"Absolutely NOT!"
The infuriated voice of the elderly Lord rang through the Council Chamber, setting the ancient timbers and stones to vibrating with its force. As the well-dressed gentleman stood at his place beside the large wooden table among his eight fellow Council members, he banged his fist upon the structure's sturdy surface to emphasize his point, to the approving shouts of several of his fellows and the declaiming cries of many others.
On a raised chair at the head of the table, Aragorn sighed and rubbed his eyes as the chamber erupted into heated debate for the fifth time that morning. Beside him, clad in his formal court attire, Faramir silently eyed the fracas with stolid amazement, as if he could still not believe the vehemence of the argument no matter how many times he had witnessed it.
"For the Haradrim to even suggest such a thing is an insult to all of our sons who have perished upon their swords and spears," the Lord continued, his blue eyes blazing. Despite his passion, not a hair of his long white mane nor a stitch of his costly robes was out of place. "One does not negotiate peace with barbarians who have long allied themselves with the Lord of all darkness. They must submit to our rule without question, or face extinction!"
Half of the Council exclaimed agreement as the speaker resumed his seat, smiling at his supporters. The other half rubbed their chins and exchanged glances, knowing their chance to persuade was approaching.
"That is a harsh way of dealing with such matters, Lord Tuornen," offered Aragorn in a firm tone. "Subjugation or death is a choice I would expect of Sauron, not of Gondor."
"There is no other manner with which to deal with the men of Harad, my King," insisted another noble, younger than the first, with long brown hair and sharp green eyes. "They have been attacking our people for countless years-how can we trust them now?"
"This may all be a trap!" added a third councilman, a stout dark-haired nobleman of Aragorn's age.
"That possibility has not escaped our attention, Lord Beleg," Faramir assured him, fixing the nobleman with a steady gaze. "You may be certain that all necessary caution would be taken in our dealings with the Haradrim. The safety of Gondor, and the King, would never be in question."
Subdued mutterings filled the air.
"Well, I, for one, am curious to hear what they have to say," offered another noble on Faramir's side of the table, a thin-faced, blonde young man no older than the Steward clad in flowing blue robes. "So long as all is secure, there can be no harm in hearing them out. Should their terms be unmanageable, we can always refuse them."
"The very fact that they want to negotiate at all is encouraging," said an older gentleman to the blonde man's right. "From all I've seen, the Haradrim normally let their weapons speak for them. It shows they're as anxious to avoid any more bloodshed as we are."
"If this is not some sort of trick," stressed Beleg ominously.
"The message sent to us contained their terms for meeting," answered Faramir lightly. "Their delegation will consist of but thirty men, including the Chieftain. We shall be sure to far outnumber them in all dealings, both in men and arms, and thus any movement towards treachery on their part would be foolish at best, suicidal at worst."
"You won't be letting them into the City, will you?" a tall, gray-haired member nervously inquired. "They will still have the capacity to spy, and I highly doubt the people will tolerate a contingent of Haradrim riding through their streets!"
Aragorn shook his head with a smile. "I have been told there is an excellent location in the foothills of the mountains near the City that will be suitable for our needs. I do not think the Haradrim would desire to expose themselves to the wrath of our people, and I will not allow them within our walls until they have proven themselves worthy of that trust."
"Permitting the negotiation may aid us in achieving an end to hostilities with the rest of Sauron's remaining allies," suggested yet another noble, a white-haired man with sharp features. "If the Easterlings we've been having trouble with along our northern borders see that they have choices other than fighting us to the end, they may lay their weapons down as well."
"Easterlings?" scoffed Lord Tuornen. "Ha! You'll never see them take the peaceful road."
"A year ago we would have said the same of the Haradrim, yet here we are," replied the thin-faced young blond man in a mild tone. "Should this offer be a true one, it may signal the real end of the War."
"My hope precisely, Lord Adanion," echoed Faramir.
"But is it not a dishonor to our fallen soldiers who perished beneath their blades?" protested the brown-haired Councilman. "Last year these same Haradrim were spilling the life's blood of our sons and brothers. Is it fitting that we should now treat them as friends to be bargained with?"
"I believe our departed kin would want nothing more than to know that no more of our people would ever have to face their fate," was Aragorn's ringing answer. "This proposed meeting is not intended to pardon the Haradrim for their past hostilities towards us, nor disregard the lives they have taken. It is only to ensure that no men of Gondor will fall to the swords of this tribe in the future."
There were more mutterings among the Councilmen.
"What does the Steward say to this idea?" inquired the stout dark-haired nobleman, turning to Faramir, who looked up from his writings at the mention of his name. "Lord Faramir, you with your Rangers have often met the men of Harad upon the field of battle. Think you they may now make worthy allies?"
Faramir mulled over this question for a moment. When he answered, it was with a firm voice.
"From what I have seen, the Haradrim are a fierce, proud people, skilled in battle and lacking not in courage," he replied. "Should we make such men our allies, they would prove, I feel, most valuable, in both persuading others of their kind to lay down their weapons, and securing our eastern borders against the remaining Orcs and Uruks that still haunt that region. They have erred grievously in their old allegiances, but I have never seen cause to doubt their valor. We shall need allies such as these if Gondor is to be truly safe and whole once more."
The chamber fell silent for one of the few times that morning, as the members considered these words. The King and Faramir eyed the members cautiously, waiting.
"Well," said Lord Beleg, after drawing a long breath, "as long as they are closely guarded, and we weigh with the proper care everything they say, I suppose I would give my support to such a meeting."
Aragorn gave him a nod of appreciation.
"I cannot support it," snapped Lord Tuornen, the long, jeweled fingers of one hand nervously drumming the table. He looked at the King. "You may do as you will, my Liege, we are here only to advise. Still, I must say that this proposal bodes ill to me. The blood upon the Pelennor is yet too fresh for such alliances."
"I am aware of your concern, my Lord," replied Aragorn with respect, "as I am of all you have each offered me this day." He paused, then directed his firm gaze around the table to every member of the Council. "As one who has borne battle against this foe, I carry no illusions that the negotiation will be swiftly or easily concluded. Yet for Gondor's sake, I shall risk this venture. I would see her borders made safe, and all the people beneath her care able to pursue their lives in peace. This may be the first step to that end, my friends - a small, cautious step, to be certain, but one I am willing to take."
He stood, and at once a small rumble filled the room as every other man took to his feet as well.
"The message of acceptance shall be sent," announced the King, "and we shall hear what the men of the South have to say to us. Should it prove unsuitable, our situation will at least be no worse than now. But if their intention is honorable, we may count their allegiance as a sign of hope that the healing of Sauron's long reign of evil over the men of Middle-earth has truly started."
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Six days later, the sun shone again upon the Harad Road beside the Poros River. Once more, a group of Haradrim riders clad in black and red sat beneath the midday sun, led again by Jadim, the sharp-eyed man with gold rings upon his fingers. As a group, they watched the wide, dusty lane before them, and waited.
Presently there came to their ears the sound of approaching horses. At once the small band became alert, spears flashing in the sun as they sat straighter in their saddles. At the front, the sharp-eyed man peered at the oncoming riders, his gaze narrowing, the slightest flicker of anxiousness in his eyes.
Down the road came two armor-clad soldiers of Gondor, Henvain and Faelor, looking far more confident now than during their first encounter with the men of Harad. Behind them rode a few more soldiers also in armor, one carrying the banner of Gondor mounted on a long staff.
At an appropriate distance, the Gondorian soldiers reined in their mounts, each group studying the other closely.
Once the dust cloud from the new arrivals had settled, Faelor cleared his throat. "We have your answer," he announced.
From behind his black cloth wrapping, Jadim seemed to smile. "There seem to be a few more of you this time," he noted in an amused voice.
Faelor seemed a little uncomfortable with the new protocol. "The last time we were just on patrol," he explained. "But it's a diplomatic mission now, so we have to do things, um, a little differently."
Henvain gave a quick, nervous sigh. "Get on with it," he muttered, his pale eyes watching the Haradrim uneasily.
"Right," was Faelor's half-smothered reply as he looked down to his side and pulled out a small folded parchment bearing Aragorn's waxen seal. Looking up, he drew himself up in the saddle with an air of unfamiliar importance and said, "Our King has accepted your offer."
Behind Jadim, the other Haradrim soldiers could be seen looking at each other, perhaps with surprised expressions beneath their black facial wrappings.
"His terms are within this message," continued Faelor, "and he asks that you would be so kind as to let us know if they meet with your approval."
He held the message out.
Jadim eyed him keenly for a moment, then gently spurred his horse forward.
After a pause, Faelor looked over to Henvain with uncertainty. "I, er, suppose I should ride out to meet him, shouldn't I?"
Henvain glanced at him and shrugged, not taking much care to hide his cluelessness. "This is my first diplomatic mission, too, you know," he whispered back. "But if we're going to try and be friends with them now, I suppose it couldn't hurt."
"Mmmhmm," hummed Faelor to himself in affirmation, and urged his own horse forward. They met halfway, and the Haradrim warrior carefully took the missive from Faelor's hand.
"My thanks," he said with a bow. "I do not believe that was easy for either of us."
The Gondorian stared at him for a few seconds before managing to say, "You're welcome."
Silence fell as Jadim broke the seal and looked over Aragorn's terms. Henvain and Faelor waited, their expressions wary as they looked over their Haradrim counterparts. From the Gondorians' expressions, they were clearly still adjusting to the idea of becoming allies with men they were so used to hating. The black cloth coverings made it impossible to read the thoughts of the Haradrim soldiers, but their eyes seemed to regard the men of the West with equal wariness.
"I am certain these terms will meet with Mahrid Adir's approval," Jadim declared, lifting his head from the parchment. "As he requests, our delegation shall join an escort from your city upon this road in three weeks' time, and proceed to the place of meeting."
"We shall inform the King," pronounced Faelor with a smile; he seemed to be getting more comfortable with his role as envoy now.
"And I would suggest," the Haradrim added, "that your escort come heavily protected. I would advise fully armed soldiers, if it is not too much against the customs of your people."
Faelor's smile quickly evaporated.
Behind him, Henvain blurted, "Fully armed soldiers? Protection? I thought your people were looking for peace with us!"
The Haradrim's black eyes grew even darker, and almost sad.
"Not all of us," he said in a somber voice, "and I ask the protection for our delegation as much as yours. But do as you will-we shall meet again in three weeks' time."
Jadim nodded once more, and turned his horse around, riding back down the Harad road to the south. His men followed, leaving the Gondorians to watch them disappear into the dusty sunshine, their expressions bewildered and not a little worried.
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Some few days later, the ground of Arda thundered beneath a very different rider, on a very different mission.
The stark, rocky surroundings that enveloped the Orc as he rode his panting mount over the crags of Mordor offered nothing in the way of a pleasant environment, but the brute creature cared little for that. In fact, he preferred it.
His mind was scarcely on enjoying the ride anyway, as he drove the snarling Warg onward down the barren, dusty trail through the forbidding peaks. Above him loomed a gray, cloudy sky; it always seemed cloudy here, not that he'd ever really noticed. Sauron was gone, and his black cloud with him, but there were still places in Mordor that never seemed to see the sun.
It was to such a place the Orc rode now, and as he turned a corner in the road and crested its peak, he gave a gasp of relief to finally be at his destination, punctuated by a softly sworn Orcish curse.
It had been a long, hard ride, but he knew the Prince would want to hear the news he carried.
Before him, in a long valley rung by tall, sharp mountains, spread a sight few Orcs had ever hoped to see since the fall of their Lord. To one side of the valley stood a large citadel and several smaller stone buildings, a vast complex built in ancient times by the fathers of Gondor, then abandoned and forgotten.
But it was not abandoned now, thought the Orc with satisfaction as he spurred his mount towards the Citadel and its tall round tower. The entire valley, well hidden from prying eyes of the new Gondor King and his men, was crawling with Orcs, some four thousand survivors of the last War. They had been scattered after the Dark Lord's death, hiding in the forests and mountains, desperate for revenge but without a guiding hand.
The Prince, of course, had changed all that. Now, these Orcs had a purpose. Now, they had help; among the Orcs in the valley could be seen the black and red robes of some two hundred Haradrim men, giving them directions and orders. New siege towers were rising above Mordor's desolate plains, and soon, thought the Orc with glee, their presence would be felt among the world of Men.
But first, he had to tell the Prince his information, and that, he knew, would not be as pleasant.
Eager to get it over with, he pulled his Warg to a stop before the long stone steps of the Citadel, leapt off and scurried up the stairs as quickly as his bulky form would allow. The Haradrim who guarded the door let him pass; they knew him, and possibly even what he came to report. Little stayed hidden here.
Inside, the Orc hurried up to the top of the Tower, along long winding stairs whose darkness was scarcely helped by the spluttering torches lining the walls. Whatever touch of light or grace this fortress might have held had long disappeared, dissolved by time and the Dark Lord's oppressive shadow. Now the very stones seemed steeped in evil, the air suffused with the wicked intents of those now in control of the walls around it.
At least, the Orc might have noticed this, had he any sensitivity to such things. However, none of the unsettling aspects of the Citadel concerned him; he was used to it.
At last he reached the top, and before him loomed a great wooden door held fast by two armed Haradrim and two Orcs, each holding large battle axes. At this Orc's approach, his fellows let out a grunt of recognition, and one swiftly pushed open one side of the huge double doors.
"'Bout time," he barked as his comrade hustled by. "He's been waitin' for you!"
"Go spike yourself," was the snarled response. Then he was inside, and the door closed.
It was a large room, obviously a lookout point at one time, evidenced by the gigantic open windows that ringed the circumference of the circular chamber, separated from each other by thick stone columns. Peering out of these windows with his back to the Orc stood a slender Haradric figure, clad in rich robes of gold and red, his hands clasped behind him. He wore no head covering, his shining black hair curling in thick waves over his ears and frothing at the nape of his neck.
At once the Orc rushed to the figure and dropped to his knees, ignoring the few other Orcs, Uruks and Haradrim who stood about the room amid tables piled with maps, charts, and papers.
"My Lord Prince Karil," he gasped in greeting, puffing from his hurried flight.
The slender figure did not move, and for several moments the only sound was the wind blowing through the windows, and the Orc's haggard breathing.
Finally from the regal figure came a single, sharp word, spoke with harsh impatience: "Well?"
"Your suspicions were correct, Lord Prince," gasped the Orc, who still had not regained his breath. "Word is spreading even now throughout all of Harad. Your father Mahrid Adir rides in nineteen days' time to Gondor to talk to them of peace."
There was a sight murmur throughout the room as the Orcs, Uruks and Haradrim absorbed the news. The slender figure, however, only chuckled and shook his head, still looking out of the window.
"So he has lost none of his foolish delusions, then," he said in a smooth, almost gentle voice dripping with contempt. "My brother Jadim rides with him, too, no doubt, a fine pair of fools on a fool's errand. Going to beg peace from those Gondorian dogs who have besotted the earth with the blood of our people and defied the might of Sauron."
Now he turned, showing to the Orc a strikingly handsome face, touched by no more than twenty years, without a hint of beard and accented with large, sharp, gold-hued eyes, their depths keen with cruelty. A chilling smile was on that youthful countenance, a smile only barely tinged with humanity.
"Well," he said pleasantly, "we'll see about that."