecting to see Dylton, but was immensely surprised to see Haldir. She sprang from her position and crossed the little room in the two steps it took, throwing her arms around his waist.
"Haldir!" she said, laughing in delight. Haldir gave her an amused pat on the back. He paused when she yipped in pain.
"What is it? Have they hurt you?" he asked. Cerena pulled back.
"There was an incident last night, and one of the guards whipped me. But the Steward was told and the guards were removed from me, so everything is fine. Calm down," she said, seeing the enraged look on his face. "Dylton treats me far better than anyone else, so if an incident got me such a kind warden, then I don't mind having endured it," she said honestly.
"You should not have had to endure such a thing! The Lady will be furious…and I can't imagine what…the father will think," Haldir said, hedging from outing Elrond's name in this stone hall. It was rumored that Elrond's patience was not unlimited, though there were few around who had ever reached the end. And with his history…Lord Elrond was a respected healer, but that also meant he probably knew creative ways to end a life. Gandalf had best watch himself. Mayhap the wizard would be less likely to march others into dangers if his boots somehow found themselves thrown from a window in their quarters?
"How is Pippin?" she asked. Haldir sighed.
"The hobbit pledged his sword to the Steward, much to Gandalf's chagrin," the elf said.
"All right, I won't close the door on you two, but you have to move from the doorway," Dylton said. Cerena pulled Haldir from his position in the middle of the entrance.
"There was an incident with the Steward's son at the gate of the city. Gandalf rode to his aid and brought him back. The Ulaíri are growing bolder, to come so close," Haldir said solemnly.
"I fear the depth of the boldness is growing ever deeper," Cerena groaned.
"Gandalf is trying to convince the Steward that Rohan will come to Gondor's aid. They lit the beacons, but the Steward is certain they will be alone for this fight," Haldir said. Cerena scrubbed her face.
"Everything is very messed up right now," she said. Haldir moved forward, gently drawing Cerena into his arms for an embrace, careful not to squeeze her injured back. She melted into the friendly contact, her arms wrapping around his waist and her forehead resting on his chest.
"Dear friend, everything will come out right in the end. I have faith in it, and in you," he said. Her arms tightened around him, clutching his tunic for strength. "You have turned the tide of history and marked your name in its annals. Every mouth will sing your praises when all of your trials are brought to light," he said.
"I guess so," she said miserably.
"I know so," Haldir replied. "I will check on Lily this evening, and bring her something to eat. You concentrate on staying sound. Isolation is not good for any living creature. Keep your mind active. Perhaps you can convince your warden to bring you a plant to speak with," he suggested.
"Maybe," Cerena murmured. "He's supposed to be bringing me more books," she added. Haldir laughed.
"There you go, then," he said positively. Then she pulled back, reluctantly breaking contact with one of the few people in this whole city that cared for her unconditionally. He reached up, adjusting her circlet so that the crescent pendant draped straight on her forehead. Then he tapped the bottom of her chin in a friendly gesture. "The stars still shine and the sun, despite not wanting to show its face today, still hangs in the sky. You will see it again," he said. "In the meantime, I will speak to Gandalf about your abysmal treatment," Haldir finished.
When he was gone, Dylton appeared, holding three more books in his hand.
"I didn't know you were friends with an elf," he said.
"You didn't ask," Cerena said cheekily.
"Point to you, then," Dylton acquiesced. "Here's your books, and your supper will be here soon. And I can make no promises, but I can send out a page in search of a plant for you," he said. Cerena was glad Haldir did not mention anything too sensitive in front of this guard. A lot of people in Gondor spoke Sindarin. Except that one guard, apparently. What an ass.
By the time Dylton appeared with her supper, he also carried a small terracotta pot on the tray that held her meal. When Cerena saw the pot a delighted look came over her face. Dylton was amused at the sight of the orc getting so excited over a half-dead blossom he'd managed to nick from one of the healer's garden beds. A page followed behind him carrying a wooden carafe of water and a wooden cup.
Supper was a salad of early spring greens and vegetables tossed with a tiny bit of oil and vinegar, plus two sausages and two soft boiled eggs.
"Thank you so much, sir Dylton," Cerena said genuinely, bowing her head to the guard.
"You are welcome. I will be replaced by your night guard, shortly. He has been told that he is not to harass, or allow others to harass you. If he oversteps his boundaries you are to tell me in the morning," Dylton said. Cerena felt a wave of nauseating anxiety wash over her.
"Of course," she said softly. Dylton spared her a soft look.
"Worry not, orc. Cerinor is an honorable man. He can be trusted not to mistreat a prisoner," he reassured. Cerena tried to allow his positivity to reach her.
"Pardon me for my doubt, sir. I simply have more experience with negativity than its opposite," she answered. Dylton placed her tray on the desk. The page also put down her water and spared her a curious glance around her guard, before the man shooed the boy out of the room, and then the two were gone. She ate her supper, but it felt like a lead weight in the light of her anxiety. She had no reason to doubt that Dylton wouldn't lie to her, but even still she was incredibly nervous.
The sun had long disappeared, weak as it was this day, when she heard her door unlock again. She was sitting on her pallet and drew her knees up, pressing her back into the corner to make herself as small a target as possible. The door opened, revealing a man holding a lantern in front of him for light. It was not Dylton.
"So you are the orc," he said, looking on her form. His voice was pleasant and cultured, and reminded her of something that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She couldn't see his face the way the lantern's light was shining, but his hair framed it like a dark halo in the light.
"I am. Are you Cerinor?" she asked, and it drew a bark of surprised laughter from the man.
"Cerinor, she thinks I'm you," he said, turning his head. Another man stepped to the doorway, making Cerena pause in surprise. Cerinor was as brown as she was, his dark, curly hair cut short to his head, and a salt and pepper, neatly trimmed beard on his chin. He had the gray eyes of a Gondorian which were striking against his dark skin.
"You're-!" she startled.
"Yes, yes, I know," Cerinor said in a rich, lilting bass voice. "I'm a handsome devil," he boasted. The other man gave a good-natured chortle.
"Dylton told me that you were nothing like he had ever seen in an orc. I can see what he means. You look more like a frightened Lord's daughter than a monster," the other man said. The lantern shifted in his hand and cast more light on his face. Though the lines were softer the resemblance was unmistakable.
"Lord Faramir!" she gasped. He seemed a little startled to be addressed before he'd introduced himself.
"Gandalf mentioned there was more to you than meets the eye. I have heard you have knowledge of my brother. Tell me, orc, what you know of Boromir," Faramir said. Cerena lowered her knees from their defensive position, drawing her legs underneath her and adjusting her skirt around her new position.
"He was seriously injured by some orcs of Isengard," Cerena said.
"Isengard? Saruman would stoop so low as to betray the free people?" Faramir asked. Cerena frowned.
"He has, and not just putting orcs in his employ. He was breeding them himself from mixing men's blood with orc blood. They are large, sun-resistant, and angry," Cerena said. Faramir looked horrified.
"What a disgusting betrayal!" he hissed.
"But, there is something very important he missed when he mixed the blood of men among those poor bastards," Cerena said. "There is a part of them that can be reached with the promise of freedom. They do not enjoy the chains of servitude, and some of them threw them off and betrayed Isengard to fight for the country of Rohan on such a promise from Rohan's King. It was some of these orcs that have your brother. They were tending his wounds," Cerena said.
"This is a difficult truth to swallow, but I sense no falsehood in you, orc," Faramir said, after a moment.
"Cerena," she said. Faramir tilted his head in curiosity. "My name is Cerena," she clarified.
"That does not sound like an orc name," Cerinor said.
"I am sorry to have disappointed you, then," Cerena replied. Faramir gave the other man a sideways smirk.
"Well, father sees some value in you, anyways, to have put you up in a state prisoner's room," Faramir said. Cerena looked around at the tiny room. It could be worse. "I have business to attend to on the morrow, so I will leave you to your wondering, or-, ah…Cerena," he added. Cerena recalled his mission, frowning at him.
"The Rammas Echor will fall," she said. Faramir grimaced sharply. "But not in vain. Hold it as long as you can, and aid will come to Gondor. The end is so very close," she said. Faramir felt a shiver go down his back.
"I will pass your words to my father, Cerena, and keep them close to myself as well," he said, before turning and leaving the room. Cerinor stayed for a moment longer.
"You are unusual," he commented, before he, too, was gone. The door shut and the lock clicked. Cerena pushed herself up from the ground, walking to her table to see to her plant. It was drooping in the pot, and she could barely hear the soft, pitiful whimpering of the plant. She reached out and touched a leaf, and the plant at first recoiled due to what she was, before recognizing in her a plant-friend.
Water…dry…
She spared a bit of water to wet the plant, careful not to soak the soil and shock the obviously weakened roots. "I am Cerena, little sprout. What do they call you?" she asked as she tenderly dribbled water down the stalk of the tiny plant.
Many names…many years….
"Well, do you have a name you prefer?" she asked instead. There were no words from the sprout, and for a moment Cerena feared the water was too late to save the poor thing.
Call me….Athelas.
Cerena was not amused.
A/N: What a rush! Ah, sweet little Athelas, the plant. I have a feeling when she heard it Cerena made a face like 3: and then ate the plant. Just kidding. She needs it to talk to.
So Denethor is coming around to Cerena. Not because of some friendliness, but as he seeks to use her. I despised what they did to Denethor in the movies. I mean, I understand what they were doing: they wanted the audience to hate Denethor so they would love Aragorn. The two were so starkly portrayed. But Denethor didn't really go crazed with grief until the very end, and even then there was so much going on that it's unfair to judge him so. He has admitted in his way that he was hasty to treat her so. While he is not likely to be friendly with her he realizes the utility of not being harsh. Let me know if I'm doing him any favor. While he could be a hard man, he was a ruler of an entire country, with a lot more on its plate than even Rohan had.
I believe that Gandalf and Pippin arrived on March 9th, and the next day Gandalf rescued Faramir at the gates. The 11th is when Faramir goes forth with a company. In the movie it was to try and take Osgiliath, but that was the movie and a stupid military move. Denethor was depressed, not delusional. In the book they sought to prevent the army from taking the Rammas Echor. This is a curved wall that surrounded the Pelennor field as an added defense. It was a highly defensive position and they would not have wanted to lose it as long as possible. Faramir's company held it as long as they could, before eventually being overcome and having to retreat back into the city.
Forgive me if I oversimplify anything, or explain it wrong. I am not someone with military experience, or even much of a strategic mind. I can understand basic principals, but the intricacies of it are beyond me. I have gotten around this mostly by sticking to Cerena's point of view, and her not being directly in the fighting this time. However, if I misquote something or mess it up, please feel free to let me know. I am a simple crafter, using materials that are already built, carefully weaving a tapestry with threads I have rearranged to suit my needs. :)
As always, I crave your reviews. They are the butter to my bread. If I have any lurkers, I would love to hear how you feel the tale is going. We are near the end of the War of the Ring, but there will be a bit afterwards. After all, Cerena still needs to be reunited with Elrond and have some babies. :0
Peace!
