Across the Plains of Harad
Shushuah awoke to the sound of the camp being dismantled. She could already hear her father's voice, making demands and giving orders as she quickly dressed and packed her personal things, leaving the rest for the servants to gather together. The sides of the tent began to droop slightly as it was taken down, allowing in the thin grey light of dawn. Pulling apart her dividing curtains, she stepped forward to the main area of the tent, her eyes drawn immediately to the support pole. There was no one there. For a moment she froze, feeling her heart inexplicably begin pounding. Her father walked past her as he pointed out a trunk to a thin man, ordering it to be loaded separately.
"Father," she broke into his conversation as soon as he took a breath. His look told her he did not approve. "Where is he?"
Finishing his sentence, Al-jur Dhan glared at his daughter. "He is not your concern." He turned back and resumed his instructions to the servant. Shushuah left the tent torn between anger at her father, and fear for the prisoner. She stepped out into the chill morning air, and found him only a few yards away, kneeling in the dirt with her father's door guard keeping watch over him. His hands were still tied behind him and his head was bowed, his fair hair hanging before his face.
She went to him immediately, using her own version of her father's glare when the guard frowned at her. Kneeling beside the captive in the sand, she spoke quietly. "My lord," she whispered, but got no response. "My lord," she repeated, this time taking his chin in her hand and turning his head slightly toward her. His eyes were unfocused and his lip was split and leaking blood, letting her guess the method her father had used to awaken him. She felt her heart swell with pity and she cupped his cheek in her hand for a moment. "I'm sorry," was all that she could say. There was no response in his eyes, the vibrant green now dulled; she did not know if he understood or even heard her.
"'Shuah!" Dhan's voice was only a few feet away. She saw the captive flinch and cringe away from her at the sound of her father's voice. Hastily withdrawing her hand, she rose and turned to face him, half sick with dread, but this morning the other half was something new, irritation, resentment. Her father's face was tight with anger, his black eyes snapping. "I told you, he is not your concern."
"I just wanted to make sure he was all right," she said, feeling her own anger rising. "Why did you hit him? Look at him," she gestured behind her to the Gondorian, his head once again bowed and his face obscured by blond hair. "He is not dangerous, not now."
Dhan frowned at her, wondering where his quiet, compliant daughter had gone, and who this woman was before him. "I decide whether or not he is dangerous," he said to her in a warning tone.
She caught herself and said nothing more, realizing her own behavior could give her father an excuse to further harm the man behind her in the sand. She could see the shock on her father's face; she rarely opposed his will and had never spoken angrily to him before. Struggling to master her temper, she took a deep breath. "Yes, my Father," she said quietly, before walking past him to gather her things from the tent. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked away.
In less than an hour the camp was packed and ready to leave, each of the packhorses heavily laden while the thirty Haradrim soldiers were mounted and anxious to be on their way. Shushuah took the reins of her own grey desert pony from the boy who cared for him. She patted his nose and waited for her father to finish speaking with his subordinate officer, each of them on a lean black pony, the more common color for the little desert mounts.
From the corner of her eye she kept watch on the prisoner, still on his knees in the sandy soil. Neither he nor the guard behind him had stirred while the camp and its inhabitants prepared to move out, and Shushuah wondered what her father planned to do with him. Seeing him trotting his pony toward the captive with two other mounts in tow, she suddenly understood and found herself following.
Reaching the prisoner, Dhan quickly dismounted. He gave a sharp command and one of the ponies immediately knelt in the sand. The guard prodded the captive to his feet and roughly helped him into the saddle.
"Father!" Shushuah could not keep the nervous tremor from her voice. He turned to her, his arms folded as though to control his temper.
"'Shuah?"
"Father, please don't make him ride like that, please." She reached out and tried to take his hand, but Dhan clenched his fist and would not allow her. "Look at where he is hurt, it will be torture for him." Indeed she could already see a grimace of pain on the Gondorian's face, made worse when the pony regained its feet and the guard began tying his feet together under its belly. Shushuah knew from yesterday how tender the wounded hip was; stretching it across the leather saddle and jostling it for miles would be agony. "Please, my Father."
Al-jur Dhan looked at his daughter, his face a mixture of anger and frustration. "'Shuah, this is not your concern, get on your horse."
"But Father-"
"Get on your horse," his voice was low and held a threat. He nodded to the guard, who had finished tying the prisoner's feet and was now moving his hands from behind to before him, wrapping the ropes around his raw wrists and the saddle horn. "Tie him tightly," he said. The guard nodded in return, casting a quick glance at Shushuah. Dhan faced his daughter once more. She stared back at him, her eyes mutinous, but finally she leaped up into her saddle, driving her heels into her horse and galloping forward to ride at the front of the column. Dhan remounted his own pony, handed the reins of the other to the guard, who had already climbed onto his own mount, then trotted away to join his daughter.
They rode the entire day, stopping only for a meal at midday. Dhan kept a close eye on his daughter and she was not permitted to ride near the prisoner, despite her pleas and complaints the guard was not even making sure he swallowed the water that was offered occasionally. By the time they stopped that evening, Shushuah was determined to see to him. To her surprise, her father, tired of her demands and suspecting she was correct in her assessment of the guard's poor care, agreed to let her see to the captive, ordering the guard to turn his charge over to the dark-eyed girl. Bowing in compliance, the guard untied the ropes and harshly dragged the rider from the pony, unceremoniously dumping him onto the ground. He lay there unmoving, and Shushuah felt a thrum of panic in her chest as she hurried to his side.
Gathering his head into her lap, she poured water from her own water skin into her hand and gently bathed his face, murmuring in Haradrim. Gradually his eyes opened and she continued to speak softly and wipe his sunburned face with the cool liquid. After a moment, she held the water skin to his mouth and trickled a little down his throat, speaking quiet words of encouragement as he swallowed. She patiently offered him as much water as he would drink and bathed his scorched skin with her hand, all the while unaware that her father stood watching.
"Is this 'Shuah's new pet?" Jekarr joined his superior and together they watched the woman nursing the wounded man.
Al-jur Dhan made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "She's fascinated by him." He shook his head in bewilderment. "I'm beginning to be sorry I ever let her see him."
"Well, no harm in letting her take care of him now," said Jekarr. "If anything it increases your chances of getting him back to Dalania alive." The general nodded slowly in agreement, although there was a wary expression in his eyes as he watched his daughter.
The evening meal was similar to the night before, save that this night no tents were set up since they were moving out again early the next day. Father and daughter ate around a small camp fire while the main Haradrim force gathered at several similar fires nearby. Boromir had been pushed down roughly into the sand a few feet away from Shushuah. He shifted slightly, the tentative movement of one who expects new hurt with any motion, and sat quietly, his head lowered. The constant grinding in the saddle all day had aggravated the hip wound to the point that pain throbbed throughout him, demanding his attention. Shushuah sat close by eating her meal, her eyes constantly shifting between her father and the wounded soldier of Gondor.
"My Father –" Shushuah began, recoiling at the fierce look he gave her but pressing on doggedly. "He needs something to eat."
The General looked past her towards his captive, chewing thoughtfully. After a lengthy pause he nodded. "You may give him some food." She instantly got to her feet and filled a small bowl with some of the meat and vegetables that had been prepared for their meal. Taking her own cup with her, she approached the Gondorian, who looked up anxiously, his face tired and drained. With a reassuring smile, she sat down before him, placing the bowl before her in the sand, and offered him a drink from her cup. She did not see her father's look of astonishment and abhorrence as she tipped the edge for Boromir to swallow. He found not water but pale wine, and stopped in surprise for a moment before drinking.
"Go on, it will help you feel better," Shushuah said in her own language, remembering her father was watching her. The prisoner could not understand her words, but her smile was heartening and he drank deeply, feeling the warmth in his veins almost immediately.
Fishing out a small chunk of meat from the bowl, Shushuah lifted it to his mouth and carefully fed him, watching with satisfaction as he chewed and swallowed. Several more pieces of meat and a few vegetables were handed over in this manner.
Al-jur Dhan watched with growing apprehension. His daughter's face was glowing with happiness as she tended to the enemy soldier. This was more than a "pet" as Jekarr had said. She smiled at the foreigner and offered him another bit of food and Dhan noted the way those green eyes looked at her, with trust and hope. But worse yet was what he could see in Shushuah's eyes when they met those of the captive, something the general could not allow: affection.
Dhan abruptly stood up and strode towards them, kicking the bowl and sending it skittering away into the dark. Shushuah jumped to her feet while Boromir froze, waiting for a crushing blow, trying not to cower away.
"What? What is wrong?" Shushuah cried out, only to be silenced by the general's angry glare.
Without a word he twisted one hand into Boromir's hair, wrapped the other around his arm and dragged him away from the fire, dumping him into the sand, where he lay unmoving, little moans escaping him. Turning to the guard he ordered the Gondorian be taken and tied to one of the stakes used to picket the horses at the edge of the camp.
As the guard nodded and reached for the man, Dhan suddenly waved him back and grabbed Boromir's chin in his own dusky hand, forcing the blond head up and searching the green eyes that met his for only a second before they darkened with fear and slid away. "That's right," said Dhan in a deadly voice, "you should be afraid of me. You are beginning to understand, aren't you?" He gave him a vicious shake, sending the pain in Boromir's head shooting down his neck and spine. "You keep your eyes away from her."
"Father, please-" Shushuah tried to seize his arm but he pushed her away.
"'Shuah, do not interfere." There were tears in her eyes, tears of compassion for the foreigner, and that further enraged him.
Without warning he drew back his arm and smashed a heavy fist into Boromir's face, sending him crashing into the gritty dirt. He heard his daughter cry out behind him. With a look of loathing he motioned for the guard to take the captive away. Stepping back he turned to the fire and saw Shushuah had disappeared; she had retreated to her bedroll and was facing away from him. He could hear her crying, the sound muted by the blankets she had pressed to her face. He frowned, his eyes wandering back to the prisoner being dragged across the sand.
They traveled the following day much the same as before, moving across the desert, stopping only for a quick meal in the hottest part of the day. The guard who had been relieved of his duties the previous day was now returned and given back charge of the prisoner, although Shushuah continued to worry about his care, pressing her father for better treatment, more water, a change of his position on the horse, until he roared in anger and banned her from his sight for the remainder of the day. All her requests were ignored and she was forbidden to even ride close to the captive, being ordered to stay close to Jekarr at the front of the column.
Boromir stubbornly clung to his senses as long as he could, but the jolting of the horse continued the assault on the already tattered nerves in his hip and across his ribs. By afternoon he had passed out and when they stopped in the evening he was once more taken from the horse insensible. This time Shushuah was not permitted to revive him; the guard merely dragged him off to be tied up at the edge of the camp.
After another plain meal, it was only a short time before the camp was quiet with everyone settled in their blankets. Shushuah lay under her covers, waiting, and looked up at the stars blazing in the cold nighttime sky. Nearby, her father had rolled himself in his blankets after sharing a silent meal with her. Now, after a long time, she could finally hear the sound of his regular, heavy breathing and knew he was asleep. Easing herself from her bedroll, she glanced around to make sure everyone was sleeping. Only the solitary guard was awake and he was walking a perimeter at least thirty yards from camp. She waited until he had passed before wrapping a blanket around her and stealing across the sandy ground to check on the Gondorian.
He was tied to a stake driven deeply into the ground, which seemed ridiculous to Shushuah since he was barely able to stand on his own. Asleep, his blond head was tilted back against a rock behind him, his cheek lying across the rough surface. His shoulders were red with sunburn and his lips cracked and split. Squatting beside him, she gently reached out and stroked his hair, that strange light hair that only a few days ago she had thought odd but now found appealing. "My lord," she whispered, using the Westron tongue. He was shivering slightly in the chill night air and she pulled the blanket from her shoulders and tucked it around him. "My lord."
Boromir stirred slightly and dragged open his heavy eyelids. The effort this took was overwhelming and he felt slightly nauseous as he did so. He looked at the girl before him dully. "How are you?" she asked, gently cupping his cheek as she had done that first morning. His eyes closed and he seemed to fade away from her. "My lord?"
He opened his eyes again and this time there was a slight glimmer of recognition in the green depths. Boromir couldn't remember who she was, or why he recognized her, only that he did. He gave her a weak smile. "-'M'all right," he whispered. He knew this was a lie, knew that she would know it to be one, too. But the ability to describe the excruciating agony he had been subjected to all day was far beyond his tired brain. Even now he could not resist the pain, could only try to lie very still and allow it to carry him where it would.
Shushuah reached down to check his injuries, probing the knife wound, then moving to the angry flesh of his hip, only to have him give a guttural cry as her hand touched him. Horrified, she covered her mouth to stifle a sob. This was wrong, she knew it. No one should suffer like this. All her life she had listened to her father's stories of honor in war and battle, but there was nothing brave or glorious in this. She brushed back his hair again and his eyes fluttered shut once more. The next time she spoke there was no answer, and after a few moments, she went back to her bed, determined to find a way to help him.
In the morning, her worst fears were realized. She had risen early, determined to see that the captive have some water before they set out, and before her father could catch her near him. Taking a water skin, she walked across the sand on silent feet and knelt beside his sleeping form. He looked so defenseless in the pale morning light, his face white and haggard, the bruises on his body visible beneath the blood and grime. She caressed his fair hair with a gentle hand.
"My lord." She kept her voice low. Seeing his eyelids move she called again, more urgently, for fear her father or the guard would hear. "My lord."
Boromir heard her from a great distance, it seemed, and he reluctantly forced his eyes open. He struggled to sit up, fighting against a light, fluttery feeling in his chest, and when he was finally upright he was suddenly shaken by a violent chill. Shushuah felt cold terror. Lifting the water skin to his dry lips she slipped her other hand up to feel his cheeks, his forehead, the back of his neck. Everywhere she felt the unmistakable warmth of fever. Different from his sunburn, this heat seemed to pulsate against her hand, insistent and threatening. Immediately she looked at his injuries and although she had hoped otherwise, she was not surprised to find the hip wound was even more inflamed than it had been and was now oozing a thick, greenish-yellow discharge. He drank only a little before he sank back down to the ground, closing his eyes and shivering slightly.
She went to her father in frantic haste, begging him to do something; anything but he only looked at her in amazement. "What were you doing there with him?"
"Giving him water, Father, please listen-"
"You were disobeying me." His face grew cold as he stared at her.
Normally Shushuah would have been cowed, but today all her fears were for the captive, not herself.
"Please, my Father, do something for him."
"What would you have me do, 'Shuah?" Dhan's mouth was pressed into a hard line.
"I don't know," she said fitfully, her eyes bright and her voice shaky. "We could let him rest today."
"'Shuah," her father's voice was harsh. "There is nothing I, or you, can do. His best hope now lies with reaching the healers in Dalania as soon as possible." He paused and fixed her with a threatening glare. "And your best hope is to stay away from him."
His daughter only shook her head. "Then please, my Father, do one thing, for me. Do not put him on the horse today, I beg you." She spoke quietly, but her voice was ragged with pain. "He cannot stand it."
Al-jur Dhan shook his head and gestured toward the guard. "He must." With that he swung up onto his horse and ordered everyone else to do the same.
Shushuah bit back her tears as she watched the guard wrestle the practically unconscious Gondorian into the saddle and rope him down, as he had the other days. Today, however, Boromir lacked the willpower to stifle his cries of distress and the first few hours they rode she could hear his tortured moans. It tore at her heart and she was ashamed of her relief when he eventually passed out and lay across the horse's neck unaware.
At the midday stop his guard was barely able to rouse him for a drink, and Shushuah felt her fear for his life grow worse as she mentally counted the days to Dalania. They had only traveled three days, which left no less than five before they would reach the city. She shuddered. Could he last that long? She doubted it.
When they stopped in the late afternoon the guard carelessly untied the ropes and stepped away for a moment. The captive slid lifelessly from the saddle, his dead weight landing hard on the rocky ground. Shushuah was walking toward his horse when she saw him begin to fall. She rushed forward but still could not reach him in time. When she got to his side he lay motionless, a deep gash pumping blood from his scalp. Weeping openly, she held his head close to her, feeling the warmth of his fever, and pressed the hem of her robe against the gory cut. When she realized her father was standing above her, she looked up at him, eyes blazing with fury.
"Is this an honorable way to treat anyone?" she demanded of him. "Even an enemy?" She looked down at the blond hair, now stained with fresh blood; the scratched, sunburned face, the pale eyelids that covered those striking eyes. "You are killing him!" she screamed, her own dark face livid. "He is going to die!"
Al-jur Dhan looked down at her, his face empty of anger, only pity on his features now. "Yes, Shushuah, he is."
His words brought her up short and her mouth hung open for a moment.
"He is either going to die here, or when we get home." Her father stated the fact simply. "I had hoped to get him back to Dalania to present to the King, but only for use as a sacrifice in the Serpent Ritual. If he dies on the way it is only a minor inconvenience." He took in her look of shock. "Surely you did not think I would allow him to live. The son of one of Harad's greatest enemies?"
Shushuah could not catch her breath; it was as if someone were squeezing her lungs, leaving no room for air. She leaned over and pressed her cheek against the top of Boromir's head, crying bitterly. Her father groaned with exasperation and reached down, taking her arm and pulling her to her feet, forcing her to loose her hold on the prisoner. "Come, you are acting foolishly."
"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, jerking away from him. "How can you –" she stared at him, incoherent with anger and betrayal. "I hate you!" she spat out the words. Turning away from him she ran toward her horse and vaulted into the saddle, whipping him frantically as she raced out into the desert, her tears nearly blinding her.
Dhan watched her go with amazement. Who was this girl?
"Should I go after her?" The guard had witnessed the entire exchange and stood poised to follow.
"No." Dhan looked behind him. Jekarr had also been watching and now he dismissed the guard with a wave and stood beside the general as they both watched Shushuah disappearing into the distance. Jekarr continued speaking, "Let her go, my master. Let her be alone for a while. She'll be back."
"She is being so ridiculous," Dhan burst out, his aggravation evident.
Jekarr nodded slightly in agreement. "She is young, sir, she does not understand." He nodded toward the prisoner. "You said yourself she was infatuated with him; that is all this is. She will come to her senses, eventually."
Dhan shook his head and looked down at the man lying at his feet in the sand, his blood mixing with the gritty soil. Whatever hold this foreigner had on her was dangerous and unattractive. He needed to get her away from him one way or another. He gave the unconscious man a shove with his boot, rolling him over on his back. By the looks of him, the problem would solve itself in a day or so. For the best, no doubt.
TO BE CONTINUED