(Archive) - Harad

Middle-earth time is:

Nighttime on Highday, Day 29 of March.

Real time is: 19:06:18 MST on Tue Sep 05 2000.

*Note - log supplied by Drenlyn*

Harad Crossroads

The warm, parched Harad, Harnen, and Khand roads merge here from the north, southwest, and east into a single northbound road. To the south lies a small lane leading to a cluster of buildings with glowing windows, strangely out of place in this desolate land. Large palm and coconut trees, and thick bushes surround the southern path and buildings.

The dark sky is overcast and dreary. The nighttime spring air is warm and muggy around you. The moon is first quarter.

Contents:

Thorondur

Maernus

Valgrim

White Pavilion

Night has fallen on the desert, offering a brief respite from the forge-like heat of the day. South of the crossroads, the white tents of the northerners are under careful guard. A full half of the men sleep within -- and the others remain on alert, against treachery... and darker things.

Boldly, a campfire blazes in the midst of the small circle of tents, and a pair of knights stand around it: Thorondur and Calladan. The latter is a captive audience to the rhetoric of the former.

\"I\'m telling you, Cal,\" Thorondur declaims, gesturing with frustration to the south, \"this is terribly frustrating. To be sent away at such an hour, to deal... to treat! With these arrogant Corsairs? \'Not afraid to die in battle\', are they? I\'m tempted to find out the truth of that--\"

Coming to the fire Drenlyn\'s now brown face glows in the red light. \"Lords, begging your pardon, but I have yet to see our purpose in this dark and dreary land. If we are not here to battle with the Umbarian scum, then what is our purpose?\"

Valgrim is seated about the burning campfire, watching the smoke dance into the air like tendrils of ivy, climbing the clouds as if they were rough bricks of stone. His eyes lock onto a tiny cloud of the dense smoke, and follow it up into the sky, till it dissipates like the white water of a frothy river downstream.

His ears seem to nearly perk up at the words of the other squire. His head turns in the direction of the young youth, and when the words strike his brain, he too glances at the lords, eagerly awaiting their reply. He purses his lips, as if to speak, but soon raises his hand to his mouth, tugging at his lip as if to cover his indecision.

His railing against the mission interrupted by the sudden arrival of a questioning squire, the Lord Thorondur turns about, Sir Calladan hovering over his shoulder. Folding his hands together, the Herald eyes young Drenlyn for a long moment, answering only thusly:

\"And what do you think, Squire Drenlyn, that we were engaged in yesterday beneath the sun? When Arnafel and I sent the rest of you back?\"

Valgrim\'s eyebrows arch a bit at the Lord\'s returned response, the tendrils of smoke seeming to dance near the Girithlin\'s head then shy away like a skittish horse in battle. His head is still upturned to stare at the Lord, but his hand drops from his mouth to thud at his thigh.

Joining in the conversation, his voice deep and sonorous in this grand expanse of desert, Valgrim speaks. \"But Lord. How are we to know what transpired if we were all sent back. Clearly it was not warfare, but what other means of conflict occurred we do not know.\"

The fire still bright gives Drenlyn some comfort as he nods to his fellow squire\'s response.

\"I am asking what you think, Valgrim,\" the Lord Girithlin replies, that half-smile tugging again at his lips. \"Not what you know. Both of you.\" Not ungentle, but hardly with any sympathy, either, the knight regards the pair of squires. \"If you wish to be knights, you must use the minds you are given.\"

\"Think,\" Thorondur repeats, a hit of passion creeping there into his voice. \"We did not come to fight. We are not spies. Yet we met a group of men upon the sand dunes, openly, beneath the sun.\"

\"What does that say to you?\"

Drenlyn, nodding, turns down his head as he absorb his lesson. Still with down cast eyes Drenlyn replies, \"Lord, it seems that we are to parley with the Umbarians. Though for what reason, I cannot grasp.\"

Valgrim nods, his black hair falling onto his forehead in a familiar motion that seems automatic to the squire. He flicks it back with a thick finger, dry from the heat and desert sun. Casting his gaze out upon the dunes, the wind throwing up the sand like a dishonest warrior in a desperate battle.

Opening his mouth, the squire speaks, his words rolling over his thick lips to catch on the harsh desert wind. \"Lord. I suspect we are negotiating some type of exchange, whether it be for information or prisoners. I know that a Harad prisoner is being held in Dol Amroth. I spoke to him while attending his wounds with the Lady Ivriniel. Perhaps this mission is related to his capture.\"

\"Grasp this,\" interjects Sir Calladan, suddenly and with vigor he steps forward a pace as he speaks, from behind the Herald to beside him. \"Every year, a hundred good men die on either side. What good is that to any of us? What use? And there is no end, for we cannot conquer their fastness, and yet they will never break Gondor--\"

\"Calladan, enough,\" snaps Thorondur! \"Yes,\" he adds more calmly, looking back to the younger men, \"We treat with them.\" Nodding to Drenlyn, and then to Valgrim, he frowns as Sir Calladan steps back once more. \"Thank you, Valgrim. You are nearer the mark than you know.\"

Drenlyn, nodding at the vague explanation, turns to the fire as it sputters. Examining the leaping flames as they battle to devour the meager branches that have been set out, Drenlyn\'s face brightens as if he realizes the logic in such a journey.

Turning away from the fire Drenlyn peers back at the Herald, \"But lord how does one Haraddirm prisoner have to do with sending out an envoy of knights?\"

\"The prisoner of whom you speak,\" returns the Herald, meeting Drenlyn\'s gaze -- and holding it, perhaps to drive home the point, \"was released many weeks ago, in secret. The Prince judged him a man of his word -- and he was. Our message was carried to his lords.\"

The twinkle that shines in Valgrim\'s eyes is like the soft light of a star barely straining through the night clouds. The light is dim, but its potential is great as it burns in patient solitude. So too does Valgrim sit patiently, the words of the Lord burning into the head of the young squire.

His thoughtful words seem almost addressed to the climbing smoke as to the knight. \"Lord. What message did this prisoner carry to his Lords. Do we have knights of our own lost to the burning sun of this unforgiving land? Or is it some other object, less tangible that we seek?\"

\"We seek no object,\" replies the Herald, turning away from the squires and directing his gaze instead north -- north and west, toward the place they all call home. \"We seek to ransom our stolen people -- and we seek peace. Peace, lads... peace. I know that you cannot remember it -- for I have never known it, either.\"

Drenlyn returns his gaze to the fire and ponders the words of the Herald. As the flames die down Drenlyn give the nearest branch a nudge. A cloud of sparks rise into the air, like red stars searching for their place in the sky.

Returning to the Herald Drenlyn once again stares searching for some unknown answer, \"But Lord, the only question that remains is are these Haraddrim willing to step down off their pedestals, and talk peace? I for one have never known any Haraddrim raider to show any restraint, let alone mercy to any.\"

Valgrim shakes his head in dejected confusion, a visible cloud almost creeping over his head. Yet upon second glance it is the smoke from the fire which suffocates his head, the wind shifting the tendrils to the man\'s face, His eyes squint tightly in thought, faint lines of youth creasing about his lids.

The confusion causes his words to fall out haltingly, slowly, but escape they do, though through nods in agreement with the other squire. Low and deep, Valgrim responds, \"But Lord. How does the release of a single prisoner stop the bloodshed that has been spent between our two peoples for longer than we can remember. Surely we have held prisoners before. What is so special about this one.\"

\"I told you, Valgrim, he carried a message,\" Thorondur tells the hulking squire first, a bit puzzled in tone. Indeed, he regards the fellow with curiosity and, perhaps, some small disappointment. \"Do you think it was blank? We requested their presence here, and they came. Think, lad -- think! Look beyond the literal and see the implications of deeds.\" And then he shifts his gaze to Drenlyn.

\"They came, Drenlyn,\" he repeats this time, does the Herald. \"They came. And that is a beginning. We do not know how it will end, but they are Men, just as we -- though we have held naught but enmity with them for years, they are not Orcs or creatures of the Enemy. They are Men, and at some level, all Men are the same.\"

Discouraged at the Lord\'s harsh words, Valgrim balls his fist in frustration, the blood fleeing from his knuckles at they bleach white. He takes a few deep breaths, the air fueling his brain. Relaxing slightly, the squire looks up into the Herald\'s face, his eyes now hard and bright, the dullness burned off like fog in the afternoon sun.

His voice, though hesitant from the Lord\'s reprimand, remains loud. Perhaps a cover for the lack of confidence in this man, he speaks. \"Lord, thoughts did in fact rule my head. And my thought is thus. Why has this not been done before. We have fought this bloody confrontation for ages. Since before we can remember. And I must question what events have transpired that make this any different than any other. Why was a message not sent earlier. Why did we not seek a political end earlier. I seek the rationale behind the actions, not simply the result.\"

\"I fear Lord, that though they have appeared, there will be much cold water needed to cool the fire between our peoples.\"

Turning to the fire Drenlyn continues, \"Though I am sorry to leave this pleasant light, I must go to my watch and prepare for the heat of tomorrow. Goodnight my Lords, and good night squire. May the new day bring us closer to forgotten peace.\"

With that Drenlyn turns and melts into the darkness of night.

\"And who is to say we did not? But I do not think it likely,\" Thorondur admits, shaking his head and staring distantly, again, off into the night where Drenlyn has disappeared. \"But you hear young Drenlyn, yes? He has the truth of it. Too many in Gondor are unwilling to choose peace over vengeance -- and many more, I think, among the bloodthirsty Corsairs, who know not the truth but their blasphemous Red Eye.\"