Chapter 1

The Changeling

Useful viewing img ur period com/gallery/jHPlDU8 for maps, appendices and reference materials, sh

~o~

The meeting went smoothly. That happened more often. King Elessar Telcontar (Aragorn before his coronation) slowly rubbed his beard between thumb and forefingers looking at the assembled public works officials.

Every Thursday afternoon they met to update his Lordship on the state of rebuilding the realm generally and Minas Tirith specifically. Work like this was always slow and frustrating but they had been more fortunate than they first thought. The city had taken massive damage in Sauron's frontal assault but the sides were relatively unscathed. The orcs planned, and nearly succeeded, in a headlong charge towards the upper levels to cripple the siege defenses and kill the Steward. The army of the dead put paid to that, but it was close. Too close.

Less fortunate then but useful now was that the money stingy old Denethor should have spent on defense was still in the strong room. Anthram Bathralas saw to the count. The Steward's long-time Minister of the Purse had survived the war. He forgot nothing. Bathralas was a round, soft man with a ring of white hair surrounding his brilliant mind. King Aragorn was pleased to find him reasonably honest. Most of the officials around the table had also fought at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. Their offices and often their homes were above the orc advance.

The King pulled out of his brief reverie and asked if there was anything else before tea. From across the table, Minister Farkass gently cleared his throat. Tallonier Farkass was the chief engineer for public works. He was a tired-looking man of about 50 with a hint of humor in his eyes.

"My Lord, something has just come up in the gaols. I confess; I'm ill prepared to explain, but it's the sort of thing you've asked us to mind."

The king nodded slightly. Farkass continued, "Two small military dungeons on the second level were just detailed to the main prison office. Everyone thought them empty and the officer in charge was killed in the war.

"The new gaoler, a fellow named Randanold, sent a man to assess their condition. No one could find the keys so the fellow opened the viewing door of one and saw two eyes staring back at him."

Aragorn interrupted, "I didn't know we had any dungeons on the second level."

"I didn't either Sire. They are small natural caves tucked in the rock not far from the junior officers' stables used for holding soldiers accused of serious offense awaiting tribunal." The man paused and added, "I wouldn't have bothered you Sire, but according to the records, this prisoner has been there for 15 months … and he's a captured orc."

"Heavens! Are you sure?"

"Not at all, sir. The Sarnt told Randanold that he didn't seem like an orc, but the light was poor through the peep door. The news arrived as I was walking up here. The gaoler's lads are trying to find the keys now. I'm off to Osgiliath as soon as we adjourn to help Lendellor set the pilings for the new quay. I can give you a better report when I'm back two days hence. An equipage has been created for the surviving Mûmikil to hoist the pile driver." That had been a useful discovery. They weren't vicious after their blood had shed the shalakiel weed and their groin spikes were removed.

The king's eyes narrowed and he said, "Help with the pier. Have gaoler Randanold bring the creature here tomorrow. I'd like a look at him."

A glance at his secretary/scribe had the little man peering through his half-spectacles at a schedule book. He raised his head and said, "Ten thirty is the nearest you have to a break in the morning, Sire. Hopefully the delegation from Harad will be brief."

The king doubted that but continued, "Very good Farkass. Have the gaoler bring the orc here then with stout guards."

"Yes Sire, I'll see to it before I leave."

"That is all gentlemen. Thank you for your hard work."

~o~

All but one of the men rose, bowed and left through the corridor door chatting. The last of them remained seated and watched the others close the door behind them.

Minister Altides Levantos had not been with Denethor's working council. He was a soldier through-and-through. Small stature, undistinguished parents and a bad habit of being smarter than his betters kept him from rising higher than Captain in the old order.

King Aragorn had little use for the hierarchy that produced Levantos' superior officers. The soldiers, like most soldiers, were the salt of the earth. But the higher one rose in rank, the less they seemed to know their business. Many ran to the battlements when their marshals failed to command and many of those died. Both the living and dead were held in high honor. Officers who dithered were allowed to resign at full rank after a month of burial detail.

Levantos handled overall security for the kingdom but spent most of his time watching the top two levels of the white city. When the engineers were gone he said without preamble, "Wouldn't it be safer to just run the creature through?"

The King had already considered that, "Yes, but I'd like to know what we're dealing with here. For all we know, he's a drunken trooper someone forgot. If he is as Farkass says, he's the only survivor of the dark lord's orcish forces. I thought them all dead, but we still haven't had reliable reports from Moria or Gundabad. Keep the devil alive, at least until we learn what we may."

"Very well, sir. I hope you don't mind if I drop by."

"I'm counting on it."

~o~

His scheduled business done for the day, the king rose and strolled to his private quarters. After a year, he hadn't quite gotten used to the guards always being wherever he turned. He could thank Levantos for that. In the new order, his good health mattered to all.

Lady Arwen was already back from the houses of healing. Like her father and the King himself, she was a natural healer and Gondor's need was great. There were still hundreds of wounded who would either need lifetime care or more rehabilitation before returning to as normal a life as they could.

Many of those were Rohirrim. Aragorn could never thank them enough. They came to Gondor's aid and were now more than a year from home trying to mend mind and body. With luck, the final caravan of those who could ever return to the horse-lands would leave before the first snow. Arwen asked, "How was your day, My King?" using the teasing formality he enjoyed.

"I can see some of the hard work taking hold my Lady. The Osgiliath pier is finally underway." After a moment he added, "I like the weekly builders meeting. They do things. There was one curious report; the works minister said an orc captured before the war was still imprisoned … still alive, evidently.

Without batting an eye, the queen asked softly, "Are there others?"

"Not that we know. If the records are wrong, he might be a soldier thrown in gaol for not saluting. They're asking questions now. I'll learn more tomorrow.

"Please keep me informed my love. This might fall to my experience."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Rubbing his temples didn't help. For uncounted times, King Aragorn regretted taking the council's suggestion to demand reparations from Harad. The Haradrim were penniless, always had been. Under Mordor's dominion for ages, their fierce warriors were mostly men who couldn't desert. Many of them were now buried under the Pelennor leaving their famously large families scratching meals from the dry dirt.

Full corps of surviving soldiers kept fighting after Sauron's demise, expecting no mercy. They were now under heel. But a number of the small satrapies saw the way of things and sued for peace independently. The King was treating with them now.

Please Yavanna, forgive their unwilling allegiance to Sauron and make their lands as fertile as their women. Pressing them for cash only increased refugee troubles in Gondor. Those were finally stabilizing, but tensions simmered in the poorer districts.

By the time the Harad delegation and half a dozen other supplicants had cleared the receiving hall it was quarter of the three-bell and the king was hungry. He rose from his working throne and walked under watchful eyes through the great hall. Harad's problems still spinning in his head, he looked at the waiting bench and saw a large Elf sitting patiently against the wall. Blonde and tall, he stood-out among the swarthy, bearded men. Leaning against him was a grizzled fellow gently snoring. Three city guardi were standing nearby. Two held standard seven-foot Klaus staffs and one was armed with a long sword.

Always glad to see unexpected Elves, the King turned towards him with a smile. The Elf responded with an uncharacteristically large grin of his own. Aragorn then said, in Sindarin, "What a pleasant surprise!"

The Elf's smile waned slightly and he roughly shook the sleeping man's shoulder. It was then the King heard the clank of iron manacles bolted to the Elf's wrists. The grizzled man startled awake, saw his liege fifteen feet away and jumped to attention, somehow managing a curt bow in the motion. A six-foot leather lead buckled to his left wrist was woven into the Elf's restraints. The Elf stood as well but not with the same military precision. All three guards kept their eyes on the man with a short blonde hair like a dandelion.

"Gaoler Randanold reporting with the prisoner, My Lord!"

The King stated flatly, "I didn't know we had any Elves in custody."

Randanold looked at the six and a half foot-tall Elf for a moment and turned back to his King, "This is the orc Minister Farkass instructed me to present, My Lord."

Moving closer he asked the stout man, "Are you sure?"

Randanold had prepared. Nobody would believe this. "Sire, we're not sure of anything. All we know is the last record of that cell being used was for an orc captured before the war and this is what walked out this morning. I brought some of his kit."

The gaoler dragged a burlap bag off the waiting-bench. Reaching in, he produced an Uruk-hai helmet bearing the white hand of Saruman. The King had slain dozens wearing the same. As Randanold was handing the helmet to the king, the prisoner snatched it away and considered it intently saying, "Lok nossh durhamm ghool."

Aragorn didn't understand the phrase but he instantly knew the sound of the black speech and stepped back with his right foot into a fighting pose. The Elf offered the King his helmet with a helpful smile. Aragorn pointed to Randanold's open sack and the Elf dropped it in.

"Does he speak our language?"

The gaoler shook his head, "He's only said that and something like it earlier, Sire. He doesn't understand us. Hand-gestures is how we got him here."

"Have you and your men eaten, gaoler?

Randanold was about say they were fine when his stomach growled.

The King signaled to two attendants waiting quietly in the wing. Both approached to within the prescribed eight feet and bowed. To the older man he said, "Go to the fifth level archives and ask Scholar Mendies to join us in the small conference room in half an hour. Tell him to bring an associate familiar with the black speech or orcish tongues. Then tell Minister Levantos to join us." The king quietly added to himself, "He's going to love this." The man nodded, took two steps backwards and turned towards the staircase.

To the younger page he instructed, "Please tell the kitchen to bring a light supper for eight men to the small room. Off you go." The lad scampered away, forgetting to bow again. He was new.

Finally, King Aragorn pulled his head slightly to a pair of palace guards. They approached with only the slightest bow. Their job was to watch everyone but their Lord. "Take these men to the small conference room. This is the one to watch." nodding to the towering blonde.

Gaoler, prisoner and guardi walked to the council rooms under the watchful eyes of the two tall palace guards. King Aragorn continued on to his quarters where a private lunch was always ready. He usually took his mid-day meal alone, and never with orcs.

~o~

The small conference room was a relative term. It was a rectangle of twenty by thirty paces with long oaken tables set in a square close to the window wall. Gaps on opposite corners let staff serve from the inside. Liveried attendants brought platters of cold meats, fruits, vegetables and bread.

A silent gesture from the King's guards had the men array themselves. Randanold sat near the center of one table with the Elf necessarily to his left. The two younger guardi leaned their staves against a window nook and sat a few chairs away from their superior.

The guardi with the sword neither sat nor spoke. He was twice the age of the other two with an old scar running from his brow to one cheek that by some miracle missed his eye. The palace guards watched him as well. Long-swords were uncommon on the upper levels and prohibited on the seventh without special leave. He should know to step back three more paces when the King arrived.

This light supper was a feast for the seated guardi with no standing on ceremony, though they wished there was more than cold tea to wash it down with. The Elf devoured everything but the meat. Within five minutes the food was gone. The guardi closest to the prisoner stared at the untouched cutlet like a hungry puppy until the blonde man slid the plate his way.

~o~

A few minutes later, the king arrived with Minister Levantos. He sat at the center of the table side to the gaoler's right and the security chief took the chair of the far guardi as they both fetched their Klaus staves and took positions near the windows. The swordsman properly moved further from the King. Aragorn scanned the faces at the table and said to Randanold, "I'd like to hear the full story. Please start from the beginning and leave nothing out. Take as much time as you need."

Randanold had thought of nothing else all day. This was an opportunity. He pulled a small notepad from his vest pocket and thumbed to yesterday's entries. He didn't need to review the scant information but it helped him marshal his thoughts. It wouldn't hurt that all present knew he could read and write either.

"Thank you, Sire. I'm recently promoted to head gaoler and that newly includes auxiliary cells on the second level. Two of those were near the officers' stables. Those had been used for military prisoners awaiting review for serious offenses. I sent my sergeant to inspect them for future use. The main gaol has plenty of room but it pays to take stock."

When no one praised his efficiency he returned to his notebook. "Sergeant Hawrentii said the cells are natural caves hidden at the back of a longer tunnel behind the farrier's paddock. They use the tunnel to store hay but unless there is a prisoner, there is no reason to go further.

"Both have stout iron doors. Hawrentii couldn't find the keys so he opened the peep-hole while holding a torch. What he found was a pair of eyes looking back. I'll spare you his reaction, Sire. He shut the latch and came to me straightaway"

Aragorn finally showed a trace of a smile. Randanold was relieved. His presentation was going smoothly and might offset being caught sleeping by his liege. He would dine on improving versions of this tale for years. The portly gaoler continued, "By chance, Minister Farkess was in my office when the sergeant returned and he saw you within the hour, My Lord."

~o~

Just then, a page approached the King and waited for permission to speak. Once given, the lad said, "Excuse me Sire. Mr. Taal asked me to tell you the scholar knew no colleagues schooled in the old languages but he knows a man of the commercial sector on level three who might serve. Mr. Taal will fetch them here directly."

This lad did bow correctly and the king kindly nodded his appreciation. They were learning.

Levantos finally spoke, "Did you look at the records, gaoler?"

The stout turnkey replied, "Yes sir. They were filed at the guard station in the tunnel and quite complete. It seems a company of cavalry on patrol along the Mering came across a like-sized party of these creatures. The orcs were armed only with swords. Our men picked them off with arrows and finished the job with their spears.

"This one was wounded with an arrow in the chest and knocked cold in the melee. Before a trooper could settle him, his Lieutenant told him to stay his hand. These were a new and more vicious breed than they had seen, able to stand in full sun. He was to be kept alive and returned for Lord Denethor's inspection.

"Evidently the horses wouldn't let the creature near enough to tie him in a saddle so the main company returned here leaving two troopers to lead him on foot, roped between their mounts. They arrived three days after the troop on February 4th of last year. He was locked in the far cell awaiting their Lord's pleasure. There is no record of the Steward ever visiting or it being transported for the Lord's viewing – and there would have been. There was no record of the prisoner being executed or transferred either. The patrol returned to the frontier. Two months later, the orcs crossed the river and he was forgotten."

Levantos asked, "How did he survive for 15 months without sustenance?"

Gaoler Randanold was expecting this. "I did some digging, sir. The gaol sergeant had an understanding with the officers' mess that prisoners for these two cells be fed scraps. Kitchen helpers slid leftovers under the door until told not to, and they were never told not to. They had no other commerce with detainees. The caves have small rivulets of water seeping through the walls that make their way to the drains in the courtyard. It isn't much, but enough to survive."

Levantos probed, "When did you fetch him out?" The gaoler noticed Levantos was neither smiling nor angry; detached was the word for it. Randanold knew of the soldier but hadn't met him till now, a man to be cultivated. Levantos was a more likely overlord for the prison system than Farkess once the peace was settled. As he said; it pays to take stock.

"Early this morning sir. I went in with four armed men. The smell was overpowering. That cell wasn't meant for long confinement. The creature hadn't a stitch on and was covered in filth. Still, he rose without incident and walked with us into the courtyard.

"He wasn't presentable to royal persons so we took him to the farrier's station. There is a water pipe from the cistern for washing horses and equipment. The beast didn't understand our words to get under the flow but we made dumb-show for him to wash himself and he did. The orc stayed under that freezing water quite a while and emerged as you see."

~o~

All eyes were on the orc who was intently studying the large, reproduction tapestries of old Numenor on the far wall. He would drift back to the conversation without expression or understanding but didn't seem ill at ease.

The King asked, "And he cooperated through all this?"

"Not at first, Sire. The prisoner stopped to stare at his reflection in a puddle from the cleansing with a look of astonishment. He stayed long enough that one of my men prodded him in the ribs with his staff to move along. The creature paid him no mind and kept staring until he looked up and asked me something in the same tongue you heard. I waved him to hurry but he looked back at his face.

"The guard came to give him another reminder. Without looking up from the pool, the prisoner snatched the staff from his hands like it was a willow stalk and smacked the man alongside the head. It happened in the blink of an eye. Then he dropped the stick, made a big, silly grin at his reflection and hurried along, gentle as a lamb."

Aragorn asked, "Was the man badly hurt?"

The gaoler replied, "He was kneeling and cursing as we left. Maedroth had a better look." Randanold turned to the armed guardi.

In a clear, commanding voice the man said, "He'll have a good scar to remember it, My Lord, but he'll be fine. The prisoner pulled his blow."

Aragorn asked, "How do you mean?"

"It happened fast, Sire, but this fellow stopped his arm just before impact like a switching a mule. Had he followed through at speed, he'd have taken Tomag's head off."

Levantos thought to himself that Maedroth might have better uses than herding miscreants through prison. He didn't share the gaoler's ambition of adding dungeons to his portfolio. The manager of those dungeons said, "I apologize for his raiment, sire. Surplus army blouses and trousers were all we could find to fit."

The King looked down and saw the creature had no shoes. Those feet would be hard to fit too.

Aragorn asked the gaoler, "You saw him unclothed. Was there any manner of orc about him?"

One of the two young guardi stifled a snort. The King kept his eyes on Randanold and raised an eyebrow.

"He seemed to be a man in all respects, Sire."

When the king made no motion he added, "Begging your pardon My Lord, we thought he might be popular with the ladies."

The king's wan smile returned and left just as quickly when he thought breeding more of these creatures was not in the national interest. "And there were no further problems coming up?"

~o~

Ah, coming up. At 41 years old, Randanold was long past fit condition. It would have been unthinkable to hire one of the two-wheeled man-carts to carry him up the switchbacks bringing this dark servant to the King's justice. No, they trudged the path and used the stair short-cuts like young goats all the way to the seventh level.

Those elevations made Minas Tirith a poor trading hub. It was a fortress – a good one if properly defended. And it was the seat of government. As Sauron's ring gained strength, the city had to serve commercial interests too. Threat ended, men of business would make their fortunes in Osgiliath again. Randanold's family came from traders but no one objected when he chose public service. It was an honorable or lucrative career, depending on your approach.

"No sire. We did attract some attention though. Most people have never seen an Elf, or, at least, what I think one would look like. They watched and some waved. He waved back as far as his chains allowed and seemed rather pleased all the while."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Just then, the double doors opened and attendants showed two men into the room. One was a large, florid fellow with the red cap of a tenured academic. Scholars had the job of cataloging the piles of documents in the catacombs. Language skills were a must. Some were rumored to be searching for the Nuralth, an Elvish document said to include tales from the Ainur themselves. Publicly they would say it was a fantasy, but privately they would dearly like to be the one who found it.

The other man was a smaller and darker with more than a drop of Harad or possibly Khandian blood. He wore no cap to cover his shining head.

The King smiled, "Scholar Mendies! It has been too long. May I ask after Mrs. Mendies?"

"She is finally on the mend." he huffed and bowed. The outsized scholar had climbed two levels himself. "Sire, this is Amiedes Tallazh. He is familiar with several forms of old Elvish and has practical experience with orcish from southern lands."

"Thank you both for joining us. Please sit down."

The men sat as they were presented with Tallazh to the king's right and Scholar Mendies the next chair over.

Aragorn said gravely, "Gentlemen, this is a matter of state security. Let nothing said here today leave this room." There was no need to outline consequences. King Aragorn Elessar II could be disarming, but there was never a doubt he was born to rule. Leaning over he asked, "Scholar Mendies, would you take notes?"

Mendies quickly produced a bound volume of blank pages and several sharpened pencils from his satchel. The King's own secretary was arranging tonight's events.

"I've asked you here because of extraordinary tidings. None of this is yet proven, but we believe this tall, blonde fellow was one of Saruman's Uruk-hai fighters before the war. He was imprisoned in solitude for fifteen months and released today as you see.

"This could be a case of mistaken identity but the creature only speaks what I know to be the black speech of Mordor. He also recognized his former Uruk helmet which Gaoler Randanold brought with him. I purpose to ask him what happened and I hope Mr. Tallazh can interpret my questions and his responses. Can you do that, Mr. Tallazh?"

If anyone at the table was expecting the high, staccato voice of desert lands, they were mistaken. Tallazh had a deep, soothing tone that belied his wiry frame. His common Westron tongue had no trace of an accent. "I will do my best, My Lord."

"Then let us begin by learning its name."

Tallazh turned to the Uruk and asked the question in pigeon orcish.

At once, the prisoner had his full attention but did not respond. Tallazh tried again in a simple form of black speech.

The creature looked at him intently and finally uttered, "Nag Kath, Templagk. Saruman noosch drok."

Tallazh did not preface his responses and repeated the prisoner's words as closely as he could. As with the best interpreters, he wasn't there. "His name is Nag Kath. He gave me a rank or title I didn't recognize. Then he said he was with Saruman's second legion."

Realization swept over the table like a wave. It was true. The King looked at the orc and asked in the common tongue, "What happened to you?"

Tallazh converted that to Nag Kath's language. The creature thought for a moment and began, "Attacked by horse warriors. All killed, not me. Brought here to cave."

His parsed responses were short enough for Tallazh to keep up. This was going better than expected. After another moment of thought, the orc offered, "Two months. No sun. Count by food. Then … great light. Terrible pain. Woke up later. Eat, sleep, great pain. Two, three days apart. Lost count of time. Maybe ten times ten waking, eat, sleep, pain. All changed. Bone, skin, teeth, hair."

The creature looked at a trickle of blood coming from his wrist where the manacles were too tight. "Red blood?" he muttered in a combination of irritation and curiosity.

They let him talk.

"Two months ago, less pain. Small change."

Ever an excellent listener, the King was about to probe more closely when it said,

"Think change too. Not Uruk. Can know what I learned. Not why. I should hate you. Not hate. Not fear. Not Uruk think." Then he fell into silence.

Aragorn saw his opening, "What were you doing at the river?"

This took Tallazh longer to piece-out. Verbs were the problem.

Nag Kath slowly grinned. "I am in trouble! I do not tell, you kill. I tell; Saruman kill. Bad for Nag Kath!" He ended the last phrase with a hearty, un-Elvish laugh.

~o~

Levantos had no stomach for humorous orcs. "You don't seem to mind dying!"

Tallazh made of that what he could. The orc sat back in his chair and rubbed his beardless chin the same way Aragorn did.

"I was slave. Locked in cave of pain. How bad is death?"

That brought everyone up short.

Aragorn leaned forward and played his cards, "Saruman is dead. Sauron is dead. All orcs and trolls are dead." pausing to give Tallazh time to emphasize each sentence.

"Uruk-hai?"

The King didn't wait for the translation. "All dead."

The Uruk repeated the Aragorn's words perfectly. "All dead."

He counted on his fingers and continued, "I tell. 200 Uruk sent to find little men." He leveled his hand to the height of a Halfling. "Main troop to Rauros. Fast 25, me, fast Uruks go to Gondor – if little men turn, come here."

Tallazh took several tries refining the last sentence giving the rest of the room time to realize these were the monsters sent to murder their Lord. This would not last long.

Without prodding, Nag Kath added, "Warags faster but kill all. Saruman say bring alive." He blinked as he remembered and kept going, "Stay until catch or go Isengard one month. Must wait and hunt food."

Aragorn had warmed to the chase, "Did you catch them?"

"No, there two days, killed by horse warriors." He brightened cheerfully and said in the common tongue, "All dead."

~o~

The men around the table all had a thousand questions. This creature had sorcerously changed from the worst form of life to the highest when all the rest of his kind died with the One Ring. Tallazh turned to the King, "With your leave, Sire, this creature is not speaking orcish. It's a purer version of the black speech. And he can count. Might asking him about his army position tell us more of his purpose?"

Still looking at the Uruk Aragorn nodded. Tallazh glanced at the Scholar's notes and asked, "What is a Templagk?"

"Take orders … messages to commanders. Must be as they say. Duu crows can not remember. We are fast Uruks. Only 19. Other Uruks, spawned ten by tens. We taller, thinner, fast running. Commanders do not trust each other. We remember what they say. We have toglakz!"

"Toglakz?"

"Medal. Says to do. Proves we are Templagk."

Tallazh hadn't interpreted this verbatim as it came too quickly. He summarized, "It seems Nag Kath is a staff messenger. He delivers orders or messages from company commanders who can't trust each other to stand by what they've said. There were only 19 of them while the other Uruks were made in their hundreds."

While Tallazh crafted his version, Nag Kath reached down for the burlap sack and set it on the table with a dull clank. First he pulled out his helmet and set it aside. The next item nearly got him killed. It was an Uruk sword, a hideous straight bladed weapon tipped with a horse-gutting barb. He noisily dropped that on the table as well.

Levantos had already pulled his throwing knife. He was sure his lord was gripping the same dagger that helped send this orc's captain to hell. The palace guard directly behind the orc couldn't see his hands and the other was too far away for an instant sword stroke. Only Randanold did anything above table level. He pulled the slack from his leather lead to the orc's chains to keep him from lunging at the King or throwing the weapon. That wouldn't save the Gaoler though. When Levantos thought about it later, he was much more impressed by that than the fat man's literacy.

The sword wasn't what he wanted. Nag Kath again rummaged in the sack and produced a copper medallion about two inches in diameter with rough runes stamped on one side and a lanyard hole at the top. He made a grunt of satisfaction and tossed it to Tallazh. "Templagk!"

As the first moment of panic faded, the orc caused a new horror when it picked up the sword and sighted along the blade. Then he placed it back on the table and straightened a pronounced bow by pressing down with the flat of his hand before putting it back in the sack grunting, "Bad steel." Randanold ended the crisis by handing the bag to the guard behind him.

~o~

Letting out his breath, the King said, "I think that's as much as we can do for now. Gaoler Randanold, please release the prisoner to my custody. You and your men may return to your posts with my thanks."

The portly gaoler took the orc to a small service table and wrenched the bolts off the manacles. Then he and his men bowed to their lord and made peace with not getting free ale with their early supper.

Aragorn turned to his own guards and said, "Take him to the guest quarters on the sixth and put a guard on the door. Feed him, but no contact with anyone but Minister Levantos' men. Bring him back at the eleven-bell tomorrow. The guards nodded and pointed the way for the strange creature.

"Mr. Tallazh, I'd like you back here at 11 too. Scholar Mendies please make me one copy of your report and burn your notes. This fellow doesn't look like he's from the pits of Isengard but let us keep that to ourselves for now."

~o~

The academics rose, bowed and left the King with his security chief just as yesterday.

"What do you think Altides?"

"I am deeply sorry for the sword, your Highness. I …"

"We are soldiers. It was nothing. Now; what of the creature?"

Levantos lost a brother at Morannon. He had no reason to be kindly, "I don't know what to make of him. There is probably great potential for evil but doesn't seem very orcish now."

The King mused, "I'm of two minds. What he knows about the military operations of our worst enemy could be priceless if more of them survived elsewhere. Whatever we must do, this creature is to all eyes an Elf. I want their counsel before I make any decisions."

"Then I will see you tomorrow at eleven, Sire."

Aragorn leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. One could never be entirely rid of sorcery but was this for good or ill? It would have to wait. He rang a small bell placed nearer the center of the table and a page instantly appeared.

"Ask Ambassador Elendrie if he could please meet me here tomorrow at the eleven-bell. Say it's a sensitive matter concerning his people."

The page repeated it back word-for-word and excused himself correctly.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The King and Queen had reserved the entire evening for the Catanard, a performance of traditional Gondoran song and acting. It was sung in most taverns in Belfalas but this was the height of the craft by acclaimed players of Dol Amroth. Southern Gondorans revered them as national treasures. Northern citizens were less impressed. Dwarves came for the ale. The lady Arwen would be the only Elf present as the others still in the city attended pressing duties. A less cultured audience would have sung along and leered at them to join the fun.

Catanard was an acquired taste. Aragorn liked the rustic opera and felt it was good for his people to take their minds away from lifetime horrors. More importantly, this was the first post-war celebration of scale. People needed to look forward.

The performance was well received and attended. The throne room doubled as the theater. A low stage was erected in front of the actual throne which was hidden by the painted backdrop for the performance. The Steward's chair had been removed. The King and Queen sat in ordinary chairs in the front just off the wide center aisle. They would leave first as the rows emptied from front to back.

The closing song received a heartening round of applause. Players scurried to the receiving line thanking guests and arranging private concerts in prominent homes. Ever radiant, Queen Arwen smiled and nodded to her growing number of acquaintances as they made their way down the aisle. King Aragorn held her hand in courtly fashion and did the same. Nearing their private apartments, the King stopped in his tracks. Nag Kath was standing in the throng, a head taller than native Gondorans. Aragorn thought he saw a tear in the monster's eye. When he felt the King's gaze, the orc turned slightly and did a creditable bow copied from the gaoler. He also broke into his decidedly un-Elvish grin.

Aragorn caught the attention of Levantos' third in command standing by a column. Evard Londigal was a tall, handsome man - perfect for looking over a crowd. Londigal married well above his station for love and rose through his wife's connections. Somewhat unusually, he was excellent at his job. His last promotion was on merit.

Londigal covered the ground in no time. The King said quietly while maintaining his public smile, "This Elf is supposed to be under lock and key in the guest quarters downstairs. Would you take him back and make sure he stays there?" As Londigal nodded and turned to the offender, his Liege added, "Nag Kath speaks none of our tongue."

The tall Guardi assessed the situation. The Elf was taller by at least two inches, with broader shoulders, although it is hard to tell what Elves actually weigh. The King relieved any tension by smiling broadly with outsized hand gestures and saying in soothing tones that the Elf was to follow this man. Londigal took his cue, smiled as his Lord had done and pointed towards a cove leading to the nearest staircase. By the time they were gone, the King and Queen had resumed thanking citizens for a lovely evening. Nearing the end of the gauntlet, Arwen asked without betraying her public face, "And who was that?"

The King nodded to another dignitary and said, "That is the orc."

His lady smiled slightly, "Pale for an orc. You must tell me more."

Attendants opened the doors to their private quarters and they passed in as elegantly as their progress through the subjects. Arwen had thousands of years of patience. She saw her beloved husband had the situation under control and gently asked, "Was that why you were so quiet tonight?"

"Yes. I would have told you sooner but you'd only just arrived from the house of healing. It was an interesting afternoon – to put it mildly."

Arwen knew the conversation would flow of its own accord so she poured two goblets of wine and gave him one. He took the wine and said, "The short story is; he was one of Saruman's Uruk-hai imprisoned in a cave on the second level, fed but forgotten. When he was accidently remembered, that's what walked out the door this morning. He speaks only the black-tongue, has a charming sense of humor and I have no idea what to do with him. Tomorrow morning I've asked Lord Elendrie for his counsel. Like it or not, he's more Elf than anything else so I want his advice on the creature's fate.

"I didn't know you spoke black speech."

"Mendies knew an interpreter who did an excellent job getting him to answer my questions and those of Levantos."

Arwen was glad of Levantos. Her Lord was safer with him close. Aragorn was unequalled as a man of valor but he would not get a straight fight here. He would also have to learn to say no and let his ministers carry more of the load. The King knew that too and had gotten through this first terrible year well positioned for the next.

"May I come too?"

Not really a request, but she was quite correct. Her family's experience with the dark lord's servants was vast. If there was evil in the creature, she would find it.

"Thank you, my dear. I will escort you there at eleven."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Evard Londigal's evening was just starting. He babbled a friendly stream of nonsense to the big Elf and gently steered him down the stairs to the sixth level. They were still some distance from the guest quarters so he kept the initiative. Nag Kath slowed and pointed to a tapestry between doors in a hallway asking, "Doosh findamgul nockte fiel?" Londigal knew the harsh sounds of the enemy. This was a dangerous fellow.

Hoping his common banter would serve; the officer offered a thumbnail summary of Lúthien and Beren. It was not the scene portrayed at all, but it was one of the few stories he knew. Nag Kath was rapt. He looked at Evard, back to the weaving, back to Evard and offered a long, "Ohhhh".

Did he understand? The Elf (the king hadn't mentioned he was an orc) looked content and followed the rest of the way without missing a step. They arrived at the block of guest quarters reserved for ranking state visitors. King Aragorn chose it because it was mostly empty. Business travelers stayed nearer the trading and permit offices these days.

At the door of one apartment, a palace guard stood fully alert. When he saw the commander of his own company walking with the man he was supposed to be guarding, he straightened and saluted sharply. Londigal's demeanor never changed from hale-fellow-well-met, thinking that roasting the guard might upset his charge. Using the same friendly tone as the King he said, "At ease soldier. Should this fellow be in that room?"

The guard croaked in the affirmative.

"Why don't we make sure it's comfortable?"

The guard pulled the key from his pocket and unlocked the door. All three wandered inside. It was a nice place … too nice. Most of the apartments had a single entry door but this one also had servant's quarters that led to a supply corridor out of view from the main hall. No reason to make guests use the same door as the groceries. His wife had explained such things.

He nodded to the guard who checked the delivery door and it swung wide open, key still in the lock. Londigal locked it and handed the key to the guard. Then he pointed at the floor to Nag Kath as if training a retriever to stay. It worked and the two security men walked out, locking the main door behind them.

The guard started a profuse apology but Londigal cut him short. He kindly asked if the man was assigned to not let anyone leave through that door. The guard nodded. "Well then, please continue to do so and have the relief man do the same."

Realizing he had dodged a reprimand, the guard started breathing again. Londigal walked around to the service door and followed it to the catering kitchen. Hours before, this had been a madhouse preparing viands for the concert patrons. Regardless of their social position, Gondorans will strip a banquet table like locusts. He entered the kitchen and found three scullery maids cleaning and preparing for tomorrow. "Good evening, ladies. Perhaps you can help me. I'm looking for a queer Elf who might have come this way; tall, no shoes, easy on the eyes."

The largest and least romantically impressed of the three said, "He was here around six thirty ... charmed Denelle out of a potato and headed for the Provin Gallery.

"You must be Denelle" addressed to a rather pretty girl ready to swoon before her second handsome man this night. Such men were rare in the service kitchen.

"Yes, if it please your lordship."

"Oh, I'm no lord … but I hope you can help me. Did my friend say anything of his plans?"

"No sir. He didn't say nothing at all. He just wandered over to the potato bin and took one off the top. I didn't say nothing, him so big and all."

"I'm sure you're in no trouble" – this as much a warning to the matron as comfort for the maid. "If he should wander through again, I hope you'll tell one of the palace guards so we can let him know he's wanted."

With a wave, Londigal made his way to the gallery. This was the largest room on the sixth level. Cut lower into the rock than the surrounding buildings, it featured a magnificent ceiling with real glass windows.

The Provin housed the historical art of Gondor. Truly fine and expensive pieces were kept secure in smaller quarters on the seventh level but this series of rooms displayed the large paintings, tapestries and sculptures of past glories. Denelle's cooking would have come here as the higher classes of the White City socialized before the Catanard. It made sense. This was the perfect place to see and be seen before walking upstairs.

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Minas Tirith's throne room had but one entrance at the short ends but there were several smaller chambers along one of the long edges that each led into the vast hall. Londigal's ears pricked at a soft sound to his left. Quiet for a tall man, he crept close until he saw an elderly fellow snoozing in an oversized chair. Londigal would have let him doze but he still needed to trace the Elf's route so he gently touched the man's hand.

The old boy woke without alarm. This had happened before. In the dim light Londigal recognized him as Tyras Borothar. He was somehow connected to his wife Sophiel's father's business.

"Why Mr. Borothar, I'm sorry to disturb you. It's Evard Londigal, Sophiel's husband." Mr. Borothar couldn't place him in that light but he was a friendly old cove and always nice to well-mannered gentlemen.

Shaking off the sleep, the old fellow said, "Please don't hold yourself to blame young man. I punished the wine a little much at the gallery and missed the Catanard. That is my loss."

"Ah, then you may have seen my charge. Afraid I've lost the fellow, tall, barefoot Elf."

"Oh yes. He was in the gallery the whole time I was there. Eating a turnip, I think. Everyone noticed him. He stared at every exhibit on display like he was memorizing it. Some of our recent widows tried to distract him but got nothing for their pains. Tarts, I say!"

"That must be the one."

"He followed us up to the performance. That's the last I saw of him."

Evard said as if it was of little consequence, "Well, I'm sure he'll turn-up. Let us find you a proper bed, sir."

"My proper bed is at my daughter's apartment on the fifth level. I'm afraid my wife will rake me over the coals for my inattention."

"I expect you've survived that before." Londigal added with a genuine chuckle, "We'll say you've been assisting me in my inquiries for the King. It's true, and it should buy you a little grace from your females!"

"Quite right! What did you say your name was again?"

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

With Mr. Borothar reinstalled in the bosom of his family, Londigal made for the royal suite. The guards posted outside turned an urn by the door to one side when the couple had retired and were not to be disturbed. The urn was in its daytime position. Londigal was a high superior to these men and could have insisted they wake Their Highnesses but this was not important or necessary.

"Evening, Bestimus."

"Sir."

"His Lordship is expecting me."

The senior guard knocked and opened the door without going in. Londigal entered and found both royals reading by a pair of oil lamps.

Aragorn looked up and said, "Ah, Londigal, have you solved the puzzle?"

"Yes sire. At least, I have an interesting tale."

Her ladyship joined, "Would you like wine?"

"No thank you, my lady. It's been a long day." They knew that. Usually in charge of the day shift, he had pulled double duty to cover the first exposed event since their marriage.

"Have a seat."

"Thank you, Sire. It begins with our guest wandering out the servant's entrance. When he was locked in the room they must not have checked the back door. The guard in the hall was wide awake making sure nobody left an empty room." This escape was on Londigal's watch, even if indirectly. When the King shrugged, it was water over the dam.

"From there he borrowed a potato from a scullery maid and made his way to the Provin, stayed there two hours, carefully examining every work in the place. I found old Borothar sleeping in a waiting room avoiding his wife. He gave me all the details.

"Then the fellow followed the crowd up to the Catanard for a taste of Southern Gondor's culture." Turning to the queen he added, "I hope My Lady enjoyed the players."

"I believe it is similar to some of my peoples' historical pageants."

Ouuu! That could be construed a thousand ways. Londigal chose not to construe it at all. His two little girls slept safe in their beds because this man and woman had freed Gondor from much worse horrors than provincial theater.

"If your Highnesses will excuse me, I should say goodnight."

"Thank you Evard."

"My pleasure, Sire."

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

The second interrogation of the orc/Elf was to be in one of the justice rooms off the main hall. Palaces and huts alike kept daytime business near windows. This room had two which could not be accessed from outside. The table for judges and Magisters sat on a dais looking towards the long end of the room. A longer, lower table abutted it in the center to seat defendants or those settling disputes. Opposing parties sat to either side. Men experienced in these matters built that table wider than a punch could reach.

By quarter to eleven, Minister Levantos was already sitting at the long table near the judges' bench where he could watch the only door. It was open with two of his men in the corridor to either side.

The minister heard his guards click to attention and looked up to see Ambassador Elendrie gaze around the room as he walked in. Levantos marveled at how Elvish eyes instantly adjusted to different light.

"Good morning Ambassador."

"Ah, good morning Minister. Another pleasant day."

Elendrie was as artists of old drew Elvish nobles, tall, chiseled, immaculately dressed in clothes that repelled the stains mortal men could not avoid. Levantos had never seen an Elf before he was a man-grown and this one did not disappoint. The Minister thought he might have a better sense of humor than the few other Elves in his acquaintance; a strength in diplomacy.

The ambassador turned to the guardi and observed, "I've never been in this room before. It is used for judgment?"

"Yes, and for resolving disputes. It is a court of law for those accused of transgressions but it also serves for men claiming harm in common practice or business."

That the Ambassador asked and listened was another plus. Elves had long ago learned to settle differences more elegantly. But men with some learning knew Elves had been foolish, proud and bloody in their formative years. When Elvish peoples withdrew from Middle-Earth, both of them knew men would make the same mistakes.

Elendrie asked, "Minister, do you know how many people will join us? This is something of a mystery to me."

"I think only half a dozen, sir. This will not be an official proceeding."

"Then I shall make myself at home." He sat across from the minister a few chairs from the end of the long table.

~o~

Neither of them saw the need to say anything in the few minutes before the King and Queen entered. The Minister and Ambassador stood and bowed. Their Highnesses returned the honor. After they found their places at the judges' bench the King said, "Thank you for coming, Ambassador. I know you are busy."

Elendrie continued his part of the formal greeting, "I am at your service, My Lord and Lady. It seems this question has a little of everything."

Liveried servants brought pitchers of cool tea, pouring mugs for the four and placing the pitchers and more cups on the table. They were out as quickly, leaving a senior attendant by the door.

The King began, "I agree, and thank you again for your long walk. A most extraordinary thing has happened. In brief; our cavalry captured one of Saruman's orcs on our border just before the war. He was brought here for Lord Denethor's inspection. That never happened and he was forgotten in a cell until yesterday morning. He only speaks the black tongue.

"By craft unknown to us, he survived the destruction of the One Ring. And not only that, he transformed into something unique. Last night he wandered away from his lodging to visit the gallery and attend the Catanard."

The ambassador smiled. "Not normal orcish entertainments, Lord Aragorn. I hope no one was injured." Affairs of state kept him from an evening of Gondoran culture. Ambassador was an honorary title. As the ranking Elf in Minas Tirith not married to the King, he best represented their interests. A quick glance at the Queen said everything to be known about her devotion to the customs of her new people.

The King continued, "A perfect gentleman, thankfully, but I don't know what to make of him and felt need of your counsel."

Elendrie arched an eyebrow – a sweeping gesture in Elvish expressions. "I am glad to do whatever I can. My Lady, is this new to you as well?"

"It is, my Lord, new to all of us."

Asking that of a human woman would have been unthinkable – as unthinkable as one attending kingly councils in the first place. But Arwen was a high Elf of considerable experience and wisdom, older than Elendrie. She would ally herself with her husband but she was there for a reason and the Quendu (male Elf) would watch for hints closely.

Aragorn turned to the attendant and said, "Please bring in Mr. Tallazh and the prisoner."

Soundlessly, the man opened the door and gestured to a brace of guards in the corridor. Then he stood back as two guards positioned themselves in front of the royal couple. Next in was an olive-skinned merchant holding a folio. He was followed by a tall, pale man crowned with a confusion of short, thick blonde hair. Two more guards trailed behind and closed the door.

The blonde and dark men were positioned about the middle of the long table just past Levantos who had chosen his seat deliberately. The first guards stepped back to the wall. None of the four palace men had shown a glint of steel but there was no doubt they would use it. Before sitting, the prisoner leaned over the table and looked intently at Elendrie. Cracking a toothy grin he said, "Nel pusht de meh!" in delight.

The King let that pass long enough to introduce Nag Kath and Mr. Tallazh the interpreter. Tallazh was asked to take notes as well. The dark man nodded to the Ambassador and Levantos with deference before helping himself to tea.

Aragorn asked, "What did he say?"

Tallazh translated, "He said to Ambassador Elendrie; 'You are like me!'"

Curious, the ambassador mused, "Tell him I have been like this for many years." And to the King; "I see your concern." Tallazh did as asked.

Nag Kath ran his long fingers through the tousled hair as he considered the news and exposed his Elvish ears. Elendrie own ears were already showing thanks to a modest silver circlet around his long, light brown hair, in keeping with a royal summons.

From nowhere the blonde said, "Douel kan ishte."

"Then I may live."

The others considered this for a moment in silence. To get the conversation moving, the King asked through Tallazh, "We understand you went to see our paintings and sculpture."

This took Tallazh some time. In the abridged black speech of dark servants there was no art. He had to describe them in orcish terms with hand gestures. For his part, Nag Kath listened intently. When he understood he offered, "Uruk do not have this."

The diplomat asked, "What did you think?"

That took less time to translate but the orc/Elf needed longer to form a response, "Pressure here" lightly thumping his chest. "No Uruk feel. We know fear and strength. No feel ..." looking at a nearby painting, "that."

Tallazh offered, "If I may, I make that to say it found an emotion they do not know or are not permitted to express."

While the interpreter sorted through his response, Nag Kath kept his gaze on a large painting of Turambar, ninth king of Gondor, greeting notables in the formalized style of the era. Next to him was his queen, Nepthat. She was exquisite, probably more on canvas than in life. The artist capturing her so flawlessly while commemorating a forgotten conference was what made art immortal. Nag Kath was rapt, drinking in every nuance of her face.

Elendrie wanted to stay on this line and asked, "Do your people have art?" knowing full-well they did not.

Tallazh's translation brought the creature back to the present and he frowned, "No. Uruk only do what must. Only as well as must. Who make this … " pointing to the painting, "… does as well as can for no reason. Must feel here." He thumped at his chest.

The Queen said levelly, "And you heard music, too." Levantos bit his lip and, like Londigal, wondered how many ways that could be interpreted.

Tallazh tried that with more success. Nag Kath opened his mouth with a low singing tone that surprised everyone by its volume and clarity – more or less on pitch with the male villain's solo in the pageant. The men present were more impressed than the Elves who found orcish opera as grating as the original.

"Mu … sic?" he aped the queen's word in passable common speech. Possibly a question? Perhaps only mimicry.

"Music, yes. Tales of great deeds." Tallazh answered in the black speech.

Aragorn remembered him fixed on the stage and crying.

~o~

Nag Kath did not understand he was there to answer to the lords' inquest. Why would he? None of them had a whip. As those seated were still digesting his artistic turn, he said with a hint of bitterness, "Can music. Can not speak Uruk. New mouth. New teeth. Not Uruk!"

The King alone among them had seen, and been bitten by, Uruk teeth. Whatever this creature was now, his perfect white smile was an improvement. He was actually quite a specimen but the pretty face didn't fit his huge body. He seemed only in his teens as Elves age.

Nag Kath asked more loudly of the room, "What am I?"

The mood shifted back to their purpose. This was a trial for the creature's life. Levantos finally spoke, "That is what we are here to discover."

The King's minister was here for a reason too. A hundred thousands of Sauron's servants were destroyed within hours of their master. Orcs, trolls, fell beasts – all but the smaller wolves and the poor Mûmikil Farkess' men were retraining to pull the pile driver. Any creatures modified by darkness died. Sauron's human allies were unaffected but on the run.

And this one! Was he here for a reason or by accident? And how had he survived the Army of the Dead? He was no pretty Elf then. They should have slain him just as surely as the rest, weeks before the Black Gate. The Dead Army followed the orcs to the third level, one above where this monster was stored. They must have seen him.

More to the judges than the prisoner, King Aragorn said, "That is the question … and what to do with him. For my part, I suspect some sorcery preserved him. If the legends are true, the orcs were wrought from tortured Elves at the time of the two trees. With Morgath and Sauron finally destroyed, could he have reverted to his older form?"

~o~

Arwen was long familiar with the ways of orcs and not charitably disposed. Her own mother had been captured and tortured by them five hundred years before. Brothers Elladan and Elrohir rescued her before death but could not save her spirit. In despondency and confusion she sailed to Valinor the next year. The Queen guided the conversation, "My Lord Elendrie, the King told me that in his first interrogation of this creature (she had not warmed to orcs with names) was discussed its manner of transformation. It claimed there was fell light and sound at the time we know Sauron's ring was unmade. The change took over a year in darkness, unseen by our eyes."

Leaning back and moving her eyes across the faces, "Let us not forget that Sauron took form as a beautiful Elf while sowing lies and deceit to the destruction of Numenor and many Elvish kingdoms. Might the dark lord have escaped his doom again ere Mordor fell? His craft has long been to put us at ease, spinning false webs as he regains strength."

Aragorn hadn't considered that. At bottom, he was a trusting man. The wicked stood out plainly in his world. Ever the ambassador, Elendrie asked Nag Kath in soft tones, "What would you like to do?"

Tallazh had to reframe that one. Uruks don't like anything and what they wanted didn't matter. When he got the message across, Nag Kath brightened and said,

"I music. I art. If I live, I music my own tale!" That brought out his brightest and least Elvish grin yet.

Arwen was not charmed, "You said before you may live. Why?" Did the monster finally know it was here for the justice of eight thousand years?

Tallazh followed the answer as best he could, "Uruk made full, big." The orc/Elf used his arms to emphasize his size which was taller than all but the tallest Elves and slightly wider across. "But only live six years. Little orcs live long. Uruks no. Yet he lives long." nodding towards the unnamed ambassador.

Arwen's tone was relentless, "How old are you?"

Nag Kath asked Tallazh what month it was and was told the Black version of May. The creature did the arithmetic on his fingers, "In cave for … fifteen moons. I am two years old next month."

The Lady's expression became a combination of surprise and understanding, "By Eru Ilúvatar, he is an infant among our peoples."

Elendrie offered in Sindarin, "That would explain his wonder at new things before him."

Nag Kath snapped his head to the ambassador. There was something in the cadence or sound that was closer to his tongue than they had considered. He said softly to no one in particular with Tallazh translating, "I do not think you will kill me."

So he did know. Levantos took the bait, "Why not?"

"Who can make art, music …" turning towards Queen Nepthat's lasting beauty, "… would not let me suffer so long just to kill."

~o~

Everyone sitting at the table asked themselves if he was right. The King called the vote. "Ambassador Elendrie, I asked you here because this creature is closer to an Elf in appearance than man or orc. Your judgment informs us all."

Elendrie leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, "I agree this raises more questions than answers. This being has no place among my people. We are leaving these shores and Valinor is not ready for him. That said; I can have no objection if he learns how to paint."

There was the humor Levantos suspected. Now it was his turn. "My Lords and Lady, when heard an orc changeling had survived our dungeon, I'd have his head on a spear. It would put paid to the last known enemy of our age. I am less sure now and will abide with any decision you make, Sire"

The King glanced next to him. Lady Arwen said in a flat, merciless tone, "It will have to be watched." She already knew her husband would spare the monster if it did not fail being put to the question today. His compassion was why she loved him. And he'd made a good point the night before that this creature seemed ready to describe the military and organizational ken of dark armies; things that would have helped them greatly last year and for a hundred generations of men before that, or against dark enemies who may have survived. This vile changeling could disappear any time after cooperating.

King Aragorn said, "Ambassador Elendrie, thank you for your care. I will let you know my decision. Altides, thank you as well." The royal couple rose together and all stood and bowed. "Thank you, my dear. I am always in hope when you are near."

She walked out with Elendrie, an old friend. Aragorn was right that he represent the Elves in what, dare she admit it, looked like an Elvish matter. Still at the pinnacle of her grace, her lot was now cast with the younger races. Better to make a clean break and let her people be informed by one unquestionably of them. Elendrie also had some talent in her grandmother Galadriel's far-speaking. He was not as pure or strong as her, but he could convey basic messages to both Galadriel and Arwen's father, Elrond. Yes, the Elves were leaving Middle-Earth. They would shepherd men until the last.

The King said to the guards, "Take the prisoner back to his quarters and keep watch as before."

Tallazh planned to follow the guards surrounding the remarkable creature but the King asked, "Mr. Tallazh, would you stay a moment?"

~o~

~o~o~o~

~o~

Tallazh was tempted to sit back down but one did not just make himself at home with his liege. Aragorn turned over his shoulder and asked the door attendant, "Would you send in Mr. Gantellus?"

Amarr Gantellus must have been just outside and appeared instantly with a bow and a smile. He had been the personal handman of Steward Denethor for eight years and was enjoying the change of scenery. Unlike many on the seventh level, the servant was not cut from military cloth. Short, round, bald as an onion, he knew everything about serving the man in charge, the perfect gentleman's gentleman. He could assess moods precisely. And he could find anything – for a modest honorarium.

The King had reservations about retaining someone so close to the unlamented Steward, but many of the people he was learning to respect liked Gantellus, whose role in most courts accumulated enemies. There wasn't a political bone in his body. Lady Arwen tipped the scale by noting, quite rightly, that the King's rangers might be a little rough for protocol.

"Yes, sire?"

"I have a queer errand. Do you know of someone who teaches art; painting, sculpture and such craft?" Noticing Tallazh standing tentatively by his chair, the King motioned for him to sit.

"I do, my Lord several. Or I did. I've heard naught since the war."

"I'm looking for someone who might have a school where those wishing to learn would have room and board."

"That narrows the list, Sire. Mr. Quastille has, or had, such an establishment on the second level. He would be elderly now and was assisted by a spinster daughter. I can inquire if he is still in such employ."

"Quastille? Didn't he paint the little mural outside the foyer?

"Some years back, my lord."

"Yes, please do."

With a wink, Gantellus added, "Cook has made cobbler with the first Lebennin cherries. It's still warm." He would bring a second piece for his Lord's guest.

~o~

The King rounded the dais and sat next to said guest. He poured a fresh mug of tea from the pitcher and refilled Tallazh's mug. "I've taken a gamble. You can help me level the odds. But first, tell me how came you to know ancient tongues?"

"It is the story of my life, sire" Tallazh answered with a smile. Both men understood the question was why he knew so much about the evil ones. Most that had were buried in pits as far as they could be dragged from the city.

Tallazh decided the long story wouldn't leave suspicious gaps so he started with, "My father was in business with his two older brothers trading goods with foreign lands. Like every boy in the family, I was taught to read and write and was later put to work learning everything there was to know about our trade.

"After a few years, my duties included transporting wares to, from or across Elvish lands. Languages came easily to me and I learned enough Sindarin to be useful. The Elves all spoke the common tongue, of course, but understanding what they said among themselves never hurt in setting the right price."

Tallezh paused long enough to give the King a chance to react. The ranger-warrior might not be a businessman. A smile or frown would shape the narrative. Aragorn's face betrayed nothing so the merchant continued. "I was the third son of a third son and the business was getting crowded with ambitious cousins. Knowing my gift of tongues, my father, a dear man, offered to send me to the House of Scholars, as it was called in those days.

"I was accepted and assigned to Scholar Vorondies, a terrible old pedant but the authority on languages no one spoke anymore. Most were Elvish in origin, including the Black Speech which was of keen interest to him. I studied them for three years and learned how they formed the languages used today. When I was twenty, the Denald fever reduced the count of cousins considerably and my father asked me to rejoin the firm in a senior position."

King Aragorn interrupted, "That must have been a terrible blow, after all your hard work."

"To tell the truth, My Lord, I was bored with scholarship and Scholars. Please don't tell Mendies." he added conspiratorially, "Our times there overlapped and we've been friends since. I'd been back about a year when one of our suppliers on the border of Khand in neutral Harad offered to sell us his business. It was a splendid opportunity but nobody volunteered to go - the middle of nowhere and too close to Mordor. The Southrons were fairly accommodative at the time. My father's people came from Khand. Being unmarried was the short straw and I was sent to the city of Transagri to bring our new enterprise into the fold.

"I was there three years. Most of the goods were destined for Gondor but there was local trade too. Not long after I arrived we started seeing small caravans of half-orcs taking selected items back north. It seems some of the higher villains had a taste for nice things. A vile and vulgar lot, but they paid cash, generally behaved themselves and the city fathers made them check their weapons at the gate.

"None of them expected us to speak any of their language either, but like in the Elvish towns, feigning ignorance was often helpful. They spoke Plainstongue to us but frequently broke into vicious arguments among themselves in orcish over prices and quality. I also wanted to know if they meant violence.

"My Lord, that was when I learned how the simpler creatures of the dark lands adapted the ancient Elvish to their purpose. They use less than half the words in the wrong order. That's why this Kath fellow was so interesting. His tongue was closer to Vorendies' understanding than the rough lads of the south. I made bold to ask about his rank thinking he might be an officer. I'm sorry about the sword."

His Liege smiled, "Not as sorry as Levantos."

"About then, Hûk Boulu conquered the Chelkar and it was time to come home in a hurry. I married well, had a son and two daughters and count myself fortunate. Now that the threat of Mordor is gone, the family is moving most of our trade to Osgiliath. I chose to stay here to handle our business with the crown and gradually retire. My wife and son are both gone, weak hearts, I grieve. My daughters have families of their own. I spend more time entertaining my grandchildren than I do at work."

"And that, Sire, is my tale, other than to thank you for bringing lordship to these lands."

"Thank you, Mr. Tallazh. Would you be interested in some discreet side-work?"

"What manner of work, may I ask?" A cautious man.

"Nothing strenuous. This creature may be the only one of his kind. There may also be legions of original orcs in the dark places beneath the mountains. We have never had a look into how they make war; logistics, supply, where they come from and how fast. This fellow seems glad to help.

"I would like you to tutor him in our speech and such things. Extract from him everything he knows about how evil forces prepare to fight: positions, formations, communications, everything."

"Gladly, my lord. May I consult with one of your strategists?"

Aragorn nodded before saying, "What would you want in exchange for this important service?"

"Nothing. As I said, I count myself fortunate."

"Thank you. Lieutenant Koos will be in touch."

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