CAPTIVITY

It was a long dusty ride as Lokirim made his way south. Each time he stopped at an oasis, he watered his horse then gave the groggy Rebecca bread and water laced with a powerful sedative.

The journey was a blur to her. She drowsed under the hot sun, his strong arms about her holding the reins. She awoke in the evening. Lokirim gave her a chunk of bread. She ate hungrily, then looked at her captor. "Where are you taking me? What is it you want?"

Lokirim sneered. "I have no interest in you, lady, save what you will buy me. A magnificent price has been set on your head."

"By whom?" she puzzled as he handed her a canteen. She drank thirstily and lapsed into sleep.

The following afternoon they halted at another oasis. The air was perfumed by a large grove of magnolia trees. As Lokirim tended the horse, Rebecca spied a nightingale singing in the branches of a tree laden with blossoms. Quickly she plucked one and whispered hurried instructions. The bird took the bloom in its beak and soared into the sky, heading north.

Erelong Lokirim returned and tossed her a piece of bread. After she had finished he handed her the canteen. Reluctantly she drank, knowing the water would cause her to sleep, but her thirst gave no quarter.

Later she awoke to the coolness of evening. She saw the stars wheeling in their courses above and was able to discern from their positions that she had traveled many leagues from Ithilien. The constellations were strange to her. The horse halted before a large tent in a strange camp set amidst the magnificent ruins of a city long dead. The scent of pine and magnolia mingled in the humid air.

Lokirim dismounted and dragged her roughly from the horse. She stumbled as he pulled her within.

"Ah, ambassador. How nice of you to come."

This was spoken by a man in the shadows, seated upon a golden chair.

"It has been a hot journey, and a long one," replied Lokirim, thrusting her before him. "I have brought you your prize."

"Indeed. Please, have some wine. Refresh yourself."

Lokirim accepted a goblet, downing it in one quaff. "I would prefer my fee. Now, if you please."

The man laughed and tossed a bag bulging with golden coins upon the table. "Are you sure you do not wish for position? Your warlord has certainly perished in battle."

"I shall not replace him," replied Lokirim grimly. "Lordship over Harad is useless. Gondor will claim it shortly."

"Ah yes, Gondor. Well, I have given you enough gold to settle in style, wherever you choose. Go now and live to your liking."

Lokirim bowed and departed without a glance at his hostage.

That lady pressed against the rough, taut wool of the tent.

"Please, lady, join me," invited her new captor.

She eyed the proffered chair. "No."

"Lady, I beg you, sit." The speaker stood and walked into the dim lamplight. He was an old man, long-bearded and robed in black. She looked hard at him. He seemed like her Uncle, yet not so. There was a light in his eyes which terrified her. He gestured to her chair and repeated, "Sit. Have some wine. Be assured, you are safe."

Exhausted, she sat and watched him carefully as she sipped the wine. He toyed with a large bronze medallion upon his chest.

"Have no fear. I welcome you as my honored guest."

She set down her goblet. "A guest is not forcibly removed from her companions."

"Ah. Unfortunate, that." He sat again upon the golden throne. "I fear you would not have accepted my invitation."

"Who are you?"

"I am your ardent admirer, Rebecca. I hope we shall become friends."

"You have not told me your name, sir."

"For now, you may call me Pallando. In time, you will know me as your master."

She recoiled. "A friend calls no one master."

"Yes, but you shall, nevertheless. You see, I bring you greatness."

"I have no desire for that. I only want to be returned to…"

"To those you love? Ah, Rebecca, you know not what I offer you! With me you shall shine as the stars."

"I have no wish to do so. Why have you brought me here?"

Her host poured himself a goblet from an ornately jeweled carafe. "I have brought you here to learn, my dear. I am a wizard, an able teacher."

She took a deep drink for courage. "Then, Pallando, I ask you. Why would a friend need to exert force to gain my company?"

"Rebecca, you come from those with small minds and little ambition. It is time for you to broaden your horizons."

"I do not take your meaning, sir."

"It is simple and it is this. You must be granted the freedom to develop your full potential. You need an advisor."

She frowned. "I have advisors."

He laughed scornfully. "Oh yes, and such a lot! Radagast the bird-tamer and Aragorn the simple. No, lady, I mean to direct you more purposefully."

She stood, angry. "Do not slander those I love!"

He sighed. "Dear lady, sit. I do not seek to slander anyone. I only mean to tell you that with me you will attain more than you could possibly dream."

She sat and stared at the wizard across the table. "Pallando. Radagast has spoken of you. His words were not flattering."

As she looked into his eyes she saw that two distinct lights shone within – one tentative, the other manic. The first struggled for expression but the crazed visage soon triumphed. "Why should I concern myself with Radagast's opinions? I have no troubles. You are mine and my worries are few."

"I belong to another. You have no place with me."

The wizard sneered. "Ah, your pretty Elvish princeling. He is nothing to you now. He was a ragtag archer in Gandalf's train when last I saw him, and I doubt if time has improved him."

Rebecca looked at him sharply. "But you have never seen him, sir."

"One Elf is the same as the next."

"No. That is not true. You have never met my love. Only Gandalf and Radagast claim his friendship." She looked intensely into his eyes for many moments. At last she stated firmly, "You are not Pallando."

"What care you who I am? All you need to know is that I am your master."

She focused on him, watched the shades of expression flit across his features – now dark, now fearful, now authoritative. There were two feä in this one wizard. How it was possible she did not know, but she felt instinctively that she wanted to see the more reticent of the two.

"Lady, let us not quarrel. We are kindred, both wearing the handiwork of the Valar. Sauron made my medallion – he was a craftsman of Aulë, you know. But come, perhaps you recall a distant day. We met long ago, upon the Great Road."

She cast her memory back in time, to an encounter with a wizard clad in filthy robes and his cringing attendant. Her eyes flew wide. "Saruman?"

He grinned. "How sweet – you remember me."

"I don't understand – you were killed in the Shire. I heard the tale from the Hobbits who witnessed…"

"My murder? Yes, the treacherous worm destroyed my physical form, but my feä is of the strongest steel. Pallando graciously accepted my company and here I am."

"But how?"

"This medallion unites my feä with Pallando's mind. A convenient situation for the present."

"But it is a half-life, not entirely your own," she observed.

Pallando's face twisted with Saruman's sneer. "With my power it is I who am the stronger. Pallando is but a shade in my greater sun."

She searched his eyes, catching a glimmer of protest from the host wizard. To him she appealed. "Surely you do not wish to live in the shadows, Pallando! You must have dreams, wishes of your own…"

"He does not!" shouted Saruman. "Our desires are as one, our purpose is the same."

"I do not believe you. You are lost to all decency, sir, but Pallando…"

"Served Sauron ere I came to his rescue," snapped Saruman. "Do not give him credit for anything but prostrating himself before his masters."

"It is the Valar who are the masters, and they are but servants of Ilúvatar."

"Pallando and I, we are strangers to the Valar, but well-acquainted with their plans. I assure you, lady, you will never sing for them."

She stood, hands on her hips. "Even you cannot hold me captive forever, whatever your powers."

He laughed. "Can't I? Even if the survival of those you love depends on yours?"

"Do not threaten me in such a fashion, villain. They will come to my aid!"

"Such spirit!" he sneered. "Yet you hold so many foolish ideas, Rebecca. You believe in the Nestad, Aiwendil's time to shine. Bah! All he can do is twitter foolishly with the birds!"

She flushed with anger. "Don't you dare insult my Uncle!"

"Idiots all, including Elrond, your true sire."

Her fury turned to pallor. "How do you know that?"

"I know everything about you – your lineage, your affection for Kelvar, your foolish attachment to that archer. I am Saruman the Wise" he crowed, rising. He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes with avarice. "Best to forget all of that now. You are the prize of Saruman!"

"I will never aid you, whether Pallando or Saruman! Your ideas defy the Nestad to which I am bound."

The wizard snorted. "Your bonds belong to me, Rebecca. The sooner you accept this, the better for us all."

"Sir, I beg you – return me to my people! I do not belong here."

"Your people. You call them good, but what of others? Are there not honorable men in Harad or Khand? Are they not loyal to their countries, their kin? Is not loyalty an admirable quality?"

"Indeed, sir, but greed is not. Why else do they invade the lands of others?"

He scoffed. "Has not your brother done the same? What of the treaty he made with the Corsairs of Umbar?"

"Pirates who raided up and down the coast?" she cried angrily. "Even these he dealt with fairly, granting them their freedom in exchange for their pledge to abandon warfare."

"Your love of kin is charming, Rebecca. It shows a valor that I find attractive. But you must broaden your mind. As the Eilenäer, you must deal fairly with all."

She shook her head. "All will be fairly treated by Ilúvatar."

"Yes, but won't his appointed Eilenäer do the same? Will you judge impartially? Is not mercy the very heart that tempers judgment? Do you not advocate forgiveness?"

She hesitated. "Forgiveness and justice are not strangers. But one must repent to merit the former."

"Yes, but repent for what? For following the dictates and customs of your people, the will of your rulers? Where is there a difference between a soldier of Harad or of Gondor? Both obey their orders."

"Their motivations are opposed – offense and defense."

"Can you really judge that, Rebecca? Should not either position be forgiven?"

She put her fingers to her temples, shut her eyes tight. "You are false, sir, despite the smoothness of your voice. You will not persuade me as you did others before me. I will hear no more."

Pallando sighed. "You are weary after your long journey," he said softly. "Please, rest now. No harm shall come to you."

She knelt before him, imploring. "Let me go, Pallando! Whatever Saruman says, misery shall be my portion – and yours! – if I remain."

He laid a hand upon her shoulder. "Rest now, lady. Pallando shall not harm you."

So saying he left the tent. Rebecca sank to the floor, pounding her fists in frustration and weeping into a heap of embroidered silk pillows.

Once outside, Pallando motioned for the guards, instructing them to allow no entry or exit. Then, in the dark under the stars, Pallando heard Saruman's laughter. "Rest now, lady. Pallando shall not harm you," he mimicked. "Honestly, Pallando, you are a foolish gallant. Nevertheless, your foppery may be the key to her acquiescence. You may succeed for us in spite of yourself!"

He sat upon a broken marble column. "She must be treated with respect, Master. She is the Eilenäer."

"I do not care if she is Ilúvatar himself, so long as she answers to me. She will be mine as surely as you are."

While Saruman continued his tirade, Pallando bristled. Once he had seen Saruman as his salvation; he was beginning to change his mind. Rebecca had spoken kindly to him. What if gallantry could win her affections? Why would he need Saruman, should the Eilenäer care for him? Perhaps he could even win passage to the West…

"PALLANDO!"

His ability to hold his own thoughts was waning; Saruman could intercept him very quickly now. He winced in pain. "Yes, Master?"

"Did you hear me? I said we should return to her upon the hour. We must keep her off balance, vulnerable."

"Of course, Master," he replied, but a seed of rebellion had taken root.

Nor did Pallando guess his master's intent. Saruman's general disdain of Pallando was turning to something fouler. He had played upon Pallando's lust, encouraging him to bed the woman of Harad and the East, counting upon this growing appetite to come into play in retaining Rebecca. But he felt Pallando's motivation shifting; instead of carnality he was bordering on tenderness. Saruman frowned. Pallando must be gotten rid of, and soon. He crowed as he sensed the proximity of victory. Once he had conquered her resistance, Rebecca would don the medallion herself. At last he could dispense with the sniveling Pallando and she would never participate in the Second Song of the Ainur. She would be truly his.

Next: Bombadil's Tale