The Ambassador's Son RPG

[Earendil Halfelven]

Doran stood before the court, chained. He'd never thought that it would end like this but for some strange reason, he wasn't upset. He had fought the good fight for his people, and even though he had lost, at least he had fought. He had shown the corsair people that they could rise up and regain their freedom taken from them at the hands of an oppressive empire. He might die but he would live on as a martyr to future generations.

"Captain Jythralo Doran," the judge said. "To the charge of the murder of Devon Thrann, how do you plead?"

"Not guilty," he said. Behind him, he heard many people's reaction. He knew that Devon's friends were outraged by his answer.

"To the charge of high treason against the king of Gondor, how do you plead?"

"Guilty."

Again, he heard many people's surprised reactions to his answer.

"Captain, you may be seated."

The trial was beginning and Doran settled in for the long haul.
__________________________________________________ _

It was almost over. Everyone who wanted to say something had said it, and so now it was up to the judge to decide Doran's fate.
"Captain, do you have any remarks you would like to make?"

"Yes, I do,"he said. People murmured in the audience, waiting to hear what he would say. Doran stood and as he did so, his chains jingled. The sounds of the chains was like a signal to those talking to be quiet. He stood, chest out, shoulders back, chin up. He could see Calnan, Callath, and Adeline watching him with the most hatred he ever saw.

"I don't have much to say," he began. "Except for this. Most of you think that I should be on trial for the murder of Devon Thrann. I did not murder him. He was killed in the midst of battle. He made the grave mistake to turn his back on his foe, and he paid for that mistake. But how can I be tried for murder? If I am guilty of murder, then you must also try those three for murder as well."

He pointed to Calnan, Callath, and Adeline.

"For they also killed men. You must also consider Devon Thrann a murderer, for he was also responsible for the deaths of my innocent sailors. You cannot try someone for murder when they killed someone in the heat of battle, and for that, I am innocent." He stopped. Everyone's eyes were fixed on him.

He continued.

"But for the charge of high treason, I plead guilty. However, I am not guilty of treason!" His voice began to raise. "How can I be guilty of treason against a king that I have not pleged allegiance to? How can I be guilty of treason against a government that I am not a citizen of? How can I be guilty of treason against an oppressive empire that took away my home from me? My freedom? My land? A government that took all that away from my people?"

Many of the corsairs in the audience began to nod in approval. Many Gondorians began to shake their heads and scowl.

"But now you wonder why I plead guilty of treason. Because it is the best thing I can do for my people-to become a martyr to those future freedom fighters of the corsair cause, and for that I am willing to die! I AM GUILTY OF HIGH TREASON AND DEMAND THE MAXIMUM PUNISHMENT!"

Doran strod forward and spat into the judges face.

The audience was in an immediate uproar. The guards grabbed him and threw him down to the ground.
_______________________________________________

He stood at the scaffold, the noose around his neck. The men next to him read a piece of parchment.

"Captain Jythralo Doran. Being found guilty of high treason against the kingdom of Gondor, you have been sentenced to death by hanging."

The executioner tightened the noose. He felt the rope digging into his neck.

"Any last words?"

Doran looked out into the mass crowd. He saw Calnan, Callath, and Adeline standing in front of his scaffold, looking up at him. Doran stared back with his steel gaze. He gazed back up at the crowd, and noticed that it was mostly corsairs.

"CORSAIRS OF UMBAR! REMEMBER ME! REMEMBER MY CAUSE! REMEMBER MY SACRIFICE!"

And with that, the trap door beneath his feet opened up.

[Arvedui III]

The silence of the warm room was broken by an ominous crack from the brazier, and Telson shuddered.

Even while entombed by books, reclining in a soft wooden chair in the comfort of Emyn Arnen, he still could not get the last image of Jytharo Doran out of his head, his body limply swaying in the breeze. Had it been what he deserved? Of course it had. Was he a dishonorable wretch in life? Undoubtedly. But still, something about the man's eyes ere the trap door opened had stuck with Telson, and he couldn't seem to shake it. Which was all the more irksome, as the last time he checked on Callath and Calnan in the Minas Tirith, they were both happy and hale, if a little taller than he would have liked. And, from what he heard of Adeline, she was also doing well for herself, working in Umbar on restoring buildings lost during the rebellion.

Sighing, he returned to the ledger he was working on and felt the old sense of futility come over him. After Imrahil of Dol Amroth had taken control in Umbar, he had been shuffled back into the same drudgery as before, save that Culous, who had carried his letter and brought Gondorian reenforcements to the final battle with Doran, had insisted on staying in Ithilien to work for him. The boy's loyalty was touching, but Telson was beginning to regret allowing it. He was bored out of his mind, and the innkeeper's son only served to reminded him of that fact. Of all the things the Umbar assignment had been, it had never been dull.

As a hard rap on the door caused him to spill ink onto the ledger and his new quill, Telson called gruffly for the knocker to enter, but resolved for the fourth time that day to kill Culous if he was the one who walked in. However, the man that appeared was far taller, with a board, proud bearing and wearing a fine gray tunic that matched his eyes. Telson sat dumb for one precious moment of stunned disbelief before he rose to his feet and bowed low. "Sit back down, please." The man said curtly, and Telson obeyed as he watched his guest take in the office and look at several books before he sat down on the opposite side of Telson's small, paper-flooded desk. "To what do I owe this honor, my lord?" Telson asked, finding his tongue again and hardly daring to believe.

"No honor, but I was told you were the soldier in Umbar during Doran's rebellion." He replied, still looking around the office in modest interest. "Yes my lord, I was." Telson said, thinking first of the nauseating trip to Umbar, then of the quiet trip back. "Then may I ask a favor of you?" He said mildly, but something in his tone indicated a command and not a request. "Of course, my lord." Telson replied all too quickly, wondering after he spoke wether or not he had just earned himself a trip to Harad or Rhun or some other country that would be equally as dangerous as Umbar has been. " I don't believe you were ever asked to write a report on the subject. No?" Telson shook his head. "Well, I think it would help Prince Imrahil immensely to know what happened and some of the corsair mindset from a direct source and not a sailor who heard it from a friend of his, whose cousin's shipmate was there."

Both men smiled at that and Telson felt more at ease. "I would be glad to write it, my lord. I know firsthand just how untruthful sailors' cousin's shipmates are." The man laughed warmly, getting up and moving to the door. " I daresay you do. And please have the report in quickly, captain. This affair has piqued my personal curiosity, not to mention my wife's." He chuckled and shook his head, and Telson couldn't help but smile as he replied, "Then for the Lady Eowyn's sake, I shall have it done as promptly as it is in my power to do so, lord Steward." The man was halfway out the door, but nodded, "See to it," before he vanished down the corridor.

Telson cleared off the soiled ledger and the rest of his papers, letting them fall into a pile of parchment that seemed always to increase at an alarming rate. But at least now he had a proper excuse to put off the five or so records and lists he was supposed to be doing. Grabbing a clean sheet of parchment and running his hand through his hair, Telson dipped his quill in ink, and stopped for a long moment. He did not know why he was hesitating, he had acquitted himself well enough, although he regretted that in the last battle he had not been close enough to the rest of the party, that he had done nothing of note. The image of Doran's eyes as he cried out defiance to the last came to him, and then Devon's body laying limply on the beach.

He shook his head. The war was supposed to end all that. Men like Doran were supposed to retire and live out the rest of their days quietly, under the rule of those who had rightfully beaten them. Men like Devon were to supposed to grow, live in peace and leave the world better than they found it. "But nothing is ever as it's supposed to be" He said aloud, fingering the quill in something akin to disappointment and staring down at the paper on his desk. Many more Thranns would die for things to be as the ought. The least they deserved was to be remembered, he decided.

So Telson started to write, resolving to have the thing done by morning, Jythralo stood in the office of his seaside townhouse, staring absently at the message that lay open on the desk before him. However he stopped and hesitated for one more moment, then wrote a title above it:
The Tale of The Ambassador's Son.

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~