Weeks later Parthadan, the Warden of the Green, reported the events before the Council of Gondor in the White Tower of Ecthelion in Minas Tirith. He had made it known to Denethor before, but at the Steward’s insistence he now repeated it all before the Council again, where the Lords of the Fiefs, the Captains of the Forces and Denethor’s own advisors sat listening in silence quietly to the extraordinary story. Nobody interrupted even once. The report was mostly truthful, though Parthadan had left some parts out and other parts had been slightly altered, because even the Steward of Gondor did not need to know everything Parthadan or his underlings did in the name of Gondor.
Present in the meeting was also Túrher, the Captain of the Rangers of Ithilien, now in chains and escorted by two Citadel Guards. The Captain, Denethor’s niece, squirmed and sweated throughout the long recitation, delivered in Parthadan’s precise, dry tone. None of the story was very pleasant for him to listen.
He said nothing. He had considered protesting, claiming it all a lie and slander against him, but he knew it to be futile. He knew Parthadan had irrefutable evidence of what Denethor and his Council would undoubtedly interpret as High Treason. He knew that his career as the Captain of the Rangers was over, and so was his life for that matter, because the sentence for High Treason was death.
Because the matter involved crimes and murders committed in Bree and Buckland, Delioron had cooperated fully with the Dúnedain to resolve it. The identity of a mysterious character called ’Sharkey’ remained a mystery, because the only person who knew it had been slain during the unfortunate incident by the Bucklebury Ferry by the Dúnedain. Four guards from the Bree Watch had also been killed during the incident, as were the remaining three Rangers of Ithilien, who had been shot dead by the Dúnedain trying to resist arrest in Buckland. Demrîng, Sauron’s spy from Mordor, had managed to escape and the Dúnedain had not been able to track him down. Nobody knew his whereabouts, but it was presumed that Demrîng was fast on his way back to Mordor.
The true events had been covered up as much as possible from the authorities of Bree, Buckland and the Shire by the Dúnedain. The Rangers of the North saw themselves as the protectors of all settled lands in Eriador, and by their philosophy they also tried to shield and protect these settlements from all bad news of the evils of the world working all around them. In Denethor’s opinion this kind of patronizing view was unnecessary – and potentially harmful – sentimentalism, but it was none of his business. He did not know what kind of stories the Dúnedain had fed to the authorities of Bree, Buckland and the Shire to explain the unexplained murders, crimes and and attacks in their soil, and it mattered not to him.
The Steward listened through Parthadan’s story thoughtfully, his gray eyes fixed coldly on Túrher. The Dúnedain had protested formally to Denethor concerning the crimes of Gondorian citizens in their lands. The Steward of Gondor had been forced to apologize, and the embarrassment to his dignity made him bristle and fume inside.
”What have you to say in your defense?” he said to Túrher after Parthadan had finished, his eyes never leaving his niece. ”I want to know why you did it.”
”It was all done in the name of Gondor”, Túrher explained. ”Isildur’s Bane, the Master Ring, the hobbits have it, they have it hidden…”
”Isildur’s Bane?” Denethor interrupted, raising an eyebrow. He knew the old legend, but to him it was only that; an old legend. ”That’s a bedtime story for small children. Such a thing does not exists, and if it ever did, it has been lost from the world ages ago. You must do better than that if you want to evade charges of High Treason.”
”It is not a bedtime story! The Ring is real! Mithrandir, the gray wizard, he found it and…”
”And how do you know this?” Denethor interrupted, as if rowed beyond all temperance by the mere mention of Mithrandir.
”Sharkey told me. He showed me the…”
”Sharkey told you? Am I led to believe that you sent your… thugs to Bree to murder and spy and make mischief just because some… common thief from Bree has filled your head with fairy-tales? Good grief, man, have you lost your mind completely?”
”Sharkey is not a common thief! He is a great man, a friend of Gondor and the Free Peoples, he’s…”
”Do tell”, Denethor interrupted again, ”who exactly is Sharkey then? I am sure everyone here would be keen to know that.”
”I…” Túrher began, then closed his mouth. ”I’m sorry, my Lord, but I cannot tell you that.”
”You cannot tell me that?” Denethor shouted, finally losing his patience. ”You traitorous, rebellious fool! You will tell me everything about Sharkey and all of your deviltry, Captain Túrher, and that’s a promise. I will not allow you to lose your worthless head until all our questions have been answered. Guards, take him out of my sight!”
Denethor watched as the Citadel Guards grabbed Túrher and escorted him out of the hall, frowning deeply. That damned fool! Túrher was a son of his older sister Terenis, but this time he had gone too far! Terenis could not save him anymore, not this time!
And the Rangers of Ithilien would need a new Captain now. He would have to think of someone suitable. Perhaps Faramir, his youngest son? Now there was a thought. Faramir had always been a dreamy, gentle boy, much more interested in his books and music than hunting and swordplay, his head always high in the clouds. There was too much of his mother in the boy, unlike Boromir who was like a spitting image of Denethor at his age. Denethor had loved dear Finduilas more than anything in the world, but the qualities he had fallen in love with in her were not good for a man of Gondor. Not in this day and age, when the war with Mordor seemed inevitable and was looming in the horizon. Perhaps a few years of service as the Captain of the hardy Rangers of the South would toughen the boy up a bit…
Túrher never revealed Sharkey’s true identity to anyone. His body was found in his cell next morning. He had committed a suicide by hanging himself with his bedsheet, and the matter was thus resolved. Túrher’s words about Sharkey and Isildur’s Bane haunted Denethor for a while, but soon more pressing concerns rose up and the matter of ’Sharkey’ was forgotten. Denethor did not remember it until many years later, when his sons told him of the dream they had both had…
And what about Greengage? Greengage had been the key for Delioron’s plan to get himself and Elwil to leave Bree-land after the matter was resolved. It was Greengage’s story that had convinced the Dúnedain to believe that the story Delioron had told them was true, no matter how wild and far-fetched it sounded like.
Greengage’s story had been very similar to Delioron’s, except for a couple of minor details. The corpses of Ruthraon, and another unnamed Ranger of Ithilien who had been found on another alley, both clearly murdered with a dagger. Greengage claimed it was Delioron’s doing, but the Dúnedain had found a dagger in a flowerbed of a Brandy Hall, beneath the window of the room Greengage had spent the night in. It was a dagger with a blackened blade, a blade which matched the wounds on the chests of the two murdered Rangers of the South.
Delioron claimed he knew nothing about the dagger or the murders of the Rangers, while Greengage was adamant it had been Delioron who killed them. The Dúnedain had been too gentlemenly to interrogate Elwil at all, as she seemed too distraught and traumatized by her recent experiences. So it was the word of one man against the other. Delioron had seemed a more credible witness, and besides, Greengage wasn’t the favorite person for the Dúnedain. He had just confessed that he had been a spy for Gondor in Bree for decades, and he was also indirectly responsible for the murder of Hodhion, the retired Ranger.
In the end the Dúnedain had decided that Delioron and Elwil could depart, as long as they did not tarry too long and overstay their welcome, and deliver to Denethor a formal demand of apology. Greengage they had taken with them to Tinnudir.
Delioron had not lied to Greengage when he had promised him that he would live. Greengage would live. In the dungeons of Tinnudir Keep by the shores of lake Evendim. He would live for as long as the Dúnedain allowed him to live.
