Chapter Four
The Sanara Belt
While the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the Eldar were presently halted in their progress beyond the walls of Cordoba, Faramir and Pallando were crossing the desert with surprising speed. Faramir discovered that the Rangers had not exaggerated when they had told the Ruling Council that the news of the massacres at Axinar and the other villages had spread far and wide across Haradwraith. Their journey to the Sanara Belt was fraught with encounters with refugees who were fleeing towards the capital city in sheer terror of being slaughter by the First Born. As the two men of the west continued their journey, they saw more and more evidence of this mass exodus.
However, despite the urgency sweeping across the lands, Faramir had time to absorb the textured beauty of the Haradrim culture, and grieved that there had been so little time to learn more about these people before the actions of all had put them on a course bound for war. He found that while it was easy to believe that the desert was a barren wasteland, Faramir had found it teeming with an odd sort of life that was very much adapted for life in the dunes. He saw small, hardy creatures, from insects to snakes, lizards and tortoises, to small furry things that burrowed in the sand and seemed to know where to find water when it did not appear there was any. He saw great birds sailing through the air and saw shrubs growing where it would seem impossible for any to take root.
It was not just the wildlife that brought the desert alive but also its people. It appeared that only a small portion of dwellers in the desert actually settled around watering holes. In the lands called the Barrens, being the territories beyond the reach of the great river, life continued after a fashion. Most in this realm tended to lead nomadic existences, wandering from watering hole to watering hole, herding goat or sheep. Whole families spent their entire lives never bound to any single place. Faramir wondered what it was like to live in such a manner, to have no home to speak of but merely a collection of familiar places visited time and time again.
The folk he encountered were simple people with little concern over the machinations of their king or the former lord of Mordor. There were those who went to the cities, who broke away from their untethered lives to become more than what they were. Of those, their fates could not be discerned however, to Faramir their tales were no different that any he had heard from the peoples of Gondor or Rohan. It was a difficult time for these people who were being driven harder and harder, from water source to water source, in search of the sustenance to feed their livestock and themselves at the same time. Faramir remained largely silent during his encounters with the Haradrim, mostly because while they appeared friendly enough, he was uncertain how they would feel at having the presence of a western lord in their midst and it was far simpler to avoid the complication by remaining anonymous
Pallando fortunately, proved to be an able translator as they made their journey eastward and was a very interesting companion. The wizard was vastly different than Gandalf but also very much alike the old man whom had been apart of Faramir's life for the better part of his youth. It was Gandalf who had inspired him to learn the history of his country preserved in books and because of him, Denethor's youngest son found a world where he could forge an identity of his own without trying to emulate his brother or win his father's approval.
Pallando, in contrast to Gandalf's all knowing guise, did not seem so infallible and was certainly more human. Faramir suspected that even the Maiar did not escape feelings of guilt and from what Legolas had told him about he and Melia's first encounter with the wizard, Pallando certainly had his share of it. Pallando blamed himself for the deconstruction of Alatar, one of the five Istari who arrived in Middle Earth during the Second Age to combat Sauron. Alatar had his own ideas in how to achieve this and had believed that the creation of a perfect life form, invulnerable to corruption was the manner in which to succeed. It was his obsession with this plan that forced he and Pallando to go their separate ways.
Alatar used as the template for this new life, the river women who were minions of the Valar Ulmo. Unfortunately, it required more power than he had to complete his task and he was forced to ally himself with Sauron, believing that the Lord of Mordor would unknowing aid in his own destruction when Alatar's creations were completed. In Alatar's mind, the ends justified the means but he had made a grave miscalculation because Sauron's powers were dark and possessed the ability to corrupt the spell that would transform the river women from beacons of light into the creations of absolute nightmares.
Melia's mother had been a river woman and the course of Melia's arrival in the western lands had been engaged in the search the lady. When she, Legolas and Pallando finally found Alatar, the wizard was nearly insane and exhausted from trying to keep his creations from emerging to bedevil an unsuspected world. Pallando, who had been allowed to come to Middle Earth because of Alatar's plea on his behalf to the Valar, was forced to aid in his friend's downfall. Faramir suspected that despite his reasons being compelling, Pallando had never quite forgiven himself for abandoning Alatar and allowing him to embark upon his disastrous end.
They were well past the Splinter when they encountered, after much deliberation as to whether or not contact ought to be made, a group of travellers who did not resemble the nomads they had previously met. For starters, these folk appeared to travel in large caravans and did not resemble farmers or animal herders. Instead, they were garbed colourfully with the creatures that Faramir had now learnt were called droma, laden with wares of every kind. It did not take the Prince of Ithilien long to discover that these were traders who serviced the communities in the desert by bringing them goods from the capital cities that were too far for them to acquire otherwise.
Unfortunately, with the news that the First Born were rampaging through Haradwraith killing everyone in sight, the caravan had decided to end this particular trip early in order to return home to the Sanara Belt. Despite finding Legolas' behavior at Axinar morally objectionable, as a man Faramir could understand all too well that pain that drove the elf to his bloody course. However in the murderous reputation the elves were gaining across Haradwraith and the panic caused by the massacres throughout the local population, Faramir was beginning to see a deeper consequence of Legolas' actions. Folk who had no interest in the war might be willing to fight for their king if they believed the elves would leave none alive if they were defeated.
Now that their armies were travelling together as one under Aragorn's lead, Faramir hoped the people of Haradwraith would learn that the armies of the Westernesse were not invading their country for the purposes of genocide.
The caravan was more than welcome to accept two strangers into their midst with new stories of their own lands to bring to the campfire in exchange. Apparently, one of the Haradrim's favourite pastimes was the exchange of tales, particularly among those who lived a nomadic or semi-nomadic existence. The passing of stories revealed to them the geographical and cultural knowledge regarding the lands beyond their own. Faramir supposed that in the western lands the same might be accomplished of the wandering minstrels and bards but during the years prior to the War of the Ring, such travel was hazardous and the practice had been more or less discarded.
Pallando's spell of glamour preformed its function remarkably well and the caravan leader, a man named Roshal was more than willing to accede to Pallando's request that he and Faramir journey with them into the Sanara Belt. When Roshal admired the horses that they had made their journey, Pallando made them a surprising offer that Faramir was quick to balk at when it was first proposed.
"Give up my horse?" The Ranger stared at the wizard.
"Horses are for the rich," Pallando pointed out as they discussed the matter privately beyond the earshot of others. "As we are attempting to enter Mahazar disguised as travellers and do not wish to raise suspicion, we must relinquish them for something more conventional and least likely to call attention to ourselves. Roshal can afford to purchase them and they will be given good homes since horses are much valued to the Haradrim."
Faramir frowned because Pallando was right much to his chagrin. As a Ranger, he knew the sense of Pallando's words although the alternate form of travel the wizard would have them use engendered a surge of distaste within the prince of Ithilien at the very thought of it. Unfortunately, the Istar's argument was a valid one and the reason for their journey was far too important for him to jeopardize because of his personal dislikes. In any case, he supposed that it could not be that difficult to master the replacement for his horse.
No matter how undignified the beast may appear.
Fortunately, Faramir's mount was not the animal he rode normally because the possibility of having to abandon the creature was not new to him when he and Pallando set out to the Sanara Belt. However, he had seen what these desert dwellers used to travel instead of horses and he would prefer attempting to ride a mumakil than the creature he was forced to accept when the trade for the horses was finally made.
"We will never get anywhere on these things," Faramir remarked as he saw the animal standing over him, masticating a piece of hay that had had become pulp long ago. It appeared as if its lower jaw and the rest of its face was not in agreement as to which direction it should go whilst chewing and Faramir was reminded of grazing cows. The beast stared at him indifferently as he made the statement but its eyes was fixed on its new master. Faramir had the oddest feeling he was being sized and the jet of saliva that splattered on the ground next to his foot from the creature's mouth a second later was a good indicator that the beast found him lacking.
"They are surprisingly fast," Pallando replied, aware that men of the west were too attached to their horses and the stature of riding one and was thus extremely patient with his younger companion's obvious distaste. "This beast can carry you for a week without food or water. See the hump?" Pallando patted the swell on the creature's back, "this is where they store water and food. If we fall into unfortunate circumstances, which are highly likely in this desert wasteland, this animal will bring you out of it where a horse would die."
Faramir truly despised it when Pallando was right.
The rest of the day was spent learning to ride the thing, an experience which reminded Faramir of his youth when it was Boromir doing the teaching. Fortunately, Pallando was far more patient a teacher than his older brother whom, at the height of his frustration, claimed Denethor had found Faramir in the market place, since he could not possibly be Boromir's brother and be so terrible on a horse. This experience was marginally less intolerable although Faramir had never thought getting the droma to heel in order to mount the beast could be so hard. However, once the animal had yielded enough to allow him that privilege, Faramir had found that the mechanics of it were not so different than riding a horse; it was only the signals that changed.
Roshal had been terribly thrilled to acquire two horses in exchange for two of his dromas since the former was certainly of more value. He invited Faramir and Pallando to dine in his tent and though Faramir would have preferred them to keep to themselves, Pallando had accepted on the invitation, citing that it would be extremely rude to decline since the caravan would aid their entry into the Sanara Belt. Faramir however, was anxious about being in close proximity with so many since his understanding of the Haradrim language was rudimentary at best. Most of the time he had allowed Pallando to speak for him, though Faramir was starting to think that commending oneself completely into the hands of an Istar was not always the best course, if what Frodo Baggins had revealed about his uncle's adventures with Gandalf was any comparison.
Dining with a Haradrim patriarch was something of an experience. None of these people travelled without the full complement of family, even caravans selling wares. Roshal was no different and when Faramir and Pallando arrived to dine in the man's large tent, his family including a gaggle of daughters were present, serving food and seeing to the comfort of arriving guests. However, what Faramir found extremely disconcerting was that he and Pallando seemed to be the only guests and that a good deal of pomp was dedicated to the affair.
"Welcome, welcome," Roshal, a short, swarthy man with dark skin and a rapidly greying beard said with open arms and he led Faramir and Pallando to short table on the ground. As Faramir had come to learn since encountering the Haradrim during this journey, they preferred to sit on cushions rather than on chairs.
Faramir let Pallando do the talking as he swept his gaze across the tent and noted the women tittering in his direction from behind colourful veils that partially hid their faces. Faramir was not unaccustomed to their clothing, remembering how Ulfrain and his wife had been clothed during the failed treaty celebrations at Gondor. What he did like about Haradrim fabrics however was their colour, which seemed to border on vibrant to near iridescence. If trade were ever established between their peoples, Faramir was certain that women of the west would be clamouring for their fabrics. The women in the tent did not speak to him directly, even though he saw their eyes shifting furtively in his direction periodically.
The spell did not change his appearance but allowed other people to simply ignore that he was a man of the Westernesse. Pallando had told Roshal that they heralded from lands beyond Rhun and were seeking to establish a new life in a warmer climate as well as explore new territories. Roshal seemed to accept this readily enough and paid Faramir more attention than the former Ranger would have liked because it made him wonder if Roshal could see past his guise. However, if Roshal suspected them of anything, he certainly did not make mention of it.
"The famine does not appear to have effected you," Pallando observed when they sat down to dine and the meals were served.
The aroma of the food was exotic like the Haradrim people, Faramir found himself thinking, and was thick with spices and meat. He saw very little in the way of vegetables other than tubers and the kind that grew in a land starving for rain. The food like their cloth was colourful and there seemed to be some reverence in the way it was splayed out before the guests. The young lady who served him certainly took a great deal of ceremony in the way she laid the table whilst casting stealthy glances at him at the same time.
Strange, he thought silently.
"Well I am not a man without a fortune," Roshal confessed, unperturbed by the question since in this time, the famine was a part of life and not easily ignored. "There is plenty of food in the Belt but that too is starting to dwindle. This feast you see before you are expensive but it is no different than what it costs at Mahazar. So many are flocking to the cities for food and work but there is little of either when there is no rain or crops. I had hoped that I would make one last trip into the Barrens before it was necessary to return home and wait out the war but circumstances have made it difficult."
"We are honoured then that you have been so accommodating," Pallando said genuinely touched by the hospitality shown when it was clear that Roshal had his troubles of his own.
"Think nothing of it," Roshal declared dismissively, "those horses you trade for the droma are worth their weight in gold, certainly worth your meals whilst travelling with us."
He did not see Faramir flinch involuntarily at the loss of the horses
"In truth," Roshal turned his gaze to Faramir, "I had an ulterior motive for asking you to join us."
Faramir, who understood better than he could speak, immediately tensed at that statement. He cursed under his breath because he had entered the tent armed only with a dagger he had hidden within his boot. However, Pallando did not seem to be terribly concerned at this statement, which made Faramir wonder what the wizard knew that he did not. Deciding he would give the wizard the benefit of the doubt, Faramir reached for the goblet of wine that had been poured before him.
"What sort of motive?" Pallando asked, forcing himself to keep from smiling because he had a good sense what this was about and had neglected to tell Faramir for good reason.
"Your young friend appears to be a man who knows his mind," Roshal said with a smile, "sensible as well. Surely when one is going to a new land, one can only prosper with a wife. I have many daughters and it would be my privilege to offer anyone of them you wish for your own."
Faramir who was in mid swallow, promptly choked.
"What?" He managed to croak and noted the giggling that came behind a curtain at the edge of the tent. At least four sets of eyes were peering at him through the colored veils and suddenly Faramir had a clear idea why they had been stealing glances at him all evening.
"I am sorry," Pallando said with a perfectly straight face considering the circumstance. "My friend has already a wife in his own lands."
"Oh," Roshal mused with a disappointed sigh, his shoulders slacking at Pallando's answer. "I had hoped for one of my daughters, the position of First Wife at least but I am certain the position of Second Wife is no less important."
"Second wife?" Faramir asked, somehow managing to cross the language barrier most effectively.
"Yes," Roshal looked at him, "a man must take more than one wife. How else is supposed to ensure a houseful of sons?"
He had nothing to say to Roshal in answer and looked somewhat frantically at Pallando for assistance in extracting him from this embarrassing and wholly unacceptable situation. Of all the things he had expected to encounter as a Ranger, this was as far down the proverbial list as one could imagine. Faramir had never thought of it that way. However, he knew that if he were to return home with a second wife, a house full of sons would be an impossibility since the part of his anatomy required to accomplish that task would not remain connected to his person for very long once Eowyn was done with him.
"It is not customary," Pallando intervened, taking pity on Faramir, "for people of his lands to take more than one wife."
"You mean your people are simply content with one wife?" Roshal exclaimed, staring at Faramir in nothing less than shock. "What if she falls ill and is unable to bear a child?"
"They believe in death being the only reason to take another wife," Pallando explained, "however, one cannot make a new life in a new country without accepting its customs, therefore I am certain that my young companion will be more than happy to accept one of your daughters."
Considering he understood clearly what Pallando had said and by the widening grin on Roshal's face and a resumption of the girlish titters he could hear behind the curtain, Faramir kept him composure remarkably well.
"Pallando," he looked at the wizard, speaking in Westron which they had learnt by now Roshal did not understand, "might I have a moment?"
"Of course," Pallando replied calmly and then turned to Roshal and declared in Haradrim, "my friend would like to discuss which of your daughters he would like to select. Please excuse us."
Faramir was fairly turning red and it was a fortunate thing that they left the tent when they did because the Prince of Ithilien was not at all happy by the situation he found himself. They left the confines of the tent and stepped out into the warm night, putting some distance between themselves and Roshal so that they could speak without being overheard. Once they were far enough away, almost to the edge of the encampment, Faramir halted and faced Pallando.
"What are you doing to me?" He demanded. "I cannot marry anyone! I have a wife and soon a child as well!"
"I know that," Pallando said calmly as if he were dealing with a child throwing a tantrum.
"And you knew!" Faramir accused him. "You knew they were going to ask of me such a thing?"
"I suspected," the wizard shrugged, "however, I was not certain until I saw the ceremony of our meal in his presence. You must understand that daughters are used in the same way alliances are formed in the Western lands. However, it appear Roshal has many daughters and because of the war, is anxious that he will be unable to provide for them. I suspect that he is trying to marry them off to anyone he finds remotely suitable."
"I sympathize with his difficulties," Faramir returned, calming himself because he did feel for the man's plight. "However, I am a Prince of Ithilien and a Ranger, I came into this land in order to gather intelligence, not a wife."
"And to do that, we require their assistance to slip into Mahazar covertly," Pallando countered. "It is a grave insult in this culture to refuse a man when he offers you his daughter."
"I cannot take a second wife!" Faramir cried out in exasperation. "Eowyn will kill me, and I do not mean that that figuratively, I mean it in the manner of 'I shall wake up one night and find my innards about my throat'. My wife knows her weapons."
"Calm yourself Prince," Pallando said smoothly, amused greatly by Faramir's reaction and was performing a minor feat of magic by hiding it from the Ranger of Ithilien. "Were you this skittish on your wedding night?"
Faramir straightened and looked him in the eye, "you are not funny and thanks to your gracious acceptance on my behalf, we have a problem."
"No we do not," Pallando sighed knowingly, "you will agree to marry one of his daughters but not before we arrive at Mahazar because you wish to purchase a house before welcoming your new bride into your bed. Once we are there, it will be a simple matter to slip away and you will have no fear of committing adultery."
"I had not planned on it anyway," Faramir glared at him, appeased by Pallando's suggestion despite the whole thing being completely improper to begin with. "If he agrees to wait until we reach Mahazar, I will go along with this plan, otherwise, I am taking my droma and we will take our chances on our own in entering the city ourselves. I miss my wife terribly, more than I can say. It pains me to leave her when she is with child and the idea of taking another is abhorrent."
"She is a fortunate woman to be held in such regard," the wizard remarked in understanding as they walked back to Roshal's tent. "However, your lady recognizes war and its needs far better than most, she will understand your need to play this charade."
"I shall never tell her," Faramir muttered, imagining the embarrassment and wondered at the things he was forced to do for king and country.
Pallando grinned and added as they neared the tent, "now all there is left for you to do is be very diplomatic when you choose one of them."
Faramir stared at him, "choose?"
************
Fortunately for Faramir, Roshal agreed to his desire to wait until they arrive at Mahazar for the wedding to take place much to the Prince's relief. However, if he thought the embarrassment he had endured at this whole affair was ended with his acceptance of Roshal's offer, then the Prince of Ithilien was great mistaken. As Pallando had predicted, Faramir was forced to choose one among Roshal's daughters to be his second wife and the whole process was terribly awkward since to do this, they had to parade before him as animals at the marketplace. He had hardly paid any attention to them during their journey, more focused on observing Haradrim culture than the young women who cast their gazes his way. He knew that he had inspired their interest for he had been known to women as being somewhat fair, however, he had never thought their interests was more than that until the moment was upon him.
Since none, by his reckoning at least, could compare in the slightest to the golden haired goddess he had married and who was at this moment, swelling with his child, Faramir simply chose the face most familiar to him which was the girl who had served him during the meal. While the alliances that could be forged by marriageable daughters was not uncommon, until now Faramir had not really considered how humiliating it must be for a woman to be simply traded about like pawns on a chessboard between great houses bent on furthering their political standing. It was no different here and Faramir was certain that these young ladies were probably no less thrilled at being presented to him with little consent required on their part. The whole incident made Faramir swear that if he and Eowyn were to have a daughter, she would choose her own mate.
Aside from his impending matrimony with one of Roshal's daughter, the rest of the journey progressed smoothly without much incident although as they crossed the mountains and neared the outskirts of the Sanara Belt, Faramir began to see greater evidence of the war that was approaching its fertile lands. Soldiers began to appear in greater abundance and while the caravan was careful to keep their distance, Faramir could see that the Rangers were correct about the Haradrim being forced to conscript. Soldiers led new recruits towards the Belt and it made Faramir's stomach hollow to see how young some of them were. They were no more than boys and Faramir worried that when the time came they would be little more than fodder to the seasoned warriors of Gondor, Rohan and the elves.
The Sanara Belt when they finally came upon it was indeed as fertile as promised. After seeing tracks of desert, hilly, mountainous terrain that was arid and unyielding, the sight of lush green fields and tall trees was something to behold. Upon seeing it, Faramir could well understand why it was called the heart of Haradwraith for the centerpiece of Haradrim culture lay against the banks of the great river, which was called Sanara.
It was clear however, even from the outskirts that the inhabitants of the belt were mobilizing for war. Along the route that led from the Splinter, Faramir and Pallando saw villages fortifying their positions, building clever traps for the impending invaders, creating barriers to protect their homes and arming themselves with weaponry. He could tell that many who were rushing to make these preparations had never been forced into such positions before because their efforts to wield weapons appeared ungainly and fledgling. Boys as young as their twelfth year were being provided with swords to protect their homes and through this growing awareness of war, came the whispers of fear that the First Born were coming to slaughter them.
The Haradrim army was also a looming presence in these communities, instructing its people as to the best ways to protect their villages and ward off the invaders when they finally reached the Sanara Belt. Faramir found it interesting to note that to the Haradrim it was not merely a matter of if they reached the Belt but rather when. A pall of inevitability rested over the land that incited some sensation of guilt within Faramir when he saw the fear in their eyes at the destruction that would ensure when Aragorn led the armies of Gondor, Rohan and the elves to the Belt. However, there was also the determination to fight at all costs, to defend their homes and their families against eminent slaughter.
The folk of the Sanara Belt were mostly farmers since natural irrigation from the great river had turned the hard ground into a loamy, aerated soil ideal for planting. In the Barrens, the primary crop grown was maize but within the Belt, barley, wheat rice and other grains that could be stored easily were grown. Since the fall of Barad-dur and the cessation of tributes that supplemented the Haradrim food supply, the burden had fallen upon the farmers of the Sanara to feed their people. However, with the advent of the drought, what grain the Barrens had been able to produce itself was savagely reduced and increased that burden had grown to almost intolerable levels.
The price of what food there was had risen so greatly that only morsels remained for those without wealth and as they moved deeper into the Belt, Faramir saw that many had been driven to the streets in order to beg for scraps. Roshal had stated that this was the way it had been since the Fall of the Ring and until Faramir witnessed it for himself, had not guessed how terrible the circumstance the Haradrim and most likely the Easterlings had found themselves with the end of Sauron. With the onset of war, the situation had become more desperate. While it grieved Faramir to think in such a manner, there was a part of him that could not deny that it would be best for everyone, if Gondor were in a position to force the Haradrim into accepting their aid.
There should be no contests of pride when there were people starving.
They arrived in Mahazar two days after entering the belt and its standing as the capital of Haradwraith could not be mistaken for it was in every sense a great city. With the Sanara running through Mahazar bringing travelers from Far and Near Harad who concluded their journeys in the heart of the city, the waterway was a colorful flotilla of boats. Some were pulled so closely together that the trade they brought with them could be conducted without stepping onto the shore. Merchants and peddlers sold their wares from their vessels as wealthy customers in small crafts of their own, skimmed the edge of this floating marketplace and made their purchases. Faramir tried to imagine the Anduin being used for such a purpose and could not even begin to imagine it and yet for the Haradrim, it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
The rest of Mahazar comprised of buildings that were built relatively low to the ground and the architectural design favored most was its domed shape. Roshal explained that occasionally sandstorms blew in from the Barrens and these were of such intensity that they could cause significant damage to the buildings. Faramir who had grown to manhood in the White City, accustomed to seeing the Tower of Ecthelion holding the standard of Minas Tirith high above the city, swaying in the breeze was quite taken by the lack of tall buildings. There was only one structure of size in the whole of Mahazar, that could be seen from every corner in the city and that was of course the palace of the king. The descendants of Ulfang the Black had built it as homage to the lord they served and as Faramir took in the sight of it, he could not help thinking how much like Barad-dur it resembled. Though not as tall or constructed from adamant, it was still very imposing and made Faramir uncomfortable by looking at it.
One thing that Faramir did learn from Roshal of great value was that the Haradrim king had a name.
He was called Dallanar Hasduri and had been a distant relation of Ulfrain when he had come to power. Of course, people had known of Dallanar before his ascension to the throne. Dallanar had begun his life at the edge of Haradrim territory, in what its people called the Sunlands. He had been the son of a minor noble and had never been considered as a serious successor to the throne. It was anticipated that Ulfrain and his wife would produce an heir and continue the line of kings. Dallanar distinguished himself as a great warrior when he arrived at Mahazar and for a time served under General Castigliari. However, when Ulfrain put forward the suggestion that the Haradrim accept the Reunified Kingdom's offer of peace and grain, Dallanar had been one of the most vocal voices opposing this plan.
He was a charismatic leader, Roshal explained and when he spoke, it was easy to be swayed by his words. Thus when Ulfrain and Castigliari set out for Gondor, Dallanar's words had already caused seething dissension within the ranks of the Haradrim leaders. Dallanar had reached the people, with his claims that in accepting the gift of grain from Gondor that would relieve their famine; they would be sacrificing their way of life to the race responsible for the destruction of their lord Sauron. Even whilst Ulfrain and Castigliari were at Gondor negotiating this peace, Dallanar was at home, inciting the Haradrim and meeting with Easterling leaders who shared the opinion that they ought to solve their troubles by the military conquest of the Reunified Kingdom.
When Castigliari returned home and informed the Haradrim people the alliance Ulfrain had forged with Morgoth's shape shifters, Dallanar was quick to turn the situation to his advantage and accused the General of committing treason for the murder of his king. Ulfrain should have been brought home to face judgement by his people, not summarily killed by a Gondorian sympathizer. Castigliari and all his men were soon executed and the void left by Ulfrain and the lack of an heir to the throne shifted everyone's attention to Dallanar, who was more than happy to accept the responsibility.
His rise to the kingship came with a hefty price since his first act was to announce the declaration of war against the Reunified Kingdom. However, almost every suspected that this had been Dallanar's plan since Ulfrain and Castigliari departed from Mahazar. Circumstances had allowed the general to play into his hands and when Dallanar took the throne, he had done so legitimately.
Ironically, the coup he had planned had become unnecessary.
Shortly after their arrival at Mahazar, Faramir and Pallando slipped away from the company of Roshal and his family. The Prince was mindful at leaving behind a benefice of gold and the two dromas in the hopes that it would compensate the caravan potentate for his hospitality as well as soothe his anger at losing a potential son in law. Mahazar was a large enough city for the two men to become lost and as they disappeared into the night, Faramir could not help feeling grateful that they were now travelling on their own again, without the need for complication.
Or betrothal.
"I hope you know how to buy dromas," Faramir remarked as they sat within the confines of a tavern, sharing a meal later that evening. "We will need them to return to the others."
Initially, Faramir had thought the tavern would be a small dingy place since its outside appearance certainly promoted the belief but inside, the floors were not stone but rather polished slabs of sandstone with short, stout chairs and cushions scattered about for seating. There was the stench of incense as men smoked their ornate pipes intermingling with the aroma of appetizing food and equally alluring spirits. Despite the poverty beyond the doors, the patrons were engaged in conversation, leering at pretty young women who served food behind their gossamer like veils and enjoying their meals.
"I have some experience," Pallando remarked taking a sip of his wine and raising a brow at its taste. Certainly not as strong as Gondorian ale, he mused to himself.
"I would like to go the palace at dawn," Faramir replied, as he cast his gaze across the room and rested upon the features of a man who was staring at him and Pallando. The man's eyes seemed full of intent and Faramir lowered his voice further in the event anyone understood that he was speaking Westron. The man appeared familiar though how that could be was beyond the Prince's ability to explain. "There will be enough light for me to make my observations but enough dark to vanish before I am seen."
"That is a good idea," Pallando agreed. "No doubt, the palace will be heavily guarded at times such as these."
It was true. Since entering the tavern where many had congregated to drink or to eat either with or without the company of others, Faramir and Pallando had overheard numerous conversations where it was revealed that the armies of the enemy were already nearing the Splinter, if not there already.
Suddenly, the door swung open with a loud bang and the lively chatter of the room fell silent as a trio of Haradrim warriors entered the room. The leader of them, paused at the doorway and swept his gaze across the room. Instinctively, Faramir's hand slid under his elven cloak that had so far managed to conceal his terribly Westron sword from view. Pallando continued to drink, pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred as the Haradrim captain rested his eyes upon Faramir.
Faramir cursed softly under his breath when he saw the captain maintaining his deep scrutiny. Had Roshal known what they were? Had the old man betrayed them? Faramir did not think so but neither could he allowed either of them to be caught. He remained frozen, waiting to see the outcome of the captain's deep evaluation before he acted. Unfortunately, it appeared the man's interest in him was not passing and he nodded at his two companions before striding towards their table.
"Remain calm," Pallando said knowingly, sensing that the reason for the man's interest was not what they feared although it was no less perilous.
The Haradrim soldier paused before him and through the corner of his eyes, Faramir saw the other two approaching other men at their tables. Fear at being discovered quickly turned into confusion as the captain paused before him.
"You," the man stated gruffly. "How old are you?" He demanded.
"I am afraid my friend does not speak our language," Pallando quickly interjected. "He comes from the Sunlands."
"I do not require him to speak," the captain retorted glaring at him. "I am certain he understand well enough."
"What is it you wish of us?" Pallando inquired, hoping to avoid conflict if it was possible.
"Your friend is of age and appears healthy enough," the man looked over his shoulder before turning his eye back to Faramir once more, "he is needed for the service of the king."
"For the service of the king?" Pallando asked, stumbling in his thoughts a little at the strange answer.
"Yes," he nodded before glaring at Faramir, "considered yourself conscripted."
************
Legolas sat alone in his tent, unaware that day had turned into night and night had turned back into day.
He had returned to his tent after their disastrous meeting with Satarin and had issued orders for anyone who wished to see him to be sent away. To this degree his orders were carried out with question but Legolas noted that none of those who wished an audience were his friends. Upon entering the solitude of his tent, he had lowered himself to his chair and simply sat, his thoughts numb, his heart even more so. The memory of Aragorn's eyes burned into his flesh like a branding iron, filled with accusation, holding only disbelief when he had pleaded his innocence. Aragorn's eyes had burned as much as the boy's dying gaze when Legolas had inadvertently taken his life.
From that moment, nothing had been simple and his heart had grown steadily heavier in his breast, until the weight of it was more than he could stand. He had left that house, his hands wet with the child's blood after the frantic effort to revive him even though he had known the instant his blade had struck, that it was too late. The memory of what he had done dogged him and as he looked into the faces of those who had spilt blood with him at Axinar, he knew that they had cursed with demons of their own. Even Gimli, who had been at his side through many adventures stared at him with equally haunted eyes. He was not surprised to hear the dwarf had left even though he missed him greatly.
He had hoped that the shackles over his heart and soul would be freed when Aragorn would arrive. Their friendship had spanned sixty years, a lifetime, in human terms. Surely, Estel would understand. However, in truth, he secretly feared otherwise. Aragorn would never allow his emotions to do to him what Legolas' own rage had forced the elf to do. He had never thought the disbelief of a human could hurt him as much as it had impaled his heart when Aragorn stared back at him following Satarin's words. Even Eomer seemed to possess more compassion than Aragorn, whose eyes accused him even before Legolas had a chance to tell him the truth. Not that it had made much difference when he had because Aragorn did not believe.
In truth Aragorn did worse than not believe him, the king of Gondor had looked at him as if he were a murderer.
Unfortunately, considering what he had done, Legolas had nothing to say that could refute that belief and had ridden away before Aragorn could see how much he was hurt.
So now he lingered inside his tent, accustoming himself to the fact that he would be alone in what needed to be done, no matter how brutal he was forced to behave, as he had done after the boy had been killed. His friends had not the stomach for what must be; and he who had crossed the line, who had gone too far to turn back, would spare them the moral dilemma by doing what they could not. For Melia, he would do this and even for Aragorn.
"Legolas," Haldir's voice sliced through his thoughts at some undisclosed hour because Legolas had lost all track of time since entering his tent, aware only of its passage and little else.
"I said I did not wish to be disturbed," Legolas said coldly, not turning to look at him when Haldir paused at the entrance to the tent.
"The hour has passed for Satarin to give us his answer," Haldir announced, not about to be deterred for any reason.
Legolas snorted cynically, "that is hardly a surprise to me, Haldir."
"He has tendered his refusal to the terms of surrender with a warning that they will defend their city to the last man, no matter how long it takes," the march warden of Lorien added.
Legolas rose slowly to his feet. His heart hardened at Satarin's words and knew that they had reached an impasse with the Cordoban leader that must be broken unless they wished to be mired in the taking of one fortress city when the whole of the Sanara Belt awaited them. For all it had cost him, his friends and his soul, he was not about to be robbed of his revenge because of one poisonous human. Satarin had ensured that Aragorn would never look at him again with anything but loathing and for that, Legolas intended to make the man pay.
"He is stubborn," Legolas declared making his way out of the tent for the first time in a day. The sunlight made him flinch with its glare after being in the dark for so many hours. "He hopes to delay us long enough for reinforcements to arrive from their capital city. We must act before they become too entrenched and impossible to dislodge."
"The Elfstone is giving them another day to safely remove their women and children," Haldir explained. "However I do not see that this will be done."
Legolas did not stop walking as he moved through the elven camp and arrived at wagons where their artillery weapons, redesigned by Gimli, had been languishing since their arrival in Haradwraith. "Nunaur!" Legolas called out to the captain of his guard who was speaking to a number of warriors nearby and motioned the elf to him.
"How long will it take for these weapons to be assembled?" Legolas asked when the elf reached him.
"In a matter of hours," Nunaur replied, confused at the question since no order had been given for attack and not anticipated until the following day at least.
"Good," Legolas nodded, "Haldir, as soon as the sun sets, I want you take a detachment to the river and find the best place to dam it."
Haldir's reaction though subtle revealed his surprise. "Dam it?"
"Yes," Legolas replied with just enough edge in his voice to warn Haldir not to question him. "I want to ensure that the water they have, is all they will have. Do it under the cover of dark, I do not wish for you to be seen by Gondor or the Rohirrim."
"Does this not contradict the Elfstone's orders?" Haldir asked deciding that he probably ought to know better but Legolas' orders warranted the query.
"Who commands you?" Legolas turned to him sharply. "Aragorn means well when he should not. Satarin will not allow those women and children to leave when they know our concern for them will prevent us from attacking with as much force as we can muster for fear of harming them."
"And you mean to prove him wrong?" Haldir asked, his voice dangerous close to accusation.
"I will do what is necessary and so will you," Legolas stared at him. "You will take as many as you need under cover of dark and dam the river as I have ordered. Nunaur," the lord of Eden Ardhon turned to his captain, "I want those devices in place after dark. We will not use fire but we will use rock and stone. I will adhere to Aragorn's wishes on that much at least."
"What of Gondor and Rohan?" Nunaur questioned, aware that his lord was contravening all the desires of their allies but could not bring himself to disobey.
"Once they see the attack is in progress and how far we have advanced, they will follow our lead," Legolas declared. "Of that I have no doubt."
Haldir was extremely disturbed by Legolas' orders but like Nunaur, he served his master well and while he represented Lord Celeborn's efforts in this war, he would have to regard Legolas as such. However, he was certain that while Gondor and Rohan may join their attack once it was underway, the kings of men would not be happy that they were forced into it.
"Haldir?" Legolas stared at him and the stranger that met his gaze was so far from the elf that had spoken to him kindly about his perceived affections for the Lady Melia. Haldir prayed that Gimli returned soon before Legolas descended so far into the abyss that not even Melia would be able to retrieve him from it.
"I will carry your order," Haldir found himself saying and hated himself for it.
************
For Gimli, son of Gloin, the journey across Haradwraith to Gondor seemed endless.
It had been felt interminably long when he had traveled in the company of the elf but alone, it was an ordeal that had almost forced him to throw down where he was and move no more. For weeks, his world had become an oblivion of one dune after another, one watering hole that appeared no different from the last and through it all, there was no one to speak to about any of these inconveniences. His pony, though a good listener, was a terrible conversationalist although after a few weeks alone, Gimli was no longer so particular. He knew that the mission entrusted to him was important and that thought alone forced him to continue.
Constantly preying upon his thoughts was how he would tell Melia what Legolas was doing.
She already blamed herself for more than she ought to regarding the death of the child Anna, to know that many others had been killed because of Legolas' determination to avenge her would not please the lady at all. Gimli wondered how it was possible for Legolas to love Melia as he did and not realize that Melia would not condone the murder of innocents even if they were of the race that responsible for her violation. That was the trouble with elves, Gimli snorted in frustration, it was all their aspiration to achieve serenity and perfection that left them completely unable to cope with the little defeats. Not everything could be succeeded; not everything could be hard won with grace and skill.
Sometimes, the world simply was unfair.
As long lived as they were, Gimli truly believed the elves did not know this or if they did, chose to ignore it. Each time an elf was wronged, he embarked upon a crusade to eradicate the evil that was its cause, not realizing that evil was everywhere and sometimes its pursuit had the ability to twist the pure into the very thing they sought to destroy. Legolas was such an elf. He felt things too deeply and believed in the innate good of all even though he was no fool and had seen much darkness in his time. However, good and evil were very contrasting things for Legolas, and there were no in-betweens or the understanding that sometimes one had to accept the way things were.
When he finally saw the green hills that indicated the return to the familiar territory, Gimli was so overjoyed that he thought he might die from the satisfaction of it. Green trees with leafy branches, the smell of wet grass after the rain and the cool moisture of fresh loam; these were the things that reminded him of his homeland. He thought of his wife, waiting for him at home and wished there were time to see her but his mission was urgent and he could not afford the time, not when Legolas was in such dire need. He took the Harad Road into Ithilien, and was gratified to see the forest where Eden Ardhon was built had begun to restore itself. He paused for a day at the colony and found that some of the elves had returned with Thranduil's assistance to rebuild. Melia however, remained in Minas Tirith.
He broke again at Emyn Arnen to take rest at the fortress of the Eastern Eye which was also rebuild after the Confederacy attack and thought the place felt empty without Eowyn's presence. After resting for a day, he was off again and was grateful that his journey was at last nearing an end, as Minas Tirith became his next port of call. It felt good to be home in lands that he knew and wished that the elf and Aragorn were here with him. This business of travelling alone did not suit him well, but he supposed he ought to be grateful that he had learnt to ride, which hastened the journey somewhat.
The White City as always was a jewel in the distance that grew to encompass him the nearer he approached. Gimli rode into the city without fanfare and was permitted into the Citadel of Gondor without question, since their king had given orders early in his reign that members of the Fellowship would always be welcomed in his presence. The guards knew Gimli from his numerous visits and were more than happy that he brought news from their king who appeared to be faring well in the country of the enemy. Gimli saw no reason to tell them anymore about the progress in Haradwraith because terrible tales seemed to cross the land faster than the wind. He had no doubt it would be the same with the news of the massacres.
Arwen had feared the worst she heard of Gimli's return to Minas Tirith. By her reckoning, there was very little that could tear the dwarf from the side of his friends during a battle unless the reason was compelling. Until he presented himself to her, both Arwen and Eowyn had entertained fears that perhaps one of their loved ones had fallen in battle. When he revealed that the reason for his return to Minas Tirith had little to do with such tragic news, each lady was filled with gratitude as well as relief that their husbands were alive and well.
"So why have you returned?" Eowyn looked at Gimli as they sat together in the parlor of the royal wing.
"I have come to see Melia," Gimli offered reluctantly, uncertain if he ought to reveal the reason for his return home.
"Is it Legolas?" She demanded, hating to think that Melia was going to be burdened with news that they had been spared.
Arwen noted the dwarf's reluctance to speak and decided to spare him the effort since it would be a difficult enough subject when he brought it up with Melia. "It is alright Gimli," she said gently, "Melia is in her room. I will have one of the servants show you which one."
Gimli released a sigh and though Eowyn appeared to have more questions regarding the matter, she remained silent with the intention of them answered by Arwen when the moment was more appropriate.
"Thank you," Gimli nodded and hoped that the rest of the day would be as painless.
Somehow, he doubted it.
**********
Since Legolas had left her alone, Melia, lady of Eden Ardhon had found herself in a curious state of being.
She knew that she had flesh and that beneath her breast, a heart beat periodically to keep her alive. She knew that occasionally her lungs needed air and that her body took up the duty of drawing it into herself on her behalf. There was no doubt in her mind that she walked in the physical world, not trapped in shadow like the Nazgul. When she spoke, her voice was heard and the world continued as it always had around her.
Melia knew all these things and yet with every fibre of her being, she could feel nothing.
Since Anna's death and Legolas' departure, Melia felt as if she was trapped in amber, unable to move, unable to think of anything except that terrible moment when she met the Easterling's eyes and knew without doubt that Anna was going to die. It haunted her waking hours and tormented her sleep and the only one who could have made it better was far away, avenging her when what she needed most from him was his presence. Of course, she had said nothing to stop him because Legolas was enduring pain of his own and when he was determined, she knew that his will could move mountains. He needed to avenge her and she did not have the heart to make him stay when it meant so much to him.
Through the mire of numbness that consumed her whole, one thing was beginning to penetrate and its invasion into her safe refuge was becoming more and more insistent which each day that slipped past. Now along with the overwhelming numbness, was this nagging sensation that something was happening to her sweet prince, something that was reaching through the distance like tendrils of dark shadow. It was clawing its way towards her and Melia had found herself waiting for the moment when it was upon her.
When she heard Gimli's voice at her door, she knew that moment had arrived.
"Gimli," Melia had regarded him as he entered the confines of her parlor. They exchanged warm embraces for he was family and there was no need for ceremony between them.
"You look well," Gimli said with genuine emotion as the memory of those terrible injuries inflicted upon her by the Easterlings surfaced briefly in his mind.
"I am in better stead then I was at our last encounter," she smiled aware that there was something on his mind that he was trying not to say. She bade him to sit and faced him waiting for him to sum up the courage.
"You did not ride all the way Minas Tirith without good reason," Melia stated, seeing no need for trivialities when she knew something was wrong. "Tell me Master Gimli, what has brought you to my door and do not fear what effect it will have upon me because I had suffered much worse of late."
Gimli was not so certain but was grateful that he could simply tell her since diplomacy was not his best trait and she needed to hear the truth in all its brutality if she was going to be of any help to her husband. "It's the elf," Gimli replied. "He needs you."
Melia blinked slowly because in that one statement, everything was laid bare to her and needed no further explanation because the details could wait until they were underway. "How bad is it?"
"Bad enough," Gimli answered softly wishing he had it in him to lie, but he did not. "He is almost a stranger."
Melia absorbed this news with silent contemplation and knew that Gimli had made the arduous trip across Haradwraith because she was possibly the only person who could reason with the Prince. At last the coldness she felt between them was explained. Their bond of love and flesh had kept them linked in a spiritual sense and of late, the beacon of his light had dimmed considerably. Now, she knew why. Rage was threatening to consume the gentle light of his soul and somehow Melia had to help him salvage it if she was to regain her own.
"We leave tomorrow at first light," Melia said meeting Gimli's gaze.
"I will be ready," Gimli declared firmly. "We have a long way to travel."
Not as long as my prince's, Melia thought silently.
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