Pelargir

Delioron arrived in Pelargir late one evening. He had only visited Pelargir in passing during his travels since he had left the city twenty-five years ago to become a sage in the Houses of Lore in Minas Tirith. A lifetime ago, when he had thought he was starting a new life.

He had only spoken to Meldis three times during those twenty-five years, and always at her initiative.

Why did you disappear for four years? Where did you go? Why did you not write? Everyone thought you were dead! Why can you not talk about it? Why have you retired from the Houses of Lore? You are so young still!

He wondered if Meldis understood what he had become after those years he had disappeared in Rhûn, after that disastrous diplomatic mission he had been sent to by the Warden of the Green all those years ago. The Warden of the Green had not been Parthadan back then but another man. What had been his name? Delioron could not remember it. He only remembered what he had looked like, that small, mouse-like man in brown, drab clothing.

The streets of Pelargir lay quiet beneath the heavy cloak of late autumn’s mist, and the cobblestones were still slick from earlier rain. Delioron, wrapped in a weathered cloak and carrying his saddlebags on his shoulder, glanced at the dim glow of lanterns lining the harbor as he strode past purposefully. The faint light of the lanterns cast flickering reflections onto the dark waters of the Anduin.

He remembered the way to the townhouse effortlessly. He had not been there in twenty-five years. The route was etched into his memory along with many other memories from his past, memories now useless to him.

He wondered why he felt the urge to rush home this late in the evening. He could have taken a room in an inn and meet Meldis tomorrow. Perhaps the late arrival gave him some satisfaction, the thought of waking the old lady from her sleep, banging on the door…

He walked past a familiar alley, suddenly remembering the incident that had taken place there thirty-five years earlier. He saw himself in the alley, a young boy squeezing the handle of a knife in his hand, bloodstains dotting his dirty tunic. Feeling no remorse. He remembered the guards that seized him.

You killed that lad, you little fiend! Do you even realize what you have done? Do you even care? You killed him!

No, he had not cared.

The townhouse had once been luxurious and elegant, built in a distinguished neighborhood full of townhouses of noble Gondorian families. But it had been a long time ago, a time before his birth. The townhouses had declined and decayed along with the glory days of Gondor. The walls and stairs were chipped and cracked, and the paint on the walls was peeling.

Delioron banged on the tall lebethron door on top of the stairs. He banged the door again, and when there was no reply, he banged it for the third time.

A peep hatch opened on the door on the eye level. Then a voice said in a clear Umbar accent:

”Who’s there? Who are you?”

”I want to see Meldis.”

”Who are you? What’s your business here?”

”I do not remember seeing you before.”

”And why would you?”

Then a steely voice came from behind the door, arrogant and direct:

”Who is it, Pharazbalak?” The voice was clear as a brass bell. Empress Meldis, addressing her court loftily.

”I don’t know”, Pharazbalak said, gazing at the strange apparition standing on the doorstep. ”He won’t say anything. He is dusty from the road and carries saddlebags.”

”Then it must be Deli. You may open the door.”

The bearded face of a Corsair disappeared. The door opened slowly. Delioron took a step into the dim light of the hall. The lights in the house had always been too dim. A woman was standing on the stairs, aiming a crossbow at Delioron.

Meldis had grown visibly older. She had blue veins in her hands. Back in the day she had held the banister like a Queen holding her sceptre. Nowadays she probably used it as a crutch. But the crossbow remained steady in her arms.

Old and frail, Delioron thought. Her steely voice trembled barely noticeably. It was just another sign of old age, like the throbbing of his own joints in the mornings. Meldis was dressed in a blue robe with flower patterns. Her face was barely visible through the shadows of the dim lighting. She was still pale and stern woman with strong jaw and sharp, steely grey eyes. Her hair was grey and matched her eyes.

”You finally came”, Meldis said. It was meant as a rebuke, as if Delioron had been expected home after all these years of silence. ”You took your time.”

”Mail goes slower these days.”

”Everything goes slower these days. Even me. I suppose you came to check if I still lived?”

Delioron did not reply. He was frozen on his spot in the dim hall, acutely aware that a man of Umbar called Pharazbalak was closing the door behind his back. He was unable to move either towards Meldis or away from her. Lady Meldis, slowly descending the stairs, had turned Delioron into that same emotionless, mute child he had once been.

”You have grown older”, Meldis said. ”You look much older than I expected.”

”You have not changed”, Delioron replied. It was not meant as a compliment.

”Pharazbalak, serve us wine in the chamber! Do you want it mulled, Deli?”

Delioron did not reply. The chamber was like he remembered it – stale, tidy and dusty, like a library. He stepped inside, and Meldis lit the candles behind him.

Delioron set the saddlebags on the floor, sat on a blue chair and looked at Meldis. Her voice was laced with arrogance. Meldis had ruled the world her entire life. She had never married, not because she had not been pretty or desired by young men, but because no man had measured up to that arrogant, condescending smile, let alone been able to overcome it – including the street urchin she had saved from the gallows. All men had disappeared eventually, even the boy. Perhaps it was their loss.

Delioron poured himself some wine in the goblet, trying not to feel guilty. Meldis observed everything and rarely commented. Everything he did in front of her conjured up a strange feeling, as if his smallest movements would deny his cold words. The townhouse was cold. It was furnished with old, once valuable things. Perhaps they still were.

The house conjured up something from the past. He had not wanted any old memories. Up to what point, specifically? Perhaps up to the point when his past was taken away from him while he sat waiting in that secluded farmhouse in the outskirts of Arnach. Just one final glance before it all disappears. The old woman, the old townhouse. Even Radawen.

In the end the past was not very much. A pile of old books in the corner of an old farmhouse, completely without value once the life that had collected the books had flickered out.

”I have been sick”, Meldis interrupted his gloomy thoughts.

Delioron looked at her, grey eyes locking into grey eyes. It was a family trait – all members of House Orchaldor had eyes like that.

”Cancer”, Meldis said.

Delioron did not reply.

”I am glad you are not making a fuss about it. I have grown sick and tired of all the sympathy and sad looks.”

”Nobody has ever given you their sympathy”, Delioron said. ”If you ever needed anyone’s sympathy, you simply took it from them.”

Meldis laughed in the dim room.

”I think you are right, Deli. You always were a clever boy. I noticed it from the first moment I laid my eyes on you in that prison cell. You reminded me of your father. Of myself. Orchaldor blood runs thick in your veins. You were a good investment.”

”I am glad for you, Meldis.”

”You were an ungrateful child. But I do get sympathy from my neighbors, believe it or not, Deli. The word ’cancer’ unsettles people. When they look at me, they see their own mortality.”

”Who? The Corsair you have as a steward? Did you save him too? Stray dogs, stray urchins and now stray pirates as well? Where did you find him?”

”I pulled some strings. He was a captive from one of those Corsair ships the Navy sometimes encounters at sea. I saw potential in Pharazbalak. They were going to hang him. It would have been such a waste.”

Delioron said nothing.

”What became of you after you retired from the Houses of Lore? A wandering tomb-robber? I have been keeping an eye on you, Deli. I know you have spent a lot of time travelling outside of Gondor over the years. It is not exactly usual for retired historians to wander so.”

”Who do you get sympathy from?” Delioron deflected the question.

”Lord Nodron, for example. Do you still remember him?”

”Still alive then. He can’t have that many years left in him either.”

Silence. Delioron tasted his wine again. He could taste its sweetness. He did not want to talk to Meldis, but he could not resist the urge to do so either. In his years of silence and secrets words had been means of deception, tools of his trade or means of self-deception. Now he resented the urge to talk to Parthadan, Meldis or anyone who could confirm he existed at all. He felt like a pitiful drunkard attempting to tell jokes to strangers just to break the silence for a moment.

Meldis leaned into the light. Delioron saw her face clearly. She smiled like a woman who still appreciates charming young men. All young men had left her at their own initiative when she had still been young and pretty. Perhaps she had known that Delioron, too, would some day leave her. To go live his life without her.

Living in this house had always felt like a prison to him. He understood that Meldis had imprisoned him to be good to him; she had put him in a prison made of courtesy, good manners and enough money to bail him out of the trouble he was always seeking. All this Meldis had given him after taking away the only thing money could not buy.

”You, Deli, have always accepted the world as it is”, she said. ”And that is why you have fought against it so hard.”

”I am done fighting.”

”If I could believe that, I would get really depressed.”

There was another silence. Meldis leaned back to the shadows. She waited, but Delioron did not say anything.

”I think I know what you have become”, she said at last. ”I wondered about it for a long time. But I think I understand now.”

Delioron still did not reply.

”Do you still resent me over that woman?” Meldis asked. ”She was a worthless harlot and a drunkard. She might have wept for you when they hanged you, but she would not have saved you.”

”She was my mother. I was supposed to take care of her.”

”It is the responsibility of the parent to take care of the child, not the other way around”, Meldis said.

Delioron did not reply.

”She was not able to take care of herself, let alone a child”, Meldis carried on. ”And neither could you! You were just a child. You were not free. You tried your hardest to get yourself imprisoned or killed. I saved you, Deli. I gave you a good home, a noble name, education, future. You still deny it! Even as I’m dying.”

There was no reply.

”Do I still get no love from you, Deli? No pity?”

Silence.

”How are you involved in my affairs, Meldis?” Delioron finally asked.

Meldis looked startled and confused. She leaned back into the light. Her grey eyes looked at Delioron, who was sitting calmly on the blue chair.

”Are you talking about my letter?” she asked, sounding disappointed. ”Too bad. I thought you meant something else. But I am intrigued by it. You were always a real ruffian. Your own survival was more important to you than anything else. I think it made you more afraid of death than I am. You remind me of your father in that regard.”

”And did he survive?” Delioron asked. He had never met his father, but he knew he had been a sea-captain in Gondor’s Navy who had had fallen while fighting Corsair pirates somewhere in the Bay of Belfalas.

”No. His duty for Gondor got him killed. And the same thing will happen to you too. It is exhausting, to think of all the energy people waste on staving off the inevitable. Do you not see how pointless it is, Deli?”

This is stupid, Delioron thought. He put the goblet down. Had he come home to reminisce old times? Something had happened, and that something had prompted Meldis to write him a letter.

”How are you involved in my affairs?” His voice was cold, merciless.

”You sound so strange.”

Silence.

”Something has happened”, Meldis said after a while. ”I hired a woman to my household staff. A woman of Harad named Muldal. She is one of those freed slaves from the Corsair ships the Navy sometimes brings to Pelargir.”

Delioron leaned forward. He did not touch his wine. He waited.

”Your eyes, Deli. They are so old. You have grown old.”

Merely survived, Delioron thought. He said nothing.

”Some of them have waited for years in the barracks. They are technically free, but as they come from Harad, they can’t just be allowed to walk freely within Gondor’s borders. They could go back home, but the Harad Road is long and perilous, and attempting to reach Harad on foot without escort is practically a suicide. So most stay where they are, waiting for some noble House to hire them as servants. But because few of them have any practical skills or experience required for servants and many don’t speak any civilized language, they have little chance of finding employment.”

”When did you hire her?”

”About a year ago. She has been in Pelargir for two years. Once she told me that she wanted to stay in my service. After. ’After what?’ I asked, but she would not tell me. Not for a week or two. Then, all of a sudden, she told me that she was a slave. A slave! She does not speak Westron well, but she knows that word. I tried to explain her that we do not have slavery in Gondor, that she is not a slave. I pay her decent wages, the same as I would pay any servant, and if she is unhappy she can quit and try to find employment somewhere else. Of course it is not that simple, because I signed a contract with the Pelargir administration that I would employ her and take responsibility for her supervision while she lived under my roof. So perhaps she is a slave after a fashion, or a prisoner. She was probably a little drunk when she said it. That morning she was working in the scullery, singing sad songs to herself. Harad songs. I did not understand the words, but I understood the tone. Later I thought that perhaps she meant something else.”

”Like what?”

”I do not know. She has a friend, Tilyh – another freed slave from Harad. Tilyh works in Lord Nodron’s household. Tilyh was here helping one day, when Muldal was sick. I asked Tilyh if she knew what Muldal might have meant when she talked about being a slave. Tilyh got scared.”

”What does any of this have to do with me?”

”I do not know. Two months ago two men came to visit me. They were dressed in the liveries of the Pelargir Guard, but they were anything but. One spoke in the Umbar accent. The other was a dark-skinned man of Harad.”

Delioron froze. He felt chilled. This was the reason he was here. His hands were on his lap. He stared at their outlines in the dim light. He did not say anything.

”They asked me about Muldal. And then about you, Deli. They told me you were some kind of public servant for the throne, and that they were concerned because…”

Delioron waited.

”You are not making it easy.”

”What?”

”I do not know what is going on. I am tired. I want to go to bed. You may stay. You may have your old room.”

”Tell me!”

”No.” The arrogant smile returned. ”Tomorrow, when I am rested. I was not expecting you.”

”I was not expecting to return either.”

”Does it feel like you have come back home, Deli?”

”This place was never a home to me.”

”The dark-skinned man was about to draw his sword. The other man tried to prevent me from seeing it, but I saw it. I think he was going to kill me.”

”And they were asking about me? And your servant?”

”Yes. Muldal. Do you think there may be something to it? When she said she was a slave?”

”Yes.”

”It is a dreadful thing, slavery. Owning people.”

”You owned me.”

”You were the slave of your own wicked deeds. I did not demand reimbursement when you left, did I?”

”Those men! Are you going to tell me about them?”

”In the morning. I am concerned about Muldal. I am very fond of her. She is a drinker. I know that she steals wine from my cellar. She reminds me of your mother. I would have wanted to help your mother.”

”You wanted to help yourself.”

”The world is so wicked, Deli. It always has been. Getting old is hard, not because you are running out of time but because nothing has changed. The world was wicked when I was a child, and it has grown even more wicked now that I am old.”

”What about those men?”

”That’s right. I am interested about that too. I am interested to hear what you deign to tell me about them. In the morning, Deli, when I’m not so tired. I have a lot to tell you.”

”How are you involved in my affairs?” Delioron asked.

”But you know that already”, Meldis said, smiling. ”In the morning, when I’m not so tired. We have plenty of time tomorrow!”