The Fortress of the Roc: A Tale of the Third Age

[Attalus]

This is a story I am working on. See if anyone likes it.

It was an early winter day, and Reignil Milhaude was in his usual place, above the eastern gate of his small fortress to watch the rising of the sun. He always did that, arising before he would, to be there, though his joints and muscles protested. He ignored them, as he did all weaknesses of the body. It was his duty to be on the walls as light came, it was as simple as that.
However, he had been there, long before the accustomed time, called by the guard who had seen a ragged group of travelers approaching on foot. He watched them closely, not because he judged them any threat to his command, but because any change from the routine of patrol, parade, and meals that marked the time in this dismal place, he felt to be a good thing.
As he watched, a clenched fist against the world as always, only one warm thing touched him. The shoulder of the former slave girl, Noemi, was against his right thigh, distracting him slightly. As surprising as this would be to the rest of the garrison, he did not count this a bad thing.
He had acquired her not long before. A traveling mountebank, who called himself Iricus, had begged accommodations of him, and she had carried his traps. Not long after bed call, her screams had awakened him, and he had found Iricus whipping her, bound to the metal bed frame. Angrily, he had told the man to cease, but his expression had only grown crafty.
"Your Lordship desires her?" he had leered. "Perhaps a quick game of dice. The girl, against the sword of your Lordship." This blade hung at Reignil's side always. It was known as Adjatha the Drinker by the troops, though never by its lord. Plain was its hilt and housing, though anyone could tell that the guard was pure mithril.
The lord Reignil's escort had exchanged excited glances, then. The hedge-wizard did not know, but he was opposing himself to one of the most potent legends of Dol Amroth: the Luck of the Milhaudes. It was whispered that never had one of that House lost a wager, so they did it rarely, deeming it no sport. However, the Lord broke the long tradition of his House by agreeing. "Yea, little mage," he said, with more seriousness than one would have thought the situation warranted, "I will wager with you. Toss the dice, though I much doubt my sword will be acknowledging a new master."
Dice were produced and swiftly rattled. The mage threw first, and his face grew contorted, trying to influence their fall. Only a seven resulted, though. Milhaude negligently grabbed the bone cubes and flipped them. A ten! His soldiers murmured appreciatively.
"So!" the tall man focused on his opponent. "Untie the girl. You have no further claim on her. I will send her to my Healer, and it is my command that you have no further converse with her. You leave tomorrow, and will not be welcome here, again." He watched stonily as the magician untied the girl, a slender redhead whose many stripes were overlain with others, in various stages of healing. She stood when finally freed, hastily covered herself in the rags that lay beside her, then spat full in the face of her former master. He drew back to strike her again, but stopped suddenly as the point of the sword Adjatha appeared at his throat. "You cannot with any truth say that you did not deserve that, Master Iricus," Milhaude said coldly. A small bead of blood appeared at the mountebank's Adams' apple. He turned pale, then quickly gathered his baggage and left the room and then the fortress.
After the little man had gone, Milhaude sheathed his sword and turned to the girl, who was regarding him steadily. "So, lass, you are free," he said with the ghost of a smile on his lips. "What is your name?"
"Noemi, my lord," she answered in a husky tone. "Thank you. I have suffered much under that one." She studied his cold face. "What … what is to be my fate, now, lord?"
The smile seemed even closer. "Your fate? That is not my concern. The Prince Imrahil has sent me here to command these men, I know not why. Your fate is in your own hands, now, for I will have no slaves. Petro," he turned to one of his men. "Get this girl to Master Nablos. Tell him to dress her wounds. I am going back to bed." Precisely, as on a parade-ground, he turned and stalked off.
Noemi turned to the man called Petro. "Are we to go, now? Can I not ask you something, first?"
Petro, a pleasant-looking man with curly black hair, smiled in response. "Surely. In your place, I would have many. What would you like to know?"
"Well, to start off, what is this place? We, my old master and I, had been wandering in the wilderness, that he called Eregion, and never told me why. Then, suddenly , we strike a road, and up pops this fortress. I think my Master was surprised, for he muttered to himself and observed long before he came up and spoke to the guard."
"This place is called the Fortress of the Roc," Petro said, and was one of the outliers of the old town of Tharbond. We really do not know why we were sent here, and we only arrived about a year ago. My lord is the commander of our company, one of the Swan-Knights of Dol Amroth, and we used to be stationed on the coast of Belfalas. I know not why we should have to come here to the North, but orders are orders. We have made the old fortress comfortable, and are ever vigilant by my lord's orders."
"And who is your Lord?" the girl asked intently. "I would know his name, for I want to thank him suitably."
Petro smiled again at that. "He is Lord Reignil, of the House of Milhaude. His line goes back to Numenor, I hear, for he does not talk about it. 'My forbears are dead,' I have heard him say, 'it is for me to earn my name, not the other way around.'" They went on to the Healer's rooms. Noemi remained silent, deep in thought, not speaking except to thank the man for his aid.
The next morning, when Reignal arose, the guard heard him and went inside his door. "My Lord?" the soldier asked nervously, as his commander washed his hands and face in his basin, "The girl, Noemi, is outside, and wishes a word with her rescuer, as she says. Will you see her?" As Reignal appeared to ponder this, Noemi rushed through the door and knelt before him, grasping his hand to kiss it. The tall commander made no move to remove his hand, but instead looked gravely down at her.
"Noemi, is it?" he asked kindly. "What may I do for you? Men of old would say that having freed you, I am responsible for you. Is there somewhere you would like to go? When the weather grows warmer, I will send a messenger to my Prince, and you can go with him to Gondor, and thence anywhere."
The girl looked up from his hand, which she continued to grasp. "My Lord Reignal," she cried, "I do not wish to go to Gondor. I have no family, my mother dead, my stepfather selling me to that man you were good enough to rescue me from. Keep me here, with you, I beg of you."
"But, I told you, I will have no slaves," Reignal said with a twitch of his lips. "What would you do, here?"
"Serve you, my lord," she answered fiercely. "Slave or free. You are the first man who has ever been kind to me. I owe you my freedom and my life, for I am sure that my old master would have killed me, when he tired of tormenting me."
The guard, who had expected his stern commander to reproach the girl, was amazed to hear him say, "Very well, but you must know that you can leave at any time. Now, I must go to the gate. The sun will soon be up."
Noemi stood, then, and he could see that she had clad herself in a soldier's tunic and hose. "Very good, my lord." She bowed. "You will not be sorry. May I go with you to the Gate? Again, the soldier was surprised to see the craggy face incline in permission. "Yes, Noemi.," Reignal replied. "Come along."

II

Noemi quickly found that caring for Reignal was simple. He was austere in his personal habits, and his bedroom, off of the garrison commander's office, held his narrow camp-bed, with only an single green blanket on it, a chest, and a stand in one corner to hold an ewer and a wide bowl for washing. A towel hung from a bar attached to the edge. One small mirror hung above the ewer, and his combs and brushes were held in a closely-fitted night stand. She changed the bed linens daily, though nobody told her to, and waited on the knight at table for nuncheon and the day meal. No services of a more personal nature were ever requested, at first to her intense relief, and later to her vexation.
Reignal was kind to her, rarely giving her a direct order, and he arranged that suitable clothing be found for her from the other women of the garrison. She settled on a short leather jerkin, black, with hose and boots to match. One day, he rather shyly asked her to come over to his desk, and presented her with an ornately worked black leather belt, with a knife sheath attached. The knife, when she drew it, was engraved with writhing serpent shapes, and its edge was keen. She looked wonderingly at it, for she had not had a weapon since that grim day that she had been sold into bondage. "My lord," she said stammering, "is this not too lovely a thing for you to be giving it to your servant?"
The grave eyes, more blue than gray, she thought, rested on her. "Noemi," he said, "this is not an ornament. These are dangerous days, and you might need such a weapon. Look after it, for you might never have such another. The dwarves made it, and their way with metal is unsurpassed, now." His long, graceful hand gestured at his own belt knife, not twin but brethren to the sword Adjatha. "Besides, you might need it to cut my meat, so stringy the cattle grow."
She was indeed grateful, often taking out the knife and oiling it, making sure the blade stayed bright and keen. Gratitude, though, was a poor name for the feelings that she began to develop for her rescuer. She studied him, pumping the men of his Company for information about his past. She learned that he had never married, stories of an unquenchable love for a noblewoman of Gondor or Ithilien being offered as reasons. He had fought long in the wars that simmered around the borders of Mordor, and had led a successful raid on Umbar, cutting out a corsair ship and bringing it to Dol Amroth in triumph. It was this exploit that had won him command. The scar on his face he had earned rescuing one of his men from a hill-troll, the sword Adjatha penetrating the tough hide and finding the troll's foul vitals. The black blood had gushed out, and gave the blade its nickname.
The scar, she thought, as she served him his meat that night, did not detract from his appearance. Across the aquiline nose it went, and down onto the right cheek. His beard, iron-gray like his hair and kept cropped short, concealed the rest. It had not puckered, so it must have been shallow, she thought. Indeed, she had worse on her back. Suddenly, she turned as crimson as her hair. She had wondered if Reignal would find her scarred back distasteful.
It must have been evident, for the commander raised his eyes from his plate. "Why, Noemi," he said wonderingly, "what has upset you? Has anyone said something to embarrass you?" His eyes wandered about, accusingly.
Her flush deepened. "No, no, my lord," she replied falteringly. "No one here but has been kind to me. I … I just remembered something." She rushed back into the kitchen until she felt in control of herself. What was happening to her?

Several weeks later, Noemi was awakened by voices in her lord's room, which was near hers, so she dressed hurriedly and bolted that way. Reignal was hurriedly donning his armor, and she helped as best she could. His grave look vanished when he realized her presence, and the half-smile she was accustomed to came back to his face. "Good day to you, Noemi," he said cordially. "It seems that we have visitors, so I thought it wise to call out the guard. Only nine of them, I hear, and they are coming in the open, so they cannot be much of a threat. Still, good practice for the men, don't you think?" He glanced at the guard that had roused him, a swarthy fellow named Colm.
"Y-y-yes, Lord," she replied, adjusting Adjatha as he buckled the sword around his waist. "Will there be a fight, do you think?"
"You never know," the commander answered sardonically, "but if we cannot repel nine invaders, we probably would better be employed elsewhere. Come, let us see this invading army!"

III
The sun was not yet over the horizon when they reached the gate. While Reignal stood at the parapet, studying the figures on the road, Noemi sat on a stone bench close to him. Her shoulder just touched his thigh, giving them both comfort, unbeknownst to each other. As the sun rose, the figures grew closer, then seemed to stop. The soldiers, their commander's eye upon them, waited impassively.

"I tell you, Boromir," Aragon said vehemently, "that fortress was in ruins when last I passed this way. I remember distinctly, for I spent the night in the shelter of yon wall. But, now there is a gate in place, and I think that I see figures on the wall!"
Legolas the Elf shaded his far-seeing eyes. "Aye, Aragorn. The wall is indeed manned, and they are armed and armored. I cannot tell the race of the inhabitants, though, for their helmets are close-fitting, and bear nasions."
"Orcs for sure!" exclaimed Boromir. "Why have they fortified this place? Mayhap, against your kinsmen in Moria, Master Dwarf?"
"Hmmph," exclaimed Gimli, "if they seek to keep us from Moria, they had best come down from their little fortress, for I see nothing barring us from just going around. Though, this is the only good road, and 'twill cost us several days rougher travel. Not that any travel will seem rough to compare with the path over Carhadras. What say you, Gandalf?"
Gandalf the Grey was also looking deeply at the little outpost. "I see nothing about it that reminds me of Orcs, or any evil thing," he said deliberately. "The building is back in repair and the gate made good. I also remember this place, Aragorn, my friend. It was made by the inhabitants of Tharbond to the south, and abandoned when that city was allowed to become derelict. But, we cannot know for sure, and I will not allow the Ring-Bearer to pass so close to a place in doubt."
The hobbits hearts all sank. Pippin in particuar had allowed thoughts of sleeping in a real bed under a real roof again to overcome his doubts. "Yet, we have not been attacked," he blurted.
"True enough," Boromir agreed grudgingly. "But, look, a flag goes up on yon tower! Can you read its device, Legolas?" As he spoke, a clear trumpet sounded. "Wait, I know the notes of that call, it is the Salute to the Sunrise, as they sound it in Dol Amroth!"
Legolas spoke. "Indeed, the device on the flag is a ship, swan-prowed. Is that not the sigil of Dol Amroth? I have heard it sung of as the sign of Amroth."
The company all relaxed a bit. Gandalf continued to frown. "But, what are Swan-Knights doing so far from their home? Surely, there is a tale behind this. I guess we should at least speak with those within. If they prove trusty, doubtless they will have information that will be of use to us."
Hopefully, the little group moved forward again on the high road, again. As they neared the gate the sentry called out, "Halt! Who goes there? This is the Fortress of the Roc, and we hold it on the orders of our Lord, Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth. Identify yourselves." Reignal leaned forward, intent to hear the reply.
Boromir stepped forward. "I am Boromir of Gondor, son of your lord's overlord. Glad I am to see this place and hear your voices, for my companions and I have had an evil time. Will you not open your gates to us?"
The sentry turned to Reignal, who nodded silently, then descended to meet his visitors.
The gate opened, and the Fellowship trooped across the bridge that crossed the ditch around the walls. Boromir noted approvingly the spikes and pits dug into the stony ground, to deter Orcs from putting up ladders, a favorite tactic. As they entered, a tall, slender man bearing on his breast the Swan greeted him, raising his right hand in salute. "Hail, Boromir! I am Reignal, commandant of this place. I remember you well, for I fought beside you at the intake of Osgiliath, though doubtless you do not recall me."
Boromir embraced him, rather to the surprise of the garrison. "Not recall, indeed!" he roared. "When you spitted that Orc that was trying to drop a rock on me? Ever I shall remember it. Gandalf! Aragorn! This is Reignal Milhaude, my old comrade."
Aragorn smiled and inclined his head, waiting until Boromir released him before offering his hand, then said, "I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, of the Dunedain of the North. Milhaude? Then you are akin to Oberon Milhaude? I knew him, commanding at Lebennon. Well-met! You provide us shelter unlooked for. But, what is a Swan-Knight doing here?"
Reignal lifted one corner of his mouth. "I have heard of you, milord, and that Oberon is my father. Welcome to the Fortress of the Roc. As for our presence, that shall be told of later. But what of the rest of your party? Is that not Gandalf the Grey that I see? Milord, you honor us. I have seen you in Minas Tirith, though I never was honored with your acquaintance. A Dwarf and an Elf in company? And four lads? Strange are the times! But, come in, come in. Rude is the host that questions his guests at the doorway."
Finally speaking, Gandalf replied, as they went within the walls. "I have heard your name, always in praise, Reignal, though, as you say, we have not met. These are not lads, though, but Hobbits. Their tale shall be told later, as you say, for I like not the number of crows around your stronghold." Last of all, Sam led Bill the pony within, and went with a soldier who led him to the stables.

The Fellowship was housed in a series of rooms along the north wall. Pippin flopped upon the bed of the room he shared with Merry, and exhaled in relief, gazing fondly at the small grate where a fire had been kindled. "A bed, Merry! And a fire. I can't remember the last time I was warm. D'you think that they have an inn, here?"
Merry smiled as he laid his rucksack carefully on the bedside table. "An inn, no. The place is too small. But ale, surely. Where there are folk of any sort, there is beer and wine. Unless this tall Man doesn't hold with it, for he seems totally in charge, here. But, somehow, though he is stern, he did not strike me as that sort."
Frodo and Sam shared a room, also. "Well, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "lucky 'tis that we found this place. I was running low on some of my spices, and any chance to rest out of the sight of those evil birds is welcome."
"The birds are still around, Sam," Frodo replied somberly. "I hear them cawing, now. Still, you are right, it is good to have stout stone walls around us, and even your cooking would be better for a change. Poor Reignal! If he feeds the lot of us to contentment, his stocks will run low. Even Pippin alone would make a serious dent."
IV

Noemi had watched the entire scene with fascination, forgotten on the parapet. She was enthralled with the chance to hear new voices, and perhaps her lord would be happy, for once. After the guard was dismissed and the visitors shown to their rooms, she ran to the kitchen, for she had heard Reignal order a feast for that night, and knew that the cooks would be overwhelmed. She found the blowsy chief cook, Patha, in the midst of giving a flurry of orders to her assistants. A bullock was to be slaughtered, breads and vegetables prepared, though the winter had been telling on their freshness. Her face brightened when she saw Noemi.
"Come here, dearie," she cried. After taking the girl aside, she added, ""D'you know of that pool by the river that I showed you once? The mushrooms grow late, there, and if you go now, you might get enough to brighten our meal." She set out at once, thinking that, if anyone praised them, she might modestly inject into the conversation that she had gathered them. Talking to such great men would be something to remember the rest of her life. She skipped out the gate and trotted down the path that led to the river.
She had not gotten far, however, when an evilly familiar figure stepped out from behind a tree. "Iricus," she hissed between clenched teeth as she whipped out her knife. "What do you want? I am no slave of yours, any more. I serve Lord Reignal."
The wizard began to make hand passes, as to cast a spell, but the knife was too quick, and blood flew from his right hand. He snarled, then, but recovered, smiling humorlessly. "Never mind, my pet. I forgive your injury. I merely want a favor from you."
"What favor do you think I would do you?" she asked mockingly. "I have you to thank for the scars on my back."
The wizard smirked. "And what does your Lord Reignal think of those? When he caresses you, does he feel them and think of me? Never mind, I have something else to offer. My silence. Would you still hold your place if your high and mighty Reignal knew where I found you?" A cloud went across her tense face. He cackled. "I see you think not. Trull in your stepfather's tavern, you were. If you hadn't quarreled with his latest doxy, you would be there, still. But your loving Lord need not know. Just leave the door to the postern open tonight at midnight. If you do but that, you will never see or hear of me again." She fled to the river, then, and as she gathered the prized mushrooms his mocking laughter burned in her ears.
After she had delivered the mushrooms to the grateful cook, she ran to her room and wept into her pillow. It was so unfair! To be asked to betray the trust of the only man who had ever show her kindness and was mercifully unaware of her unsavory past. If he found out, he would reject her in scorn, as every other man had, she thought, being here less than fair to Reignal, who had seen much and forgiven much in his life. It seemed a little thing, leaving a door open, for all of her future, for what could a small man like Iricus do to this stout fortress? But, she though with a sickening turn of her mind, was it small? What if Iricus was planning on letting enemies, even Orcs, into the fortress? Her Lord and all of his men might be slaughtered, and she would be enslaved by Iricus again. She stopped weeping. Things had slid into place within her breast as surely as the great gate clanged shut every night. She got up and went to Reignal's door and knocked firmly upon it.
The commandant listened to her story with growing anger on his face. When she had haltingly finished, he snarled, between gritted teeth. "So. He would sneak into the fortress tonight, of all nights, would he? On this one night when we are entertaining our great and good visitors? What does he want? To steal? To plant false and malicious lies? To do murder? Any and all of these things I deem him capable of." Seeing Noemi's distress, he softened his expression. "And, what evil did he threaten you with, Noemi? Poison? A spell? Or would he reveal a secret about you? The last, I think, for you are most upset. Tell me, I beg you. I promise that I shall not hold it against you. For you have been most loyal and courageous, I judge, and those are the qualities I hold highest."
As the girl stammered out her shame at the role that she had played at the filthy tavern, his eyes rested steadily upon her, without expression. Then, at the end, she sank to her knees and rested her tear-streaked face on his knee. "Please, Lord, tell me what you think. Do not send me from your side."
To her surprise, he gently touched her face with the back of his long, sensitive fingers, wiping away a single tear. She looked up at his face, and was rewarded by a smile, at last. "My dear, and you feared to tell me that? What did you think I thought you? You came to me as a slave, not a high-blooded lady. And, for all of that, there are few of those that I would trade for you, with your beauty and courage. Rise, now, you are higher far in my regard than when you came through that door. Go and dress, for we hold high feast, tonight. Oh, you almost made me forget"
He stood and went to the chest in his bedroom, knell and opened it. He rummaged for a while, to Noemi's growing curiosity, then pulled out a tissue-wrapped bundle. Coming back, he opened the bundle before the excited girl, displaying a silken surcoat, light blue and embroidered with the Swan-Prowed Ship, but also with a curious device of a horse with a fish's tail. "That. " he told her quietly, "is the badge of the House Milhaude. I wore this when I was my father's herald, and was much younger, so it should fit you. Wear this tonight, and spite Iricus. His doom approaches on quick wings."

[ 03-10-2003, 05:45 PM: Message edited by: Attalus ]

[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

Hmm, intresting Att post some more plz [img]tongue.gif[/img] nice work btw

[Attalus]

Glad you like it, it went over well on my other forum. Here is the rest:

V

When Noemi, fair face aglow, had left to try on her new finery, Reignal slumped in his chair to think. His initial reaction, to conceal this plot from his guests and handle it on his own, he rejected. Too much might be at stake, and there was too much that he did not understand. He felt it his duty to tell his overlord's son that he had been threatened, at least in possibility. Further, his inner being revolted in some way from concealing this from the wizard. All would benefit from counsel, he decided. He stepped to the door and told the guard to summon the lords Boromir and Aragorn to him, and also to ask Gandalf the Grey to come to him, if they would. The man departed hastily.
Quickly, the three gathered in the small room. Gandalf looked at him under his bushy eyebrows. "Well, Master Milhaude, why do you call for us? The messenger spoke of urgency. This concerns me, as our errand is grave, and my heart is uneasy."
Reignal grimly replied, "My lords, I fear treason is afoot. An attempt has been made to blackmail my servant." He quickly outlined the morning's events.
"He wanted to get in?" Boromir cried. "At midnight? Surely, for no good purpose. What shall we do, Gandalf? Ambush him and kill him?"
"Nay," demurred Aragorn, "surely, let us set a snare and capture him. We need to know why he wanted to get in."
"I feel Aragorn is right, Boromir," Gandalf said without much thought. "What threat does he pose, and what does he know? Whom does he represent? These questions need answering."
Reignal followed the conversation closely. "I agree that I want him, rather than just his corpse, if it may be done," he finally said. "Much harm he plotted to do to me and mine, I feel. My lords, I have a feast planned, in honor of your coming. Shall I cancel it?"
"Nay," answered Gandalf, "let the daymeal be as merry as we can make it. Surely, he will suspect something of the sort and expect our guard to be lowered. But, at midnight, let us be at the postern gate. And let out eyes be keen"

The feast, held around sunset, was indeed a happy one, giving guests and garrison a respite from the wariness of travel on the one and daily routine on the other. Huge joints of beef, done to a turn on the kitchen's spit and rubbed with Reignal's hoarded spices, were laid on every table, even the humblest. Huge dishes of potatoes, done in their jackets and stuffed with cheese and bacon were laid beside them, and the mushrooms that Noemi had gathered, sautéed in butter and onions, went to each. The wines and ales of the cellar were served forth, but sparingly, to Pippin's evident disappointment. He kept eying his empty jack hopefully, but the stewards had their orders. Reignal wanted undimmed eyes that evening. A pudding, popping with fat and raisins served with a hard sauce concluded the meal. Then, as midnight neared, several slipped out and gathered at the postern gate. With them went Noemi, trembling with anticipation.

VI

At precisely midnight, as near as could be judged, Noemi unbarred the postern door, stepped out onto the seemingly empty bridge, looked around, and went back in, closing but not barring the door. Iricus, hidden behind a little rise of ground in the yellow, dead grasses, saw her and cackled a bit to himself. A prime bit, he thought, relishing his memories of her. Perhaps he would get her back as part of his reward. He stealthily crept up to the gate and, pressing softly upon the door, was gratified to see it swing open, silently, without the creak he half-expected. he slipped through the opening.
To his dismay the door slammed shut behind him, pushed by a waiting soldier who had hidden behind the door as he had seen it swinging open. At once, he was surrounded by dark figures with gleaming weapons in their hands, all aimed at his heart. "Stand where you are, fool, or you will be killed," a booming voice cried. Iricus started to sweat. He knew that voice. A torch was at once kindled.
There, surrounding him, were Reignal, some of his soldiers, and a few of the group he had seen enter the fortress earlier that day. He swung about, going from face to face, but nothing of mercy could he see. A tall, grey-bearded man carrying a staff came to the fore.
"So," said Gandalf sternly, "we have caught our little spy. Look at me, man, if Man you are."
"There seems to me to be more than a little of the Orc in him," murmured a splendidly armored man, who was Boromir, at the wizard's side.
Iricus looked at Gandalf's face, and was caught in his eyes. With mounting terror, he found that, once caught, he could not look away. "Who are you, and whom do you serve?" he was asked, and he could not tell if the voice was Gandalf's or no, for it felt like it came from within his head. He squirmed, trying to evade the eyes and the Voice, but to no avail.
He was bundled downstairs to a cell below the main block of the fortress. Gandalf sat down and began patiently questioning the little man, while the others looked on. After a while, being caught in many lies, he finally decided to give the truth:
"I serve Saruman the White," he answered slowly, watching his interrogator closely. "My name is Balmoth, but I took the name Iricus. My master sent me out with others to spy on the land, looking for travelers that might be traveling to the south. Look for halflings, I was told, and if I could get one, to bring him, unspoiled back to Orthanc. My reward would be great."
"What about the girl?" another asked. "What part did she have in your schemes?"
This other voice broke the spell, somewhat, though he could still not look away. "Her?" he said in a more normal voice, " I bought her in a tavern in Dunharrow. Her stepda' was beating her and said that he would sell her to the next man who offered him a gold piece. I needed someone to carry my bags, so I bought her. Very useful but stubborn. Beat her oft, Master Reignald, and the better she will..." his speech was cut off as a mailed fist struck him on the mouth. Blood, spittle, and a piece of a tooth flew.
Boromir restrained the angry Reignal. "Now, now, my friend. Do not interrupt. Gandalf is not through with him, I deem," he said soothingly.
Gandalf gave the angry commandant an irritated look. "If you cannot control yourself, Master Reignal," he said with asperity, "take yourself elsewhere. I am sure that you have heard enough for your duties." Reignal went out, still fuming, but obedient. Noemi met him in the hall.
"What is he saying, lord?" she asked anxiously. "Is he saying aught of ... me?" Her face was paler than usual, and her blue eyes glistened.
"Yea," Reignal answered, "but of naught but what you have told me. I gave him a buffet for his loose mouth, though Master Gandalf did not like it much. Do not worry. I deem that meeting a real wizard will prove that the sod has stepped one step too far. Gandalf will wring him like an old rag. Come, let us see to our other guests." They went back to the main hall.
The Hobbits, as well as Legolas and Gimli were still there, awaiting anxiously word of the mysterious activities. "We have caught a spy," the commandant announced. "he has proved to be from Saruman, the wizard who dwells in Orthanc. He is being interrogated by your friends. Do not worry. No report from him will reach Wizard's Vale from here, I will give you my word."
A shadow came across Legolas' fair face. "I hope that you are more successful in keeping this spy close than we were in keeping the creature known as Gollum. If you will take my advice, Commandant, keep him locked away. Saruman seems to have many spies, and there are other evil things about."
Gimli fingered his axe. "I hope that he would try to flee when we are still here. I would show him what the Dwarves feel about spies and sneaks."
Reignal's lips crooked a bit. "Well, Master Dwarf, as long as you and your companions are here, I will not worry about any attempt on the fortress, from without or within. But, I see that your glasses are empty. Brugond," he turned to the steward, "have as many more rounds of ale and wine served to these guests as they desire before they retire." Pippin's face lit up.
"Be careful, Commandant," Aragorn laughed as he came in. "You do not know your peril. These may seem smaller than you, but with trencher and bottle they can make their way through your entire store of provender." After the laughter had died down, he added, more soberly, "I have been out all around your keep, just now. I detected tracks. Some were doubtless from our captive, but there were other, strange marks. Not many, but strange. Be alert, for there may be other occurrences this night." he drained a mug of ale and went out , again.
Reignal went back to his office and Noemi followed. She helped him put his good clothes away, and change into his usual garb. As he settled his cloak about him in preparation for a sleepless night upon the battlements, she suddenly spoke. "My ...my lord, may I ask you a question?"
Again his lips unbent for one of his rare smiles. "Surely," he answered. "Ask me anything, any time. But, I do not promise to answer."
Emboldened, she went on, "My lord, you said this morning that you thought me ...pretty. Do you really?"
The smile deepened. "Indeed, I do. Most days, your face is the fairest thing I see, stuck in this mountainous land far from the Sea. You are like a flower growing by mistake in one of the crannies of this old place. Why do you ask?"
"Because...because," she stammered, "I want you to know that I have been happy, the happiest that I have ever been, as your servant, and do not ever want to leave. Will you have me as your concubine? I ..I will do my best to please you."
To her amazement, he stepped over to where she was standing and embraced her. "No, Noemi," he said softly, "I would not dishonor either of us by accepting you into that state. Say rather, that you will be my wife. I would never have us part, either."
"Your wife?" Her mind raced, unable to assimilate this. "But ... but what would your family say? Your people? That this lord of Dol Amroth has taken a wife of the Rohirrim, a former slave?"
He kissed her tenderly. "Among my people, we take to wife whom we will. I am well over age to marry, and make my choice. As for you being a slave, that is but an accident. I do not care. Besides, no one has to know, unless you tell them. My men I can speak for."
So, in the event, neither of them wanted much sleep that night. The only further incident was just before dawn, when one of the sentries shouted. "Eyes. I can see eyes in the bushes, there, toward the river." Reignal caught just a glimpse before a splash was heard and the eyes disappeared. He rushed to the spot with Aragorn, who confirmed the footprints were the same he had found around the keep. Gandalf joined them, finished with interrogating the spy. "Ah," he said looking at the tracks. "I have seen tracks like that before, and so have you, Aragorn my friend."
"Indeed I have," the Ranger rejoined. "Gollum?"
"Yes," said the wizard. "Hmm. I have heard all that the creature that calls himself Iricus has to say. The Gap of Rohan is filled with spies. We shall have to go through Moria, as we planned."
"Moria?" Reignal started. "I have had much trouble with Orcs between here and there since I got here. My patrols reach almost there, but not quite. Can I send men to accompany you?"
"No," Gandalf replied, "we do not want to attract attention unduly. Let us sleep this day and set out under cover of night."
VII

As they trooped back to the fortress, Aragorn turned to Reignal. “By the way, my friend,” he asked, “you never got to tell us what a company of Swan Knights are doing in this forsaken place, so far from the sea.”
Reignal grimaced. “It seemed a fool’s quest to me, but now, I am not so sure. My lord Imrahil had a dream, last year, several times. In it, he was taken to a cliff overlooking the Black Land. The Tower of him that we do not name glowered clearly, and Orodruin reeked. It seemed to him that a map was lain before him, clearer than any map he had ever seen. A voice spoke; “Middle-Earth stands at the brink,” it said. “You will have many chances to help in this war, but you can do something to thwart the evil of yonder place, now. See ye this river?”
The Loudwater blazed up, and my lord said, ‘Aye.’
‘Send ye,’ the Voice went on, ‘one of your trusty men to this fortress by the Loudwater. There, he will be able to do aught to thwart the evil that is growing.’”
“So,” Reignal finished, “my lord sent for me and asked if I would undertake the errand. I liked it not, but agreed, for who was I to forestall my Prince? And now, as best I can understand, I have aided your Fellowship’s cause, both in sheltering you and in foiling this spy. As soon as you are well on your way, I shall send a letter to the Prince, telling of these things and asking him to hold me released. For, the war comes, I deem, and I would be at his side.” Reignal then smiled involuntarily, remembering Noemi’s declaration of the past evening. He had echoed her words!
Aragorn noticed the sudden smile on the normally stern soldier’s face, and returned it with a flash of teeth. “Why, some though seems to have caused you happiness. Was it the prospect of leaving this fortress?”
Reignal’s grin went lopsided. “In part, my friend. I have found something here that is totally unlike what I thought would be. There are many evil chances in war, I know well. But, there are good ones as well.” They passed back into the fortress, and the Fellowship rested.
That night, after the sun had gone down, the gate opened and the little group departed, bound for Moria. Noemi and Reignal saw them off, and watched from the parapet until they were lost to sight. Greatly darting, the girl leaned against the commandant, and was rewarded with an arm around her slim shoulders. “What will happen, now, my lord?” she whispered.
“Nay, I know not,” Reignal replied. “I am no prophet, but a plain soldier. I know not their errand, nor would know it, for what I do not know, I cannot tell. But this I know: I love you, and will wed you when this is all settled and we can be merry again. This place is blessed for me, now.”
“And me,” she said back, huddling into his cloak.

THE END

[Calaethis Dragonsbane]

Heh, great story Att [img]smile.gif[/img] a nice read.

[Attalus]

Glad you liked it. It was fun to write.