"Mornië, you cannot allow them to take the leadership of this band. We are Shadowwalkers; we answer to none but our own kind." Niquë raged at me over breakfast the next day. The other Walkers gathered behind her, muttering angrily. I faced them across the table, my hands planted on the wooden surface.
Serko leaned around his mate, pounding the table with one meaty fist. His square face was drawn into a grimace of stubbornness, his brown eyes alive with anger. "The Council did not intend for us to become subservient to these people, Mornië. We will not follow them."
I drew myself up, making my voice as cold as I knew how. "Then you can go back to our people and hide in the shadows until the Easterlings come for you. I am shamed, Serko. I did not think your pride so great that you would refuse what aid we have been offered."
He glared at me, jaw grinding. I turned my gaze on all of them. "Listen to me. I have asked them to lead us in this endeavor. The Council trusted me enough to bring you here; I ask you to trust me enough to choose someone more experienced to lead us back. We are no longer versed in warfare. These people have fought against Sauron; they have stood and they have won. We cannot afford to be without them."
Maranwë stepped forward, hissing her words at me. "We cannot trust you. You are not fit to lead. Too many have died already- how many more before you tire of this game you play?" She spit curses at me in Avarin, her pale face contorted with rage and grief. I stepped back as she struck at me across the table; before I could stop, Rage leaped into my hand, bright steel flashing in the early morning sunlight.
Maranwë circled the table, snatching Ango's blade from its scabbard hanging from his chair. She dropped into a compact fighting stance, blade readied. I fought with Rage for control as the Blade forced me into position.
"Maranwë." My voice grated from my throat. "Withdraw. Sister. You know this Blade. Do not give her cause to hurt you." She shook her dark head, her eyes locked with mine. I glanced over her shoulder at Runyo. "Disarm her, quickly. I cannot control Rage for long." I gasped aloud as the others stepped away from us. She slashed at me. Rage blocked, pulling my arm into a swift upward stroke to catch Maranwë's blade. I whirled, my feet tracing an intricate pattern on the stone floor as we feinted and parried. She whipped the blade at me, slipping past my defenses as I fought with Rage, the tip of her sword dragging across my cheekbone.
The pain seemed to ignite Rage's hunger like a torch to dry timber. I leaped at Maranwë, driving her backward across the floor, Rage reaching for her with every step. She tripped and fell, barely rolling away before the Blade could sink into her shoulder. I raised Rage for a killing blow even as my mind shrieked at me to cease. The Blade howled with joy, anticipating blood. I felt a single tear roll down my cheek.
An iron hand arrested my swordarm as the Blade swung toward her head. Rage was snatched out of my hand, sent spinning across the flagstone floor. I was wrapped in strong arms, wrestled to my knees. Through the din in my head I became aware that other voices were shouting, someone was calling my name, the room was crowded with people.
I panted, sweat pouring off my body, trembling against the person restraining me. Maranwë towered over us, hand pressed to an arm wound I didn't remember inflicting. She spit at me in Avarin and kicked me sharply in the stomach. She was lifted off the floor, pinned in Aragorn's arms. He thrust her at Ango, shouting at him to restrain her.
I fought to catch my breath. Aragorn stood between us, roaring with rage.
"What is happening here? I will not countenance armed combat within these walls, not even from guests. Legolas, get her out of here. The rest of you go find something useful to do."
My companions dispersed, muttering, as I was hauled to my feet. Legolas grabbed Rage and slid the Blade into his belt. He held my upper arms tightly, scanning my face.
"Can you stand?" I shook my head; already my knees were buckling beneath me. He nodded curtly and lifted me in his arms. He carried me into the same room we had sat in with Aragorn the night before and gently lowered me into a chair. Aragorn strode into the room behind him, his face a mask of anger. He paced across the room several times, speaking to Legolas in a tongue I did not know. Legolas kept glancing at me, his face dark and worried. Several times he gestured toward the hall, pointing emphatically. Aragorn turned to me, kneeling before my chair.
"What happened?" His voice was tight and controlled.
"I beg your forgiveness, my lord. It was not my wish to break the peace of your house." I bowed my head in a gesture of submission. "If you demand it of me, I will pay whatever honor-price I must."
"What do you mean, honor-price?" His voice was quietly wary.
"My lord, it is the custom among my people to exact a price for the compromise of honor. I have no possessions or wealth of my own; I can only offer myself." I bowed my head further, waiting his reply.
He stood in a rustle of fabric. "I still do not take your meaning, my lady. Legolas, are you aware of this custom?"
I heard a soft step behind my chair. "Yes, though it is rare among our people now. She offers her blood, Aragorn, or her life. Whichever will compensate for the dishonor she has brought on your house." Legolas's voice was serious and hushed.
Aragorn stood before me, considering my words. I huddled within my robes, waiting for his decision. Legolas spoke again, more urgently.
"Aragorn. You cannot accept, even though she offers it willingly."
"Would you guarantee her good conduct, my friend? Without reassurance that such behavior will not continue, I cannot allow the lady free passage within these walls."
I closed my eyes; banished to my rooms, then, for the duration of our stay, or perhaps turned out into the streets this very night, driven out of the city. I would return to my Master in shame.
A strong hand fell on my shoulder, gripping me reassuringly. "I will accept responsibility for your guest, Aragorn. I feel this was an unusual circumstance."
Aragorn crouched before me. "Does my friend speak truly, Lady? What passed between you that caused you to fight?"
I could barely meet his eyes. "I am only a scholar, my lord, a secretary. I have no authority in our ranks despite the Council's orders, and so they already do not trust me. My intention to let your men assume leadership does not sit well with them. They refuse to follow your men and they challenge my right to lead."
Aragorn gripped the arms of the chair. "But why draw steel on them? Why on her? Have you no way to solve your differences otherwise?" Legolas placed a restraining hand on his shoulder.
"You must think us barbarians, Sire. I did not wish to fight her. Maranwë's mate and Magepartner were killed shortly after we left Rhûn. She is bitter and grieved and looks for someone to blame. She knows-they all know-that drawing on me incites the Blade I carry."
Legolas's breath caught audibly. He knelt beside Aragorn, holding Rage in one hand, away from his body. "It is a geas-blade, is it not? I have read of these also. Aragorn, I could sense the anger, the lust for blood, the moment I touched it." I reached for the Blade, suddenly desperate for the comforting weight of her in my hand; I clutched her to my body once he released his grip. He turned his eyes to my face.
"You cannot control it, not once you are threatened, is that correct?" I nodded.
"I can control her as long as the threat is very slight or my opponent stands down. Maranwë refused to withdraw. I do not know if she was angry enough to fight or despairing enough to willingly bring death upon herself. Perhaps it was both." I slipped Rage back into her sheath and rubbed my forehead, trying to drive out the memory of her face as I raised the Blade above her.
Aragorn stood, clasping his hands before him. "Will they cooperate with my men? I cannot send Legolas and Gimli out unless you can assure me that they will not be harmed."
I met his eyes. "They will not be harmed. I will set my own life in forfeit as a guarantee of their safety."
The King nodded, then turned and pulled a book of maps off a low shelf. He spread the book open on a wide table and motioned me to join him. Legolas slipped a hand under my elbow to support me. As I seated myself on a tall stool by the table, Legolas rummaged in a long drawer under the table; after a few moments, he pulled out a square of fabric. Folding it into a thick square, he pressed the makeshift bandage to the cut on my cheek until I raised my own hand to my face. Aragorn watched us, then pointed to a map of Mordor, the tiny sliver of Rhûn visible to the east.
"We have very little information about Rhûn and no good maps to speak of. Can you fill in the information we need?" I nodded and took up a quill. I laid a sheet of paper over the page of the book and quickly traced the outline of Mordor. I lifted the sheet and sketched in a map of Rhûn, adding more of the Deep Forest, and the Sea of Helcar. I marked a cross by the Forest and a circle around the island in the Sea of Rhûn.
"The Forest is larger than it appears on this map-it must be ancient, that it shows our woods to be so small. My people live here, at the cross. The Shadowwalkers live on this island in the sea. Our cousins, the Plainspeople, live in the north at the foot of the Iron Hills. There are a few other Clans scattered through the wastes. The Easterlings are nomadic peoples, moving from haven to haven throughout the year, but there is a large city-I confess I do not know the name-here, on the eastern shores of the Sea of Helcar." I marked the position on the map; the city formed the third point of a triangle whose base extended from the Sea to the Iron Hills.
Aragorn stared at me strangely. "Are you sure of this city, Mornië? It is there now, not in ruins, a living city?"
"I believe it is, my lord. Unless things have changed more than I expected since we left Rhûn. I have not been there myself, but my Teacher traveled near that city during the war against Sauron. He said it was a great city, very ancient. He did not dare travel close enough to learn the name, but it is not unknown to our Plainspeople."
He and Legolas exchanged glances. Legolas whispered, "Cuiviénen. The Lost City. The birthplace of Elves."
~***~