Disclaimer: I do not own any copyrighted characters or plot lines. See first chapter for more detailed disclaimer.
When Culdalcar next opened his eyes, it was early morning, and the sun was just peaking over the horizon. For an hour or so, the man simply laid there, taking stock of his body's wellbeing. The slice to his throat was almost entirely healed. It was so close to being completely healed, in fact, that Culdalcar focused in on it and managed to repair the last of the damage. The effort left him weary, but jubilant; his throat would be sore and tender for several days, but he could speak again!
When the healer arrived to check on Culdalcar in the morning, he was met with a wide grin and a cheerful greeting: "Good morrow to you, healer!" His voice was somewhat hoarse, but that was quickly disappearing; his throat was certainly tender, but the discomfort was easily ignored by the warrior.
The healer was eagerly examining the miraculously healed throat when Imrahil and what seemed to be his entire family arrived. More than a dozen lords and ladies did they number, from the elderly (who appeared to be in the prime of life) to the young men and women who appeared scarcely younger than their grandparents.
For the next hour or so, Culdalcar spoke more and more, asking after the health and well-being of the entire family; on his part, he answered little about where he had been injured or where he had been or what he had been doing for the past years. All noted how he avoided answering such questions, and turned the conversation to lighter subjects. When Culdalcar grew noticeably wearied, Imrahil ordered out all but himself and Faramir, now Steward of Gondor. When the three men were alone, Imrahil regarded Culdalcar sternly.
"Uncle," the Prince of Dol Amroth began solemnly, "You have put off questions about your wounds for long enough. Do you not think it is time to share your burden? The war is done; Sauron and the evils of his forces are conquered and hunted to the far reaches of the East. There are no spies which will design upon your life and the lives of your loved ones." The two men regarded one another wordlessly for a long moment. "The healer told me your wounds were designed to hurt, not to kill. He spoke of poison, and signs of the Black Breath, and of how you spoke of Mordor and the Black Tower. Tell me, uncle, tell me the truth: Were you captured and taken to Minas Morgul to be tortured?"
Culdalcar turned his gaze to the wall, rubbing the wound at his throat out of habit. He little desired to answer, but knew that the story would come to light even if he refused to be the one to reveal it.
"I allowed myself to be taken," he spoke hoarsely, his tone so quiet that his kinsmen had to strain to hear. "The Perrianath were there, or would be, and I was needed."
"The halflings?" Imrahil asked, puzzled. "The Ringbearer and his companion were held captive at Minas Morgul?" His cousin nodded.
"The Ringbearer had been captured by the Spider in the pass just beyond the mountains of Mordor; his companion slew the Spider, but was forced to stand by and watch as the Ringbearer was taken by orcs to the Black Tower." The two other men breathed a silent gasp of horror; though they knew that the Ringbearer and his companion had succeeded in their task, still they thought with dread of the suffering which had accompanied the efforts.
"Samwise Gamgee," Culdalcar spoke with a fond tone in his voice. "That is the name of the brave halfling who saved the whole of Middle Earth on that particular occasion."
"He was brave, indeed," a deep voice sounded from the doorway. All three men looked up to see a white-robed figure in the doorway. "Forgive me," Gandalf the White said, looking not at all apologetic, "I was given to understand that there was one who had been held captive in Minas Morgul, and found that my curiosity was sorely piqued." His eyes twinkled down at the man on the bed. Culdalcar, on his part, did nothing to hide his amusement.
"You are welcome, friend, to listen."
"Ah, and I do thank you for it," the tall figure moved quickly into the room and settled into the only chair. "I have found it to be much easier to hear tales of heroism and bravery if I have made myself comfortable!" The old man looked sharply at Imrahil when that prince huffed under his breath about old men. "What's that, then, lad?" The Prince of Dol Amroth muttered a short apology, and both men exchanged small grins, having been acquaintances for many long years.
"If you are both quite finished exchanging pleasantries," Culdalcar chuckled, then sobered. "Samwise Gamgee, I had said." His eyes drifted shut.
"Minas Morgul…it is beyond description. The senses are inundated by the darkness of night, and the mind and spirit are choked by the thickness of the Black Breath. The presence of the Witch King was still strong, though he himself was not present; he had been called to battle, and six of his lieutenants with him. There still remained two of those lesser wraiths, many orcs, and uruk-hai, and trolls, and beasts which cannot be described." His eyes opened and stared into the distance, not seeing the men before him.
"I was the only living prisoner, and the focus of all their attention. They fought for the right to torture me; I heard the death screams of many orcs and uruk-hai before I was brought to the cell where I was kept. I was there for only a day and a night before another prisoner was cast in beside me: a Perrianath, bound in spider silk and orc ropes, delirious with the great Spider's venom." He looked to Gandalf, eyes dark and grim. "I could but watch as orcs clawed at him, attempting to find something in his clothes; they found nothing."
"Again, there were fights over who would have the privilege of torturing the newest prisoner; it was dreadful to hear, and I fear that it only furthered the Perrianath's poisoned dreams. I was not bound; there was little reason to bind me, for I had no strength, and the blades had carried poison which would have had me unconscious within the hour, had I attempted to flee." He paused to take a drink of water.
"In the night, after the fights had ended and the beasts had retired to eat the flesh of those who had perished in the fights…then, I moved beside the Perrianath, and lent what healing I could." Rohiban laughed, his tone empty and bitter. "I could afford little of my strength, but I gave him all I had." His blue eyes moved to Imrahil. "All the grace which is afforded me by my birth, by my heritage, by the gift given to me by my father Rofeth; all of it, I gave to the Ringbearer.
"For centuries, I have lived alone in the wilderness between Gondor and Mordor; for centuries, I have fought against Sauron's forces; but, that was not my purpose for being there. It has been my gift to know that, one day, I would give my life in protection of someone important; I knew that it would be in Mordor, and I knew that I would suffer." Imrahil was speechless; Culdalcar smiled. "For as long as I am able to remember, I have seen where I was to go, who I was to save; when I rode forth from Dol Amroth that very first time as a young man, as a child, it was to battle. I had seen it, and I knew that I could not turn from it. In the centuries since, I have known with increasing surety that I had one life which I must save at all costs.
"That life belonged to the tiny figure in the dark cell in Minas Morgul. I gave the Perrianath all my grace, all my life – for he was too important to die there, though I did not then know why. After, I lay beside him, dying; with my last breath, I blessed him, and with my last thought, I wished him well on his journey. Then, night faded around me, and I went to my death."