The Last Ringbearer

by Kirill Yeskov

  "...so you'll have to go to Ithilien with him."

  "But why, Ari? You know that I can't be without you now."

  "It's necessary, dear. It won't be for very long -- three weeks, perhaps a month."

  "That is very long, but I will do what you need, don't worry. You want me to be by his side?"

  "Yes, you will complete his treatment, you're good at it. Plus you will check out how he does in the new place."

  "You know, he's very nice."

  "Of course! You will have excellent conversation, I think you won't be bored with him."

  "Bored? Oh, you're too kind!.."

  "Forgive me, I didn't mean it to sound like that..." The voices went away, a door banged, and Faramir thought that although this was none of his business, nevertheless... Suddenly he cried out from an abrupt pain: previously unseen light flooded his eyes and seemed to burn the retina that had grown unaccustomed to seeing. She was already by his side, holding his hand in alarm: "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing, E:owyn -- I think I'm getting my sight back."

  "Really?!"

  Everything around him swam in rainbow areolas, but the pain subsided quickly. When the prince finally managed to wipe away tears and take his first look at E:owyn, his heart stopped for a moment and then poured a heat wave through his body: he was looking at the girl he had pictured in his imagination. Not a similar girl, but that exact one, from the color of her eyes to the way she brushed her hair aside. I've created her myself, he thought in resignation, and now I will never get away.

  ...The fort of Emyn Arnen, now the official residence of His Highness the Prince of Ithilien, was not, strictly speaking, a fort. It was a log house of monumental proportions, with three floors, an unbelievably labyrinthine plan, and a cornucopia of architectural excesses: all sorts of turrets, dormers, and outside galleries. Nevertheless, the whole thing looked surprisingly harmonious. One could see the hand of the master craftsmen of Angmar in the construction -- it is there, in the forests of the far North, that this wood-building technique flourishes. The house was impeccably positioned from the landscaping standpoint, but horribly from a military one, not protecting anything. Besides, the unknown fortification `experts' that had built the stockade around it had done it in such an obvious revulsion for their craft that it could only serve as an exhibit for the relevant course at the Academy of Military Engineering: "How not to build external fortifications: find eight mistakes." This must have been why Emyn Arnen had been abandoned by the Mordorians without a fight as indefensible, and passed to its current owners intact.

  It was not quite clear, actually, who these new owners were. The Prince of Ithilien could only be called such in jest, as he was not permitted to even leave the fort alone. Much to her surprise, his guest E:owyn, the sister of the King of the Mark of Rohan, had discovered that she shared the prince's weird status. She had asked for her sword back without a second thought, adding jokingly that she didn't feel quite dressed without it, and got a joke in response: "A pretty girl looks even prettier underdressed." E:owyn frowned in irritation: even by her uninhibited taste this compliment by a lieutenant of the White Company (forty men tasked by Aragorn to their protection) bordered on a faux pas. She made a note for herself to be on more official terms with this bunch from now on, and requested a meeting with the company's commander, Captain Beregond.

  After all, every joke has its limits: they are not in Minas Tirith any more, walking these woods unarmed, while there may still be goblins about, is simply unsafe. -- Oh, Her Highness has nothing to fear in this respect; the goblins are her bodyguards' problem. -- Does the Captain mean to say that those four thugs are going to accompany her everywhere?

  -- Yes, certainly, and this is by direct order of His Majesty; although they can be replaced, if Her Highness dislikes these four. -- By the way, Aragorn is neither her sovereign nor guardian, and if this is how it's going to be, she's coming back to Minas Tirith right away... actually, to Edoras, not Minas Tirith! -- Unfortunately, this would be impossible without a written order from His Majesty. -- So... not to put too fine a face on it, is she a prisoner? -- Why, Your Highness! Prisoners stay under lock and key, whereas you can ride anywhere you want. Even to Minas Morgul, if you wish, but only with bodyguards and unarmed. Strangely, only now did E:owyn realize that Faramir's lack of a sword could be due to earthly reasons rather than the prince's poetic disposition. By process of elimination it would seem that Beregond was the real master of Ithilien, but one only had to see him move charily through the corridors of the fort, avoiding eye contact with his prisoner, to understand that this was rank nonsense. The captain was a ruined man, because he knew that he had guarded Denethor's chambers on that tragic day and that he was the one who announced the King's suicide to the public -- that is, he knew, but he could not remember a thing. His memory of that nightmarish day sported a large charred hole, in which Mithrandir's whitish shadow flitted sometimes; the knight seemed to have had a hand in those events, but Beregond could not figure it out. It is hard to say what prevented the captain from taking his own life; perhaps he realized that by doing so he would have accepted the guilt for the crime, to the delight of the real murderers. In Minas Tirith a wall of scorn had surrounded him since that day -- few believed the self-immolation story -- so Aragorn could find no better man to lead the White Company. The job required a man who could not possibly conspire with Faramir -- and here Aragorn had made a mistake: for all his knowledge of people, he had not foreseen that the prince, whom Beregond had often dandled on his knee, would be perhaps the only person in all of Gondor to believe in the captain's innocence.

  As for the men of the White Company, who not only guarded the fort but also filled all the housekeeping jobs (from majordomo to cook), they did not talk to the prince much at all. `Yes, Your Highness; no, Your Highness; I don't know, Your Highness' -- that was the extent of the conversation, with `don't know' a clear favorite. They were ordered to guard, so they guarded; were they ordered to kill him, they would undoubtedly do that, too. Faramir could not figure out whose orders those cutthroats obeyed, but he did not believe even for a moment that it was Beregond. At the same time, there seemed to be no messages from Aragorn, either, unless they had clandestine communications with Minas Tirith without the captain's knowledge -- but then why make it so complex? Indeed it was a strange crowd that made its home in Emyn Arnen that spring, and the funniest thing was that all the participants of The Prince of Ithilien and His Court show made a touchingly united effort to keep that strangeness from becoming the subject of discussion outside its walls, where real life went on.

  In real life it was a rare day that Faramir did not bless a new group of subjects -- yet another group of settlers from Gondor. Many of those were not at all eager to show themselves to the court, preferring instead to huddle in the farthest reaches of the forest; it was clear that they regarded tax collectors as a much more harmful and dangerous threat than the `goblins' that supposedly infested those thickets. During the war those people have learned to wield weapons expertly and got out of the habit of bowing to landlords, so the Prince of Ithilien would not have been able to control the fortified forest hamlets these people were building even if he wanted to, which he did not. All he did was try to convey to the newcomers that they would not be fleeced in his demesne, and the message seemed to be getting through: lately grim armed men from the far hamlets have been showing up at the main Settlement, with pointed inquiries about prices for honey and smoked venison. That year axes and hammers sounded throughout Ithilien: the settlers built houses, cleared forests for fields, put up mills and dry distilleries. They were settling the forests beyond Anduin for good.

  Chapter 22

  More than a month has gone by since the end of the Mordorian campaign, and still E:owyn had no message from Aragorn. Well, who knows what the circumstances are... If she had reached any conclusions already, she kept them to herself and her behavior had not changed a bit. The only difference was that she no longer asked Ber
egond daily for news from Minas Tirith. It also seemed to Faramir that her remarkable gray-green eyes have acquired a new, colder, bluish tint, but that would have been really supernatural. The girl treated the prince with genuine warmth and sympathy, but she had channeled their closeness into nothing but friendship from the very beginning, and he had to accept that. They were sitting at the dinner table in the Knights Hall of the fort, unwelcoming because of its large size, when a Gondorian lieutenant in a dusty cloak showed up, accompanied by several soldiers. Faramir immediately offered the messenger wine and venison, but the man shook his head. His business is so urgent that he will only change horses and ride back. He has the King's orders to pick up E:owyn from Emyn Arnen (the girl leaned forward and her shining face seemed to dispel the gloom of the hall) and escort her to Edoras, to the court of King E:omer.

  He followed up with some Minas Tirith news of which Faramir had only consciously registered an unfamiliar name: Arwen. Arwen -- sounds like the tolling of a gong, he thought fleetingly; I wonder what fight this gong announces... The prince looked up at E:owyn and his heart fell: her face was a bloodless mask of pain, her eyes seeming to take up half of it -- a child who had just been cruelly and mercilessly tricked and is now about to be publicly mocked to boot.

  But this show of weakness lasted for only a moment. Then the blood of six generations of steppe knights asserted itself: the sister of the King of the Mark of Rohan may not behave like a miller's daughter seduced by the landlord. Smiling charmingly (although the smile held about as much warmth as moonlight upon a snowy White Mountains pass), E:owyn told the lieutenant that his orders were very strange, as she was not the subject of the man who called himself the King of Gondor and Arnor. In any event, they are presently outside the Reunited Kingdom, so if the Prince of Ithilien (a nod towards Faramir) does not object, she would like to avail herself of his hospitality for some more time. The Prince of Ithilien had no objections, of course, and the only thing that really upset him about the situation was this: he was unarmed, so if Aragorn's men were under orders to remove the girl forcibly if necessary, he would have to fight with only the dagger he has just used to cut venison. A truly fitting end for the last heir of the ill-fated Anarion dynasty! At least this tragic farce will be concluded in its prevalent style... The prince glanced at Beregond, who stood on the right side of the table, and was startled by an astonishing change that had come over the captain: his gaze was firm as in the old days, and his hand rested familiarly on the hilt of his sword. Neither of them needed any words to understand that the old warrior had made his choice and was ready to die by Faramir's side. Whereas the Gondorian officer was obviously perplexed: apparently his orders did not include any violence against royal persons. E:owyn smiled again -- with real charm this time -- and firmly took the upper hand:

  "I'm afraid that you'll have to stay after all, Lieutenant. Do try the venison, it's especially good today. Your soldiers must need rest, too." She addressed the butler: "Gunt! See the King's men to the kitchen and make sure they're well fed after their journey. Oh, and arrange for their baths!"

  E:owyn had the fortitude to stay until the end of the meal and even keep up the conversation:

  "Please pass the salt... Thank you... So what's the news from Mordor, Lieutenant? We're quite cut off, here in the boonies..." It was clear, though, that she was holding on with the last of her strength. Looking at her, Faramir remembered some over-tempered glass he once saw: it looked just like a regular piece of glass, but shattered into tiny pieces with a tiny flick.

  Of course he did not sleep that night; sitting by the lamp, he kept futilely wracking his brains, trying to think of ways to help. The prince was an expert in philosophy and pretty well versed in military and intelligence crafts, but to be honest, he knew little about the intricacies of the female soul. So when his door opened without a knock and there was transparently pale E:owyn, in a nightshirt and barefoot, he was completely bewildered. She was already inside, though, stepping like a somnambulant; then the nightshirt fell down at her feet, and she ordered, head held high but eyelashes down: "Take me, Prince! Now!" He picked up her light body -- goodness, she's shivering like crazy, must be nervous shakes! -- carried her to his bed and covered her with two warm cloaks. What else do I have here? He looked around -- aha, Elvish wine, just what she needs.

  "Here, drink this, it'll warm you up."

  "Wouldn't you rather warm me up in another fashion?" She spoke with her eyes closed; her body, taut as a bowstring, was still shivering.

  "Certainly not now. You'd hate me for the rest of your life, and with good reason." Then she knew for sure that, finally, it was all right to cry... So she cried, with abandon, like a child, while he was hugging that shivering, sobbing, infinitely dear girl to his chest and whispering something into her ear -- he never could remember what he said, nor did it matter; his lips were salty with her tears. And when she was done pouring out her pain and disgust, she crawled back under the cloaks, took his hand and asked quietly: "Please tell me something... nice." So he recited the best poems he knew, and every time he stopped she would squeeze his hand, as if afraid of being lost in the night, and ask with an inimitable child's intonation: "More! Please, a little more!.."

  She fell asleep in the early morning, still holding his hand, so he waited by the side of the bed until her sleep grew deeper; only then did he kiss her temple gently and removed himself to the armchair. He woke up a couple of hours later from some small noise and immediately heard an angry "Please turn away!" and then a plaintive "Listen, give me something to put on -- I can't walk around like this!" a few seconds later. Then, standing in the door (with his hunting jacket on), she suddenly spoke quietly and very earnestly: "You know, those poems... It's something amazing, I've never experienced anything like it. I'll come this evening, and you'll read me some more of that, all right?" To make a long story short, by the time Faramir sent a message to Edoras inquiring whether E:omer had any objections to his sister's decision to become Princess of Ithilien, evening readings were an indispensable part of their family life.

  "...Are you listening?" E:owyn had long since washed up and dressed, and was now gazing at the prince, upset.

  "I'm sorry, baby; I've been thinking."

  "About something sad?"

  "More like something dangerous. What if His Majesty the King of Gondor and Arnor sends us a wedding gift? Your joke about arsenic and strychnine might just be prophetic." By saying this he had broken an unspoken commandment never to mention Aragorn inside these walls. Only once, at the very beginning of their romance, did E:owyn say (abruptly and with no connection to the preceding conversation): "If you want to know what he's like as a lover," she was looking out the window and did not see his gesture of protest, "I can utterly honestly say: nothing much. You see, he's accustomed only to taking, all the time and in every thing; a real macho, you know..." Her lips twisted in a bitter smile. "Of course, most women want nothing else, but I'm not one of them..."

  She looked at Faramir questioningly for a while, then nodded and said thoughtfully, as if making some final conclusion: "Yes, he totally could... Do you have a plan for how to avoid such a gift?"

  "Yes, I do, but all depends on whether Beregond will be with us."

  "Forgive me if this is not my business, but... this man killed your father. And a father is a father, no matter who he is."

  "I think that Beregond is not at fault. What's more, I intend to prove it today, first and foremost to himself."

  "Why today?"

  "Because it was unwise to do it before. That day in the dining hall he behaved recklessly. I haven't spoken to him since then precisely to allay any suspicions the White Company guys might have, but now it looks like it's now or never. In other words, please ask him to come see me for some innocuous reason, and make sure to speak to him in public -- we have no secrets! And when you go hunting, try to lose your bodyguard, casual-like, and ask the people about a certain forest hamlet..."

  There was a fain
t glimmer of hope in Beregond's eyes when he entered -- perhaps not all is lost?

  "Hail, Your Highness!"

  "Hello, Beregond; let's not be so official. I would like you to help me contact His Majesty." The prince rummaged in a cargo box by the wall and carefully placed a large ball of smoky crystal on the table.

  "A Seeing Stone!" The captain was amazed.

  "Yes, this is a palant r. The other one is in Minas Tirith. For some reason Aragorn doesn't want me to use it myself and had a spell put on it. So please, look into it..."

  "No!" Beregond shook his head in despair; terror was on his face. "Anything but that! I don't want to see Denethor's charred hands!"

  "So you've seen them before?" The prince felt a sudden mortal weariness -- did he, in fact, misjudge this man?

  "No, but they told me... Anyone who looks into his palant r sees them!"

  "Don't worry, Beregond." There was relief in Faramir's voice. "This is not Denethor's palant r; that one is at Minas Tirith, and no danger to you."

  "Really?" With some trepidation the captain picked up the Seeing Stone and looked into it for some time, then put it down with a sigh. "Forgive me, Prince, but I can see nothing."