The cell they had put her in was cold and damp, so different than the heat she had experienced for most of her life. There was no light nor comfort to be found within these for walls, and yet, it was better than she deserved. It was better than she would have offered theirs had they won that last decisive battle. Had her plans worked.
There was no bed, but one of her captors had taken pity on the woman and offered her a blanked. Fool. Had he known she was the reason half of his companions lay dead on the field he wouldn't have. But men never did. Know her deeds that is. Man saw a pretty face and an unimpressive build and dismissed her. But not so Khamûl. Never Khamûl.
To say she liked the Easterling was a strong word, but he had offered her everything she had ever wanted. Khamûl had given her purpose. Khamûl had given her respect. And so she had had a hand in the dead and destruction of innocents.
She did not know if she would have refused had she known how it would end.
Then the door creaked open. The sound deafening to her ears, the light of the torch her guard carried almost blinding her. It was time to face judgement it seemed. If justice prevailed, it was time to die.
She stood up, her body stiff and painful from weeks on the cold, hard ground. Dried blood still covered her, and she wondered if any of her wounds had become infected. She was too tired to care. There was no fight left in her. She would comply, and these guards knew it. No fuss was made when her cuffs where put in place. No sound was made as she was blindfolded. She followed. She followed like the obedient little girl she had been before Khamûl.
Their walk was a long one, the many stairs a challenge for the weakened lady. She supposed it was her state that made the journey took so long, or maybe they circled to confuse her. Either way, she knew she was in no state to escape. She knew she didn't even want to.
It was a long time before they attached her cuffs to the bench she was seated on and took of her blindfold. And yet it was to soon.
Dour faces looked at her. Pale men with hatred in her eyes. Strong men with pity. Few men with a pang of kindness. None she would look upon.
The doors opened again, and all in the room bowed. She would not. Her last moments on this earth would not be spend kneeling. She would die with respect. She would die with her dignity.
The King took his place on the high dais. His Queen not in attendance. She had seen him from afar, once, but he looked nothing like the man he had been then. Then she had found him lacking, tattered and dirty as he had looked. Now he looked every inch the king, and for once she felt a pang of fear. Strong man ordered more fitting punishments than death. Strong men knew that death was often a gift.
But it was not the king that installed in her true fear. It was the man seated on his right. A Haradrim lord, dressed richly in gold and reds, fingers and neck covered in gold and precious stones. A crown on his head, and a curved sword on his hip. His dark eyes told a story of cruelty and cowardice. His smirk told her he would enjoy what they did to her. Before her sat the one person she had hoped would not have survived this war.
Before her sat her brother.
To the left of the king a man stood, holding a parchment in his left hand. He had seemed insignificant to her, but now that he stood, she saw he was missing his right arm. She wondered if she had been responsible for that as well.
"Princess Khirayl of the al-Amrûn of Near-Harad. You stand accused of aiding Sauron under the banner of Khamûl the Easterling"
Ah, there it was. The smirk on his face morphing to a smile. It was his victory. He had won.
"And as such, you are deemed a traitor to the Free Peoples of Middle Earth. You have driven countless to their deaths. Your actions have robbed many of friends and family, an of their livelihood."
"How do you plead to these charges?"
The room was silent, the anger now palpable. She knew they did not know the truth of it. She knew her side had lost. She knew it was a losing battle. And yet, it pained her to know she would enter the annals of history as a traitor.
"Guilty."
Her voice rang clear, stronger that she had hoped. She had not spoken in weeks, and had feared she would sound injured, or weak. She dreaded ever sounding weak. But that fear had been unfounded. One last victory for the Easterlings Bride.
Shock went through the hall at her confession. Shock and anger. They had expected her to deny their claims, citing her womanhood as an excuse. She had interrogated enough of these Gondorians to know of their opinion of woman. They would have never accepted her as a strategist. They would have never accepted her orders. And they would now give the order to end her.
But there was one who was neither shocked nor angry. His smile grew wider, and she feared his plan for her. With her death he would have won, but amongst the peoples of Near-Harad, she would become a martyr. She knew he was smart enough to know this. And because he was here, she knew he had a plan.
"Your honesty is surprising, Lady Princess." Stated the King, his voice low and deep. Dangerous. "I doubt any of us has expected it. And yet, this complicates things." He faced her brother. "King Jazakr, she is your sister. Yet, she is guilty of heinous crimes. As King of those she has wronged, I cannot let her go unpunished. Yet, even as newly crowned as I am, I realize her death would jeopardize our alliance."
At this statement, angry murmurs filled the room. These men wanted to see her dead. These men wanted to see her pay. Yet, it seemed the King had a different plan. But whose plane was it? Was it the King of Gondor who would see her live, or the King of the al-Amrûn
"I have thought long and hard on this matter."
The heavily accented voice of her brother sounded though the room. So it was the King of the al-Amrûn then, who would not see her die. Smart. The murmuring did not stop when he spoke. He did not have the presence of the Gondorian King, nor the strength of voice.
"I agree that my sister must face some form of punishment, and who knows best what she fears but her brother. But we must also think of the future and of alliances, and she is the last family I have."
A feeling of dread settled in her stomach. She begged the Valar he would not propose what she thought he would.
"I propose my sister marries a lord of your court, so she might serve those she wronged for the rest of her life."
Bastard.