The Pretender Chronicles - The Eye will have it

Gondorian Chambers

A series of comfortable though not extravagant chambers, accessible from two different sets of doors leading to the main hallways of the second floor of the tower. There are beds and hearths and tables and chairs and other necessary amenities, and food is provided by the Farside servants. Tower Guardsmen are on duty at the main doors at all times, and a patrol checks on the interior at the passing of every hour.

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Daytime on Mersday, Day 12 of July.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 10:29:43 MDT on Fri Mar 27 2009.

IC year: 3046

It is noon, and Umbar bakes beneath the heat. Dust stifles, the stones underfoot scorch, and any person with any sense has found a place out of the open to await the lengthening of the shadows. One such person, Barjad, has found shelter not in the dockside taverns but within the thick walls of Farside. What errand he has in the place, who can say?

Now his slow, measured tread echoes on the stairway, and then the man himself appears, murmuring something to the guards and then turning his odd-coloured eyes toward the Gondorian chambers laid out before him. Perhaps he is merely here to keep a watchful eye on the foreigners whose presence seems to irk him so.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

The guards at the doorway--for they are ever there--eye Barjad with suspicion. Yet within the chambers seated near the windows is the Master Scout who has come here, fanning himself slowly with a small fan he has managed to procure. He turns, eyeing the Haradhrim. A break in the boredom that fills his eyes.

Barjad eyes the fan and lets out a small sound of amusement - not that he appears any cooler himself. Sweat gathers on his brow, and no doubt beneath the keffiyeh that covers half his face as always. \"Good day,\" he greets the scout simply. \"Busy, are we?\" There is a hint of mockery in the words, which are spoken in a westron that is nasal and undoubtedly accented in some way, but swift and fluent.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"Busy enough,\" Ceredir retorts, snapping the fan shut and setting it down irritably. \"I suppose you\'re another local come to gawk at us? Or do you offer advice or something useful? Fruit baskets? Slave girls?\"

That brings a quirk of an eyebrow from Barjad. \"Neither, alas. I offer nothing to others save my skills, and for those I am afraid you would have little use.\" There is amusement in the nasal tones. \"As for advice - it is a little late for that, do you not think? A wise man would not come here, to his enemy\'s heartland, and expect to escape unscathed.\" Positively garrulous the man seems, now that his language is Westron and not Haradaic.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"Aye...well...\" Shrugging one shoulder, Ceredir now smiles a bit. \"Advice is free, as they say. But think on this, good sir: Perhaps we did not come here expecting to leave unscathed?\" He arches one brow.

\"What sort of services do you provide in these lands?\"

A single blink of those topaz eyes. \"If you came here expecting to kill a King, I imagine you will be sorely disappointed.\" New creases appear at the corners of Barjad\'s eyes, as though the man were smiling. \"The Lord Alphros has many capable guards. Not to mention the Eye\'s protection - he is, after all, its servant.\"

The other question brings only a shrug. \"I work with stone, when such is needed. At other times - this and that. Most often simple labour.\" Answer given, he turns his hand to question. \"And what is it that /you/ do, Man of the Stonelands, when you are not travelling to enemy shores in search of mythical kings?\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"Now why would we want to kill our King, if such he be? And if he is not our King, why would we be so foolish as to try to kill him when he is surrounded by his own guards and people, in the midst of his own lands?\" Ceredir shakes his head, looking amused. \"Truly sir, you underestimate your enemy if you think we are so foolish. But far be it from me to attempt to correct you--it works in our favor, ultimately, if you think so.\"

\"No, we are here for our own purposes in meeting the Farside Lord, and I am under no obligation to divulge those purposes to anyone other than Lord Alphros himself. Which, you will forgive me, I will hold to now.\"

With grey eyes revealing nothing, Ceredir continues: \"I am a soldier.\"

Again that creasing around the eyes that surely hints at a smile. \"Under no obligation to reveal your purpose to one such as I, certainly. But the Eye will have it of you, before the end.\" Barjad lets his speech trail into silence.

A little later, he adds, \"A soldier? A pity. You have no useful skills to trade, then. Any man can fight.\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

Is that a shadow of doubt that crosses Ceredir\'s face? His answering tone does not reveal it.

\"I assure you, the...Eye..certainly will not, stonewright. I am Deputy Quartermaster, as well, if you must know.\"

\"Ah. Deputy Quartermaster.\" On the surface the nasal repetition of the title is perfectly polite. Whether there is a sneer beneath those shrouding folds of the keffiyeh, who can say? \"And here the Eye sees all.\" Barjad pauses, his gaze on Ceredir level and unblinking. \"In your Stonelands, too, if the Lord Alphros, the Eye\'s loyal servant, becomes its king. Tell me, Deputy Quartermaster, how do you feel about that?\"

[Ceredir(#1394)]

Another shrug, lightly given even as the Master Scout turns away from the door and walks across the room to a table whereupon is set a pitcher of water with lemon slices in it. He pours himself a mug and sips quietly, looking finally back to Barjad. \"I bid you come in and share food and drink with us, sir,\" he says, gesturing Barjad into the room. \"The guards will allow it. And then, I would ask: how do you know this for certain, that Lord Alphros is the loyal servant of the Eye? Tell me truly--I am a scholar of such matters.\"

Barjad watches Ceridir\'s movements in silence, and at the Gondorian\'s offer he looks to the guards for confirmation. A few hesitantly murmured words in Haradaic, a shrug and he moves into the room. \"I am no such scholar,\" is his answer. \"I am but a simple man. One cannot know for certain - but I know what I have heard. That the- the-\" For the first time his Westron stutters and stumbles, and there is a heartbeat\'s pause, before he substitutes, \"the High Servant of the Eye has publicly given Alphros her support, and that the two have met within the,\" again he frowns, \"the House of the Eye. And more than that,\" his voice lowers, \"he is a Tower Lord. Men say that one who takes up that mantle is never quite .. the same.\" The room is as stuffy as ever, but suddenly the man shivers.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

The Northerner sets his own mug down and pours another, which he hands toward Barjad. \"Tell me more,\" Ceredir asks, voice lower but with an intensity that wasn\'t there before as he leans in to listen better. \"In what way and...and why? What are the rumors? And...if you must know..if it makes you more at ease, I am pledging myself to Lord Alphros and his cause. Strange as that may seem to you, given who I am. But I will make a sacrifice to prove myself. So...I wish to know these things.\"

A quick glance about as he speaks has told Ceredir that none of his countrymen are in the room.

Barjad accepts the mug with a nod of thanks, and turns it absently between his hands as he listens to Ceredir. There is the faintest of frowns creasing his brow, though who can guess at its reason. \"That is a question best asked of one high in a Tower Lord\'s service. Not of a simple man. I-\" he hesitates, \"I have served in Umbar, but I was not born within its walls.\" Clearly, though, he has heard something, rumour or no. Why else mention it?

[Ceredir(#1394)]

\"Simple man or not, it makes no difference. I too was born a simple man, not a noble. And yet I know many things and can be of service to the Farside Lord. I would like to hear your view on it, to be honest,\" Ceredir says. He reaches for his own mug to sip it and watch the \'simple man.\'

The \'simple man\' lifts a brow at Ceredir\'s words. \"That I cannot give. I have known one Tower Lord, and that after he came to power. Would he have been different, had he not claimed lordship? I do not know.\"

He reaches to his face and tugs away the concealing keffiyeh so that he may lift the glass to his lips. And what lips - cloven and twisted by the ugly scar that slashes across features that might otherwise be plain and unremarkable. One other thing the sharp eye might note - he is pale for one of the Haradrim.

Thirst sated, Barjad begins to speak softly. \"I have heard of one man who cut off his own limb to appease the will of the Eye. Though why the Eye would wish a creature so maimed ...\" He swallows, stares into his own glass. \"Another, they say, drove a knife into his own blood and kin. That which he held most dear.\" Wild tales, perhaps no more than words meant to fright an outsider. Or perhaps not. Barjad\'s gaze lifts, and fixes on Ceredir. \"Would you do that, Man of the Stonelands? Would you?\" His hand lifts to pull the shrouding keffiyeh back over his face.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

Ceredir is not so stone-faced that he can stop himself from growing two shades paler as Barjad speaks. From beneath his green cloak he lifts up his left hand, holding it up so the southron can see the missing ring finger.

He lowers his hand in silence.

Barjad follows the motion with his gaze, the keffiyeh now tucked firmly back into place. Whatever expression his own features take on beneath the cloth will remain forever unknown. \"It appears,\" he says at last, the words slower than before, \"that one sacrifice has already been made. What of the other?\"

Now he turns away, almost as though he did /not/ wish to hear the answer. \"Time is passing,\" he says at last, abruptly. \"I will leave you now, Man of the Stonelands. My thanks, for this.\" The water-cup is set down on a side table, and with no further ado he turns and walks through the doors of the chambers and out of sight.

[Ceredir(#1394)]

Ceredir nods and watches the southron go, but says nothing else. He quickly turns back to the chair he previously occupied.