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

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Chapter 8 - Games

Chapter summary:  Sûla plays a game with Tigôn, the King's page, in which more is going on than appears on the surface.

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When Sûla entered the royal tent, he was surprised to see Tigôn, the page, sitting on a cushion at the foot of the King’s chair, his slanted cheekbones painted starkly in the light of a fire from a nearby brazier. He was playing a solitary form of knucklebones and had just deftly caught one of them on the back of his hand. Sûla was intrigued by his presence and also a little suspicious. He cleared his throat.

“Good eve to you, mîki,” he said. “What keeps you up so late?”

Tigôn raised his curly head, fixing Sûla with a sharp glance. “I am wondering the same about you,” he said.

“Went to the latrine,” Sûla said. “Is that a crime?”

“Not yet anyway,” Tigôn replied. His mouth quirked into a thin smile that Sûla found most encouraging. “I’m, uh, waiting on the King’s pleasure,” Tigôn continued. “He said he might have a message to convey later this evening.”

“Waiting on the King’s pleasure,” Sûla said with a shrug. “I thought that was my task.”

“I’d say that’s the task of most of us here, in one way or another,” Tigôn grunted. “Do you want to play?”

Sûla glanced toward the King’s bedroom adjacent to the audience chamber. “I ought to go in.”

“His Majesty’s asleep. Can you not hear the snoring?” Tigôn said. “Just a short game of ratcatcher. What d’ye say? It’ll help me to pass the time until he decides to wake up and send me off somewhere.” The smile became more charming and Sûla found it irresistible. It seemed everything was going well for him tonight.

“One game, perhaps.” Sûla flopped down next to Tigôn and picked up one of the bones, weighing it in his hand. “What’s the wager?”

“Do you want to play for money? In any event, I don’t have any,” Tigôn replied. “I thought we could just play for the glory of winning.”

“There are things other than money we could bet.”

“What d’ye have in mind?”

“Too bad we can’t play for switching duties for one night.” Sûla grinned at him. “I think I’d like your job, running around camp relaying messages. T’would be an easy night for me.” He stretched.

“You think my work is easy?” Tigôn snorted. “Try finding Lord Azgarad when the army is on the move, or remembering some long message from the King that he’s changed several times, or having Lord Rothîbal argue with you about one of the King’s edicts, as if I have any say about the matter, or waiting outside for hours in the sleet. Besides I couldn’t do your . . .” He stopped abruptly.

“Couldn’t do my job?” Sûla looked at him from under his lids, hoping his expression was innocent. “You couldn’t pour out the wine at banquets? Help the King dress?”

“That’s not all you do,” Tigôn said.

“What exactly are my other duties?” Sûla cooed. “What is so distasteful that you couldn’t bring yourself to do it?”

Tigôn wouldn’t look at him. “I’m not having this conversation with you. What do you want to wager, then? He dug into his vest pocket. I have three silver buttons here, newly acquired so I haven’t had time to sew them on. What can you offer?”

Sûla leaned forward with a smirk. “I could offer you the best time of your life.” He ran his tongue across his upper lip.

Tigôn nervously rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, as if wiping away the very thought. “I, no, uh, I’m not like that, Sûla.”

“Not like what?” Sûla demanded in a low voice. “A zirâmîki? One who bends over for another’s pleasure? Not like me, you mean?”

“Hush!” Tigôn’s eyes darted towards the flap of canvas that separated them from the King. “I don’t care what others do in bed. I just don’t like, um, boys, is all.”

“How do you know? Have you ever kissed one? Kissed anyone? Boy or girl?” Tigôn’s quick blush and downcast eyes told Sûla everything he wanted to know. “Ah, a virgin. I thought so. I could take care of that for you. You’d have cause to thank me.” Sûla leaned close, allowing his breath to fan the page's face. Tigôn jerked away.

“Why do you always bait me like this, Sûla? Just get it through your head, I’m not interested. In any event, it would be too dangerous. Now back off, and wager something else.” Tigôn glared at him.

Bait him? Did he? It was true, now that he thought about it. Sûla paused to consider why he acted that way. Was it the page’s innocence that provoked him? Did he envy Tigôn his position of respectability? Or was it something else? Well, certainly Tigôn spoke truth, that it would be too dangerous to have relations with him. Sûla opened the pouch at his waist, shook out one of the golden sovereigns Izindor had given him, and cast it on the ground between them. “Sufficient?”

Tigôn’s eyes grew round. “I don’t have anything equivalent to that.”

Sûla resisted saying, ‘oh yes you do,’ thinking that Tigôn would consider it more baiting and right now he was enjoying Tigôn’s company and did not want to jeopardize it. “I’ll let the difference in value stand. Now are we going to play, or not?”

“Very well, but don’t blame me if you get the raw end of the deal,” Tigôn said.

“Call it,” Sûla said.

“Cat’s paw.”

“Old man,” Sûla countered. He tossed a bone in the air and watched it land on the long side. “Ah, you start.”

Tigôn scooped up the bones, cast them out, and then began the first round by tossing one up in the air, plucking another off the ground and sweeping it into a cave formed by his other hand, all done in a blur of movement before catching the one he’d thrown. He repeated the action until all four bones had been captured. “Rats in the hole,” he said. “All gone to ground. Next set.” He rolled the bones out again, and repeated the cycle, throwing up two bones this time. “Hen’s teeth, missed. Your turn. Do you want some wine?”

“Yeh,” Sûla said, absorbed by the game. He heard Tigôn get up and the sloppy sound of liquid being ladled from the pot hanging over the brazier into a cup.

“Straight or watered?” Tigôn called.

“Two-thirds,” Sûla said. He paused the game long enough to grin up at Tigôn. “I’m not as dissipated as you may think.”

“Who said I thought you dissipated?” Tigôn replied. “I don’t know you well. For all I know you are as ascetic as a Bawîba Manô priest.” He returned and set down two tall ceramic mugs on the ground. He raised one towards Sûla. “A chuil,” he said.

Sûla looked up at him sharply. “That’s Elvish? You know it’s forbidden.”      

Tigôn smiled, a bit nervously Sûla thought.

“Old habit,” Tigôn said. “My family is from Andúnië and long have they retained the old ways. It’s just a toast, Sûla.”

Sûla smiled and clicked his cup against Tigôn’s. “Well, to life then. An old family? Who is your father?”

“Lord Eärdur.  He’s the younger brother of Lord Vëandur of Eldalondë. We had a house in Andúnië nigh to the old havens. Valar, but I miss the smell of salt air and the cry of the gulls.”

“Andúnië, huh?” Sûla said. “Land of Sunset. They say the elves from Aman used to come to those shores in white swan boats, long oars beating like dragonfly wings.”

“So they did. Long ago,” Tigôn said mournfully. “No more. I have never seen an elf. Have you?”

“No. But they say the Lord Annatar looks just like one. If that’s true, then the elves are surpassing fair. Like none other.”

Tigôn glanced eagerly at him. “The Lord Annatar. I’ve heard you have become a personal servant to him. Is that so?”

Sûla kept his voice carefully neutral. “I deliver his meals, is all.”

“But you’ve had a chance to converse with him. What is he like?

“Charming, like a cat curling around your legs at suppertime.”

“Is he? That’s not the picture I had of him, but then I saw him in the tent the other morning, when he first arrived. He frightened me. Doesn’t he frighten you?”

“No, he doesn’t. Oh, by Zizzûn’s arse! Missed. It’s yours. No, he hasn’t done anything to frighten me. He is chained up and watched by guards.”

“Would the chains stop him, do you think, if he decided to cast a spell on someone?”

Suddenly suspicious, Sûla looked carefully at Tigôn, whose eyes were fixed on the scatter of little bones. “I think he’s contained,” Sûla replied. “If he wasn’t, wouldn’t he try to free himself?”

“Why should he? He surrendered. It must have been for some reason. I find it hard to believe he’s leaving Barad-dûr just like that, without there being some reason behind it.”

“Is that what they’re saying out there, Tigôn? That he is plotting something?”

Their eyes met.

“Some of the men, the wise ones, are saying that taking him back to Númenor is like trying to hand-feed a dragon,” Tigôn said. “At some point he’ll open his mouth and scorch us to cinders.”

“Or perhaps he’ll offer us the greatest gift we could ever receive? You heard him. He was standing right over there.” Sûla pointed to the middle of the tent. “Perhaps we could become immortal – like the elves. Then we too could row to Aman in white boats with golden oars.”

There was a long pause while Tigôn continued playing, his lips pursed in concentration, finally he missed and swept the pieces towards Sûla. Sitting back on his heels, he said, “Is that what you believe, Sûla, that Annatar would truly give us such a gift, without wanting a terrible price in return?”

“What I believe, and what you believe, have no importance,” Sûla replied. “It is what the King believes that rules our destiny, isn’t it?”

“Yes, so what does the King believe?” Tigôn asked.

“He believes he is preventing war in Middle-earth and so of course that is my truth as well. Rats in the hole, all gone to ground. Advancing to next set.”

Tigôn laid a hand on his arm and spoke so softly that Sûla could barely hear him. “Are your loyalties exclusively with the King? Or do they lie with larger principles?” Here he made a strange sign, a quick circle drawn with a forefinger over his heart.

Under his breath, Sûla said, “I question your wisdom in even asking such a thing. My loyalties are first and foremost to the King. Aren’t yours?”

“Of course.” Tigôn smiled a little too brightly. “I work for him; I keep his secrets. I am as loyal as you are.”

Again they looked at each other. Sûla wondered what was going on behind that carefully bland expression. Their conversation had indeed veered towards dangerous ground and he had the sense of being felt out, tested. Normally, Tigôn’s eyes were a bright guileless blue like a summer sky in Umbar, but now they seemed hooded, as if he were watching Sûla from under his lids. His mouth quirked wryly at the corners. It looked tender, inviting. Suddenly, Sûla wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel Tigôn open up and accept him as their tongues brushed together, slick and warm. He shook it off and focussed on the next set of the game, tossing and sweeping the bones in rapid succession.

“You’re good at this,” Tigôn said. “Where did you learn to play?”

“On the slave ship coming over to Númenor,” Sûla said. “Only there we would play for an extra cup of stale water or a crust of bread. Winning was a matter of survival.”

“Oh,” Tigôn said. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Sûla replied, “No need to be sorry, mîki. Just remember that while you got your position because your father is a great lord, I got mine because I know how to take care of myself. Rats in the hole, all gone to ground. I’ve won.”

“Damn,” Tigôn said, staring in disbelief. “Well then, here you go. I’ll have to wait a while longer to improve the appearance of my coat.” He handed over the silver buttons.

“I know just the place for them,” Sûla said. Truly the night was going his way for once. He could use these to replace the buttons that had come off his breeches earlier.

“Good game,” Tigôn said. “We’ll have to play again some time so I can have a go at winning back my buttons.”

“It’ll be unlikely that I’ll bet them next time. You don’t want my breeches to fall off, do you?” Sûla laughed.

“No, indeed,” Tigôn said, but with a grin. He stood and offered Sûla a hand up. "Well, it's getting late. If the King wakes, can you come get me in my tent?"

"I expect I could do that."

Suddenly it became awkward between them, neither knowing whether they should embrace before calling it a night. Sûla coughed. “Sure you don’t want that kiss?”

“Oh, uh, no.” Tigôn wouldn’t look at him. “Well, good night then.”

Disappointment washed unexpectedly over Sûla until he remembered that he had the power to take what he wanted when he wanted. “Tigôn,” he said clearly and when Tigôn’s head jerked up, Sûla spoke the words. There was a disturbance in the tent. The fire in the brazier blew sideways for a moment, first one way, then the other, as if caught in a rush of air and Tigôn froze in place, lips parted as if about to speak. Amazing!

“So, you think you can deny me something I want,” Sûla said to him. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to Tigôn’s. They were warm and moist and tasted of mulled wine. Flushed with audacity, Sûla kissed him again as his hand wandered down to explore forbidden territory. Oh, he wanted more. Then he heard the King’s bed creak heavily. Was he getting up? No, no! Tigôn was still under the spell! He would be found out. Quickly, Sûla went to the doorflap. “My Lord?” he inquired.

“Sûla, what are you doing up so late?” The bed creaked again. Definitely, he was getting up. Sûla picked up his cup, flew to the wine cauldron, ladled some wine into it, then came back and intercepted the King just as he was lifting the doorflap. He pushed into the dark, cold bedroom, colliding with his master.

“I’ve brought you some wine,” Sûla said. “Here, my Lord.”

“Wine? Yes, that’s good,” Ar-Pharazôn said. He took a gulp and sighed. “Come to bed now. It’s late.”

“Did you want to send Tigôn out with a message? He’s been waiting for you.”

“Has he? Tell him to go to bed also. It can wait until morning.”

“Very good, m’Lord.”

Sûla went back to the main tent just as Tigôn was coming unstuck. Moving as jerkily as a marionette, the page put a hand to his head.

“That is odd,” Tigôn said. “How did you move away so fast? You were there and then you weren’t.”

“It’s late and you’re tired. The King said you have leave to go,” Sûla said quickly. “And he, um, requires my services, so I must bid you good night.”

“Uh, yes, good night then.” With one puzzled backward glance,Tigôn left by way of the main entrance.

Sûla collapsed onto the cushion, which was still warm from Tigôn’s body. That had been close. He had better be much more careful. In any case, he reflected, the unyielding kiss he’d stolen was not nearly as good as the one he imagined Tigôn might give of his own accord, if properly pursued. There were limits to his power after all. But undoubtedly his new talent would prove useful in other ways. He smiled, then rose and dipped up a nightcap before retiring to the bedroom where he found the King drowsy but still awake.

“I heard voices,” Ar-Pharazôn said.

“I was keeping Tigôn company while he waited for you,” Sûla said. “My apologies if we disturbed you.”

“No, it wasn’t you or Tigôn. It sounded like fell voices in a fierce wind. Just for a moment.”

Sûla cleared his throat and then put all the fear and worry he could into his tone. “My Lord, I do not wish to disturb you so late, but I have something to tell you, something of great import. It’s about the Lord Annatar.”

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-tbc-