Seeds of the White Tree

Chapter 42 - Av-'osto

Eldarion fought his captors every step of the way. With one at each shoulder and a third gripping his hair hard enough make his eyes water, it was impossible to prevent the Easterlings from dragging him through the depths of the Black House. They followed Serthîk and Rhoss, father and son walking side-by-side as calmly as if they were out for a stroll on a summer morning. Eldarion would have given just about anything to have Aragorn by his side with Andúril in hand. When the Easterings hauled him out onto the floor of a round chamber - an old lecture hall by the look of it - and Eldarion saw what must have been twenty more men in dark cloaks filling the benches, he thought he had never felt so alone in his entire life.

At their arrival, a low murmur went up from those seated. Serthîk strode out into the middle of the floor, and silence heavily laden with anticipation fell once more. Eldarion's gaze followed Serthîk...then fell upon what it was that Serthîk stood beside. A table, carved from black stone in the center of the floor; probably where scholars of ages past had once displayed notable subject material to their onlooking pupils. The table held no such tools of learning now though. Instead, heavy iron manacles had been bolted into the stone, two at the table's head and another two at its foot.

"My friends..." Serthîk addressed the assembly. "Let us rise and bid welcome to the face of the future. For soon, very soon, the Lord of All shall walk in Middle-Earth once more."

Every man stood, and a chorus of reverent applause filled the hall. Held tightly between his guards, Eldarion could only stare and shudder. Perhaps, he dared to hope, someone might hear the clamor and come to investigate. Surely there might be an archivist or two in the Black House above, burning the midnight oil over their records and ledgers? Eldarion prayed that, if there were, the sages might have the presence of mind to fetch the city guard first, rather than come looking themselves. For surely these cruel fanatics would easily slay any hapless scholars if they came.

Serthîk hardly seemed concerned though. Turning to Eldarion, he waved them forward. As a last, futile effort, Eldarion tried to lock his knees and throw his guards off balance. He was too unnerved to put up much more resistance though, and the three men brought him to the table without much difficulty.

"I give to you Eldarion, Prince of Gondor, heir to the throne and crown of King Aragorn Elessar. Honour him, friends, for by his noble sacrifice the east shall at last know freedom...the eternal* life which was promised to us by Lord Melkor."

Serthîk laid a hand on Eldarion's shoulder as he spoke, and again fervent applause rose from those in the seats.  Summoning back all that was left of his nerve, Eldarion glared at Serthîk and spoke loudly enough for all to hear.

"You know nothing of what you speak. No power in this world can free Morgoth, and if it takes my death to show you how misplaced your faith is, so be it."

"We shall see," said Serthîk privately to Eldarion. "Let us begin," he announced to the hall at large.

Eldarion was manhandled up onto the table, the wire around his wrists untied only long enough for them to be manacled along with his ankles. As the locks snapped closed, a sense of eerie calm descended upon him. There was nothing more to be done. He could neither free nor defend himself. Whatever happened from this moment on was beyond his control, and it seemed to Eldarion that he watched events unfold as if from a distance.

Black candles were lit, and their sickly sweet smoke filled the hall with a macabre tang. Every face was now concealed beneath deep cowls, leaving only dark voids of shadow beneath the Easterlings' hoods in the low light. There was chanting, there were prayers; fervent entreaties spoken in a cursed tongue which had been silent in the West for over thirty years. Black Speech dripped from Serthîk like venom as he led the assembly.