A gray-haired man sat on a bench in front of a fountain in a city square in the Player’s Tier in Minas Tirith. The fountain was not far from the famous wine-shop of Narthan Ereb, where the gray-haired man had bought the leather flagon of wine he was now nursing between his flat-fingered hands. He watched as a man in his late middle years cautiously approached the fountain, glancing over his shoulder like a man who has something to hide. The older man was dressed in a dark green cloak and hood. He wore none of the emblems of his office, for Parthadan, the Warden of the Green, could not afford to be seen in public with the likes of Delioron.
Delioron could not help but be amused by Parthadan’s dramatic, comically obvious attempt at subterfuge. Parthadan’s act would not have fooled a blind village drunk, so Delioron was glad he only needed to meet the man in Minas Tirith, where all this secrecy and subterfuge was mostly irrelevant. Like a man just minding his own business, Parthadan sat on the bench next to Delioron, regardless of the fact that there were plenty of empty benches around the fountain he could have chosen instead. Parthadan did not glance at Delioron directly, but kept staring keenly at the exciting view of the stairs leading up to the wall in front of him instead.
”Welcome home, Delioron”, Parthadan said from the corner of his mouth.
”Nice to be back home”, said Delioron. His voice was dripping with sarcasm, but Parthadan chose to ignore it for now.
Delioron was exhausted. He had expected to get a vacation when he returned home, not another assignment. He had barely managed to get out of Umbar alive this time.
The one thing he had learned after his return was that Elwil was getting married to a civil servant in Minas Tirith. Inwardly he wished them both good luck. Through the winter Elwil and Delioron had been lovers, but after the physical attraction and the connection borne out of the traumatic experiences they had shared in the north had begun to wane, they had started to drift apart, gradually realizing that they had little in common aside from their experiences in Bree-land. The relationship had ended without drama, and they had managed to stay friends. Elwil had moved back into Minas Tirith, while Delioron had been sent to Umbar posing as a Dalish armourer-merchant. In Umbar he had spent the long, hot summer trying to infiltrate the ranks of the Corsairs to glean information of their future attacks. In the end the operation had backfired spectacularly, and the escape from Umbar had proved an exceptionally difficult and dangerous one.
Parthadan, the Warden of the Green, had no official authority to send Delioron or anyone to Umbar to spy on the Corsairs, but it was nevertheless Delioron’s duty to serve Parthadan – and Gondor, as Parthadan oft reminded – in this way.
”You came out of Umbar too soon”, Parthadan said.
”Did you read my report?” Delioron asked. ”Umbar is blown. I would advise you not to send anyone else in there in the foreseeable future.”
”Yes, I read the report”, Parthadan said. ”Fine then. But the thing is, now I have this little problem that came up recently and nobody to look into it. Well, I thought I had nobody to look into it, but then you came back from Umbar too soon.”
Delioron said nothing.
”Romenstar”, Parthadan said.
”I’m tired”, Delioron said. ”I need a vacation. I need to go into my home in the Cape of Belfalas and hibernate through the winter. Don’t send a word to me before spring. I don’t want to know about it.”
Parthadan’s eyes wandered onto the flagon of wine Delioron was sipping from. Wrinkling his nose, Parthadan said: ”I think you drink too much. That is taxing to your strenght.”
”Save it!”
”Romenstar”, Parthadan repeated. ”I am sure you remember the name. You are exactly the right man for this job. It is a very simple thing I’m asking of you, and it shouldn’t take too long. A couple of weeks maybe. You can have your vacation afterwards.”
A reluctant trace of recollection crossed Delioron’s wintry face.
”I have heard the name before”, Delioron said. ”Or rather read about it. Back when I was a lore-master in the Houses of Lore. There is a short passage of text in there about… Morinehtar and Romenstar. The blue wizards who went to Rhûn. It must have been more than two thousand years ago. The order of the Istari.”
Nobody in Gondor knew much about the Istari. Everyone knew about Saruman, the Lord of Nan Curunír. Many had heard about Mithrandir too, the gray wizard. Radagast was known only by few, and even to them as a name only. Morinehtar and Romenstar were virtually unknown to all but a handful of people who had been privileged enough to study the most ancient texts in the Houses of Lore.
Not only the number of the Istari was shrouded in mystery, their origins were equally mysterious. It was said that they were very old, immortal according to some, but nobody knew the reason why. Some believed the Istari were of the race of Eldar, while others claimed that they were men who’s lives had been unnaturally prolonged by the secret, hidden knowledge they had absorbed when they had learned to become wizards. Nobody knew the truth.
”A couple of weeks ago a man claiming to be Romenstar walked into a secret outpost of the Rangers in North Ithilien”, Parthadan said. ”Extraordinary, isn’t it?”
”Where is he now?”
”They brought him here”, Parthadan said in his dry, expressionless voice. ”To hide him here, but it seems they couldn’t keep the secret for long. Somehow the story of the Rangers hiding a blue-clad wizard in the Haven broke out, and it’s more or less a public secret now. A few days ago a scholar from the Houses of Lore tried to approach him outside the Haven. They have moved the old man now, but they can’t keep a lid on this thing for much longer. We need to know who this man is. Is he really who he says he is? And if he isn’t, what game are the Rangers playing? Why keep the old man in hiding?”
Delioron stared at Parthadan for a moment with a blank expression, waiting for his brain to come up with an answer. ”Because he hasn’t told it to them yet”, he finally said.
”Told them what?”
”If this man really is Romenstar, the man who disappeared into Rhûn more than two thousand years ago, then he must have returned only because he had to”, said Delioron. ”Because he has something he wants to tell us. But in all this time he hasn’t told it to the Rangers.”
”Maybe so”, said Parthadan, as if he was being skeptical of Delioron’s train of thought. ”This is a very simple mission. No risk, no complications.”
”That’s what you say every time.”
Delioron remembered the woman in Umbar who had kept him hidden in her cellar for three days. And he remembered the day two weeks later, hiding in the tower above the harbor, helplessly watching as the Corsairs executed the woman in one of the most cruelly imaginative ways he had ever seen: by hauling her beneath the keel of the ship. The sharp-edged barnacles attached to the bottom of the ship had ripped her skin to shreds. But the most horrible thing was that when she finally emerged from the other side she had been still alive… so they had hauled her under the ship again.
He would have killed them all then if he could, but there was nothing he could do but sit and watch… not if he wanted to survive. And he had survived, but now he was tired, so tired. He wanted to get out, he wanted to quit, but there was no way to explain that to Parthadan, no way Delioron could ever be released from his duty. He simply knew too much to be released, so his continued survival depended on his continued usefulness.
”What do you want me to do?”
”I have found out that the Rangers are planning to take Romenstar to Imloth Melui after their attempt to hide him here was blown. The Rangers have a friend in Imloth Melui – Maegon, the chief healer of the Hall of the Gentle Hand. That’s where they are taking Romenstar next. That’s where I want you to go. This matter needs to be handled delicately.”
”I’m not famous for my ability to handle matters delicately.”
”I’m not sure whether this whole thing is not a trick cooked up by the Rangers”, Parthadan continued, ignoring Delioron’s remark. ”You have to think about the timing. A few weeks ago Sauron sent a delegation here to meet Denethor. Sauron is offering us another Watchful Peace. In a nutshell, Sauron wants Denethor to acknowledge the borders between Mordor and Gondor as they are now and pull the Rangers out of Ithilien. In return Sauron will abjure his claims for the rest of Gondor. Denethor is tempted to take the deal. You know how he’s been peering into that that crystal ball of his, the Palantír. Who knows what he sees in there but he’s been claiming for years that the inevitable war between Gondor and Mordor will happen in a few short years and end in the complete defeat of Gondor, and that the shadow will devour the entire world after Gondor's fall. So Denethor finds the prospect of normalizing our relations appealing. But Torthadir, the new Captain of the Rangers, does not trust Sauron.”
”He’s right not to trust Sauron”, Delioron remarked. ”I wouldn’t either.”
”Maybe so”, Parthadan shrugged. ”But it’s not our business to make policy. Denethor rules Gondor and makes the decisions concerning the kingdom. Our business is simply to execute his wishes…”
”Bullshit!” Delioron grumbled. ”You scheme and conspire behind Denethor’s back every chance you get.”
”Crudely put, Delioron, and not even true. I think…”
”If only we could put all this energy into thwarting Sauron’s plans instead of tripping and sabotaging each other, we might actully have a real chance at winning the war.”
”Why are you fighting me on this?” Parthadan asked.
”Because you’re being your usual boring self, Parthadan. Do you think that this Romenstar has been sent here by Sauron, huh?”
”That’s unlikely.”
”Yeah. Unlikely. You think ’Romenstar’ is a scheme cooked up by Torthadir and the Rangers, and you want to reveal it to win a favour from Denethor. Petty schemes of lords and captains concern you more than Sauron's plans to rule the world.”
Delioron thought again how cold he felt even though it wasn’t that cold, not really. It was never really cold in Gondor.
Parthadan dug up a packet of instructions from the pocket of his cloak and handed it to Delioron. ”I have something for you. I need you to get started with it right away. I’m sorry, but this is an order.”
Delioron felt nothing. His exhaustion surrounded him like an impeneterable veil of gloom. Parthadan wanted to stress the importance of the assignment to Delioron one more time, but he had left already. Parthadan watched as Delioron’s back disappeared into the mass of strangers like a shadow in the evening, when everything disappears into shadow.
