Author's Note:
The people and culture (including food, clothing, customs and system of belief) of Haragost are an invention. Any resemblance to modern day cultures is coincidence. The author simply speculated about proud warrior-folk living in the hot, dry climate of the Southlands who had until recently served the Dark Lord.

17. I Had Much Sorrow

'A picnic?' Elanor said, torn between horror and delight. To see the sun again... to be out in the open... She shuddered ...in the open.

Fastred took her hand between his two and said persuasively, 'Out upon the open moor, well away from the border--your sister, your brother, your mum and dad and a dozen farmers to protect you, if need be.'

'Or perhaps one chancellor would do?' Ferdibrand drawled from where he leant against the doorframe. Now pushing himself upright, he entered the room to take Elanor's other hand, looking at Fastred from under knitted brows until the younger hobbit belatedly released her hand from between his, remembering how much more formal hobbits were in the longer-settled parts of the Shire about such things.

Ferdi nodded in satisfaction, then turned to Elanor. 'Nell,' he said, 'You cannot hide away here forever; you've got to go outside sometime. Where'd my lass go, the one who wanted to see "the whole world and then some"?'

Elanor didn't answer, but looked at the floor and bit her lip. Ferdi put a gentle finger beneath her chin and tilted her face up until her eyes met his. 'Hiding doesn't help matters,' he said. 'Believe me, I know all about it.'

'You, hide?' Fastred said incredulously.

'O aye,' the chancellor said. He flexed his bow arm carefully. 'There was a long time I could not shoot, after a ruffian's club nearly finished me off, and so I hid myself away, for all the good it did... none at all, I can tell you.' He released Elanor's chin, but still addressed her. 'Hobbits weren't meant to live underground, for all they might sleep there.'

'All right,' Elanor said softly, 'if you can get Rosie to agree to go.' She felt fairly sure there would be no picnic.

***

'We have permission to camp by the roadside,' the messenger said to Elessar and his captains as the army crossed into yet another small fiefdom. 'The lord asks only that we do not forage. I told him that we brought our own supplies with us, and he was satisfied.'

'Very well,' Elessar replied. 'Pass the word that we will make camp here.'

The word was quickly passed down the line and the soldiers fell out and busied themselves with all the necessary tasks of an overnight rest. Guards were posted, while the rest laid out bedrolls and sat down upon them to eat of their travel bread, dried meat and fruit, and water from their bottles.

Brightly clad villagers came out with wares to hawk: silks, knives, dates, figs, curiosities carved from a fragrant wood. A few soldiers traded coins for goods, but for the most part the villagers went home again as heavy-laden as they'd come. After all, the army would travel homewards once more. Time enough to buy something then, and not have to carry it to Haragost and back.

Gimli fingered a length of silk and then sent the hopeful villager away with a scowl.

'Not to your liking?' Legolas asked.

'Far too bright,' Gimli said. 'Suitable for a lass, perhaps. My tastes do not run quite that fancy.'

Legolas laughed. 'The light, bright colours keep the people here cool,' he said.

Gimli snorted. 'For the life of me, I cannot understand how anyone would settle here in this hot, dry country,' he said. 'It is not a place I would even visit, were I given a choice in the matter.'

'The hobbits were given no choice, either,' Legolas said quietly. He extended his flask to the dwarf, and the other lifted it morosely to his lips, lowering it with raised brows.

'You call this water?' Gimli grunted.

'I call it "wine",' Legolas returned. 'Perhaps it is a novelty to your taste?'

'I know what wine is,' Gimli muttered indignantly. 'What I want to know, is what it's doing in your water bottle?'

'This is not my water bottle,' Legolas returned calmly. 'My water bottle is attached to my saddle pad.'

'I suppose you have some kind of fancy food to go along with it,' Gimli said, eyeing his cram with a jaded eye.

'Only lembas,' Legolas said. 'But you're welcome to share my meal.'

'Lembas,' Gimli sighed, shaking his head, but reached out to take the leaf-wrapped wafer. 'It is not a feast, but I'll help you dispose of it.' Unwrapping the travel-cake, he broke off a piece and munched in silence. The taste took him back in memory to another time, another journey, and he and the Elf did not speak again until the horn sounded for the army to seek its rest.

'Not so bad as I remembered,' Gimli said. 'If you have more lembas than you can manage, I might be able to help you out along the way.'

'Many thanks for your generous offer, old friend,' Legolas said seriously.

Around them was the sound of soldiers settling to their bedrolls, weapons being unsheathed and laid close to hand, and then silence fell, broken only by the occasional crunch of a guard's boot on a stone. Gimli rose after a final sip of the Elf's wine, and Legolas said, 'Sleep well.'

Gimli grunted and stalked away, to rejoin his party of Dwarves.

***

Jessamin, her sister, and the two guards herded the hobbits back to the throne room. Celandine recognised the route; as a Brandybuck who'd gone upon occasion into the Old Forest, she'd developed a sure sense of direction and a memory for a path taken. She remembered the large crowd of Big Folk, their curious eyes, the Man on the throne.

'We need to somehow show them that we are not property,' she said to Alyssium, 'not slaves to be bought and sold, no matter how much gold changes hands, but a free People.'

'But how?' the tween whispered back. 'How do we make them understand when we do not know their words, and they do not know ours?'

'Watch and wait,' Celandine said. 'The opportunity will surely present itself, if not now, then later.' She raised her voice slightly, to gain the attention of all the children. 'I want you to be on your best behaviour,' she said clearly. 'After all, we are guests, of sorts...'

'Listen to the mother hen clucking away at her chicks,' Bessime said with a smile. 'Do you suppose she's telling them to be on their best manners for the king?'

'I'm hungry,' little Poppy said. There had been trays of strange fruit and goat's cheese and flat, chewy bread in the room where they dressed, and the Big Folk had allowed them to eat while being robed and brushed and perfumed and draped with golden bangles and necklaces. The clothes might be cool and comfortable, and bright and colourful, but they were sadly lacking in pockets where one might hide away a snack for later nibbling.

'I'm sorry, love, I don't have anything for you,' Celandine said, shifting the babe in the sling she had fashioned from a length of silk. 'But they have been feeding us regular meals, so there's a good chance for another meal, I'd say.'

They reached the throne room, to see again the crowd of courtiers, thicker than before. The young Man who'd been on the throne when they came now stood beside the dais, talking to another who occupied the royal seat, dark, handsome, powerfully built, much hung about with gold... but his eyes turning to the hobbits were cruel and cold, and the children shrank against Celandine with fearful gasps.

The hobbit mum forced herself to stand straight and speak calmly. 'Now then, children, where are your manners? This Man is evidently their ruler, so brush up your toes.' She made a deep courtesy, followed by her daughters, while little Berilas made a creditable bow.

A titter ran around the room, and the cruel man smiled. 'Your animals have already been taught some manners, I see,' he said to his son. 'Charming creatures. I do believe they are a fine addition to your collection.'

'Thank you, Father,' the prince said eagerly.

The king arose from his throne and walked a compass around the hobbits, eyeing them from all angles, while Celandine kept a wary eye on him.

'A mother and her kits, I presume,' he said jovially.

Jessamin bowed low. 'Yes, Sire,' she said in her most respectful tone. 'It seems the young of this species stay with the mother a long time, even after weaning.'

'Charming,' the king said again, reaching out a gentle finger to stroke Alyssium's cheek, though his smile did not reach his cold, hard eyes. 'Almost like little people... a pity, really, that they are merely animals.'

'Yes, Sire,' Jessamin said, keeping her eyes down.

'Very well, Son, you may keep them,' the king said to his son. 'We shall...'

A disturbance at the entrance to the throne room caused him to break off, eyes narrowing. A guard strode quickly forward, to throw himself down before the king.

'Yes, what is it?' the Lion snapped.

The guard arose cautiously, saying, 'A messenger has arrived from the so-called king of Gondor, Sire.' He extended a paper to his ruler.

The Lion took it, looked at it impatiently, called sharply for the interpreter, who came forward to take the paper with a deep bow.

'To the king of Haragost, greetings,' he read.

'Get to the meat; do not read me all the fancies and flourishes,' the Lion growled.

The interpreter rapidly scanned the page, then said, 'He takes exception to slavery and expanding the borders, and he says we have in our possession subjects belonging to him.'

'Subjects?' the king asked, raising an eyebrow.

'Pheriannath,' the interpreter said. 'I do not know the meaning of the word.'

Jessamin saw Celandine start when "Pheriannath" was mentioned, but the little creature obviously did not follow the rest of the conversation. She wondered where it had heard the word before.

'The so-called king of Gondor wishes to meet with you, to discuss these issues,' the interpreter concluded.

'Is his messenger still here, then, waiting to take back my reply?' the Lion asked mildly.

'Yes, Sire,' the guard said. 'He waits outside, being not of the Law.'

'Bring him in,' the king said in a bored tone. 'I will give him my answer in person.' The guards lining both sides of the throne room stiffened at this, and seeing their reaction, Celandine held little Blossom more tightly. There was trouble afoot; she could smell it in the perfumed air.

A tall Guardsman of Gondor marched into the throne room, escorted by two smiling guards. Jessamin heard several of the little creatures inhale sharply, seeing him, and looking down at her charges, she saw joyful recognition on their faces, rather than the fear she expected.

'He's dressed like Bergil,' Berilas whispered, only to be hushed by his mother. Celandine was scared stiff, like a coney that has seen the shadow of the hawk pass over, she did not know why, but she stood stiff and unmoving, scarcely breathing.

The Lion spoke to the interpreter, who in turn addressed the Guardsman. The hobbits understood the accented words of the interpreter, and the Guardsman's replies, and Jessamin watched her charges with increasing puzzlement as they echoed some of the words in soft whispers.

'We have received the message you bore. We understand you were to wait for a reply?'

The Guardsman bowed slightly in acknowledgement. 'Yes, Sir, that is correct.'

At a nod from the Lion, half a dozen royal guards jumped forward to seize the Guardsman, and though he struggled they quickly had him disarmed and subdued.

'What business is it, of your so-called king, if I choose to take on new land, or new slaves?' the Lion said mildly. 'I'm not bothering him any... and I've never heard the term "Pheriannath" before. What makes him think we have any of his subjects?'

'I come under a flag of truce,' the Guardsman protested.

'You should have laid your weapons aside at the door, then,' the king rebuked gently.

Reluctantly, the Guardsman ducked his head. 'My apologies, Sovereign,' he said.

'Apology accepted,' the king smiled. 'Now for my reply to your so-called king...'

At his nod, the Guardsman was stripped of his surcoat, hauberk, tunic, and undertunic.

'How pale your skin,' the king said through his interpreter. 'Like fine paper, to be writ upon...'

'Don't look, children,' Celandine whispered, and at hearing his own tongue in the breathless silence of the throne room, the Guardsman looked in their direction, but could not see them for their bright silks blended in with the press of courtiers.

The Guardsman was thrown down upon a stone block that stood in the middle of the throne room, his arms firmly held, while a whip was applied to the king's satisfaction.

Celandine forced herself to watch, though she turned the faces of her children away, hiding them in her skirts. At one point, the Guardsman's eyes met hers, widening at seeing a hobbit in that place, but he was by then beyond speech, and soon his eyes closed and he slumped, no longer resisting the guards who held him.

'Enough,' the king said in a bored tone, raising a hand. 'I think we are done writing. Tie him to his horse and send him back home.'

***

Notes from original posting:

Note to Readers:

I am on vacation for a week, and while I have written well ahead in both "Merlin" and "Flames", I might not be able to post daily again until after next weekend (say, the 7th of July). However, if I am able to sneak online at all, I will keep posting chapters... Hey, you all keep reviewing, okay? Wouldn't want you to get out of the habit... Those lovely reviews, they keep the Muse happy, along with her pina coladas, and she keeps throwing ideas at me, so it works out for everyone.

"The Law" as used in this story is not meant to resemble any modern system of belief. In other words, I made it up, after thinking about how a society of proud warriors not recognising the beliefs of Numenor might be ordered.

Thank you for the comments! I am storing them away to look at on Monday, when I will commence writing again.

Sunhawk, very kind words indeed. I am greatly encouraged. I must admit that the cliffhanger continues to hang... if I get a chance to post chapter 19 before Monday, you will see that it gets worse before it gets better... but Legolas and Gimli are on their way, you know, and that's something.

Bookworm, the messenger *did* recognise the hobbits as halflings, he was just too far gone to say so. Lucky for the hobbits, as it turns out...

Hai, glad to hear you can't wait for more. Nothing worse for someone in the middle of trying to resolve a cliffhanger than to look over and see the audience yawning... O, and Elessar is going to be unhappy about a few more things before this is all over. So are a few other people, but who am I to give away plot points?

Aemilia Rose, yes, it makes me growl too, to think of hobbits treated as animals. The Haradrim are a very proud people, considering all who do not share their tongue and culture to be inferior. Hmmmm. Seems as if that sort of thinking is still going on today...

LadyJea, have a soothing cup of tea, dear. The present suspense will continue a few more days, at least, to be replaced by future suspense, of course.

Dana, when are the V! folk going to fix your phone? How can you preview stuff without a phone line? Hurry back soon!

I have added a new chapter to "Flames" as well, in case you are following that story.