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In the High King's Secret Service  by Fiondil

29: Prisoner

In the darkness there was no way to tell how much time had passed. Valandur wished they had at least left him with his waterskins, but the guards had stripped him of everything save his clothes, piling everything beside the door. Now he was feeling thirsty and hungry and he wondered how long he would wait before he began pounding on the door to demand that they at least give him a chamber pot if they meant to keep him imprisoned for very much longer.

The storeroom itself was not large and mostly consisted of shelves filled with the necessities of any kitchen. He sat on a pile of burlap bags that he found in one corner filled with what he suspected was rice and spent the time contemplating what could have happened for Fëanáro to accuse him of treason and where was Intarion in all this? That was, oddly enough, his main concern. He had little concern for himself, he realized. He had done nothing treasonable, as far as he knew, and suspected the Noldorin prince was simply throwing his weight around, causing trouble simply because Intarion and he were Vanyar. Yet, Fëanáro’s hatred for his atar’s wife’s people was apparently not absolute, for he had struck up an unlikely friendship with Ingoldo over the past weeks.

That troubled Valandur greatly, but he did not know why. He did not like Ingoldo personally. The ellon was brash and argumentative and full of himself, as far as Valandur was concerned. He knew that he was probably being unfair, but he could not help it. He even felt a little sorry for Intarion having to put up with such an atar as Ingoldo. Tinwetariel, oddly enough, seemed more likeable in spite of her air of self-importance. Yet, he could not deny that she had been able to work with Findis well enough to bring the trade negotiations forward where Ingoldo had been stalling for no particular reason that any of them could see.

The thought of Findis brought Valandur’s ruminations about Fëanáro and Ingoldo to a halt and he called up happier memories of their time together, both in Tirion and here in the Fiefdoms, especially the days they had spent alone in the tree-cave. He wished they were both there still.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a key turning in the lock and he had enough presence of mind to close his eyes against what would, for him, be blinding light. Even so, he flinched and held his arm in front of his face when the door opened.

“Come out,” he heard someone command and, squinting so as to allow his eyes to adapt to the light, he rose from where he was sitting and made his way to the door where he found a couple of guards waiting for him. One of them spoke. “His Highness has instructed us to escort you to the privy if you are in need of its use and then we will be leaving for Tirion.”

“Do I get to bathe first?” Valandur asked. “I’m filthy with ash and would appreciate being allowed to change into clean clothes.”

“His Highness said nothing about that,” the guard said gruffly, looking a little embarrassed. “Now, do you wish to use the privy or not? It’s a long walk back to Tirion.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow at the implication of the ellon’s words. “At least give me a few minutes to wash my hands and face as well. What about food or drink? You took my waterskins and from the rumblings of my stomach I have to guess it’s been hours since last I ate.”

“I’ll have some bread and cheese waiting for you,” the guard said, “but you’ll have to eat it quickly for his Highness means to leave before the next hour.”

They escorted him to the privy and then back into the kitchen where a bowl of cold water was waiting for him for washing in. It was unsatisfactory but he politely thanked the guard when the ellon handed him a rough towel. Once finished with that he was handed a half loaf of slightly stale bread and a hunk of cheese, as well as a waterskin, being warned to drink sparingly.

“For it’s all you’ll be getting until we reach the city,” he was told.

He finished the scanty meal quickly while the guards looked on. They allowed him a long drink afterwards and then they were hustling him out of doors into the street fronting the tavern with one of the guards bringing his haversack, which was thrown into a waiting wagon. Valandur found himself surrounded by more guards. Fëanáro was already mounted, glaring impatiently about. Beside him was Intarion and Valandur felt himself grow cold with shock when he realized the ellon’s hands were bound before him and tied to the headstall. Then he saw how disheveled the ellon look, sporting a darkening bruise on his cheek.

“Intarion! What…?”

“Silence!” Fëanáro shouted. “You will not speak unless spoken to. Bind him.”

Before he realized what was happening, one of the guards threw a rope around him, pinning his arms to his sides as he tightened the knot and all the while Intarion refused to look at him. Fëanáro gave the order to march and Valandur found himself being dragged along, only just able to keep his feet. As they made their way through the village Valandur notice that they had an audience, for the villagers were lined up along the street watching them, their expressions sullen and when he happened to catch someone’s gaze, they looked hastily away, almost as if in shame. He saw Morion and Varnion standing together before the tavernkeeper’s house and their expressions were ones of anger and hatred as Fëanáro rode by.

The return to Tirion was done in silence. Valandur found it difficult to keep up the pace set by Fëanáro as he attempted to maintain his balance. Once or twice, one of the guards actually had to keep him from falling. Stops along the route were infrequent and mostly to rest the horses for a few minutes before moving on. Valandur was constantly surrounded by guards and when he quietly requested some water, he had to allow them to hold the waterskin for him, for they would not untie him. It was humiliating and he felt himself growing angry at his treatment. Intarion, he saw, fared little better, but at least his hands were untied so he could drink on his own before being bound again. Fëanáro simply watched with a sneer.

At last, the spires of Tirion came into view, though they were still some miles away and within an hour or so, they reached the gates. The gate guards did not hinder them and Valandur kept his gaze downward, refusing to look at anyone. He heard muffled gasps from people as they continued up the street toward the palace but did not look up to see. Only when they came to the plaza fronting the palace did he bother to look up. Intarion was being helped down from his horse and the bonds were removed from his hands. He still refused to look at Valandur.

Fëanáro remained on his horse, giving instructions. “Take them to the north wing and lock them in their rooms. They are under house arrest for the time being.” Then he turned away to issue other orders to the rest of the men, dismissing them before dismounting and striding into the palace.

“Do you think you could untie me?” Valandur requested of the guards as politely as he could as they headed across the plaza. “Give me some dignity, at least.”

“Wait until the prince is gone,” the ellon said softly, nodding to where Fëanáro was climbing the steps to the front portico, where he was greeted by a few people who were probably members of his household, for Valandur did not recognize them.

Valandur nodded and suffered himself to be led into the palace. He could see that Intarion was several feet in front, walking between two guards. When they entered the palace itself, there was no sign of Fëanáro and the guard slipped the rope off Valandur who began rubbing his arms to get some circulation back as they continued on to the north wing. No one spoke and Valandur refused to acknowledge any of the people whom they met along the way. Once in the north wing, Valandur was amused to find that he had to direct the guards to his room, for none of them knew which was his.

“I share a suite with two others,” Valandur told them after giving them directions. “It’s this one here. Do you mean to lock them in as well?”

“We will have to have them removed,” one ellon said.

“Or put me in an empty suite,” Valandur suggested. “There’s one on the next floor. At least allow me to gather my possessions and if someone could be sent to retrieve my haversack, I would appreciate it.”

“We can do that,” the head guardsman said, opening the door and motioning Valandur in. “Gather your things as quickly as you may,” he ordered.

“If one of you could help me, I would appreciate it,” Valandur said humbly. “I’m just filthy enough that I do not wish to touch any of my clothes.”

The guards actually grinned at that and one of them said he would help him, thus in a short amount of time they were making their way upstairs and Valandur showed them where there was an empty suite, smaller than the one he shared with Sorondur and Aldamir, for there were only two bedrooms off a sitting room with an adjoining bathing room and privy. And like all the suites on this floor, there was a small balcony overlooking one of the gardens.

To Valandur’s relief, they met none of the other Vanyar who had returned to Tirion with Finwë and he was grateful that he did not have to face Ingoldo just yet. Of Intarion he saw no sign. He had to assume, given the time of day, that everyone else was either still at the negotiating table or, if their business were concluded, amusing themselves elsewhere. They did encounter the head housekeeper for the north wing, however, who was asked to accompany them to unlock the suite, which she did. Valandur refused to look at her. His things were dumped in the middle of the sitting room floor and as the guards left, they promised to have his haversack brought to him. As soon as the door closed, there was the sound of a key turning.

For a long moment, Valandur just stood there wondering what would happen next. Then, giving a sigh, he began divesting himself of his clothes and went in search of a much needed bath.

****

After bathing and throwing a robe around him he came out to the sitting room and discovered that someone in the meantime had brought his haversack along with a plate of food and his filthy clothes had been removed. He spent a few minutes checking the contents of the haversack and was relieved to see that nothing was missing, including his portable writing desk and the map of the Fiefdoms. Putting his few possessions away, he then tackled the food. It was simple fare — barley soup, a few rolls and some cheese, as well as an apple, along with a flagon of wine — but Valandur was too hungry to care; his last meal had been most unsatisfying and too long ago.

Finishing his meal, he rose from the table and settled himself in a comfortable chair, sipping his wine, wondering what was happening elsewhere. He still wished he knew why Fëanáro had treated him and Intarion as he had. That he would so treat a nephew of the High King in such a manner angered him. His own treatment had been galling, but he recognized that in Fëanáro’s eyes he was of no account, but Intarion was of noble, if not royal, blood and he should have been treated better. The bruise on Intarion’s face, the state of his clothes… Valandur had to wonder if Fëanáro or his guards had been responsible for that.

And what would be their fate? He had no doubt that Fëanáro was even now spinning a tale to Finwë that would put himself in the best of lights and damn Valandur, if not Intarion, in the eyes of the Noldóran. That would no doubt suit Finwë well enough, especially where Findis was concerned.

 “Valandur! Where are you?”

He started as he recognized Findis’ voice, sounding muffled, not as if she were just on the other side of the door, but further away.

“Findis?” he called out as he stood.

“Here.”

His eyes widened as he realized the voice had come from outside and, making his way to the balcony, he found his beloved standing below the balcony of another suite that was two doors away.

“Findis!”

She turned and ran back to stand below him, giving him a bright smile. “There you are.”

“Findis, what on Arda are you doing here?”

“I tried to get in to see you, but they wouldn’t let me into the north wing,” she answered, pouting and looking very much put out. “Atar is being rather difficult.”

“What has happened?” Valandur pleaded. “I know nothing of what is going on. I do not even know why Fëanáro had me or Intarion arrested.”

The elleth’s eyes widened. “Fëanáro claims you and Intarion conspired against the Crown.”

“Which Crown?”

“Which one do you think?” she demanded with a huff of disgust at his obtuseness. “The only crown my brother cares for is the one Atar wears.”

“Well, in what way have Intarion and I conspired against the Noldóran? Your atar did put us in charge of succoring the Fiefdoms, as you recall. Why would either of us conspire against him? We’re not interested in his crown. Now I can see Intarion conspiring against Ingwë, being a Vanya and all, but…”

“Oh, stop your prattling!” Findis demanded, glaring up at him. “Honestly, ellyn! Here, I’m coming up. I’m getting a crick in my neck talking to you.”

“Findis, what…?!”

He watched in shock as the elleth hitched up her skirts, revealing quite a lot of leg (and lovely legs they were, Valandur thought irreverently), and to his utter amazement, she began climbing up.

“Are you insane!” he nearly shouted. “What if someone sees you?”

“Help me up,” was all she said, stretching out her left arm and, stifling a curse, he reached down and grabbed her hand. After a bit of scrabbling, she was up and over the balustrade, pushing her hair out of her eyes and grinning at him in triumph.

“You realize that if anyone catches you here, I’m the one who will suffer for it?” he said, glancing about nervously but the garden below was empty.

“Then, let us retire to the sitting room where none will see us, and if anyone comes to the door, I will hide,” was her reply and with that, she took his arm and pulled him back inside, giving him an amused look as she took in his state of undress.

He found himself blushing and clutched his robe tightly around him. “Let me put some clothes on,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “Help yourself to some wine.”

Her soft laughter followed him into the bedroom.

Once dressed, he returned to the sitting room where Findis was half reclining on the settee, giving him the once over while he poured himself some more wine. “I think I like you better in just the robe.”

“Please, Findis,” Valandur pleaded, blushing as he sat in a nearby chair. She smirked at him behind the rim of her goblet. “Tell me what is happening.”

She sat up, her demeanor more serious. “According to Fëanáro, he arrived in Orvamas in the midst of a riot.”

Valandur raised an eyebrow. “What riot? All was calm when I left.”

“Well, apparently, after you left, someone started a rumor that Intarion was giving out bread and such free, but when people were told they had to pay for the food, they… well, they rioted.”

“And that’s when Fëanáro showed up,” Valandur said, nodding.

“Yes and he and his men had to quell the riot. Apparently he got it in his head that Intarion, and therefore you, were pocketing the money for yourselves. You were, as he put it, ‘profiting from the misfortune of others’. Oh, and he blames you for leading Intarion astray.”

Valandur felt his jaw dropping in disbelief. “Are you serious? That’s absurd!”

Findis shrugged. “I am only telling you what Fëanáro told Atar.”

“And no doubt Finwë believed every word from his precious son’s mouth,” Valandur snarled in disgust.

Findis frowned. “Atar isn’t that stupid, Val. Leastwise, I don’t think he is. At any rate, he’s ordered an enquiry, as he put it. It’s scheduled for tomorrow sometime.”

“This whole thing is ridiculous!” Valandur exclaimed, rising. “Intarion and I had everything well in hand. We asked around for the prices of various food items and then we set a price that was at least half what such things normally cost. No one was profiting from anything. All moneys were to go back to the Crown. And don’t forget, the vast majority of the refugees were Vanyar.”

“Well, I am only telling you what little I know,” Findis said. “I came to warn you because I had the distinct feeling that no one was going to tell you about it until the very last minute so you would have no time to prepare a defense.”

“Defense? What defense? I’ve done nothing wrong,” Valandur protested.

“It doesn’t matter, my love,” Findis said, rising and wrapping her arms around him. “You will have to explain yourself to Atar and he will be sitting in judgment. Be sure that my brother will have all his arguments ready. I saw the glee in his eyes at the thought of humiliating you further. He does not love me, but he hates you even more.”

Valandur shook his head in disbelief. “I do not know why. We spoke but once and he summarily dismissed me, refusing even to acknowledge my being a fellow loremaster. As young as he is, his reputation was known even in Vanyamar and I had looked forward to speaking to him, loremaster to loremaster.”

“I know,” Findis said softly, reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I must go.”

“Wait! Let me check the balcony first.” So saying, Valandur stepped outside, taking his wine goblet with him, pretending nonchalance as he gazed out onto the inner gardens and walkways that connected the wings of the palace with one another. A couple of pages hurried along one path and he now noticed a gardener pruning a bush and three guards strolling along. They noticed him and he raised his goblet in salute before returning to the sitting room.

“Too many people about now,” he said. “You’re not going to be able to climb down without being seen.”

“Well, I’ll just have to wait. Perhaps someone will come to reclaim these dishes. You could, perhaps, lure them into the bathing room to complain about a stopped up drain or something while I sneak out.”

Valandur couldn’t help smiling at that. “There is bound to be a guard to make sure I don’t do something foolish.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Me? Why me? You’re the one who climbed the balcony.”

“Because you’re the ellon and it’s your duty to think of something.” Findis gave him an arch look.

Before Valandur could offer a retort, there was the sound of voices coming from down the hall, growing more distinct as they drew closer.

“… know, Luhtana. I will only be a minute or two.”

“That’s Ammë!” Findis whispered in shock. “What is she doing here?”

There was the sound of a key turning in the lock and before Valandur could urge Findis to hide, the door opened and Indis was standing there with the head housekeeper looking on, her eyes wide. Indis took in the situation in a single glance, her expression giving nothing away, then she turned to the housekeeper. “Thank you, Luhtana. If you could make sure no one disturbs us, I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“As my lady wishes,” the elleth said, giving the queen a curtsey.

Indis stepped inside and closed the door. For a long moment, no one spoke. Valandur forced himself not to shuffle his feet like some errant elfling caught in a mischief, but even so, he found he could not meet the queen’s eyes.

“Ammë…” Findis started to say, but Indis raised a hand and her daughter fell silent.

“You are either very foolish or very brave, my daughter,” she finally said. “You are fortunate that I and not your atar figured out where you ran off to as soon as Fëanáro convinced Finwë to grant a trial. How did you get in, anyway? Luhtana has the only key and strict instructions not to let anyone in except designated servants.”

“She climbed the balcony,” Valandur said, looking up with a grin.

Indis raised an eyebrow. “I see. Well, come along, dear. We had best get you out of here before your atar learns of it.” She started to open the door.

“My lady, do you know how Intarion fares?” Valandur asked hurriedly.

Indis turned back to speak to him, giving him a kind look. “He fares well enough. I spoke to him before coming here.”

“He was all bruised,” Valandur said. “I do not know how.”

“Nor do I for he would not speak of it to me. Now, as my daughter has no doubt explained to you, my lord husband has called for an enquiry. Make no mistake, though. You will be on trial.”

“And was I to be told beforehand that I might seek counsel and prepare my defense?” Valandur demanded.

Indis actually snorted, giving him a sneer. “Don’t be absurd, child. Of course not.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure you do. Now, we’ve lingered overlong and must leave.”

“Wait! I beg you. Give me but a moment,” Valandur pleaded and when the queen nodded, he ran into his bedroom, returning a moment later with his writing desk, opening it and withdrawing several sheets of foolscap, handing them to Findis. “Take these. These are all my notes about what we found and what we did while in the Fiefdoms after the Noldóran left. I suspect that I will be given no opportunity to retrieve anything to bring with me when they come to get me for this so-called enquiry. This is all the proof I have that neither Intarion nor I did anything treasonous. Keep these safe and bring them with you. I assume you will be allowed to attend.”

“Oh, have no fear of that, Loremaster,” Indis said categorically. “We’ll both be there. Intarion, after all, is my nephew. Ingwë is not going to be pleased when he learns of any of this.”

“Has any word been sent to him concerning the fires?” Valandur asked.

“No, not yet. Finwë was waiting to hear from all his agents as to the full extent of the damage that the fires caused before sending a report to my brother and to Olwë.”

“Well, these papers constitute my report,” Valandur said. “I am only grateful that Fëanáro never thought to check for them. I fear that if he had found these, he would have destroyed them.”

“We will see that they are kept safe until you call for them,” Indis said. “Now, we really must go. Findis, give your young ellon a kiss and let us be off.”

Findis demurely kissed him on the cheek, giving him a shy smile, which he returned, and then mother and daughter were gone, the door locked after them, leaving Valandur alone once again.





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