The sun was almost set before the first signs of the escort party were seen along the road leading to Minas Tirith. As soon as the dark forms on horseback could be discerned moving slowly along the path leading from Osgiliath, the word was spread quickly among the curious and anxious citizens. By the time the escort came close enough to be clearly seen, the walls of the City were lined with spectators who were interested to see the arrival of the first Haradrim ever to come in the name of peace.
At the head of the column were three wagons, their rear areas covered with tents of cloth, shielding their occupants from view. These conveyances traveled straight for the Gate to the City, which quickly opened to receive them, and the news swiftly went around that they bore the wounded from the battle, bound for the Houses of Healing.
Startled gasps arose from the throng as the wagons came through the Gate without pause and were driven quickly to the upper level: were there wounded Haradrim being brought into Minas Tirith? Would their ancient enemy be permitted inside the walls after all? Yet as rapidly as these fears rose, they were allayed, for those who were able to see within the wagons soon reported that there were no Haradrim within.
Attention quickly went back to the returning escort, whose were now plainly visible, their banners and standards flying high in the fading twilight. At the head of the column rode Faramir, as expected, along with Prince Imrahil and his men, Irolas, and the senior officers of the army. Remarks of surprise and concern rippled along the throngs at how disheveled and bloodied the soldiers appeared, far from the crisp martial picture they had presented that morning when they rode to their errand.
Directly behind the lead of the column rode the Haradrim, and at the sight of them a murmur of astonishment went through the crowd. Even at a distance, the spectators could discern the flash of gold, the long dark robes and black headcloths, and the gleam of the deadly weaponry borne by the men of Harad. Yet it was plain that they, too, had suffered in the rumored battle, for blood could be seen upon their clothes, and some bore bandaged wounds. Behind the men were four supply wagons, their sides boxed in by wooden walls draped with cloths of plum and scarlet and painted with the symbol of Harad.
The murmurs grew louder; the Haradrim had truly come, but what had been the cost for their arrival, for both Harad and Gondor?
As those on the walls watched, Faramir and the escort turned north before reaching the city, leading the Haradrim delegation around the northern edge of Minas Tirith and into the foothills of the Mindolluin. As the last of the setting sun's light swept over the top of the City and dwindled away, the delegation passed into the rocks and were lost from sight.
The spectacle now over, the citizens of the White City slowly began to wander away, solemnly discussing among themselves what they had seen, and what it all might mean for the future of Gondor.
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Faramir had been so absorbed in thought as they rode along that he had scarcely noticed when they arrived at Minas Tirith. So much had happened that he could still hardly take it all in, and they had not even gotten the Haradrim to the White City yet.
They would arrive a far less presentable sight than when they had left, he thought, glancing down at his filthy, blood-spattered finery. Glancing back over the men behind him, he could see that every member of the escort and its guests were in the same condition, exhausted, dirty and disheveled. Many who could ride still bore minor wounds, hastily bandaged, and Faramir believed that few who now saw them would ever guess they had started the day as a formal diplomatic escort.
Word of the fight had doubtless been spreading throughout the City for several hours now, he mused as they passed over the Anduin and approached the City. A twinge of concern fluttered across his stomach; there were many in the Council, no doubt, who would be advising Aragorn to break off the negotiation altogether because of this. Many of the citizens, too, would declare it all a trick of Harad. But he knew the King to be a wise man, and thus he had hope that the day's events would not sway his decision. As for the others, he would simply worry about them later, after a good meal and a hot bath.
Minas Tirith came into view now, its white walls glowing in the red-gold rays of the setting sun. Despite his weariness, Faramir smiled when he saw it, the familiar gentle thrill of love and pride thrumming through his soul, as it did whenever he beheld the magnificent city. It gleamed in the waning light as if it were made of gold, the Tower of Ecthelion blazing beneath the touch of the sun's last rays. Ordinarily, it was a sight to awe and inspire; in the twilight, it was breathtaking.
He heard a stirring among the Haradrim, a faint wave of mutterings spoken in their native tongue. Faramir could not make out all that they were saying, but he discerned the amazement in their tone. Another smile crossed his lips, this time of quiet amusement; who in the darker days could have ever imagined that one day the sons of Harad would behold the seat of Gondor, not as enemies and invaders, but as honored guests!
They rode on, closer to the city, and Faramir was soon able to see the people lining the walls, watching anxiously. As they began to ride around the northern perimeter of the outer wall towards the foothills of Mount Mindolluin, Faramir studied their audience, straining to read their mood. From what he could see, the people were quiet, apprehensive, and seemed somewhat alarmed by the wagons of wounded that left their line and traveled straight into the city.
What he expected, no worse, at least. With good fortune and hard work, they would have reason to be more at ease when the negotiations were concluded, when this tribe of Harad was willingly placed under Gondor's rule and protection.
"So that is your White City."
The words were so quietly and gently breathed that at first Faramir had not heard them. Blinking, he came out of his reverie and turned to his right, facing the source of the utterance. Mahrid Adir rode beside him, still able to cut an imposing figure on his horse in spite of his bloodied robes. If he was weary, the older man did not show it, sitting as straight in his saddle as a fresh recruit. He was now studying the walls and structures of Minas Tirith as they towered far above them both, the expression on his face one of almost boyish wonder.
Faramir smiled, marveling at the sincere amazement in the Haradrim's eyes and wishing every doubter in the city could see it as well. "It is not a sight you ever thought to see so close, I would wager," he said amiably.
Adir dropped his gaze to meet that of the Steward, his expression wistful and somewhat sad. "Often I had dreamed to cross its walls as a conqueror," he admitted, then breathed a soft sigh as his gaze grew distant, fixed on no pint that Faramir could see. "But the striving to gain that prize has cost me in ways far too dear to be borne any longer, and I am content instead to come to your city merely as a friend."
He gazed once more at the gleaming walls, a thoughtful smile on his aged face, before blinking and turning his head away, as if too overcome with his own musings to wish further conversation.
Faramir studied the elderly Haradrim carefully, frowning slightly with worry. As he did so, he met the firm gaze of Jadim, who rode on Adir's other side. Evidently the young man had been watching Adir as well, and as their eyes locked, Faramir could see concern, sorrow, and anger swirling together in the prince's black eyes. For a few moments the two men regarded each other, before Jadim drew a sharp breath and straightened in his saddle, as if suddenly reminded to draw on the stoic mask of duty over his own troubles.
They were now riding past the far northern edges of the outer wall, and as the shadow of the city swallowed them up, Faramir turned back to the road before him, lost for a brief time in thought. He had some idea as to the cause of his guests' distress, and marveled at the sort of fanatical ideal that would lead a son to attempt the killing of his own father and brother.
There was an anguished stirring in his own heart, of a wound long healed but still capable of producing sharp agony; not so long ago, he, too, had known the grief of having the hand of one he loved raised against him, and had some small understanding of the special torment the Haradrim Chief and his heir were now made to endure. He could only hope that their efforts to bring peace might also somehow persuade the erring youngest son to forsake his misguided path and reunite the family, while there was still time.
Before them loomed the rocky gray slopes of the ancient mountain, its foothills dotted with patches of green forest and massive boulders. Slowly the column traveled to a set of rocks larger than the rest, nestled close to the base of the mountain.
"Are we to camp upon the mighty rocks?" Adir inquired, in a tone of amusement. The sadness seemed to be gone, for now, at least. "They are impressive indeed, but I fear my balance is not as it used to be."
Faramir turned to him with a quiet smile. "The rocks shall be your protection, Chief Adir, rather than your home, while you and your men are in Gondor," he replied. "As my people have long known, the mountain has many secrets, and it has been decided to honor your offer of peace by sharing one of them with you now."
So saying, he led the group towards the large outcropping. The largest of the white boulders towered over them now, and the Haradrim gaped at it as they passed, unused to such sights. As they passed behind the rock, a large grassy clearing came into view behind it, completely concealed from the approaching path by the boulder and capable of holding all who rode in the escort. The gray slope of Mindolluin bordered one edge of the clearing, its craggy gray face split by a wide opening, rising to a point near its apex. It was plainly a cave of some depth, for within its portal could be seen the flickering of torches and tables laden with food and drink.
At the other end of the clearing stood a finely-dressed party consisting of the King and Queen, Eomer, Legolas, Gimli, the members of the Council, and several attending guards. But there was one face Faramir looked for before all the others, and he allowed his weariness and professional comportment to crack long enough to smile at Eowyn, who stood beside the Queen.
Faramir led the escort to a shaded area next to the mouth of the cave, where men were awaiting to tend to their horses. He dismounted carefully, still sore from the battle, and noticed many of the others were moving just as cautiously as he.
His feet had barely touched the ground when he was suddenly surprised by a well-known, gentle touch on his arm. Turning, he saw that Eowyn had come straight to his side, and was now smiling at him, her beautiful face beaming with gladness and relief. Without hesitation, he swept her up at once in his arms, holding her tightly.
"Ah, my wife, this is all I have thought of during every inch of our journey back," he whispered to her. "No matter the hundred rules of the court we are both currently breaking!"
She laughed a little and held him just as tightly. "I have the King's own permission to greet you thus, my husband, so any complaints of our behavior shall have to be directed to him," she replied softly, before pulling back to look full into his face. "Were you wounded at all in the battle? The City is fair drowned in rumors..."
He smiled and shook his head. "Naught but a few scrapes, and those minor," he assured her. Over her shoulder, he could see that Adir and Jadim had dismounted, and were approaching him now, arranging themselves to be presented to the King. "As to the rumors, they shall soon be dried out by the truth, if fortune is with us. You shall hear all; for now I fear I must bid you return to the royal party, for my duty is called for."
He gave her a quick kiss, which she accepted and returned with understanding, and they parted as she walked back to join her brother and the others, pausing only long enough to smile at him before turning and continuing her journey.
Faramir turned to the Chieftain and his son as they came to where he stood, and together they followed Eowyn to the royal party, now joined by Imrahil. As they drew near, the young Steward could not help but notice that many of the Council members still looked far from pleased. A few appeared openly frightened. As for the others, Eomer seemed decorous but barely contained in his distrust, Legolas very calm, and Gimli seemed to be watching the Haradrim keenly, friendly enough but still waiting for any uncertain movements.
Stepping before the King, Faramir cleared his throat."Your Majesty, King Elessar of Gondor, Queen Arwen, King Eomer of Rohan, and distinguished members of the delegation," he announced in his best Steward's tone, "I am pleased to bring before you the ambassadors from Harad, Chief Mahrid Adir of the Seventh Tribe and his son, Prince Jadim."
Adir and Jadim stepped forward together, and Faramir was impressed at the steadiness with which the two Haradrim bowed to the King of Gondor and the others, knowing as he did how exhausted they were. Yet there was no tremor or faltering from either man as they stood and faced Aragorn, not with the aspect of conquered before conqueror, but with the respectful regard of ally to ally.
Aragorn also bowed very slightly, his finery glittering in the torchlight that spilled over him from within the cave.
"I bid you welcome to Gondor, men of Harad," pronounced Aragorn in a stately manner, lifting his arms in an open gesture of salutation.
"It is most gratefully received, Your Majesty," replied Adir, bowing low once more. "May our meetings in the future be ever as this, and not as the last time my people met yours before the walls of your city."
"That is my fondest hope as well," Aragorn confessed with a nod of his head, an answering smile finally being allowed to grace his kingly expression. "May the Valar look with favor upon our efforts here and make it so."
"I have asked the assistance of our gods as well," Adir said. "If they consent to work together with your Valar, we mortal men cannot help but find success."
Faramir gestured towards the cave; already the rest of the Haradrim had dismounted and were following the directions of the Gondorian soldiers into the cavern. A few, he noticed, were staring rather openly at Arwen, surely the first Elf they had ever seen. "Within the cave we have prepared a camp for you, stocked with all that your letters have requested. It is quite large inside, with space enough for your horses, an eating area, storage for your provisions, and a sleeping chamber. None shall be able to see it from the road, and all approaches are easily surveyed."
Jadim nodded with approval. "A useful hiding place, indeed," he remarked, keenly studying the cave and its surroundings.
"I have also summoned healers to tend to your wounded," said Aragorn. "Be assured that when they arrive, they shall have every comfort possible."
Faramir's expression became somewhat uncertain as he turned to his King. "Oh, yes. About the Haradrim wounded, your Majesty..."
A puzzled look crossed Aragorn's face. "Henvain reported that several of the men of Harad were bloodied in the battle," he stated.
"Alas, that is the truth," confirmed Adir, an air of melancholy settling over him, "and please accept my deepest thanks for your efforts to care for them. However, they desired the healing arts of my people, and have returned to Harad, under the protection of as many of my guards as could be spared."
Silence fell, and for a few moments the situation turned somewhat awkward. Faramir could see further questions on Aragorn's lips, questions that diplomacy prevented him from asking. Later, in the city, he would give the King his full report. There, he could tell Aragorn that the Haradrim soldiers were afraid that the healers of Gondor would slay them. But not now; now, he could only meet Aragorn's eye, and promise an explanation at a more judicious time.
Aragorn apparently caught the meaning in Faramir's glance, for at length he cleared his throat and brought his hands together, folding them in a regal fashion. "Then may they find a safe road and an easy mending of their wounds," he said gracefully. "We shall leave you now to take your food and your rest within; my servants shall see to whatever you require. Tomorrow, we shall begin the task of uniting our people in a common bond of peace."
Adir bowed once more. "My thanks and blessings to you, King of Gondor. We shall be awaiting you."
Aragorn nodded in farewell, as did Arwen, and he took her hand and led her away, through an opening in the rocks behind them that led back out onto the plains. Eomer, Legolas and Gimli went after them, after imparting a token nod to the Haradrim; Legolas, however, was the only one of them who seemed to mean it. Imrahil's farewell appeared sincere as well. The Council members also bowed, some more deeply than others, and followed through the opening. Faramir watched them go, and could not help noting how the ones most opposed to the meeting were anxiously restraining themselves from climbing over their comrades in their haste to get away from the Haradrim.
Eowyn had lingered, and went at once to Faramir. He smiled, took her hand and lifted it, turning to Adir and Jadim.
"Chieftain Adir, Prince Jadim, I am honored to present to you my wife, the Lady Eowyn," he said.
She nodded, and the two Haradrim men bowed, Adir eying her most keenly as he straightened.
"It is a blessing to look upon one so lovely," said Adir with a smile. Then, after a slight hesitation, he added, "Pardon my forward manner, my Lady, but may I ask if you are the shield-maiden of Rohan who is known for slaying the Lord of the Nazgul?"
She seemed slightly surprised at this question, and Faramir felt her hand tighten around his for a moment. He knew how that moment during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields still haunted her at times, and grasped her hand more firmly in reply, to give her his support.
After a moment of silence, she nodded, her manner still collected and calm, although her smile had faded a little. "Aye, Chief Adir," she replied quietly, "I am that maiden, though it now seems a lifetime ago."
At once Adir's expression filled with awe and respect. "Remarkable," he murmured as he studied her face. "I was witness to that event, my Lady, and thought I knew your face, although your appearance has indeed changed from that dark and terrible day. It impressed me deeply to see so much bravery against such a powerful agent of darkness, even if it hastened our defeat."
He paused to consider his words, then looked into her blue eyes. "We were enemies on that day, my Lady, yet I pray you allow me to pay honor to you, as one warrior to another."
Here he bowed deeply. Eowyn's expression was still clouded as she watched him, grateful yet wishing beyond all else that she had never had to endure the dark deed for which she was being honored.
As she met the eyes of Adir once more, she smiled slightly and nodded, whispering, "I thank you, Chief Adir," even as her fingers closed even more about the hand of her husband.
Smoothly, Faramir faced his guests. "If you will excuse me, Chief Adir, Prince Jadim, I must now return to the City and present my report of the day's events to the King. Should you need anything, simply inquire of the servants and your needs shall be tended to at once. I shall see you tomorrow, when we shall begin the discussion for peace."
Adir nodded. "May you and your brave wife enjoy a pleasant evening, Lord Faramir," he said. "We shall meet tomorrow."
Faramir bowed, and escorted Eowyn from the clearing through the same small pass the King and his party had used shortly before, leaving the Haradrim to their leisure.
"Are you well, my love?" asked Faramir, looking anxiously into her face as he walked her to where one of the soldiers was holding her horse for her.
Eowyn nodded. "Oh, yes, fine," she answered with a small laugh. "It's just...that time of my life seems to face me at the most unexpected moments, and I never thought to hear such words from a warrior of Harad."
Faramir sighed. "The day has been full of such surprises," he observed, gently squeezing her hand as they arrived at her mount. "But I suppose we must prepare ourselves for many such unexpected moments during these talks. I suspect they are not nearly over yet."
Although she did not need it, he helped her onto her horse, and then went back into the clearing to retrieve his own steed. She met him as he rode out, and together they returned to the City, to prepare for the coming day.
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"Incompetent fools! Could they not kill one old man?"
Karil's contemptuous voice echoed loudly throughout the stone-walled chamber, and lost none of its venom as it rolled around the circular walls and faded away. The room was of middling size, lit only by several flickering torches that hung from their iron sconces along its perimeter. The youngest son of Adir stood at its center, clad only in his boots and black leggings, his lean, muscular chest glistening with sweat. With one hand he angrily wiped his long, black hair from his eyes and glared at the messenger he had been addressing. In his other hand he carried a wicked-looking Harad sword, with which he slashed the air from time to time in order to further express his displeasure.
His sparring partner, a male Haradrim servant of far lower standing, remained ignored in the shadows for the time being.
The messenger was a third Haradrim, a tall man of double Karil's years clad in flowing robes of deep blue and black. His face was long and lined, with an air of dissipating handsomeness, and upon his chin he bore a black beard closely shorn. His head was bound around with a black cloth, and one eye was covered with a patch of red silk.
"They may not have been incompetent, merely outnumbered, my Prince," the man replied, his voice deep and smooth. "Our spies in the villages have heard the stories from the wounded men who have returned to our land. It was a fierce battle, and might have ended in our favor had the men of Gondor not arrived."
Karil sighed and faced the man. "I say it is incompetence, Masrak," he insisted. "Otherwise at least one of them would have survived to report to me, instead of being slain down to the last by those Gondor dogs." He scowled and swung the blade a few more time, watching it as it flashed through the air. "Had not so many of us died upon the Pelennor, I would have more good men of Harad with me, and not have to rely on the brute strength of those cursed empty-headed Orcs."
"Yet more of our people may join us," said Masrak in an encouraging tone. "There are many who do not approve of your father's plan. Every day more arrive from over the mountains, men of Harad like ourselves who will never bow to the throne of Gondor. Few they are, but once we strike a decisive blow, it will be more, until all of our nation is behind us. Our men need only to remember themselves, and they will come."
Karil considered this, then turned and with a short motion waved the Haradrim servant away. The man bowed and hurried out of the chamber, up the stone stairs to the levels above.
"That, my good advisor, would go far to redeem the sin of forgetfulness that has plagued our people," Karil remarked as he crossed the room to where his clothes were carefully laid upon a chair, next to stand holding a basin of water. He lifted a cloth from the stand, moistened it, and began cleansing away the signs of his exertion.
"Our losses have frightened them, driven them back to their tents and settlements," he continued in an increasingly angry tone as he stroked the cloth over his skin. "They forget the strength that has long made the men of Harad warriors without peer in Middle-earth." He took a deep breath, his expression growing dark. "They have forgotten the greatness that was ours when we marched beneath the mighty standard of Lord Sauron."
Karil paused now, the towel gripped in his fisted hands, his eyes seeing into the past, their depths now ablaze with the memory.
"But had they seen what I have seen, they would not forget," he whispered fiercely. "Had they stood as I did, with thousands of our brothers before the walls of Barad-dur, and felt the power of the Dark Lord flow through us all as we knelt and swore our oaths to his service, they would know that the ties that bound us to him can never be broken."
He turned his head slightly, a move that threw his face into shadow, although there was no mistaking the awe in his voice. "I can still hear him, Masrak," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly with fervor. "Sauron spoke to us all that day, promising that Harad would fulfill her destiny and crush her enemies beneath her feet, if we would but be faithful and follow him. One day, he said, we would see Gondor and Rohan aflame, their people bound by Haradrim chains, their lands and riches ours for the taking. But I saw it that day, Masrak, in my mind-it was a dream I knew would happen, when our great Dark Lord took dominion over all."
For a few moments he fell silent, standing still as the recollection consumed him, a slight smile on his face. It passed, and Karil shook himself back into awareness, then went on with his preparations.
"How could my father and my brother forsake that oath, Masrak?" asked the Prince with thinly-veiled disgust as he laid aside the towel and reached for his shirt. "They knelt before the palace of the Mighty One as I did, and spoke the same oath. I was but a child at the time, and yet I knew as the words left my lips that I would sooner die than betray their meaning. How could my kin turn traitor, and consent to treat with the very men who sent Lord Sauron to his doom?"
He dressed as he spoke, and at the end was seated on a chair, pulling his tall boots over his dark red leggings. The young Haradrim's expression was twisted into an angry scowl, his eyes hard and angry.
In response to his liege's question, Masrak shrugged. "I cannot say, Lord Prince," he replied in a quiet tone. "They have been lured, perhaps, by the easy promise of peace, the smooth path to surrender. It would appear they would rather live as slaves to Gondor than remain true to their Harad blood."
"A decision they shall come to bitterly regret," promised Karil firmly, as he donned his ornate sword belt, the last of his apparel. He picked up his sword, watched it flash once more in the torchlight, then sheathed it and turned to his advisor.
"We must find where my father and brother are hiding in Gondor," said the Prince as he strode towards the stone stairs. Masrak swiftly came to his side, and they ascended together.
"Send as many of our best scouts across the Anduin as you can," continued Karil as they climbed, his words quickly spoken. "We know they were riding towards Minas Tirith-send our most capable spies in that direction. And instruct them to take some Gondorian sentries as prisoners-should we be unable to locate my father's whereabouts, I am certain we can coax the information from one of those cowardly dogs."
"That would certainly please the Orcs," said Masrak with a nod as they climbed the cold stone steps. "They seem quite restless at having no men to torture."
Karil smiled. "They shall soon have all the captives they would ever want, once we strike out against our conquerors," he replied. They were almost at the top of the stairs, the air growing brighter with every step. "And they shall begin with my misguided father and my fool of a brother."
They walked onto the stone landing, which stood within a small foyer of gray stone. To one side, a vaulted doorway led into a dark hall burrowing deeper into the heart of the ancient fortress; before them, another doorway opened onto the open plains of Mordor, revealing the multitude of Orcs and few Haradrim swarming over the landscape, readying the new machinery of war beneath the misty grayness of twilight.
Masrak bowed and departed to his errand. Karil remained, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked over the teeming vista before him, its hills bristling with the makings of Harad's future. He smiled as he studied the skeletons of the new siege towers, their lethal forms stark against the gray Mordor sky. Soon those frameworks would be covered and finished; soon they would begin their work, and his smile widened as he imagined the hosts of Gondor crushed beneath the churning wheels of the towers and the relentless march of his legions. Sauron had been thrown down, but in this new army the Dark Lord would live again, until the day Karil stood upon the bloodied body of King Elessar and claim victory in his Master's name.
Karil stood in this manner for several minutes, watching in silence, a bright gleam of bloodthirsty joy shining from the depths of his golden eyes.