The Last Ringbearer

by Kirill Yeskov

  "That's `Your Highness,' Baron, and please keep in mind -- I absolutely will not tolerate any joking in this matter."

  "My apologies, Your Highness."

  "However," Faramir looked over the Ithilien regiment fighters gathered around him with a slight smile, "each one of you is hereby entitled to address me as `my Captain,' for old times' sake. Obviously, this will not be a hereditary privilege. All right, guys. Her Highness will show you to the castle -- the food is served and the bottles are uncorked -- while myself and the officers and... erm... our Eastern guests will catch up with you in ten minutes or so... So what were you wishfully saying there, Baron Grager: you really think that they've left?"

  "No, my Captain. Their spy network..."

  "Yes, exactly. What do you propose to do about it?"

  "Nothing, Your Highness."

  "Explain."

  "Sure. It makes no sense to prosecute those of Cheetah's people that we've identified: since Ithilien was and is a vassal of Gondor, they've committed no crime by working for the monarch of the Reunited Kingdom. Sometimes in such circumstance you do away with a spy quietly, but that's an extreme measure: by doing so we'd announce to Minas Tirith that we're at the very least openly hostile, if not at war with them. Most importantly, Prince, I'm almost certain that we have not identified the entire network. Should we arrest the ones we know, we'd allow them free use of any remaining agents. Whereas if we touch nobody, it'll be impossible to figure out which ones we know about and which we don't, so they'll have to consider the entire network compromised. Even if they don't simply abandon it, they'll for sure put it to sleep for a long time. At least I wouldn't touch such a semi-compromised network with a ten-foot pole."

  "Very well; this will be your call now, Baron Grager. I hereby promote you to Captain and grant you the requisite powers."

  "Wow!" Tangorn laughed. "I see that the setup of the state of Ithilien is proceeding in an unusual fashion -- its first institution is the counter-intelligence service!.." Faramir shrugged: "With neighbors such as these... In any event, I doubt that this is of much interest to our guests. Tzerlag, where are you?.. I have to admit to a certain difficulty: your exploits of last night definitely make you worthy of a knighthood, but that would create a host of technical problems. In any event, what use is Gondorian knighthood to a desert warrior?"

  Tzerlag shook his head. "No use, Your Highness."

  "See? Well, I guess there's no choice but to fall back onto the ancient legends: ask your heart's desire, Sergeant! But please keep in mind that I don't have daughters of marriageable age yet, and as for the Prince's treasury... what do we have there, Beregond?"

  "A hundred thirty six gold pieces, Your Highness."

  "Yeah, not quite the Hoard of Vendotenia... Perhaps you'd like to think about it, Sergeant? Oh, by the way, I have another debt to pay -- for your rescue of this fair sir." The Orocuen was abashed. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but we... how should I put it... we're kinda together, so our request will be mutual. Better let Baron Tangorn tell you; consider that I gave my rights over to him."

  "Ah so?" The prince looked over the three comrades with gay amusement. "This just keeps getting more interesting. I suppose it's a confidential request?"

  "Yes, Your Highness."

  "...As I understand it, Baron, you're going to ask for the palant r," Faramir began after they rode about twenty paces away from the rest of the group. He was gloomy, with no trace of amusement remaining on his face.

  "So you've guessed already, Prince?"

  "I'm not a total fool; why else would you ask me to escape with it? I just couldn't imagine that you're working together with these guys. So now I'll have to hand a magic crystal over to Mordorians. A nice bind you got me into, no question."

  "That is not so, Your Highness. Haladdin is not in Mordor's service any more; he is acting by himself and on behalf of entire Middle Earth, if I may be so bold. The sad thing is that I don't have the right to let you know what his mission is, therefore I ask you to trust my word."

  Faramir brushed it off: "That's not what I'm talking about. You know that I've always trusted you; more than I trust myself, in some things. It's just that -- what if all three of you are someone else's puppets and that someone is using you for his own gain? Try analyzing this situation once more, this time as a professional spy, rather than a friend of Haladdin and Tzerlag."

  "I've done so many times and have this to say: whoever had started this originally, Haladdin will only play his own game, and this guy is very, very resilient -- take my word for it -- even though he doesn't look the part. And another thing -- I really like him, and I will do what I can to help him win."

  After some thought the prince grumbled: "All right. Let's consider me persuaded. How can I help you three?"

  "First, please accept my resignation," the baron began, and explained to puzzled Faramir: "I will have to visit Umbar for some time, and I plan to operate there as a private person, so as not to put Your Highness in a false light..."

  Chapter 31

  Gondor, Minas Tirith

  May 17, 3019

  "Her Royal Majesty the Queen of Gondor and Arnor!" the master of ceremonies announced and immediately vanished into thin air, like he hadn't been there at all. Palace servants everywhere seem to have a sixth sense in addition to formal training. Aragorn had nerves of steel (a necessity in his former profession) and concealed the true feelings that the expression `Her Majesty the Queen' aroused in him perfectly well. Nevertheless, somehow the rascal seemed to feel that every time those words were uttered His Royal Majesty Elessar Elfstone had a fleeting desire to either turn the speaker over to the Secret Guard (the Valar spare us), or simply unsheathe the And ril and split the offender in half. Gods, how beautiful she was! No human language has words to describe her beauty, while Elves need no words. Actually, it was not her beauty as such, but her absolute star-like unattainability that was the leash which was used to guide him all these years, ever since he first got to the Enchanted Forest and met -- by pure coincidence, of course -- Arwen Und miel, the Evenstar of Imladris, the daughter of Ruler Elrond himself. No one can find out now why the Elves picked him rather than any of the other innumerable D nedain princes (strictly speaking, almost every D nadan thinks himself a prince, tracing his lineage if not from Isildur, then for sure at least from E rendur). Be that as it may, the Firstborn chose well: Aragorn performed his task with excellence.

  Now he was looking at her with a feeling he had never had before: desperation. Any further struggle is useless; how long can he chase a mirage? Yes, time to sum up, and there's no reason to lie to oneself. So: an obscure chief of northern rangers had won the greatest of all wars in the history of Middle Earth, ascended the throne of the Reunited Kingdom, and became the first among Western sovereigns -- but none of that had brought him an inch closer to possessing this woman.

  "What else do you want from me, Arwen?" He knew he was saying the wrong thing in the wrong way, but could do nothing about it. "I crushed Mordor and laid the crown of Gondor and Arnor at your feet; if that's not enough, I will spread our borders beyond the Rune Sea and the mountains of Vendotenia. I will conquer Harad and the other countries of the Far East and make you Queen of the world -- just give the word!"

  "Don't you want all that yourself?"

  "Not any more. Now I want only you... You know, it seems to me that I was closer to you back then, in Rivendell..."

  "Please understand," her face once again assumed an expression of weary compassion, like a teacher who has to explain a grammar rule to a dim student for the tenth time, "I may not belong to any man; don't torture yourself for nothing. Recall the story of Prince Valacar and Princess Vidumavi; your own chronicles say: `For the high men of Gondor already looked askance at the Northmen among them; and it was a thing unheard of before that the heir to the crown, or any son of the King, should wed one of lesser and alien race.' No wonder it sparked a civil war. Whereas compared with the nobility of my heritage there's no differ
ence even between Isildur and some black chieftain from Far Harad. But even that is not much compared to the real obstacle -- our age difference. To me, you're not even a boy, but a baby. Would you take a three-year-old to wife, even if she looked like an adult?"

  "So that's how it is..."

  "Of course, and you're even behaving like a spoiled child. Bored with the royal power in just a few days, you now want a new toy -- Arwen, the Evenstar of Imladris! Think about it -- you want to trade even love for a handful of candy: the crowns of Men's kingdoms. After all those years of dealing with Elves, have you not understood that none of us wants power as such? Believe me, I see no difference between the crown of Gondor and this cup -- both are just gem-studded pieces of silver."

  "Yes, looks like I'm just a baby. And you've tricked me, back then in L rien, just like a baby."

  "You have tricked yourself," she objected calmly. "Please remember how it happened." In a moment a silvery fog covered the walls of the palace hall, blurry silhouettes of L rien mallorns showed through, and he heard again Elrond's soft voice right next to him: "Perhaps my daughter will revive the rule of Men in Middle Earth, but no matter how much I love you, I will tell you this: Arwen Undomiel will not change the course of her fate for a small man. Only the king of Gondor and Arnor can become her husband..." The voice of the Ruler faded away, and Aragorn again saw Arwen before him -- she had restored the hall to its former appearance with a casual wave of her hand.

  "This was the precise statement, Aragorn son of Arathorn. It's the honest truth: only the king of Gondor and Arnor can become the husband of an Elvish princess, but did anybody promise that he will actually become one?"

  Aragorn smiled crookedly. "You're right, as always. A baby such as myself could never think of such a thing -- the Ruler of Rivendell trying to weasel out of his words! Well, he can find a loophole very well, better than any Umbar shyster."

  "You were paid for your work in honest coin -- the Re-forged Sword and the throne of the Reunited Kingdom."

  "Yes, the throne I don't control!" She frowned a little. "Don't demean yourself. You knew from the very beginning that you'd get an Elvish advisor once you ascended the throne."

  "You mean a regent."

  "Again you exaggerate. Besides, we met you halfway: L rien sent you not just anyone, but myself as the advisor, so that to your subjects it looks like a regular dynastic marriage. You, on the other hand, have imagined who knows what and now desire to add the daughter of the Ruler of Elves to your collection of sluts!"

  "You know that this is not so." There was nothing but weary submission in his voice now.

  "Back in L rien, when you accepted Barahir's ring from me..."

  "Oh, that. Do you wish to remind me of the story of Beren and L thien? Understand already that this is a legend, and a human legend, at that -- an Elf can only laugh at it."

  "Thank you for the explanation. To put it bluntly, you consider love between an Elf and a Man to be bestiality, right?"

  "Let's end this stupid conversation. You have rightly mentioned the need to adhere to one's agreements. Don't you think that a second `accident' befalling a man from my entourage in as many weeks is a bit much?"

  "Oh, so that's what you wanted to discuss."

  "Precisely, my dear. If you have imagined that L rien is incapable of protecting the people working for it, we will teach your Secret Guard a lesson they'll remember forever -- if there's anyone left to remember."

  Resurgent anger helped him come back to his senses, like the stink of smelling salts helps a man out of a swoon; the hex dispelled, and the D nadan was becoming himself again -- a white polar wolf facing a pack of jackals. "Allow me to remind you, my dear, that you're not the masters here -- not yet. Let's call a spade a spade: had your `entourage' been a real embassy, all of them would've been expelled long ago `for activities incompatible with diplomatic status.'"

  "You know," Arwen said thoughtfully, "sometimes you're undone by excessive logic -- it makes you predictable. You wouldn't have resorted to such measures without a dire need; therefore, the dead men have sniffed out something top-secret and extremely important. Hence, all I need to do is determine what they were doing in their last days."

  "Any progress?"

  "Oh yes, quite a lot! If one can call it progress. I'll admit that we've tended to overlook your games with the dead; to be honest, no one believed that a mortal could master the Shadow Spell well enough to actually bring them back to life. But now you have decided to inherit the black knowledge of Mordor, too; you're gathering those poisoned shards everywhere you can and expect to get away with it. There's no denying that you're a top- grade swashbuckler (that's what we were choosing for among very many): highly intelligent, desperately brave, and totally merciless to others and himself. I know that you're no novice at juggling live cobras, but believe me: you have never -- by the Halls of Valinor! -- never played a game as dangerous as this!"

  "I'm also very practical. The thing is, those games are as dangerous to you Elves as to me; I'm glad that you've finally understood the danger. I am ready to undo it all if I'm properly paid."

  "Ah so? What is your price, then?"

  "You already know the price, and there'll be no other."

  Arwen walked away in silence, like a vertical ray of sun piercing a dusty room; when she looked back at his soft: "Wait!" it was a victory greater than Pelennor or Cormallen.

  "Wait," he repeated, then carelessly tossed up the silver cup she had just used to illustrate her invective, caught and crushed it in a single movement like it was made of paper; the encrusted rubies burst through his fingers like drops of blood and rattled across the marble floor. "By the Halls of Valinor," he repeated her words slowly, "I, too, no longer see a difference between the crown of Gondor and this cup; sorry that the crown wasn't to hand." He tossed her the lump of silver so that she had to catch it and left without looking back. It looked like for the first time ever a battle went to him. Yes, she's right -- he's playing the most dangerous game of all and isn't about to turn back. He wants this woman, and he will have her, whatever the cost. This will never happen while Elves are Elves? Very well, then the whole foundation of their power must be crushed. This is a task of unimaginable complexity, but a lot more fun than, say, the conquest of Harad... The voice of the guard on duty abruptly brought him back to reality: "Your Majesty! Your Majesty! The White Company is back from Ithilien. Shall I ask them in?" ...Aragorn sat silently, head down and arms crossed over his chest; Cheetah sat in front of him in an armchair, bandaged foot awkwardly turned aside. He had finished his unhappy report a few minutes ago and was now awaiting the verdict. Finally His Majesty raised his gaze. "Under those circumstances your actions have to be judged as appropriate, Captain. I would've done the same thing in your place. Well, that's no surprise."

  "Yes, Your Majesty. Our shadow is your shadow."

  "You seem to want to ask something?"

  "Yes. While in Ithilien we were bound hand and foot by the order to preserve Faramir's life. Don't you think it necessary to revise..."

  "No, I don't." The D nadan rose and strolled around the room thoughtfully. "You see, I have lived a turbulent life and am guilty of a multitude of sins, including some mortal ones... but I have never been an oath-breaker, and never will be."

  "What relevance does this have to real politics?"

  "A very direct one. Faramir is an honorable man, so while I keep up my side of the bargain, he won't abandon his, and I'm fairly satisfied with the status quo."

  "But now all who are unhappy with Your Majesty's rule will gather in Ithilien!"

  "Certainly, and that's wonderful! This will rid me of opposition in Gondor -- with no bloodshed, mind you. It will be Faramir's problem now to make sure that those guys don't do anything about restoring the old dynasty -- he's oath-bound, too."

  "So it doesn't concern you that the Prince of Ithilien has already started some sort of murky dealings with the East?"

  "This wasn't in your report! W
here did you get this information?"

  "You see, the man who broke my foot was an Orocuen scout; the same night an Umbarian physician -- Haladdin, I remember his name well -- set it. Those men came from beyond the Mountains of Shadow together with the well-known baron Tangorn..."

  "Hey! Describe this doctor to me!" Cheetah looked at Aragorn in surprise; the King leaned forward and his voice cracked a bit.

  "...Yes, it's him, without a doubt," the D nadan murmured and closed his eyes for a few seconds. "So Tangorn had found Haladdin in Mordor and dragged him over to Faramir in Ithilien... Damn but you've kept the worst news for last! Looks like I have seriously underestimated that philosopher."

  "Forgive me, Your Majesty, for not yet knowing -- who is this Haladdin?"

  "Ah. You see, you're about to head a small top-secret group -- Task Force F Noanor; it is not even part of the Secret Guard and reports directly to me. Its strategic task for the foreseeable future is to gather knowledge left behind by Mordor and Isengard for our own purposes. You can't make do with just the books in this business, you need the people, too. A certain Doctor Haladdin is number eighteen on our list. Of course, it could be a coincidence that he met Tangorn, Faramir's Umbarian resident, but I don't believe in such coincidences."

  "Then you think... that Faramir is doing the same thing?"

  "Usually, clever thoughts occur to smart minds simultaneously; by the way, the Elves are engaged in the same kind of search, to other ends, of course. The thing is that Faramir will have a much easier time searching thanks to his old connections in the East. That list we have is based on pre-war reports of his resident spies -- praise Manwe that we, rather than the Elves, got the Royal archives... In any case, Captain -- find this Tangorn immediately and get everything he knows out of him; then consider how to get our hands on whatever Ithilien has. There's no task of greater importance now."