The Last Ring-bearer - Kirill Yeskov [18]
"Oh, dear Éomer no doubt can run me through right here and now – and then watch what
will happen to his sister in this palantír; it won't be a sight for the fainthearted. No, she suspects nothing of the sort, of course; observe how touchingly sincere she is in caring for the wounded Prince Faramir… What guarantees? The only guarantee is common sense: when I am the King of Gondor and Arnor, I will have no one to fear… How? Very simply. As you know, the king of Gondor is dead. A dreadful tragedy, really – imagine, he went mad and immolated himself on a funeral pyre. Prince Faramir had been struck by a poisoned arrow and will not get well for quite a while, if he ever does; this depends… ah… on a number of factors. Prince Boromir? Alas, no hope there, either – he fell in battle with the Orcs at Anduin, just beyond the Falls of Rauros, and I have put his body on the funeral boat with my own hands. And since there is a war on, the heir of Isildur may not leave the country without a leader. Therefore, I accept command over the Army of Gondor and the entire Western Coalition… Were you saying something, Éomer? No?..
"We are immediately moving on Mordor, for I can only accept the crown of Gondor when we return victorious. As for Faramir, I am inclined to grant him one of Gondor's duchies… oh, Ithilien, say. To tell the truth, he had always been more interested in poetry and philosophy than in matters of state. But we should not plan that far ahead, since his condition is critical and he may not survive until our return. So pray for his health, dearest Imrahil, incessantly during our campaign; they say that the Valar especially appreciate the prayers of a best friend… When do we set out? Immediately after we clean up the remnants of the South Army at Osgiliath. Any questions? Good!"
The moment the tent was empty, the man in a gray cloak standing behind Aragorn said in a respectful reproach: "You have taken an unjustified risk, Your Majesty. This Éomer was clearly beside himself; he could have cast everything aside and lashed out…"
The ranger turned to him and bit out: "You strike me as both too talkative and too unobservant for a member of Secret Guard."
"My apologies, Your Majesty – a mithril coat of mail under your clothes?"
Aragorn's mocking gaze went over the speaker's swarthy dry face, lingering on rows of tiny holes around the lips. A silence fell for almost a minute.
"Heh, I've almost decided that your brains must've dried up in the crypt and you would now question its provenance… By the way, I keep forgetting to ask: why do they sew your mouths shut?"
"Not just mouths, Your Majesty. The belief is that all openings in a mummy's body must be closed up, lest the departed spirit re-enter it on the fortieth day and take vengeance on the living."
"That's a rather naïve method of… um… contraception."
"Indeed, Your Majesty," the gray man allowed himself a smile, "and I am living proof of that."
"Living, eh? How about the 'vengeance on the living' bit?"
"We only follow orders. Our shadow is your shadow."
"So whether I tell you to kill a child or become like a father to him, it's all the same to you?"
"Absolutely. I will perform either duty to the best of my ability."
"All right, this suits me. Here's a job for you in the meantime. The other day one of my Northern comrades-in-arms, a certain Anakit, got drunk and boasted to his friends that soon he will be as rich as Tingol. Supposedly he has information about some legendary sword for which a certain someone will pay any price. This talk has to end immediately."
"Yes, Your Majesty. Those who listened to these boasts…"
"Whatever for?"
"You think?.."
"Remember this, my dear friend: I kill without hesitation, but I never – never, you hear me? – kill unless absolutely necessary. Understand?"
"This is truly wise, Your Majesty."
"You take