Perilous Journeys. The Shadow over Rhudaur Part III

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Carn-Dum, late evening of November 8, 1347.
Written by Gordis and Angmar
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As the King of Angmar strode regally from the room with Agannalo following behind, his mind closed like the lid on a steel box. "This scoundrel will not have access to my women! I will summon a host of the Silent Ones to guard them. Even though he is utterly debauched, he will not dare challenge my special guard. And should he be that foolish, I will handle him myself!"

When the two had arrived at the king's chambers, the King of Angmar rounded on the lesser nazgul. "What do you want here?" he demanded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes glowing threateningly. "State your business, "nephew"! What is your excuse for coming here? I will not put up with any of your nonsense!"

Agannalo was genuinely distressed and his voice shook from suppressed emotion when he replied. “So here is your welcome, my Captain? I hoped against all odds that you might be pleased to see me again after all those years… For, good or bad, I am still your closest kinsman left in Middle Earth… But no… I must have been mistaken to come here. Nobody likes Agannalo – I have long known that. But, my Lord, it is not my fault that I am the way I am! Yes, I need human blood – what of it? You can’t change it anymore than you can make Khamul enjoy swimming in the Anduin!”

“I have told you many times, Agannalo, discipline your mind. You won’t die without blood – and you know it full well,” the King replied, softening somewhat.

“You don’t want me here – then I shall go…” the other continued dejectedly. “You grudge a mortal female for a kinsman and an old companion – well, I understand… Agannalo shall return to his wanderings… I shall pick up my old horse at Shedun and go as far as the old nag bears me. When it dies, I shall walk – away from here. I have nothing to lose, you see, as I have already lost everything I possessed. And I have nearly lost my life there in Greenwood when trying to get here. It was a close call, you know…”

The King frowned. Agannalo’s pleading was slowly getting on his nerves, but the last piece of information and the mention of Greenwood sent cold shivers along his spine. He raised his hand. “Stop this whining, 'nephew.' Sit down and pour yourself some wine from this flagon. It will soothe your nerves and clear your murky brain. Now tell me what has happened to you in Greenwood.”

Agannalo stole a glance at the Captain. It seemed that his Lord’s anger had abated – he only looked preoccupied. Agannalo had a very good guess why. Glad of the Captain’s invitation, Agannalo walked towards the table and let his tired body sink into the ample cushions of a big armchair. He poured two goblets of wine, noticing that it was not some weak brew of mortals, but the old wine of the Nazgul, green with cold vapors rising from the surface. He downed his goblet and almost purred in satisfaction feeling the liquid fire spread through his body. “Ah, I really needed it!” he smiled.

The King sat facing him, eyes glinting and his back ramrod straight, as if he was sitting on a throne in his Hall and not in a soft armchair. He picked up his goblet but made not a single sip. “Speak up!” he urged.

“Well… I don’t know where to begin…” Agannalo started uncertainly. “I don’t think you are now much interested in my life in the South. I will tell you the story sometime later, when you are in the mood to enjoy a funny tale. Anyway, thirty years ago my peaceful and pleasant life ended in a major catastrophe. I decided to go North, first visiting Khamul, than Gothmog, then coming up to your new dwelling in Angmar.

“Was it Khamul who told you that I was to be found here?” asked the King.

“Khamul?” Agannalo exclaimed bitterly. “Nay, the blasted scoundrel never deigned to give me an audience. Al-Khamul, the Sublime Lord of Khand, the Pillar of Firmament, the Defender of the People et cetera et cetera was always so busy with matters of State (or, more likely, with his harem) that he had no time to spare for vagabonds like me. He kindly sent me a new horse (a good one, I must grant him that) and a small coffer of gifts and kicked my butt out of his realm. Nay, it was Gothmog who told me where to find you – mostly because he didn’t wish to put me up himself.”

“I see…” the King commented, unsurprised. ”At least you should be grateful that Khamul has not seized the opportunity to wring your neck once you came unprotected into his realm. Time must have made ol’ Khamul soft – or forgetful.”

“I have always been a good comrade to him” countered Agannalo. “I tried to better him, civilize him, enlighten him - but he wouldn’t listen. Coarse barbarian!”

The King chuckled. This discussion reminded him of good old times. To say that Agannalo had been unpopular among his comrades was an understatement. Khamul, in particular, hated his very guts – because Agannalo never bothered to hide his deep conviction that only Numenoreans were worthy to be called Men, while all the others, Khandians included, were hardly better than animals.

“Now, enough of this nonsense!” prompted the King. “What road did you take to get here? Were you traveling along the east bank of the Anduin?”

“I have wandered a bit here and there, searching for the others… Rhun… Rhovanion… Then I went West skirting the Southern edges of Greenwood – do you know that people turned to calling it “Mirkwood” now?”

At the nod from the King, Agannalo continued “There is a good reason for it. The forest seems weird. And what horrible tales are told in the villages nearby! Spiders… wargs… orcs…and some darker creatures with no name. Of course, being what I am, I had hardly listened, secure in my power. And I was wrong! I, Agannalo, have been overconfident – and paid for it!”

He paused for emphasis. The King shifted impatiently: the pompous brat Agannalo could never tell a tale without embellishments and lots of dramatic effects! But the King wisely chose not to interrupt his underling to avoid more diversions.

“Well, my Lord,” Agannalo continued, “as I said, I rode skirting the southern edge of the forest following a well trodden path – almost a road. It went in and out of the trees and the Sun was on my left. Then the path turned deeper into the forest. I thought nothing about it at first, but deeper and deeper into the forest it went, until the overlapping branches hid the sun. The path became less and less perceptible until I had to pick my way among the trees as best as I could. After a while I realized I had no idea anymore where the West was. I had gotten lost – the first time in my life - can you but imagine that?”

The King snorted sarcastically. “As far as I remember, you did get lost quite a few times,” he commented.

Agannalo choked on his wine in indignation. “But this last time in Harad I was all but stoned by hashish! And that other time in Rhun, it was Khamul who lost the path: blind as a bat in daylight he was, but still he insisted on leading the way!”

The King waved these explanations aside. “Oh, leave that alone and go back to your tale, “nephew”! I have not got all the night to listen to you.”

Agannalo felt frustrated, wondering what other duties were so pressing as to leave little time for the talk with an old companion. He continued somewhat morosely. “Soon I decided to turn back, but the trees that I have just passed seemed to form a solid wall behind my back – the way that I had just taken became shut! I thought of those Huorns, you know, and grew very uneasy. We have little power at best over the walking trees. So on I rode or often walked leading my horse, led deeper and deeper into the forest. The ground was steadily rising. The path became better – as if in response to my going in the desired direction. My Gray even managed a canter, when suddenly something struck me across the chest and I fell down. My horse bolted. At the same moment a rain of boulders fell from above on my unprotected head. I had ridden into an ambush!

“Were I an ordinary man, I would have been killed on the spot. As it was, I was stunned for some time, before realizing that I had hit a wire stretched across the path and had upset another rope - thus upturning a platform piled with stones that was cunningly placed between the branches above me. By the time I understood what had hit me, my assailants were upon me. Trolls! Bigger and uglier that I have ever seen, and walking in daylight!”

Agannalo looked at the King – his face was grim, but he didn’t seem to doubt Agannalo’s words this time.

“Some trolls were armed with heavy clubs and the others were bearing torches. I had a nasty feeling they knew exactly what sort of being they were hunting. I rolled away to avoid the leading Troll’s swing and commanded my Ring to turn me invisible. They seemed not in the least surprised when I had disappeared into thin air. Shouting to each other, they formed a circle around the place where they thought I was and started battering the ground with their clubs. Before they closed on me, I picked the place where the trolls were most widely spaced and ran one through its stomach with my sword. It roared in pain but didn’t fall. Desperate, I whipped out the Elven dagger I had with me at this time and plunged it into the brute’s crotch. The troll screamed and fell, and I screamed with it - from pain in my hand caused by the enchanted weapon. My scream had little effect on them, though. I decided it was time to run – and run I did, as swiftly as I were able.

“For some time I heard their heavy feet behind me, but after a while I turned sharply left and managed to dupe them. They thundered past. Still invisible, I stopped to get my bearings – and felt IT.” Aganallo shivered and gulped down another goblet.

“Describe it!” the King prompted sternly.

Agannalo shook his head. “It was just a feeling… of something … somebody… that was trying to reach me, to draw me to It. It called to me, maybe wordlessly, maybe singing softly and seductively, promising me riches, power, rivers of blood, if only I heeded Its call, came to It. I felt Its hunger and Its longing…”

Agannalo’s troubled blue eyes looked directly into the King’s silver ones. “It wanted my Ring, Captain”.

The King’s eyes blazed, suddenly turning bright red. For some time they sat in silence. Then Agannalo nodded in reply to an unspoken question.

“Aye, It felt familiar,” he said brokenly. "Very familiar – but much weaker. Oh, Captain, what shall we do?”

"You ask me what we are going to do?" The King sighed. "We are going to do nothing, for there is nothing that we can do."

Agannalo stared at the King in surprise. "My lord," Agannalo's voice was tense, "you mean that you think that the Dark Master has taken up His abode in the forest of Greenwood?"

"Let us not deceive ourselves, Agannalo. There is only one who can exert the kind of power which you felt in Greenwood, and we know who He is. That you escaped your misadventure virtually unscathed proves that He is there somewhere, but too weak to have total power over you now. He desired your Ring to aid Him in regaining His control! You must never go back there! To do so would be the height of folly!"

"But can we be sure?" Agannalo shuddered slightly, his throat contracting in a gulp. "Perhaps you are mistaken?" He certainly hoped that the King was wrong, but he had the feeling that he was not.

"Who else can it be? You say that you saw trolls walking in daylight, far bigger and uglier than any you had ever seen before. Such things as that are unknown. You know they could not bring themselves into being. And the ambush. Who could be the mastermind behind that? There is only one, and we know His name."

While the king had spoken, Agannalo's expression had grown more worried. His hand shook as he bolted down the rest of his drink and then took the liberty of pouring himself yet another drink from the flagon. He waited for the brew to take effect and felt a comforting glow spread through his body as the liquid coursed through his veins. He would be safe here. He had made the right decision to come here. Besides, who else would have him?

"Perhaps you are right, my Captain, and you can be sure I have no plans to go back there." He settled back in his chair, now able to relax somewhat as he sipped his wine. Then the disquieting thought hit him and he felt the tension and worry coming back: since He was able to detect me in Greenwood, how do I know that He cannot find me here?"

"You are certain that you were successful in eluding the trolls? None followed you?" The King looked at him sharply. Agannalo was certain that he had read his mind.

"Aye, my Lord. They ran right past me. You know they are stupid brutes, all power and brawn and possessing nothing of intellect."

"True enough, 'nephew,' but just to make certain they did not, I will double the scouts on the marches. Should He have the slightest suspicions of who we are, He could destroy everything that I have worked to build here." The King's eyes glowed red like flaming brands and seemed to bore into Agannalo's soul. "And then the blame can be laid squarely at your door!"

Agannalo hung his head, and when he looked up, his eyes were filled with remorse and shame. "Then, my Captain, since I have brought such calamity upon you, I will leave now." He pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. "No one wants Agannalo and perhaps they are right in feeling that way! But, Captain," his voice choked, "I never meant to bring trouble to you!"

"But it seems wherever you go, you bring it with you or else create it!" The King added quickly before Agannalo could offer another excuse, "Now sit down and stop your accursed whining! I will tell you what you will do now! You will not leave the walls of this fortress for any reason until I feel it is safe for you to do so."

"My Lord, you mean I can stay?" Agannalo asked eagerly, his eyes lighting up like those of a small child who has been told that he may go to the village fair.

"Aye, I will allow you to stay," the King grumbled, "but only under my terms. You will learn to control yourself and not give into your bloodlust. Your lack of self-discipline has brought you to much woe over the years. You will learn to curb those tendencies of impulse and hot temper. And above everything else, while you are here, you will keep out of trouble and obey my orders implicitly! Do you understand?"

"Aye, Captain, aye!" he exclaimed. "I understand perfectly." Agannalo had guessed what had been the dark force which had called him in the Greenwood, and now the King had verified his fears. That knowledge had terrified him, but perhaps he could be safe here.

"Now, 'nephew,' another thing. I should not have to mention this, but I will. You are to stay away from my women. One indiscretion on your part, and I will drive you into the cold!"

"Aye, my Lord. Your women are safe from me. I will be as impassive as eunuch."

"Impassive?" the King chuckled dryly. "We both know that there has been more than one ‘impassive’ eunuch who has been beheaded for cuckolding his lord."

***

As Agannalo finally made his way out of the King’s rooms, the question that had bothered him during the long interview was unexpectedly answered. For there, in the antechamber, a gorgeous woman clad only in a magnificent ermine coat over a diaphanous pinkish nightdress was impatiently pacing, glaring at the doors to the King’s study. Alassar was following her like a faithful dog and trying to reason with her to have patience. “No wonder the Captain was so eager to end our meeting and be off to bed,” Agannalo thought with a stab of envy.

“Lady, Gelireth, have a little patience, I beg you,” the Steward pleaded, “It won’t do to interrupt the King while he is in conference with his newfound kinsman. Really, you should return to your chambers, lest you catch cold – it is so chilly in here! I am sure the King will join you when he is done …”

Heedless of the advice, the dainty little lady stubbornly tossed her head and abruptly turned away from the chagrined Steward, sending her ermine mantle flying in her wake. She almost collided with Agannalo, who had to abandon his initial intention to slip quietly by. She stopped looking on him with evident curiosity while he pressed his right hand to his breast and bowed to the Lady. Doing so, he couldn’t fail to observe how her thin nightdress enticingly revealed the soft curves of her young body: firm breasts, tiny waist and full hips. He lowered his long lashes, trying to conceal the hungry gleam in his eyes.

Surprisingly for Agannalo, the lady didn’t make the slightest attempt to wrap herself up in her heavy furs. Instead she held her ground scrutinizing him in her turn. It was no good to stare at one of the Captain’s women – unsafe to put it mildly - so, cursing inwardly, he lowered his gaze even further down. Unfortunately, this brought in focus the lady’s delicate feet shod in silver slippers - the small bare feet that were already turning blue from cold – the dainty feet that nearly cried to be warmed. Agannalo felt a new surge of lust and muttered under his breath an ancient Adunaic obscenity, which the lady mistook for a shy greeting.

“Welcome to Carn Dum, Lord Silmadan,” she chimed in her clear silver voice. “Or should I call you Prince?” she laughed softly – Agannalo’s head was still bowed. “I am Lady Gelireth. I hope your journey went well?”

“Yes, my Lady,” Agannalo replied shakily. “It was rather …uneventful. Thank you for your kindness. However, I must ask your leave to retire now, as I am tired after the long journey.”

“You have my leave,” the little lady conceded generously. “But I hope I will see you on the morrow so you could regale me with tales of your adventures…”

Wordlessly Agannalo bowed again and quietly turned to leave – only to be stopped by the Steward.

“Here is your dagger, Lord Silmadan. I have retrieved it from the Guardhouse. Please forgive the guards their mistake,” Alassar said somewhat nervously, gingerly offering Agannalo the Morgul knife swathed in several layers of cloth. The nazgul noticed that the Steward also wrapped his hand in his long trailing sleeve to pick up the weapon. It was clear that Alassar knew or at least had a very good guess about the weapon’s dangers.

With a nod to the Steward, Agannalo took the blade and stalked away from the antechamber, feeling Gelireth’s eyes on his back. Impatient to leave before the King saw him talking with his mistress, Agannalo was almost running, but due to his acute hearing he couldn’t help but overhear the rest of the conversation between Alassar and the lady.

“What a charming young man,” Gelireth drawled. “Don’t you think, Alassar, that, for one so handsome, he is most endearingly shy?”

“Yes, my Lady,” the Steward replied, “The King described him as a scholar totally devoted to his spiritual studies. It seems he shuns women and has made a vow to remain chaste.”

“How very unusual… I hope I will get the opportunity to get to know him better…”

“Blast the stupid woman!” Groaning, Agannalo made his way to the sumptuous guestroom reserved for him. A quiet, obedient servant showed him around: there were heavy drapes on the windows, dark oaken furniture and many stuffed heads of deer, elks, and bears nailed to the walls. It felt homely – Agannalo only wished it were human heads displayed there instead, as was the custom in Far Harad.

Dismissing the servant, Agannalo pulled out of his pocket the small box with hashish he had obtained from Hyarion by not-so-honest means. There he found about a dozen small greenish balls of the viscous substance – a single one capable to send a man on the paths of unearthly dreams for a whole night. Agannalo swallowed all of them at once and stretched contentedly on the bed awaiting the oh-so-rare peace and rest.