The Messengers
Two months earlier a small troop of men had left the White Tower of Gondor, Minas Anor, 'Tower of the Sun'. Their mission was to escort two messengers to 'Imladris' bearing a message to Prince Valandil and the Lady Cathirwyn from King Meneldil, inviting them to Anor, for further "training and study" for the young Prince. They were to then escort and guide the Prince's retinue, including what house retainers he felt necessary to bring, back to Minas Anor.
Curious as to the disposition of High King Isildur's body, even more so the One Ring, they were to travel up the great river Wilderland now renamed the 'Anduin', keeping a close watch on the banks for any signs of fallen King's body. Crossing the Misty Mountains at the Redhorn Pass then dropping back down to Rivendell. In the area of the Gladden Fields, their troops had split, half to a side, covering both banks of the river.
They'd come upon and been attacked by a large force of Orcs. The Orcs, after surprising and defeating the force on the west bank, had crossed over at night using hastily built rafts, attacked and defeated the second force. The only survivors were the two messengers. Beaten, starved and driven with whips the two were brought in front of the Orc's Captain, A Black Numenorean, in a chamber deep in the heart of the northern Misty Mountains, hidden even from the Goblins of nearby Mount Gundabad. Goblins being Orcs who had lived below ground for so many generations that they had evolved shorter, squatter, bodies and larger eyes better adapted to the dark. The Orc's chieftain had already won some Goblins to his banner. Trained by Sauron before his fall, in the dark arts, he used his knowledge and tools to set his plans in motion.
The Hidden Hall
Uduthar, one of Sauron's top lieutenants, had escaped from the fall of 'Barad-Dur' during the end of the seven year siege. After hiding in the Black Mountains for a few years, he and a small band of Orcs raided 'Minas Ithil', Tower of the Moon. Built by Isildur near the end of the second age to keep watch on Mordor, only a small force remained, many having returned to their homes in Gondor. Finding a light garrison, they'd scaled the defenses by night and killed everyone they found. Uduthar's goal had been to steal the 'Palantir', one of the Seeing Stones of the Kings of Numenor, that was kept there. Having learned the use of Palantirs from Sauron he planned to steal and use one to find the One Ring, take command of the Goblins of Mount Gundabad and drive the Dwarves out of Khazad-Dum, thereby controlling a large central area of Middle Earth, along with the rich mines of the Dwarves. Then kill off the Heirs of Elendil. With that done, he'd rule the whole of Middle Earth for himself.
Uduthar laughed as the two Gondorian messengers were thrown at his feet. The two men were beaten and starving, he found this amusing. Weak, weak! The weaker the better! Now to overthrow their minds with my black arts! In their weakness I will bind them to my purposes! Though he'd failed to find the One Ring, he felt it was only a matter of time. His plan was coming together! He hadn't planned to move against House Elendil yet, but here was a perfect opportunity. The stolen palantir had shown the Kings orders to the messengers. He knew what they looked like and where they'd be when he wanted them. At the least, it would provide a distraction to Men and Elves.
"W-Why do we yet live?" asked Paulin, soldier of the King, in a near whimper. His fear had grown in him as he'd been abused again and again on the nightmare journey. Upriver from the Gladden Fields to and across the High Pass. From High Pass to the area known as the Ettenmoors, From there turning up a short ways into the mountains. Driven by the lash and drug by his bound hands and finally carried over some foul Orc's shoulder. Uduthar just laughed at him. Langdos, the other messenger answered him instead "Tis for foul sport, I'd wager." he was surprised that they'd not been harshly disciplined, whipped or beaten, for speaking.
Uduthar sprang towards them, sickening insanity showing plainly in his eyes and on his face. Grabbing the two bound men by their hair he pulled them together as he leaned close, foul breath gagging the men, and hissed, spittle flying with a maniacal gleam in his dark eyes. "You sssshall sssserrrve me, I have a plan for you!"
Langdos spit in his face "Never! Spawn of stinking slime!" Uduthar jerked back his arm, hate scrawled across his ugly face then gathered his control once again, lowered his arm and slowly he leered, again leaning close.
"No, no my pretty prey, I will leave no mark, but I allow you the privilege to watch my work." he whispered in his hate. Crossing to a waist high dais, he whipped aside some foul covering from an object which lay upon it. Both men recognized the Palantir for what it was, though neither had seen one before. Uduthar slapped his claw like hands to either side of the Palantir and made great show of calling it to life, throwing back his head, a grinning rictus of effort contorting his sneer, his body somewhat squatting with successful effort. Great fear permeated the chamber and all manner of evil images spun to sight within the Palantir as it blazed to life. A horrid cry filled the chamber from the Palantir itself as the face of the Witch King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgul, spun into sight within the now fiery ball. Short, bright blue discharges, like lightning, struck out unpredictably while staying anchored in the ball. Turning his face towards the guards, head still thrown back,
Uduthar grunted and jerked his head and shoulder towards the Palantir, indicating Paulin with his sneer. Two pounced on him, jerked him half to his feet and drug him to the Palantir, laughing, while averting their faces as he screamed and screamed and screamed.
Cell of the messengers
Paulin landed in a heap against the back wall of the cell, he lay with one shoulder and head, neck stretched, up against the wall. Langdos shuddered, he'd been forced to watch Uduthar's overthrow of Paulin's mind, spirit and body with the Palantir to weaken, then using his sciences. Transfixed by the Palantir, held off the ground by Uduthar's mad will alone, suspended.
At some point, Paulin had stopped screaming to stare open mouthed, eyes glazed in horror. Uduthar had finally released him. Paulin had fallen to the stone floor like an empty wineskin . Langdos last sight of him had been as the Orcs had dragged him, Langdos, from the chamber. Paulin still laying slack while Orcs had poured some vile liquid down his throat. He'd been thrown in this small stone cell, joined by Paulin a few minutes later.
Now Paulin lay where he'd landed, slack and empty of all animation, other than dried tear tracks cutting a trail down his face through the dirt and blood, and saliva leaking from the lower corner of his mouth. He looked dead, or worse, like his very soul had been jerked away. No sound and no movement from him. He just laid there. Langdos hadn't been able to see what had showed itself in the Palantir, with the first screeching that'd come from it he'd recognized the call of the Nazgul from battles with Sauron before his fall. A Black Wraith! He'd thought them banished to some hell with Sauron's fall. Was the Palantir able to call them back? Or make some kind of contact with them?
Surely Uduthar wasn't all that powerful, though Langdos thought him obviously mad. He squeezed his eyes closed and panic threatened to overwhelm him again, he clenched his teeth to keep it at bay a little longer. Trying to stop his sudden shakes. The cry of the Nazgul still echoed in his head. He clenched his jaw tighter. Those cries had chilled him to the marrow of his bones! He'd soiled himself in fear. The Nazgul's voice had called a long time, draining his will to fight back against their, he and Paulin's, tormentors. And from other things he'd heard and the Orc's laughter, it must have been bad! Worse than he or anyone could imagine. Though probably useless, he moved to see if anything could be done to help Paulin. The smell of excrement cut through the damp and moldering smell of the chamber. Langdos was scared to death. He knew he was next.
Uduthar's Mischief
Uduthar ordered the two messengers released on the east side of the mountain range, below the Ettenmoors . Their altered consciousness held mental triggers, that would alter their actions when they delivered their message to Prince Valandil.
They would remember everything up to being captured, and still own enough personal volition to finish the journey to Rivendell. And if successful, memories wouldn't matter. If they weren't then they'd be dead. There was no way to lose! The message from King Meneldil would seem to be one of death. If they killed the Prince then so much the better, if not, then perhaps their actions would foster a war between Valandil and Meneldil. Any distraction should grant him the time to be sure the war he'd begun would be past stopping.
His war had began well. He'd heard rumours of Goblin passages in an inaccessible section of the Northern Misty Mountains. Using his stolen Palantir, he'd located the opening and the blocked entrance to it's chambers. After driving his small army to clear the entrance, he'd entered the hidden passages, and using the Palantir, he'd gained much of secreted treasures. Using these caverns for his base, he'd then sent his combined army against the Stone Giants. They'd lived so long in the Northern Misty's, North of High Pass and south of the Ettenmoors, that no one could remember when they hadn't been there. Keeping mainly to themselves, rumor had it they played some bizarre game with boulders in small valleys. The sound of which had been mistakenly thought to be a thunderstorm. They were a folk tale to most people of Middle Earth, no creditable witnesses having ever been produced. So far the only glitch in his plans had been a party of dwarves crossing into Arnor when the war had started. They'd been almost out of the pass when his army had hit the giants with catapults and arbalests set in secret on the southern side of the pass.
With the giants bombed by rocks, huge bolts and flaming chunks of wood or anything else that would burn, they'd taken losses. They countered with boulders, taking small toll of his forces. Then withdrew into the interior of their demises. Uduthar had sent some of his forces after the dwarves. His captains reported none had survived. The hunt for the giants had continued.
The message delivered
Captain Gandemere, trusted retainer of House Elendil and veteran on the War of the last Alliance, had been called to the entrance of Rivendell. Arriving there he was introduced to two men at arms from Gondor, messengers from King Meneldil. They introduced themselves as Langdos, the tallest and the shorter Paulin. He offered water from a nearby rill. As they drank waiting for Prince Valandil and Master Elrond, he looked them over with a practiced eye.
They wore the soldierly of Gondor, a heavy long sleeved shirt of linen with a sleeveless tunic of wide leather strips. riveted and sown. Both had born bows, knives and swords, which they'd laid aside by request. But it was the hard use of their gear that rankled. Even battle shouldn't have caused that kind of wear on so short and easy a trip. Many gouges, rips and tears, especially on the lower front of their leather breeches, grabbed his attention and made him wary and alert.
"A rough trip? Were you beset by Orcs, wolves, or men?" he asked the taller. Langdos turned his haunted gaze to him "Yes, Orcs." he replied. "They hit our patrol above Loeg Ningloran in strength as has not been seen since the fall of Elendil's heir. Our comrades sacrificed themselves to win our safety. This we greatly rue," sounding flat and expressionless.
Loeg Ningloran, The Gladden Fields again! That's the same area where Isildur and the three oldest boys were killed, mused Gandemere to himself. Stroking his sun bleached thick moustaches, he asked, "and how grows the White Seedling?"
"Well and quickly." answered Langdos. "May the sun shine long on Gondor." Still not the response Gandemere expected from him. Even exhausted, there should be some emotion in his voice. Gandemere studied the many dark stains on their breeches and tunics. He'd seen enough of that to know what it was. Master Elrond had arrived and now spoke with the messengers. Gandemere stood to the side, still pondering (the marks on their lower legs, drag marks?) A warning bell was tolling at the back of his mind as Dournil and Valandil approached the messengers. Valandil slid him a glance with his sea grey eyes, he knew something was amiss!
Gandemere knew that there were a couple elven archers high in the rocks behind them, but, By the One! It had been a long time since he'd been caught with his breeches down! The dried blood stains still bothered him.
"Rise messengers of Gondor, Greetings! What tidings do you bear? I am come to hear you." Prince Valandil spoke to the bowing men before him. Closer study had revealed the men wore the leather boots and breeches common to the soldier of Gondor. The dark stains, rips and gouges showing extremely hard use. Something about the stains, though. The two straightened before him.
The taller of the two spoke. "Prince Valandil we bear a message from Meneldil, King of Gondor". As these words left his mouth, the two men twitched as if a spasm suddenly took them. The shorter's left arm flashed in a quick downward snap, showing a long Gondorian dirk. Even as his knees buckled, he turned the bending of them to a quick lunge towards Valandil, bringing the dagger in to a straight on stabbing posture.
Valandil's long rigorous training took over. Quicker than thought Valandil's left arm, held loosely by his side flashed up to the handle of his eket. Closing on the pommel, thumb forward, as his hand passed, turning the move to a forward draw. The wrist bent down bringing the flat of the short sword against and covering his inner forearm, as his arm reached eye level, extended out and up from the elbow, blocking the oncoming dagger up and away. With a step in and to the right, without changing his grip, he plunged the eket into the man's lower right rib cage. With his right hand, he grabbed the man's tunic to further immobilize him for the strike. The messenger, Paulin, stopped in his tracks as an arrow from the top of the rock wall behind the messengers thunked solidly into the man's seventh vertebrae.
The messenger of the King gasped a torturous breath as he slumped into Valandil's arms. Horrified at result of his actions, though they'd been necessary, Valandil barely managed to retain his grasp on his eket as the body fell at his feet. The other body lay at Captain Gandemere's feet, on it's face, a dagger in it's out stretched hand, an arrow protruding from a similar spot. Gandemere nudged his man with a boot, satisfied, he bent to wipe his hunting knife on the dead man's jerkin, pointedly not stepping in the pool of blood beneath the body's throat, then returned it to it's sheath at his back.
Valandil stood rooted to the spot, as reaction set in. He fought to keep his knees from trembling, holding his bloody sword, staring at his handy work. There was silence for a long moment. Two elven archers swung in to view from the shrubs and trees that had concealed their position on the wall. Elrond's covert hand signal stopped them there, his nod told them the danger was over. They didn't relax but waited where they were at, poised and ready.
Elrond turned back to Valandil, who stood holding his sword slightly away from his body, flat turned so that he could see the blood, face white with after action shock. Elrond, being wise in the craft of men and battle spoke in a soft firm voice "Prince Valandil are you well?" to break the spell.
Valandil turned to him, drew a shaky breath and replied "Yes Master Elrond, I am well. I thank you for your concern, and you?" Valandil asked automatically.
Elrond smiled easily," No threat was offered us," indicating Valindil's mother, who smiled and turned away, ashen faced, a glitter, as if the starting of tears, in her eyes. She lowered her head slightly, settled her skirts with a flip of her hands and withdrew up the path towards her apartments. Now Gandemere stepped forward, his face alight with pride of his pupil, belying the concern in his eyes.
"By the One! Well done my Prince! Your training and reflexes serve you well! He glanced at the blood on Valindil's sword and back to his face. Valandil bent and quickly cleaned it on the dead man's clothes, returning it to it's sheath. He was now blooded. He wasn't sure how he felt about it.