Of Treachery and Trust: A LOTR RPG

[Lexicalized]

Arayn's bloody flowed hot and turbulent with the fierce passion she had inherited from her father.  In looks she much resembled her mother, but in spirit she was only her father's daughter.  Her heart burned with the singed consciousness of injustice. 

Like her father, she knew she would sleep very little tonight.

The words of the Raven filtered into her mind, and she looked up into the rafters, no longer surprised to see the glistening black eyes and feathered body.

A fraction of her anger melted into a dejected bitterness.  The bird spoke words that held a trace of comfort in them, something close to compassion.  Could those words be trusted, or was he playing her? 

Arayn was suddenly too weary to care very much. 

"What good it will do us now, strange one, I do not know.  I struggle not to loose heart in the face of such obstinence."

With that she turned and left the hall, wandering without any purpose at all, out onto the terrace and surrounded the Golden Hall.  The guards watched her pass without a word, and she went to the edge and sat down.  Her eyes wandered over the starlit sky, to the mountains.  She wished she knew whether the stranger, Svika, whether he spoke truth.  Could it be that the orcs were honest?

She shook her head.  The idea was preposterous.

But Svika was convinced.

"...Will you let an innocent man die?" the wind whispered, echoing the protest of her heart.

[Wolfchild]

Tlurmin's eyes followed Arayn to the terrace brazenly, though an element of guilt in his heart. He did nothing to soothe her fears, and if anything had added to them over the moments spent in her presence. Were that he could talk with her away from those that watched for the mysterious raven...but with it being whispered in the mutterings of all guard conversation, he had no other choice but to return to human form.

Or did he? The life of a shapeshifter was indeed awkwardly limited; those that had been prophesised their animal of the oracle were seldom known to seek another. Yet that was not to say it had never been done- the years spent in guidance from the masters had proven it.

Continuing to make his decisions, Tlurmin swept through the hall and glided out and over the terrace into the spread of shadowed houses where the great hill slumped drastically. Hearing behind him the deliberate hiss of a guard "Look, there! The raven!" he made exit from sight as quickly as possible.

Hiding in the shadows again he kept still and contained as he knelt before nothingness. Opening closed eyes for a moment he suddenly sighted a revelation of the most unknown and simple kind: a hound of Rohan! Truly, this should have been his knowledge from the beginning- not least because all had heard of the old jibes at Edoras. A dog here could have been the shadows itself, so common a second glance was unnecessary. Most importantly of all, they were kept as pets in the Great Hall.

Tlurmin focused every available strand of energy on shape and the very nature of the animal. The beast itself remained unknowing, but looked up at a final moment as the waiting bird seemed to morph into its own reflection, though remaining as black as the wings had shown. The creature was one of the larger animals bred for hunting, and an expert in strength and stamina. A long muzzle ended in a clean, broadly pointed nose, with keen eyes and upright ears, in balance for all its attributes. All over the build was deceptively muscled, hidden by long, yet not excessive hair. Save color, the only difference between Tlurmin and the true dog was the beaded eyes, that bore none of the typical amber that most had, instead mimicking those of the raven, and those of his true self.

The creature which had observed silently until now omitted a low growl that grew into a warning bark. Wasting no time, Tlurmin made his way back to the Golden Hall, and found Arayn still sitting there.

[Lexicalized]

Dark thoughts swirled in the depths of a troubled mind, like a cyclone slowly turning and growing.  The wind was stiff, but not unkind as it tugged at her cloak and the whisps of long dark hair that dwelt about her face.  Her mind turned and turned, her heart all the while burning.

She hardly noticed the hound that came to her, treading lightly over the stone terrace.  His nails clicked slightly, but other than that, the beast made no sound as it came and sat beside her. 

Absent mindedly, Arayn stroked the beast's dark fur.  Her eyes still roved the mountains, as if somehow she could see past them to the orc camps so many leagues away. 

"Why do you not sleep, hound?  Are you troubled as well as myself?  Perhaps all the natural world is troubled this night...perhaps it always is when the innocent are sent to death without a care.  Yet..."

Arayn sighed and glanced at the hound that stared back at her.

Those eyes...

She blinked and stared harder at the dog.  It did not turn away.  Any good hound never looked its superiors in the eyes...it was a sign of humility and submission...inferiority, those down cast hound eyes.

But the hound stared right back at her, with none of the amber light of a natural creature.  Instead, sharp, intelligent black eyes stared back at her.

Her hand fell slowly from the beast's shoulder and she pulled back slightly.

"Tlurmin?"

[Wolfchild]

The beast nodded slightly so as not to draw attention to himself. "Aye, I am him." Then continuing after a pause "I thought it best to adapt to the local bestiary...horses seemed too far fetched for the moment."

For a time the night overwhelmed them, no sound being made by anything that wasn't the tread of a guard.

"You need not recoil. I believe I am a creature designed to protect your people, am I not? I will abide truthfully to the essence of the hound. Although I cannot promise hunting...no, hunting I will not do."

He distracted from the obvious- that here, suddenly, was another change in the Dunlander that had come by complete surprise. He talked as if it was nothing, and gave no indication of how. Was she meant to show concern in these moments? Tlurmin seemed to think time need not be spent on it.

The breeze ran through his fur, but he kept steadfast.

[Lexicalized]

Arayn's dark eyes dwelt for a moment longer on the dark haired hound.  She nodded faintly in the night.  The muscles in her back relaxed; she hadn't realized how much she had tensed up. 

She let a deep sigh escape from her slightly pursed lips.  Before she knew it, she was speaking.  Her voice was low and warm, a pretty voice, but one echoing the cries of confusion that beat in her heart.

"I am at the end of my wisdom.  I cannot believe that the orcs are true.  You heard, did you not?  Many a night have I passed at the mouth of their tunnels.  I saw things," her voice was halted by a shudder that ran up her spine against her will.

"...And heard things...that no one should ever have to see or hear, let alone endure.  It seems so far beyond any fragment of reality to imagine that the orcs are true.  That they are even somewhat innocent.  But the man speaks with such assurance."

She fell into silence for a moment.  Suddenly she turned and looked Tlurmin in the eye.

"But that is not the issue at this moment is it?  We cannot bear the problems of the whole earth on our shoulders all at once, can we?  We must do what we can with the problems that are most imminent.  Namely, strange one, that man will die at sunrise, and I believe he is innocent.  Detached from all other things, this truth stands out...to let the innocent man perish is to do a deed most foul.  This I know.  The truth of it resounds in my heart...Now I have only to decide what it is I must do."

She looked still into the beady black eyes, but her mind was elsewhere.  Whirling through a mass of options--some ridiculous, some realistic.

[Wolfchild]

The dog blinked sleepily, realising he was much deprived of rest as she was, but sitting still in the sharp song of the night kept him from drowsing. The wind danced with Arayn's hair and tugged at his like a careless child, but still he carried on.

"You are brave to keep loyal to him, for not many would after being threatened so. I myself believe he speaks as much truth as he is one to know, and if his words are wrong it is not from his heart, but his master's. It could be that all we have here is a messenger, none the more a decider for his upbringing as you or I. However debatable Svika is, he has brought about no crime for which death would be a just conclusion." Tlurmin paused, thinking over his words. He sighed, before continuing.

"I had sought to make myself known to your king, but not like this. How I would do it is one thing, but no mercy can be given to Dunland if I become so obvious as the traitor within the ranks. I could save Svika at the risk of being discovered. If I am discovered, my people will receive nothing, and all of this will have been in vain. What choice do I have? I have seen him since he was brought here, and known his fate is a step ahead of mine were I to stumble. My profession does not kill. I'd be no better than a murderer if I do nothing. Something will be done...I have had warning enough already without the cards drawing so literal a truth."

[Lexicalized]

Arayn listed to Tlurmin's words, her eyes gazing steadily upon his now furry countenance.  His words resounded with a note of honor, the echoes of valor and true bravery rang in her head.  Her head cocked slightly to the side without her even realizing it. 

She had never met a Dunlander.  Barbarians, she had always been taught to view them as.  Evil, even.  But here was one who would stand up for a man whom he did not even know until only that day. 

Suddenly her words broke forth from her mind.  For if she was quick to anger, she was also quick to admire true merit. 

"I must admit, Tlurmin, I did not expect to find such honor in a man of Dunland.  Forgive me if that is blunt and harsh, but it is the honest truth.  If you speak honestly, and I begin to believe you do, than you are a man of more valor than many of my own kin.  For that, sir, I applaud you."

[Wolfchild]

If only the dog could have smiled, he would have done so easily. Yet it would have been weighted heavily with self doubt, and the truth reflected already in his eyes. They tore out to the distant pastures, and for a moment all element of soaring was borne within them; a rupturing desire to fly away and leave everything behind. His head hung as his moral heart told him he could not. Tlurmin knew it already, for it seemed death had been cast over him before there was chance to earn the noose.

But it was no question of earning anything. If found, he knew how the King made his decisions. The Rohirrim were taught of Dunlanders in the same way that Dunlanders were taught of Rohirrim. Old hatred had already been rattled with one orcish emissary, and to find someone of equal disregard would prove itself with obvious conclusion. Rage, even, that as one dies another enters into sight to defy the will of Edoras.

"Valor...yes, they speak of it at home. They rot their teeth with lies that death will bring with it honor and peace, when all it will do is stain the earth red in disgust, to finally allow the beauty of this world true reason to shun itself from our eyes. If I am any being of so brutal a thing then let me die with the sunrise, where no streak of crimson is given chance to stain the earth or mark my fate. I would leave no trace of existence for those masters to whom I have betrayed. Though they might hold me in wise regard of my talents, it was not their decision that made me come here. Knowing that all the world wants is peace, then that, truly, is all I existed for.

If I am to be the example that our homelands will wage war eternal, then let my death come swiftly."

[Lexicalized]

"Peace?" Arayn murmured the word.  She repeated it several more times, her voice soft and low.  She rolled the word over her tongue, thought about it's meaning.  It was odd how, as humans, they could use a word so often, and never stop and think about what it really meant. 

"Peace has not been upon these lands for many an age, I think, my friend," she used the word friend..."No, probably not sense the Valar ruled the lands.  But even then there was Morgoth.  I wonder sometimes if this land will ever really know real peace.  Such frailty and imperfection I see in my people, in myself even.  Is it possible for such a vain people to ever have any real peace?  I know not the answer, and I doubt you do either, with all your wisdom."

Her voice trailed off.  A shiver ran through her thin frame, followed quickly by a yawn.  Her eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, her mind progressively getting fuzzier. 

Before she knew it she had curled up, as much as she could, beside the dog on the stones.  Her head rested near the beast's furry paw, his breath falling warmly on her face. 

"Tomorrow," she whispered, "Tomorrow I will act.  I will not let the man die.  I never thought about it...but I suppose it could make me an outcast.  They...they even could slay me."

Another yawn.  Her eyes flickered shut.  Her sides lifted and fell slowly in a rhythmic pattern.  The worn out soul found some relief in a dreamless sleep.

[Wolfchild]

Tlurnin woke with a jolt, the loud crash of hammering nails into groaning wood drawing a lowly crowd to the courtyard below. Svika was nowhere in sight, assumedly awaiting the outcome of this construction with growing fear. The hangman himself stood nearby, ignoring the laborers as with long, grimy fingers he wound the would-be noose into its deadly coil, ready to be the wind's plaything again with a fresh new body to bless it. Tlurmin sat up wearily, and Arayn with him, her face suddenly recognising the cold.

The dog looked over the proceedings with disappointment, if there was truly an expression for a hound to make of it. Consequences had been shabby; rushed, even- yet here it was the object of organisation. There was method in the work here, and he deducted it must be commonplace. Voiceless, he took it upon himself to walk to where Svika remained in keeping, leaving Arayn to follow if she so desired.

In entering the lightless room, only the vague essence of a man could be shown to reside there. Before Tlurmin was a condemned soul, to which no words, however imbued with hope and promise could change otherwise. Svika did not even raise his head to wonder at the curiosity of the beast, such was the true misery that weighed in his heart.

The black dog looked behind himself towards the doorway, checking for any that might disturb him. Knowing that his true magic lay in human form, the creature sat still for a moment, before slowly letting his body contort to the right pattern. The clicking of bone and reshaping of muscle alerted Svika, whether he desired to concern himself with it or not. Moments later, the wiry figure of a hidden man knelt as the last marks on his arms grew increasingly dark. When dreadlocks of hair finally reached the middle of his back, a stern face could be seen, adjusting his sleeves to cover the unusual tattoos.

Svika slumped his head again, tired of having to witness this strange magician. He had neither time nor the energy to be involved with people who were soon to bring themselves into the same situation as he was.

Nevertheless, Tlurmin continued readying himself, adjusting the illusion now so that it would show him to be a rugged spectator, as in many ways he already appeared to be. The fine details, he thought, were key in deception, and so the brooch used to pin his cloak was marked with the galloping steed, the color of his garments also similar in earthly tones to those worn by all Rohirrim villagers.

[Lexicalized]

Sometime in the night, Svika's body had gone numb, whether from the cold or the unyielding pain, he wasn't sure.  As morning dawned, Svika felt what strength he had quickly draining out with the scarlett blood that was oozing from his wrists and chest.  He watched it with glazed eyes, his mind flowing in and out of consciousness without his awareness. 

When the magician returned, Svika hardly stirred.  The entrance of the hound did, however, pull him from his nearly comatose state.  The muscles in his neck tightened slightly, tugging his chin slightly sideways and allowing his eyes to see through the blood clogged locks of hair that hung in his face.

The dog quickly shifted shapes into a man that looked much like a man of the Rohirrim.  After witnessing the transformation, Svika dropped his head.

Images fluttered through his mind.  Memories, old and faded, replayed over and over again.  He could see and feel so clearly the pain, the fear, the tears he had felt as his family died.  And then, when the orcs had come.  What terror had possessed him.  But they had shown him nothing but kindness and love...

..And he had failed them in this, his last attempt to return their compassion. 

The thought cut through the dull throbbing of pain in his head.  His eyes flickered open.  He wasn't aware he had closed them.  Slowly his gaze slid over his own body, or what he could see of it. 

A thick chest, powerful arms and a well muscled chest.  His legs were equally as sturdy.  Altogether, he was a very strong man.  Yet these chains held him conquered, biting his flesh and searing his pride.  He had not known captivity.  He had not known restraint. 

Mounting rage rippled through him in the form of a shiver.  His head came up, and his blazing eyes met Tlurmin's.

"I will not fail.  I will not die like a beaten hound.  Tell me, sorcerer or magician, whatever you be, what can you do to free me...?"

[Wolfchild]

Tlurmin turned to him suddenly, not expecting Svika to talk in this hour. He had been about to join the crowd, but returned to the prisoner's glance with determined eyes.

"I can do a great many things, brother. Much more than the passing 'magician', for all are such vain and vague titles. Were I to free you now, however, the fire with which I would do it could sear not only through metal, but burn through skin and flesh and bone. I cannot make rain quickly enough to douse flames of that strength. Thus, you must perform one last act of endurance. Let them release you from these stocks, for they intend not to bring you far. When you stand before the noose, then will I act, and soon after ensure your freedom. Know that you will never leave my eyes, Svi-" Tlurmin's pace of speech quickened, telling both that their fears were confirmed; the execution, or attempt to do so was near minutes away. Drums began in unorganised beats- mere practice, they soon concluded, but it did little to calm the nervousness in either man.

Footfall. Tlurmin ran, ducking into the crowd that pushed against the groaning palisade. Drums grew louder again, though now in determined synchronisation. They pulsated with his heart. Through the mass of growing bodies behind him, he saw some turning, some parting, as from the shelter Svika was brought- the only difference in his visible posture being that his legs now treacherously moved him closer to stare in the face of death. His eyes were hidden by clumps of hair matted in blood, for which some gave him a pitied watch, and others judged for not looking more defiant. Whatever movement his body made, it was with iron feet.

They stopped the prisoner before the stairs to the platform from which he would stand. Both guards which pushed either shoulder of Svika now turned to the right to meet the grim glance of their king, to which the villagers followed suit sheepishly. Eomer made to speak, announcing his reasons for this public spectacle. A crash of blinding thunder tore them from all focus immediately.

The platform, trap, and all components making the noose what it was, burned in ferocious light. The brunt of impact was clear, and as the terrified crowd fled from the flames bare fragments of wood spat little compensation from damage. Little remained of the structure.

Tlurmin smiled gladly with his efforts.

"Onen!"

But not for long.

[Lexicalized]

Svika plodded slowly out into the light, hesitating when the sun hit him.  He squinted and tilted his head to the earth in an attempt to adjust to the light after so long spent in the dark. 

However, his captors did not long permit any halt in his pace.  With a rough shove, they propelled him forward with enough force to almost send him to the ground. 

Somehow, relying more on pride than strenght, Svika stayed on his feet and moved one heavy foot after another toward the platform.  His eyes finally adjusted to the light just as he came to a halt before the platform.  All eyes turned to Eomer King--all except Svika's.  He stared at the crowd, his gaze searching the onlookers. 

He spotted the lady Arayn just moments before a blinding flash of light, and a wave of heat, exploded to his right.  He took a stumbling step to the side as the flames attempted to lick his skin.  Sweat quickly broke out on his body at the close proximity to the fire.   

Chaos quickly ensued in the first moments after the explosion.  The villagers tore away from what used to be the platform, screaming in surprise and fear.  The soliders of the Rohirrim stood uncertain of how to act, and Eomer King stood dumfounded nearby. 

But Arayn, daughter of the king, was mobile.  She had been ready to pounce, ready to move to defend the bound prisoner.  Although somewhat surprised by the burst of light and the flames that licked the platform, she recovered quickly. 

Because she knew her father would recover quickly as well.

And there was more than one way to die in Rohirrim.  The blade was as capable as the rope, if not more so.

So she raced easily to Svika's side and tore the key to his chains from the nearby guard's belt.  The guard reacted slowly as Arayn pulled Svika away from him. 

She struggled to unlock his chains, but her father was already on the move, heading toward her and shouting.

"Step away from that filth!" he roared, drawing his blade from its hilt on his hip. 

Arayn straightened from her stooped position and for a brief moment her eyes met Svika's.  She stared into the gaze that met hers and she forgave him then for his rash actions on the day before.

"I do not yet support your cause, sir, but I do not either support the slaying of one innocent of crime."

With that she turned and drew her own blade from her side.  By this time the guards had moved to pull her away from the prisoner, but when the ring of metal sounded, they stopped.

Confusion flickered in their eyes, and their gazes darted to Eomer, who had stopped in his tracks as well. 

Father and daughter faced each other, blades drawn.  One was surprised, the other calmly defiant. 

Arayn stood in front of the innocent, bound man and squared her shoulders.

"You will not kill him while I yet live."

[Wolfchild]

The guard had seen him before. Tlurmin had no other option but to run, parting from the crowd in difficult motion, furious with himself for not acting more cautiously. He cursed, reaching the wall like a stag meeting the hounds before they laid upon him. More guards had met the first, already baited with horror at the defiance of Arayn, knowing what could come of it. There was fear in his eyes as villagers watched from a near distance, seeing him as one of their own and wondering how a man of their kind could anger his brethren so.

"You traitor Onen! You would betray Rohan in this hour for the life of one that is little more than a passing brigand! For one that guards the beacons, what ailment has possessed your mind to be so callous? Are you even that? When once you seemed a man of uniform, now I see village attire- and from your hands the elements play to your will like simple puppetry. You are something else...a creature of incantation and darkness. I see no other reason for you to walk amongst us than to protect that prisoner, and in doing so you have poisoned the mind of the king's daughter. This arrest stands for the protection of Edoras, and the people who you feel accustomed to mimic. Seize this orcblood."

The guard who he recognised from the gateway advanced with his men, nervous to draw swords. In the distance Tlurmin could see Arayn was in much the same position. The king's eyes darted towards him for a fraction of a second, but then returned to the steadfast battle with his daughter.

"...veirged soiterin hinsarcia, khrimas nortur quaitastiso..."

"Stop him!"

"...astrifas prelluni keroila katusnic evuida lidrigyon vylikos..."

He felt someone grab his arm, and attempt to block the lips that muttered furiously. Eyes grew whiter, his black irises disappearing.

"...sakamlar olhaist jhalma khavalt!"

A gust of wind tore the gathering of Rohirrim from clinging to his sleeves and cast aside those that still attempted to. His words sang amongst the gale. Tlurmin blinked, and the black orbs of his vision returned. For a moment he looked overwhelmed.

Approaching the king, there was no essence of smugness in his eyes, despite the fact that winds now howled and called rain into their midst. He kept it in unspoken nature to show there was no advantage one had over the other, for each ones intentions were still noble. Tlurmin hoped that evidence on his part lay with the fact that the toppled guards were still alive, although he would mention nothing of his inability to kill.

[Lexicalized]

But for the noise created by the wind and the rain, an uneasy silence fell over the congregation gathered by the still blazing platform.  The fire smoked fiercely under the torrent of rain, but continued to eat away at the wood it rolled off of.

Svika stood a trace straighter than he had been able to prior to that moment.  The lady had managed to unlock the chain that connected his wrists to his ankles.  Two chains still crossed his bare chest, one bit into his wrists still and another kept his feet from parting too far.  The muscles in his back groaned at their sudden small allowance of freedom.  Trying not to give any appearance of moving, Svika struggled to straighten his back out. 

As the rain poured down upon him, it suddenly lifted his soul.  There was something cleansing about the rain, both for his soul, as well as for his mortal body.  Sweat, filth and blood ran off of him as the water streaked his skin.  His eyes began to glow with a warmer fire.

Eomer's eyes flew to Svika at his slight movement and the two men's eyes met.  Svika could not keep from speaking, his voice shattering the silence.

"The beauty of rain, sir, is that it reveals much truth.  Underneath all the grime, the blood and the dirt, I am a man just as you are.  The water washes this body and reveals to all that I am similar to any one of you standing here.  I deserve the same rights, the same freedom, the same justice.  Yet you will bind me and kill me before you even know if I have committed any crime."

With that, his voice fell silent.  Arayn turned slightly and looked at him, her eyes sweeping over him.  She nodded slightly, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner's of her lips.  She resumed her position quickly, however, her eyes staring into her father's--with as much fire and will in hers as dwelt in his.

"What will you do, Father?" she asked quietly, her sword still standing between them.