
by
hamlet » Sun Jul 21, 2002 10:58 am
Camgalen's visits became more and more frequent. Though he afforded Hamlet all the respect due to a captured officer, it was clear that the young man was becoming extremely agitated. He had been ordered not only to hold the gates of the Morrannon, but also to seek out any orcs that might be lurking in the few scattered fortresses on the enclosed plain of Udun. To accomplish this task, he had been given a scant three hundred men.<BR><BR>He would always come before the noon meal and sit at a table specialy brought for him. Dressed in full uniform, he looked the spitting image of the statues that lined the courts of Gondor, a soldier of the White City at its hayday: stern, proud, and sure. And always standing at his commander's elbow, Osram, who was all of those things that Camgalen strove so hard to be.<BR><BR>"What is the disposition of the defensive forces in this area?"<BR><BR>"We've been over this before, Captain. Come now, if you can't think of new questions to ask me, we shall all grow bored, and I do so enjoy our time together." Hamlet took his customary pose, reclined on his cot with his hands behind his head, seemingly half asleap.<BR><BR>"Sir, it would be best for all of us if you coopoerate." Behind Camgalen, Osram nodded his approval. The lieutenant had been forced on more than one occasion to restrain his commander, a task he thought he should never have to do. Such outbursts were more than unbecoming, they were unproductive and a good soldier should always strive to be productive at all times. "Where are the units that reinforced the gate garrisons?"<BR><BR>Something in the earnestnous of Camgalen's voice made Hamlet open his eyes completely. In his amaturish way, the boy hid much of what he truly thought behind carefully worded questions and a stiffly composed face. This had been a completely honest question with nothing hidden behind it. Almost nothing, it wasn't the entire truth certainly. "You can't find them."<BR><BR>"So you do know where they are?"<BR><BR>"No, and you can't find them. Can you?" Hamlet looked him straight in the eye, an experience Camgalen found more than a little unsettling. "When you came here, the hordes and swarms of defenders you expected, that everyone expected . . . simply weren't here were they?"<BR><BR>"I will ask the questions if you don't mind."<BR><BR>"How few were there?" This last question was directed at Osram. "How many?"<BR><BR>"You will speak to me, Sir." Camgalen was swiftly losing his temper, but Hamlet hardly noticed this time.<BR><BR>"When we arrived at the gates, only a few, forty or fifty, were seen, and they vanished before they could be stopped," Osram said.<BR><BR>"Lieutenant! Remain silent!"<BR><BR>"And the reinforcements? The fortress guards?"<BR><BR>"Be silent!" The captian stood, knocking his chair to the ground and slammed his gloved fist on the table.<BR><BR>"We have found . . . no one."<BR><BR>"You will be silent! Both of . . ."<BR><BR>"Shut-up, child!" Hamlet interrupted. If the gates stood unguarded, then that meant something else was going on, something much greater than this little boy playing at soldier could possibly comprehend. "How many men have marched east with you? Who commands them?"<BR><BR>As children are wont, Camgalen became insenced when one of his toys ceased to function properly. Whith wild, ativistic eyes and a snarl of rage, he lunged across the table seeking to strangle his prisoner.<BR><BR>Osram was unable to lay a restraining hand on the younger man's shoulder before he had siezed Hamlet by the throat and bore him to the ground under all of his weight.<BR><BR>What happened next was never clear outside of Hamlet's tent. Camgalen and Hamlet struggled on the ground. Then there was the squelching sound of steel entereing flesh, and Captain Camgalen fell limp, dead. It was generally accepted that Hamlet had become enraged at his captor and had somehow managed to sieze Osram's weapon. While the captain turned to flee, it was thought that Hamlet had stabbed him in the back. Versions of the story were as numerous as there were soldiers who told it, but Hamlet and Osram never sought to clarify events.<BR><BR>Looking up from the floor, Hamlet said, "Thank you, Osram."<BR><BR>****************************************************************<BR><BR>Winter seemed to have no meaning in the cursed land of Mordor, except perhaps to intensify and deepen the despair of the place. Though it was not cold, not even the scrubby, thorny plants that scratched out a life in the wretched, tortured soil lived in this quasi-season. Noxious vapours and dust clouds traveled the landscape taking the breath from any unfortunate enough to be caught in one.<BR><BR>Osram, born in the northern territories of Gondor, had very infrequently seen snow. The winters of his childhood and youth had been mild compared to the stories brought out of the north and from the west. Many hobbits, a new breed of traveller to the City of Guard, brought tales of the great winter in which wolves had crossed the frozen Brandywine, though many of the younger folks never quite believed it, thinking the story served to enhance the family image the way it was intertwined with geneaologies and old family stories.<BR><BR>There was something definately wrong with the season, Osram decided, "Just like there's something wrong with this entire cursed place!" <i>Just like there's something wrong with everything,</i> he thought to himself, though he would never speak it aloud. A veteran of twenty years, Osram grated at being ordered about by a boy. Even worse, men of Gondor being ordered about by elves, moved back and forth like so many game pieces on the playing board. Worse yet, the greatest nation in Middle-earth governed by a child playing at king.<BR><BR>"Worst of all, a seasoned soldier who fails in his duty and betrays his captain." Osram stood on an outcropping half a mile from camp. He was breaking his own orders, that everyone remain in camp. It was dangerous to be alone away from any aid. One could be attacked by trolls or orcs. "Trolls and orcs we've seen neither hide nor hair of." Only a token defense and empty gate-houses.<BR><BR>Patrols had searched every passageway, tunnel, and crevice they could gane access to and found no sign of the armies they expected. The hordes of legend, multitudes swarming as far as the eye could see turning the strangely red soil of Mordor black with writhing bodies.<BR><BR>The soil of Mordor was red. Blood cried out from the ground, old and dry brown stains on the walls. Fresh blood that coated everything and made horrible squelching sounds.<BR><BR>Boy captains, elf generals, child kings . . . "And one mysterious man." Osram looked back at camp, at the small tent where Hamlet remained prisoner. "One man who I can't even be sure is lying to me."<BR><BR>Reaching a decision, Osram headed back for the camp.<BR><BR>*******************************************************************<BR><BR>Darkness and heat, the stench of an unventilated forge swallowed Hamlet. After the cold of the north, the heat was suffocating. Suddenly, the pitch was lit by a lurid glow of fire and he found himself in a claustraphobic chamber. Across from him, the figure of Sauron the Forger. A shadowy, nebulous form of a naked man with blackened and scorched hands, burned from the fires of his forge. It was exactly as Hamlet remembered, even the voice, powerful, commanding.<BR><BR><i>You were a good servant during the war, Hamlet.</i> The familiarity of the voice was like a warm, silken blanket, wrapping him up and protecting him, a thin and invisible shield against the world around him.<BR><BR>"My Lord?"<BR><BR><i>A most decidedly efficient captain, if I recall correctly. And I always do.</i> Sauron's form shifted and moved around the corner of the room, coming much closer. <i>It remains to be seen if you are still a good servant. And I know you could be. You have such . . . potential.</i><BR><BR>"I have always been a devoted servant of you, my Lord."<BR><BR><i>Yes.</i> The syllable was drawn out, almost like a hiss. Serpent-like, Sauron came closer. <i>That is why you are so special. You were never a slave. Always you made the choice. Such a good man you were.</i><BR><BR>"I will always serve you faithfully."<BR><BR><i>Will you?</i> Hamlet made no response. <i>Then I claim your service.</i> Sauron was standing nose to nose with Hamlet, close enough that the man could feel the god's breath. Then, before Hamlet knew what had happened, Sauron was gone and Hamlet was filled with an intense pain, as if his skin had shrunk three sizes. He could feel it swelling in him, felt as if he would burst. Fire ran through his viens, seared his spirit, and then he felt himself being pushed back, into the background.<BR><BR>"Wake up!" Sitting bolt upright on his cot, Hamlet found himself facing Osram who looked nearly as haunted as he did. "You were yelling in your sleep, talking in a language strange to us, strange and terrible."<BR><BR>Quickly recovering himself, Hamlet said, "You look much the same as I, Osram."<BR><BR>"Yes. The new captain having more in common with his prisoner than with his men." Osram laughed.<BR><BR>"It would make a good story."<BR><BR>"Perhaps. I have a deal to make with you." Osram handed Hamlet his boots.