The Ambassador's Son RPG

[Himaran]

Graring awoke the next morning in a comfortable bed of grass. He yawned, stretched, and stood, rubbing his eyes in a lazy fashion. Then a multitude of thoughts struck him like a thunderbolt. The corsairs! The army! The battle! He turned and rushed out of the forest, making for the beach.

The corsair skidded to a halt as his feet touched the warm sand. Everyone was gone. The corsairs, and their presumable captors, were gone; as were any traces of Devon's forces. But the traces of battle were unmistakeable; arrows, knives, broken swords and dried blood covered a large area to his left.

I've been left behind! Abandoned to die here! Then another thought came to him. No.... I've escaped! They couldn't catch me! The war will never end until I die, and I remain.... And so the corsairs had won.

Pride swelled within him, and the fact that he would have to live out his days on the deserted island did not bother him in the least. He had survived, and so the corsair spirit would live on forever. Looked towards the sea again, he saluted his dead comrades with an imaginary cutlass. And, calling out with an ancient cry, Graring released all the hate, anger and rebellion within him.

"Umbar, Umbar, Umbar!"

[Amanaduial the archer]

As the judge finally dismissed the court, Callath was one of the first out, battling his way through the suddenly oppressive court. The people he passed paid little attention: a tut here, a frown from there, as he elbowed his way through them. He was a mystery to these people, a contradiction within himself, a paradox: a boy who looked about seventeen or eighteen, his blonde hair flopping casually over a handsome face, no different from any other Gondorian youth really. But look closer: lean build, eyes made much older with anger and pain, marks made by ropes around his wrists and a deep, wide scar in the back of his hand, lashes across his cheek...these things marked him out as something different.

But what did they care? Callath finally got out and as the sea air hit him and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and relishing it's kind touch. The sea was something he had begun to understand...these people would never understand, just as they would never understand, or care, about the true nature of Jythralgo Doran, sea captain, corsair, and murderer of Callath's best friend...

"Callath!"

The stable boy turned to see Calnan hurrying towards him. Both of them were dressed at least partly in black, but not too formally: they had been at sea too long to take much care over the trial of a man they would both hate until the end of their days. Callath stopped walking and smiled bitterly at Calnan, but the older boy put a hand on his arm comfortingly. Callath looked away, closing his eyes against the brightness now pricking them.

"He will hang, Callath, you know he will hang. He will pay," Calnan said softly.

"Pay?!" Callath spat, angrily in reply. "How can he pay? He killed Marx, Avershire...Luc, and Devon - Calnan, he killed my best friend and...and..." he gulped and paused, then continued more quietly. "He cannot ever pay enough, and you know it. On that beach, I would have killed him with my own bare hands!" His voice had risen again until he was almost shouting, and a few people in the sober crowd spilling from the courtroom looked over at the boys. Calnan didn't say anything but rubbed Callath's arm gently, then embraced him for a second, both of them trying to take some respite.

After a moment, Callath released himself and wiped his eyes quickly, his chin held defiantly as he forced a smile. “Well, that’s it now. He will die for his crimes, even if not at my hand.” Turning to the side, he began to walk slowly, and Calnan continued beside him. The attaché didn’t speak, and for a few minutes they walked in silence, both drifting in the turbulent currents of their own thoughts. Both went to speak at the same time, but Calnan let Callath go first.

“How is Adeline?” he asked quietly. Calnan looked around, then his eyes returned to Callath’s and he sighed slightly, shaking his head a little.

“I…I honestly don’t know. It’s hard – you know, it always seemed obvious to me that she and Devon…well, you know, the way they felt about each other…” Calnan actually blushed here. Callath couldn’t help the brief burst of amusement that escaped him. “You could say that,” he laughed, shaking his hair back, his smile impish. Calnan grinned back, and for a moment, they were right back in the dusty loft above the stables, or sitting on the sea front, or resting between fencing duels in Devon’s home. Calnan continued. “I know – it seemed obvious to us, but-”

“-was it as obvious to them,” Callath finished for him. He shook his head, partly in happy reminiscence, partly in regret. “We’ll never know. I didn’t know Adeline as well as Devon, obviously, but...well, frankly, the boy’s a romantic, so the fact she stayed for so long must count for something pretty damn substantial,” he finished bluntly, grinning. Calnan smiled quietly, and Callath’s grin faded a little as he murmured an apology. “Damn sense of humour, I just can’t keep control of it…”

Calnan stopped suddenly, looking out across the sea, hands behind his back, looking suddenly even more deeply pensive and…well, business-like, Callath mused. Calnan had always seemed older, and been a closer friend of Devon than of Callath, being as they saw each other more often and Callath was not of the same station, but now Callath felt a sudden burst of friendship for the attaché. They had been through much together now, and shared the same surreal experiences that, in a few years, few would believe on retelling. Callath had been closer to others – Devon, Luc, Rilgari – but Calnan had come out of it with him. Luc and Devon were dead, Rilgari said he intended to go to sea once more, which left…

“What will you do now, Callath?”

Calnan addressed Callath whilst his eyes were on the sea and so the fact that his thoughts had so closely followed Callath’s made the younger blink in surprise. He came forward so he was beside Calnan, looking out to sea with him and digging his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers against the wind, the wind whipping his fair hair around his angular face.

“Would you go to sea again?” Calnan continued, then looked across at the other. “You know...I could see you as a captain.”

Callath snorted derisively. “I sincerely hope you’re jokin’, mate. You saw me in the first day or two, didn’t you? Brilliant captain I’d make, staggering around in the throes of sea-sickness at the start of each voyage.” He laughed, then shook his head. “No, ’way I see it, I’m not even eighteen yet and I’ve seen more action than many a pompous old ‘sailor. Besides, you saw me, Calnan, when I was fighting…” he hesitated suddenly, not sure whether to continue with what he had been about to say. The fact that he had been about to confess was that, actually, when he was fighting, he had enjoyed it. The power of the weapon, the thrill it sent through every nerve in your body…a battle rush was a very powerful drug, and the fact was that Callath knew he wouldn’t be able to get enough of it. As some got hooked on pipeweed, Callath would become hooked on battle.

Just like Doran.

Calnan was looking at him strangely and Callath glanced at the other quickly then shrugged, maybe over-nonchalantly. “Not yet, I think, Calnan. Not yet. Why, what about you?” he changed the subject rather smoothly to Calnan’s future. Looking at Calnan’s face, he guessed in an instant and grinned. Calnan frowned. “What?”

“I think we both know what you want to do?”

“What?!” Calnan was off-balance and rather confused now, but Callath shook his head mysteriously, gesturing for the other to go on. Calnan paused, then said, “I intend to return to Gondor, actually. You know, resume my job, my duties…my life, basically. I…wish to return to the White City.” He shrugged, and his over-casualness was spotted by Callath this time. He didn’t mock though, instead smiling softly. “I understand, Calnan. Stil, ‘ts a pity, you know. After…all this…” he stopped, looking out across the bay. Calnan paused, then continued.

“Actually…I was sort of wondering if you would come as well. You have not been to Gondor, have you? I should like you to see Minas Tirith, the city of Kings…would you join me, Callath?”

Callath paused for a moment, remembering Umbar, and the image of stable master Garth’s face conjured itself in front of his face. He almost visibly recoiled and shuddered. “I don’t suppose I’ve still got my old job – and sure, they have horses in Minas Tirith as well, right?” He winked and grasped Calnan’s hand firmly. “I’d be glad to join you, Calnan. Glad to.”

[Earendil Halfelven]

Doran stood before the court, chained. He'd never thought that it would end like this but for some strange reason, he wasn't upset. He had fought the good fight for his people, and even though he had lost, at least he had fought. He had shown the corsair people that they could rise up and regain their freedom taken from them at the hands of an oppressive empire. He might die but he would live on as a martyr to future generations.

"Captain Jythralo Doran," the judge said. "To the charge of the murder of Devon Thrann, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty," he said. Behind him, he heard many people's reaction. He knew that Devon's friends were outraged by his answer.

"To the charge of high treason against the king of Gondor, how do you plead?"

"Guilty."

Again, he heard many people's surprised reactions to his answer.

"Captain, you may be seated."

The trial was beginning and Doran settled in for the long haul.
__________________________________________________ _

It was almost over. Everyone who wanted to say something had said it, and so now it was up to the judge to decide Doran's fate.
"Captain, do you have any remarks you would like to make?"

"Yes, I do,"he said. People murmured in the audience, waiting to hear what he would say. Doran stood and as he did so, his chains jingled. The sounds of the chains was like a signal to those talking to be quiet. He stood, chest out, shoulders back, chin up. He could see Calnan, Callath, and Adeline watching him with the most hatred he ever saw.

"I don't have much to say," he began. "Except for this. Most of you think that I should be on trial for the murder of Devon Thrann. I did not murder him. He was killed in the midst of battle. He made the grave mistake to turn his back on his foe, and he paid for that mistake. But how can I be tried for murder? If I am guilty of murder, then you must also try those three for murder as well."

He pointed to Calnan, Callath, and Adeline.

"For they also killed men. You must also consider Devon Thrann a murderer, for he was also responsible for the deaths of my innocent sailors. You cannot try someone for murder when they killed someone in the heat of battle, and for that, I am innocent." He stopped. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him.

He continued.

"But for the charge of high treason, I plead guilty. However, I am not guilty of treason!" His voice began to raise. "How can I be guilty of treason against a king that I have not pleged allegiance to? How can I be guilty of treason against a government that I am not a citizen of? How can I be guilty of treason against an oppressive empire that took away my home from me? My freedom? My land? A government that took all that away from my people?"

Many of the corsairs in the audience began to nod in approval. Many Gondorians began to shake their heads and scowl.

"But now you wonder why I plead guilty of treason. Because it is the best thing I can do for my people-to become a martyr to those future freedom fighters of the corsair cause, and for that I am willing to die! I AM GUILTY OF HIGH TREASON AND DEMAND THE MAXIMUM PUNISHMENT!"

Doran strod forward and spat into the judges face.

The audience was in an immediate uproar. The guards grabbed him and threw him down to the ground.
_______________________________________________

He stood at the scaffold, the noose around his neck. The men next to him read a piece of parchment.

"Captain Jythralo Doran. Being found guilty of high treason against the kingdom of Gondor, you have been sentenced to death by hanging."

The executioner tightened the noose. He felt the rope digging into his neck.

"Any last words?"

Doran looked out into the mass crowd. He saw Calnan, Callath, and Adeline standing in front of his scaffold, looking up at him. Doran stared back with his steel gaze. He gazed back up at the crowd, and noticed that it was mostly corsairs.

"CORSAIRS OF UMBAR! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER MY CAUSE! REMEMBER MY SACRIFICE!"

And with that, the trap door beneath his feet opened up.

[Arvedui III]

The silence of the warm room was broken by an ominous crack from the brazier, and Telson shuddered.

Even while entombed by books, reclining in a soft wooden chair in the comfort of Emyn Arnen, he still could not get the last image of Jytharo Doran out of his head, his body limply swaying in the breeze. Had it been what he deserved? Of course it had. Was he a dishonorable wretch in life? Undoubtedly. But still, something about the man's eyes ere the trap door opened had stuck with Telson, and he couldn't seem to shake it. Which was all the more irksome, as the last time he checked on Callath and Calnan in the Minas Tirith, they were both happy and hale, if a little taller than he would have liked. And, from what he heard of Adeline, she was also doing well for herself, working in Umbar on restoring buildings lost during the rebellion.

Sighing, he returned to the ledger he was working on and felt the old sense of futility come over him. After Imrahil of Dol Amroth had taken control in Umbar, he had been shuffled back into the same drudgery as before, save that Culous, who had carried his letter and brought Gondorian reenforcements to the final battle with Doran, had insisted on staying in Ithilien to work for him. The boy's loyalty was touching, but Telson was beginning to regret allowing it. He was bored out of his mind, and the innkeeper's son only served to reminded him of that fact. Of all the things the Umbar assignment had been, it had never been dull.

As a hard rap on the door caused him to spill ink onto the ledger and his new quill, Telson called gruffly for the knocker to enter, but resolved for the fourth time that day to kill Culous if he was the one who walked in. However, the man that appeared was far taller, with a board, proud bearing and wearing a fine gray tunic that matched his eyes. Telson sat dumb for one precious moment of stunned disbelief before he rose to his feet and bowed low. "Sit back down, please." The man said curtly, and Telson obeyed as he watched his guest take in the office and look at several books before he sat down on the opposite side of Telson's small, paper-flooded desk. "To what do I owe this honor, my lord?" Telson asked, finding his tongue again and hardly daring to believe.

"No honor, but I was told you were the soldier in Umbar during Doran's rebellion." He replied, still looking around the office in modest interest. "Yes my lord, I was." Telson said, thinking first of the nauseating trip to Umbar, then of the quiet trip back. "Then may I ask a favor of you?" He said mildly, but something in his tone indicated a command and not a request. "Of course, my lord." Telson replied all too quickly, wondering after he spoke wether or not he had just earned himself a trip to Harad or Rhun or some other country that would be equally as dangerous as Umbar has been. " I don't believe you were ever asked to write a report on the subject. No?" Telson shook his head. "Well, I think it would help Prince Imrahil immensely to know what happened and some of the corsair mindset from a direct source and not a sailor who heard it from a friend of his, whose cousin's shipmate was there."

Both men smiled at that and Telson felt more at ease. "I would be glad to write it, my lord. I know firsthand just how untruthful sailors' cousin's shipmates are." The man laughed warmly, getting up and moving to the door. " I daresay you do. And please have the report in quickly, captain. This affair has piqued my personal curiosity, not to mention my wife's." He chuckled and shook his head, and Telson couldn't help but smile as he replied, "Then for the Lady Eowyn's sake, I shall have it done as promptly as it is in my power to do so, lord Steward." The man was halfway out the door, but nodded, "See to it," before he vanished down the corridor.

Telson cleared off the soiled ledger and the rest of his papers, letting them fall into a pile of parchment that seemed always to increase at an alarming rate. But at least now he had a proper excuse to put off the five or so records and lists he was supposed to be doing. Grabbing a clean sheet of parchment and running his hand through his hair, Telson dipped his quill in ink, and stopped for a long moment. He did not know why he was hesitating, he had acquitted himself well enough, although he regretted that in the last battle he had not been close enough to the rest of the party, that he had done nothing of note. The image of Doran's eyes as he cried out defiance to the last came to him, and then Devon's body laying limply on the beach.

He shook his head. The war was supposed to end all that. Men like Doran were supposed to retire and live out the rest of their days quietly, under the rule of those who had rightfully beaten them. Men like Devon were to supposed to grow, live in peace and leave the world better than they found it. "But nothing is ever as it's supposed to be" He said aloud, fingering the quill in something akin to disappointment and staring down at the paper on his desk. Many more Thranns would die for things to be as the ought. The least they deserved was to be remembered, he decided.

So Telson started to write, resolving to have the thing done by morning, Jythralo stood in the office of his seaside townhouse, staring absently at the message that lay open on the desk before him. However he stopped and hesitated for one more moment, then wrote a title above it:
The Tale of The Ambassador's Son.

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~