Tolkien Fan Fiction
| 25 |
| Chapter Twenty Five |
| He was looking forward to meeting the King. No doubt Faramir would be there, Prince Imrahil and perhaps his sons. He would enjoy telling them how he had deflowered his daughter, their sister, how she had moaned her pleasure and willingly given herself to him. She had been a highlight of those many young girls he had savoured, her screams as he had whipped her and then taken her again once Cirion had restrained him from blooding her more. He had little to fear from them. A swift slice of a sword to his neck, maybe the slightly longer hangman’s noose… they considered themselves men of honour and his suffering would be slight. And that’s if it even came to that. He had been kept tightly controlled, bound in a cage pulled by horses as they crossed the Misty Mountains, and kept in darkness, which he thought they felt would intimidate him. The fools. He revelled in darkness, but he soon found he could not conjure the spirits to him as he had been used to. His powers were being blocked by another travelling with them, a power distant and remote but far, far greater than any he had felt since the Witch-King had given him dominion over the Barrow-wights, as he had planned, once he had eliminated his uncle, Bregolin, the old Condir. But Minas Tirith was not the city to which he was being taken; they had been travelling too long for the main city of Gondor to be their destination. That could only mean Pelargir, as their course had kept beside the river, this he could hear at night as the waters rippled beside the cart. His confidence wavered somewhat. Death was certain in Pelargir. The Dark Lord himself had foreseen it and forewarned him. And Pelargir meant Tuor, and Tuor was not the same kind of man of honour as the other Gondorian princelings. His early experiences had led him down a more brutal path. Still, he had not committed any crimes in Pelargir, that had been Hannemor and as he grew older, Herumor. They had been the ones, with his sister, Sylvennan, who had taken the waifs and strays off the streets of Pelargir or bought them from the slave markets and taken them over the river to South Ithilien. He could not be tried and convicted of any crimes in Pelargir. He knew the laws of Gondor. Only the King could pronounce a sentence of death anywhere in his realm. If he was not present, he could only be charged with crimes committed in the region he was held and judged accordingly by others of status. The guard changed and he was left deep underground for what seemed to him as an age but was only two weeks. He felt no human presence to corrupt but he heard constant footsteps, food and water was pushed to him. Accustomed to the dark as he was, this was pitch black, he could see nothing, yet his captors moved around in full confidence. Dwarves. They insulted him with Dwarves. He tried to speak to them, but they answered him with silence. Did they not know who he was, did they not know all that he had done? Boredom took over. He estimated it must be over a month since he was taken. He entertained himself by re-living his greatest triumphs. His little Lothi, that slut, must have married her horseman by now, unless those he had left in Aldburg had continued the fight. Without his direct inspiration, he conceded they were unlikely to have had the guts. Herumor, though, Herumor had the potential. He would avenge him. So that was why he had not been brought yet before the great lords. They were all in Aldburg celebrating her nuptials, no virgin bride for the King of Rohan. They would all know by now it had been him. That should bring about a faster death. He could not imagine Imrahil would be able to restrain himself from putting him to the sword. Turallien allowed himself a self-satisfied smirk in the dark. He only hoped her husband would be present to crow over. He had been her first, she belonged to him, his little Princess, his Queen. Turallien blinked continuously until his eyes adjusted to the shock of the daylight. The Dwarves walked him in chains through a cave system which opened onto an estuary and directly on to a deserted shipyard. From the description he had received from Herumor, he was sure this was the old shipyard where Hannemor had hidden the hoard. He was intrigued. They must have found the blocked-up entrance to the cave complex in the cliffs after all, or at least the Dwarves had. That would account for their presence. Yes, that was clever of them, not taking the risk to leave him with men of lesser worth. He was an arch deceiver; men he could manipulate at will. They were taking him seriously. Still no men were to be seen as the Dwarves walked him onto a large sailing ship, secured him in the hold and left without saying a word. So, Dol Amroth it would be. That had some justice in it as it was the scene of his first real crime, his initiation. With hindsight, it had, admittedly, been a mistake to take those two girls, but they had been so innocent, so much softer than the urchins that were usually taken. He had wanted something special for himself, something more befitting his status. After all, he was the nephew and heir of the Grand Master’s Condir, who was more importantly, a most useful servant of the Dark Lord, Sauron. He could hear the crew arriving and setting the ship to sail. Depending on winds, it could take six hours or a full day to Dol Amroth. He shouted out to the crew. He knew they could hear him, but only one ever came, wearing an Assassins cloak, calm, collected, mildly menacing, unnervingly disinterested in Turallien and utterly impervious to his charm. Turallien was finding it increasingly difficult to summon the dark magic from within and he was finding no fear around him to manipulate into darkness. As he realised that they were at sea too long to be heading to Dol Amroth, the fear he had always used against others, the fear that fed his powers, began to rise unrecognised as such within himself. Umbar and Ottakar, they could not be taking him there. The sect had not managed to eradicate all those followers who were not fanatically loyal to him. There could be some who remained to testify against him. But Ottakar was not his great-uncle Takaran the Cruel. Ottakar could be reasoned with, manipulated. It had all started in Umbar. Bregolin and Bregolith had not been born in Sennebar. They had been the children of Takaran’s executioner, the real power behind Takaran’s throne. His uncle, Bregolin, had trained under his father, who had at his coming of age introduced his son to the Followers of the Shadow and had arranged his acceptance into the Astari. Turallien pondered how he could best play Ottakar, perhaps he could take his grandfather’s place in the court of Umbar. He would be a worthy successor. Ottakar had the reputation as a pragmatist and had no reason to be loyal to Gondor. He should be open to persuasion. Turallien knew better than any how to bring Ottakar even greater riches through the slave markets and show him how he could, through those markets, control the south and east. Yes, he could offer this. Ottakar would be a worthy opponent. He was almost feeling hopeful, such a strange emotion for one for whom certainty was a more natural state. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Strange shadows played along the quay as Turallien was brought ashore at nightfall, but he did not need daylight to know exactly where he had been brought. There was no mistaking the dark mass of the Fortress cut into the rock island of Sennebar. He was confused. This was not a befitting place for the Great Enemy to stand trial. He had stolen from the Astari; he had facilitated their trade and been complicit in many of their murders, but this was not the location of his great deeds, the human sacrifices to Morgoth, the random indulgent murders of young children and whomever got in his way. This was all wrong. There were five figures on the quayside with him, four hooded men and a dwarf. The rest of the crew stayed on the ship. He addressed his guards imperiously. ‘Sennebar? Why here? This has no significance to me.’ A strange voice addressed him. ‘But this isn’t about you, Curufin. This is about justice. Justice for all those you have unjustly taken, those you tortured, those you sacrificed. I have spoken to them and they have made judgement. They have requested that you understand the nature of what you did to them, that you feel what they felt. My name is Assa.’ Assa pulled down her hood and divested herself of her cloak. Turallien could see she was large bellied as one with child. This was an outrage; no female whore could hold power over him. He railed against his constraints, but dwarf made as they were, it only hurt him to do so. ‘I was born here,’ she told him almost conversationally. ‘This place has significance to me, and I was made your judge, and your executioner. None of the great men particularly cared what became of you: Ottakar, Tuor, Imrahil, Faramir, Aragorn. Only I cared. Only I asked to give those innocents the justice they deserved and so, they gave you to me as one would flick an insignificant speck of dirt off their boots.’ Turallien flinched as she approached him purposefully. ‘Firstly, I want you to know what it is like to feel fear,’ she said jabbing him in the arm with a knife point on which a dark paste had been smeared. She left him there writhing on the quayside and walked back to the moored ship with one of the hooded figures, leaving him screaming to the Dwarf and the remaining two men. They dragged him away from the ship and threw him into a cell deep within the Fortress. It was a long night and much as he begged the three guards for mercy, they stubbornly sat there watching him in disdain. The next morning two guards carried him further inside the Fortress. Exhausted from the burning sensation he had suffered throughout the night, he had lost consciousness at this point. The fat bitch was there again, warped in a subterranean half-light. He was strapped to a wooden wrack on the edge of an underground water cistern. His mind snapped to sudden sharp consciousness; a sudden realisation of what this could mean. They could not possibly know. There had been too few witnesses to it and none but he had survived the last seventeen years. His uncle, Bregolin, had told him of this method, passed on to him by his father before him. It had been one of his favourites and he had enjoyed performing it on Hannestor, feeding off his agony and fear as the fish had fed off the meat of his body. It had taken days for him to die. He had been his first experiment, to see how effective it was. These vermin could not possibly know. Only Hannemor had known that it had been he who had arranged the murder of his own uncle, Bregolin, and had it blamed on Hannestor. How he had put him to death had been a far more closely guarded secret, of which he had only boasted to Herumor, and Herumor would never have betrayed him… The fat bitch was speaking to him again. He was struggling to focus on her words, his body and mind had been sapped of all will, leaving only dread. He was longing for death, but there was still a part of his mind screaming for control, screaming at him to understand what this could mean. The bitch was smiling at him. How dare she address him. ‘Curufin. As we are not in the direct jurisdiction of Gondor, I am free to conduct this trial as I see fit. I stand here before you to tell you of the three crimes you are accused of and you have confessed to while you were held in the cave complex in Pelargir. I admit that I had instructed the dwarves to lace your water and food with a potion that inhibits your reticence to speak the truth. They couldn’t shut you up, not that you realised you were talking out loud in your babblings. There were, of course, many other crimes you committed, but they were not deemed as important as these three. Since they were all committed in Dol Amroth, Lord Elphir has commanded Benethrin, his second-in-command, to pronounce judgement. Perhaps you don’t remember Benethrin, but you do remember his mother, Idromiel. She was the maid you raped in the cottage in the forest outside of Dol Amroth before you tortured to death her two charges as your initiation into the sect. This is the first crime for which you are charged. The second is the murder of Idromiel years later after Amedlan blamed her for the poisoning of your sister Melian. I suspect you only realised it was Amedlan herself who committed this crime when you had proof that it was she who had ordered the torture of your brother Cirion to protect herself. Even you had not appreciated the extent of her evil until then. She received justice, for which I thank you.’ ‘These are but minor transgressions,’ he interrupted Assa. ‘I demand to be brought before the King. Only to him will I answer for my glorious deeds. I have killed great lords, hundreds of children, important people. I have turned them into wraiths, spirits I command. I am the leader of the Followers of the Shadow. I demand a full trial. I was the greatest enemy Gondor faced, not the Grand Master, nor even Sauron. He had no interest in the wealth I had control of. It was all mine. I was to have dominion over Men. Sauron was only interested in the House of Isildur and the Elves. You have no understanding of my powers, powers given to me by the Witch-king himself. Who are you to judge me?’ ‘I? I am a nobody. Like you,’ she said with emphasis. ‘I grew up a slave, Hadán here too grew up a slave, Benethrin a servant and Fimlon, a simple dwarf craftsman of Erebor. Gallend admittedly has the blood of the Kings of Rohan in him, but he is not considered important in his country, and neither are you. Have you not felt your powers dwindle into nothing? Mithrandir travelled with you from the Barrow Downs as far as Pelargir but only because he wanted to speak with Tuor. All it took was his presence to drain the powers the Witch-king taught you. He was completely bemused at your sense of importance to the Dark Lord. You were nothing to Sauron. I am surprised you believed you were so significant to him that he would personally foretell your death in Pelargir. Was it not Bregolin who told you of Sauron’s warning? Had he perhaps begun to wonder already at your ambition to supplant him and needed at least one place of refuge from you if you did turn against him…? Well, I think we can all agree that the Dark Lord was either wrong or more likely, had never considered your future. This is not Pelargir, and this is where you will die… eventually. But I digress. The third murder you committed was Tarquith, the crippled man you underestimated when he followed you to prevent you taking a child back for your pleasure in the hidden cottage in the woods which Bregolin used when he was visiting his sister. We found it. We found all your hideaways, and your people in them have been taken and eliminated. Your network is finished. We will find Herumor in the East, he is not as skilful at hiding as you have been… So, Tarquith. You deemed his death so unimportant, but you still recalled the man who had wounded you severely enough for the child to have escaped, even though he paid a price he was willing to pay for the life of that child. We found the child, although she is now a woman. Her name is Madril. She identified you in Pelargir for us. We only needed one of these murders to convict you and we only needed her witness, but your confessions were… helpful.’ She moved to turn away from him before remembering one more point. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. Faramir was interested in two of your admissions while you were talking to yourself in the caves of Pelargir. I thought you might like to know that you saved Hannedriel’s neck. You boasted how it had been you who had manipulated Denethor into ordering the futile and wasteful task of re-taking Osgiliath, and to include his son’s name on the list. Hannedriel would never have done that. It was Elphir she wanted dead, not Faramir; but you, you wanted Faramir in revenge for Cirion. And it was you who had placed the contract on Boromir’s children. We were so sure that had been Hannedriel, for which she would have been executed. Now she will be free to roam, although banished from Arnor and Gondor. She’s unlikely to be welcome in Rohan, or Dale or Umbar for that matter, but both Hannedriel and her brother Belegond will be freed... soon… You should know, it was Hannedriel who inveigled the truth about how you killed her father from Herumor and in turn told us. I will remember to thank her for showing me how to achieve justice.’ She turned to the three men and the dwarf. ‘Benethrin, what is your verdict?’ ‘Death,’ he replied sternly. ‘So be it. You will soon know how your victims felt when you cut the skin off their bodies while they still lived, and that is the only justice I can deliver to them. My companions have insisted that I do not perform this task myself. As you can see, I am with child, whose father will not allow it to listen to your punishment. So, I must leave you. Cut him, Hadán, and lower him in. You can choose where you decide to wield the blade, but I know where I would.’ She turned and left abruptly as the four remaining figures made to lower Turallien into the water. As soon as he judged she was out of earshot, Hadán swiftly cut off Turallien’s penis and shoved it into his screaming mouth as they lowered him into the water. Gallend and the Dwarf, Fimlon, stayed only to be sure of Turallien’s bonds before leaving Hadán and Benethrin to stay for the first watch. The three men and Fimlon shared the watch in turns for days, until there were no more screams, after which their attention turned to their two other prisoners: Hannedriel and Belegond. ------------------------------------------------------------------- On the day before Éomer and Lothíriel’s wedding, Aragorn had listened to the litany of Hannedriel’s crimes presented by Faramir in the presence of both Tuor and Imrahil in the large hall of Éomer’s ancestral home. Hannedriel may not have committed or ordered murder herself, but she had encouraged, facilitated and ignored the act numerous times. She had known of the Followers of the Shadow and had allowed her house to be the safe house for the Astari for many decades. Her failure to act against evil had allowed evil to be perpetuated against many around her. These were not, however, crimes for which execution could be considered; lifetime imprisonment was the only outcome. The case against Belegond presented by Imrahil was more clear-cut but the verdict would only be the same. Assa was about to remonstrate at the mildness of the possible sentencing, but Tuor calmly held her back as Gallend took her hand in his to ensure her compliance. Much to his surprise, she acquiesced, although he had not heard what Tuor had whispered in her ear. The wedding festivities over and all the main protagonists returned to Minas Tirith, the siblings were brought before the King to hear the accusations against them, they both disdained to reply, and judgement was passed with one unexpected provision: the pair were to be banished from the lands of Arnor and Gondor in perpetuity, the terms of their imprisonment were awarded to Assa as the most impartial observer of justice in the Kingdom. The faintest tremor of shock passed across Hannedriel’s face. She understood the implications of this better than Belegond; she had experience of Assa’s uncompromising sense of justice. Gondor had washed its hands of them, there would be no prison in the land of their birth in which to eke out the last of their days. Assa regarded Aragorn curiously, bowing her head to him in a show of approval. Chained together with Hannedriel, close to the cave in which Turallien had received Assa’s justice, Belegond had quickly begun to understand his sister’s greater dread of the terms of their incarceration. Lothring had not been comfortable, but Lothíriel had not been cruel. This time would be different. He knew where they were: the Fortress of Sennebar. It had appeared deserted when they had been brought through it without blindfold by Benethrin and a force of Swan Knights. Once secured they were left alone with only Benethrin as their guard. Belegond had tried to charm his former scullery maid’s son, a boy he knew well, a boy he had done nothing to protect from the violence and malice of his wife. It would be futile, but it was better than attempting any conversation with his sister. He had been too weak; the offer of the Stewardship of Dol Amroth too enticing to refuse, even if had meant marrying a woman he did not know. As soon as he understood her nature, he had been afraid, too afraid to do anything against her wishes; all the evil that befell his mother had come from Melian and ultimately Amedlan. Had he only known… it was not his fault… ‘Liar!’ sneered Hannedriel viciously. ‘You supported Amedlan’s claim, fearing the little bitch would try to blame it on you if Turallien didn’t believe her story that it was the maid… You knew full well what he would do to the wench. One thing I will say of Turallien, he was fanatically loyal to his family, unlike either of my idiot brothers. Hannemor deserved what he got, and Amedlan. Our father was the only one who could protect us from this vile family, and Hannemor let Turallien murder him, giving him dominion over us all. The idiot. I did everything for you both, to protect you and now you are squalling to a servant boy to help you. Have you no pride?’ Benethrin smiled grimly to himself. Assa had warned him of this, she had been completely accurate in her reading of how they would both try to manipulate him. Knowing what she had planned for them both, he was content to allow their squabbling. One of the Swan Knights returned to give him notice that the ship from Pelargir had been spotted and was about to dock. He hastened to meet the ship, which would take the Swan Knights who had accompanied him back to Dol Amroth. He, himself, would return with the Rohirrim and Fimlon once their task had been completed. ------------------------------------------------------------------- Benethrin almost wished he could stay until the end; stay to watch the siblings’ descent into madness and despair. He wondered how long it would take, and if both or only one or neither would still be found in the Fortress a month hence when new supplies of food would be left for them. The slave town of Sennebar had been raised to the ground and its former inhabitants forced to move on. Those who had not been directly involved with the slave trade had been invited to Umbar, the rest had been fortunate to have been allowed to walk free eastwards or further south as they chose. The drawbridge had been sealed, there was no land bridge, only the treacherous waters surrounding the island of rock. A strong swimmer might possibly make it across with a great deal of luck, but there was only desert and arid lands waiting for them for too many leagues for a survivor to cross. Only a slow death from starvation and thirst would follow any escape from the Fortress. Assa addressed the two prisoners. ‘You are free to roam wherever you will, but you are barred from the lands of the Two Kingdoms as well as the Kingdom of Rohan on pain of immediate execution. You will not find yourselves welcome in Umbar nor in the Northern Realms. My strong advice to you if you wish to live until your natural life ends would be to find a way to look after each other here in the Fortress and not attempt to escape it. Fresh supplies will be brought to you every month from Umbar by a crew of armed men who have orders to not to kill you, even if attacked. They are all trained fighters and you would never be able to overpower them. You could try to swim to the shore, but the waters around the island are notoriously treacherous and dark creatures lurk deep within. Many Astari slaves tried to swim across to freedom, none ever made it. I am the only person to have escaped Sennebar and that way is guarded. It would take you through the waters Turallien died in to an underground passageway and no one would make it through the water,’ she said deliberately emphasising the word one. ‘I wouldn’t recommend it.’ At that, she turned and left Hadán to throw the keys to their chains at them as he followed his sister, Gallend and Benethrin. Assa and Hadán knew the way back to the ship better than any, Belegond and Hannedriel would not find their way out of the maze of underground passages until long after they had set sail for home. As the ship left the quay Benethrin asked his shipmates whether they thought the pair would survive until the delivery of supplies, despite having carefully calibrated the food and fresh water they needed to live adequately. Gallend readily gave his opinion as Assa pondered the question. ‘Hannedriel was the only one of the two who understood the coded message if you ask me. Belegond is not stupid by any means, but he lacks her level of cunning and she understands about the fish. He is the stronger, so he should be the one to survive at her expense, but my guess is that they will both be dead before the month is out. There is nothing in the Fortress which can be converted to a raft to gain the shore safely, this they will realise after about two days of exploring. The one thing I am most certain of is that they will not be able to work together to survive… One will kill the other and unless they quickly put the body to the water as food for the fish, they will not make it to the passageway. And even then, anyone who does escape will not survive the walk through the desert to anywhere habitable… Assa?’ Assa was still thinking but slowly responded, ‘They are both clever people, both ruthless and neither trusts the other. They will make a pretence of working together initially while both devising a way to kill the other. The fish is only attracted to fresh meat, but they don’t know that. If Hannedriel manages to entice Belegond to the cistern and persuades him to enter the water first or kills him just before he enters, she might succeed in finding the passage out. I know what it takes to traverse the barren lands around Sennebar, and I had supplies. We will find her body within four leagues at the most from the opening of the passage onto land. For me this would be the greatest justice for her. A slow, agonising death from thirst and starvation. The question is whether Belegond is fool enough enter the cavern with his sister or craven enough not to kill her today, as she will most certainly try to kill him in his sleep as soon as she can. I wonder if he quite realises yet that she is completely at his mercy as the physically stronger of the two. Belegond always seemed the least evil of all the siblings: a liar, a thief, a cheat, an adulterer, yes but not a murderer… not yet. What do you think, Hadán?’ ‘Me?’ he answered, sounding exhausted. ‘I simply don’t care. I just want to go home, home to Rohan, to the people I love, to prepare to welcome your baby, Assa, to a new world free of this evil. I just don’t care,’ he said softly. ‘I would agree with that, laddie,’ the usually silent Fimlon interjected wholeheartedly. ‘As long as they’re both dead soon,’ he added with no hint of irony. Benethrin nodded, ‘I wanted vengeance… vengeance for my mother, vengeance for Tarquith, vengeance for the pain they caused Elphir’s whole family, not just Lothíriel. You were right, Assa, to caution me against this. And I can see that feeling of vengeance still lies deep within me to my detriment. Thank you, all, my friends. This chapter is closed, justice has been served and I will let this go. I can, now, let this go.’ |