Elegy for Númenor - Volume 1: Journey to Umbar by elfscribe

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Chapter 24 - Keeping Faith

Summary: Tigôn confesses to Elendil and begs for his help. Meanwhile, Sûla is treated roughly and thrown into a cell, where he despairs of life until he has a visitor.

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Note: Because Tigôn was raised on the west coast of Númenor, amongst members of the Faithful, his first language is Sindarin, and as a child he knew Elendil and Amandil by their Quenya names, and so that is how he thinks of them.

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Tigôn swiped his plate clean with a chunk of bread, which he devoured, chasing it with the last of his wine and then licking his fingers.  With his stomach finally content, he pushed back his plate. There was nothing left on it but a bare skeleton of fish bones.   

“Feeling better now?” Elendil asked.  He was resting his chin on his hand, elbow propped on the table, and watching Tigôn with a concerned expression.  

“Yes, thank you,” Tigôn said.    

“No more dizziness?”                         

“No, I’m fine,” Tigôn replied.  “I’m truly sorry about passing out like that. So loutish of me.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Elendil said. “You’ve been through much today from what you’ve told me about Magân and Annatar.  Two sorcerers are far too many for one young man to handle.  Human fingers, brrrr. I think you’ve done very well.”  He poured the rest of the pitcher into Tigôn’s cup. “Did you know I’ve been worried about you?” 

“Have you?” Tigôn studied a stain on the white linen.  He could well guess what was coming.

“Yes, it was partly to find you that I came to see the King. You haven’t paid me a visit since the battle at Arzog’s Pass, which I know was a terrible trial for you.  I was beginning to wonder what had happened to our spy.”

“Don’t call me that!”  

“It was meant lightly,” Elendil replied.

“It doesn’t feel that way to me,” Tigôn said. “It’s been a burden. I can’t do it anymore.” 

“Ah,” Elendil said.  “Clearly, there’s something sticking in your craw. Bring your wine and let’s go sit by the fire in greater comfort.  We have some things to discuss, you and I.”

“Yes, hîren,” Tigôn said.  They sat next to one another in two cushioned chairs by a crackling fire.   There was a large window of expensive glass nearby that overlooked the ocean.   The gloaming sky was a clear shade of violet that steadily lightened to a pinkish hue just along the horizon where the sun had set. Tigôn could see the slow brightening of Eärendil against the darkening backdrop. If he stared hard enough, he almost thought he could make out the sails of Vingilot – a fancy he had from when he was little.

Elendil cradled a wine cup in his large, rough-knuckled sailor’s hand and stared out into the harbor.  This took Tigôn back to a time when he was quite young and his family was visiting Elendil’s manse at Andúnië. He recalled standing next to Elendil on the pier, just as the sun was setting, and looking up and up to see the lord’s lean, angular face. Tigôn thought he’d never seen anyone so tall. The waves shushed in the background as Elendil stared pensively out across their ever-changing shapes, and then shaded his eyes with his hand. When Tigôn asked him what he was looking for, he said, ‘For the white swan-ships from Aman.’ 

‘Have you ever seen them?’ Tigôn asked breathlessly. 

‘Just once I thought I did, when I was about your age.  I’ve always hoped that some day I’d see them again.’  Elendil reached down and set his hand gently on Tigôn’s shoulder.  It was such a comforting gesture that Tigôn didn’t want him to take it away – not ever.

Elendil’s appearance was not quite the same. Now there were flecks of silver in the captain’s shadowy hair, white crow’s feet etched in the fine skin about his eyes, and a worried crease between his dark eyebrows.  But his voice was just as kind and thoughtful as ever. Elendil was like an uncle to him and Tigôn felt ashamed for having deceived him, even if only through omission. His worries lay on him like a weight of one hundred years.  If they executed Sûla, he didn’t know how he would bear it. 

“Westernesse,” Elendil said softly. “When the sun sets, I always think of our home across the sea.  Are you anxious to get back, Tigôn?”

“Yes, I’m sick to death of this place.” To his own ears, Tigôn thought he sounded whiny and pathetic.   

“I don’t blame you.  I miss, well . . . everything.” Elendil sighed.  “I miss my wife Lórellin’s smile; my noisy, mischievous boys; the soaring white cliffs and the air whirring with screeching gulls and pelicans at the port of Rómenna. I miss the clear light of the afternoon turning the walls golden, and the sweet chirping of the wrens at dawn.  I miss the smell of wet earth in the garden.”

“For me, it’s my mother’s cinnamon apple tarts with clotted cream, and my father mussing up my hair and calling me ‘silly pup,’” Tigôn said.   I miss my innocence, he thought.

“Do you remember when you and your brother Zoganîr came to stay with us at Andúnië?”
 
“We came for maybe five or six summers all told,” Tigôn said.

“Yes, I’m thinking of the time when you boys went out to explore the old lighthouse and you fell through the floor into the cellar.”

“I well remember.  I still carry the scar,” Tigôn said, tapping his knee. “We wanted to go explore because the place was said to be haunted. I swear it was.  I heard a voice in my ear and that’s when I fell off the beam. Why are you remembering that now?”

“Because it was Isildur who convinced you all to go, although I’d expressly forbidden it, and yet you refused to implicate him, even when I threatened punishment. You said you’d gone out there on your own. I confined you to your room until your brother finally squealed.”

“Yes, I remember,” Tigôn said, with a half-smile. 

Actually, none of the boys had ever revealed the full truth to Elendil.  Isildur had taken them out to the cape as cover because he was meeting up with a girl at a nearby cottage.  He left Zoganîr, Anárion, and Tigôn to play in the lighthouse during his assignation and when Tigôn fell, Anárion had to run half a league to get his brother, who returned shirtless and disgruntled to help haul Tigôn out of the pit. But Tigôn decided the whole truth was better left unspoken. “What makes you remember that now?” he asked.

“Because, even though you were the youngest of the lot, you would rather take the punishment on yourself than betray a friend.  I admire that about you Tigôn.  I’m guessing that you and Sûla have become friends and that’s why you stopped reporting what you knew about him and the Zigûr.  Is that right?”

“We have become friends. That is the truth,” Tigôn said.  He couldn’t keep the tremor out of his voice.  “You asked me to do something that I could no longer in good conscience do.”

Outside, the stars were starting to prick their way through the fabric of the heavens.  Elendil nodded.  “I know that and respect you for it.  But you have to understand that sometimes there are larger issues at stake than friendship.  Let us say Sûla told you something that was critical to the safety of your family, or even all of Númenor, but it meant betraying his confidence. What would you do?”

“I don’t know,” Tigôn said.  “I think I’d have to see what it was.  I hope I’m never faced with that.”

“Tigôn, those of us closest to Ar-Pharazôn are afraid of Annatar’s influence. The King refuses to heed our advice and therefore we are helpless to do anything about it.  The only defense we have is to watch and to listen. As a messenger, you are privy to much that I am not.  I need your eyes and ears. I need to know if Annatar’s influence is spreading.  There may come a time when all our loyalties are put to the test.  I need to know which side you’ll choose.”

“How can I know what is the right thing to do?” Tigôn asked.  “I don’t want to betray anyone.”

Elendil eyed him narrowly. “That night when you returned from visiting the Haradren camp, something strange happened.   I’ve had reports from some of the men who were there at the front line, including Hazûn.  He said that when the Haradren warrior took you hostage, Sûla arose from the grass and said some strange, ugly words – Hazûn thought they sounded like Black Speech – and a great wind came up that made the Haradren’s horse go mad.  Is that so?”

“I’m not exactly sure what happened,” Tigôn lied. “Sûla shouted something and the horse reared and I fell off.  All I know is, when Sûla could have turned tail and saved himself, he came back and made me get up and run.  I owe him my life.  He has been a good friend and true and I was not kind to him after that, because of what he was, because he was a zirâmîki.  I feel ashamed for spying on him, even if I could not report anything of consequence.”

Elendil cocked his head. “I’m sorry about your friend’s plight.  Personally, I’m not fond of the King’s penchant for keeping pleasure slaves.  This isn’t the first time it’s led to problems.”

“Problems! They’re going to hang him tomorrow and there is nothing I can do to stop it!” Tigôn cried out in anguish. “I cannot believe the King would be willing to execute the man he’s been sleeping with for the past year merely on the say-so of that conniving Izindor! Why can’t he wave his hand and free him? You should have heard the King explaining what they will do to him!” Tigôn took a gulp of the wine to hide the impending tears.  “And it happens,” he said fiercely, “that it is Annatar, the creature you think so little of, who may be Sûla’s best hope of escaping from a terrible death. You see why I’m having a hard time distrusting him?”

“What does the Zigûr know about it?” Elendil said intently.

“Annatar is a Truthsayer.  He told me that he thinks Sûla is innocent.  And I think so too.”

“What proof does Annatar have?”

“I don’t know, but I believe what he says,” Tigôn replied. “I’ve spent some time with him the past couple of days . . . and he’s uncanny.” Tigôn shivered. He couldn’t say why he felt uncomfortable but it seemed bound up with that blank space in his memory from when he visited the Zigûr that morning. “Annatar appears to have the ability to see things that the rest of us cannot.  I believe he’s far more powerful than any of us know.  To speak honestly, he scares the shite out of me.”

Elendil nodded.  “Me too.” 

“But Sûla needs him now,” Tigôn said. “And therefore, so do I.”

There was a silence in which Tigôn listened to the quiet hiss of the fire.  The dance of flames reminded him of Annatar’s eyes that afternoon.  “I think something is wrong with the Zigûr, though,” he said.  “He was talking to someone I couldn’t see and it didn’t seem a friendly conversation.”

Elendil sat up. “That’s interesting.  Tell me what he said.”

“He said to shut up and at first I thought he meant me, but then clearly he didn’t.  And he told someone that even if the ingredients of the potion were not perfect, they would be sufficient to fold, what was the word he used? Rhaw. To fold someone back into his rhaw.  And then it seemed one arm wouldn’t do what he wanted and he had to wrestle it down with the other, as if he was fighting off an unseen foe.”
 
“You’re sure he wasn’t mumming?”

“It didn’t look like it.”

“Huh,” Elendil bit his lip. “Well Tigôn. I don’t know what to make of that information, but more than ever, it tells me we need to keep a close watch on him. Can you continue being my eyes and ears?  I won’t ask you to report on your friend.”           

“I will do what I can, hîren.  But, when I agreed to do this for you before, I did not know how, um, complicated it would be.  Sûla . . . .” His voice caught.

Elendil looked at him carefully.  “There’s more to this relationship with Sûla, isn’t there? Something you’re not telling me.”

Miserably, Tigôn nodded his head.  “I’m terrified of what will happen at the trial, of what Annatar might reveal.”

“And what might he reveal, Tigôn?”  Elendil was regarding him gravely with those star-lit eyes. 

“Where Sûla was all night,” Tigôn whispered.

The crease in Elendil’s forehead deepened. “Was he with you?” 

Tigôn looked into his cup at the trembling pool of wine, red as blood.  He nodded. 

Elendil frowned.  “And I take it you weren’t merely having a friendly conversation by the fire, like we are now?”

Tigôn caught his arm.  “Please, please, don’t tell my father.  He’d never forgive me!”

“Ah, now you put me in the same dilemma you wish to avoid,” Elendil said.  “I’m very, very unhappy about this turn of events.”

“I’m not exactly pleased about it, either.”

“What are your feelings about this affair?”

Elendil’s expression had become stern and hard.  Tigôn remembered that, as a child, he’d been afraid of the sea captain’s slow temper.  He took in a breath, figuring that since he’d begun to spill his heart, he may as well finish. “It was just last night. We’d never done anything before.  And I can’t even tell you how it came about. But, it was good,” he admitted. “It didn’t feel wrong at all.  He was warm and sweet to me and I realized that . . . um, I liked it. I just, I know that even if this murder hadn’t happened, if the King were to find out . . . .”

Elendil worried his lip with his teeth. “Right. That wouldn’t be so good,” he finished. “I agree.  And you’re afraid this may come out in the questioning tomorrow?”

“I’m his best defense that he wasn’t in the room with Dulginzin.”

“Where did he go once he left your room this morning?”

“He said he was going back to Dulginzin’s bedchamber because the King commanded him to spend the night there.  He was worried Dulginzin might have awakened during the night and noticed he had left.”

“So, Sûla could have killed him when he went back?”

Tigôn nodded miserably.  “But, it just didn’t seem like he’d do that. If he was going to kill him, surely he would have done it before he left?”

“Are you sure he didn’t?”

“I think I would have noticed something.  He’s not a cold murderer, hîren.”

“I can’t tell you how concerned I am to hear about this affair with the King’s zirâmîki.  And Tigôn, I never thought you . . . of all young men. Let me just say I’m very. . . surprised.”

“None more than me, hîren,” Tigôn said.  “I’ve been a good servant for the King.  I’ve done everything he’s asked and more.  I didn’t plan this, but when Sûla showed up at my door in the small hours last night with that big bruise on his face from Dulginzin hitting him, well, I couldn’t throw him out, could I?”

“Are you saying he seduced you?”

“No, we both wanted it.  It’s been building . . . for some time.”

“I see.”  Elendil rubbed a hand through his silver-flecked hair.  “If this comes out, it will damage your position at court and may follow you the rest of your life.  And it will hurt your father who is my friend. I would hate to see that.  But in truth, I don’t see any reason why it needs to be revealed.  Sûla came to see you because you’re friends. You’ve been playing bones together.  That must be what you were doing, yes?”

“I’d thought of that,” Tigôn said.  “I don’t know whether it will work, not if the Zigûr is poking around in Sûla’s head.  You don’t know, you haven’t seen . . . .”

“You could always deny that he visited you.  It would be Sûla’s word against yours.”

“Would you have me lie and betray my friend?”

Elendil looked at him solemnly and then gave him a bare smile. “No, I wouldn’t. But I fear for what our jealous King might do to you.  Let’s just hope it doesn’t come out.  You could still be the boy I knew from that summer at Andúnië and tell only part of the truth.”

Tigôn glanced up at him. “What?” 
                   
“I found out about Isildur’s little tryst some time after the day you fell,” Elendil said, with a grim smile. “I have my own methods of finding out things, you know.  I swear that boy’s affairs will come to bite him one day.”

“Ah, well, I guess that’s one more secret I can release to the Void,” Tigôn said. “In any event, as you pointed out, the fact that Sûla and I were together that night doesn’t prove he didn’t do it.  I fear my reputation will be ruined, and still it won’t save him. We could hardly be in more trouble, could we?”

Elendil clicked his tongue. “This is a heap of trouble, yes.”

“There’s more,” Tigôn said. “When I was at Magân’s, he let me use his soup, a liquid in a bowl that allows you to see things. I asked where Sûla was hiding and it showed me the King’s guard going after him. I was trying to warn him, so I ran to where he was, but the Red Cloaks got there before me.  When they brought him out of the house, Sûla  saw me and he gave me a look such as to freeze the bone. He thinks I betrayed him.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Elendil said.  “I’m sorry.” 

“I need to see him,” Tigôn said suddenly.  “I can’t let him go to the gallows believing I did that to him.”

“That may be difficult,” Elendil said. “The prisoners are heavily guarded.”

“You are captain of a fleet, commander of half a legion, and a member of the Council,” Tigôn said.  “Surely, you have the authority.” He caught up Elendil’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.  “Please, my lord, I’ve opened my heart to you.  I’ve risked much to ‘spy’ for you and Lord Amandil.  Please, I beg of you, help me now.”  Tears sprang into Tigôn’s eyes.  He blinked to keep them from spilling.      

Elendil patted Tigôn shoulder.  “You care for him, don’t you?”

Tigôn nodded. 

“Very well.”  Elendil rose. “Let me see what I can arrange.  I think perhaps you could carry a message from me to him. Let’s hope this doesn’t get us all into trouble.”

********************

It was cold, so cold in the prison that had been delved deep in the rock below Umbar’s palace. A torch guttered on the wall just outside his cell, casting eerie flickering shadows. Sûla sat on a bare bed with his arms wrapped about himself in an effort to keep warm. He could hear the clatter of dice as the two guards just outside his cell amused themselves, as well as the blubbery moaning of Lord Rabêlozar down the corridor, and the faint crashing of waves upon the rocks outside.

As they were bringing him down the stairs to the dungeon, Sûla had thought that if he could just get one of the guards alone, he would use the freezing spell and try to escape. But as the stairs lengthened, the corridors passed, and they went through two locked and guarded iron gates, he realized how impossible that plan was. And even if by some miracle, he did escape, where would he go? Back to his aunt? Ha!

The four members of the King’s Guard had hauled him to a room warmed by several hot coal braziers, the walls ominously displaying torture devices. There, they unlocked the cuffs on his wrists and stripped him to make sure he carried no hidden weapons. Sûla learned from their conversation that the Regent’s exchequer had supposedly hung himself with a neck chain the night before, resulting in two Umbarian guards being executed for dereliction of duty, so the Red Cloaks were making sure nothing of the sort happened to them.

Sitting on his cot, Sûla seethed with resentment. He had known several of these men while he’d been a favorite in the King’s court. He’d always spoken them fair and could not believe how poorly they had treated him. Although he figured that the worst of the lot, a grinning lout named Hozdûnik, was getting revenge for having been flogged on his account.  

As Hozdûnik unbuttoned Sûla’s jacket, he had said with a smirk, “This feels like undressing a whore. Oh, I forgot, that’s what you are.” He leered at Sûla, then bent to jerk the zirâmîki’s trousers down to his boots, exposing him completely.  He gripped a handful of Sûla’s arse, painfully pulling one cheek aside and laughing at Sûla’s gasp. “Feast your eyes on that, mîkin, that’s prime King’s arse-meat, that is.” One of the other guards snickered. 
                                   
The fat-cheeked one, Sikhulzin, picked up Sûla’s trousers, which made a jingling sound. He shook them out and there was a bright clatter of metal as Sûla’s rings, bracelets, and earrings tumbled out of his pockets to the floor.  The sound made Sûla’s hackles rise.  No! Those were his!  He made a lunge for the jewelry and was brought up sharp by Hozdûnik grabbing his arms.

“Will you look at this!” Sikhulzin stooped and picked up a ring set with rubies.  It glittered brightly in his hand. 

“I wonder how many times you had to suck the King's cock to get that one!” Hozdûnik said.

“You have no idea, arsehole,” Sûla snarled. “Clearly, I was quite good at it. Better than you!”

Sûla earned himself a punch that knocked his head sideways. A bloom of pain flared in his abused cheek.

“Quit it,” the blond guard named Milzagar said, “or I’m reporting you. The King wanted him in one piece.”

“Why bother? This one is crows’ meat, anyway,” Hozdûnik said.

“The King will see what his face looks like tomorrow and you’ll get another flogging,” Milzagar replied. “Let’s get on with it. I don’t want to be down here any longer than I have to.”

“Raise your arms, slave!” Hozdûnik barked.

Gahhh, they’ll take everything! Sûla thought. He knew he couldn't avoid the inevitable, but he could not help himself.  He made his arms rigid and the guard had to forcibly pull them back, while Sikhulzin stripped the jacket off in one quick peel. There were gasps as the four of them stared open-mouthed at the golden dragon with the ruby eyes that coiled up Sûla’s upper right arm.

“The zirâmîki is wearing a fortune!” Sikhulzin exclaimed, his eyes widening within their fatty folds.

“It’s mine!” Sûla cried. “Given to me by the King himself. It anything happens to it, he’ll know.”

But it was too late. There was a scramble for his rings and bracelets, and both Sikhulzin and Hozdûnik hurt Sûla trying to wrench the dragon off his arm.

“It's protected by a curse,” Sûla cried desperately. "If anyone takes it for his own, he will die with its tail wrapped around his neck.”

“Ha, ha!” Hozdûnik chortled. “As if I believe that one.”

Now lying on the cot, his body hurting in many places from the rough treatment he’d received, Sûla felt a keen sense of loss. They had taken his jewelry, his gifts from the King that he had worked and schemed so hard to get. That finery had been his future, his dream of freedom and setting up in a shop somewhere. So much for trying to buy respectability.  No doubt all of it was, even now, being wagered in a game of bones in the warm guard room down the hall. And they had taken Dulginzin’s fur-lined cloak, which he sorely missed. He’d been left only with his thin dancing trousers, Dulginzin’s overlarge and clunky boots, and Tigôn’s woolen jacket.

Sûla caught a whiff of something like rotten eggs and his nose wrinkled. It was probably some of that filth that had been thrown at him by the Umbarians. He combed his fingers through his tangled hair and removed some leafy chunks, which he flung away. Gah! He prided himself on his appearance, his perfumed perfection while at court. This was misery! What he wouldn’t give for a hot bath.

He longed to go back to the time, just before dawn, when he had awakened by Tigôn’s side and kissed his soft curls, enjoying the warmth of his body.  He wanted to regain that feeling of peaceful bliss; to feel, if only for one moment in his life, that he was someone’s beloved. 

But that was before the whole world had turned against him.

Anger flared up in his heart. Tigôn, that bastard! He had talked to Sûla as if he were an equal, not like a slave, had jested with him, taken him in his arms, and spoken loving words. And now, he was just like all of the rest! No, he was worse than any of them!  None of the others had promised love. Why had he shown up at his aunt’s house? How could Tigôn have possibly known where Sûla was?

Despair settled like a giant wet frog into Sûla’s chest. What had he done to be so unloved? He knew he was beautiful and charming. His gifts and all his work – and he would challenge anyone who thought it wasn’t work to try it – had made him the Númenórean King’s favorite. So why did no one come to his aid now? Not the King, not anyone at court, not even Tigôn. They all found him expendable. Something you could kick out into the alley like that mangy dog he saw eating filth this morning.
   
And then there were all his worthless family members who'd betrayed him: his aunt, his mother, and his step-father, Khunig, who had always said Sûla would come to a bad end. So, Khunig, you son of a warg.  Are you happy that you were right? Sûla thought.

He got up and paced about his little cell, which was bare but for the cot and a piss pot. This was what was left of his life. This! Pressing his face against the cold bars, he heard the Regent yelling something down the hall. Clearly he wasn’t going to meet his doom quietly. Sûla could find scant sympathy for him. You brought this on yourself, you greedy bastard, he thought. You had everything. Whereas I, what did I do but try to survive?

Was this to be his last night on earth? Would he be horribly executed in the morning? He shivered again and sank back onto the cot. Where did people go after they died? Would he fly into the heavens to dice with Lord Zizzûn, as some thought? Or exist in some barren, forsaken wasteland, always crying, as others said? He could well believe that last, since that was where he was right now – a barren, forsaken wasteland. Unloved, unwanted. Expendable garbage.

Hot tears slipped down his face.

***************
“Sûla! You have a visitor,” a gruff voice called.  Sûla sat up groggily and through the bars of his cell saw two of the guards standing there; one holding a smoking torch.  The dream he’d been having scuttled away into the shadows. Crows. He’d been surrounded by them, looking at him with greedy black eyes and calling to one another with harsh croaks. Annatar appeared.  He leaned over, whispering something; then he had turned into a wolf with fiery eyes.  Sûla’s heart was still thumping with fright. 

“I have a visitor?” he asked suspiciously, peering through the gloom.  The guards had changed since he’d nodded off.  Now it was square-jawed Milzagar and that other one with the beaky nose, Dâur.  Sûla’s heart sped up until he thought it would pound out of his chest.  Could Ar-Pharazôn have come to release him?  He didn’t dare hope.

“It’s one of the King’s pages, bearing a message from Lord Nimruzîr,” Dâur said.

"What?"  Sûla was flooded with a series of conflicting emotions: anger, hope, confusion, despair.  He stood shakily and tried to comb his hair into place with his fingers.  “I, I don’t want to see him,” he said.

“You don’t have a choice, mîki,” Milzagar said.  He turned and beckoned, then stuck the torch back in its bracket on the wall.  Sûla heard light footsteps coming down the corridor.   As the slim figure approached, his head was backlit so all Sûla saw was the halo of curly blond hair resembling some elf hero from the old songs.  He rubbed his eyes.

“Sûla?” Tigôn’s face came into focus as he drew closer and peered in at him.  He turned to the guards, straightened his shoulders, and declared, “I’ve come to deliver two messages to the King’s cupbearer Sûla, one from his Majesty Ar-Pharazôn, and one from Lord Nimruzîr.”  

The guards blinked at him. “The messages are for his ears, alone,” Tigôn said firmly.

“We’ve been instructed not to let him out of our sight,” Dâur drawled. 

“And I’ve been given my instructions from the King himself,” Tigôn retorted. “If you like, you may go down the corridor, sit in your nice warm room, where I assure you I was most thoroughly searched for weapons and read over the official letter I left with your fellows. This corridor is a dead end and he’s behind iron bars. Neither of us is going anywhere.”  

“Very well.  Make it quick,” said Dâur. The guards retreated, seemingly grateful for the chance to rest in comfort. 

Tigôn turned and said in a hushed voice, “Sûla, by Manwë, it’s good to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Sûla replied coldly. “So what does the King have to say? Oh, let me guess. ‘You have a sweet arse, Sûla, and you warmed my bed nicely.  I’m so sorry I have to hang you tomorrow.’”

“The message is actually from Lord Nimruzîr,” Tigôn replied. “He says that he will urge the King not to make assumptions, but to listen to your testimony and make a fair judgement based on your past character and service to the Crown.”

Sûla snorted.  “I suppose I’m doomed then.”

Tigôn came closer and grasped the bars of the cell. “I think not, although it does look grim. How are you faring? I can see another bruise on your face.”

“Oh, I’ve been treated like a lord,” Sûla replied. “Never better. It’s only the best for a zirâmîki accused of murder, don’t you know. Why did you come? Wasn’t it enough to see my humiliation at my dear aunt’s house?”

“No, Sûla, it wasn’t what you think.” 

“What am I to think?”

“Listen to me!” Tigôn lowered his voice to a bare whisper.  “The King sent me out to get the herbs and things that the Zigûr needed to brew his elixir of youth.  Annatar told me to go to a Lorcastran sorcerer named Magân.  So, I went there and bought all the ingredients, and then I found out he had a bowl of some dark liquid, he called it his soup, and he let me look in it.  I saw the soldiers coming for you, so I left his shop at a run to try to warn you.  But when I got there it was too late, they had already captured you.  That’s what happened.  Truly, Sûla, that’s why I was there. I couldn’t bear for you to think. . . .”

“You saw me in Magân’s scrying soup?” Sûla said incredulously. He sat down abruptly on the cot and passed a hand through his hair, rumpling it in his hand, as he looked down at his knees.  “I’ve heard of him and what he can do.  You must have been impressive for him to scry for you.  And here I thought . . . I thought . . . .”
 
“I could tell what you thought from the look on your face,” Tigôn said.  “If I could have been there earlier, I might have been able to warn you. Believe me, that’s what I was trying to do.”

“And what good would that have done anyhow?  They would have hunted me down all the same. Tell me, what are they saying out there?  Am I already condemned?  I keep dreaming of crows.”

“From what I understand, the King will be fair, but he can’t appear to favor a slave over a lord.”

“No, of course not,” Sûla hissed. “A year in his service, dancing my arse off, for what?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“There is nothing to say.” Sûla hung his head.  His tongue felt swollen; he licked his lips.  “It’s so dry down here.”

“Here,” Tigôn fumbled at his side.  “I brought some wine, well-watered.”  He held up a wineskin. “And some bread and cheese.”

Sûla rose and approached him. Tentatively, he reached out and took the heavy skin, turning it sideways so he could haul it through the bars. “It’s not poisoned, is it?”

Tigôn looked unhappily at him.  “And why would I do that?”

“If you were my friend, you would do it so I can avoid a worse death tomorrow.”

“Hmm, I guess I’m not such a friend,” Tigôn said. “I still have some hope.”

Sûla tilted his head and pressed a thin stream into his mouth.  It was redolent with the taste of leather, but he thought he’d never had anything finer.  He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah, that’s good.  Cheese, you said?  And bread?”

“Yes, fresh-baked.  I went to the kitchens for it.  Here.”  He pulled two small halves of a loaf from his bag and a round of cheese in yellow wax.

The rich smell reminded Sûla of how hungry he was.  He sank down on the floor next to the bars and reached for the loaves, ripping off a bite.  He closed his eyes, chewing blissfully.  “By the gods, Tigôn, this tastes good.  I’m surprised those ghouls didn’t take it from you.  They took everything of mine.  All my jewelry, including my dragon, and my fur cloak.  Well, it really wasn’t mine, it was Dulginzin’s. But I guess he doesn’t need it anymore.  I do. It’s so cold here.”

Tigôn crouched down on the floor opposite him. “I’m sorry they took your jewelry, Sûla.  They went over everything I had thoroughly, examined the sealed missive I had from Lord Nimruzîr instructing me to talk to you. They even ripped the bread in half to make sure I wasn’t hiding a knife in it. And they made me strip down.  Brrr,” he shuddered. “I see you’re still wearing my jacket.”

“Do you want it back?” Sûla said, looking down at the row of wooden buttons. “I suppose I can’t be colder than I am already.”  He took another squirt of the wine.  “This will help though.”

“No, no, of course I don’t want it back. Keep it for now.  Are you cold?  Here.” Tigôn unpinned his cape, wadded it up, and pushed it through the bars.

“Um, thank you.”  Sûla took the cape, drew it around his shoulders and pinned the brooch.  It smelled like Tigôn.  He breathed in deeply. Then picked up the loaf and tore off another bite.  “Do you want some?”

“No, I brought it for you. Tell me, what happened after you left my room this morning?”

Sûla had to chew and swallow before he could answer.  “I went back to Lord Dulginzin’s bedchamber, all prepared to offer up my arse in homage to his great lordliness.” 

“He was a beast,” Tigôn said fiercely, “with no right to treat you the way he did.  So, what happened?”

“When I entered the room, he was lying in bed, very still.  I thought it strange. The room smelled odd.  I leaned over him, and pulled on his shoulder, and Tigôn, his head rolled in this sickening way, like it was disconnected from his neck, which in fact it almost was.  Someone had slit his throat, deeply, ear to ear.”  Sûla made a slicing motion across his neck.  “And you should have seen all the blood! The bed was soaked black with it.”

“Was it still wet?” Tigôn asked.

“Yes.  It had been done recently.  I went out and looked in the outer chamber.  No one was there, but the door was ajar.  I think I had left it closed.  I don’t know who did it, but I can tell you it wasn’t me.  I suspect Mirandor, Dulginzin’s younger brother, because he was hanging around.  He wanted to watch Dulginzin fuck me.”

“Uh! Nasty,” Tigôn said.

Sûla shrugged. “With my kind of work, you get used to all kinds of weird quirks. But after Dulginzin passed out, he wanted me to service him too.” 

Tigôn made a face.

“Yeah,” Sûla said. “The King never told me I had to do that. To get rid of him, I used the freezing spell and then dragged him into the outer room.  Then I went over the balcony to see you. That’s the sum of what happened.  I didn’t do it, Tigôn.  This I swear!”  The tears were threatening again.  He took another bite of bread and began peeling the wax from the cheese.  “This is very kind of you, so very . . . I thought everyone had . . .   I’m sorry.”  Sûla choked.  “My belovéd aunt didn’t even wait a day before she told them. I thought you had betrayed me too.  I thought I was all alone and it made me so . . . angry.” The tears were falling freely now.

Tigôn reached through the bars, took Sûla’s head between his hands, and kissed the top of it.  “I’ll make a vow, Sûla, never to betray you. I promise.”  

“An easy promise to keep since they’re likely to hang me tomorrow,” Sûla said with a quirk of his mouth. “We’ll see what happens to your vow when my only defense is that I spent the night with you. You can’t admit it either or the King will have your hide too.”

“That’s something I wanted to talk to you about.  There’s no need to admit what we did. You should say you visited me, but we were just talking by the fire, playing bones, as we usually do.”

“Ha! Do you think I’m stupid? No, I planned to say, ‘my Lord, I went there to take Tigôn’s virginity and we fucked like conies in springtime.’”

Tigôn smiled that shy, lopsided smile.  “We did, didn’t we?”  He swept his thumbs across Sûla’s cheekbones, smearing the wetness that lay there.  Tigôn’s face was starkly lit by the torches, which made his eyes seem like mirrors, reflecting warmth and comfort.  Sûla thought he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

Tigôn tilted his head, pressed his face to the bars, and their mouths met.  At first gently, then hungrily. His lips were so warm. Sûla opened his mouth wider and tasted him, brushing their tongues together.  I need more, give me more, Tigôn, he thought. You are bliss!

When they finally separated, Tigôn rested his forehead on the iron bars. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to bend these apart and take you away from here.”  

Sûla heard voices down the corridor and Tigôn turned his head to look.  “Quickly then,” he said.  “I had to be sure that you didn’t kill him, so we could figure the best course of action. Don’t give up hope. Annatar is a Truthsayer and he says he believes you are innocent.  At the trial he can verify your story.”

“That’s good, then,” Sûla said.  For the first time that day, hope flared in his breast. “But I’m afraid he’ll reveal, um, things. Our tryst.”

“I’ll take a message to him asking if he can keep his truth-finding to when you discovered Dulginzin’s death, and not reveal anything else. That way we’ll both be safe.  And the King will pardon you and all will be forgiven.”

Sûla shook his head. “Risky. Annatar is a lone wolf with his own schemes. I don’t know if we can trust him.”

“What choice do we have?” Tigôn asked.

“None.  We have none.  Give me another kiss, and hope it’s not our last.”

“It isn’t,” Tigôn said. “I have faith.” And he gave Sûla a lingering kiss.  If only it could go on forever!  

The sound of the guards’ iron-shod boots echoed down the corridor.  Tigôn rose, and without another word, went to meet them.  

Sûla watched him as far as he was able to through the bars. Once Tigôn was out of sight, he gathered up the wineskin and food and brought it with him to the cot, where he rapidly ate the bread and cheese before the guards could decide to steal it, and washed it down with the wine.  Then he wrapped Tigôn’s cloak tightly about himself and sagged back against the wall. His heart was singing with a feeling that was both bitter and sweet. He came, he came to see me! 

But when he closed his eyes, he found the dream awaiting him. It surrounded him in its own dark cloak and he heard Annatar hiss in his ear, “There will be a price, Sûla.” 

A terrible heaviness stole back into Sûla’s limbs. Was he doomed then? If nothing else, he could take the warmth of Tigôn’s last kiss with him on the long walk to the gallows.

---

Chapter End Notes

rhaw - Sindarin for body.  Hröa is the equivalent term in Quenya.
hîren - my lord in Sindarin.   In this instance, think of it as a sign of respect, the equivalent of saying “sir.”       
Milzagar, Sikhulzin, and Hozdûnik are invented Adûnaic names.
Dâur is canon Adûnaic meaning “gloom.”  Thanks Mal!

Thank you as always to my wonderful betas, Russandol and Malinornë.  I couldn’t do it without their sharp eyes, good advice, and unflagging encouragement.  Thanks also to members of the LC, Kymahalei, Grey Gazania, Oshun, Aearwen.