It bears the title :

Innocence and Experience.

It tells a story. And it begins right here. In Gondor. The third age of Middle Earth as we know it approaches it’s declining years. Denethor II sits as steward of the southern kingdom, and several miles from the White City, a shadow moves ...

He hesitated just long enough to ensure that the White Tree was hidden; the shining silver emblem of Minas Tirith slid into the underside of folded cloth upon a shaking hand. For a minute he was lath to abandon it, while a flicker of doubt lingered in his troubled mind. Strong fingers clutched silently at the dark material, bidding farewell once again to the man that his neghbours knew and spoke to carelessly. Finally, resolutely, he swathed the precious bundle in his cloak and slung it over one shoulder. Out of sight but close at hand. The burden of bearing trappings of both those that he loved had long been his. But as he emerged out of a dark place where the stars did not throw light, he seized fretful opportunity to perfect the fall of those rich coloured fabrics which now hung over his studded leather armour. The transformation was complete. And closely would his ranger colleagues have to look for recognition in the foreign warrior he resembled.

Spurred on by the comfort of such a desguise, swiftly now did he pass through the woodland, silent. The years he had laboured in exacting an unseen approach had been time well worth spent. He was now a master of his craft. He knew it. He took pride in it. And now he was most grateful for the ability. The Gondorian’s pace picked up as he recalled that alarming news learnt just this afternoon. Such information as he had uncovered could not be ignored. His very life depended upon his acting, taking this dangerous risk. Many more lives also.

********

Beneath a mist-wreathed moon, she saw him emerge. Like a shifting silhouette of the trees which surrounded the copse, did he suddenly appear. Her heart leapt, and even as others of her company observed the dark figure approach she called off those who would intercept him. One remained, unseen, unheeded. Na’eesha had already turned toward their intruder, pulse racing. She knew his walk, the length of his gait. Her dark eyes had studied and committed to memory the way that he moved. Every inch of his form she had etched deep upon her heart in idle moments lost in fanciful hope. Longing for him to be close to her, often had she been disappointed. For beyond the armour which masked her as a warrior, the woman within yearned for the man who played with her affections. The days she had known him were divided between overwhelming desire and untamed hatred. Passion flared up, erupting through every ounce of her being when she sang his name in the privacy of quiet repose, and when her eyes fell upon his face she ignored the warnings which told her he was not to be trusted.

"You come without warning," she managed to greet him, her carefully lowered voice steadfast. His reply was muffled as he leaned in and let the wild tendrils of her ebony hair caress his face. He had missed her, more than he should have. He cared for her more than he had counted on. He compensated for the rushing loss of control that tempted him by quickly drawing back, as though burned. Her associate, a third presence, watched the tense reunion with an icy expression etched across his face. Mulaht was not happy about this unplanned appearance of their apparent accomplice.

"What do you do here ?" the tribesman demanded, as sharply as he dared against the shrill wind. "Three moons, you said, should we let pass afore meeting again. Your words, ranger."

Domanol detached himself from the not so subtle embrace of Na’eesha and fought to keep a lid on the anger that surged within. That undeniable and automatic tense that he’d been raised on. To hear the word, ’ranger’, spat with such bold vehemence. Slowly, icy cold, he raised an eyebrow at her colleague’s implied allegations, the lack of a more formidable reaction serving to mock even as he maintained his demeanour.

"What am I doing here ?" he repeated, struggling to extinguish the temptation of mirth. Recalling with all too much haste just how serious the matter was. "I came to ask you the very same thing," he said, seemingly unafraid. The woman between them found a space on the periphery of the exchange, and regarded both men, quietly.

"You are not where we agreed," the Gondorian pointed out. "It isn’t safe to be this close to the city. Yet." Dom watched the other man’s face warily as he continued to chastise a man far stronger and practiced than himself. "Gondor’s scouts are sent out this far," he threw in, the threat causing all three of the unusual trio to catch their respective breath. "In the barracks, there have already been reports, rumours. The chance recognised of some brave foreign party travelling about these parts. They may decide to investigate further. That is why I came. They would find you, too soon. Our plans would be ruined before there was even ever time."

"We have seen time," interrupted the other, no longer able to forgive the youth’s patronising impudence. "Too much time has passed and my trust in you fades with every step we do not take forward. Maybe it is time I see with mine own eyes that what you say is true." He looked the other up and down, as though reassessing his opinion. "That your country-men wish with our people to end hostile state." Mulaht drew Na’eesha close to him, seeking support that he failed to receive. The woman’s brow was knitted, her eyes drawn down to the earth upon which they all stood.

"My Lord Denethor is not one to do aught without careful consideration. Much deliberation is required," Dom explained, calmly, subdueing that which smouldered in his belly at the accusations. "I must proceed with caution now, if to convince him."

"Convince ?!!" Mulaht was not so easily appeased, nor soothed by such news. Indeed, this ’revelation’ seemed to cause a fury unlike any that the young ranger had ever seen in all the time they’d known. "You act then not on his behalf, but your own ?!!" rounded off the Easterner, gesturing for all that he was worth. "The way you told to us your tale, I thought to seek out negotiations with our people was this Steward’s intention. Not.." Black eyes danced like coals against the torches cast close by and the world waited for a resolution to the insult never completed. "Who are you, boy ?" the challenge was clear though. "Who are you to play so with our lives, to promise what you have no means to deliver ?"

Domanol played the odds inside his head. The unexpected anger of his secret accomplice had shaken his nerves, truth be told. Mulaht’s fury had struck well too close to home. For who was he ? Child of a soldier yet. The guards still allowed him not even an audience with Gondor’s ever-elusive Steward. But he was a corporal. A ranger corporal. It had taken longer than his impetuous spirit should have bourne, but slowly and surely he was gaining a foothold now in the hierachy of Gondor’s elite. Soon. Soon he would be trusted, respected. They would have to let him be heard by the mighty. They would have to listen.

"You think I play you false," was his eventual reply. Mulaht’s face confirmed the registration of mistrust and the ranger fell to his tongue, slippery in word as his foot was in shadows. "You believe that I would lure you into danger ?" he deadpanned, assuming an understanding with his difficult audience. "All the while plotting to betray you ?" He laughed. His voice had approached a new octave toward the ’punchline’, but there was no laughter in reply. In apparent reluctance, Dom changed his stance just slightly. "If I had no faith in my convictions," he tried, "if I believed not that what I say with my voice, my children shall one day see with their eyes. Peace among mankind," he let both arms fall wide, to heighten the illusion. "Then I would certain meet death unpleasant" he paused, not long wishing to entertain that likelihood. "I would be a fool," he admitted further, turning as if to go. But he did not go. "I am no fool," he disclosed, falling back into a firm and reaffirming sense of speech now. Louder in fact, than he had intended. But it was more for the sake of persuading himself, than persuading they who could have killed him there and then if it crossed their minds. Domanol let his best efforts slowly absorb and cast out the dangerous concerns of his unlikely associates. All would be well. It just had to be. And after all, if they didn’t think the plan was possible, then why had they come so far ? What else were they even doing here ?

Na’eesha exchanged a nervous glance with her kinsman, daring not to glance into the Westerner’s face. She had believed him. Here she stood, daughter of the chief, determined to make the fortunes of her tribe, secure the safety of her aging father. She had dared to take up with this stranger who spoke at great length of peace, and of unity among all men. All men. She needed to believe in him, in all that he said. Otherwise she was just some silly girl who had fallen for the enemy’s trick. Lured within the grasp of Gondor’s soldiers ... Dark eyes stood proud, veiling the fear in her heart. This was to be her defining moment. She would show the elders that a woman could act with the valour and wisdom of any man. If this went to plan, she would propel her sisters into a new world where gender did not mean you were passed over. She was daughter of the chief. She would show that his blood flowed through her veins, that she was equal. All she had to do was have him be true. The Westerner would not let her down. She knew it in her heart. He spoke with his. He wanted no more them and us.

"My only enemy is the one who sits in Mordor," Domanol concluded, finally. Recognising the need for a little reasssurance. He would have to move swiftly. This could all go so terribly wrong, so easily ... "Too long has He splintered mankind and watched us fight amongst ourselves." A hand that fought silently against nerves which would shake it, reached for the hidden dagger at his hip. "It is folly to continue so," he told them, hoping he could at least convince himself. "Folly," he said again, "when we would have no need for fear with a united force, a united race. Mankind will inherit this world. He knows it ! Why do you think He seeks to divide, to conquer ?" he challenged their doubts, using a bewitching blend of tone to sway their mood. "He looks to tear us down before such an chance we realise, using our own people as His tools. He will seek to watch us destroy each other, and then finish off any survivors. But if we make an alliance now, if my Lord will accept your people as an embassy .. and I believe that he will. It’s in all our best interests. We could really do it. Together."

The speech rambled onward, while Mulaht bit back impatience at the ranger’s naivity. Personally the tribesman didn’t believe an iota in Domanol’s idealistic nonsense. Peace was not so easily made, after so much war. Grudges could not be erased, nor the want for vengeance stilled. Not to mention the fact that Mulaht himself was interested little in making any bargain with Denethor, any more than he believed the Steward would, in return, wish to unite with his long time enemies in the east, against the Dark One, Sauron. This was one Easterling who had already envisaged somehow using the peace-loving ranger as a means to get an Eastern scout party inside the impenetrable fortress that is Minas Tirith. At the very least, win information of some worth. Mulaht the mighty would win then much respect among his people, and great power. Especially when he claimed Na’eesha for his own. That dotard father of her’s, he had no strength left to oppose the proposal. Mulaht would have all the power he could dream of, and more besides. It was enough to make a man go wild with the idea. But he had to keep his head. No good shouting the odds before they’d fallen in his favour. He could wait.

Or could he ? Mulaht was tired of waiting. Weary of holding out for the day when he could let Na’eesha know just how clever he was. So little opinion did she seem to have of him, and so often did her eye stray these days to the Gondorian. Mulaht scowled, quite forgetting in his impatience that deception was still the order of the day. He had to pretend that he believed in what Dom had dreamt could happen. That he wanted it. Na’eesha beside him, was doing a better job of acting. Of course, it had crossed her kisnman’s mind on more than one occasion recently that his cohort had fallen for more than just the fool ranger’s ideals. It was a wrench to admit it, especially since he had not even acknowledged how deeply he also cared for her, until she made it all too clear she loved another. Oh, he would make sure Dom was ’removed’ at some point .. for more than one reason. Na’eesha would be his. And together they would take the credit for toppling Minas Tirith’s defence. For now, the important thing was convincing the Gondorian that they could be trusted. Ready and willing to strike. Far too willing. And ready to strike where history dictated that they should. For the honour and the glory of all those who’d died in conflict with the arrogant superiority of Gondor.

They’d come. Played the part. Mulaht had persuaded Na’eesha to forget Dom’s cautious instructions. Moving with more haste could only bring about their ambition with more haste. Right, my princess ? There’d been little protest on her part. She was just as impatient, he saw it. But she longed to see him, the ranger. Not to see his world and all his idiotic dreams come falling down like a house of cards in violent winds unheard. Deliberately they’d ventured closer to the White city than they had been advised. Was it too early to cast off the cloak ? To smite the youth ? Mulaht played with the image as does a cat a mouse. The temptation was still testing him when a noise made all three conspirators look up.

Scholar (Scribe)
16th June 2005

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