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❝ EAST BECOMES WEST, WEST BECOMES SOUTH. THE SIGHT OF GREEN GRASS AND FRESH WATER CAN BE MIGHTY TEMPTING BUT NEVERTHELESS FALSE. ❞

quote from
Hidalgo (2004)

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Diaval halted below the window of his assigned chamber in the palace of the Khan. While pretending to straighten his clothing, he observed the garden with exotic plants to make sure nobody saw him sneaking back into his chamber.

Sweat dripped down from his neck to his back, causing his white shirt to stick to his body and though it was a balmy summer's night, it was not the only reason for his heated face.

He knew he risked his life and his mission as an emissary with these nightly visits to the princess, but he couldn't help himself. Hala was beautiful, wise beyond her years and understood him on a level he thought no one ever would.

He forced back his smile as he let his eyes wander through the garden once more. He had to stay focused. At this moment he could pass as a guard, but as soon he started to climb, they would know he was not.

Diaval stroke his blond hair out of his face and turned towards the wall of the palace that was covered with vines. He was alone for now; he had to act fast. He clasped his hands around the wooden structure behind the vines and step by step, he climbed up.

The first time he used this route, he was afraid the fence that supported the vines wouldn't hold his weight, but now, after a few times, he climbed them as swiftly and lightsome as a desert lynx. His chamber was only on the third floor in the west wing and though he'd probably survive the fall, he'd rather not find out. He climbed fast, yet still careful.

He reached the windowsill and switched the wooden fence for the stone sill as he pulled himself up. Crouched, he sat in the arched opening but before he could let out a sigh of relief, someone forcefully grabbed him by his wrists and yanked him into the round chamber.

They threw him onto the floor and he groaned when he collided with the cold tiles, his breath leaving his lungs rather unpleasantly.

He tried to scramble back to his feet but a heavy boot on his back prevented him from doing so. All he could do was lifting his head a bit and what he saw, drained all the color from his face.

In front of him stood the Khan: Al-Amir. His stern face illuminated by the torches of the guards next to him and the flames casted deep shadows over his sharp features.

'Here it is, Great Khan,' one of Diaval's captors said. 'Proof of what our spies told you about the emissary. He courts your daughter, my sister, in secrecy!'

The dark eyes of the Khan were unreadable and Diaval pressed his forehead against the tiles, abandoning all thoughts about fighting his way out. This was it then, he had gambled with his life and he had lost. What had he done?

'Off with his head, yes?' the prince asked his father.

Diaval felt the fear rushing through his veins, turning his blood into ice and making his heart almost pound out of his chest. What had he done? He had brought dishonor on the King of Gondor and the King of Rohan. He had been sent here with their trust and he had crushed it between his fingers like a grape.

'Great Khan?' another guard asked when Al-Amir said nothing.

A thought crossed Diaval's mind. He had not only brought dishonor on the Kings, but also on Hala. What if because of him, the Khan decided to destroy the peace between Middle Earth and Rhûn? Wars had started over less. He closed his eyes, he had been very foolish.

'Throw him into the dungeon,' the Khan said after another few seconds of silence.

'But father,' the prince started as he removed his boot from Diaval's back. 'He betrayed us in our own house. You cannot turn a blind eye.'

'Silence, Ilyas,' Al-Amir ordered his son and he gestured to two of his others guards. They grabbed Diaval by his shoulders and lifted him back on his feet.

'I will not turn a blind eye,' he continued while Diaval stared at the point of his own boots. He did not dare to look at the Khan.

'Diaval is an emissary. I will send word to King Elessar and Éomer to inform them about his actions.'

Prince Ilyas grumbled. 'Father, that is not enough.'

Al-Amir walked over to Diaval and lifted his head by putting his finger under his chin, forcing him to look the Khan in the eye.

'I will have my revenge when he is placed under my jurisdiction by the Kings. If they do not, they will have war. Those are my conditions.'

Diaval trembled under his touch and for a moment, the Khan searched his eyes, then huffed and dropped his hand in outrage.

'Lays ladayh aleumud alfiqriu,' (He has no spine,) Al-Amir spat in his mother tongue and the guards laughed. 'Out of my sight with him.'

The guards strengthened their grip on Diaval, their laughter quickly faded and they forced him towards the door.

Diaval was about to plead for his life, for forgiveness -- even though he knew it would be in vain -- but then the door swung open, revealing princess Hala standing in the arched doorway. Her breathing heavy and she looked haggard; her black hair wild and her brown eyes wide open.

Her eyes fell upon Diaval and a tear escaped out of the corner of her eye. She wiped it away and turned to her father, dropping on her knees in front of him. Her blue dress lay around her legs on the floor as the petals of a rose.

'Please, father,' she started, 'spare him his life. It was not his fault, I seduced him. I did, not him.'

Al-Amir frowned. 'You did?' He pondered over her words for a few seconds. Suddenly, he snapped his head towards Diaval and the guards. 'My order still stands, away with him.'

'No!' Diaval yelled as the guards dragged him with them. He managed to wrestle himself loose but before he could reach for Hala's hand, the prince kicked him in his abdomen with his knee and for a second time, the air was knocked out of Diaval's lungs. He gasped for air and fell on his knees, clutching his arms over his stomach.

The guards pried his hands loose and forced them behind his back.

Still dazed from the blow, Diaval didn't had the strength to fight back and he didn't try to walk along as they dragged him over the floor.

'I love you,' he said as they went through the door. He wanted to see her face one last time but she didn't turn around. She kneeled in front of the Khan without moving and Diaval dropped his head when they hauled him around the corner. He would never see her again. He would never see daylight again.

They went deeper and deeper into the palace, going down many winding stairs and the temperature dropped considerably. Diaval's and the guards' breath started to form clouds and Diaval feared it was almost around the freezing point. How deep inside the earth were they?

They stopped in front of a prison cell and four hands forced Diaval inside. He tripped over his own feet and fell into the straw heap that covered the floor.

One of the guards closed the door and as he turned the key, he nodded towards the straw. 'If you are smart, you will tuck that into your clothes to stay warm. We would not want you to freeze to death before the Great Khan has had his revenge on you.'

The guards left and in the faint light of the single torch, Diaval stared at the heap of straw, trying to decide whether to follow the guard's advice or not. Perhaps he should just freeze to death, there was no life left for him. Éomer and Elessar surely would grant the Khan his revenge. They wouldn't risk an open war with Rhûn just for him. He was nothing.

Diaval shivered as the cold took residence in his body and even though he knew his life had ended, he grabbed a handful of the straw and tucked it underneath his clothes. He had brought this upon himself and he would face the sentence with as much dignity as he could muster.

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Diaval had been imprisoned for only two days when prince Ilyas suddenly stood in front of his cell.

The prince ordered the guard to open the door and Diaval scrambled on his feet as Ilyas stopped in the middle of the small room.

Diaval's muscles were stiff and painful from the cold and he felt his body weaken already due to the small ration they allowed him twice a day.

For a moment, he wondered if he should bow but he saw no need for it. Instead, he stared at the prince with a raised eyebrow, they couldn't have received word from the Kings yet. Nothing on Arda could travel that fast.

'My sister says your horse is the greatest in the world. Telling everyone who will listen that he is even faster than the lord of all horses. She says you and your horse have crossed the plains between Edoras and Minas Tirith in two and a half days.'

Diaval wasn't sure of what to say, it was true he considered his horse the fastest, but what did it matter?

'Whispers of you and your so-called great stallion now drift through the palace, resonating between the walls everywhere I go.'

Diaval shrugged. 'My lord?'

'I have seen your horse in the stables, emissary. It is ugly; a breed of mixed blood.'

Diaval set his jaw and balled his hands into fists. Prince or not, nobody was allowed to talk about his horse like that.

Prince Ilyas smirked with a condescending look in his dark eyes. 'I want these false rumors removed out of the palace. No horse can be better than our thoroughbred, especially your mixed one. It seems like fate that the Great Race is held in a couple of days; with this we can dismiss the rumors for once and all. Only horses with a true bloodline are allowed to participate in the Race, but father and I have made an exception.'

Diaval snorted. 'Should I be thankful? What's in it for me when I win?'

'If you win,' Ilyas spat, correcting him with a dangerous expression, but then he recollected himself.

'If you win,' he said, 'you are allowed to return to your home land. We will forget about the incident as long as you never return to Rhûn. However, if you lose, we will not only know that the rumors are false, but you are thrown into the Pit as well. You would wish you were dead.'

Diaval swallowed with difficulty. The Pit was a prison deep in the desert, driving the prisoners mad with the constant heat. 'What'll happen if I refuse?'

Ilyas grinned, his white teeth being in strong contrast with his dark skin. 'Refuse and when we have the Kings' permission to do with you as we please, you are thrown into the Pit as well. Death is too merciful, emissary.'

He didn't have to think long. 'I will take the offer,' he said. 'I will take part in the Great Race.'

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It was a week since they had found out about Diaval's affair with princess Hala and there were only mere minutes left until the start of the Race.

Diaval patted the neck of his grey horse and tried to push back the fear inside him. In front of him was the desert of Rhûn. It had a diameter of 3000 miles and carried the not so comforting nickname "Muhit Alnaar" or "Ocean of Fire" in his own tongue.

To win the Great Race, you had to finish first at the other end of the desert and he feared this might not have been such a great idea after all. It was more likely he was sending himself and Thorben to their death, but there was no turning back now.

'You and your half-breed will not even last a hundred miles, emissary,' prince Ilyas said. He sat upon a black horse which was unlike every other horse breed in Middle Earth. It had a slight forehead bulge between his eyes, a natural arched neck and a compact body with a short back.

'Our horses are known for their resilience against the desert and their endurance in the heat. Under their coat, they have a black skin whereas your horse has a pink one. It provides no protection from the sun. You do not stand a chance.'

Diaval shifted in the saddle and looked at the other Easterlings. All horses looked like the one Ilyas was riding on and Diaval understood why they thought Thorben was a half-breed, but in Middle Earth, these desert horses would be the odds one out.

'We'll see,' he said. He wouldn't give up that easily. He raced for his life while the others simply raced for the glory. His will was stronger than theirs, he hoped.

Everyone stopped talking when the Khan appeared at the top of a wooden tower, giving him an overall view on the one hundred contestants. Al-Amir folded his hands behind his back, placed his feet further apart and collected the strength he needed to shout the words, the starting sign. It had to be audible for all.

'Jahiz . . . Jils . . . Adhhab!' (Ready . . . Set . . . Go!)

The Easterlings urged their desert horses in a thundering gallop, already racing in their full speed while crossing the first border of the desert.

Thorben wanted to follow the other horses but Diaval held him back, forcing him to run in a much slower gallop.

In just a few seconds, they were in last place and Diaval frowned. It was a long way until the finish line, why were they already exhausting their horses?

Diaval gave his horse free reins as he ran up a sand hill. He struggled with the loose sand but reached the top nevertheless and below him, Diaval saw the contestants had changed their fast pace to a four-beat walk.

He shook his head in disbelief. 'It was just for show,' he told Thorben and the grey stallion turned his ears to his rider.

'Just for show,' he repeated while steering him off of the hill.

In a trot, they caught up with the desert horses and somewhere in the middle of the caravan, Diaval ordered Thorben to walk as well. If the race stayed like this until they had almost reached the finish line, perhaps then they too could see it through with ease.

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Three hundred miles in three days.

Not bad, Diaval thought to himself.

He still had high hopes.

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Ten days in this accursed desert. Was there no end to this hell?

He had little to no water left, the last well he had found was two days ago.

Thorben weakened with every passing hour, his legs trembled and his head hung low, his muzzle almost touching the sand.

The sun and heat were relentless.

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Twelve days and they weren't even halfway.

A few hours ago, Diaval had spotted an oasis and found fresh water and though it did them good, Thorben was in a horrible state. The sides of his hooves were cracked and if they weren't careful, another few hundred miles could put him lame.

Diaval walked more than that he rode. He knew he asked too much of Thorben but all they could do was move forward.

They had lost sight of the Easterlings and desert horses several days ago, but all that mattered now was surviving. To make it at least until the finish line.

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'No, no, no!' Diaval screamed when Thorben sagged through his hooves. The grey horse fell on his side into the sand and did no effort in trying to stand back up.

Diaval let go off the reins and kneeled down by his head, softly striking his muzzle.

Thorben grunted, his chest heaving up and down and slowly scraping in the sand with his front hoove.

'Don't die on me,' Diaval whispered but his breath stopped when he noticed the blood in Thorben's nostrils.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds and fought back the tears that were about to escape.

'You're all right,' he said with a hoarse voice. 'We're almost home.'

Thorben was only living on borrowed time, but Diaval couldn't let him suffer any longer. He took off the saddle and bridle, and rubbed Thorben's grey coat in small circles. He could feel him tremble from exhaustion beneath his fingers.

'You're all right,' he repeated while taking out the dagger in his boot. The desert had proved to be too much for the grey stallion.

'I am sorry, my friend. . .'

He suppressed a sob as he raised the dagger above Thorben's chest. The tears were streaming over his face and it pained him both physically and mentally that he was about to do this, but Thorben had given so much. The least he could was to grant him a quick dead, instead of the agonizing slow one that lingered above them in the air.

'Forgive me,' he whispered and before he could change his mind, to back away as a coward, he drove down the dagger, hitting Thorben right into the heart.

Thorben froze, let out a soft, heartbreaking neigh and went limp while the eyes rolled back into its socketts.

Diaval screamed without holding back, it felt as if he had ripped out his own heart and sliced it into a million of bleeding pieces with a blunt knife.

He had lost his best friend because of his own stupidity.

He was a monster and deserved nothing more than to be consumed by the Ocean of Fire.

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word count: 3.000

tags: GerithorDunedain Silvan_Elleth

published: may 7th, 2019