Treachery of Men RPG

[Gwathagor]

Jord had not slept that night. She had not even been in her room. After her brief meeting with Uldor, she had spent her night stalking the empty moonlit corridors of the great building, her body in pain and her mind wracked by doubt. She had felt so sure once that either Uldor or Ulfast would join her, would join Angband, but now Ulfast was dead and Uldor was undecided. Hour after hour she retraced her steps along the timber halls and passages, just as she retraced in her mind the course of the past days. She would pause sometimes, in the throne room or on the porch. Had she gone wrong? What else could she have done? For now the complete success - or complete failure - of her mission was in another man's hands. She could do nothing now. Nearing the stairs to the dungeon, she hurried past and tried not to think of the old man who had very nearly been her undoing. Indeed, she had come within a hand's breadth of failure and had only just pulled herself back from the brink. And yet she felt she was there again. If Uldor would not turn, what else could she do?

Whence this doubt? Jord thought. I am Thuringwethil and I have feasted on kings, men and elven. I am kin to gods - nay, I AM a god, a goddess, and I will not be gainsaid! Have we not always been victorious?

And yet she did not fully believe it, for she could not shake the memory of a certain pair - woodsman and elf princess - who had once done great harm to both her and her master. It had happened before, and she was afraid it could happen again. She was afraid. Fear ate at the edges of her mind, pursuing her from all sides. Her humanity frightened her and her supernatural power frightened her - could she call on it again? Would her human form not be burnt or broken by such power? Her fate frightened her, for it was out of sight and, she felt, out of reach. All was dark now before her, and behind her as well, for that way lay death. Perhaps death lay in wait for her again, just beyond, in the coming darkness? She could not tell.

And so it continued through the blackest of nights, until all she knew was doubt, and fear, and an overpowering sense of helplessness as the dawn grew ever nearer.

The first rays of morning found Jord, hooded and cloaked, standing on the stone porch of the great hall, facing away west where the darkness lingered longest.

[Folwren]

The first thing he must do was get Tathren out of the city. Lord Caranthir had waited too long for an answer to be sent for him. He would be impatient and suspicious by the time the young, inexperienced ambassador had returned home, and that would not do for Uldor’s purpose.

He dressed himself with care and then sent word to Tathren to come to him in the great hall. He then went to Ulfang himself. Ulwarth was there with their father, when Uldor came in.

The conference was short and to the point. Uldor told his father that he intended to send Tathren back to Caranthir - with a message that they would fight for the elves. That is all he told Ulfang. There was no reason to tell a dotard old man all his plans for battle and victory. By the time that came to pass, he would likely be dead! So Uldor merely told him the surface of his intentions, and Ulfang sent him out with his blessing to so answer the elven lord.

Uldor went, and found Tathren waiting for him.

“I believe it is time that you left us,” Uldor said, smoothing his countenance to the correct form of regret and feeling for what had passed the previous day. “I am more sorry than I can express at what has happened.” Tathren said nothing, but his piercing gray eyes remained fixed on Uldor, and the inwardly crooked man had difficulty keeping his calm. “I have called you to give you our word in reply to Caranthir. We shall uphold our given oath, and will fight with lord Caranthir against the might of Morgoth. Tell him this.”

For the next several minutes, Udlor was busy telling Tathren all the details - how many men there would be, how they would communicate before marching out with the elves, and all the rest. Tathren took the messages almost in complete silence, nodding his head at certain points and occasionally giving a question.

Finally, he had gone. Uldor paced for a moment in the wide and empty hall alone, and then he knew that a more important meeting now had to happen. He went out in search of Jord.

[Gwathagor]

Jord was not far. Just outside the hall she had waited, listening in awful horror to Uldor's conference with Tathren. What was he doing? Was it possible that this Easterling dog should keep his word to Caranthir? It was difficult to believe, but she could not deny the evidence of her own ears. She had failed after all; Morgoth would cast her aside, broken, if alive at all. She began to feel cold.

Suddenly, the meeting was over and Uldor was walking through the hall-doors. In a violent burst of energy born of desperation, Jord seized Uldor by the throat and pressed him against the wall where she had been leaning a moment before, nails digging into the skin.

"Remember Lachrandir, Uldor? Remember Khandr? They set themselves between Lord Morgoth and Lord Morgoth's Will to their own undoing. Would you share their fate?" She was gambling a little now, but it was the only thing she could do. She held Uldor's gaze. "I killed them both. I, Jord, who remember the first mountain and the first wave and the toppling of the Two Trees, who am more than woman-kind." She was really gambling now, for she did not know whether she would be able to summon her power should Uldor attempt to use force. She smirked a little. "Do you wish to see me as I am, Uldor? Do you wish to see the Claw of Morgoth unveiled and raised against you? Do not toy with us."

Uldor spoke steadily, but mastering his emotions only with great effort. He did not wish to provoke this thing.

"It was a lie. I lied to Tathren," he said quietly. "Now hide the knife before someone sees. My guards will not hesitate to spear you first and then ask what you were doing."

Jord dropped the knife and began to shake - and then she began to laugh. It felt extraordinarily good, and for once, she was almost happy to be stitched into this mortal frame.

"Let us talk, Uldor. Where can we be alone?"

"Follow me."

For next several hours, the two of them sat and talked in Uldor's quarters. War was brewing between Morgoth and the sons of Feanor, but neither Jord nor Uldor knew when it would erupt into flame. For the present, then, it seemed best that the Easterlings should continue to appear loyal to the elves, in order that they might gather information for Morgoth and that their eventual betrayal might be all the more potent. Uldor would take a census to determine how many men of military age he had, but, otherwise, they would discuss logistics later. Jord had a message to deliver to her Master.

[Mithalwen]

The woods and meadows had changed little since his outward journey. The grey colt and his sire were still long limbed, swift and sure footed as they found their path but the stallion was now riderless.

Tathren had relinquished Caranthir's treasure to the Ulfings but he carried Lachrandir's haversack as well as his own so the colt's burden was scarce lessened. Nevertheless his hoofbeats marked time passing too swiftly for his rider who was at a loss how he could explain the events of the past days to his lord when he could scarce understand them himself.

He could report Uldor's words but what could he say of Lachrandir's death? The boy shuddered at the thought and tried to dismiss it from his mind for as long as possible but too soon his elvish sight perceived the banners of Feanor and his son fluttering over the dwellings of his people and knew that there could be no delay. Caranthir's sentinels would report that he returned alone long before he reached the gates and he was sure he would be summoned into the presence of the harshest and quickest to anger of all the sons of Feanor as soon as his feet touched the ground. The boy's heart quailed.

[Gwathagor]

No sooner had he passed the great gates of the city which clung to the side of Lake Helevorn, but Tathren was apprehended by two soldiers, clad in the red and black livery of Caranthir's personal guard. Up the straight, broad avenues they ushered him, courteously but swiftly, and soon passed beneath the resplendent, iron-hard towers of the great fortress. It stood upon the very brink of a cliff which dropped straight down a hundred feet to the lake below. And in the midst of the palace, he met Lord Caranthir Feanorion himself.

Upon his high throne Caranthir sat, haughty and still. Clad all in black he was, save for a red cloak which was flung about his shoulders. His high crown of diamond sat upon his dark hair and across his knees was laid his sheathed sword. Behind the throne, daylight shone in through tall arched windows which overlooked the lake and created a golden aura about Caranthir's throne.

Tathren sank to his knees instinctively some distance before the throne, even as the guards swung the great doors shut behind him.

"Approach, envoy of our throne."

Tathren obeyed, for it was Caranthir who had spoken, but he kept his head bowed as he drew near to the steps which led up to the throne. Caranthir was silent for a moment, perhaps choosing his words.

"Why are you alone? Lachrandir did not return with you, his charge. Why?"

"My lord, I bring you word from the House of Ulfang. They say - "

"Answer me, Tathren. Where is Lachrandir? Where is my herald?"

"My lord - " Tathren found he could barely force the words from his mouth. His face burned and his stomach felt hollow. How can I? he thought. How can I possibly explain? The wrath of Caranthir was infamous through all the kindred of the Noldor and Tathren feared for his life if he should deliver this news. Then, as if from a very great distance, though it had only been some days, Tathren heard Lachrandir's voice echoing and remembered the words the older elf had spoken to him on the day of their arrival at the Easterling hall: Come, boy - Remember, speak precisely, if you're called on to talk, and not for long. That should serve well enough. And Tathren hardened his will. Yes, Uncle, he thought. He would do his master this last service, this final obedience. This was still a hall of state and he was still a royal envoy. He raised his head and met Caranthir's eyes. A chill went down his spine - but it was not fear.

"He was murdered by we know not whom. His body I burned with his banner and his ashes I cast upon the river, that they might come in time to the sea and thence to Valinor."

So saying, he drew forth the elvish knife he had taken from Lachrandir's body and presented the hilts to Caranthir. There was a silence. Caranthir's jaw hardened and his eyes glittered, but his brow remained unfurrowed. Tathren's gaze wavered before those terrible, penetrating eyes - and then suddenly, sharply Caranthir stood. Tathren swallowed and steeled his nerve as Caranthir descended the steps before the throne, stepping quickly and lightly as the crimson cloak rippled behind him. In a moment his hand was upon the dagger, which he took by the sheath. He held it up and turned it in the light for a moment and then he spoke - and the voice, while stern, was not wrathful.

"I believe you tell the truth, page. This is Lachrandir's knife, there is no doubt. I have seen it at his side a hundred times. If what you say is true, then I say you did what you could - and you did well. So Lachrandir is dead. What of your message? Do the Ulfings heed the summons of their liege-lord?"

"Lord Caranthir, they do. They have agreed to fight beside us, should war come."

Caranthir laughed. "Should war come! It is already coming. All of us - even you, page - will have our fill of war soon enough. Very well. That is all."

Tathren was stunned. That was all?! "What of Lachrandir?" he said in surprise. "Is - is that all?"

Caranthir had begun to ascend the throne once more, but he turned back on Tathren. "Have the Easterlings not agreed to honor their pledge? Lachrandir's mission is discharged, his purpose to me fulfilled. What more is there?"

Tathren remained kneeling and speechless.

"I would have hid my disdain from you, boy. If Lachrandir was fool enough to let himself be murdered - by a pack of Easterlings, no less - then he has received all he deserved!"

"He died serving you, lord!"

"And so he should."

"But do you not wish to see justice for your servant, your faithful servant? Can you not, as liege, see justice visited upon the Easterlings who killed? Do you not at least wish to know why he was killed?"

"No! I do not!" Caranthir paused, and then, on second thought, said: "Here. Take his knife. I dismiss you, Tathren." He thrust the knife at Tathren, who took it in trembling hands.

Without another glance or word, Caranthir resumed his high throne and motioned for the boy to be let out. The doors swung wide and Tathren left the throne room of Caranthir, head bowed, Lachrandir's knife held in both hands, wishing all the curses and imprecations his young imagination could muster upon the harsh king and wishing, last of all, a kind of vengeance upon Caranthir: that the alliance for which Lachrandir had died would come to naught.

[Folwren]

The time had come to gather his people together and to prepare them for war. He sent messengers out to the people living away from the city, ordering them to come and join the army. All the men and boys above thirteen years of age obeyed the summons. The streets and houses of the city were packed.

When they day came to march out to war, Uldor summoned the people near the great hall. They gathered about, pressing close to the building’s woodwork. Their noise filled the courtyard and the hall, a low rumbling like that of the sea. Uldor waited just long enough to build curiosity and suspense, and then he stepped out upon a balcony above them. The crowd hushed and a murmur went through the main body of men, “It is Lord Uldor!”

He was dressed simply, in black. Over his shoulders her wore a dark red cape. His head was uncovered. Behind him, in the shadow of the doorway, stood Jord.

Uldor raised his hand and a silence fell. “Friends,” he said looking down at the sea of upturned faces. “Comrades! Today we go forth to face battle! But I have called you here to tell you that we will fight for our own freedom and not merely for the good of someone else!” He paused, and a silence met him. They waited. “Until now,” he said, his voice rising to a great orator’s pitch, “Until now, we have been pawns in the lord Caranthir’s hands, waiting to fight when he summoned us, so that we could help him advance his own kingdom. We have gained nothing from our friendship with the elves. They have only used us for their own good and we have been left here in the cold, rocky region, whereas they enjoy the pleasures of the forests and green fields. No longer shall we stand for this! It will be changed!” This time when he paused, a roar of approval met him. He allowed them to carry on a moment and then he lifted his hand.

“We will go and we will throw their oppressive hand off of us!” Shouting again. He lifted his hand. “We will catch the elves unaware! I have sent word to lord Caranthir that I will fight on his behalf. It will appear that we will keep this word, for we will go and fight in his ranks. There we will be, side by side with the elves. But!” His eye swept the people. They waited in breathless silence. He deemed the time right to reveal his hand. “But when the word comes, you must turn and fight the elves. Thus we will over come Caranthir and break the bond he holds over us. Only in this fashion will we be able to free ourselves from their tyranny! To war, then, Ulfings!”

The crowd went mad. They shouted until they were hoarse. Those with spears lifted and shook them. Swords were drawn. Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, men began to chant, and soon the words flowed out through the entire body of men. “To war! To war! To war!”

Uldor’s eyes gleamed as he looked down at them. They were behind him entirely. He turned and went back in. For a moment, his eyes met Jord’s, but he did not stop to speak with her. Down to the courtyard he went and there he mounted his horse. He rode out to meet his men. A roaring cheer greeted him. Slowly he rode through them and up toward the city gate.

He reined in as he stood under the gate post. He looked forward. The wind was blowing the dry grasses back and forth with a mournful moaning sound. It caught and tugged at his cloak and stirred the hair about his face. Then he looked back at the people behind him. Their captains had formed them into long lines and he saw rank upon rank winding back into the city. His eyes swept across them, and then lifted to look towards the hall where he had come from. On the balcony where he had given his speech, he saw one single figure. It was Jord.

Uldor turned his face outward and dug his heels into his horse’s side. The tramp of feet followed him. They were off to war, and treason.

[piosenniel]

Mithalwen's post

Loyalty is a strange thing. Some inspire it, and hold it through the bonds of admiration and affection. Others command it through ties of blood or duty. To treat it as a commodity to be purchased is a dangerous policy. Such allegiance may be transferred to the highest bidder and commerce is an activity of the rational mind which is liable to rate self interest above that of the paymaster. The ties of the heart are less easily severed.

Tathren knew that Lachrandir had been utterly loyal to Caranthir but his death had earned only his lord’s disdain. He remembered his father whose loyalty to his brother had led him to exile and slaughter. He would have followed Lachrandir even to the doors of Angband but his loyalty to the House of Feanor had died with his master So he did not protest or even murmur when Midsummer neared and Caranthir had forbidden those not yet of full years and stature from the ranks of his army. What in another leader might have seemed an act of compassion seemed a sneer on the lips of the Feanorian. If, as seemed to Tathren, Caranthir scanned his face for a sign of dissent, he found it not. The boy deemed merely by living he could in a small way spite the great lord

He remembered with foreboding the words of Mandos that had coursed through his mind as he had knelt beside his master, sensing they neared fulfilment. His kindred would reap a harvest of grief but the seeds had been sown long ago on a distant shore. He knew he might find death without going to war, that the doom of the Noldor could not be eluded forever - but this was not his time. Not yet.