It seemed as a thing alive, wafting deep into the inner rooms of the citadel. Through the vastly arching ceilings and wide corridors it mixed with the moisture in the air, cloaking any solid object in its proliferous fumes. The air had a tangible quality about it this night. It was that odd time of year when the bleak winter departed, meeting with warm to form an uncomfortably dense atmosphere. Melannen wiped a hand across her brow tiredly as she continued to write. The quill scratched across the parchment.
"Naerwen, would you send this down to technical supplies?" she asked, not pausing to look up as she handed her co-worker a small report. "We're running low on ink and I have to finish this."
Naerwen nodded, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear studiously. She was new to the King's staff. "And, Melannen, do you know where Ayala is?" she asked. "There is someone here to see her."
"Name?"
"Hérion, of Dol Amroth." Naerwen studied her carefully for her reaction. It was not exactly her metier, but she perceived that this Hérion was important. It was not everyday Ayala had a caller, being spoken for. And, above all, Naerwen was a gossip.
Melannen nearly dropped her quill. She recovered quickly. "Er, tell him I will meet him in two minutes. Tell Fainon to take over things while I am gone."
As Naerwen bowed deferentially and exited, Melannen could barely concentrate on finishing the report. She was a good friend of Ayala's, but this was too much to handle. The one time Ayala had taken her leave, and Hérion had to show up!
She rose and rounded the corner of the partition, her soft shoes padding quietly as she visually swept the area. Everyone was still hard at work. She sighed to herself. All of them had barely taken a break during the War, and now there was still so much to do.
She looked up to see a tall, dark haired man standing in the archway. She grinned as she saw him bending over to break a leaf off the plant and sniff it cautiously.
"Hérion, our plants are not like the ones in Dol Amroth," she teased.
He looked up, comically panic-stricken, and stuffed the leaf into the bottom of the pot. "I don't know what you are talking about, Melannen," he replied innocently.
"Come now, let's walk," she said, taking his arm. "Ayala has taken the rare break."
"So it seems."
They turned down the hallway, Hérion marveling at its sweeping structure and gothic-like arches. "I have not been to Minas Tirith in so long."
They reached the balcony at the end of the corridor. Both breathed deeply. Out here in the open the air was not quite so thick.
"What brings you here, Hérion?"
"I am acting interim advisor between Dol Amroth and Gondor, mainly. Imrahil wanted me to oversee the interagency affairs after the War. I have come with new information from the front. Here, read this letter relayed to us from the rider."
...we have just conquered the main faction of the Haradrim, the Krathas. We met with some resistance – the Duumvirs were there, as we expected. Six hundred men were slain along with two hundred horses. Oddly, there were two women who joined in the battle. It seems that one, Roshni, was there against their elder duumvir's wishes, but the other is the wife of the other. It is not clear who the other woman is, save that the young duumvir and his wife are familiar with her, but both are prisoners of war along with Duumvir Zoltán and Duumvir Mazhar. All other warriors were slain, save ten, a mix of archers and foot soldiers. We will be arriving in the city on April 3, 4002. – Prince Faramir
Melannen looked up and folded the paper, handing it back to Hérion. "Ayala will be pleased with this news. It is a pity you could not have told her yourself." She smiled at him. "Thank you for coming down, Hérion, but now I must return. I will have to put some of our people on damage evaluations with these new casualties," she said, her eyes looking more tired than ever.
"Of course," he replied. "I will see you at the briefing tomorrow, along with Ayala."
"Naturally. Good night, Hérion."
The dawn was just breaking as Roshni trudged up what felt like the millionth hill that night. Nearly everyone in the company was quiet with exhaustion, but for the occasional horse snorting dew out of its nostrils. It would have been a fine morning if the circumstances were different. At last the company reached the apex of the hill. The sight that greeted them was unspeakably lovely.
Minas Tirith. The majestic city of Gondor, the pride of the ancient faithful of Númenor. Her eyes swept the horizon in awe. The formidable mithril gate glinted even in the half-light, clearly showing the way into the city. Even if it was not completely visible from a distance, the tall watchtowers mounted far above the gleaming limestone walls were, giving the citizens inside a much-needed sense of security. All invidious reminders of what the Ayids no longer possessed.
Roshni glanced to her left, wondering briefly if Mazhar and her father had seen it as well. There Mazhar stood, an unreadable expression on his face. She sighed inwardly. He was too arrogant.
Mazhar met the look Roshni threw him and grimaced. His hands were still bound behind his back, probably because he was a flight risk. He knew (or thought) Roshni was more accepting of this sort of thing, but he – he could not comprehend that the main faction of Haradwaith was overthrown, that they would likely never see their homeland again.
Roshni broke away from him and turned to Eglerion. "Speak plainly, my guard, and do not smear your reply with honey," she said quietly. "We are all going to die...are we not?"
Eglerion shifted uncomfortably. "No," he replied slowly. "At least, you will not."
Roshni narrowed her eyes slightly. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"I am not permitted to speak on this matter with you."
She made a slight sound of disbelief. "You already have."
Eglerion remained silent, staring stolidly ahead. When he was sure her attention had left him once more, he shut his eyes in regret. He did not truly believe that these women were a part of this; and he desired that they not be put through the agony of watching their family die. Nonetheless, his duty was to his country, not to the relations of his long enemies.
Roshni bit her lip, worry creasing her brow. Eglerion's silence frightened her. A deep despair filled her heart then, as she realized this might truly be the last day her father and brother had to live. No, she thought. I do not believe it. I will not!
At that moment, Faramir, riding at the head of the company, halted. "Minas Tirith is less than a league off," he said, his face solemn. "When we arrive, the female prisoners are to be brought by the back way into the city. The remaining soldiers will follow Calanon and I."
The men obeyed silently, their bearing proud despite the journey. Asli looked regretfully in the direction of the rest of the men as they trudged towards the White City, she and Roshni being separated from them now. They would not to share in the fate of their men, be it for good or ill.
"Our enemies return with the bounty of a nation, and our own men to shame," Asli said softly.
Roshni's heart stirred, sparked by Asli's careless words and by Eglerion's silence. It was unfair, perhaps, but she did not care. "How little you know of war, dear Asli!" Roshni said. "If that is the least they do, we will be fortunate beyond reason."
Eglerion pressed his mouth shut. He suspected their separation from the rest had something to do with the fact that the women would be interrogated, and that if they were paraded in the streets, the people would expect them to be sentenced. He would not know, for certain anyways, being but an ordinary foot soldier and not high in the counsel of the Prince. He shook his head. He would not be manipulated.
Roshni stumbled as they descended the hill, slipping on the dewy grass. She was exhausted. She had slept hardly a wink and they had been on the march with little food or rest for nearly two hundred fifty leagues. It was a relief when finally they reached the massive stone wall, the other part of the company now a good distance off.
A sentinel, robed in traditional Gondorian attire, looked down suspiciously at the newcomers. "What business have you here?" he questioned.
"We are part of the second company of Ithilien," Rimedur, Asli's main guard, answered. "We have returned, with female prisoners."
"Ah. I see," the sentinel said, realizing (or rather, guessing) the reason for their inconspicuous entrance. "Very well, then." He motioned for the other guards to help him drag open the stone door, allowing the small company in.
Roshni gazed around. The path in front of her was narrow and twisting, although she suspected it could have something to do with the fact that it was uninhabited save for a few scrawny rats. Indeed, it was rather dark, not at all like Minas Tirith had looked like on the outset. Asli wrinkled her nose at the stench, and looked over at Roshni with an irritated expression. Roshni shrugged indifferently to her, knowing there was nothing she could really say, or wanted to say, for that matter. Everything that had happened so far had put her in an irrational mood. It wasn't really fair, but then, neither was being dragged away from her homeland.
Their company had barely walked one hundred yards before taking a right into another path. This random turning happened countless times, bringing the soldiers and prisoners deeper into the labyrinth. Roshni was beginning to wonder if they were lost. Suddenly her question was answered as they arrived in the front of a small, brummagem structure. Half a dozen guards were visible just at the gate, yet there was no obvious activity inside. She smiled wryly. i This must be the jail... /i
The guard looked up. "Ah, Eglerion," she said, shaking his hand. "We were expecting you. You as well, Rimedur," she smiled.
"I did not know that you were on the jail rotation today, Bereth."
She looked at him coyly. "I was not, until a few minutes ago. I am glad you made it back safely."
"I see," he replied, trying to contain a smirk. Bereth was truly endearing, but she could not possibly have been less subtle about flirting if she had tried. "Well, do tell Mannich to check us in. I have duty on the other side of the city."
Asli looked over and giggled slightly. She herself had been that way with Mazhar at one time. Roshni rolled her eyes inwardly and nudged Asli to stop. The way this conversation was going, they would be standing on the streets til the sun was at its highest. Already it was beating down with an unusual heat. Roshni adjusted her position impatiently. At that moment, the man she presumed to be Mannich came bustling over.
"Eglerion, Rimedur, good to see you," he said, and then turned to face the prisoners, along with the small guard behind them. He raised his eyebrow slightly. There were ten count of guard, but female prisoners usually warranted no more than one each. Mannich was wizened and experienced, having lived numerous years (and overseeing the prison many of them) and so he realized that these women must have some sort of impact on Gondor and were to be guarded more carefully. He made mental note.
"Names of the prisoners?" he asked.
Eglerion shifted slightly, realizing that he didn't know their names. "Well..."
"I am Roshni," she said, her gaze indifferent.
"And I, Asli."
"Mm hm," Mannich murmured, filling out the record papers. He nodded to Eglerion. "Bring them to the third cell block."
Eglerion half bowed in respect and walked with his company through the steel gates.
Mannich watched them for a moment. Usually females were simply released. Very few of those captured in war had been imprisoned. They were both attractive and he wondered what they were doing with battle gear. He shook his head, returning to the papers. It was none of his business.
Faramir rode through the cobblestone streets of Gondor at the head of his company, his stallion arching his neck and moving with mincing steps. The excitement in the air was tangible. All around people stopped what they were doing to stare at the company and the prisoners. The herald rode ahead of them all.
"Hail the Prince of Ithilien! Hail the company of Gondor! They have returned this day – in victory!" he shouted, his voice echoing. The people cheered and clapped joyously.
Mazhar bowed his head, his jaw clenching. Zoltán noticed and spoke in their native tongue.
"Do not take it so hard, my son. It is but royal pomp. It will be over soon."
"I would stand it, father, but that I know the fate that awaits us, marry though we have not been informed of it," he replied sharply. "I do not know how you feel, but I myself am not so ready to die."
Zoltán was about to reply when a soldier barked at them. "Keep to the straight, prisoners. Do not speak."
Zoltán faced forward again resignedly and studied his surroundings. He knew that under war circumstances, prisoners could be sentenced without trial. He had performed that task himself many a time. It truly is a beautiful city, he mused. Everywhere he looked there were markets and vendors selling many different items. The smell of exotic spices wafted through the air. Children ran about in the streets, though the older, war-hungry, and just plain curious ones had joined in the lusty cheering. Many levels above him he could faintly see the outline of the great citadel where the King abode.
After what seemed like ages, they had finally ascended the to the top of the seventh layer of Minas Tirith. The herald announced the king and queen, and they emerged from the pillars.
Mazhar and Zoltán were pushed to the front of the line. "My King Tar-Elessar, My Queen Undómiel," he addressed them. "I present to you prisoners from the region of Near Harad. We also took hostage their Prince, and their King"
At that Zoltán and Mazhar were walked up to the throne. The crowd grew silent, tension rippling through them.
Aragorn studied them quietly for a moment, his countenance grave. "You were in league with the enemy," he said. When he received no answer, he went on. "You fought on the side of the evil one, and did so without conscience. You killed our finest. You have nowhere to turn now." He gazed directly into their eyes. "Will you not aid us in our fight against the insurgents?"
Zoltán and Mazhar stood silently, not dignifying him with an answer. Arwen shook her head subtly, touching Aragorn's arm. He spoke again.
"Very well. Take them to the jail."
Mazhar turned to look Aragorn in the eye, even as he was led away. It was a glance Aragorn would never forget. His dark eyes, nearly black, seemed to pierce his soul.
A murmur swept through the crowd. They had hoped for sentencing on the spot. Instead, their King was giving these murderers a second chance! Many of the more hate-filled ones began to jeer and throw random food at the prisoners. Shouts went up as minor scuffles began and a riot would have ensued but for the quick work of the Guard. Still, the people were extremely noisy.
Aragorn shook his head, motioning for Faramir to come over.
"Arwen, I must speak privately with Faramir," he sighed. "Would you oversee preparations for the banquet tonight."
"Certainly," she replied, turning gracefully away. "I will meet up with you later."
Faramir walked up the stairs and bowed to Aragorn. "My King," he said.
Aragorn smiled. "There is no need for ceremony between us, Faramir, as I have told you many times," he chided. "Besides, we have important matters to speak of."
"I assume you received my report of the battle."
"You are correct. You say there were women? I had been under the impression that women would not be at the bastion."
"I thought that as well, but it seems these ones at least disobeyed that order. There were only two of them, and together they killed nearly twenty of our men with the bow and dagger."
Aragorn raised his eyebrow, mildly impressed despite the fact that they
had killed their men. "Why did you not simply kill the other one?"
"I believe she, too, might know something of our enemies' movements."
Aragorn nodded, agreeing with Faramir. "I will have them questioned tomorrow.
The more of these rogue sects we can eliminate, the better."
Faramir bowed, prepared to make his exit. "I will be staying in the city for a while longer."
"Your fiancée will be glad to hear that," Aragorn grinned. "She has been pining for you."
"Oh?" Faramir said. "I was under the impression that she did not care one whit for me personally." He winked, both realizing she was within earshot.
"That is most certainly not true," a feminine voice protested. They both spun around quickly to see Ayala standing there, grinning. "You know I love you," she teased.
Faramir grinned back, thinking how much more lovely she seemed after seeing nothing but the desert and sweaty men for weeks on end.
"I will leave you both to your ministrations," Aragorn interjected. "I must see to tonight's affairs."
"Thank you, my lord," Ayala spoke, her accent still liltingly reflective of Dol Amroth. She smiled into Faramir's eyes, content just to soak in his presence.
Faramir wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her close. He brushed a silvery blond curl out of her face, tilting his head to kiss her with the all the desire of a traveling soldier. Her lips were soft and pliant as she pressed her mouth to his, returning his gesture with as much fervor.
Ayala pulled back at last to study him, her green eyes luminous even in daylight. She caressed his face, noting the coarseness of his beard. "I was so worried about you," she whispered.
"I am back now, my love," he said, kissing her once more. She sighed almost inaudibly as she did the same, never wanting to let of him again.