It was the time of late watches in Imloth Melui, a week after the attack in the Hall of the Gentle Hand. Demrîng walked slowly and deliberately down the lower path to the western bank of the River Erui. Scattered pines obscured the view from above. The relatively hidden entranceway to the path ensured that not many people ever visited this peaceful spot, and the few who found it by accident thought it long abandoned. It was the perfect place to spend a night for Demrîng, who never slept well or for long. He stared into the darkness, but his gaze could not penetrate the darkness. The clouds covered the moon. Demrîng’s gaze turned inwards.
He had not slept more than a few minutes each night since his childhood. Not since his parents had offered him as a gift to Sauron. In Barad-dûr he had been exposed to many horrifying experiments designed to make him a better version of himself, a better servant for Sauron. Some of the experiments had taken away his dreams. He did not need to sleep more than a quarter of an hour each night and he never saw dreams anymore, but he could still remember the dreams of his childhood. At the darkest hours of the night, when everyone else was sleeping, Demrîng desperately craved for the ability to sleep and dream.
Delioron had never used the forged scroll of parchment he had provided him with, the document that was supposed to ’prove’ that Romenstar was a ploy of the Rangers of Ithilien working against Sauron’s interests. Romenstar’s disappearance had been a relief to Demrîng’s overseers in Mordor. Still, it would have been better if his body had been found. And then there was the matter of the diary.
Who had hidden Romenstar’s body? Did they have the book now? Had Romenstar died at all? Had he taken the book with him? Did the diary exist at all?
Demrîng could not return to Mordor until the matter was resolved. The Mouth of Sauron had declined to reveal him what Romenstar’s secret was, or if the Mouth of Sauron even knew it himself. Demrîng had an awful feeling that strange powers were meddling with this case, and if something went wrong, Demrîng would be the one to take the fall. And this time there would be no second chances for him.
He had already made one mistake when he had killed the emissary from Isengard. He had not been able to trust Martun. Martun did not know about the pact between Sauron and Saruman. Perhaps Saruman had planned it that way all along. If Saruman would have gotten hold of Romenstar’s diary first, perhaps he would have been able to back away from the agreement he had made with Sauron. Saruman must be held on a tight leash, as ordered by the Mouth of Sauron. So he had tried to make sure Saruman would not get the diary by killing the emissary. But now Saruman had arrived in Imloth Melui in person, and Romenstar and the diary were missing. Things could have been handled better, as the Mouth of Sauron would have said.
Demrîng bent down to pick up a pebble and studied it. It was small, smooth and insignificant. He threw it in the River Erui. The pebble disappeared into the water without a sound.
Saruman had told him that there was no diary. Was it a lie? There were so many secrets, so many things that were kept hidden from him. How was he supposed to do his job under these conditions?
He had to get a hold of the diary. He had planned to kill Romenstar to get it, but then somebody else had killed the old man first. Who else was here, who else was working against him?
Demrîng heard the sound of soft boots crunching against the dirt. He turned and saw a dark silhouette approaching; a familiar figure.
Demrîng knew who it was. He knew the cold face, even paler than usual in the dim light; the face of winter sculpted in ice, like the white calmness of the Icebay of Forochel.
”I wasn’t expecting to see you”, Demrîng said in his soft, quiet voice.
”Why not? Did you think I was dead already?”
”No. Are you hurt?”
”Who sent the killers?”
”Which killers? I don’t know.”
”Is that the truth?” Delioron asked in a sharp, sarcastic tone of voice.
”I gave you the proof”, Demrîng said. ”You did not use it. And now the old man is dead, murdered by the Rangers of Ithilien.”
”I thought it was you who killed him.”
”I had no reason to kill him.”
”Why did you give me the piece of parchment and claimed that he was working for the Rangers?”
Demrîng shrugged. ”Because I was ordered to. I follow orders, just like you do. But you didn’t give the proof to your masters.”
”No, because it was a lie.”
Demrîng waited, staring at Delioron. This was not the first time they were standing against each other like this, probing and testing, lying and telling truths, compromising and waiting, pushing each other to make a mistake.
They stood four paces apart in the dark, desolate path below the waterfall.
”You killed Martun”, Delioron said at last.
Demrîng smiled, blinking his blank blue-gray eyes. ”I am not a killer.”
”But you are”, Delioron said. ”You kill when the situation calls for it. Just like me.”
Demrîng smiled even wider then. Without another word they started walking side by side down the dirt path, two men in their early middle years, shoulders slumped like two weary oxen in the same team.
”I am just a messenger”, Demrîng said. ”They gave me the proof to hand over to you. It was just a little test for me, after you betrayed me in Buckland. After they had interrogated me in Barad-dûr.”
”Perhaps so.”
”That’s right, Delioron. You say ’perhaps’ so you don’t need to say anything at all. But I tell you the truth. Sauron wants peace with Gondor. Sauron wants to avoid the war that will otherwise come. A war that your side will lose.”
”You want me to trust you.”
”I am going back home soon”, Demrîng said. ”To Mordor. Tomorrow. We will probably never see each other again.”
”Why didn’t you try to kill me?”
”I told you already.” Demrîng stopped walking and turned to look at the river. ”I am not a killer. When you betrayed me to the Rangers of the North, when I escaped their captivity and returned to Mordor… they made my life very unpleasant there. For a long time.”
”I understand.”
”You did that to me, Delioron.”
”I don’t believe a word you say.” Delioron’s voice was cold, devoid of all compassion. ”You betrayed yourself, Demrîng. I am not your friend and you are not mine. We are enemies, and you are a liar. You gave me the forged evidence to trick me and you killed Martun. You sent killers after Radawen and me.”
”No. I am here alone. You know it’s the truth.”
”Why did you go to see Saruman?”
It was just a wild guess, but Delioron could see from the flash in Demrîng’s eyes that he had guessed correctly. Demrîng looked away.
”You think you know so much, Delioron”, Demrîng said. "But tell me this: why would I kill Saruman’s emissary and then go to meet the man himself?”
”I have the diary.”
Demrîng stared at Delioron’s cold, impassive face. ”You do? Is that the truth?”
”I know Romenstar’s secrets. And you have failed, Demrîng. You will not be forgiven for a second time. The best you can hope for is the death penalty. You'd better hope you will not be given the life penalty. You know as well as I do that Sauron can make those whom he especially dislikes live for a very long time. Much longer than they normally would. Under his special care."
Demrîng opened his hand, and there was a pile of sickly green powder on his palm.
”Really, Demrîng?” Delioron asked. ”Are you going to kill me now?”
”Where is the diary?”
”There is no diary.”
”Then you will die for nothing”, Demrîng said. ”But I will survive.”
”Of course you will”, said Delioron. ”It’s already been taken care of. Welcome to Gondor.”
Demrîng stared at Delioron, unable to comprehend the meaning of his words.
”A few days ago in Minas Tirith the emissaries from Mordor were given some documents. Those documents contain compelling evidence of your treason. You must have come to the conclusion that your mission here will fail no matter what, and you have negotiated a deal with Gondor to save your life. All your secrets for protection, an asylum in Gondor. The contents of those documents must have reached your masters in Mordor by now.”
”They will never believe…”
”But of course they will. You can never underestimate the paranoia of Sauron and his minions. Especially since Saruman will confirm to Sauron that you are indeed a traitor.”
Demrîng said nothing.
”And now I have no reason to kill you anymore”, he said after a long pause. ”You have betrayed me again.”
”That’s right”, Delioron said and pointed up the dirt path. In the distance they could see two men approaching. ”See those men out there? They will escort you safely to Minas Tirith. We will take care of you.”
”You bastard”, Demrîng said. ”You could have captured me, imprisoned me. Then I could have been exchanged for some other prisoner in Mordor or Dol Guldur. What good am I to you if you can’t trade me?”
”Do you really think Sauron would have been interested to trade you back when you failed him again? No, but you will have value for us. And in exchange you will be taken care of.”
”I could still kill you”, Demrîng said, squeezing the green powder in his fist. ”You and those men. I could still run.”
”Run where, Demrîng? You can never go back to Mordor now. You are a traitor to them, and they will never stop hunting you down as long as you’re alive. If you kill me, you will become a fugitive in Gondor too. But if you surrender, your life here will not be unpleasant. We will not put you in a prison or make you work hard labour in the mines. You will be given a new name, a Gondorian name. You will be given a new history and a nice house in the Cape of Belfalas by the sea. You will be given a monthly allowance so you don’t have to go hungry or find work to make a living. There will be no guards in your prison, at least none that stand out. There will be people around of course, for your own protection. Sauron’s hand stretches far. And of course you will get regular visitors who will ask you a lot of questions. Questions about Mordor, about Sauron, about everything you know and everything you have ever done. And you will answer all these questions truthfully if you want to keep on living. It’s a nice neighborhoor. You know, I have a house there as well. Maybe we can be neighbors. Maybe we can go fishing sometimes. Talk about the good old days.”
”You bastard”, Demrîng sneered. ”You bastard!”
The moon came out from behind the clouds and in it’s pale light Delioron could see clearly the other man’s blank, expressionless eyes. Slowly Demrîng opened his fist and the sickly green powder trickled quietly on the dirt path from between his fingers.
