[littlemanpoet]

"Mardil the Second, Crown Prince of Ithilien, Heir of Faramir the Good, Would-be Usurper to the Throne of Gondor, what is your choice?"

"I'm no usurper!" Mardil retorted. "I am a direct heir, father to son, of Amandil II, the younger son of the Tarciryan II. Tarciryan's son and every King since has had but one son up till now, and so when King Aranar dies will, by the laws of Gondor, be King."

"Then why," asked Alatar, "do you force your claim with raised armies and publicity campaigns and dire strategy? Why not wait until that which is yours by right of inheritance, if such truly be the case, is given to you in due course of law?"

"Because the current King is trying to bypass my family and put someone on the throne of his choosing."

"And what possible personage," Pallando queried, "have your vain imaginings produced to fill this fanciful challenge to your hollow claim?"

"Prince Curuman of Umbar is King Aranar's mother's brother's son, and is the King's favorite. He has a claim, but not as direct as mine; which is not hollow at all, as can be demonstrated outside of Mordor."

"Why now, Mardil?" Alatar asked.

"If I wait, Prince Curuman may gather enough of a backing to cause a ruinous kin strife. Gondor must remain free of such an evil."

Pallando's eyes almost closed and his lips played in the hint of a sarcastic smile. "And you are the self appointed savior to help all middle earth avoid such a fate?"

"No, merely the lawful heir to the throne."

"That is all well and good," Pallando retorted, "but if you do not do as we say-"

"You are not invincible!" Mardil cried. "You may know about my weaponry and potions, but you are not gods! If I stick a knife into your heart you will die. Saruman, the head of your order of old, was killed by the arrows of halflings. My knives are more deadly than small arrows. If I attacked you, maybe I would be killed, but not until I took at least one of you with me."

"Brave words, and maybe you believe them," Alatar smiled coldly, "but do you really think that we would be so foolish as to allow ourselves to be vulnerable to you and your weapons in this small cell?"

The two wizards did not rise from their seats, but they seemed to grow where they sat until they seemed to have become dark and ancient and threatening, eldritch powers.

Mardil gave pause and thought. They were suggesting and showing that he could not touch them, as if they had cast a warding dweomer or worse: something that he could not bypass. If so, he would have to be careful, for the odds were likely stacked in their favor, and he did not doubt that they would press their advantage if they so chose.

"It matters not," he replied. "What matters most is your demand." The two wizards shrank back to their original aspects as Mardil spoke. "You know very well that I would be no more than your puppet; another Anakron Istkon Vayor. Or would I be named Arbit Rarywhimkon Vayor instead? You could ask me to pass a law sentencing all children to death and I would have no choice but to obey. That is unacceptable. I could not take such an oath."

"Nonsense," Pallando said. "You presume that we are fools blinded by our own greed for power, such that we might do any foolish and evil thing. You do not understand our purpose. Do not presume that we are fools, or that we are blinded by evil."

"It does not matter that you aren't blinded by evil," Mardil cried, "what matters is that you are evil! You did not fight with the Men of the West against the evil of Sauron. Instead, you are following in the footsteps of the wicked Saruman and seeking to be rulers of men. The only one of your kind I'd be willing to place myself under is Gandalf, and he never would ask such a thing of me, which is why he was worthy of the leadership that the peoples of Middle Earth gave him. The very fact that you have asked for rule over a kingdom that is not yours to rule is reason enough for me not to give it to you, to say nothing of the threatening way in which you are asking. And what of my duty as King of Gondor? As King, I would have the great responsibility of protecting and aiding my people. By subjugating myself to you, or to anyone, I would be shirking this sacred charge, given to the first King, Elros, by the Valar themselves! You have not offered me something that I am able to do, even if I wanted to."

Pallando and Alatar's smiles slowly grew into sardonic smirks as Mardil's diatribe ranged through its points.

"Is that what they're saying about us in the Empire these days?" Pallando murmured, and turned to Alatar. "Shall we disabuse him of his illusions?"

"Yes, we shall," Alatar returned, "but shall we do so now through words, or through another test?"

"You know as well as I that he will not take us at our word," Pallando replied, "so a test it must be."

Both wizards rose, walking quickly to the door of the cell, and turned suddenly, their staves raised.

"Ontamandongauro!"

The hair rose on the nape of Mardil's neck. There was a great crash as the door of the cell slammed. They were gone. Mardil heard tinkling around him. Looking down, he saw that all of his potions and bottles had somehow cast themselves to the stone floor and broken, dissolving quickly into smoke and mist.

"Noooooooooo!" Mardil howled.

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The orc guards watched the two cloaked men leave quickly, and shrugged. Apparently the man was to remain their prisoner for a while longer yet. Suddenly the cell door burst open. A beast came hurtling out. In moments, both guards were dead, lying in their own blood, their necks ripped open and faces mauled. Howling could be heard outside the prison, echoing into the distance.