diplomatic status.’”
“You know,” Arwen said thoughtfully, “sometimes you’re undone by excessive logic – it makes you predictable. You wouldn’t have resorted to such measures without a dire need; therefore, the dead men have sniffed out something top-secret and extremely important. Hence, all I need to do is determine what they were doing in their last days.”
“Any progress?”
“Oh yes, quite a lot! If one can call it progress. I’ll admit that we’ve tended to overlook your games with the dead; to be honest, no one believed that a mortal could master the Shadow Spell well enough to actually bring them back to life. But now you have decided to inherit the black knowledge of Mordor, too; you’re gathering those poisoned shards everywhere you can and expect to get away with it. There’s no denying that you’re a top- grade swashbuckler (that’s what we were choosing for among very many): highly intelligent, desperately brave, and totally merciless to others and himself. I know that you’re no novice at juggling live cobras, but believe me: you have never – by the Halls of Valinor! – never played a game as dangerous as this!”
“I’m also very practical. The thing is, those games are as dangerous to you Elves as to me; I’m glad that you’ve finally understood the danger. I am ready to undo it all if I’m properly paid.”
“Ah so? What is your price, then?”
“You already know the price, and there’ll be no other.”
Arwen walked away in silence, like a vertical ray of sun piercing a dusty room; when she looked back at his soft: “Wait!” it was a victory greater than Pelennor or Cormallen.
“Wait,” he repeated, then carelessly tossed up the silver cup she had just used to illustrate her invective, caught and crushed it in a single movement like it was made of paper; the encrusted rubies burst through his fingers like drops of blood and rattled across the marble floor. “By the Halls of Valinor,” he repeated her words slowly, “I, too, no longer see a difference between the crown of Gondor and this cup; sorry that the crown wasn’t to hand.”
He tossed her the lump of silver so that she had to catch it and left without looking back. It looked like for the first time ever a battle went to him. Yes, she’s right – he’s playing the most dangerous game of all and isn’t about to turn back. He wants this woman, and he will have her, whatever the cost. This will never happen while Elves are Elves? Very well, then the whole foundation of their power must be crushed. This is a task of unimaginable complexity, but a lot more fun than, say, the conquest of Harad…
The voice of the guard on duty abruptly brought him back to reality: “Your Majesty! Your Majesty! The White Company is back from Ithilien. Shall I ask them in?”
…Aragorn sat silently, head down and arms crossed over his chest; Cheetah sat in front of him in an armchair, bandaged foot awkwardly turned aside. He had finished his unhappy report a few minutes ago and was now awaiting the verdict.
Finally His Majesty raised his gaze. “Under those circumstances your actions have to be judged as appropriate, Captain. I would’ve done the same thing in your place. Well, that’s no surprise.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Our shadow is your shadow.”
“You seem to want to ask something?”
“Yes. While in Ithilien we were bound hand and foot by the order to preserve Faramir’s life. Don’t you think it necessary to revise…” “No, I don’t.” The Dunadan rose and strolled around the room thoughtfully. “You see, I have lived a turbulent life and am guilty of a multitude of sins, including some mortal ones… but I have never been an oath-breaker, and never will be.”
“What relevance does this have to real politics?”
“A very direct one. Faramir is an honorable man, so while I keep up my side of the bargain, he won’t abandon his, and I’m fairly satisfied with the
“But now all who are unhappy with Your Majesty’s rule will gather in Ithilien!”
“Certainly, and that’s wonderful! This will rid me of opposition in Gondor – with no bloodshed, mind you. It will be Faramir’s problem now to make sure that those guys don’t do anything about restoring the old dynasty – he’s oath-bound, too.”
“So it doesn’t concern you that the Prince of Ithilien has already started some sort of murky dealings with the East?”
“This wasn’t in your report! Where did you get this information?”
“You see, the man who broke my foot was an Orocuen scout; the same night an Umbarian physician – Haladdin, I remember his name well – set it. Those men came from beyond the Mountains of Shadow together with the well-known baron Tangorn…”
“Hey! Describe this doctor to me!” Cheetah looked at Aragorn in surprise; the King leaned forward and his voice cracked a bit.
“…Yes, it’s him, without a doubt,” the Dunadan murmured and closed his eyes for a few seconds. “So Tangorn had found Haladdin in Mordor and dragged him over to Faramir in Ithilien… Damn but you’ve kept the worst news for last! Looks like I have seriously underestimated that philosopher.”
“Forgive me, Your Majesty, for not yet knowing – who is this Haladdin?”
“Ah. You see, you’re about to head a small top-secret group – Task Force Feanor; it is not even part of the Secret Guard and reports directly to me. Its strategic task for the foreseeable future is to gather knowledge left behind by Mordor and Isengard for our own purposes. You can’t make do with just the books in this business, you need the people, too. A certain Doctor Haladdin is number eighteen on our list. Of course, it could be a coincidence that he met Tangorn, Faramir’s Umbarian resident, but I don’t believe in such coincidences.”
“Then you think… that Faramir is doing the same thing?”
“Usually, clever thoughts occur to smart minds simultaneously; by the way, the Elves are engaged in the same kind of search, to other ends, of course. The thing is that Faramir will have a much easier time searching thanks to his old connections in the East. That list we have is based on pre-war reports of his resident spies – praise Manwe that we, rather than the Elves, got the Royal archives… In any case, Captain – find this Tangorn immediately and get everything he knows out of him; then consider how to get our hands on whatever Ithilien has. There’s no task of greater importance now.”
“An abduction right out of Emyn Arnen?” Cheetah shook his head dejectedly. “But that damned Grager has practically destroyed our network there, it can hardly handle such a task.”
“Tangorn won’t stay in Emyn Arnen. No doubt Faramir will send him to Umbar, where he had so much success before the war: it’s full of Mordorian emigres now, plus it’s the best possible location for secret diplomatic missions. Certainly they’ve already hid Haladdin somewhere… actually, that’s easy to check. I’ll send a courier to Emyn Arnen right away – I owe the Prince of Ithilien my best regards anyway. Should the messenger find neither Haladdin nor Tangorn there – which is what I expect – send your people to Umbar at once. Get moving, Captain, and get well soon: there’s plenty of work to do.”
“So where is Wolverine now?”
“He’s in Isengard, commanding a band of marauding Dungarians. His mission is obtaining ‘blasting fire.’”
“What about Mongoose?”
“He’s in Mindolluin, a prisoner in the quarry,” answered the Task Force Feanor member
