Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 23 |
| Chapter Twenty Three |
| The camp was packed up the next morning. The council had debated the strategy for Sennebar well into the night and Éomer was exhausted. He went to the Amrothian tent to find Lothíriel before she departed with her father to Minas Tirith. Maglor was on guard outside and rose to greet him, ‘She slept well and will be out shortly, but I would like a word in private if I may.’ Éomer acquiesced and followed him a discreet distance from the tent. Maglor went straight to the point. ‘Amrothos has been conducting some enquiries, it seems at your instigation.’ Éomer nodded. ‘I commend you. I have no doubts as to who has been behind the vile campaign to destroy Lothíriel’s reputation and her relationship with her family. The reason for it eludes me, and I think it will be critical to uncover this. However, your line of investigation is already bearing fruit. I have been on guard all night and I cannot help what I overhear. I do not think Amrothos will be able to tell you this himself before they leave, as Lothíriel will be with him and he does not want this mentioned in front of her. I hope you will not take offence if I take that duty upon myself.’ ‘I am pleased for you to do so, Maglor,’ Éomer told him curious to hear what had been said. ‘Good. I believe you know part of this story already, just not the truth behind it. Amrothos asked Lothíriel if she remembered what happened to a particular dress she used to wear, a blue one which had a pattern of flowers on it. She was a bit startled by his question but told him it had gone missing. She had hated in any case, a present from Belegond in an attempt to make her more feminine, she thought. She had worn it only once in public to be polite but had never seen it again after that. When she asked him why he remembered the dress, Amrothos lied. He told her he thought he’d seen one like it in Minas Tirith and just wondered. Fortunately, she only laughed and said it was so hideous she was surprised anyone would be seen in it willingly. Amrothos stayed up late with Imrahil to discuss his suspicions. You see, when Amrothos met Vadamir and Hella at your aunt’s in Aldburg they focused on how Vandan could have got hold of his father’s sword. It had been kept locked up with many of their most valuable props. Hella mentioned that some other things had also gone missing which she was sure had been locked away in the same place, one of which was an expensive dark-haired wig, which she described as exactly the same colour and style as Lothíriel’s hair. Amrothos is convinced that someone took both the dress and the wig to pretend to be Lothíriel. I had not known of this until last night but seems there were at least three separate occasions when each of her brothers had seen whom they believed to be Lothíriel in compromising situations with strange men. Amrothos has asked his brothers if they remembered what she had been wearing and they both said she was in this dress, as she was when he himself saw whom he mistook to be Lothíriel, all within the three months leading up to Vandan’s death. I understand better now why Imrahil so readily believed Lothíriel that she had been Vandan’s lover and all subsequent slurs against her, but I can assure you, I was watching over her the whole time until only days before the incident itself and this harlot was most certainly not Lothíriel. I thought you should know this, as Amrothos admitted to Imrahil that he had told you of the incident he witnessed. She does not yet know the extent of the slander against her and they do not want to distract her with it at this time when she has so much else to face.’ Éomer nodded his agreement as he absorbed the explanation of an event which had admittedly puzzled him. Deep down he had always felt there had been something missing to the story, but even if it had been Lothíriel, her past was her past and he was only interested in her future. He remained silent as Maglor continued. ‘You should understand, Éomer, I believe that Amrothos will defend his sister to the death. I hope you will take some comfort in this. He is beginning to understand how maligned his mother, Amahlia, has been and he wants vengeance. The family is beginning to see the truth about one another, and they will become stronger in doing so. She will only become stronger. I think this is why such efforts were made to destroy their love and isolate her from them, and they succeeded. Only Galador stood by her side, but then he, I believe, knew better than anyone exactly what she was up against. He is a brave man, more than anyone has fully understood.’ Éomer realised Maglor was eyeing him expectantly. ‘Thank you Maglor. I agree it’s best not to bring this up in front of Lothíriel. I almost pity the lady responsible when she is finally uncovered, and I sincerely hope punished, as I also have no doubts who has been behind this. My thoughts had long been that only someone with a copy of the master keys to the palace could be responsible for the many actions of which Lothíriel has been so falsely accused. Two people spring to mind, one of whom is already, rather too comfortably in my view, imprisoned… My aunt did write to tell me she was hopeful that Amrothos would succeed where she and her friend in Dol Amroth, Lady Adriel, had failed...’ Maglor turned first, quickly followed by Éomer, who strode forward to take Lothíriel in his arms for a tight embrace. She held herself close to him and breathed deeply, wanting to capture his unique masculine scent that she found so intoxicating. ‘Fortunately I washed this morning,’ he said jokingly. She stopped overtly smelling him, opened her eyes laughing as he nuzzled his nose against hers. She looked around a little coyly as many of the Swan Knights were milling around trying to pretend they were not watching, although now that her father and brother both knew that they were both committed to each other, she did not feel so concerned. She disengaged herself from him and looked up at him seriously. ‘I must go with my father and Aragorn to Minas Tirith for a while, but I will come with Amrothos to Aldburg for the first day of Yule to take possession of the house. You don’t mind that I am buying it, I hope? I never did ask you. I assume Frea must have told you when, well, when you saw her?’ She smiled at the memory, which was so irrelevant now. Éomer also smiled. ‘I had intended to make an offer for the house myself as soon as Delwine informed us that it was up for sale. I hadn’t known of Frea’s situation until that evening. You were too quick for me. I sent a letter to Frea that I would match any offer she received only once we were in Helm’s Deep, and insisted she came to Edoras to see what we could do to help her, but she had already accepted your offer by the time my letter reached her, and in truth I’m not sure we could have afforded to match your generosity.’ He let her go so he could caress her face and moved to kiss her softly on the lips. ‘Had she been selling to anyone but you, my love, I would have intervened. I confess, it gave me hope that you would consider moving permanently to Rohan. I am very fond of Frea, but I do hope Amrothos understands what he is getting into…’ he said only half in jest as he bent down to kiss her more forcefully. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gallend had earned Hadán’s respect. His questioning of him had been clever and intuitive. He had had to keep his wits about him, and he was exhausted. He had not slept properly in days as he had kept alert during his captivity with his family and the villagers to do what he could to ensure their protection. Maglor had crept into the raiders’ camp to warn him the night before their rescue and had even been able to cut his bonds, which had given him the chance to defend his wagon as Maglor fought his way to them. All he wanted to do was to lay himself down next to Genting and sleep. Hadán had no delusion that Gallend remained suspicious of him. He was, of course, right to be so. It pained him greatly that the one man he desperately wanted no secrets from would remain in the dark. At least he had been able to give Lothíriel a warning that this deception was not yet over. There were others, he believed many others, like him, in Rohan. Having first deposited Genting into the care of the healers, his briefing with Maglor had been most instructive, but he felt that even Maglor was hiding something from him. Their trust in him had been curious. He had admittedly played them well when he had infiltrated them at the order of the Grand Master, but even so... When the news of Pallakir’s death finally reached the Grand Master, it came not from Dol Amroth but from Umbar. One of Ka’moruk’s crew had let it slip to an Astari spy that they had reached the burnt-out ship after the Amrothians had left, and the pirate’s rage and despair had been truly terrifying. The Grand Master was mystified. Pallakir had been warning him for years that the infamous pirate Ka’moruk was not what he seemed and with his most successful mole in the Court of Umbar now dead, it had become imperative the Grand Master understood Ka’moruk’s allegiance To do that, he needed a spy on Ka’moruk’s ship, a spy of skill, who would be easily believed to have been taken as a slave, one who would convincingly adapt to a crew that was rumoured to be… different, as Ka’moruk himself was rumoured to be so inclined – a strikingly handsome spy. The trading ship Hadán had been consigned to was designed to attract Ka’moruk’s attention. Manned by slaves, captained by a deeply unpopular Haradrim and loaded with goods from Far Harad bound for those who considered themselves Ka’moruk’s enemies in Umbar, the Grand Master was sure it would prove irresistible to the pirate. The ship had been taken within days and the captive slaves offered the choice of their freedom, or, if they had nowhere to go back to, to join his crew. Hadán suspected, however, that he had not been the only Astari to have been set this task of infiltration. He was wary and he bided his time. Ka’moruk had intrigued Hadán, more than intrigued; he had been very attracted to him physically, but while Ka’moruk undoubtedly flirted with his crew, Hadán sensed that he did not indulge himself with any of them, indeed, he doubted he was that way inclined at all. After a while on board with the crew, he began to feel a growing sense of freedom; liberation from the hatred that pervaded Sennebar. He knew he could never let his guard down, he could trust no one, but he gradually found a way to distance himself from his Astari self and a side so long suppressed, one which longed for the security and love of a family, steadily took hold. His thoughts returned to his beloved mother and he yearned for Rohan. He had to find a way back there. There was only one man he could trust. ‘I am an Astari. I have not been instructed to kill you yet, but I have no doubt that I will be. I do not think I am the only Astari on your ship, but I would not recognise them. We are kept strictly in cells with little contact between cohorts. All I ask is to disembark at the next port and I will find my own way,’ he had told Ka’moruk dispassionately, taking a calculated risk. Ka’moruk had appeared so unperturbed that Hadán had wondered how many other Astari had played the same gambit. Had any of them meant it, had any of them survived? Ka’moruk had eyed him carefully, weighing up his options and eventually replied. ‘And I thought you had engineered being alone with me to seduce me… or to kill me, I wasn’t sure which. We have a proposition for you…’ he said as a hooded figure appeared as though by magic from the shadows. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Gallend had released Hadán to tend to Genting in own his tent, no communal House of Healing for Rohan’s Master of Horse and, as Hadán was one of the King’s best healers, none of the Riders were surprised that he had been assigned to look after him, albeit with a guard outside. Hadán looked down at the sleeping man and sat himself next to him. That he was in love with Genting he had known almost from the first moment Genting had opened the door to Cissy in Minas Tirith. It had crushed him to realise that Genting had not had the same reaction, although no one would have seen this; he was a master at hiding his emotions. Hadán knew that he would have to prove himself to regain Genting’s trust. His mind returned to the long interrogation he had just undergone and the story he had given Gallend of his past. It was important he remembered what he had said. Gently cradling Genting’s head in his arms, he allowed sleep to overtake him. He was awoken in the morning by Genting stirring. The two men were facing each other as they both came to consciousness, Genting lying on his good side with his head still resting on Hadán’s arm. Genting slowly opened his eyes, wondering whether he was still dreaming. Hadán reached his free hand to caress Genting’s face sensuously and smiled gingerly at the man he loved. Genting raised himself onto his elbow to stare at Hadán who had rolled onto his back, still delicately stroking Genting’s face. It was strange. He could catch a reflection of Cissy but this man, this man with his shortened hair was so masculine, so perfect… He leant down and kissed him with intensity that took Hadán’s breath away. He tenderly pushed Genting to lie back down taking care to make his injured arm comfortable whilst he excited himself by exploring Genting’s body with his tongue. He had dreamt so often of this moment when he could take Genting’s hard cock in his hand and his mouth, he could hardly believe this was real. He brought his lover to an ecstatic, but silent climax. Cognisant of the guard outside and the murmurings of the camp stirring into activity, the two men were careful in their lovemaking. They both knew they did not have much time before they would be forced apart and this came soon enough in the form of Gallend. Gallend had called to Hadán diplomatically from outside the tent asking him to get ready to leave. He insisted on taking Hadán with him to Minas Tirith almost under guard, a situation Hadán accepted with good grace. Whilst Gallend was convinced Hadán’s feelings for Genting were genuine, how Genting felt he was not so sure, but Gallend trusted Genting completely, as completely as Gallend trusted anyone, and he took the view that Genting might be able to gain some insight into Hadán that he himself might not. It suited him for many different reasons to encourage their relationship. Gallend was to meet the pirate Ka’moruk, recently unmasked as Lothíriel’s uncle, Tuor, the new Prince of Harondor, Lord of Pelargir and Gondor’s Lord Commander of Ships in Minas Tirith for the first time and Tuor, as Ka’moruk, knew Hadán and his past better than anyone, even more than Lothíriel. With Ottakar left in charge of the continued siege of the Fortress, Tuor was due in Minas Tirith to discuss the terms the Grand Master was demanding in return for the Palantir. And Gallend had much to discuss with Gondor’s most mysterious Prince. Aragorn had called a Grand Council of his leading commanders, to which Gallend had been invited as Rohan’s senior emissary. Shortly after Tuor had finished delivering his assessment of Pallando’s terms to all those present, Maglor had insisted that his two most trusted comrades-in-arms sat down alone with him to discuss their findings. That the two men felt so instantly at ease with the other surprised them both, the level of trust between them growing on each encounter. In the following days Tuor and Gallend spent hours together, both intuitively feeling that they had been different sides of the same coin, joined but looking in the opposite direction. However, now they were both looking in one direction only: Sennebar… |