Perilous Journeys. Shadow Over Rhudaur III

[Nauremir]

Can't be dead, right?

Was it just him, or was there uncertainty in that last word? Oh, Eru. What if some vile work of sorcery had been committed against him, and he was now some sort of foul creature, neither living nor dead? Well, the king did not think that he was dead. That was reassuring, at least. But what if the witch had enchanted the king and he was now her thrall?

Groaning, Nauremir bent over, holding his head in his hand. Was this evil sorceress now ruling the kingdom? No, no, he was letting his thoughts run away with him!

He seized the wine bottle like a drowning man grabs hold of a piece of driftwood in a desperate attempt to keep himself afloat. Bringing the mouthpiece of the bottle to his lips, he swilled the rest of the liquid down in one gulp, wincing as fire exploded inside his head. "What happened?" he asked at last. "I remember the fight at the reception banquet. One of those accursed hillmen stabbed me in the shoulder. There was a fire... I was taken to safety... I remember lying on a bed," he said slowly, concentrating on his fuzzy memories of what had transpired. "After that, all is darkness. I understand that Gimilbeth is behind all this. She claims that I am in her debt forever. What vile spell has she cast upon me?" He paused, and then demanded, "Where am I anyway?"

[Hurgon Fernik]

Night, November 1st, 1347

Nauremir was getting increasingly distraught. Remembering Gimilbeth's injunctions, and not at all relishing the prospect of explaining away Nauremir's presence to the entire room, he chose not to answer him at once, but instead led him outside to where the wagons and horses were standing. Nauremir looked around him, puzzled. "Are we on some kind of journey, Hurgon?"

"We're going to Amon Sul - but we're only a day away from Cameth Brin. Here, this way. You're staying in my wagon, and you must stay as concealed as possible throughout the journey, so no one recognises you."

Nauremir stood his ground. He had the air of a man who intended to find out what was going on, and no more evasion, thank you very much. "What happened?" he repeated "Tell me what is going on."

"Well... the long and short of it is that Broggha demanded your head, and Gimilbeth told him you had already died of your injuries. She gave you some potion to make it look as if you were dead - and, most of us thought you were dead, and we - I mean, some of them thought she was the one that killed you. And then the Prince - Daurendil not Amantir - tried to kill her, and the ladies Tarniel and Odaragariel tried to stop him... and then the King himself came and stopped Sarador from embalming you, and it turned out you were alive after all." Hurgon paused to take breath.

Nauremir slumped on the ground, and said slowly, "All of that really happened? Sarador almost embalmed me?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Gimilbeth was going to Amon Sul anyway, and she took me along to paint Tarniel's potrait. She decided to bring you along - I don't know why. But Broggha would kill you if he found out, and while I sympathise with you - obviously I would not like to be in Gimilbeth's clutches either; but of the two alternatives, if I may say so, she strikes me as slightly less nasty. Besides," he added, wishing to reassure Nauremir, "I am not a very tough taskmaster, lord." he gave a nervous smile.

"And she didn't put a spell on me? She didn't bring me back from the dead?" his voice was hoarse with fear.

"She says not" said Hurgon. he felt hesitant about putting forward anything Gimilbeth said as a certain fact. "I didn't even know anyone could be brought back from the dead. But the doctor, who is my friend, told me your health was on the mend before you died; that is, seemed to die."

"So she may have been telling the truth?"

"Possibly."

Nauremir groaned softly... it was hard to tell whether he was relieved or worried. When he looked up, a new aspect of the matter seemed to strike him. "Helmir... that is my new name. Does that mean I'm never to be Nauremir again?"

Hurgon shook his head.

"My family... what about them?"

"I don't think they know. They are waiting for us to bring your dead body to them. I don't know whether Gimilbeth plans to tell them." Hurgon watched Nauremir anxiously for signs of anger. "Either way, the plan seems for you never to return to Cameth Brin."

[Nauremir]

"I don't think they know. They are waiting for us to bring your dead body to them. I don't know whether Gimilbeth plans to tell them." Hurgon watched Nauremir anxiously for signs of anger. "Either way, the plan seems for you never to return to Cameth Brin."

A man with no family. No home. A past, yes, but one which was denied to him. His whole life was gone. Everyone thought he was dead. Where did he go from here? No longer was he Nauremir, but instead Helmir, a stranger. The witch had saved his life, but for what? Obviously not the goodness of her heart. Well, if she expected him to do her bidding out of gratitude, she was sorely mistaken. Perhaps she sought to sway him by the threat of blackmail, offering to reveal his identity if he did not do her bidding. But what could she want with him? What importance did he have? Nauremir the nobleman was "dead" and he was now Helmir, the painter's apprentice. What did he know of painting anyway? He shook his aching head.

"I need time to think on all this," he groaned. He took another gulp of wine. It was best to be intoxicated at a time like this, he thought wryly. That was often the state of Hurgon Fernik, and if it worked well for his "employer," then it was good enough for him.

[Algeirr]

On the road south of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347


The second day of the journey, Algeirr rode again at the back of the party at his humble place among servants. The first day he felt quite intimidated - after all he was a single Hillmen in this party of Dunedain. At the beginning, the servants were eyeing him suspiciously, despite Captain Merendil's assurance of his loyalty. But by the morning of the second day the others lost their interest and Algeirr was able to breathe freely.

The last month the fortune smiled at him. He was neither deserter nor mercenary anymore. Now Algeirr was dressed in fine dark-brown velvet clothes - the legacy of Gudhrun's late husband - and looked a wealthy, respectable Tanoth Brin citizen. He led a pack horse with his belongings and presents that Gudrun was sending to her relatives in Fennas Drunin. He was not going to deliver them, of course, but this little addition to his plunder left him indifferent. His main treasure - the wondrous emerald necklace - was concealed in an inner pocket of his tunic. He fingered the treasure through the soft fabric and felt his heart warming at the touch of the large stones.

There were other things he had to do than making plans for the future. Broggha sent him to spy, and, as long as it were safe, Algeirr was going to do the job. The problem was that from his place in the procession Algeirr had only occasional glimpses of the third wagon - that with the coffin. There was no way of telling whether Nauremir was alive or dead. Algeirr supposed the former. Last night the coffin had been brought inside, out of the cold, so it stood to reason that the wretch was still inside - alive. A shiver ran down Algeiir's spine at the thought. Ugh... This witch was a cold-blooded, reckless enemy.

"Perhaps she got him out last night?" mused Algeirr. He had to spent the night at a campfire outside - the crowded inn had no place for such as he. In the morning he watched the knights coming out, but it was still dark when the party set out - in November the nights were long and the days short. Also Algeirr had only seen Nauremir twice - at the memorable party and later during the funeral. He was not sure he would be able to recognize him now, especially if disguised.

As soon as Broggha ordered him to watch the coffin, Algeirr tried to become appointed driver of one of the wagons - preferably that with the body. He coaxed Gudhrun into going to the King's stables and trying to arrange the thing with her buddies there. But even Gudhrun's fabled influence failed. It was Gimilbeth herself who appointed all the drivers -a highly unusual thing to do for a princess. And what choices she had made! The stables were abuzz with angry gossip. Old Damgir, a half-deaf oaf long overdue for retirement, was chosen to drive the coffin wagon. For another wagon, that of Hurgon the painter, Gimilbeth appointed an untrained young man - new to Cameth Brin, who had hardly worked a week in the stables! And to top it all, the witch decided that her own wagon should be driven by one of her pages! Considering that the stable staff had quite a few experienced, loyal wagon drivers, such orders were baffling.

"Surely the witch is trying to cover her tracks..." thought Algeirr. He decided it was time to approach the wagons and have a better look. Casually, he looked around and urged his horse forward.

[Callon]

On the road south of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347

Callon shifted his weight around on the hard bench, irritated with the world, and with Gimilbeth in particular. Why she picked me to drive this old wagon, I'll never know! he thought moodily, looking at the riders with envy. He was a very competent driver - he was good at anything to do with horses - but he much preferred riding. I guess those people just like to have their whims, he concluded with a shrug.

He took a look at Hurgon out of the corner of his eye. Callon's few ventures at polite conversation with the painter and his apprentice had been met with vague, short answers, and an evident desire to not speak with him. It's going to be a long week! thought Callon.

At least yesterday, after the mad painter had thrown a few brushes around and then left in frustration to go sit in the other wagon (Callon looked ruefully at the bright blotch of vermillion decorating the edge of the seat, thankful that it had missed his tunic) one of the soldiers had ridden by him for awhile, making polite overtures of friendship to the new arrival. The polite conversation turned into a discussion enjoyed by both of them as they discovered many interests in common. But now, with the painter and his apprentice (the guy sure did look ill! And frightened as a rabbit!) staying in his wagon, his new-found-friend stayed away.

It looks like there's some decent-enough fellows here, mused Callon, playing with the sturdy leather reins and enjoying the feel of the horses that flowed through them up to his hands. I'll be glad to get back, though.

He sat up straighter, stretching his back out, and then settled down again to the mesmerizing sound of hooves on a road on a warm morning. The only thing that had really bothered him on this trip, besides the snoring last night, was the one finely-dressed Hillman in the group that he caught a glimpse of at dusk yesterday - something about the guy had reminded him of the robber on the road. Good thing Eryndil fixed HIS wagon! thought Callon with satisfaction.

[Caelen]

In Arinya's chambers in Cameth Brin, morning of November 2, 1347

It was a warm, pleasant morning. Caelen hadn't felt so comfortable in ages. She was sitting in the window seat, alternated between reading a book of Arinya's, looking out of the window and wondering how Callon was doing, and listening to Arinya play her harp.

Arinya let her fingers glide over the harp strings, not playing anything in particular for long - just letting her fingers play snatches of old melodies, bits of newer tunes, and nothing in particular, as her mood changed with her thoughts.

It was a still, quiet morning. Like all good things lately, it wasn't destined to last, though.

An impatient-sounding knock broke the silence.

"Come in," called Arinya, as Caelen looked curiously at the door.

[Algeirr]

On the road south of Cameth Brin, afternoon of November 2, 1347

Algeirr made his way up the column slowly and cautiously, slowing now and then to have an amiable conversation with nearby troopers. Men were guarded with him, he noticed, but nobody hindered his progress. In half an hour he reached the wagon with the coffin.

"Hail, master Damgir, he called out to the driver. "A fine day, isn't it?"

"Eh?" replied the driver gruffly. "What did you say? And who are you, anyway?"

"My name is Algeirr. I don't think you know me, but you must know my Gudhrun, the one who keeps "The Sword of Elendil". We are going to marry when I come back from this trip. She sends you her greetings and this bottle of wine."

Algeirr fished a bottle of Dorwinion red from his saddlebag and offered it to the driver. The sight of the bottle and the mention of Gudhrun made the old man relax and beam back.

"What a pleasant surprise! How thoughtful of Gudhrun to send this bottle - and today of all days.... This awful stench from the coffin makes my throat dry as road dust. Come down man, tie your horses to my wagon and sit by me. We shall drink this bottle together".

Algeirr did as he was bidden. He was no accomplished horseman and the previous day in a saddle made his thighs ache. He climbed to the wooden bench and stretched out his legs. Damgir meanwhile fetched two bronze goblets and poured the wine.

"To mistress Gudhrun and to the happy journey" he toasted. Algeirr nodded and drank deeply. The wine was good - rich and with fruity flavor. There was some other smell in the air as well, though, the stench of rot, slight, but unmistakable. The driver was right - the coffin stank.

"Hmm..." Algeirr mused aloud sniffing the air. "Strange that the corpse stinks - wasn't it embalmed as the Dunedain custom demands?"

"Sure it was" grinned the driver morbidly. "Seems old Sarador lost his touch. But then the body is not supposed to be brought inside to rest near the fire at night, is it? Yestereve it didn't stink at all, but after this foolishness it became putrid as the bowels of Barad-Dur."

So either Nauremir was really dead or Gimilbeth got him out last night... thought Algeirr. "Then, where is he now?" He was determined to find out. As soon as the bottle was empty, Algeirr took his leave of the old Damgir, mounted his horse again and rode forward to the next wagon.

When level with the driver, he offered his usual greeting. "Hail, Master! Isn't it a fine day?"

The tall young man who was driving the second wagon turned to him, his face becoming suddenly ashen. The familiar face of one of his recent victims...

As if in a nightmare, Algeirr watched the gray eyes staring at him widen in recognition. Now he was truly lost...

[Daurendil]

In Arinya's chambers in Cameth Brin, morning of November 2, 1347

The door swung open smashing loudly against the wall and Prince Daurendil strode in. He was clad in dark-blue riding outfit and high boots; his hands played with a grand hunting horn inlaid in silver. Nonplussed by the commotion he produced, he bowed slightly to the elf.

"I wish you good morn, Lady Arinya," he said in his young voice that had only recently acquired deeper masculine notes. Then he stopped abruptly, squinting at the light in his face, and feeling his heart starting to race.

There was another lady sitting in the window-seat, outlined against the bright sun, the one he had never met before. The light streaming through the window sent her unruly strawberry blond hair aflame forming a shining halo around her head. Daurendil loved blond hair - but Odare's, for instance, never had such a glorious luster, never streamed like a shining river to the girl's knees. The prince stood frozen on the spot, gaping, when a slight cough from Arinya made him remember his manners. Blushing slightly, he bowed deeply to the unknown Lady and said

"Hail fair lady. Forgive my boldness - your beauty made me forget my manners. I am Daurendil, the King's Heir. May I ask your name, lady?"

The girl sprang to her feet and blushed. Her head modestly bent, she replied, almost inaudibly "Caelen. My name is Caelen".

Daurendil raked his brain for a suitable compliment. The name was in Sindarin, but what the hell did it mean? He wished he had paid more attention to his lessons. "Uhm..., beautiful name" was all he came up with.

There was an awkward silence broken finally by Arinya. "What brought you here, Daurendil? How can I help you?"

Daurendill grinned at the Elf. "If I said I wanted to borrow a book, you won't believe me, would you? Nay, I am not like Amantir or Tarniel. I love horses, dogs and weapons. In truth, I came looking for Odare. I thought you were having a music lesson. Amantir and I are going for a hunt, and I am sure she will be thrilled to join us." Anticipating the next question, he hurried on. "Nothing dangerous, no bear, no boar... Maybe foxes or hares. And there are also ducks aplenty flying overhead. We won't venture further than the plateau and we have a huge attendance. Do you know where is Odare?"

Smiling indulgently, the Elf replied "As far as I know she is in the garden with Tarniel and their guards".

Daurendil turned to leave, but then a new idea struck him. He made a few steps toward the window and asked: "Lady Caelen, would you care to join our company for the hunt?" He felt his heart beating wildly as he waited for the girl's reply.

[Caelen]

In Arinya's chambers in Cameth Brin, morning of November 2, 1347

Caelen's eyes shone with excitement. At the mention of "horses", she had gone into a happy reverie; at the mention of a ride out in the country, she was in paradise. And this young man was the King's heir - she'd certainly be safe with him and his entourage!

Daurendil looked into her eager eyes and shining face and started breathing a little faster.

"Ooh, I'd love to go, Your Highness!" she said eagerly, clasping her hands together.

Daurendil's heart left its accustomed place in his chest and moved up into his throat. He loosened his collar ... the room suddenly seemed a bit warm ...

Arinya put her harp down and walked quickly over to Caelen, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders to get her attention and bring her back down to earth.

"But in your condition, Caelen, that would not be wise," she said urgently, seeing that Caelen had completely forgotten about her supposed situation.

Daurendil's heart fell back into his chest with a resounding crash. The good ones are always taken! thought Daurendil, disappointed. He started to make his farewell bow.

"Wait, wait!" pleaded Caelen, pulling away from Arinya and looking at Daurendil in desperation. "I don't have a condition!" she said, pulling back and stomping her foot in frustration.

Daurendil did not quite understand what this meant, but nevertheless, a glimmer of hope sparked in his heart ...

"I mean ... I mean..." Caelen started, and then turned to Arinya. "Oh, it's no good, Arinya, I never could lie - I've already slipped up with you, and I know I'll just slip up again anyway! It might as well come out now!"

Daurendil took a step back, alarmed by these complicated females. He took a quick look to make sure nothing was between him and the door.

"You know your brother wanted you to ..." admonished Arinya in a stern voice, then stopped abruptly as she realized that she had just slipped up herself.

"Yes, I know my brother wanted only to protect me," said Caelen firmly, putting an emphasis on the word "brother". "But I feel so trapped ..." She put a trembling hand to her face and turned her head to glance out of the window, her hair sliding across her shoulder and falling in a silky mass across her bosom, heaving with the strength of her emotion ...

Daurendil took a step forward, heartened by the mention of a brother. The lady is clearly in trouble - perhaps I could help her, he thought, his manly emotions strengthened by his discovery earlier that morning of a few more hairs on his chin...

Caelen turned her head back to look at Daurendil. Tears were shimmering in her grey eyes, wetting her dark lashes ... Impulsively, she moved quickly towards him, took his hands in hers, and knelt before him. He could feel her warm tears on his hands as she held them against her cheek. Her hair felt like silk ... soft, caressing ... He swallowed hard.

"Your Highness, I beg your forgiveness for this unseemly scene," she said tremulously.

[Odaragariel of Mitheithel]

It was a tense pair of best friends sitting in the garden with the guards. That is to say, Tarniel was thoughtful and Odare was tense. She knew it was only a matter of time before that whole business of the lost emeralds would come out. In fact, if everyone hadn't been so preoccupied, what with the Hillmen and Nauremir, and now Tarniel's worries about this marraige Gimilbeth was arranging for her, it would have been out in the open long ago. Not that Tarniel would demand it outright, she was too good for that, but she might mention it casually, and then Odare would have to let the cat out. Tarniel wouldn't be angry - but Odare would feel honour-bound to repay her somehow, and that would mean giving up something out of her own cache of jewels. She did not think she had strength enough to do that...

Tarniel opened her mouth to speak, and Odare got up at once. "I need to see Arinya about something. I'll see you around!" And she sped off. It was ridiculous, to be afraid everytime Tarniel tried to say something. She scolded herself, but she wasn't ready to own up yet... Maybe she could ask Arinya what to do. After making her promise to secrecy, of course.

So, off she headed to Arinya's room, and opened the door to get a shock. Daurendil was standing there, looking hot under the collar and very amorous, gazing mesmerized at a woman kneeling before him, her huge stack of reddish blond hair falling all over his hand. Her first impulse was to laugh. Her second thought was, now thats what blonde hair is supposed to look like! And before she had time to register any more emotion, she opened her mouth, and let out what can only be termed as a gargle.

The magic of the scene broke. Daurendil removed his hand, and the strange woman got to her feet gracefully, though her cheeks were tinged with red. With a tinge of annoyance, she saw that the woman was at least a foot taller than Odare herself. Arinya, who Odare had not noticed before, sat down.

"Oh, its you!" Daurendil was the first to reply. He was talking in an unnatural hearty voice. "I was just looking for you. Amantir and I were going off to a hunt, and thought you'd like to come. I was trying to convince the Lade Caelen here to join us as well." He motioned vaguely towards Caelen.

"Oh." Odare replied. I suppose thats why she was kissing your hand? Should Amantir and I line up to kiss you too before we can join the hunt? - she stopped that line of thought ferociously, and said, "Pleased to meet you, Caelen. I'm Odaragariel, Princess of Mitheithel." She wished she had some more titles. She had made a long list of official titles to add to her name once, but Tarnendur had adviced her not to. She wished she hadn't listened to him. A few "Mistress of Fate" s and "Lady of the Shining Waters" would have made her far more confident in the face of this big-haired tall Dunedain.

"I'll come to the hunt, sure, I haven't seen Amantir for some time anyway." Yes, so if I kiss anyone's hand, it'll be Amantir's, not yours! - where were these weird thoughts coming from? "I'll go and see if Tarniel wants to come too."

"Oh, I don't know, she's never been interested in such things, you know." Daurendil said half-heartedly. The truth was, he had quite decided that the main object of the hunt was now Caelen, but if his sister was going to be there, he would feel awkward, that was for sure.

Looking straight at Caelen, Odare replied, "She'll be interested. Trust me."