[maikafanawen]

Maurice was wrapped in a tangle of bed sheets when they came. A childish grin was on his face as he dreamt and the general snickered when he batted playfully at the servant who tried to wake him.

"My Lord," the bed-clothed servant cajoled patiently. "There's a matter of extreme importance the governors wish to discuss with you immediately." The ambassador stirred and opened one eye, irritated.

"What time is it?" he asked his man tersely.

The servant straitened. "It is one o'clock in the morning my lord." Maurice sat up, his groggy eyes clouded with annoyance and his hair and nightdress askew.

"What do you mean by coming in my chamber and waking me at such an hour?" he demanded bumblingly.

"We are, uh, sorry to disturb you, your grace," General Atam Forest said with a touch of humor in his tone as he appraised the ambassador. "But there is an emergency. A brawl occurred at an inn in town and there was a Gondorian death. Witnesses have been apprehended. Turns out the corsairs are heavily involved. We even have reasons to suspect that it was planned." He expected Maurice to jerk to attention at his final, however, untrue suggestion. The ambassador however had just swung his legs over the side of his enormous bed and bellowed unnecessarily for his servant to bring him a chamber pot. The general pulled his mouth back in disgust and moved to the door. He regarded Thrann with a remorseful look before he spoke again. "We'll await your presence in the assembly hall. The officials of the city wait within." He bowed his head in respect and withdrew alone, closing the door behind him. "They came at once without complaint," he spoke through gritted teeth at the tapestry on the door. Then he turned on his heavy booted heal and marched down the corridor to the hall.

* * *

"His name was Tomis Predd: a shipman on the newly arrived merchant ship The Rhondar Soft. His identification was supplied by an accomplice crew member dining in his whereabouts at the time of his death," the bailiff paused as a rough looking sailor stood and approached the table lined with officials: the ambassador seated in the center. "He comes to testify and bear witness against the slaughter of his comrade." The blue-robed man turned and faced the sailor. "State your name for his grace, Ambassador Thrann."

He coughed and cleared his throat before speaking in a deep, scratchy voice. "Omar Touriff," he boomed unintentionally. The echo caught him off guard and he flinched, looking up at the ceiling and walls slightly alarmed. Those crowded in the hall (all with weary faces and ruffled appearance) started also and the bailiff waited for the rustling to die down before he began again.

"Relay for the ambassador just exactly what you saw." Touriff nodded, and bit more quietly this time, addressed the officials before him, telling them what had happened in the Low Tide Inn.

"I gone wit Predd, af'er da ship 'ad docked, for a bite ta e't. We'd'a sat dun at da table an- 'ad begun ta talk wen soon aft'a-wards, we'd'a got inta uhn argyament. 'Ee dundn't put up well wit argyaments an- 'ee lef' da table quick ta' go 'n sit at da bar. I dun't know wut 'ee said ta tha' man 'ee was talkin' ta, but afta-awhile a fine lookin' woman came 'n sat wit him." The bailiff held up a hand for him to pause as Udeari, the sinuous official with thin brown hair and beady black eyes voiced an inquiry.

"This man he was speaking with. Do you know who he was?" The sailor shook his head, brow furrowed. "Naw. I ne'er seen him befar." The man beside Udeari, leaned forward and lowered his voice as he spoke. Udeari nodded.

"What did he look like then man?" The sailor shuffled his feet and stared at the table hard, trying to remember. "Well, ah, 'ee'uz tall, I guess, and dark 'air and dark eyes. Broad around tha shoulders, not too tall." The official rolled his eyes at Touriff's contradiction.

"Nevermind, continue with the story."

"Well, I did'na look much afta- that," Omar said. "Muh food 'ad come, see? Anyway, she left not long afta and two men sat dun next ta' 'im. One'uz big and blond colored like, and tha 'udder was bit shorta 'n dark skinned. They wuddn't bein' too friendly ta 'im I culd see. I smelt trouble then. I was gunna stan' and get 'im, tell 'im it'uz time'a go, but they'da already 'ttacked 'im. 'Cept there waz six er seven more by 'en. It was mad 'n e'eryone 'uz runnin'. By tha time I got to tha bar, Predd 'uz dead." The man stopped and rubbed at his forehead, obviously upset at his friend's death. "I can't figur out why they dun it. 'Ee hadn'ta really dun nothin'. An' it'uz so many o' 'em. Jus' came at 'im." He stopped as something dawned on him and his expression became perplexed. "It 'uz like—like they'da planned it."

"That's enough Mr. Touriff," Doran said rising and nodding. A grim expression was on his face and his eyes were alight with readiness as he addressed the gathered. "We've heard what we've needed and it's just what we expected! The rebels and traitors have begun their revolution. Unhappy with the mercy and tolerance the king's officials and delegates have bestowed upon them, they've begun an uprising. The streets have been murmuring a warning of danger for weeks now. Shifty eyes have been scanning the city, mapping out the alleys and sewers, waiting for a sign to attack."

He set his tongue behind his teeth, watching the faces, and waiting for some sign that they believed this glorious man who stood before them. This man with unmatchable honor to the kingdom who had 'Saved him from his wickedness' and 'changed his ways for good'. He grinned inwardly and slammed his fist down on the mahogany table, sending a boom and a shiver through the hall.

"IT IS TIME!" he bellowed. "THEY HAVE BEGUN! And we have sat back idly in our pomp and comfort letting them. WE! We who sit in our satin and velvet, drinking intoxicating wine and enjoying frivolous delights. 'Who can the people of Umbar turn if not to their government?' the corsair rebels would have said. 'See? See them lounging in their parlors and conservatories, dwindling away, and leaving the streets swarming with sin and transgression?'"

Doran was moving now, walking down in front of the table, fixing the people with a harsh and accusing eye. "Any excuse they would have mustered. Any lie they would have woven to get the hate moving again, to get the desire of overthrow running through those pirates' veins. They have put into play a game. They have moved out their pawns and developed their pieces, strategically placing into our midst traitors and spies!" His voice carried up through the rafters and his words were absorbed by ever ear and left their haunting mark in every soul. His silence spoke to them of the salutary neglect they had initiated that had allowed this appalling government failure in Umbar. When he spoke again, his voice was a soft, reproachful whisper. "We did nothing and we have paid."

His expression changed to a brighter but still determined façade. "The gods are not unforgiving," he continued, moving now to stand before the attaché deputation under the large, east window. "We have precious time left, but time it is. We have been granted the hours here to decide what to do, how to solve this unexpected revolt. So let us be thankful. Let us use this time profitably and take an iron hand approach to smite out every smoldering flame that burns in the mutinous minds of the corsairs. Their disloyal kind have no place here in the kingdom of Gondor, under Elessar. It is our DUTY to keep this land pure. If we fail here," he said jabbing at the oak railing with his finger. "If we fail, right now. Umbar, under Gondorian sovereignty, will fall back to these heathens. And we will have failed the king who had saved us from Sauron's wrath. Is this how we thank him? Is this, how we honor such an awe-inspiring king?" He inhaled sharply and looked with a convincing mixture of reproach and loathing at the failures setting before him. He shook his head slowly, gleaning every drop of drama into his act. This must work!

"I was once a part of this wretchedness," he reminded them painfully. "I was once a part of this desecration. But I converted to the protection, and the majesty of the greater good, the greater power of Gondor. I stood here, gentlemen, five years ago, and declared my wrongdoings and treacherousness to be a part, a part of this magnificence. Was I wrong in thinking that Gondor was so true and steadfast?" he demanded of them. "Was I mistaken? I hope to the gods I was not. What a fool I'd prove to be." Doran chuckled spitefully. He stepped over the two stairs again to the table where the ambassador sat. "But I know," he said, looking right at the most powerful men, leaning over their table. "I know, I was right. I know that Gondor will always be the greatest good. It is up to us to prove it now.

"It is up to us," he repeated turning again to the gathered. "To prove, that Gondor! will forever triumph over calamity! Hear me now! and rise to Gondor's aid. Extend your hand and your sword! For she calls upon her sons to protect her common children. And I know!" his voice filled the hall and a glow of radiance shone on every man's face, the taste of victory on their lustful tongues. "I know, that we will answer her call!" Now he drew his own sword and lifted it over his head. "We will unite and obliterate this madness arisen in the common inns under the befouling hand of the corsairs! For we are the mighty Gondorians! Invincible under the guiding hand of Elessar and prized in the eyes of all the gods! We will be VICTORIOUS!!" A shout arose from the men gathered and swords were unsheathed and thrust into the air like a thousand spires jutting from the battlements of Minas Tirith herself.

Doran settled back, immensely pleased with the effect of his virtually meaningless words. Too easy, had it been, to take a simple bar brawl and twist it into an open act of rebellion. Everything would play into it once Jurex and the others got a move on. But even Doran was pleasantly impressed at how easy it had been. A nobleman could be cajoled into anything with a good speech and a few words like 'victory', 'triumphant', or 'bravery'. He was even a bit nervous...

"You have spirited words, Doran," the ambassador congratulated, standing. "And his counsel has not fallen upon deaf ears. We will meet this foe, even though they were accepted as our brothers. It will break my heart to decree against them, but, as Doran said, for the greater good, it must be so."

The regulations were drawn up and signed. The guards were summoned and informed of the situation and new laws. The process of obliterating the rebellion was implemented and immediate steps of precaution were taken.

Suddenly corsairs were being ousted of their homes, their landlords complying with new laws. The ex-pirates roamed the streets in search of employment where none was given. There had always been little food among them, but now there was none. It was only the first day, but things would get worse very fast. In states of panic, men resorted to thievery, looting stores and warehouses for food they didn't need yet, hoping to stack up for the harder days ahead. Arsenals were broken into and swords and daggers were distributed among the corsair peoples with apprehension.

Doran told the ambassador that this would happen and that he would have to counter it with physical actions implemented by the guards. It was the only way to stop it, he said. They would begin to fear the soldiers and obey the laws. Then all would go back to normal. The iron fist, Doran had spoken about, must be executed. It was their lawful duty. So the ambassador consented and gave unconsciously in to Doran's 'suggestions'. Through Thrann, the corsair captain was slowly taking apart Umbar, stone by crumbling stone.

* * *

The general hadn't been fooled by Doran's words. He hadn't ever trusted this man. But when he saw the support the mob had given him, he became nervous. There was nothing he could do. His men were foolhardy and young. Ready and eager for a battle they'd lose. Forest rubbed at his eyes, trying to think of what he should do, trying to fight his god-awful headache. In the end he decided that Doran was too powerful a mean. Forest realized that the captain had given everything he had into this and that nothing was going to stop him. A terrible feeling of hopelessness dawned on him and he began to shake. He had been afraid lots of times, but not like this. Other times he had been afraid of things and able to fight them. Now the fear came from within. It came from his incapability to counter Doran's moves.

The general fled that afternoon, taking his horse and fleeing south, hoping to meet up with the Harad Road and take it north to Gondor. He told himself that he was going for help and that it wasn't really cowardly retreat after all. But deep inside he knew that he would never face the king. For Elessar would surely see the weakness within him and be disappointed.

Forest's troubles were taken care of him ten leagues out of Umbar. He rode with a panic through the hot, dead lands, hoping, praying to reach some sort of inn that would offer him food. His mind was full of such terror, that assassination hadn't even entered his thoughts. He had assumed Doran's cleverness stopped at a point. The captain had no reason to suspect him, he'd thought. So the arrow came unexpected from behind the dune and struck the general soundly in his heart. Killing him instantly. Doran had known that General Forest might be a threat and had moved to eradicate him soundly. After burying the body and catching the horse, the captain's man mounted and loped back through the savanna towards Umbar where stability descended as a barrel being rolled down a ship plank bound for the dock. Anarchy was nearly in place.