Chapter 3: A Little Misunderstanding

The catastrophe started simply enough. Bridgette had gone down for the evening meal the next day and found that the stew was excellent, but she heeded Gesand's warning not to ask what the meat was.

She'd ignored everyone else in the room; that turned out to be a huge mistake.

A man sat down across from her, his hood up, obscuring his face. She sniffed in mild derision and ignored him. Not so him.

"You have the advantage of me, Lady," he said, his voice clear and loud. "I don't know well you enough to be disparaging to you."

"I am new to your lands. I was told it was rude to keep your hood up."

"If you face the king," he said haughtily. "Are you the king? Your voice belies that."

Her hood was down and she smiled. "Obviously, I'm not a king, not even the King. But I'm not shy."

It was quick; there was no warning. He swept back his hood and smiled at her.

That he was devilishly handsome was her first thought. Her second was to think just how wonderful it would be to suck his cock. Her next thought was to wonder how good that cock would feel inside her.

He smiled again and stood. "I'm for the jakes."

She could have the things she wanted! She had to but stand and follow him and he'd take her in the hallway! Her body quivered in anticipation at the thought.

She started to stand, and in that moment, realized the threads binding her. Bridgette blinked in surprise. The bastard was compelling her! He smiled again when she hesitated.

Bridgette couldn't explain it. She reached out and grabbed a handful of the threads and yanked. She saw the sudden surprise on his face, felt the sudden tightening of the bands.

She knew what he wanted then. Rage rose in her. She didn't grab a handful of thread this time -- she used two hands, and dragged on them mightily. His face showed fear and he uttered a sound like a screech. That broke the spell altogether. She let her rage rise like a red-hot flame and she directed that flame at the threads.

What she saw in that instant sealed his fate. The faces of many women, in thrall to his will. The fear, the hate, the revulsion ... and the lack of ability to resist. The flame became a raging torrent of fire.

He waved feebly. "To me! To your prince! Witch! Witch!"

She followed the threads to the place they lived, and seared it, cauterizing the injury.

Hands gripped her. She turned and smiled. "Take your hands from me." She rapped her staff on the ground once. The men turned pale. She waved her staff at about a forty-degree angle. "Do not raise your weapons in this man's defense."

A blade appeared at her throat. "Drop the staff!"

She turned and looked at the man. After a moment cords appeared on his neck. He was armored; you couldn't see his arms, but his hand sagged.

"And who is this person you defend?" she asked the man whose blade was now a few inches from her throat.

"Prince Kirilin, the King's youngest son," the man said, his voice trembling with effort.

"If you promise to take me to the king, I'll come. Else I'll go on my own."

"Not with your staff, wizard," the man said.

"And I should trust you?" She could see the answer in his eyes.

"Take me to the king," she said. She waved her staff at the man who'd tried to rape her. "Take this useless turd with us."

There were gasps, but her eyes never wavered.

Jotan spoke up. "I am Jotan, King of the dwarves of the Shimmering Caverns. We gave you the gift of the Great Gate. Please, take us to the king."

Bridgette spared a glance at the man who'd tried to attack her. His pain was under control and he glared at her. She laughed.

"You are a low-born rapist. You will never be able to rape again." She twisted in her mind, and he went to his knees. "If you ever wish to harbor a warm thought about a willing woman again -- you will behave. If you don't behave, not only will you be a eunuch, you will follow me on all fours, barking like a dog."

The man whose blade remained inches from her throat. "You can't threaten the prince!"

She held her hand, pushing with just one finger to move his blade further away from her throat. He watched his hand like it was possessed and not his.

"I told you to take us to the king. Do you think he won't be interested?" Bridgette asked mildly.

She was surprised when none of them moved. The reason was clear a moment later, when dozens of armored men crowded into the commons and one strode forward.

"What have you done to my son?"

"Removed his ability to rape."

"My son is handsome; many women wish to be with him."

"That might have been true. Someplace this scum has a wife. Fetch her."

"I will not be commanded in my own city!"

Bridgette nodded at the prince. "I told you, I removed his ability to rape. I also cut the cords that hold some he so desired to him. There is, at most, an hour before his wife is free. What do you think a princess of Rohan will do when she realizes she was raped starting the first day she was in your city?

"War with Rohan, good King. She is with child..." Bridgette waved at the prince. "I saw it in his mind. You've given him the citadel of Minas Ithil to command. He has commanded one of your people to hack your son's baby's head off, the day he is to be presented. And at the same time kill his wife. There will have been a strong company of orcs attacking Minas Ithil a few days before, his presence would, of course, have to be there and not here.

"Rohan would blame you; your son would blame you for failing to protect his wife and son. War would ensue, with your son on Rohan's side -- and a few orcs."

"You are demented!" the king said.

"Perhaps, but you have been watching your son; you can see his desire to run away."

A half hour later a party consisting of mainly women accompanied a woman of about sixteen; at least Bridgette hoped she was sixteen. She was heavy with child and moved slowly and deliberately.

She saw the prince and turned to the room. "Who did this to my husband?"

Bridgette turned to the King. "Your son is cleverer than I supposed. The ties that bind her to him are many."

Bridgette rapped her staff on the flagstones of the inn's commons, and repeated the line she'd seen, "I release you!"

As happened before, nothing happened.

A voice whispered in her head. "Hit the ground three times!"

This time she rapped three times and gestured with the staff. The young woman stood frozen. She looked around. "Jotan of the Shimmering Caverns. I call on your oaths to my family. There is war between Rohan and Gondor this day!"

Bridgette already knew the answer, but she spoke quietly. "Lady, please tell King Jotan your name."

"Princess Ilona of Rohan."

Jotan made a sound like a mouse that had been stepped on might. Gesand lifted her chin. "You have but to give the command, Lady B. He dies." Her fist was raised towards the prince.

"They lie, father! They lie!" the prince cried.

"They lie?" the princess said. "You bragged to me over and over again, each time you raped me that you'd raped your mother and when she wouldn't forget, made her kill herself!"

"These are lies, father! They offer no proof!" the prince seemed to gather himself up and raised his chin defiantly.

Bridgette turned to the king. "King Jotan says your name is Kiril, King of Gondor. I have not asked leave to use my magic on anyone else, but you are king. I beg your leave -- I can see you have ties binding you as well. May I release them?"

She saw it out of the corner of her eye. The prince's hand delved into the coif around his throat, pulling out a chain. And on the chain was a golden ring. In the instant it took Bridgette to recognize what it had to be, the prince vanished.

There was a concerted gasp of astonishment from the growing crowd. Bridgette smiled to herself. There were advantages to being a rocket scientist, she thought. He had to be trying to escape, and he had to move through the people without jostling anyone, lest he be grabbed. She saw a man turn to look at an open space next to him, a puzzled look on his face. She struck downwards with the staff, slashing diagonally. The staff didn't travel far before there was a meaty thunk.

"There is a bucket of ashes by the hearth," Bridgett said into the sudden silence. "Fetch it."

It was passed to her very quickly and she emptied it on the bare floor, revealing a dazed man rubbing his head. Bridgette darted in and grabbed his hand and tugged on the ring. No sooner had she touched it when the voice began to whisper in her head. It wasn't a pleasant voice.

"Put me on! Great power and wealth be yours! All men will speak to you on bended knee and shower riches upon you!"

Bridgette turned to Jotan. "Can you handle this safely?"

He grinned. "No problem, Lady B."

She tossed it to him, he fielded it, leaned down and set it on the flagstones, and with a single, smooth move drew his hammer, and brought it down mightily on the ring.

Bridgette had heard that the strikes were lighting. Like everyone else, she was stunned by the blinding flash and the deafening peal of thunder from close quarters. Jotan laughed wickedly. "And now there are eight rings for men, King Kiril.

There was a concerted motion on the part of the crowd, moving away from the prince as they realized what had just been hammered into oblivion.

Bridgette was unprepared when the king turned to her. "Wizard, I have three sons. I can't order the execution of even one."

"Let King Jotan decide then, sir. Or let him be tried by a jury of a dozen other nobles of the kingdom."

"I can't preside over the death of my son," he said stubbornly.

"He's a matricide. He's a rapist. He is a traitor to you and the crown of Gondor. He's conspired with orcs. I suspect he wanted to be a Nazgul ... and what position lies open with them? The Witch-King. So long as he lives he will be doing, or trying to do, evil. Maybe he'll get lucky and he can do it a very long time indeed. He seeks to supplant you and the other kings of men, dwarves and elves."

"You say he has bound me? I don't feel any such binds!"

She rapped her staff three more times and gestured at the king. He staggered and turned hard eyes on his son. "I can't order his death ... not by me. Your men there can strip his armor; leave him naught but his breeks. March him to the Northern gate, give him food for a few days and then tie him to an ass, seated backwards.

"You, get out of my sight. I won't kill you but I will demand it of my subjects. You have three days from tomorrow morning. Then I give the people of Gondor free rein to kill you."

"I. want. him. dead," the princess of Rohan said deliberately.

"Princess Ilona," Bridgette said softly. The woman's eyes turned to her.

"I'll trade you a life for a life."

"There is no life I'll value as much as his death."

"You have a sister of the same name. Her."

"She died a year and a half before I was born. Dwarfish negligence." The glance she threw at Jotan would have stripped paint.

"Your sister is like me, Lady Ilona. A wizard. And she saw what fate had in store for her, and like you learned to your sorrow, there was nothing she could do to stop it. Except she knew what awaited her." The prince had been stripped, bound and even now was being dragged away.

"She chose to survive by hiding, princess. The dwarves hid her, believing her story. And I'm here today to prevent more death and rape. And war. Please, have a care. Send to your father and mother what passed here; King Kiril will understand. Promise the sun, moon and stars to anyone who kills this scum. But don't let him continue to control your actions, and accomplish the goals he desired."

"My sister lives?" she said, stunned.

"She does, Lady Ilona," Gesand said.

"You're a female dwarf? I thought they were just legends," the princess said.

Gesand stroked her beard. "Well, we are a little hard to tell from our males, but its what keeps us happy -- none of you hairless giants hold any of them in thrall."

There was a stir and a half dozen very husky men entered the tavern. The leader bobbed his head at the King. "Sire, the queen grandmother requests the pleasure of an audience."

"Of course."

What followed next was the strangest thing Bridgette had seen, even in the movies. Everyone in the room, including the King went down on one knee, even Jotan and Gesand.

She was left standing there, unable to decide what to do.

An aspartic voice spoke, "Oh, do get up! One sensible wizard and a room full of sheep!"

Bridgette saw the woman then. She had no idea how old she was, but she wasn't a child. Grandmother? Then she noticed that the woman easily towered over everyone else in the room. Her hair was combed down; Bridgette couldn't see her ears. An elf?

"I will not tell you that you are making a grave mistake, Kiril. You already know that. I understand why it's difficult to order the death of a child ... but that young man is evil beyond words. Jotan said it a moment ago. And now there are eight ... Eight remaining rings of power that corrupt men in an instant."

Bridgette had never curtsied in her life, had no idea how to do so, but dipped in what she hoped might be mistaken for one. "I touched it, although briefly."

"And you threw it away! You have elf blood in your veins, wizard! Not that even my father could have safely held it for much longer than you did. You are not corrupted, and Jotan did the right thing. It's gone now."

Bridgette started to curtsey again and the woman's tongue was acid. "Gandalf never bowed to me; he never bowed to my father, or any other, except perhaps, to a king subject to flattery. Are you subject to flattery?"

"Damned if I know," Bridgette said.

The elf, if that's what she was, threw back her head and laughed. "More than a little elf blood, to be so honest! I warn you Lady B, even elves are subject to flattery and endearments."

"I have learned new caution," Bridgette said. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name or how to address you."

"Arwen, Lady of Rivendell, Queen Mother of Gondor."

"I thought..." Bridgette stammered.

"That I'm mortal? Indeed so. It is the curse of my people, Lady B. It is why my father didn't want me to marry my love. A mortal elf lives twenty or twenty-five thousand years. And I am still in my elfish youth."

Bridgette saw her expression and suddenly understood a great deal. Arwen had given up eternal life for a mayfly, who'd only be with her for a few weeks of her life, relatively speaking at least in Bridgette's terms. She had outlived her husband, her children, her children's children and yet again, for a thousand years. A fraction of an elfish life span. What was that fraction of a human life span? If Bridgette lived to be ninety on Earth, she'd be accounted old and in elfish terms -- she'd be five or six. Bridgette swallowed. Arwen must have really loved Aragorn far more than the stories had ever hinted.

This time Bridgette didn't try to curtsey. "If you've never had a wizard bow to you, Lady Arwen, it's time we started." She bowed formally, like she'd seen the President do. Of course, he'd gotten a lot of shit for bowing.

Arwen's eyes smoked, Bridgette thought. Arwen turned to the king. "Double the guard at Minas Tirith. Quadruple the guard at the ruins of Minas Ithil. Do not allow your sensitivity to your son's death to blind you to your duty to your fellow men, kings, and allies."

Lady Ilona started to cry and that's when Bridgette turned her attention to the young mother.

It was like a slap in the face, a punch in the gut. Lady Ilona had a fine baby boy, without a hint of evil in its being. What's more, the baby she sensed had nothing in common with the banished prince.

Ilona must have sensed something, and took it all wrong. She lifted her chin. "Kill me! I will not have this foul evil in my belly!"

Bridgette moved to stand in front of the young woman; it was clear that the archers in the crowds didn't have the stones to kill a princess of Rohan, and daughter-in-law of their king. Much less a strange wizard of unknown power.

How were they going to receive the news that Princess Ilona was pregnant with a bastard? How in the name of any sort of logic had the prince allowed anyone else to do this? It made no sense at all.

She had no idea what the limits of her power were. She turned to Arwen. "Lady Queen. I beg of you a short period of time to question this woman in private."

Arwen smiled. "So be it."

The room fell unnaturally silent as they went into a adjoining room. Bridgette decided that it didn't matter how she approached the subject; all ways were bad.

"Lady Ilona, please I beg of you to listen. The baby in your belly was not fathered by your husband."

The young woman's head came up. "Is that possible? How is that possible?"

Bridgette tried not to grimace. You'd know more about that than the rest of us, Lady Ilona.

"There is no trace of his blood in the baby, Lady Princess."

Ilona put her hand to her mouth. "I thought it was a dream..."

"You thought what was a dream?"'

"My husband forced a young prince of South Ithil to rape me; then he killed the boy, to show his power over all of us."

"Are any of his kin here?" Brittany didn't feel like explaining DNA matches. The young woman there were two other young women, each about ten.

"They are fostering with the king. They are of the line of the old stewards of Gondor."

Bridgette didn't need a map. They might not oppose the king -- but they didn't necessarily love him, either. She looked and knew at once.

She'd tossed one thought to Arwen, now she tossed another. "The princess appears to be carrying a bastard."

"Whose"

"A prince of South Ithil who was later killed."

"That would have been Prince Grayhelm -- he was reputed to have been thrown from a horse -- on a visit to Minas Ithil."

"I have no proof..."

"No, of course not. It is common civility among such as I never to look. Most times it is innocent -- that is, without malice."

"I can't say this was with or without malice, Lady Arwen. But the intentions were filled with malice."

"I have a cousin among your people. She conspired with the dwarves to bring you here. Her mother was one of the most perceptive of us -- until she lost her nerve and abandoned her husband. I've never been able to say her name from that day to this. Why would you ever marry without having lost your heart first?"

The world snapped back, startling Bridgette. "My king, I have news," Arwen said.

"Queen Mother?"

"Lady Ilona is pregnant by rape, compelled by your son. The baby's true father is Grayhelm of Ithil."

"Lady Mother -- that accusation is a declaration of war by one of our closest allies."

"Clever of you to notice," Lady Arwen said dryly. "Do you suppose that might have been your son's plan to supplant you?"

"I know, Lady Mother. I have nothing but rue to buoy me up. It doesn't buoy much."

"Perhaps you should reconsider your decision to just banish your son?"

"Fetch my youngest son to me!" the King commanded.

Bridgette waited stolidly, resting her chin on her staff. The result wasn't really a surprise.

"My Lord, we were taking him to the main gate when he vanished."

"He had another ring," Bridgette said. "The question now is how many rings did he recover from the ruins?"

Arwen spoke. "Three. He found three. A large block of rock landed on the others -- they are buried or destroyed, I can't tell. But he found three."

"You left the telling of this rather late, Queen Mother," the king said evenly, but clearly angry.

"Of course ... you'd have welcomed the knowledge that I follow even the least of you every day of the week? Your father, your fathers' fathers asked me to stay out of your affairs. Did you want something different?"

"You could have said something?"