The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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Yule

Yule arrives in Cardolan.  Small festivities break out in Tharbad but Hir Girithlin continues to plot for power.  Events unfold in Arthdain that may alter the course of Cardolan.

The Bar Aran – Girithron 25th, Yüle 1409

Nimhir

On the day of Yüle, the jeweler Lothiriel sat in the waiting room of the Chancellor, Nimhir.  She was a prim woman of middle age, dressed in an elegant winter gown of green and red, trimmed with lace and pearls.  Despite some gray hair among brown and a few wrinkles, she was still beautiful woman, full of grace.  She seemed a little nervous though as she waited for someone to call her.  What could the Chancellor want?  She stood and nervously paced, reading tourist pamphlets about Cardolan's beautiful southern shores.

Suddenly, the huge oak doors to the Chancellor's office opened and an attendant caught her attention. “The Chancellor will see you now.”

She entered the grand office of the Chancellor and sat before Nimhir, who was reading some papers.  His graying black hair was slicked back, and he wore his finest silk robes of state, in the greens and reds of Cardolan's colors along with a warm wool scarf around his neck.

Lothiriel was shaking in her anticipation. "Your Grace, I have come as you have bid me," she said slowly, glancing around at the decorations and paintings that told of the history of the realm.

Nimhir looked down and smiled, alleviating some of her anxiety.  "Thank you for coming so quickly.  I have reviewed many jewelers in the land, and I have determined that you are the most skilled."

Lothiriel smiled coyly. "Why thank you, Your Grace."

Nimhir continued, "The Princess Nirnadel is soon to reach the age in which she will become the Queen and rule this land.  I wish to commission a tiara for such an occasion.  You are the jeweler to create such a piece," he said, gesturing to her. "Ten thousand gold crowns have been reserved for such an event.  I trust you will accept the commission."

Lothiriel's mouth fell open. "Why...why...um, yes of course.  I will begin immediately." They went over some of the details and then she stood and curtseyed to the Chancellor and then scurried off to her shop to begin the design specifications.

The Houses of Healing – Yüle

Firiel

On the morning of Yüle the members of the house and their valued guests gathered in the common lounge on the first floor.  Several lit fireplaces gave off a nice warmth, letting the light of their flames dance on the walls.  A festive mood was in the air, and the healthier patients were brought in to partake in the tradition.  Even in the wards for the sicker patients, attendants brought them some cake and small gifts.  It had been a long night for Firiel and the staff as they helped the wounded of the Shanty Town well past dawn, but the Healer would not miss this for the world.

She drained another mug of Eriador Roast coffee and then refilled the mugs of her staff, which now numbered a dozen.  Haedoriel held out his mug. "Another for me, please, good lady." She poured him another cup full and yawned, tired from the long night.  She still could not believe how it turned out.  One hour, the kingdom tottered on the brink of destruction, the next, some semblance of peace prevailed.  The stress made her stomach churn, and she held one hand over it to calm the gurgling.

Firiel set down the pitcher and clapped her hands. "Good people!  We gather again on Yüle to celebrate life and fellowship.  We look up to the Valar and the One for guidance.  We honor the sacrifice of those who have gone before us."  She reached down to a chest and opened it with a key.  "With everything going on, we have not had time to decorate properly.  We don't even have a tree in the lounge like we always have.  However, I did not forget," she said in a loving voice as she brought out red Yüle stockings that were full of some secret gifts.  She began handing them out to the staff and their guests as Kaile passed out cake to the patients.  "I am so grateful for our benefactors, the Princess Nirnadel and Captain Tardegil, for their generous gifts that have allowed us to heal so many and to afford these small presents.  I dedicate this Yüle to them."

People pulled gifts from their stockings to find nice baubles, coins, treats and candy.  The children squealed with delight as "Ooooos" and "Ahhhhs" filled the room along with laughter.  Firiel nodded in satisfaction and put her hand over her heart.  Tired though she may be, she would not deprive her friends and patients of some small joy.

The bard was practically bouncing with anticipation.  Not even the Valar could keep him from blurting out, "Good Firiel, please, good Firiel, I am dying to hear your account of last night.  I simply must hear this.  Please, people, listen."

Firiel smiled and then sat on her plush seat as Haedorial handed her a small glass of brandy. It felt good to get off of her feet.  She pointed to Valandil and Mercatur.  "We were all there at the battle last night," she began and then pointed to her assistants.  "And then my staff worked tirelessly into the morning to heal the wounded.  We will return later and resume our work, but for now, we rejoice."

Haedorial grasped his chest as if he were having a heart attack.  "Please good Firiel, I can wait no longer."

She smiled at him and then began to tell of the riot that overran the Shanty Town and then breached the Annon Lindamel.  "The Gates were smashed with a ram and the guards were overwhelmed by the mob.  Men from the Annon Forn were able to hold them and brave Captain Guilrod brought in reinforcements.  We arrived with Minister Eärdil," she said, the crowd hanging on her every word.  "The mob was thrown back several times, but kept coming.  I regret that I had to use my bow many times last night.  It was then that Captain Guilrod determined that it was time to attack.  Cousin Amrith led the archers, Eärdil and Valandil led the constables and Guilrod led the knights.  We began to advance when she appeared," Firiel continued, gesturing in the distance. "The Princess Nirnadel…she was clad in mithril armor, leaping down onto the bridge, showing the rioters her throat.  She called for peace and said that if there was blood to be spilled, it should be hers.  The rioters threw down their arms and pledged to the Princess.  I have never seen anything like it.  I wept for joy," she said, holding her hands together above her head.

Valandil wiped a tear from his eye as the crowd sat, enraptured.  Firiel sniffed and then blew her nose into a handkerchief.  "For the first time in a long time, I have hope," she said with all sincerity.  "I will give my all to see the realm made whole again."

"No way!  I want to hear this again," said the enthralled Kaile, sitting before Firiel.

The healer held up her hands, palms out. "Of course, of course.  Then, we shall have breakfast.  Small though it may be, it was made with love." Jonu and Haedorial also sat, hanging on Firiel's every word about the battle with the mob, just as attentive as the first telling.  Kaile had to hear the part about the Princess once more.  Mercatur sat nearby, chewing on a turkey leg while Valandil put the gold into the house safe.  Partway through Firiel's recounting of the battle, there was a knock on the door.  Jonu rose to answer it.

He opened the door to reveal Nirnadel, stunningly dressed in an emerald green and red gown with gaudy slashes on her sleeves that was woven with diamonds and sapphires. She wore a velvet bonnet of the same color, adorned with pearls and a hawk's feather.  She was beyond radiant, her black hair woven in an intricate waterfall braid and adorned with flowers.  This time, the Princess was also accompanied by her eight-man Royal Guard, dressed in dashing green surcoats along with Anariel and Galadel.

Jonu fell to his knees. "Your Highness," he cried out.

The room fell silent as all knelt down.  Nirnadel blushed.  "Please friends, rise and be at ease.  We were Nel long before We were the Princess to you.  We…I come as a friend and a guest this day," she said and then cleared her throat.  "I am still getting used to…trying not to speak as an uppity royal," she added to some laughter.  "It will take some time and…I ask for your patience."  The group took their seats again as Nirnadel entered and sat in one of the padded chairs.  She handed Firiel a parchment. "Praythee, good Firiel, open it."

Firiel broke the wax seal of the King of Cardolan and unrolled the parchment.  She gasped and held her hand over her mouth.

The Princess gestured to her.  "Read it to the gathering, if you please."

Firiel inhaled deeply and then read it out loud, "To the Houses of Healing and all members associated with it.  We, the Princess and heir to the throne of Cardolan, praise the heroic efforts of the House and its members in battling the ills and wounds of the citizenry of Tharbad.  We also acknowledge the warrior bravery and skill of Valandil and Mercatur during the war against Angmar and in defense of the city."

She took another deep breath and continued, "To the Healer, Firiel, We grant an annual Royal stipend for use in the Houses of Healing.  To Valandil, lieutenant now in the Royal Army and of the constables of Tharbad, We grant knighthood, with lands and men from the Royal domain.  To Mercatur, mercenary in the service of Cardolan, We grant a fief within the Royal domain and leadership over the mercenaries of the Royal House.  To Kaile, assistant to the Healer, We grant a position as lady in waiting in the Royal Chambers and assistant physician to the Royal House.  To Jonu, Pelemeth, Coru, Omah, and all junior assistants to the Healer, We grant full educational privileges, compliments of the Royal House.  To Haedorial, the bard, We grant the right to play at the Royal functions, the Royal Banquet for the New Year, and every New Year thereafter."

The group gasped as Haedorial and the assistants wept openly.  They were honored by the generosity of the Princess.  Nirnadel chimed in when they had settled down. "More important than lands, titles, or gold, I freely offer you all my friendship.  Also, best of all, an invitation to the Royal Banquet for New Year."  All nodded vigorously.  During Ostoher's time, it was an event held annually which was usually reserved for the richest and finest of Cardolan.  Nirnadel would change all of that.  The Princess then stood and held her hand out. "Sword, please, good Baranor," she said as the knight placed the handle of his weapon in her palm. "Good Valandil, kneel and be knighted in the service of the realm."

He scrambled over, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve and then knelt. "It is my honor, My Princess, to serve you." He lowered his head and Nirnadel tapped him on each shoulder and then the top of his head.

"Arise, Sir Valandil, Arequain of Cardolan," she said in a voice full of pride as she handed the sword back to Baranor.  The new knight rose, and she grasped him by his arms, looking him in the eye. "Be brave, be honorable and be true."

Then, she gestured to Anariel and Galadel. "We have another surprise for you.  Good ladies, please bring in the Yüle meal." The two scrambled to the door to open it for the wagon driver who began handing them trays of baked ham, roast turkey and yams from the Tinarë fiefs.  The aroma was overwhelming for the hungry. "We give thanks to Hir Tinarë and to good Ciramir, the Legate of Gondor, for sharing in their largess.  I am also having a Yüle meal sent to the Shanty Town, and Nimhir and I have commissioned an architect to design proper housing for these people."

The Princess then yawned and blinked heavily.  She was exhausted too, but this time was for her people.  She stood and went to Firiel, leaned over and hugged her. "This is for your tireless efforts to restore the city and…for showing me your art and skill last night. I believe that I could now work as one of your assistants," she said with a genuine laugh that was echoed by the gathering.

Firiel smiled back. "You can work for me anytime…Your Highness," she said with a small curtsey.

Nirnadel stood tall. "I may take you up on that, good Firiel," she said and then gestured to the food. "Come friends, let us partake and enjoy the festival of Yüle."

Valandil and the assistants began handing out plates full of turkey and gravy, slices of glazed ham and candied yams. It was the best day that they had in months.

The Shanty Town

Lamril

The leader of the insurrection looked on as wagonloads of food and supplies arrived, medicine, bandages and clothing.  The starving people stared in disbelief, murmuring their approval.  Soldiers began passing out bundles of food and barrels of water as people took blankets and coats.  The townsfolk took them graciously, thanking the men and praising the Princess.  Lamril took a handful of bread and cheese and stuffed it in his mouth.  Chewing loudly, he proclaimed to Pulg, "This is all I have been asking for.  A fair shake for these people.  We still have many wounded, but we did not fight for nothing."  He was deeply conflicted about the riot.  Many had died but it had achieved the results that he had hoped for.  Right after the battle, he stood there, in the infirmary as Firiel, her staff and Royal ladies worked tirelessly through the night to attend to his wounded.

True to his character as a champion of the people, Lamril joined them, half expecting the effort to peter out and the Royal Ladies to drift off back to their palace.  But that never happened.  The Princess and Lady Galadel held bandages over wounds and mixed potions and poultices under the Healer’s and Chief Nurse Kaile’s directions.  He could tell that the noblewomen were upset by the blood and the shrieks, but they never flinched.  He knew Firiel by reputation and she did not let him down, barely slowing to take an occasional drink and never stopping to eat.  He did notice the knights of the Royal Guard watching him closely, not fully trusting him.  Understandable.  As dawn broke, he realized that he made the right choice.  He went to every one of the wounded and touched them, thanking them, wishing them a swift recovery and letting them know that he would watch out for them and their families.  He meant every word.

As tired as he was and as much as he wanted to just lay down, the Princess and Galadel did not let up, always asking what they could do next, comforting the wounded and bringing more bandages and medicine.  He would be forever shamed if he gave in.

As the first wagon was unloaded and continued on to be replaced by others, Lamril sighed.  “I wish it hadn’t come to this, but things will get better.  I can feel it.  I wish I would have known to just petition the Princess.  We might have avoided all of this.”

Pulg, one of the men who brought gold and weapons for the insurrection, nodded unenthusiastically. "Yeah, right." 

When Lamril had finished chewing, he dove into the throng of people and helped distribute the food.  Pulg sat down on a roadside bench and shook his head. "The Master is going to be very upset." He put his head down into his hands and did all he could not to think of what the fallout for failure would be.

The Argond Tower

Varen Calantir

In the magnificent Argond tower, twenty miles southwest of Tharbad, Celeph Calantir slipped in and out of consciousness.  He lay in his bed, rolling and groaning, surrounded by the marble walls of his chamber.  Nurses and his doctor hovered over him with potions and herbs, their faces grave.  His fourth son and now heir to the Hirdom, Varen, sat patiently nearby on a plush white seat.  Varen had met with Falathar Girithlin earlier that day, but was still unsure what to make of that meeting.  Unlike his father and older brother Varek, Varen was friends with the Girithlins.  Varen and Falathar had attended the military academy together as classmates.  Celeph had always disliked the Girithlins, but did not oppose Varen's choice of friends.  However, with the death of Varek, this friendship could change the political landscape of Cardolan.

Now, Celeph lay old and decrepit, dreaming dark dreams of days long past.  In his youth long ago, Celeph was a page in the Army of King Calimendil as it laid siege to Cameth Brin in Rhudaur.  He accompanied the King into the fortress when Calimendil and his vassal Anveleg, son of Dardan, took the lower levels.  When the orcs of Mount Gundabad attacked and overran the Royal Pavilion, Celeph became separated from the King and was saved by Anveleg.  In the ensuing civil war, Celeph grew into a squire and then a knight, fighting both for and against the surviving sons of Calimendil.  Celeph also witnessed the warlord Dardan's fall into evil and his ultimate physical corruption by the Witch-King.  He was also present after the warlord's fall from power and ignominious death in the dirty alley behind the Sign of the Orc's Head.

Celeph moaned quietly in his semi sleep, "Dardan is coming.  Save yourselves." Varen took his father's hand and bowed his head.  He thought about the meeting with Falathar and it gave him some anxiety.  What his friend was asking went against all that his father held dear.  Old Celeph had always favored the Tinarës and the Royal Family.  He would have to think long and hard about this.

The Fortress of Barad Girithlin

Mablung Girithlin

The large Hir stewed in his office on the third floor of the tower.  His heavy frame was posited on the ornate desk, which was covered in maps and letters.  He was dressed in an ornate gold and olive doublet with padded shoulders.  A scowl was written on his face, and he ground his teeth.  The mob attack did not go as he had planned, and he had just discovered that the Gurth Rodyn had been destroyed by a previously unknown group.  He growled and banged his closed fist on the desk.

I will make them pay… but not now… in time.  There are more important tasks at hand.

Girithlin had a sudden inspiration, and he opened one eye wide and put his hand on his chin.  He sat down at the desk and took out a quill.  Dipping it in ink, he began to draft a letter.  The missive took longer than half an hour to write, but when he was done, he folded it and dripped wax over the edges to seal it.  He then pressed his heavy ring on the blob to impart the seal of House Girithlin.

Mablung sauntered down the iron stairway past two guards and then to Falathar's room.  He beat at the door calling, "Falathar, come here!"

His dutiful son opened the oak door and replied, "Yes, father?"  He was dressed only in a linen nightshirt.

With a serious expression, Mablung handed his son the letter, telling him, "Take this letter to Nimhir.  It is an introduction to meet the Princess Nirnadel.  You are going to get married."

Falathar blinked as if lost and then focused his eyes in recognition. "Married?  Why of course, father.  As you wish."

Mablung clapped his son on the back. "Get dressed.  You leave immediately," he said forcefully.  "Move along now."

Falathar retreated back into his room and began to don his riding gear.

The elder Girithlin began drumming his fingers impatiently on his son's door.  "Hrmmph. If you can't beat them, marry them.  By my troth, I'll have that throne yet."

The Royal Palace in the City of Fornost Erain in Arthedain – Girithron 26th, 1409

King Araphor of Arthdain

People gathered in a massive amphitheater with rows of plush seats on a floor of white marble.  Onyx statues of Arthedain's past kings and ministers lined the marble walls, a testament to the strength of the realm.  The stone of the amphitheater had been quarried, cut and polished in Númenor and the construction of the huge chamber had been overseen by Elendil himself.  It was designed to mirror the amphitheaters in Minas Anor and Osgiliath so that no one, once inside, could tell which city he was in.

The young King Araphor sat uneasily on his throne before the King's Council, the Lord Commander, the Captain of the Palace Guard, and the Seers and Guardians of the Palantíri.  He wore a doublet that was the envy of the kingdom, black and trimmed in gold with crimson accents along with a gold flatcap with tassels over his black hair.  He was a handsome man with a square jaw, prominent cheekbones and a strong, straight nose.  On the day after Yüle, the adolescent monarch was besieged by rules and edicts, which he had to enact to govern the kingdom.  He felt lost and out of control, hoping to fake his way past this.  The young man had fought bravely in defense of the capitol of Annúminas.  When that city was sacked by the armies of the Witch-King, he fought in the rear guard to allow the Royal Family and people of the city and their treasures to escape.  With the death of his father, it all became so complex.  While the late King was an able and experienced statesman and warrior, young Araphor longed for the simplicity of the battlefield.

Most of the Arthedan Court nodded in agreement with the letter sent to Cardolan a month ago.  Araphor had his doubts, and the Court felt he needed convincing.  The regal Artos Tarma, Lord of the powerful House Tarma and head council member took the floor.  A Dúnadan of middle age, he was tall and lean with thick black hair that was graying at the temples.  He wore a rich black and silver robe along with a gold ring with seven small diamonds set on it.  "My King, we have been gravely weakened by the war with Angmar to include the loss of Amon Sȗl.  It was the will of the Valar that the Palantír escaped with a squad of knights.  Now, I will talk of Cardolan.  A union between our two kingdoms is only right and natural.  Let us bring back Arnor, the Kingdom of old.  This would ensure our survival.  Their King Minalcar already accepted our King Argeleb of Arthedain as High King of Arnor." Many of the lords and ladies nodded and murmurs of approval were heard.

One of the seers, however, spoke out, "I, Ar-Elon, one of the High Seers and guardians of the Palantíri, oppose this foolish action.  Cardolan is weakened and dying.  If we assume their burdens, we will weaken and die as well," he said, turning his nose up as if offended.  He was a proud Dúnadan with white hair that formed a ring around his bald head.  He wore a grand seer's robes, black with long, loose sleeves and adorned with diamonds that appeared as stars.  Many others in the Council agreed with the seer also known as Malborn.  Malborn continued, "I also hear that the heir to the throne of Cardolan is a spoiled brat who is uglier than a toad.  Surely, My King does not want such a horrible child to be his bride?" he said with a disgusted sneer.

Araphor's young brow furrowed in thought.  Malborn was a close confidant of his father's, who had always put his faith in mysticism, a tradition carried down from mighty Númenor.  But this was his kingdom now and he would do what he thought best, regardless of how his father did things.  He pursed his lips, thinking on his next words.  Malborn was clever and powerful. "You are correct Malborn.  We do not wish such a thing to happen.  Therefore, it is our will that We visit the Princess of Cardolan to make that determination."

Malborn started to speak, "But…but My King-"

Araphor cut him off with a raise of his hand, something his father never would have done.  "We appreciate your concern, so We must see her for ourselves.  We are not thrilled with the idea of marriage, but if the Princess is at least a respectable person, a union may benefit our two lands."

Malborn's face darkened and he flared his nostrils.  He had been used to getting his way with King Arveleg. "My King, this is a mistake, a grave mistake.  I have looked into the Palantír and can prophesy disaster for you if you even meet this disgusting girl."  His voice was charged and emphatic.

Araphor nodded impatiently.  He never put as much stock in the seers as his father did.  It all seemed so unreal.  A sword and a bow, well, that was real to this young man.  He was anxious to be done with this bureaucracy and get back to riding and fencing.

Artos Tarma smiled as he gestured to Araphor.  "My King, that is a wise choice.  We cannot all wed such beautiful brides as we might chose.  I for one would like to accompany you to Cardolan.  The King needs an adequate guard."  Many of the finest warriors stepped forward proudly.

Malborn turned red and grit his teeth hard.  He waved his hand dismissively and slipped out of the Royal Hall into the thick and gathering snow.

Chapter End Notes

Now that peace is beginning to take hold, players in and out of the kingdom will press their suit for the Princess' hand to gain power.

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