PELARGIR: Foul Fishing
A tale freshly told of the Gondorian
A rotting corpse is found in the merchant quays - is it that of the traitor Ceredir?
Pelargir: The Havens - Merchant Quays
Chaos surrounds you--myriad forms of men and beast crowd and swirl, here for a moment and then vanished, leaving behind them smells that range from pungent spices to acrid pitch and turpentine. This, then, is the merchants quarter of Pelargirs docks on the wine-dark Anduin.
Daylight shines down upon the river flowing swiftly westward and upon the round-hulled vessels of commerce that even now glide to and from port, bearing cargoes varied and sundry. To the north stand the mighty black-rock walls that gird Pelargir to the south flows Anduin, and to the east stretch more docks and the main causeway that leads both into Pelargir proper and across the Great River to the further bank.
---
Yet another day dawns in Pelargir, the sun\'s striking rays finding the sails of Harad docked in the quay, the majority of the furled sales a creamy white or antiqued yellow, but some of the sails are black, the largest ships casting an unsettling shadow across the waters, and ominous silhouette from the dock. Yet, as if a surreal dream continues in the waking hours, the Southron crews rise, and begin their regular daily chores of washing, scraping, waxing, folding, coiling...and a fife plays merrily to lighten the load.
A soldier in Gondorian colors wanders along the quay a rare sight so early in the morning. Yet this Scout has been spending more and more time at the docks, recently. He looks out at the sea, pensive, and then turns his attention to the hustle and bustle of the Haradrim work. Strangely, amidst the music and sea breeze, his expression relaxes his perpetual frown slipping away.
Another Gondorian on the quays is in the dress uniform of Gondor\'s proud Fleet, his steps bringing him to pause beside the Scout. \"You know,\" says Seregarth quietly, gesturing with his chin to the Haradrim palanrist, \"that \'tis the ship I tangled with before all this started. Beast of a ship. Hope to command one myself some day.\"
Aboard said Palanrist, a head pops up over the railing, looking down below. It\'s a female\'s head, probably. (Who can tell among the Haradrim?) Though, those who have seen the Southron dancing girls might recognise her as the one called Maha, though certainly her clothing is much more mundane this morn, much less revealing.
\"Who knows? You might, sir,\" says Daerthor, guardedly optimistic. He looks up in the direction Seregarth gestures to, just in time to see the Southron girl appear at the railing. He raises his hand to greet her: \"Good morning, Ma--\" but abruptly, the wind changes, blowing a strong gust into the quay. Daerthor chokes. \"Manwe help us! What is that smell - rotting flesh?!\"
As the wind shifts, the Captain blanches, coughing at the stench and turning briefly to try to get a breath of fresh air. After a few moments, he turns back, disgust on his face at the stench. \"Oh, I will,\" says the Telumehtar in reply to the Scouts earlier comment. \"Just need to command one of the fleets.\"
His eyes turn from the palanrist to seek the source of the stench. \"Body, no doubt,\" mutters Seregarth. \"Never forget that type of stench.\"
Up on the railing, the woman seems either unaware or impervious to the stench that permeates the dock itself. She looks on, and belatedly waves, wordless, to Daerthor, her attention turning to the other fellow in high dress clothing.
Covering his nose for a moment, Daerthor\'s eyes rove the sea, before his eyes lock onto an object in the harbor. Indeed, it is a floating corpse, rotting and distended. \"There,\" he grimaces, pointing at the body. There are coils of rope nearby he picks one up. \"Are we going to try to get it out?\"
\"It would be better if we had some form of hook,\" replies the Captain, taking a deep breath (despite the quite obvious disadvantage of doing so) and releasing it slowly as his eyes flick to the body. \"But, yes, we had best get it out. Loop the rope and hope it catches on something...\"
Watching the two men\'s faces, Maha\'s own face turns curious, and tilts slightly. And then the wind shifts, and she gets a full dose of the smell. She makes a gutteral sound, then backs away from the railing quickly, and out of sight. The wretched sound of vomiting can be heard from the deck of the ship, and some of the sailors come to the woman\'s aid, trying to see what the matter is. In the span of a breath, it becomes obvious, and some of them crowd to the railing to look over the side. \"A hook! Find a hook!\" they call out, then the heads disappear from view.
Quickly, Daerthor makes a loop with the rope and tosses it out into the water. It lands with a loud splash, but only manages to loop one of the corpse\'s legs. With a disgusted look on his face, the Scout tugs, attempting to breathe through his mouth. Slowly, achingly slowly, the corpse starts bobbing along towards the quay.
\"I hope the Haradrim can throw out a hook from their ships,\" he mutters. \"Else this would take all day, and we do not want to attract any more people than are already here...\"
A slightly surprised and pleased look appears on the Captain\'s face as he hears the Haradrim calling for a hook before nodding to the Scout. \"Aye, let us hope so. And, believe me Scout... people will know of this one way or another. The stench alone will let many know, and they will tell others.\" That said, he moves to help Daerthor pull the corpse in.
At long last, for fishing a body out of the river can seem like an eternity, some of the Corsairs return and make their way down the gangplank, bringing along with them a long wooden rod perhaps 10 feet long tipped with seasoned iron, fashioned in the shape of a large hook.speaking in their clipped, foreign tongues. “
\"\'Tis one thing for people to know about it \'tis another if they all come here and watch,\" replies Daerthor grimly. As he continues pulling with Seregarth\'s help, the corpse starts moving just slightly faster: half a day to get it to shore rather than a whole day. He turns to look at the movement and quick speech of the Haradrim. At the sight of the sturdy hook, his expression brightens... as much as it can brighten under the influence of the terrible smell, that is.
\"Well, they have to have something to do, do they not?\" Asks Seregarth with grim humour, pulling harder on the rope. \"This takes me back,\" mutters the Captain between pulls. \"Have not had to pull in a corpse since I was a Mid on the Hathol. It was three the last time I had to do it.\"
The Southron corsairs spread out in a line on the dock, waiting for the corpse to get close enough to actually hook, talking about it in their own tongue. The dancing girl talks to them in a scolding tongue, then switches to Westron to be a little less rude. \"There are too many of you. Go back! One can stay!\" Muttering, most of the corsairs return back up the gangplank, except for the lucky fellow who was holding the hook, and the dancing girl. He holds his pole out over the water...a foot away...half a foot...then the corpse is near enough to touch, but not hook. Instead, it rolls over to float face down. The Corsair shudders and drops his pole. Maha dives on it to keep it from falling into the water, then stands again. She holds the pole out to Daerthor to take.
\"I\'ve never had to pull in a corpse before,\" says Daerthor, as conversationally as possible. \"Kick them away, bury them, inspect them... but not pull them in.\" As the girl hands him the pole, he forces a smile through the stench. \"Thank you, lady. You are not hurt, are you?\"
Leaving the rope with Seregarth, Daerthor reaches out and hooks the corpse somewhere around the upper torso, tugging. With two points of force now hauling the corpse, it floats to the edge of the quay. Experimentally, Daerthor attempts to lift the corpse by lifting the hook, but the fabric tears, and the body plops back into the water. An expression of absolute disgust flits across his face. \"I think we need more rope, sir...\"
Seregarth continues to pull on the rope as Daerthor moves to take up the hook as the corpse finally reaches the quay, and the Scout fails in using the hook to lift it, the Captain sighs quietly. \"No need for more rope. Just need to do something not entirely... pleasant.\" Removing his sword belt, he sets it aside, looking to Daerthor. \"Watch that,\" says he, gesturing to his sword.
That said, he steps to the edge of the quay, looks down, is still for a moment and then steps off, falling into the water. After surfacing, he swims to the body and begins to work on tying the rope around the corpse.
\"Hurt?\" Maha asks, wincing at the foul smell. She turns around as something about the corpse seems momentarily too much to handle, then turns back to watch. She breathes through her mouth, but her tongue works back and forth on her white teeth, as if trying to scrape off the air. She turns back just in time to see Seregarth step off into the water. She looks...mortified. \"His nice clothes...\" she bemoans.
Daerthor kneels beside the sword, reaching further with the rope to pull the corpse out as quickly as possible, once the Captain is done tying it up. He sighs. \"They can be laundered... or he can just get new ones, lady.\" A pause. \"Do you know anything of this body?\"
The rope now tied around the corpse, Seregarth speaks. \"Pull it up!\" He remains in the water only long enough to ensure the corpse does not slip out as it is pulled up before he swims a low point of the quay and pulls himself out. His wet clothes seem to be the least of his concerns as he wipes water from his eyes, moving back and taking up his sword belt again.
\"I shall see about getting something to transport it. And something to cover it.\" Briefly clapping the Scout on the shoulder, the Captain heads off towards the storage area of the quays.
Maha looks...dumbfounded, aghast and incensed, all at once. But as the body comes out of the water, she is just disgusted once again. \"I know it stinks. Do /you/ know anything of this body?\"
Hauling with all his strength, Daerthor raises the corpse to the edge of the boardwalk. With one final heave, the body rolls onto the surface, flipping over, its face and front exposed again. Stifling his gag reflex, Daerthor peers at the body critically. \"These clothes...\" he prods at the blackened remains of the leather with the end of the rope. \"They look like they could be those of Ithilien\'s...\" Then the weight of his words hits him. \"A Ranger! Have you heard any tales of Rangers in your land??\"
Maha drops to her knees, dry heaving. When she can regain self control, she lifts the hem of her dress to her face, to cover her nose and mouth and she grimaces. Just a bit of her leg shows, and her left ankle is deeply discolored, showing violet, purple and black in a mottled patchwork, with a few scrapes offering raised ridges of angry flesh over the bruising. \"We have heard of rangers. We sometimes face them in battle.\" she says through the cloth of her skirt, her voice even and almost deadpan.
Still examining the corpse, Daerthor\'s patience wears thin. \"Now is not the time for jokes and merriment, lady!\" he half-shouts exasperatedly. \"Of course you face us in battle. Have you heard any tales of Rangers or Scouts in your land or beyond, held captive? Do the names Amrundirn or Thingalad ring any bells? Tell me, quickly!\"
Then he sighs, lowering his head as he realizes the tone of his words. He hands out a kerchief fished from within his cloak. \"Here, lady, take this to cover your nose and mouth. Or to bandage your ankle before you see a healer.\" His voice is quiet, as though his outburst drained him of his emotion.
\"Thingalad drowned on the Poros. A different river. For that to be him, he would have had to float down to the sea, float nortward in the ocean, then float up the Anduin. If this is he, then the gods surely brought him to us, and preserved him for three years in the meantime.\" Maha says with the same deadpan response. But then her tone softens. \"Or do you mean to imply that he was captured and lived all that time, and only recently drowned here?\"
\"I do not know,\" sighs Daerthor. \"It could be possible. Or it could not. I cannot discern anything from this body... there is no mark, nothing to identify him... and yet the remains of his clothes and armor seem to indicate that he is of the Company.\" Squinting, he examines the corpse for the third time, relentlessly searching for any clue at all.
Giving up, he straightens his body, looking straight at Maha. \"If you can recall anything - anything at all, that might shed light on this matter, please tell me as soon as you can.\"
Maha scratches her head, giving Daerthor a funny look. \"I am no expert on the stylings of Gondorian clothing. This man looks to me a warrior. Could be a ranger, could be a soldier...\" she takes a moment to examine Daerthor\'s clothing. \"Except for the armor, it looks like yours, to me.\"
The sound of squeaking wheels announce the arrival of the cart, pulled by a workhorse and driven by a grim-faced man. Behind the cart trots Menelglir, who hurries over to Daerthor.
\"Captain Seregarth asked for a cart? And...\" He chokes, gagging.
\"Precisely,\" says Daerthor. \"I am a Scout of Ithilien, and we all dress the same therefore this soldier is likely of the same Company.\" Then his eyes narrow suspiciously, as though something has just occurred to him. \"Lady Maha,\" he starts slowly. \"Have you been taking Westron lessons since the first time we met?\"
Menelglir\'s question then slices through the air. \"Yes, Menelglir. Try breathing through your mouth,\" he says dryly.
Maha pauses, surprised. She thinks, and looks sidelong at Daerthor, trying to read his face. \"No, but I have heard nothing but Westron since we arrived...almost.\" she says, even more tense now than before.
\"Really,\" comments Daerthor, his attention now fully on Maha. He moves away from the body, leaving Menelglir to deal with it. His tone is light, now truly conversational. He looks at the ground for a moment, before flicking his eyes up to meet Maha\'s gaze. \"\'Tis amazing that your Westron can improve so much as to be near fluent in a simple matter of weeks.\" The former dancing girl\'s tense posture is not lost on him.
Maha is still kneeling on the ground, but as the scout nears, his attention fully on her, she gets to her feet, letting the hem of her skirt drop once more. \"Thank you.\" she says as if being gracious over a compliment, but there\'s a nervous lilt to her voice. Shifting her weight to the other foot, she says, \"I should go back to my ship...\"
The Scout rises in tandem with the lady, and discreetly steps on the hem of her skirt. \"Don\'t go so soon, lady,\" he says gamely. \"I have always wanted to increase my proficiency of Adunaic. You must tell me how, exactly, you achieved such a feat.\" A quick glance goes towards the rotting corpse still on the ground, before his gaze goes back to Maha. \"Unless... this was not what happened?\"
The questions seem innocent, but there is a slight edge underneath them clearly, Daerthor has been keeping track of the rumors.
\"Maybe I\'m just gifted and you are not.\" Maha counters snappily, stepping away...or trying to, but finding the hem of her skirt caught under Daerthor\'s boot. She reaches down and tries to yank the skirt out in order to free herself, but this is not one of her dancing skirts, and is made of stouter stuff. It does not even rip. \"You are standing on my dress.\" she informs the man.
A few more moments of gagging, then Menelglir finds a cloth to put over his mouth and nose, his words a little muffled. He looks sharply to Daerthor. \"
He looks again to the body, the Squire turning a pale grey. \'When was this pulled out of the water and who is it?\'
Among the crowd - some pressing close out of a ghoulish desire to see the corpse and some hurrying away, noses pinched tightly shut and looking rather green - there is a man in the colors of House Nimothan. Corlin waits for a few women to rush past him, then comes up nearer. \"Is it he?\" he asks. \"The traitor?\" He spits on the ground as he speaks.
\"
Daerthor takes a breath and sighs. \'Captain Seregarth and I pulled this out scarcely half an hour ago. He seems to be wearing Ithilien clothes... or what remains of them. She,\' indicating Maha, \'apparently knows nothing of this. I think it would be too optimistic to hope that this is the traitor.\'
\"Again, thank you.\" Maha says, shooting Daerthor a look that is far angrier than the tone of her voice implies. \"I must return to my ship.\" And with that, she turns on her heel, hurrying back aboard the Nimrizan. Her left leg is indeed bruised darkly about the ankle, one might see, but the Corsairs aboard and at the dock are careful to give her escort and safe passage up the gangplank.
\"
And then as Maha leaves, sharply, \'Daerthor!\'
\"What?\" asks Daerthor, turning around.
No one answers. But from what he can hear, no one seems to know, either. Corlin takes a few steps closer, trying to breathe shallowly. \"Is it the traitor?\" he asks again.
Daerthor grits his teeth in response to the other questions. \"I don\'t know if this is Ceredir or not. I cannot tell... but maybe some of you can.\"
\"Oh,\" Corlin replies. He leans forward, peering at the body, then steps back, shrugging. \"I didn\'t see him very many times. Only a few when he spoke with my Lady.\" His face darkens with anger - and shame.
\"
Corlin nods, and says viciously, \"I hope that it is!\"
Corlin listens, frowning, and glances up at Maha. \"Oh,\" he says. \"She is the girl...\" But he leaves the sentence unfinished. \"So no one knows?\"
Menelglir turns around sharply to give Corlin a scowl. \"Right. The girl who fell off the boat and the girl that Ceredir,\" he gestures to the body, \"dived in after. To his death,\" he says with some finality. The wagoneer covers the corpse with a tarp, or begins doing so. \"I will tell the Knight-Herald that the traitor has been found dead. He will be glad to hear it, and we can get on with the festival and put aside these things of ...distaste.\" He seems confident in making this statement.
\"It could be him,\" Corlin says doubtfully. He has been peering at the body more closely, and moves away again as it is covered up. \"Seems about the right height...\" He nods to Menelglir, apparently willing to accept the Squire\'s decision.
From the direction of the city, comes a lady - one who was here not too many days previously, though in vastly different circumstances. Tathar is frowning as she walks, and despite herself, she clearly feeling a little twitchy, for she starts at fast movements, and edges away from anyone who walks to near to her.
\"Aearon might know, since he had a better look at the man,\" Menelglir notes with a grimace. \"I\'ll be glad when this grizzly business is over,\" he says, quickly putting the cloth back over his nose. He\'s avoiding looking at the body, so that he readily notes the approach of Tathar.
\"Oh no...\" That\'s a groan.
The cluster of people is the first thing Tathar notices. The smell is the second. She stops, wrinkling her nose, and looking uncertain.
Corlin looks up at Menelglir\'s groan. \"Hm?\" he asks, turning to look where the boy is. His eyebrows snap together in a scowl, and he pushes through the crowd towards her, saying angrily, \"And just WHAT do you think you\'re doing?!\"
\"It -is- Lady Tathar, then,\" Menelglir grimaces at Corlin hurries after the woman. He glances back to the man loading the body on the cart, but the sight is too much for him--and the smell, too,--and suddenly the Squire is bent over double, whatever contents this early morning are in his stomach now winding up on the docks.
Briefly, Tathar looks abashed. Then she lifts her chin and says, stubbornly, \"I wanted a walk. You weren\'t there, and the healers said I am well enough to go out, and I don\'t need someone with me.\"
Another is making his way towards the corpse. Or, rather, back towards it. Clothes still soaked from his earlier trip into the river, the ship captain Seregarth Telumehtar pushes his way through the thinning crowd with an easy authority... and is just in time to see the Squire get sick. A slight frown crosses the Captain\'s face before he shakes his head slightly, water dropping from his hair.
\"Please try to keep the quays clean, Squire,\" says the man, forced humour in the tone. \"Water is just right there.\"
\"And it didn\'t occur to you that there might be other reasons than your health that you shouldn\'t go alone?\" Corlin is in a thorough rage, two white dents in his pinched nostrils, and his black eyes furious. \"That the man who tried to /kill/ your nephew is still at large? That we cannot keep you safe if you insist on being so pig-headed as to ignore every precaution we try to take, and that there are others besides yourself who you could take a little thought to?\"
The Squire is not about to interrupt this discourse between noble lady and her guard. No, he is busy looking green and being sick to his stomach. Finally, he stops gagging and tries to catch his breath, looking up, green-faced, to Seregarth.
\"Sir..\" he croaks and then slowly stands up, looking to the sick and then to the water, and nodding.
\"Tis Ceredir, sir,\" the Squire adds, loud enough for Corlin and Tathar, too.
\"But..\" Tathar tries to say, half way through her armsman\'s raging tirade. Several passersby are staring openly, a couple of them laughing. \"But...\"
But as he goes on, her face turns red, and she clasps her hands, staring down at the laced fingers. Red, and then white, and then red again - when Corlin has finished, Tathar whispers, \"I am sorry. I didn\'t think...\"
\"No, my lady, you didn\'t think. I would expect this behavior of a girl, not of a woman! Now, come. Since you are here. They think they may have found Ceredir\'s body. You will look at it.\" Inexorably, he steers her towards the wagon. Half-way there, she makes a choking sound, and he hands her his handkerchief. \"Hold it over your nose. Try not to breathe deeply.\"
\"The face is... intact... enough to make such an identification?\" Asks the Captain, an eyebrow arching, coughing some at the stench, wiping water from his forehead. \"I have a little experience with water-logged bodies, Squire and based on the... lovely smell coming from this one...\"
\"
\"I,\" Tathar says in a muffled voice, clamping the handkerchief over her nose and mouth. \"Do I... have to?\" she asks, but Corlin has no pity.
\"Yes,\" he says. \"It was your choice to come. Now you will do this.\" He nods at the wagonman, who reluctantly folds back the cloth.
Tathar closes her eyes, steeling herself, then looks at the body for a long minute. Then she turns away, even paler than Menelglir - though she at least makes it far enough to vomit into the river. Corlin holds her, more gently than his words. \"I don\'t know,\" she says faintly. \"It - it could be - be him. The - the hair is the - the same.\"
The Telumehtar scowls slightly at the Squire\'s answer. \"Then \'tis just a /body/,\" says the man quietly, moving towards the corpse. He stays back a moment as Tathar observes the body and then turns away the Captain\'s eyes remain upon the corpse. The lips thin as he scowls is that an annoyed or disappointed look upon his face, at the thought of the poisoner of his cousin being beyond his reach?
\"Face, build, hair, uniform...who else would be dead and floating in the water so?\" Menelglir says, shaking his head at Seregarth\'s conclusion. \"Of course it is Ceredir. The Rangers will confirm it, of course, but it seems to me that it can be none other. Given the importance of the truce, after all,\" he frowns. A glance he gives to Daerthor, then his voice drops to a quick whisper.
\"Tis not your place to do so! Not now, not here! Surely, she has deceived many, but she is Southron--how many secrets would she learn anyhow? And letting her believe her secret is still safe may serve us better to revealing her pupose and that of her husband, who is also in disguise, than your antagonizing her here!\" Menelglir says, hissing irritably to Daerthor.
\"And why was I not told of this deception earlier? I highly doubt that all soldiers in Pelargir know of it. Then this might have been prevented how was I to know that it was already confirmed? All I had heard were rumors!\" Daerthor sighs. \"But in any case, I will not push this matter any more.\"
\"It is the right height, as far as I can remember,\" Corlin offers from a few steps away, where he is giving Tathar his water flask to drink from.
\"The height matches, the hair matches and the clothes match,\" Daerthor now says, standing up from his hushed conversation with Menelglir. \"Yet his features cannot be discerned. It is probably Ceredir, but some doubt still remains in me...\"
\"In a city like this? With a traitor on the loose?\" Growls Seregarth, turning his gaze upon Menelglir, eyes flashing softly. \"One who has already committed murder? A drunk sailor stumbling home, some youth from the fields, fresh in the city! All he needs to do is stab someone matching his general appearance, put his uniform on him and throw him in the river. You have seen what the river does to bodies.\"
The Captain\'s gaze flicks next to Daerthor, and he gives a sharp nod of his head. \"There is always doubt when it comes to a body in the water.\"
Tathar is pale and her hand trembles as she drinks. She gives the flask back to Corlin, and says in a small, miserable voice, \"Must I stay?\" Her gaze lifts to the captain, and she swallows. \"It might not be him?\"
\"How - how can you be sure?\" she asks a second later. \"Will we never know?\"
\"You were not told because we did not know until yesterday. How is it that you learned of it yourself? There are things at stake here larger than whether our countryman allowed a tower lady playing a dancing girl to sit on their laps.\" Menelglir hisses to Daerthor, then draws a breath. \"In any case, consider what is at stake before you antagonize our...guests.\"
Briefly so, then, Menelglir\'s eyes flit to the body and then to the Captain. \'It may be, sir, that this is all the certainty you ever get. The Rangers will have to give us better guidance on the identity of this man. Ceredir or not. I, for one, think that the evidence is a fine match and that the traitor, wanted as he is, cannot just lurk in even dark streets and wait for a man of his build and looks to come about and be conveniently murdered. But...we shall see. I will report this to Sir Gwendion and as soon as...Lady Tathar is finished...\' he grimaces, \'the body should be taken to the city.\'
Menelglir starts to turn to leave, but remembering the mess he has left, first fetches a bucket from a nearby boat and splashes river water on the quay to clean it up. He nods, then, hurrying off.
\"It does not need to be exact... the river and its inhabitants are never kind to dead bodies,\" says Seregarth, voice low. He is silent a moment before he lets out a sigh, turning from the corpse. \"Well. I have stated my belief. What you belief is a matter for yourself. There is /always/ doubt. Remember that.\"
That said, the Telumehtar leaves himself, no doubt to get out of his wet clothing.
\"I will remember that,\" says Daerthor grimly to Menelglir. \"And as for how I learned of it - I had heard some rumors, and did you not notice that her Westron was amazingly fluent today? I asked her about it casually, and she tensed up, and that was when my suspicions were confirmed.\"
Looking at Seregarth, Daerthor nods. \'In any case, it will not harm us to keep our guard up.\'
Tathar looks up as she hears her name. Her eyes drop to the cart, and she shudders, but gamely comes to look again. And this time, she is not sick. Backing away after a few minutes, she shakes her head. \"I - I cannot be certain. Not - not like that.\" She shuts her eyes as if she can block the sight from memory as well. \"Corlin?\" she asks.
The armsman is beside her. \"Let me take you back,\" he says quietly. She nods and puts her hand on his arm, and they too turn away.
As the crowd disperses, Daerthor motions to the cart driver. \"Let us be off, then,\" he says, sighing. \"Thank you.\"