The Last Ringbearer (24 page)

“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 me.”

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. No, the thing is – 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

H 
er Royal Majesty the Queen of Gondor and Arnor!” the master of ceremonies announced and 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, the rascal seemed to feel somehow 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 to unsheathe the
Andúril
and split the offender in half – head to tailbone.

Gods, how beautiful she was! No human language has words to describe her beauty, while the Elves need no words. Actually, it was not her beauty as such, but her absolute star-like unattainability that was the leash used to guide him all these years, ever since he first got to the Enchanted Forest and met – by pure coincidence, of course! – Arwen Undómiel, 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 Dúnedain princes (strictly speaking, almost every Dúnadan thinks himself a prince, tracing his lineage if not from Isildur, then for sure at least from Eärendur). 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 known 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 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 Sea of Rhûn 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 difference 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 would 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 chalice – they both are just gem-studded pieces of silver.”

“Yes, looks like I’m just a baby. And you’ve tricked me, back then in Lórien, just like a baby.”

“You have tricked yourself,” she objected calmly. “Please remember how it happened.”

The next moment a silvery fog covered the walls of the palace hall, blurry silhouettes of Lórien
mallorns
showed through it, 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?”

He 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. Besides, 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: Lórien sent you not just anyone but myself as the advisor, so that it looks like a regular dynastic marriage to your subjects. You, on the other hand, have imagined who knows what and now intend 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 Lórien, when you accepted Barahir’s ring from me …”

“Oh, that. Do you wish to remind me of the story of Beren and Lúthien? Understand already that this is no more than 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 all imagine that Lórien 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 bewitchment dispelled, and the Dúnadan 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 had gotten close to something top-secret and extremely important. Hence, all I had to do was find out what they were working on in their last days.”

“Any progress?”

“Oh yes, quite a lot! If one can call it progress. I confess 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 wherever you can and apparently expect to get away with it … There’s no denying that you’re a top-grade adventurer (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 pragmatic. 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 sunbeam 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 chalice 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 chalice; sorry that the crown wasn’t to hand.”

He casually tossed Arwen the lump of silver so that she was forced 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 remain Elves? Very well, then the whole foundation of their power must be crushed. That is a task of unimaginable complexity, but a lot more fun than, say, the conquest of Harad …

The voice of the guard on duty finally brought him back to reality: “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! The White Company is back from Ithilien. Shall I ask them in?”

Aragorn stood 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 Dúnadan strode through 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 a man of honor, 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 folks 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! Where 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 guys 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 Dúnadan 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, Captain! 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 Féanor; 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.”