A/N1: The Elendilmir is referred to as possessing a feminine spirit. This is symbolic of the balance, the duality, of all things that Eru Ilúvatar had caused to be created.
A/N1: It was so hard writing this chapter without revealing something extremely important about the High Chieftain. Can anybody guess what the secret is?
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It is twice the pleasure to
deceive the deceiver.
-o-Jean De La Fontaine-o-
Chapter 13
Treachery and Deceit
It is often said that when a craftsman created something of great beauty that they often imbued that object with a part of themselves - their soul, their purpose and their desires. The same thing could be said of someone who gifted another with such a treasure. And so it had been rumored of the Elendilmir, later known as the Star of Elendil, that Silmarien, daughter of Tar-Elendil, fourth King of Númenor, gave to Elendil the Tall, father of Isildur.
Though it was but a rumor, the proof of which fell out of time and memory when Númenor sank beneath the sea, it was still said that the Elendilmir carried with it the most dire of omens - that only he who had the right, and no other, should place the jewel upon his brow as a sign of his station. Those who should ignore the warning and pridefully place the jewel upon their heads, or sunder it from its righteous purpose, would suffer the most dreadful fates - death being foremost among them.
It was said that the Lady was a merciless and vindictive siren, who would call to their doom, any that dared take her from where she wanted to be or ought to be. Unworthy hands had taken her and now she sought the blood of he who had wrested her from her ageless rest, and on this night, her thirst for revenge would be slaked.
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The man could walk among the citizens of the city almost unnoticed, a mere specter of their imaginations. He had spent many years developing this skill and it was one that always served him well, allowing him to observe and listen to what others were saying without drawing attention to himself.
Sometimes plots and intrigues could be encountered and laid bare without those involved ever knowing who it was that had discovered what they were doing. When nothing more of importance could be obtained from one of his casual observances, he would move on until something else would catch his attention.
Garm, ex-Ranger and Captain of the High-Chieftain's Palace Guards, was slowly making his way among the many vendors, looking at the new goods, human and non-human alike, when a particular conversation caught his attention. A highly intoxicated Slave Boss was loudly and animatedly talking to a minor Chieftain by the name of Tarag. Garm maneuvered himself to better hear what was being said.
"The idiot was standing there holding this box in his hand with this look on his face like he had just been caught with his hand in somebody else's pocket!"
Himlad roared with laughter and in doing so overbalanced himself and had to grab on to the front of Chieftain Tarag's robes to keep from falling. It took every bit of the Chieftain's self-control not to shove the man away from him although he did tactfully cover his mouth and nose so as not to be overcome by the fumes emanating from the man's mouth and body. The slaver was drunk and if he was considered obnoxious when he was sober, when inebriated, he was much, much worse.
"You were telling me about this beautiful stone that you got from my little rabbit, Himlad.
The slaver froze and gazed at the Chieftain with narrowed eyes a moment before he finally recovered his train of thought.
"That's right - he is yours now … I forgot. Anyway, he has this box and when I liberate it from him and look inside, I see this mithril circlet with a jewel on it - a big white jewel that fairly glowed with a natural inner brilliance."
Himlad stared off into the distance as if the memory of the stone's beauty had frozen him in time - either that or his drunkenness had caused him to fall asleep on his feet. Either way, Tarag was tempted to look in the direction the man was staring to see what he was looking at but left off that thought and again prodded the man into continuing.
"I think you've gone daft, Himlad. Surely the only place such a stone exists is in your head. Why, the circlet alone, if it is truly made of mithril would be worth the ransom of a King. What would such a treasure be doing in such an out-of-way village?"
Himlad reared back his head and glared at the two tall men standing in front of him, wondering when Tarag's twin had arrived.
"You don't believe me? You don't believe me! Why you old pot-licker, raggedy old dog you! You don't believe me! Why I ought to skewer you where you stand - not believe me indeed!"
The Chieftain laughed good-naturedly and after ordering another glass of the fermented ale the slaver was so fond of and handing it to him, he clapped the man on the shoulder.
"You have to admit, Himlad, that telling me you found such a treasure in some obscure village that nobody has ever heard about is a fanciful tale, even for you! Show me this gem, for I would want to know, one way or another, whether it is but one of your drunken illusions or a truth. If it does exist, I will accord you with my most humble of apologies."
Himlad slammed his now empty cup down on the counter of the ale vendor's stall.
"Then let us be off to my tent, my friend, for an apology from you would be a treasure to rival the one I am about to show you."
The two men, one staggering and swaying from one side of the path to the other, and his companion, were soon swallowed up by the night. Garm followed, for he was intrigued by the slaver's story as well, and wanted to know whether the drunken slaver was telling the truth or not.
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Himlad took the box from a small chest at the back of the tent and put it on the table where Tarag now sat, waiting to see the jewel that the slaver had "liberated" from his new slave. He was impressed with the box and with the intricate carving of the white tree on its lid. Tarag reached for the box to open it, but Himlad's hands beat him to it, for the slaver would allow nobody to touch his treasure but himself, and when he finally opened the box, the Chieftain quite understood why.
It was just as the Slave Boss had described it - and more. The mithril filet shone as if it still bore its first polish yet even the filet's brilliance dimmed in comparison to the white jewel itself. It did indeed possess a natural luminescence that begged to be admired - and touched. It was almost as if the gem was calling to him - and he desired to answer that call.
"How much do you want for this little dainty, Himlad? Name your price and it shall be yours."
Himlad was more than a little insulted.
"Dainty? How can you call this treasure a mere dainty!"
The Chieftain held up his hands placatingly.
"Peace, my friend. Your treasure is truly a lady of great beauty and well worthy of your protection. Now how much to you want for her?"
Himlad paused for only a moment before he answered.
"I desire no coin nor do I wish to trade for her. This beauty's home is with me and always will be."
Himlad turned away from Tarag and quickly walked to the back of his tent where the small chest stood that had originally housed the carved box and its beautiful treasure. Once more opening the chest, the man gently laid the box containing the jewel to rest on top of the various other items in the chest then carefully closed the chest's lid. He gasped, one hand slowly raising toward his mouth to wipe away the blood that was beginning to drip from the corner of his lips, then looking down, for the first time noticed the dagger protruding from his chest. Before he even got a chance to turn and look his murderer in the eye, his life left him and he slowly sank to his knees.
After the slaver fell face first onto the ground and his last breath left him in a sigh, Tarag removed his dagger from the man's back, wiped the blade clean on the slaver's tunic then put it into the sheath that hung at his waist. The Chieftain quickly reopened the chest and removed the box then, after looking around the tent to see that all traces of his presence had been eliminated, left the tent to return to his own. As he left the dead slaver's tent he failed to see a certain shadow detached itself from the others and walk quickly in the direction of the Palace.
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"And you say that this treasure is one of great value and that it would befit my station if it were in my possession?"
Garm stood before the High Chieftain, giving his report of what he had seen and heard while hiding in the shadows near the entranceway of the slaver's tent.
"And if you think that it would befit my station if it were in my possession, why then, did you not liberate it from Tarag as he liberated it from its previous owner?"
Amber eyes studied the man carefully, watching body language and looking deep into the eyes, searching for any clue that an untruth existed.
"I could not liberate the jewel from Tarag, for it would have been too easy to trace the deed to you and such an act without provable provocation would be deemed unworthy of your station. Too many patrons at the ale vendor's booth heard Tarag and Himlad talking about the jewel then saw Tarag leave with the man and now the slaver is dead and the jewel is no longer in his possession. Therefore, it will be no secret that Tarag killed the slaver and though your people will look down on such an act by a minor player, it will be an act soon forgotten. However, if Tarag turns up dead and you are seen with the jewel, then the murder of a Chieftain, minor or not, could possibly cause political unrest that you could ill afford at this time."
The High Chieftain rose from the great carved chair and began to pace, hands clasped behind the back, thinking and planning, and after a few moments of this thoughtful silence turned to the Captain.
"I heard that Tarag just purchased a new stallion that he thinks is unbeatable. Is this not true?"
"Yes, High Chieftain, it is true. I have heard that he has bragged to everyone that not even your Niord could beat him."
The High Chieftain paced a bit longer then once more turned to the Captain.
"Please extend an invitation to Chieftain Tarag to attend me at my earliest convenience."
Saying no more and not even awaiting Garm's acknowledgement of the order the High Chieftain turned and left the room.
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Later that evening, as the High Chieftain and members of the royal court were eating their evening meal and discussing matters of importance, Garm returned, escorting the minor Chieftain. Conversation among the diners stopped as Tarag approached and when he was a respectful distance from the High Table, knelt and politely bowed his head. The amber eyes studied the Chieftain as one might study an insect - right before grinding a heel down upon it and ending its miserable life.
"I heard that you have been bragging that your stallion can outrun my Niord, Tarag. Is this true?"
"Does the truth disturb you High Chieftain?"
All heads turned to the impertinent Chieftain as they decided the man must have a serious death wish to speak to the High Chieftain the way he just did. Everyone taking part in the evening meal knew that such an exchange expressed in such a manner usually led to some interesting consequences - consequences seldom appreciated by those of lower rank than their leader.
"Disturb me? No, Tarag the truth does not disturb me although your manners come close. I have seen that knock-kneed creature you call a horse and I am telling you that I don't believe it could beat my Captain in a footrace, much less my Niord. Don't you ever feed the poor thing?"
Tarag blushed with both embarrassment and ire at the insult dealt him in front of his peers and at that moment, if it were anyone else before him, he would have demanded satisfaction for the insult. But here, in the High Chieftain's presence, he could not for it was well within the capabilities of both the High Chieftain and the Captain of the Guard to kill him before he could fully draw his sword.
There was a way, however, that his pride could be vindicated and he took that path without further thought.
"Perhaps the High Chieftain would be interested in seeing whether or not there is any truth to the rumor that my Balder could beat your Niord without even breaking a sweat."
Again the shrewd amber eyes studied the minor Chieftain.
"And what prize would you be willing to put up for such a race, Tarag?"
Tarag smiled then once more politely bowed.
"I would wager all that I own and would know that such a bet would be a secure one for there is no way your stallion could defeat mine."
With the mind being made up and after a glance at those sitting at the dinner table, the High Chieftain turned to Tarag one last time.
"Then your wager is accepted with those sitting at my table as witnesses to the wager. If my stallion loses then he will be yours although Hoth would sink below the ground amid thunder and lightning should that ever happen. We meet tomorrow at dawn on the short racing path that lies outside the Palace. You are dismissed."
The High Chieftain waved him off with a hand then turned back to the others at the table. Tarag, though furious at the summary dismissal, nevertheless could not respond - not if he wanted to live to see the next dawn, that is - and so turned and quietly left the Palace.
He mumbled to himself all the way back to his tent, many of the things coming out of his mouth being things that would have earned him a blade through the heart if anyone of high station had heard him. He cared not about the consequences of his thoughts or his ramblings, for he had a horse race to prepare for.
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Hoth greeted the dawn of the new day the way she always did - with the noisy chatter of commerce. The sun was but newly risen when the first vendor rolled up the cloths on his booth's window and started arranging his wares in anticipation of new customers. None of the vendors expected a brisk business until later because they all knew there was going to be a horse race, an event that those born in, or long time residents of Hoth, always enjoyed.
The High Chieftain's stallion, Niord, was a beautiful dark grey stallion that sported a silky, flowing, black mane and tail and who was the undefeated and undisputed champion of Hoth. A proud creature, the stallion possessed the fiery spirit and temperament of its owner and had been known to ravage opponents that came too close to him during the few times anyone had dared challenge him in a race. The stallion was dancing in place, neck proudly arched, pulling at the reins in eager anticipation of the competition ahead. His rider held the stallion's head tightly to its chest lest the animal break free and begin the race before his challenger was ready.
Then Tarag appeared leading his stallion, Balder by the reins. The bay stallion had a much gentler temperament and was one competitor that would not waste his energy on a showy pre-race performance. As Niord danced toward him, with ears laid back on his head, Balder began to rumble deep in his chest - a warning that the grey horse had best not ignore for the bay stallion was just as willing to fight … he was just not as willing to unnecessarily press the issue. Tarag stepped in between the two stallions and helped his rider mount then handed the man the reins.
"Run me a good race, my friend." Was all he said before he turned and walked to where the High Chieftain sat waiting for the race to begin.
With a wave of the starter's hand the race began and while the bay stallion got right to business, the grey stallion rose high in the air, screaming. Niord's rider called him to task for his actions and the stallion then quickly began his pursuit of his opponent. The race was on the shorter of Hoth's two racetracks and had four right-angled corners for the racers to negotiate and it would be on these corners that the dubious activity would take place as each rider would try to force the other off-stride and off the track.
The two stallions were evenly matched as they both strained for more speed, each trying to pass the other in the straightaway and be the first to reach the next corner. The grey stallion took the first two corners but in a move that took the grey stallion and his rider by surprise, the bay stallion passed the grey and took the third. As the two horses approached the fourth and final corner, the rider of the bay stallion made an error in judgement and took the corner a bit wide, a mistake the rider of the grey stallion took advantage of and as they made their turn, with a small shift of his body, the rider cued the stallion to swing wide as well and as he did so, slammed into the bay with one of his brawny shoulders. The bay stallion, Balder, was forced off his lead, causing him to stumble and fall to the ground, screaming as his right front leg snapped below the knee.
The grey stallion finished the race unchallenged and after the rider slowed the lathered stallion and finally brought him to a stop in front of the High Chieftain, Tarag was on his feet claiming that the grey stallion's rider had fouled his horse. The High Chieftain just smiled.
"We had a bet, Tarag. But at no time did you stipulate that a foul by either horse or rider would nullify that bet. I am truly sorry that the bay broke a leg for he would have made a worthy stud. However, according to our agreement you wagered everything that you owned."
The High Chieftain turned and walked back to where the other nobles of the court stood.
"These Chieftains witnessed your bet Tarag - do you deny this?"
"No, High Chieftain."
The High Chieftain spun towards Captain Garm, amber eyes snapping.
"Captain Garm, take from this man his most prize possession that according to these witnesses now belongs to me to do with as I choose."
One brawny arm and clenched fist was thrust into the air.
"Witnessed!"
"Witnessed!" Those of the court yelled loudly, also with clenched fists in the air.
Garm smiled as he walked up to Tarag, drawing his dagger as he did so. In turn, the Chieftain closed his eyes so that he did not have to see the dagger coming that was soon after buried in his heart. The High Chieftain walked to where the man lay and stood over his body.
"You owned your life Tarag - until it broke its leg."
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Servants and slaves alike were running and screaming, not knowing what to do now that their Lord and Master was dead. For some, it was a chance for freedom that could have only been realized if the Chieftain had died - which he had - but for others who had served Tarag for almost their entire lives, it was a time of confusion for they knew no other life but service to one master. For the new slaves, there was no option for the Guards would loyally serve without question, whoever held the lash.
Finally, the time of decision making was over as the High Chieftain and Garm threw aside the door covering of Tarag's tent and walked inside. It did not take the Captain long before he found the carved box and the beauty that lay sleeping inside and had placed the filet on the head of his Master. As the two turned to leave, having found what they had come for, Garm swore that he heard a soft voice whisper, "Another!" Looking quickly around the tent but seeing no one who could have spoken, he shook his head then followed the High Chieftain out of the tent.
As they were passing the compound where the new slaves were kept, something caught the eye of the High Chieftain and nodding to the Captain, the two walked to the fence. Beautiful sapphire eyes stared at the jewel on the brow of the person on the other side of the fence until one of the guards hit the slave with his whip and forced the trembling being to lower his eyes.
"Well, what do we have here?"
TBC
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butterfly-elf( ): I am glad that you are enjoying this story. While I can't tell you one way or the other whether the death of Legolas was true or false, I can tell you that I did leave some subtle clues in the chapter that explain what is going on. Everything that happens in this story, does so for a reason and like I told another reviewer, there are plots within plots within plots. Hope you continue to enjoy the story.
Deana: Thanks for the review. I am glad that you are continuing to enjoy the story. Our poor heroes are getting a rest in this chapter, but don't worry, they will be back soon.