Afterwards Radawen fell asleep like a baby. Delioron lied on the bed next to her for a long time, watching her, tracing the soft curves of her face and body with his pewter gray eyes. When he finally left to return to his own room it was already late in the afternoon.
He was in no hurry. He ordered a hot bath in his room and sat in the tub for a long time until the water cooled. When he was ready he changed his shirt and undergarments and left the room. The sun had started to set when he left the guesthouse to walk to the location of the dead drop in the northeastern part of Imloth Melui.
Delioron was mildly surprised when he found a small scrolled parchment in the cavity under the rock. It was the first time Parthadan had approached him during his stay in Imloth Melui. Delioron had started to wonder if his own reports were ever delivered to Parthadan in the first place.
He tried to evict Radawen’s image from his mind when he slipped the parchment into his pocket and started walking down the avenue back to the guesthouse. Darkness had fallen over Imloth Melui like a cloth of black velvet. Delioron realized that he was feeling angry, both to himself and the Warden of the Green in Minas Tirith. It was all Radawen’s fault, he thought, but corrected himself immediately. No, the fault was entirely his own. He had chosen to initiate this intimate relationship with the girl because he had wanted her there under the waterfall, as she had stood there so vulnerable and naked in her distress. Now guilt consumed him like a hangover.
This was his world, this grayness, these shadows, this world without pain or grief or tears. He had accepted his fate years ago. It was the only way he knew how to live, the only way to survive. There was no room for guilt or love in his world, no room for weakness or mistakes.
Delioron returned to his room, lit a candle, broke the seal on the scroll and opened it. It was written in the usual code, and Delioron used his cipher and a pen to decode the message on an empty sheet of parchment.
A meeting was held this morning, probably yesterday or the day before from the moment you are reading this message. It was not an official meeting. It was held on a bench in the Sage’s Tier, and the only participants were myself and Bordir, the Warden of Henneth Annûn.
The crux of the meeting was this: The Rangers have withdrawn all their men from Imloth Melui by a direct order from Denethor. They were ordered to drop the matter of Romenstar and return to North Ithilien immediately. Bordir told me that he was asked to relay the same message to me. You are to return immediately to Minas Tirith and leave Romenstar be. Bordir seemed just as baffled by the order as I was. He had not met with Denethor personally, the order was given him by the Captain of Gondor, Lord Torthadir of Tumladen, who said it was also Denethor’s will and command.
Of course I had to check with Denethor personally if he had indeed given such order. Turned out that he had, after he had been counseled to do so by Captain Torthadir. Denethor refused to explain his reasons any further and became visibly irritated when I tried to probe around the matter, so I backed away.
Things are not looking so great for us at the moment. Denethor does not like my network of information-gatherers and is seriously considering to order the whole network permanently disbanded so I can focus on my ’proper duties’, as he puts it. In Denethor’s mind there are too many spies in Gondor, he finds them distasteful and a waste of time and resources. There is already Arodor’s network in Minas Tirith, the Rangers in North Ithilien and of course that accursed crystal ball of his, the Palantír, which according to Denethor provides him with ample intelligence on all matters of real importance. He despises spy networks and if he’s going to close down some of them, I’m afraid ours is the first one to go. Apparently Captain Torthadir is in agreement with Denethor and is likely responsible for feeding these ideas to the Steward in the first place.
I am of course obligated to obey a direct order of Denethor, my Lord and Liege, and so I command you to drop everything you are doing and return to Minas Tirith immediately. Therefore it is unfortunate that you never received this message. Perhaps some local children found the dead drop and stole the scroll inside – an unfortunate turn of events, but such things happen. I trust that you understand my meaning.
For the glory of Gondor!
Delioron audibly growled at the last words of the message. To hell with the Glory of Gondor!
He burned both the ciphered and translated messages in the candle flame. He understood Parthadan's meaning all right. The Warden of the Green wanted him to stay put and carry on with his mission, but did not want to assume the responsibility for disobeying a direct order from Denethor. Thus the message had ’disappeared’. Parthadan was playing a very dangerous game now.
