[Arvedui III]

If the low districts of Umbar were interminably difficult to navigate, then the high street leading to the Gondorian embassy was simply impossible. Well, for a foreigner at least.

Telson counted himself lucky that he left when he did, else he might be condemned to wander the streets until dawn before he found what he was looking for. Shivering at the thought, he waded through the crowds of people scurrying in directions and to destinations he couldn't possibly imagine. Unlike the lower and middle districts, the high streets were filled horses and carriages and almost devoid of smithies and inns. However, eventually he managed to descry a towering building with a guardhouse and woven iron gates in the front. As he cautiously slunk through, Telson noted a number of men with large red "C"s embroidered on their forearms being quartered off to one side under guard, most of them looking either mutinous or dead scared. Telson shook his head and self-consciously rubbed the back of his hair, not liking the absence of the disgruntled mane that took him at least a year to grow.

It goes against everything Gondor stands for. Everything we've ever fought for. If this is really what we've let Umbar become, then it deserves to fall. Telson himself was surprised by how vehement his thoughts were but did not regret them, and the scorn must have been visible in his eyes when he met the guards at the door. Despite being only a supply officer, Telson could tell the two standing at their were green and undisciplined and would run if a fight turned out of their favor. Waiting to attract their attention until the captain, who did look like a seasoned fighter dressed in armor resembling citadel knights, was busy admonishing a group of angry men behind him, he stepped well into the background of noise and bodies. Striding forward when the time came, Telson faced the door wards.

"Business?" The taller of the asked lazily, looking at him like so much ugly trash. Straitening, he replied stonily, "Representative of Prince Faramir of Ithilien to see Ambassador Thrann of Gondor." They both snorted. "Right then, Mr. Representative, may I have your papers?" The other one said, both of them looking forward to the comic moment when they could prove him false and deal accordingly. Telson smiled, happy to deprive them of such fun. "Of course." He answered and handed the shorter one his rather worn parchment. When the guard's eyes widened and jars dropped to the appropriate levels, they bumbled greetings, gave back his note, and with shaking hands opened the door to the embassy. Ringing marble lined the floor and tapestries hung between magnificent windows. A myriad of people were yelling and casting dirty looks, and harried officials seemed near to the point of weeping.

Telson wondered if such a grand building existed before the coming of the king; He severely doubted it. For the first time since the ship, Telson felt awed and unsure, however, unlike the ship he was able to shake the feeling off once he reached the desk he presumed was set for appointments, giving the same terse introduction he offered the guards at the door. Unlike the guards, the man behind the desk scrutinized more then just the heading of his papers. "Your appointment is not for three days yet." He said in an annoyingly nasal voice. "And you're supposed to have long hair." He finished, glaring daggers at Telson, who merely shrugged, thinking of a good explanation. "As to the former," He began, "The lord Steward grows impatient, and as to the latter," He smiled, "My superior has a somewhat uncomplimentary view of me." That, at least, was true, and the secretary gave him a small smile. "As to the latter, it happens to the best of us," He replied, "But to the former, I'm afraid the ambassador cannot see you until your allotted appointment." Grinning inwardly, Telson gave the man a hard look.

"You would keep the Steward waiting on important affairs of state?" He asked loudly. The dart hit home and the poor man began stumbling over his words, trying to form an apology. Rising an eyebrow, Telson folded his hands and delivered the finish. "Nay, if Umbar is unconcerned with the rest of the Reunited Kingdom, then I shall gladly return in three days time. A good day to you, fine sir." Telson turned to go. Three, two, one, zero... "Wait!" The secretary cried out. "I do not think the ambassador is with anyone at the moment. He should be in the second wing on your left." Then as Telson turned around, he finished, "You may see him." As if it was only his good will that gave Telson the rights to press his business.

Telson began walking down the hallway a little faster then he intended to, looking for the ambassador and smiling when he saw the secretary send a guard trailing after him. "So that's the game, is it?" Telson said quietly to himself. "Worry not then, I can play." "Sir!" The guard shouted out to him, "I'm sorry, sir, but the ambassador is with someone at the moment. You'll have to come back later, sir." Telson shot him a look and continued striding forward. Then there were four guards, each of them looking annoyed and glancing anxiously back toward the chaotic main hall. Telson turned into the second hall and suddenly three of those trailing him disappeared. The one that was still jogging after him looked about ready to do the same. "Endurance, my friends." Telson chuckled. "Endurance."

Suddenly, finally, Telson found what he sought. Moving past four youths walking out of an open office, he looked in upon two men speaking in urgent tones. Both well dressed, Telson guessed that one of them would be ambassador Thrann, or would at least know him. So he strode into the room toward them both. The younger of them shot him a half-curious, half-contemptuous look and the other just looked horribly unnerved. Time to play court, then. Gods, it's stupid ceremonial rubbish. "Cry your pardon, gentlemen, but I wonder if one of you would by chance know where I might find ambassador Thrann?" He said in as much of a demure voice that he could muster. The seated, unnerved one opened his mouth, but the standing man spoke first. "What business have you with the ambassador?" Telson smiled. Here was one who stood on no decorum. It was a rare gift indeed to find one such a nobleman.

"It's not my business, per-say, sir. I come on the request of the Steward of Gondor." The unnerved man rose, but the standing one, eyes now holding a fierce interest, again outspoke him. "What business does Steward have with Umbar?" Taken aback by the snap of his voice, Telson fumbled in his mind for a moment, but then answered with just as much poise as the standing man. Court is a dance, after all. "I am afraid I can give that information only to the ambassador. Are you he?" "No." The unnerved man spoke for the first time, and even in that one word Telson more sensed the heard the wavering notes behind it. This man was weak. "I have the honor of that title. But who are you, sir, and what business do you bring from the good lord steward?" He was weak, but he at least held some measure of wit. Still, Telson couldn't help being reminded of the words the innkeeper at the Low Tide had said on his first night in Umbar. "That ambassador, Thrann? E's worthless, to be shure."

"Telson, son of Telemar, of the White Company, my lords." He bowed. "However, if you have more pressing business, I can, of course, return later." Thrann opened his mouth, but the standing man spoke first, reaching out to shake his hand. "Jytharo Doran, master Telson. If my memory serves me aright, ‘twas you who wrote of the sack of Umbar by the king and the armies of Erech. Not so?" Telson immediately found the floor very interesting following that. "Yes, I am honored that you know of me, Lord Doran, although I got into real trouble for that." He reflected, still looking down. "Is wit a crime on the mainland, even if the prose was told from a solely... Gondorian standpoint?" Telson noticed how Doran pronounced the word Gondorian, and looked up, suddenly completely believing what the man outside the Patched Sail had said. "Nay, albeit, writing histories instead of supply requisitions is." Telson chuckled, catching and holding Doran's gaze. "Well, I daresay my business does not hold such weight as Prince Faramir's." Doran said in dangerously soft voice, and switched his glance to Thrann. " I shall talk with you later of this, Maurice."

"Indeed." The ambassador responded, and Doran left. Telson grimly watched him go, until Thrann's voice brought him back to the present. "An inspiring man, Jytharo." The ambassador said with a pleasantness that annoyed Telson to no end. "There is one who could stir men to great deeds," He mused before turning to Thrann. "Or great deaths." "Yes, indeed. Well, come, Master Telson, sit. Would you care for anything? A drink, perhaps?" He asked. "Nay, but my thanks." Thrann busied himself with a bottle and said, "Very well. Now, what interests does the lord steward have in Umbar?" Telson took a breath, and replied haltingly, "Sir, as you may or may not know, some, er, hostilities, as it were, are brewing in the south." Thrann looked aghast and muttered, "Gods." "No fights have broken out nor declarations made, but the king feels that if, the Valar forbid, disagreements turn to war, it is a short and decisive one. The lord steward has been charged with assessing the southern half of the kingdom, and as a part of that, I have been sent to evaluate what aid Umbar could send."

Thrann chewed on his lip for moment before replying. "That is most distressing. Perhaps we should call Jytharo back, and," "No, sir." Telson replied sharply, and a little too quickly for comfort. But he recovered and continued, his voice nearing a whisper. "It is the steward's wish that as few people know the reason behind this census as possible, sir. We are still at peace. All I ask is a little assistance from your office, sir. Access to whatever records Umbar has, the ability to take stock of ships, things of that nature." Thrann looked at him like an errant child asking the most obvious question. "Of course. You have my personal assurance that this island will always serve the Reunited Kingdom to the fullest of its ability." Relaxing, Telson decided to finish the necessaries, and get out of the embassy as soon as humanly possible. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel. "I thank you for your time ambassador, and you assurances. It was an honor." Rising, he waited for Thrann to respond in kind, his feet itching to return back the way he came. "Likewise, sir. I hope you enjoy your time here. What do you think of the isle?"

Suddenly Telson was no longer anxious to go. If the chaos on the street and how Thrann reacted when he told him of the rising climate in Harad were any indication, then Umbar was in very bad straits with this man at the helm. He had to help, somehow. "I think, sir, that Umbar is an interesting melding pot, one near to the point of spilling." "How so?" Thrann asked, and Telson this time was glad he looked interested. "As I'm sure you are aware, sir, there's been some, unrest throughout the city." "Ah" Thrann said pointedly. "The corsairs. Well, I can assure you, Master Telson, they are being dealt with." "I noticed." Telson replied coldly. "However, sir, I feel that the laws intended for, dealing with them, are doing more harm than good." This struck nerve. "Again, sir. How so?" Thrann said as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

Telson, somewhat unwisely, spoke with a fierce bluntness that quickly struck discord with the ambassador. "Sir, besides the fact that half these decrees are illegal anyway, alienating corsairs is the last thing needed. Once you rope them into one group, then they can act as one. Unrest leads to rebellion. You must know this, sir." "I know how to govern this isle, young master, and I will not," But Telson was seeing red, and interrupted him, yelling now. "With all due respect, sir, I don't think you do. I think that lord Doran is telling you how to, and either his sense of duty is twisted beyond any madman yet to walk this earth, or he himself wishes for the corsairs to take this isle. I'm afraid, sir, that your assurances mean nothing, not the least to the hundreds of angry corsairs protesting outside this embassy!"

To this outburst, Thrann did not respond, but sat down at his desk and began looking over his papers, "Good day to you," He said in hushed voice that screamed danger. "Sir," Telson began, this time in a measured tone, but Thrann suddenly yelled back, "I said good day, sir!" Half of Telson wanted to try again, to make the arrogant old fool see reason but the half that knew he would not, won him over. Telson walked sulkily out of the office, and back down the hallway until he found a table set against the right wall with several glass bottles arrayed on it. Properly inspired, Telson grabbed the largest of these and held it to the point where his knuckles were white. Something about the left wall seemed to provoke his wrath, and he threw the bottle at it, giving off a frustrated, "Damn it!" as he did so.

Telson stood seething for a moment, until a soft cough made him turn sharply back toward the ambassador's office. Four figures were standing behind him, three boys and one girl, each watching him with a terrible mix of fear, fascination, and humor. As tempting as the other two bottles were, Telson gave a nod to the group and turn to face them, wondering just how much trouble he was in.