REVELATIONS
Music from the mereth above drifted down to the palace gardens of Emyn Arnen. Lilacs and wood hyacinths lent their fragrance to the shadows. The evening was deep and cool, in contrast to the heated fury in Rebecca's cheeks.
Aragorn held the breathless girl at arm's length. "Elbereth, my lady, slow down! From what do you flee with such ardor?" he asked, looking behind her for the source of her haste.
Her flush turned to ash as she regarded him, the last person - save Thranduil – that she wanted to see. She lowered her face in deference. "Forgive me, sire."
"What is your name, lady?"
"I am Rebecca, sire."
"Ah, you must be Radagast's ward! I have looked forward to our meeting," he exclaimed.
She attempted to shield her face, knowing he would see the truth in her eyes. "I am sorry, sire, to meet you thus. Perhaps on the morrow…"
Aragorn again glanced up the steps. "Has something happened upstairs? What is it that troubles you so, Rebecca?"
It was his tone that was her undoing – so tender and concerned. She raised her eyes to his and he saw, immediately.
"By the Powers," he whispered, falling back onto a stone bench. "Who are you?"
"I am the daughter of Gilraen the Fair and Elrond of Rivendell," she replied softly.
She stood before him, her head hung, silent. She had known since meeting her kin in Rivendell that this moment was inevitable, but now she found herself speechless. She had knowledge of him – his heroics during the War, the restoration of the lost kingdoms of Númenor and, of course, his legendary romance with the daughter of Elrond. Elrond, her own father. She wished to run away, but could not. Many moments of silence passed.
She felt him reach up and, taking her hands, he spoke her name. "Rebecca. Sit beside me."
She did not look at him as he pulled her gently to the bench. He lifted her chin and looked deeply into her blue-gray eyes.
"Gosta-nin, muinthêlmin?"
Her eyes searched his as if by so doing she could discern his thoughts. "Yes," she whispered.
"Ah. That will not do."
"I am sorry…" she faltered and felt a tear trace its path down her cheek.
"Ah, hirilmin," and he pulled her into his strong arms.
She had not expected this act of tenderness. Something within her that had incubated in her heart since Tom's revelation on that snowy morn in the House Under the Hill shattered like a glass hurled against a stone wall. She sobbed, quite loudly, in the arms of the King of Gondor and Arnor. Her brother.
She did not know how long she wept. She was vaguely aware that he rocked her in his gentle embrace. He spoke softly and hushed her.
At last the storm of her tears was spent. She sniffed indelicately and pushed away from him, dragging an ornately embroidered sleeve across her nose. Again she looked into his eyes and murmured, "I am sorry."
He smiled. "For what, melui?"
"For me. For my shame. I was at peace ere I knew my parents."
He shook his head. "Nay, do not speak foolishly. Your lineage is noble – you have naught of which to be ashamed. No, you are a great gift to me, a sister."
She watched his face, memorizing each feature. "Did you know, about…them?"
He sighed. "No, I did not, but… there was a sadness about my mother always, yet in her latter days…I understand now. She regretted losing you."
"Perhaps she regretted me."
He frowned. "That cannot be true. Our mother was kind and loving. She sorrowed she left me no kin, my father died so young…She looked to Elrond to assist me, raise me as his own. Their love had many years to kindle."
Rebecca shifted uncomfortably. "You have the advantage of me, sire. I have no knowledge of these people, save from lore."
Aragorn shook his head. "You must call me Aragorn, Rebecca. And 'tis no great advantage, my knowledge, I assure you. Would you have known your father all his life, still you may not understand him."
Unconsciously, she folded her arms across her chest and turned away. "Do not use that word. My true father is Radagast. I do not care about Elrond."
Aragorn studied her profile. "Of course not, melui. In your place, I would say the same."
Rebecca flashed him a quick, almost angry glance. "You are not in my place, sire."
"Aragorn," he reminded her gently.
She studied her slippers. "Your path is clear, your kingship established. Mine is clouded with too many questions."
"I walked alone in darkness for many years, Rebecca. My future was ever uncertain. The War made it clear to me. You will find your road."
He reminded her of the sons of Elrond. Like Elladan, his intellect was piercing, his wit keen. But he had Elrohir's gentle manner, his tender insight. She sighed. "It is hidden from me."
"It is clear to me that you have the gift of healing. You are part of the Nestad."
She shook her head. "I thought I understood my role, to find the Entwives and bring beauty to Middle Earth with their help. Now Uncle speaks of mending the paths of the Kindred. I know nothing of these lofty matters – I'd rather work with the Olvar and Kelvar. I understand their ways."
"Radagast is a mentor to you, as was Gandalf to me. Their plans are not always clear, but their counsel is sound."
"I wish I could go back to the House Under the Hill," she confessed. "Life was so open and simple then."
Aragorn took her hand. "It is not your lot to do so, muinthêlmin. And there is much joy in the world, you will see."
Unconsciously, she glanced up the garden steps to the lights above. The wedding of Legolas would not bring her joy. She spoke not of this, but Aragorn noticed her sadness and wondered.
"Come, let us return to the mereth and share a glass of wine in Legolas' honor," he suggested.
She paled. "Nay, sire, I beg to be excused – I am not used to so many people at once."
"You must learn to call me Aragorn. And I understand. Very well. We shall meet on the morrow and speak of many things." He engulfed her in a long, warm embrace. She felt reassured, safe, as she never had before.
As they parted, the man in the shadows smiled. His information was complete. This was the one whom he was sent to find.
Glancing across the stone pavement of the terrace, he spied a slim figure, white in the moonlight, hiding behind an urn vigorous with flowers. His smile became a smirk and he put a finger to his lips to silence her. She raised her chin in a huff and disappeared into the darkness.
While the King conversed with Rebecca, Legolas had been recognizing his feelings for that same lady. As he ascended the steps to the upper terrace, Aragorn was surprised to encounter him. He saw immediately the look of consternation upon his fair countenance. "You have chosen the night instead of your mereth, my friend. What drives you hence?"
Legolas leaned against the balustrade, shoulders sagging. "My heart is not within," he sighed.
"Ah," Aragorn nodded, long having sensed this betrothal to be ill suited. He guessed that Legolas pined for the Sea, or could it be something else? Images put themselves together in his mind – Rebecca fleeing the mereth, her longing glance up to the palace, her sadness, and now Legolas' dejection. He no longer wondered. "You have ended it, then?"
"No, I…not yet. I will do so presently."
"You are right in doing this, Legolas. Your heart indeed lies elsewhere."
He did not reply as Dolressa climbed the steps from the garden below. Aragorn bowed and departed.
Legolas turned to her with a slight bow. "You seek the peace of the gardens, lady?"
"I seek an answer," she declared, crossing her arms across her breast. "When do we wed? It is now or never, sir."
He had faced many in battle, but none were as difficult as this. "Never, Dolressa."
She blanched. "Mani ume lle quena?"
He took a deep breath and shook his head. "N'úma. It's no use, Dolressa. It cannot be."
"Mankoi?"
"It is entirely my fault," he explained. "We have been growing apart for some time, Lady. The Sea calls me; someday I shall return to Valinor. I should have spoken, ended this sooner. I am truly sorry."
"Lle lakwenine?" she asked indignantly. "It is not your love of the Sea that stands between us, Legolas. What kind of game are you playing?"
"No game, lady. This is over."
"It is not. Don't fool yourself. Haldir has already claimed your tithen Aiwë's affections for his own."
Legolas seemed taken aback, but recovered quickly. "That matter does not concern this one, Dolressa."
"Dolle naa lost, ernil. I refuse to consider your idea!"
"You must, Dolressa. I am declaring the Right of Revoking," he said, removing his silver ring and holding it out to her."
"No!" she cried, slapping his hand away. She turned upon her heel and returned to the hall.
Upon entering, she found Thranduil sipping wine, gazing reflectively upon the dance. He noticed her face as she approached. She seemed paler than usual.
"Sire, if I may, a word?"
"Of course," he replied, following as she led him out of the hall into a quiet corridor.
Dolressa's demeanor, although imploring, was stiff and proud. She faced him, full of rage. "Your ion would cast me aside, Âran-min!"
Thranduil closed his eyes, nodded. It was as he thought.
"You must turn him from this madness!"
He sighed. "Lady, I am his father, not his master. His decisions are his own."
"He must not abandon me – he has no right to do so!"
Thranduil placed his hands upon her slender shoulders. "If he has dissolved the match, what more is there to do, but begin anew?" he said gently.
"He was mine until she came to this place!"
"Was he, lady? Why then did he not wed you upon your return from the War? No, look into your heart and you will see there an end to this matter. Awartha-nín ion, hiril."
"N'úma! I will not! I will not be thus humiliated!"
Thranduil frowned. "You do yourself shame in this manner. It is not love but pride which now drives you. Do you think I would aid you with such as your motivation? I will say no more." He turned away from her sharply and returned to the mereth. His head hurt and he wanted more wine.
"Such kind words from your king," purred a sinister voice.
Dolressa turned, pale and furious, fists clenched, and hurled her anger upon the newcomer as he stepped from the shadows. "Who are you, that you listen to the private affairs of others?"
Lokirim hissed dismissively. "Who indeed, lady? Are not your own knees darkened from your vantage behind a rather ornate stone urn? Not to my taste, this decorative Númenorean art…"
"What do you want?" she asked through clenched teeth.
"Merely to console you upon the breaking of your intended nuptials," he replied smoothly.
"How dare you? You know not of what you speak."
They were matched in height and in pride; his darkness contrasted with her pale beauty. He laughed in the face of her fury. "Come, lady, you may do me a service and I shall do one for you in turn. For I gather you would have the Lady Rebecca gone from your camp?"
"She is no lady, the chit!"
"Just so and yet what an unusual one. Sister to the King of Gondor and scion of Lord Elrond himself? What a prize for your former betrothed!"
"He will not wed her," she snarled.
"Of course not, but we must turn him from such folly back to your…warm embrace."
"How?"
"Quite simply, we must remove her. She is of use to certain friends of mine. But we cannot catch the fish without bait. Have you something of your prince, some token she will recognize with which she may be lured?"
Dolressa looked at her hand. Hesitantly, she removed the silver ring. "He gave me this, upon our betrothal. She has seen it."
"Ah, perfect!" he cried, snatching the ring before she could reconsider. "This will do nicely."
He bowed and took his leave. "You may depend upon me, lady. This matter shall be resolved swiftly, to both our satisfaction."
Dolressa stared after him, wondering what she had done.
Legolas continued to walk along the terrace. Never before had he felt so miserable at a mereth, frustrated by his conversation with Dolressa and devastated to think of an agreement existing between Rebecca and Haldir.
He heard a light footstep behind him. Haldir approached and handed him a glass of wine. "I suspect you need this," he stated flatly.
"Aye. Thank you, cousin."
Haldir, sipping from his own cup, looked up at the night sky. "You have been out here for quite a while. Your father returned to the mereth some time ago. Where is Aiwë?"
"I do not know. Haldir, I have been thinking. Forgive me for so boldly asking, but have you…entered into a liaison with Aiwë?"
Haldir raised an eyebrow.
Legolas caught the look in his eye. "Are we rivals, cousin?"
Haldir took a deep drink. He swallowed, exhaled. "You are betrothed. Are we…rivals?"
Legolas sighed, hung his head. "Cousin, I would never take what is yours."
Haldir drained his cup and studied the bottom. "She is not mine."
Legolas lifted his gaze. "Truly?"
"Truly."
"Then I would make her mine, cousin. If she would have me."
"Do you not have a betrothed?"
"I have ended it."
Haldir looked deeply into his eyes. "My own arrow will strike you down should you hurt her. Know this."
Legolas nodded. "Understood."
"Have you spoken of this with Aiwë?"
"No. I have only just read my own heart."
"Should she wish to choose another, I will vie for that role," warned Haldir.
"Also understood. And, should that be the case, I will wish you well."
Haldir sighed. "Come, cousin, you must not linger – Éomer has challenged Gimli to a drinking game."
Legolas laughed. "Gimli will lose!" He turned to Haldir. "Will you not join me?"
"Nay. My heart is too full. I will walk a while beneath the trees," he replied, turning into the garden.
Legolas watched him go and wondered. Would either be her choice?
It was a long journey from Khand to Amrûn, the capital of the Easterlings. Pallando now sat in conference with their Emperor, a treaty from the Variags and the Haradrim in hand.
"We were promised many things by the Dark One of Mordor," said the Emperor in halting Westron.
"Our alliance will fulfill those promises," declared Pallando.
"I want to expand my borders. All of the lands lying east of the Anduin. And a third of the riches of Minas Tirith. Harad and Khand can argue over the remainder.
Pallando nodded. "Your terms shall be met, majesty. All parties are in agreement. With your infantry and the mûmakil, we will overrun Ithilien in a matter of days, then take Minas Tirith."
The Emperor stroked his long beard and studied Pallando's face. "I must consider. Leave me." He clapped his hands and an attendant arrived to escort the wizard from the royal presence.
"Resolve quickly, my lord. The sooner you decide, the sooner Gondor is ours."
After the council, Pallando surveyed the landscape from his mountain vantage. Tents were scattered before him, chips of color on a rocky terrain. Garrisons of soldiers had arrived from the Eastern provinces. They waited now for orders from their Emperor.
If negotiations were successful, he would soon have them march to war.
Pallando was no longer a tattered wizard in filthy blue robes. This day he wore garments of black and scarlet, embroidered richly in gold – the combined colors of his allies. On his finger was an enormous emerald, a gift from the warlord emperor of Khand.
Despite his new clothing, Pallando was at heart an uncertain, frightened being.
"These were Alatar's peoples," said Pallando nervously. "They are unknown to me – I am at a disadvantage here."
"We are never at a disadvantage, thanks to me," replied Saruman.
His disembodied voice had been Pallando's constant companion for well over a decade; Pallando was able to see him clearly within his mind's eye – an angry, white bearded wizard with blazing black eyes.
"Without me you are nothing," Saruman went on as Pallando toyed with the medallion on his breast. "Besides, these were never allies of Alatar. They were indifferent at best, antagonistic more often. They suit our needs perfectly."
"Ought I tell the Emperor that Harad wants total control of Minas Tirith?"
"Don't be stupid. Let that concern them after our goal is achieved."
"They have not offered us tribute as they did in the South," Pallando pointed out, almost sullen.
Saruman laughed scornfully. "Looking for another virgin, are you? Don't worry, fool. One above all others will come to us anon. She is well worth the wait."
"I don't care about women," protested Pallando defensively. "Only power."
"You are such a simpleton," sneered Saruman. "And you are a liar. Don't forget I was present for your little skirmish with the Southron girl. You enjoyed her well enough."
"No more or less than I would enjoy a good bottle of wine or a fine meal," maintained the other.
"True, these are of a par, but this one of whom I speak, she is far beyond any of your plebian delights. So much so that you could not begin to appreciate her worth, were it not for me."
"Who is this one?"
"Years ago, when I kept company with the murderous scum who robbed me of my corporeal shape, I met that old fool Radagast on the Greenway. In his keeping was a girl – a scrap of a thing, really – but such promise! It is she whom our ambassador seeks."
Pallando was incredulous. "You fancied her, Master?"
Saruman snorted in derision. "Not in that way, ass. Although," he paused in reflection. "Yes, perhaps she would be to my liking. Not your paltry Southron daisies. No, this one is a rose. And far above you, cretin, but as with everything these days I must depend upon your physical form. Through me you will enjoy more than your small imagination ever dreamt possible."
"I am grateful, Master…"
"And so you should be, Pallando, for I have saved you from ignominy in bestowing upon you my feä. Never forget that."
"And the girl, Master?"
"Yes, the girl. She is vital to us."
"I don't understand, Master. I thought our goal was to overrun Gondor?"
"We make war to harass and dismay our enemies but make no mistake. It is the possession of this girl that is the cornerstone of my plans. If she is in our keeping – and under our control – we hold the very trump card of the Powers. We will foil the Valar themselves!"
"If she poses a threat, she could be easily slain in battle," suggested Pallando.
In an instant, he felt as if his head would split in half, a sure way to tell that Saruman was seriously displeased.
"Do you comprehend anything, idiot? She is no good to me dead; she could accomplish her mission without interference if she dies. She must be alive if I am to control her. On either side of the choice of the Peredhil, she is powerful. But, if we hold her above that fence, we will succeed and thwart the designs of the Valar!"
Pallando faltered. "Do you not fear their wrath, Master?"
"Imbecile! I have survived by the artistry of Sauron, that most clever Maia of Aulë, who forged this very amulet for you. Sauron, in his turn, carried on the plans of Morgoth. It is noble work we do, Pallando, and it is I, Saruman, who will succeed on their behalf!"
In the deepest recesses of his mind, in the sliver of consciousness into which Saruman had not asserted his claim, Pallando was afraid. It had been the fate of Sauron and his lord Morgoth to be cast into the Void. If Saruman was wrong, if he was vanquished, then the wizard would join them and so too would he. Pallando fingered his amulet, wishing, not for the first time, that he had never put it on.
"PALLANDO!"
The wizard jumped, startled. "Y-yes, Master?"
"Whatever scrap of mentality you are using – banish it! I do not tolerate cowardice! I would bid you slit your own throat – and you would do it! – ere I allow you to waver in your service to me. Do I make myself clear?"
Pallando dropped the amulet back onto his chest as if its very metal burned his fingers. "Yes, Master, most clear."
"Good. Then let us return to our negotiations with the Emperor. There is a war we need to start."
Things Elvish
Gosta-nin,
muinthêlmin?
– Do you fear me, my sister?
Hirilmin – my lady
Melui
– lovely
one
Mani
ume lle quena?
– What did you say?
Mankoi? – Why?
Lle
lakwenine?
– Are you joking?
Dolle
naa lost –
Your head is empty
Ernil – prince
Tithen
- little
N'úma – never
Âran-min – my king
Awartha-nín
ion, hiril
– abandon my son, lady