Perilous Journeys. Shadow Over Rhudaur III

[Gimilbeth]

Gimilbeth’s voice cut Gwindor short, however. She pushed her bay stallion forward and addressed the angry Dwarves herself.

“Then, good Dwarves, perhaps you would care to join your slow plodding to our slow regal tread - so we could share our road?“ she asked with a pleasant smile. “There has always been friendship between the Dunedain of Rhudaur and the Longbeards of Gundabad. There is no need to change this now. I am Princess Gimilbeth - at your service and that of your family.” She bowed slightly in the saddle, her right hand on her breast as she had learned to do when dealing with Dwarves.

She has seen quite a few of them, since she came North. Recently driven from their ancient stronghold of Gundabad, the homeless and impoverished Dwarves spread far and wide through the northern lands, seeking work and shelter. There were some who worked in Fornost, and twenty years ago a whole company of fifty came to labor in Cameth Brin on the construction of the New Palace. Gimilbeth had to admit that, despite their low numbers and diminutive stature, the Dwarves were outstanding masons, every bit as good as their reputation. She was ready to believe that their fabled prowess and resilience in battle were no mere tales either.

Hroim’s frown slowly disappeared giving way to an uncertain smile. He took off his funny russet hood, bowed from the waist and introduced himself again.

“I am Hroim, the leader of this tribe of Gundabad Dwarves, at your service, my Lady, and at the service of the Royal family. We are now traveling from the Grey Mountains to Cardolan.” The other dwarves gradually let their hands fall from the axes at their waists and bowed sweeping the ground with their hoods – blues, reds, greens, yellows and whites.

Gritting his teeth, Gwindor made a stiff bow. Inwardly he boiled. Why women always tried to spoil a nice budding fight? Oh, how he wished to hack these poor excuses for a human to tiny pieces!

Meanwhile Gimilbeth continued “I am glad to meet a compatriot of Master Narvin who built the new Palace at Cameth Brin for us. He looked much like you and he also had a russet hood – perhaps he was your kinsman?”

“Narvin is my great-uncle” Hroim replied proudly. “He was one of the best masons of Gundabad. But he has gone to Khazad Dum about ten years ago and I haven’t seen him since”

“If you meet him, please offer him my greetings and best wishes”, smiled Gimilbeth. “I repeat my invitation to join our forces, Master Hroim”, she continued pleasantly. “Forgive Lord Gwindor his gruffness – he was worried about our safety. There were reports of Orcs in the vicinity, so your company is welcome indeed if it comes to trouble. And even if there is no trouble, you are still welcome.”

Hroim muttered an excuse and stepped a few paces away to exchange words in his incomprehensible language with the other dwarves. Gimilbeth patiently waited. Here gaze wandered around the company – unlike among the team at Cameth Brin, here there were a few obviously very young Dwarves, with short soft stubble at their chins instead of full beards. Excluded from the conversation their elders were having between themselves, all of the youngsters were staring at Gimilbeth with wide curious eyes. Still there were no women or babies among the dwarves. “Do they even have them?” – Gimilbeth was uncertain about the answer.

At that moment she noticed two tall figures, incongruous among the Children of Aule. Gimilbeth’s heart skipped a beat. Elves! Curse them! As if it were not enough to have to put up with Arinya’s eternal perfection and her nosiness back in Cameth Brin, here there were two male ones! She gritted her teeth and willed herself to remain polite.

The Elves came up and greeted her courteously, and after some brief civilities on both sides, disappeared again in the thick mist.

Tyaron and Alagos... that were their names. Noldor, both of them, and ancient too, if she were any judge. They said they hailed from Rivendell and were now going to visit Emyn Uial, beyond Fornost. It looked like she was going to have their unwelcome company for the whole journey. Ugh!

Meanwhile, Hroim returned and informed Gimilbeth that her kind proposal to share the road had been accepted.

[Caelen]

November 5, 1347 – noon hour, Eryndil’s home in Cameth Brin

"Now, dear, you just sit quietly here a moment, while my son explains what he knows of this," said Rildorien to Caelen as she guided her to the bench and sat down with her. Hendegil sat down on Caelen's other side and took her other hand, patting it protectively.

"Let the games begin!" thought the thane with a smile that he tried, fairly successfully, to hide. He had never seen his son flustered by a woman before, and suspected that there was something behind it - and he was liking this little red-headed spitfire so far. "Eryndil needs a challenge!" he thought. "He's always been able to control things, and that's not good for him! And this little lady looks like she doesn't take to controlling very well!"

Eryndil took a deep breath and started talking. He didn't like how his mother and sister were looking at him - like he was some species of large, uncouth animal that had hurt this poor little orphan girl with its fumbling movements. Why, he had SAVED this girl! It wasn't FAIR! He was sorely tempted to enlarge on the story, focusing on Caelen's faults, but his good nature and sense of justice overruled this desire, and he gave a calm, clear, accurate account of what he knew had happened since they had left Ostinand.

"Is that right, dear?" his mother asked Caelen. "As if I would lie?" thought Eryndil, his temper rising again.

"Yes," said Caelen, and looked up at Eryndil with her clear grey eyes calm again. "I'm glad you explained it so well," she said to him gratefully. "I never seem to explain things well - especially when I'm upset," she finished, looking down at the ground again.

Camglas cleared his throat. "Well, my dear, I must say that I agree with my son - deceiving is never right - but I think that for now, at least, we will do as he has agreed to do, and not give away your secret. And I will instruct the rest of my family to do the same."

Caelen looked up at him gratefully and smiled her thanks.

"And son," continued the thane, "you need to tell your men that, too."

"I have already done so," answered Eryndil. The thane nodded his approval of his son's behavior.

There was a moment of silence, and then Caelen, looking up at Rildorien, asked plaintively, "Lady Rildorien, could you please tell me what I should do about the riding habit? My mother and father are gone, and I ... I just don't know what I should do now!" Eryndil saw Caelen fall back into her nervous habit of biting her lip and suppressed the urge to tell her to stop doing that, but this time, his heart was a lot softer towards her. She had been through a lot, after all - maybe he had been too hard on her.

Rildorien had Caelen tell what had happened, and then questioned her carefully to fill in the missing parts of Caelen's rather disjoined account. She sighed. It was abundantly clear that Caelen would have to return the outfit.

"My dear child," she said, "I'm afraid that you simply cannot accept this outfit. I know that you are unaware of court customs, and what is proper for a lady to receive from a gentleman who knows that she is unmarried, but there is ..."

"Wait," said Caelen. Rildorien looked at her in surprise. "I must tell you more, " Caelen said simply. "You have been so kind to me - you've been like a mother to me today - I need to tell you more." She sighed heavily and bit her lip just slightly again (unknowingly making Eryndil half-irritated, half-aroused - he was starting to get very interested in Caelen's lips - "What did they feel like? What did they ... taste like?" he found himself wondering, and then shook his head at himself in disbelief - what was he thinking?)

Rildorien looked at her questioningly, and Caelen took a deep breath and looked back at her with flushed cheeks and a little fear in her eyes. She didn't want to tell Rildorien this, or have the others hear it, either, but she felt she had to be completely frank with these good people who were being so kind and supportive of her.

"I ... I didn't tell you everything ... it's true that I wasn't sure what the note meant, but what I didn't tell you is that I thought I knew what it might mean ... and I did know that I shouldn't receive the gift. I don't want you to think badly of my mother. She told me that ladies don't receive gifts from gentlemen, except flowers, until they are engaged. But I tried to rationalize it because I wanted it so bad. I told myself that royalty can act differently and that it would be wrong to refuse a gift from royalty and things like that, and then I told myself that I had to hurry to come see Hendegil and I would think about it later."

Eryndil forgot about Caelen's mouth. Of all Caelen's faults, he had never thought of her as deceptive, and he was severely disappointed in her.

Perhaps Caelen sensed a movement from Eryndil - perhaps she sensed the movement in his heart - for she suddenly turned from Rildorien to Eryndil. Seeing the disapproval in the eyes of one she had always respected, the tears sprang to her own eyes.

"Don't you see," she started in a tremulous voice, then started again in a stronger one. "Don't you see, I had to have a riding outfit! Riding is in my blood - it's life to me - it's a tie to my family. And when I ride, I sometimes think that maybe, just maybe, I'll round a corner somewhere and see my house again, and my parents standing at the gates, holding them open wide ..." Caelen's eyes moved from Eryndil to a spot somewhere in the distance, and her whole face showed her longing and love for the family that was gone.

Eryndil was cut to the heart, and could not answer. But Caelen was not done. She looked at him again for a moment, and then suddenly looked down and covered her face with her hands.

"And every time I put on my old riding habit, I felt the brigands' hands on me again," she moaned, and then bent double, hugging her knees and rocking slowly back and forth, her hair falling around her like a curtain trying to protect her from the harsh, cruel world.

[Saakaf]

Afternoon, November 5, high hill above the Great Road

High atop a hill above the Great Road, a scouting party of five orcs surveyed the road below them. Corporal Boshok, though still in pain from his wounds of a few days previously, had been put in charge of the patrol by Captain Ashûk. Boshok was lucky in that his wounds were not too serious. Unless a man were fortunate enough to be related by clan to an officer, he might be killed if he could not carry his weight in the company. Even nepotism was not always a guarantee of survival.

The men were under strict orders not to partake of any draught, for they needed their senses to be clear. Other orders called for them to build no fires, but that edict had been in effect ever since they had arrived in the south. Alert and watchful, they kept their eyes fixed upon the road. Any mistake, any slip up, and the whole mission would fail, and no one wanted to return to the north with that stigma.

Corporal Boshok's voice was quiet as he talked to them. Even though they were far above the road, sounds sometimes did strange things. It was always possible that the wind might play tricks and some enemy below hear them talking. Private Saakaf had heard about battles which had fought just across a hill, but the men on the other side heard nothing, totally unaware that a battle raged close by. When Saakaf had been in training in the north, the Instructing Officer had a fancy word for this phenomenon, "Acoustic shadow."

Once when the officer had been lecturing, he explained, "Years ago, there was a great battle in progress, but a westerly wind kept the general commanding from knowing that his forces were heavily invested. Being in ignorance of the need of his troops, the general did not send reinforcements in time and the battle was lost." Saakaf had not completely understood this concept but he did understand enough to know that wind currents or topographical obstructions such as hills could play havoc sometime with sounds. However, Saakaf was merely a private and did not have to worry about such things. Officers did. What he needed to concentrate upon was the road below him, and the mission that had been given to him.

"Remember, Saakaf, that should any enemy forces be observed on the Great Road marching towards the west, you are to send one of the magic candles blazing skyward. Our other scouting post to the west will observe it and send word to Captain Ashûk and his company down near the bridge. Since you have had training with these amazing devices, you are entrusted with this duty."

Private Saakaf's chest filled with pride as he smiled. He and two others were the only ones in the company who knew how to deal with these strange pyrotechnic projectiles. Many thought the candles were pure "magic," one of the strange devices that the Sorcerer King in the north had developed. Saakaf knew better; the flares were nothing more than a form of fire that could be directed on a preset course. Saakaf did not have anything to be concerned about the flares yet, though. Everything was quiet on the road below.

[Eryndil]

November 5, 1347 – noon hour, Eryndil’s home in Cameth Brin

Not wishing to see her daughter’s friend further embarrassed before the servants in the main parts of the house, Rildorien suggested that they help Caelen up to Hendegil’s room. She was surprised though when Eryndil reached down and, instead of just assisting Caelen to her feet, lifted her up in his arms and made straight for the main stairway. Her face echoing her friend’s distress, Hendegil looked quickly back at her mother, then followed behind Eryndil.

Rildorien lingered behind for just a moment as the sounds of her son’s exertions passed up along with him. Then, turning to her husband, she said, “Wipe that smirk off your face, Thane Camglas!”

Camglas broke out into a soft chuckle, which made Rildorien even more cross as she turned and went up the stairs herself.

As he labored up the thirty or so steps, Eryndil tried to act as though he carried Caelen without effort. He had considered himself fairly strong, but had to admit he was no Beren or Turin – and this was hard work! But from the moment he lifted her, she had buried her head against his shoulder, her eyes shut tightly to block out the tears, and thrown her arms about his neck. As they passed up the stairs, her arms tightened about him (“Not TOO tight,” he had thought. “I still have to BREATHE!”), but when they reached the top he was able to pause for a moment, allowing Hendegil to go before him as pretext for recovering himself, and disguising his heavy breaths by drawing them slowly. Caelen’s arms loosened somewhat once the stairs were finished. She kept her eyes closed, but looking down, he saw that her face was visibly more relaxed, and though she shifted her head, turning it upward, it still lay upon him.

When he reached Hendegil’s room, Eryndil carried her across to the bed and laid her down slowly, carefully – almost regretfully. Then he stood to his full height looking down upon her briefly, feeling a tangle of emotions return now that the focus required by his former efforts was no longer needed. But this was interrupted by his mother’s arrival and a small flurry of activity. Eryndil sought to help; opening the window for fresh air, then shutting it at his mother’s command, stoking the fire to activity and drawing out another blanket after Hendegil had already pulled one up over Caelen. At last, at Rildorien’s suggestion, Hendegil asked Eryndil to fetch them some fresh water and helped him find his way out of the room with a hand in his back. Just outside the door he turned to face Hendegil, who was smiling up at him as she held the door wide open, and then slowly closed it after repeating, “water.”

Roused from their nap by the commotion, Vilyandur and Gildurien stood outside with him. They had been sorely disappointed to find on arriving, that the Princess Gimilbeth was away from Cameth Brin the very winter they had come to stay there. For their main objective in coming (and giving up their own October 30th Duvediu celebrations back home), had been in hopes of meeting her – to see for themselves if the rumors were indeed true, and now the whole trip was becoming a colossal waste of time! They hoped that whatever incident was going on now might be of some interest. But Eryndil urged them downstairs with him to where their father still sat, and Camglas bade them sit and talk with him awhile.

Eryndil gathered not only a pitcher of water and three vessels for drinking, but also a basket with bread, cheese and apples. His servants were a bit bemused as he insisted on taking them himself. As he started up the stairs once more, his father remarked with a wink, "Less load this time, and less pleasure in it, eh?" He smiled awkwardly, as Vilyandur and Gildurien looked puzzled. Returning to Hendegil’s room, Eryndil was about to knock when he heard from within the sounds of laughter, broken now and again by sniffling. Then he heard first Hendegil’s voice.

“And Caelen, I didn’t bring much in the way of riding clothes, but I have several dresses with me, fit for a winter at court! And you shall choose two or three from among them. Here – look at these… But you must stay here tonight!”

“Oh – sniff, sniff – I really should not. I don’t want… I would rather sleep in my own bed.”

“Well – then you’ll at least stay on for supper. After all, lunch didn’t quite work out, did it?”

A little more laughter and then Caelen’s voice once more, “But it will be late by then, and even in Cameth Brin it isn’t safe for a lady to be out alone after dark.”

At that Eryndil drew a breath and knocked, “Water,” he said.

When he opened the door, he saw Caelen sitting up on the bed, but pulling the cover over herself, as his mother and sister contrived to stand between them. Seeing part of her new outfit on the floor by the bed, he swallowed and continued, eyes downcast “Caelen... I could not help but overhear that last. I will escort you home after dinner, if you would stay.”

Caelen seemed to be thinking it over, and Hendegil joined in, “And I will accompany you both, for it is not fit that a single man escort a married woman home while her husband is away!”

And they both laughed a bit more, though with Caelen still seeming embarrassed (and feeling likewise himself), Eryndil set down basket, pitcher and glasses and retreated, hearing behind him as he shut the door, “Oh and look – lunch is taken care of anyway!” and more broken laughter still.

Then he walked slowly down the stairs, regretting that it was too late in the year for there to be any flowers left in the garden.

[Caelen]

November 5, 1347 – evening, Caelen's room in Cameth Brin

Caelen curled up under the covers, Callon's shirt lodged securely in its usual place under her head so that she could feel it against her face and breathe in its familiar scent. Tomorrow! He'd be home tomorrow! She smiled happily into the dark for a minute, before more uncomfortable thoughts pushed their way in.

She had been foolish to wear the riding outfit that Daurendil had sent her. She admitted that to herself now - she had just been deceiving herself, and she had known it at the time, too - and she had paid the price today. She had made a scene at Eryndil's house when she broke down in tears, and she would probably have to face Daurendil tomorrow, too - but she was going to do her best to avoid that. Hopefully, Rildorien's note would make things easier. That had been kind of her to offer to write on her behalf, as an older friend of the family, even though they had only known each other a few weeks. And Callon would be home tomorrow afternoon or evening, and then everything would be a lot easier. Callon would take care of things again. She hoped that he would decide to drop the marriage ruse, though - it was really unpleasant to try to act like something she wasn't.

Her mind went back to Rildorien, and from there, to the events of the day at Eryndil's house. She hadn't wanted to stay to dinner - she just wanted to get home after that embarassing episode - but Hendegil had wisely stopped pressing the point and instead just started talking with her, and all of a sudden, it was dinnertime. They had laughed over Hendegil's artiface and were smiling as they walked into the dining room together, but the smiles soon left their faces as they were met with the bad moods of Vilyandur and Gildurien.

Vilyandur inquired pointedly after Caelen's "husband", showing that he was willing to keep Caelen's secret, but somehow managing to signal his disapproval of both her and the whole affair. And when the talk had turned to the doings that had taken place on October 30th and Caelen had spoken her disapproval of Duvediu celebrations that had taken place in Cameth Brin, Gildurien let a small, patient sigh escape her before commenting about how unfortunate it was that so many rustics ("not that Caelen was a rustic, of course!") were so intolerant of things that they didn't understand, such as colorful customs from other lands. Caelen's eyes narrowed and her chin lifted up in a gesture that would have earned her a warning kick under the table from the more diplomatic Callon, had he been there, and she commented that in her experience, although the rustics were often rough around the edges, they usually had the most important things right; perhaps people with their noses in the air just missed the obvious truths right in front of them ("not that Gildurien had her nose in the air, of course!")

After this exchange, Rildorien cleared her throat and looked expressively at Camglas, who tactfully and firmly changed the subject.

Finally, it was time to go home. Since Caelen had changed out of her riding habit, and the night was fine, they decided to walk (Caelen leading her mare). They didn't talk very much, but the silences were companionable ones, and they were all surprised at how soon they arrived back at the palace.

As they walked Caelen to her room (Rildorien had given explicit instructions to do this, in case the impetuous Daurendil was waiting for Caelen somewhere along the way), Hendegil asked her if she would come over again tomorrow, but Caelen regretfully declined - Callon was coming home, and she wanted to stay around the palace grounds all day so she wouldn't miss anything. But the day after that, perhaps? Hendegil agreed, and the two friends parted with a kiss. Then Caelen held out her hand to Eryndil, and said sincerely, "And thank you for ALL of your help - you've been so kind to me." Eryndil murmured a polite response and bowed over her hand, and then he and his sister left, and Caelen was in bed, exhausted, before they had left the palace grounds.

Caelen slept peacefully for several hours, then the nightmare came again. But this time it was different - usually she woke up right at the worst part, and Callon would be bending over her, shaking her awake and soothing her down. But this time, the rescue came BEFORE she woke up - in her dream, Callon came and carried her off. She relaxed, secure in his strong arms, as he took her away from the danger. But as the dream moon rose in the sky, she saw by its light that it wasn't Callon that was carrying her; it was Eryndil. She woke up with a start, annoyed at Eryndil for getting into her dream, and rearranged her pillow and Callon's shirt, trying to get back to sleep. But when sleep came and the dream resumed, she was still in Eryndil's arms, and this time she didn't fight it, for she felt so safe and comfortable ...

[Gimilbeth]

On the Great Road south-west of Brochenridge, at nightfall of November 5, 1347

Gimilbeth peered into the gathering darkness ahead and surveyed the high rocky cliffs on the right, dripping wet now. This morning's fog gave way to small, incessant rain, cold and penetrating, a sort of rain that soaked everything to the core. She felt cold, wet and miserable and therefore her ire was steadily rising.

"How far are we from the Last Bridge, Gwindor?"

"I am not sure, your Highness, two-three leagues at least, I guess." Gwindor answered morosely - he was still sulking after Gimilbeth's affront in the morning.

Gimilbeth turned and tried to distinguish the forms of two wagons on the road behind them. She knew that the last wagon harbored her maid Nimraen, her two pages and her clothes, while the foremost one, driven by Callon, carried Hurgon and the two unwelcome Elves. She waited till the wagons finally came into view - and the Dwarves on their stupid ponies were riding right behind. Twenty Dunedain guards formed the rearguard. And all this procession advanced at a snail's pace! Curse the Dwarves! - she had never supposed how really slow a laden pony would be...

"I hoped to reach Iant Methed before dark" Gimilbeth complained bitterly. "They are slowing us down!"

Gwindor said nothing, but "I told you!" was written plainly upon his face. Gimilbeth's temper finally burst out.

"It is all your fault, anyway!" she hissed vehemently. Gwindor's eyes widened in surprise, but Gimilbeth wouldn't be deterred. "You made me angry this morning with your childish attempts to start a fight with those Dwarves. If not for you, I would have never invited them to join us in the first place!"

Gwindor swallowed and lowered his eyes. "As you say, My Lady." he replied calmly. He had learned by long experience that there was no contradicting Gimilbeth when her temper ran high. When angry, she was very unfair and oftentimes cruel. Those nearby only had to keep low profile and try to get out of the way.

"Leave ten men to guard the wagons and round up the others!" Gimilbeth ordered. "We shall gallop ahead with thirty men, and let the Dwarves and the wagons plod after us as best they can."

Gwindor shrugged his shoulders, but obeyed. He stopped the column and a scout was sent to give new orders to the rearguard. Gimilbeth waited, impatiently turning the ivory handle of her whip round and round in her gloved hands.

At this moment an arrow whizzed past Gimilbet's head, followed by a rain of others. The darkness to the right exploded with hundreds of hellish shrieks. Dark, twisted shapes poured from the cliffs down onto the road, shouting war-cries and slashing at the neighing horses and dismayed riders.

Someone screamed: "Orcs! We have run into an ambush!"

[Queen Eilinel]

Cameth Brin Palace. November 5, at dusk.

The early darkness was gathering outside the high arched windows of the Palace dining room. King Tarnendur and Queen Eilinel were having an early supper - the queen maintained that that it was unhealthy to eat right before going to bed, so they had the evening meal earlier than the Princes, earlier than everyone else in the Palace.

There were just the two of them, as Eilinel sent the servants away once they had brought the dishes. She cherished these moments of privacy, and liked to fill the King's plate and pour his wine herself, without servants getting in the way. To Eilinel, it felt more like a normal family supper and, as an additional advantage, allowed her to control the King's appetite. Tarnendur tended to eat too much for his own good, more than it was prudent in his advanced age, she thought, pushing the plate with assorted cheeses further away from the King.

She had already won another hard battle - sent away the Gondorian chef Tarnendur brought with him and hired a local Rhudaurian cook who served plain healthy ware, instead of fancy meals of the south, those horrible alien dishes seasoned with hot spices to the point of making a person unused to them choke to death.

Today the King seemed preoccupied and munched silently, without appetite, a frown on his brow. He drank unreasonably much though, Eilinel noticed and congratulated herself for her cleverness: she ordered the servants to dilute the King's wine by half, so it couldn't do any real harm. But then her heart sank and she twitched uneasily - she remembered the difficult question she had to discuss.

She cleared her throat twice, before the king's gaze finally alighted on her.

"My Lord," she started in a small voice.

"Why so formal, my dearest?" the King smiled encouragingly. "Forgive my silence, Eilinel. Those affairs of State... I try to leave them behind when I am with you, but they keep crawling back into my mind."

"I understand, Tarnendur, and I don't blame you. But there is something I heard that worries me greatly, to the point that I can't keep it to myself. I think you should know it, my love. The Palace is astir with gossip."

The King sat back in his chair and groaned loudly. "As if it is not enough to have Broggha on my back, and all those conniving Councilors, and untrustworthy troops, and the winter approaching with cold and famine and what's not - no, I should also be bothered with the Palace gossip!" he complained.

Eilinel's eyes filled with tears, which instantly made the King ashamed of his words. He took her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly. " Forgive me Eilinel, my darling! What is it about?"

Eilinel sniffed and wiped her tears. "I heard it from my own maid this afternoon, but then I questioned other maids as well - and got the same story. There is a new ostler at the Stables - he came here a couple of weeks ago with a beautiful redhead wife. Soon this fellow went away on the trip to Brochenridge - leaving the young wife behind. She was pregnant, he said, so he asked not to give her any work. Then with her husband scarcely away, the woman set out to ensnare our Daurendil - can you believe it?!"

The King looked appropriately shocked at this revelation, so Eilinel hurried to continue. "She made him invite her for a hunt - an ostler's wife riding among the Princes and Princesses! Everyone noticed that Daurendil was quite smitten - to the point to make Odaragariel quite upset - poor thing! And then, this very morning, Daurendil appeared in the servants quarters, where this vixen dwells, carrying a big box - a present for her! The servants were most curious what it contained, so quite a few watched in stealth how the woman left the room. She was dressed like a queen they say - meaning not like me, of course, as I have little interest in fancy dresses, but like a queen from a fairy-tale - all in furs, velvets and golden embroidery. They say she rode all through Cameth Brin to visit her friends and to flaunt her dress across the city."

"Wait, wait..." the King rose a warning hand. "Not so fast. Let me get this straight. So, Daurendil presented her with a DRESS and she has ACCEPTED it?"

"Quite so, my Lord, there can't be any doubt about it. It is absolutely shocking. But there is more. They say the conniving woman is so set on becoming the Prince's mistress that she has got rid of the unborn baby in her womb - the very day she met Daurendil!!!"
The queen's voice lowered to a hoarse whisper "And some say she wants to get rid of her husband as well - that is why she managed to send him away! And with him dead she plans to become not Daurendil's mistress, but his WIFE"

Tarnendur snorted and shook his head "It is absolutely crazy - there is no way for a groom's widow to become a future queen! I have to talk with Daurendil, however - the boy was foolish enough to court a married woman in the first place, and he is far too young for romantic pursuits!"

"Oh, please, don't do it, I beg you, my Lord!' Eilinel cried. "I know my Daurendil - he is obstinate, he wouldn't be deterred by mere words, even those of his Father or myself. Instead, seeing the challenge, his foolish attachment to this awful woman will only increase... I don't know what to do, my Lord, for our son is in grave danger!"

"Nonsense, Eilinel", replied the King with a reassuring smile. "Don't fret too much. What danger could there be for Daurendil? - Only some unpleasantness and embarrassment. I will consider the matter and most likely will send someone to this groom, when he returns, to order him to restrain his wife."

Tarnendur rose to his feet and nodded to the Queen. "Now I will leave you for awhile, my love, as I still have things to attend to, but I will be back with you shortly and we will share a pleasant evening."

[Tarnendur]

November 5, 1347 - evening - The Palace of Rhudaur at Cameth Bin

King Tarnendur sat impatiently watching Eilinel’s ladies-in-waiting finish the elaborate arrangements of her braids of hair – an activity she ever insisted upon before she would retire for the evening. He took another sip from the goblet of spiced wine before him as he reclined in a great chair, his feet propped up before him. He turned his head and appraised the form of his wife. Not the sort to set every young man’s fancy aflutter – but Tarnendur was no longer a young man. The night was young though, and he had not lingered in his chambers, as he did late into most evenings. Eilinel would know why.

He wondered if she felt trapped in her marriage to an older man, young as she was. Gimilbeth had raged violently at the news that he would marry her those years ago – alternating with taunts about her age. But no girl liked to have her mother replaced by another woman – and to have a “new mother” young enough to be your daughter must have been particularly galling.

Ah – but there had been purpose in it; alliance, the production of an heir, unity and a chance for stability in the realm. Bah – if Eilinel felt trapped, what did it matter. She was but a woman, and would do him her wifely duty.

It had been long though. 'How long…?' he thought, as his eyes idly looked her up and down. Despite his age, he was still quite vigorous when they had first married – oh how they had frolicked! Of course, that was mostly on the times Gimilbeth had been away on one trip or another. Yes – Eilinel was so much more relaxed when she was gone – apart from her alarm at this evening’s dinner, but that had nothing to do with Gimilbeth, at least. Tarnendur started to realize that he was more relaxed too. Well… this trip she had taken for the winter might do him a lot of good, he thought to himself with a low chuckle. Maybe he ought to send Gimilbeth away more often… make her his ambassador to Arthedain… or Gondor!

His eyes wandered up to three views of Eilinel's face. Three mirrors sat before her at her table. One of those was blocked from his view, so he saw her reflection at different angles in the other two, and her own face in profile slightly from behind. A noble face it was – and gentle too. An old man like himself could hardly forget the wife of his own youth, but Eilinel was fair – in her own way.

Just then she caught his eye in one of her mirrors. “That is enough. You may leave me,” she said to the four ladies hovering behind her. When they had gone, she sat still for a while, then rose and turned toward him.

“You are not often with me when I go to bed, my husband. Are you well? Has the day been long?” she asked with a slight smile.

“Yes, I mean no… I am well, the day has not been so very long. But Eilinel, I have neglected you,” he said, moving toward her.

“A King… must have many duties. His wife understands this,” yet she drew near to him herself. His arms slowly encircled her, and she leaned into his body.

Suddenly Tarnendur laughed and leaned back, gently gripping Eilinel’s arms. Her hands came up to hold his wrists, and she stood looking at his face with a smile, waiting to hear the source of his sudden amusement.

“Eilinel – I see so much reason to have hope these days. And the short days of winter draw near. How long has it been since we’ve had a proper Yule Festival here at Cameth Brin? Well, I swear to you now that we shall have one this year – and it shall be in your honor – in the honor of Queen Eilinel!”

Eilinel was charmed and joined him in his laughter, telling him what a splendid idea it was, while her mind was already at work on arrangements to be made, what kind of dress should be fashioned for her, and the kinds of food they should serve.

But Tarnendur placed his arms about her more firmly now, and he was no longer laughing. He drew her to himself and kissed her powerfully. His hands began to caress her and she surrendered herself to his embrace as they made their way half onto the bed.

Then came a great pounding on the door.

With a look of frustration, Tarnendur called out, “Oh… what is it?!?”

“Important message for the King. From Merendil, Your Highness.”

As Tarnendur’s frustration mounted, Eilinel gave way to resignation. “It’s alright dear. There will be other nights.” Then rallying herself with a small smile, added with a wink, “More than fifty ere the Yule!"

Tarnendur had arranged himself to depart and waited for Eilinel to compose herself before drawing open the door and setting off down the hall for where the messenger awaited him.

- - - - - - - -

The message was short and to the point:

November 4, 1347

King Tarnendur,

While returning to Cameth Brin, have discovered that a band of Orcs, perhaps 300 or more, have infiltrated the land and had observed our earlier passage, and have since set off in a direction which might intercept Princess Gimilbeth’s party before they reach the Last Bridge. Had already assigned her 40 men – may not be sufficient. Am giving chase with all available men, in hopes of reaching her in time.

I know not from whence these have come, or how they breached our borders, nor if others are about as well. Having no time to ponder these things which you must, I turn only to the attempted rescue of your eldest child.

Regards,

Captain Merendil


Tarnendur read the message first in haste, then again in alarm. At last, after several more re-readings, he pondered long on its words. Then he questioned the man who had delivered the message and released him to take his rest.

But Tarnendur sprang into action. The Council of Rhudaur must meet tomorrow – so messengers were sent to all council members, summoning them to a special meeting to begin two hours before noontide. His young advisors… they would have to wait. Word was sent for them to meet with him tomorrow evening.

Then long he sat up that evening, turning over in his mind what all this meant and how he must respond to this new crisis.

[Pizbur Ashuk]

On the Great Road south-west of Brochenridge, at nightfall of November 5, 1347

High up on the cliffs above the Great Road, Captain Ashûk's company of orcs lay in wait in the darkness and cold rain for Princess Gimilbeth's cavalcade to pass by below them. Captain Ashûk congratulated himself on how brilliantly he had planned the ambush. If everything went according to his expectations, Princess Gimilbeth would be in their hands very shortly. His last minute orders were passed down the line of waiting orcs, who received them with joyful expressions of maliciousness upon their faces.

The bowmen were ordered to aim primarily for the horses and kill or wound as many as possible. In the shock and confusion of plunging, screaming horses, the riders would be at the orcs' mercy. Unhorsed, it would be a simpler task to kill the riders. Then after the archers had done their damage, the lads were to rush down the hill. The orders were to kill everyone, save the Princess Gimilbeth and a few prisoners who would be taken for questioning. Any other women whom they might find were to be killed outright, for there was no time to waste in wild orgies. These latter orders had caused some muttering among the lads, but they all knew better than to argue with the captain. Captain Ashûk was known to have a fierce temper and would brook no insubordination.

"Now! They are right below us!" Ashûk whispered to the corporal beside him. Ashûk brought his right hand up and then slashed it down towards the ground in a cutting motion. At his signal, the archers unleashed a volley of poison-tipped arrows. They listened gleefully as the screams of the wounded horses and men below them gave proof that many of arrows had found their mark.

"You fool!" Ashûk growled as he moved forward and knocked a startled archer to the ground. "You almost hit the Princess!" There was no time to punish the careless archer in the way that he should be, though, and so Ashûk let him off with a kick in his groin.

"Attack! Attack, you maggots!" Ashûk bellowed as he drew his scimitar and charged down the hill. His men bellowed out their fierce war cries, feeling the heady rush of battle fury sweeping through their bodies as they smelled the scent of human and horse.

In the aftermath of the blistering rain of arrows, wild pandemonium had broken out through the cavalcade. Wounded men and horses screamed and moaned. Downed horses thrashed and men maddened by their pain tried to pull arrows out of their bodies. Nimraen screamed a long, loud, piercing shriek as she saw one of her wagon's horses go down with an arrow in its spine. She screamed hysterically as she heard the dull thud as another arrow embeded itself in the thigh of the driver.

Mixing in with mad confusion were the orcs' war cries. Both the soldiers and the civilians felt chills go down their spines as they heard the dreadful sounds of, "Diis! Azulûk, agh dik shatraug!" and listened in disbelief to the guttural chants and cries of the orcs.

"Az!" Ashûk screamed as he swung his scimitar and loped off the head of his first victim.

***
TRANSLATIONS

"Diis! Azulûk, agh dik shatraug!" - "Attack! Kill them all, but capture the witch!"

[Gimilbeth]

On the Great road east of the Last Bridge. After dark on November 5.

Gimilbeth felt cold fingers of fear grip her heart as the pandemonium spread. She fumbled for the hilt of the dagger that she knew should have been at her waist, but her shaking hands failed to find it. Then her bay stallion neighed and rose on its hind legs, lashing at someone with its front hooves. Gimilbeth fell forward onto the horse’s neck and gripped the thick black mane with both hands, trying to remain in the saddle. Someone screamed on her right – a high-pitched wail of death. There were hoarse orc voices all around, shouting in their guttural tongue. Then someone gripped the reins of her horse and pulled it down onto four legs. She turned and beat the attacker on the metal helmet with her bare hands, only to find Elvegil’s contorted face looking up at her. The knight was unhorsed and likely wounded as there was blood on his face.

“Oh, that’s you, Elvegil” she sobbed in relief.

“Yes, my Lady.” Elvegil’s voice grated. “And Gwindor is there, on your other side. Stay mounted at all costs and we shall defend you until our last breath.”

Gimilbeth looked to her left. Gwindor was there all right, still mounted and slashing away at the blood-maddened orcs. “Rally to me, men of Rhudaur!” he cried. More horsemen appeared out of the darkness, forming a circle around Gimilbeth. One severely wounded guard, now unhorsed, stumbled into the circle carrying the banner.

But the orcs were everywhere. They were coming in waves, covered in their own black blood, mouths gaping in horrible war-cries, red tongues lolling. They paid dearly for their boldness, but their losses seemed to bother them little – new attackers immediately took the place of those slain. It seemed the orcs used long pikes with hooks to drag the horsemen down. Gimilbeth watched in horror as one guard after another were unsaddled, thrown to the ground and cut to pieces by the snarling multitude.

An ear-splitting death scream of a horse drew Gimilbeth’s attention back to her left. Gwindor was lying under his fallen mount, helpless like a beached fish, while a fat red-eyed orc was slashing at him with his scimitar, trying to find a gap in his armor.

“Help him, help Gwindor!” Gimilbeth cried. It seemed her voice drew attention of the other guards, as, despite their own plight, several figures rushed to the rescue. They killed the orc and managed to drag Gwindor to his feet when a new wave of assailants came upon them, led by a strong ugly orc, probably the leader of the others. His red eyes were ablaze and his white-and black painted face was like a mask of death. He pointed at Gimilbeth with a bloodied pike and yelled: “Dik shatraug!”

Gimilbeth sat frozen looking back at the orc when a heavy object hit her knee. She glanced down and screamed. It proved to be Gwindor’s severed head that bounced on the road leaving a trail of red blood in its wake. She felt a wave of dizziness cloud her sight. Striving to remain conscious she gripped the stallion’s neck and buried her face in the black mane.