The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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Diplomacy

Princess Nirnadel negotiates with the Beffraen Tribe as the party returns from the catacombs with news of the Mithril Room.  The Princess has an awakening as a woman and Hir Girithlin plots to undo her success.  

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The Gwathló Camp, Gwirith 4^th, 1410

Nirnadel

The Princess was stunned by the revelation that the Beffraen claimed this land as their own when it was clearly part of the Kingdom of Cardolan.  They seemed serious and they were clearly interested in parley.  She walked forward with Baranor and Kaile beside her.  She splayed her hands slowly, a sign of peaceful intent.  “Good people, yes, we would speak to you in peace.  Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn…are we saying that correctly?  Please, have a seat here,” she said, gesturing to a simple wooden table.

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn nodded with a grunt.  It was a serious matter, but his appearance looked almost comical to the Princess, his tattooed face soft and fleshy with his braided hair pulled back in some barbarian style.  Even his head had a sort of jack o lantern look, like a pumpkin sat on his shoulders with his wide, flat features.  She noticed two women in the group that wore nothing but paint above the waist, and she blushed.  What would that be like, she thought, pondering the corset and the tightly laced bodice that fitted over her emerald green gown that gave her a wasp-waisted look. She sat opposite from Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn as Baranor stood right behind her, ready for any trouble.

“We are the Princess Nirnadel, heir to the throne of the Kingdom of Cardolan.  We consider this land as part of the land that was held by our father, good King Ostoher. Can you show some proof of your claim, good sir?” Nirnadel asked, trying to sound as diplomatic and princely as possible.  She tilted her head up and put her finger to her cheek, falling back into an old pattern.

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn pursed his lips.  “We do not have…papers or…documents as you do,” he said in heavily accented Sindarin.  “We Beffraen have been here since the great ship men landed on the coasts and dominated all of the other men.”

She knew that he meant the Númenóreans, so they had been here a long time.  She pondered for a moment and was determined to negotiate some kind of peace.  “We see.  We want to believe what you say.  Is there anything that you could show us that would prove your claim?  We hope that you will find us reasonable.”

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn made an awkward smile, at least Nirnadel thought it was a smile.  He then narrowed his eyes.  “I am not…how you say…the most capable in Sindarin.  Our language is Beffraen.  What I learn is…how you refer to yourself, I do not understand.  Are you more than one person?”

The Princess was taken aback a bit.  The Royal ‘We’ was a habit that she grew up with in the Royal Court when addressing those not of the blood.  She had never thought of it in the context of someone outside of the Dúnedain kingdoms.  She knew she had to meet him on an even playing field for her to be understood. “Ummm, I…I apologize.  It is a custom among certain of our people.  I did not realize that it would be confusing. You may call me ‘Nel’ if that is acceptable.”

He nodded.  “Nel…I like that.  I do not understand ‘princess.’  Is that who you are in your tribe?”

She squinted for a second before smiling with a nod. “Yes…yes, I am the daughter of the leader of our…tribe.  He…he died in a war so I will become the leader someday when I am old enough.  I take it that you are the leader of the Beffraen?”

He thumped his chest with a meaty fist.  “Yes, Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn is leader.  We have many women as leader too.  They have mystic powers.  So, I respect woman leader of Cardolan tribe.  You are very skinny, though, but I sense that you have big heart.”

Nirnadel glanced down at her thin, waif-like body and chuckled.  “You are correct, my good Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn…see, I am getting used to your name now.  I am but a tiny girl, but I wish for us to become big friends.  We were about to dine for supper.  Would you wish to join us?  I can assure you that you are safe here.”

Anariel snapped her fingers, and the four stewards came forward and bowed.  “Bring supper for Her Highness and her guests.  Be quick about it young men.”

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn smiled.  “You have most interesting customs in your Cardolan tribe.  I see sometimes from afar, but to see you up close is most exciting.  I, too, wish for peaceful outcome.  You are skinny and very pale compared to Beffraen.  You wear much clothes compared to Beffraen women.  We are so different.”

Mindolinor, the son of Haedorial, led the stewards with platters of meat, fruit and vegetables, cuts of roast beef, pies, and small hens, slow roasted over a fire.  Brondon the Vintner set crystal goblets on the table and began to fill them with a red wine from his family’s winery outside of Tharbad.  Anariel raised her finger.  “Her Highness prefers white,” she said fussily.

Brondon bowed low.  “My apologies, Your Highness.  I will be right back.”

Nirnadel waved him off.  She wanted to try new things and show the Beffraen that she wasn’t a stuffy bureaucrat or politician.  She had seen the streets of Tharbad and knew what it meant to live among the people.  She always looked back at her time as ‘Nel’ with great fondness.  “No need, good Brondon.  I would like to sample the red.  I hear that reds are good for the heart.”

She picked up her goblet and let the light reflect off of the crystal.  Cardolan crystal along with the works of art from the glassworks of Fornost Erain were considered the most prized in the civilized world.  Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn stared intently at the object, clearly fascinated by the craftsmanship.  Nirnadel raised her glass.  “I propose a toast to our friendship.  I know that we will come to an agreement whatever happens.”  She was about to drink when another commotion sounded at the entrance.  She looked over to see her guards clearing way for Haedorial, Valandil, Mercatur and Firiel.  She stood and beckoned to them.  “My friends! You look…wet.  I hoped to see you here at Lond Daer and learn of your progress.”

They rushed over and started to kneel, but the Princess waved them off.  “Please, my friends.  You must be hungry.  I praythee, stay and dine with us.  We have some guests from the Beffraen tribe.”  The four stewards quickly brought up more tables and chairs.  “Our new friend here, Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn, told us that his people have occupied this land for many years and that it is theirs.  I am hoping that we can come to some agreement.  Let us dine and we can talk about this, and I would love to hear about the excavation of Lond Daer.  It was something that was special to my dear brother, Braegil the Scholar.”

The four adventurers gathered around a table.  “We have very good news, Your Highness,” Haedorial said, hugging his son.  “It is so good to see you, Mindolinor.  Your mother wishes you well.  I trust that you are serving Her Highness with a high standard?”

Mindolinor nodded with a wide grin.  He had his father’s ringlets of hair that went down below his shoulders with a hint of a scruff for a beard.  “Of course, father.  And give my best to mother.”

They bowed to the Princess and nodded to the Beffraen. Haedorial swept his hand across his body in dramatic bardlike fashion.  “Before we begin, Your Highness, we have found your brother’s legacy, though it cost us several lives.  We found the Mithril Room of Tar-Telemmaitë.”  Nirnadel gasped, putting her hands over her mouth.  Her heart raced with excitement.  “What’s more, is that we have found proof of what our friend, Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn, has said.  These lands have belonged to the Beffraen since before the arrival of the Númenóreans.  There are artifacts and records that we found that will show the Beffraen’s claims are true.”

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn’s face lit up and Nirnadel nodded.  “My friends,” she said to the Beffraen.  “I accept the word of our most esteemed bard, Haedorial.  On behalf of Cardolan, I acknowledge your claim upon this land.  I would offer you friendship, however.”

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn put his hands together and looked towards the sky.  “I feared that we would have to fight for our land as did our ancestors against your ancestors.  But Nel, I sense in you a big heart in your small body.  We, the Beffraen, thank you.  I offer you our friendship in return.  How may we help each other?”

Nirnadel took a deep breath.  She was finding confidence in her diplomacy again after the fiasco with Hir Girithlin, but these people were entirely unknown to her.  Still, they came unarmed with few members and could have easily been slaughtered, yet, they came anyway with hope.  “I do not know your tribe, but I wish to, and I don’t know what we can offer you that will help the Beffraen.  I would offer trade, finished goods, food, music and art, but I know you would not have survived this long without having these of your own.  Our armies are still recovering from the horrible war so we can only offer limited military assistance, but what we have I freely offer.”

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn thought for a moment, his hand on his chin. “We are simple people who live off of the land.  We saw wealth and power of your people when your brother was here.  They were wondrous but we still afraid.  Would you share knowledge of your farms and of your metal working?  Also, we suffer from pirate raids every year.  Would you have your ships come more often?”

Nirnadel nodded slowly.  “I will speak with our High Captain Asgon of the navy.  We currently have eight warships with two more under construction.  I will see to it that he dispatches vessels to patrol the river down to the coast.  I will also arrange to have farmers and smiths share our knowledge with you and I am glad to do this.”  The navy had four light caravels, fast patrol boats, and four of the larger biremes like the Gondorian ship, built for war.

The Beffraen all put their hands together and looked up. “And we will help you keep your lands safe too.  We will warn you of threats and will fight by your side if you need.  We are not great and powerful warriors like you are, but we have our ways.  We know the earth, we know the water, we know the air.”  He looked at the gathering and then focused on Mercatur.  “You my friend…you were bitten by the Nurga, yes?”

The mercenary narrowed his eyes.  “Yes, how did you know?”

“The Nurga was once of the Beffraen.  He has been there many, many years.  We know the look of someone who was infected, but you seem cured. Still, there will be dreams and shaking for some time.  Do you wish us to ease you?”

Mercatur continued to look sideways.  “What do you mean…ease?”

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn pointed back at his people.  “If you want, we hold a…how you say…ceremony?  We draw the evil from your mind and body. If you want.”

The mercenary curled his lip and started to shake his head when Firiel elbowed him.  “Uhh, yeah, fine, yeah, let’s do it.”

“Good, we do after we eat.  And you say you found the den of the Nurga.  You must also have found the great room of the sea people…the room with the silver metal that Nel’s brother looked for.”

Nirnadel put her hand over her heart.  “You know of it?  Will you help us?”

Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn nodded emphatically.  “We help.  I sense that the Nurga is dead.  You have done well.  It was a plague upon our people for a long time.  I am glad to help fulfill your brother’s quest.”

The Princess put her hands together and looked up as the Beffraen did.  This day did not turn out the way she thought it would, but it was far more fulfilling. “I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, I thank you.  This day has been most auspicious.  Please friends, it is time to eat.  We give thanks to our new friends and,” she said, looking to Haedorial, “we honor those who fell in our quest.  I will see to it personally that their families are cared for and that they will be recorded as heroes of the kingdom.”  It was never easy to learn that people had sacrificed for her, and she looked down for a moment to say a prayer to the Valar.  Nirnadel closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  It was important to keep the group in good spirits.  She then took a silver knife and cut a drumstick from her roast hen.  “I am positively famished from our journey, and I am sure you are too.  Please, friends, I praythee, join me in our supper.”

The roasted hen with rosemary and thyme was superb, a crispy layer of skin over succulent meat.  Nirnadel, of course, ate it daintily, using proper manners with the correct use of silverware.  She dabbed her lips with a fine linen napkin and watched the Beffraen devour the food. It felt good to bring people together and her intuition told her that they were trustworthy.  “My friends, I hope you are enjoying yourselves.  My table is your table,” she said just as dessert was brought to the table by the stewards.  Silver trays bearing blueberry cobbler and raspberry tarts were set out before the group.  The Princess gestured to the young men.  “Please, good stewards, I praythee, please join us.  You have worked so hard today.”

The young men’s faces lit up and they sat down and began digging into the dinner.  Galadel picked up a tart and raised it up towards Nirnadel.  “To the Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer’s day.”  The group laughed and drank, toasting the witty lady.

As Nirnadel took a bite of her tart, Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn and two of the Beffraen women came around the table with a leather sack. “To you, Nel and to you, mercenary, we now perform ceremony.  Please trust us.”  They brought out brushes and some containers of dye.  The Princess could see Anariel getting antsy, so she waved her off.

One of the Beffraen women sat next to Nirnadel as the other woman sat next to Mercatur.  “I am Thȃn-Voma-Thȃn,” said the one with the Princess in halting Sindarin.  “I will give you ceremony of our people.”  She opened the clay pots of dye and began mixing them in a bowl.  There were numerous different colors, some bright, some dark.  She dipped one of her brushes into a green dye.  “I see this color in you, Nel,” she said and then applied the dye to Nirnadel’s face.  The Princess’ eyes widened for a moment as she had only worn makeup on her face and one of her ladies always applied it.  The dye felt warm and had an earthy smell.  Thȃn-Voma-Thȃn then painted with blue, yellow, red, purple and pink, creating intricate shapes and images of trees and a sunset.  “I summon the whisper of the ancients,” she said in a singsong voice.

A feeling of comfort and warmth came over Nirnadel and an image of her mother holding her when she was a girl slipped into her thoughts. It was like her mind and consciousness were heightened and she could feel and sense things that would be beyond her ability.  She saw Mercatur smile, and his muscles relax, and it was as if a dark mist were floating away from his body.  She couldn’t help but glance at Thȃn-Voma-Thȃn’s bare chest, covered with tattoos and various dyes in wondrous patterns.  Another image formed in her mind, and she saw Prince Araphor standing before her and he smiled.  His black hair was unkempt and fell loosely about his face as his eyes bore into her. She looked down and saw that he was unclothed, and she gasped, her face turning hot.  She then saw that she was also unclothed and the Prince held her in an embrace and she could feel tingling all throughout her body along with his manhood against her stomach.  Her breath caught in her throat and sensations that she had never known washed over her.  She let out a soft moan.

She blinked and the vision was gone, replaced by the smiling face of Thȃn-Voma-Thȃn.  “It is done,” the Beffraen woman said with satisfaction.  “Feel the warmth of our people and know that we are now sisters. And your man is now free of the darkness of the Nurga.”

Nirnadel still felt tingles all along her skin. “What…what praythee were the vision that I saw?  Were those part of the ceremony?”

Thȃn-Voma-Thȃn nodded.  “Yes.  You see things in the past that were of comfort and happiness.  You see things in the future that you want to come to pass.”

The Princess blushed furiously.  She had always thought of herself as a chaste representative of her people, undistracted by petty urges.  Her needs and wants should never factor into her actions.  But now she gulped and consciously held her legs together.  “I…I…uhh. I don’t know what to say.  It was…was most…enlightening.  Thank you, Thȃn-Voma-Thȃn.”  She was desperate to change the subject now.

Thȃn-Voma-Thȃn grinned broadly, her wide mouth showing bright teeth through thick lips.  “We Beffraen are not embarrassed when we couple.  My sister, Thȃn-Beri-Thȃn and I belong to Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn.  It is the nature of people so do not be embarrassed Nel.”

Nirnadel wanted to hide her face in shame.  “Oooh, umm, how about another raspberry tart?”

Kaile about spat her drink in laughter.  She leaned in and whispered into the Princess’ ear. “It’s really quite wonderful, you know.”

Nirnadel shook her head.  “Stop it,” she whispered forcefully.  “I’m trying to be dignified.”  She looked back up, her face red beneath the dye.  “Yes…yes, I think we can say that we have come to a successful agreement, don’t you…agree?  I mean…yes. I agree.  This was…very successful.  I agree.”  She was completely flustered and realized that she was being an idiot.  “I’m just going to shut up now.  Thank you.”  As much as she felt like a responsible adult who would soon lead a kingdom, she still felt like a girl, lost and silly.  It was still a very difficult time for her.

Then, she remembered something, and she pulled a letter from her handbag.  She cleared her throat and presented the letter to the bard.  “Good Haedorial, I almost forgot.  This letter arrived for you at the Bar Aran before we departed.  It is from your friend, Lord Rhudainor of Rhudaur. It bears his seal.  I now know that it was you that night of Yüle those years ago.”

The bard’s eyes lit up.  “Dagar!  Oh yes, that was I.  Here…no, please read it, Your Highness.  I’m simply too excited!”

Mercatur stood up sharply.  “Did you say ‘Dagar?’  He was…he was with me at the Tirthon!”  The mercenary’s eyes held both joy and terror.

“You know the young man?  He was my protégé at the Nightsingers’ Guild.  He sent me a letter a few years ago and I was so proud of him. But I feared the worst after the war. Yes…yes…I remember now that he mentioned you.  He has a lot of respect for you, you know.”

Mercatur chuckled and shook his head.  “He was a snot nosed city kid when I first met him, but damn if he didn’t save us all at some point.  And he went on and on about you.  I think I’m beginning to understand why.”

Nirnadel held out the parchment and unfolded it. “Shall I, good people?”  They nodded and she took a deep breath and began to read.  “Good Haedorial and Faeliriel, I bid you greetings from Rhudaur.  I am so deeply sorry that I have not written sooner.  The war threw everything into disarray and the roads have only recently become safe again as the forces of Angmar retreat.  I understand that it was devastating for both sides and that Cardolan was near ruin, and I heard about the fall of King Ostoher and his sons.  I am so deeply sorry.  I am ever so glad that Princess Nirnadel survived and that there is hope for the kingdom.”

The Princess smiled, feeling proud that she was a hope for her land and people.  “The war was hard on Rhudaur.  Ethacali’s failure was just a respite and much of the Witch-King’s forces came down and sacked several of the Gondryn Towers, though two survive under the Vulseggi.  The Tirthon is still abandoned though some bandits have taken up in the ruins.  We received advanced warning of the war from Hirgrim and Cagh and were able to recall our forces just prior to the attack.  We secured our lands in the nick of time.  Finculion and Alquanessë were true to their word, hiding House Rhudainor and leading any enemy forces away.  We were able to bring the people of Thuin Boid to my lands and so my father and mother are well.  She is completely healed now thanks to the wealth that we amassed in the aftermath of the Yfelwood.”

Nirnadel looked up.  “I recall the last letter from Dagar.  I admire this man for his great accomplishments and all that he has overcome. Good Haedorial, I shall write him a letter, inviting him to Thalion.  I would dearly love to meet him.”

She looked back down and continued.  “Sir Oswy and Lady Eánfled send their greetings as do Mirthi and Cicrid.  Can you believe that Cicrid is now 13?  Alquanessë has really become a great teacher and Cicrid is now an exceptional singer and dancer.  I would like to, one day, send her to the Nightsingers to perform, perhaps even apprentice.  And…we have a son whom we have named Mercatur.  He is now four and I know that he will be a great warrior as is his namesake.” The Princess looked at the mercenary and smiled.  “Now that the roads are safer again, I hope to correspond with you more regularly.  There is a matter that I think I should bring to your attention though.  Alquanessë has been a font of arcane information.  I daresay that she is a walking encyclopedia of history, and I hope that you will be able to meet her one day.  As your apprentice in Tharbad I never thought I would have a Noldorin prince and princess as my guests and teachers.  I feel that I now know more about Beleriand and Eregion than most scholars in Fornost Erain.  I feel as if I knew Fingolfin and Celebrimbor personally.  But the matter at hand is that she has felt her sister, Blogath, stirring again.  She says that it is only a matter of time before she frees herself and Balisimur from the temple, perhaps a year or two at most.  We are debating whether we should go and finish this before too long.”

Nirnadel gasped.  “We should help them.  Good Haedorial, let us plan an expedition to Rhudaur in the future.  Now, let me see…the letter is nearly finished.  Here…Dagar concludes…I wish you all the best, my friend and I do hope to see you soon.  Should you ever meet my comrade in arms, Mercatur, please give him my best and let him know that he is always welcome back home in Rhudaur.  While I have always had a crush on Princess Nirnadel, I am happily married now.  I still fondly remember the time that I saw she and Chancellor Nimhir in the carriage outside of the Bar Aran.”  The Princess covered her mouth.  She always struggled with being a well-known figure with both the adoration and animosity that such a position entailed.  “Finally, Alquanessë wishes you well.  She is lonely, unable to find a mate, something that I am astounded by, given her beauty.  But I suppose her being a vampire would put a damper on any relationship.  She and Finculion have a solid lead on their mother in the south and I fear that they may leave soon to find her and the cure to their vampirism.  It would not be the same without them.  And so, I bid you farewell and good health.  If the roads remain open, I may plan to visit you soon or, you are always welcome to visit us.  Namárië, my friend.”

Nirnadel smiled.  “I still remember the other letter as if it were yesterday.  This has been a wondrous day, my friends.  Now, it is late and we should all retire and rest. Good Baranor, would you see to it that a proper guard is posted?  My Beffraen friends, I bid you to stay overnight and enjoy our hospitality.  I am most proud to now call you my allies,” she said and then yawned, covering her mouth with a gloved hand.

Anariel gestured to the four stewards.  “Our young men have prepared the Royal Chambers for you, Your Grace, and a bath has already been drawn.  Come, you are still young and need your rest.  I will not take no for an answer.”

The Princess nodded.  She was, indeed, tired.  She stood and bowed deeply to her guests.  “I bid you all a good night and I was ever so honored to be your hostess for the evening.  I had…I had a magnificent time.”  Anariel ushered her away and she grabbed one more raspberry tart which the nurse tried to take, but the tall girl held it up out of reach.

“Ohhhh, you little demon!” the nurse shrieked.  “I’m sure that you and those vampires would get along so well.”

Kaile and Galadel led the way and opened the door to the chambers where Nirnadel could smell the scent of candles along with lavender in the bath.  They quickly disrobed the Princess and guided her into the porcelain tub, full of steaming water.  The heat felt so good after a day in the rain, and she lowered herself up to her neck as her ladies in waiting scrubbed her back.  She splashed water on her face and then onto her hair.  She looked down at her body under the water, so thin and waiflike. “Kaile, you are so much more of a woman. I am just skin and bones.”

Her friend smiled warmly and tilted her head.  “You will fill out, Nirnadel.  You are still young for a Dúnadan.  You will have a long and fulfilling life ahead of you.”

Part of the vision still disturbed the Princess.  “In the vision from the Beffraen…I saw…I saw Prince Araphor and…and I think that we were married.  He was…and I was…we were undressed and I saw…saw his…he was…I’ve never seen that before.  I wanted to be with him.”

Galadel sighed happily.  “Praise be to the Valar.  I believe that it will come to pass and the kingdoms will be reunited as a greater Arnor again.”

They helped Nirnadel out of the tub and wiped her down. Anariel offered her a robe, but she waved it away.  “I think that I will sleep like this tonight.  It is very humid.”  She brushed her wet hair back and then slid into the royal bed.  “Goodnight my friends.  I will see you on the morrow.”  She put on an eye mask and brought a blanket up to her neck.  As she closed her eyes, she envisioned Araphor again…his electric smile and his piercing gaze.  She imagined looking down again and her breath shuddered as her hand went down below her stomach.  She would marry Araphor, and the two kingdoms would be as one and she would be happy.

Barad Girithlin, Gwirith 12^th, 1410

Hir Girithlin patted his ample belly, full with sweet meats and succulent roast hen.  He had once been one of the strongest men in the kingdom with a body that was the envy of men and the desire of women.  He once shattered the breastplate of an Arthedan knight in battle with his war hammer. That was now years ago, and his stomach had swelled with his ego and his wealth.  He read a report that had been sent from Lond Daer.  His agent had done well.  The Princess had arrived at the encampment and negotiated a treaty with these heathen, the Beffraen.  They were a stunted, grotesque lesser race that dabbled in forbidden sorcery.  The girl even allowed the heathen to paint her face as if she were some barbarian priestess.  The Princess needed to be taught a lesson and reined in for the good of Dúnedain society.

He quickly penned a letter to send to Pelargir in Gondor. ‘My good Lord Castimir,’ he began, telling the Lord of Ship of the tainting of Dúnedain culture that Nirnadel was instigating.  ‘She engaged in vile magics of a sensual nature, betraying her status as the future sovereign of Cardolan.  I beseech you, Lord of Ships, to intervene on my behalf to correct this travesty.  With your help, I will make Cardolan great again. I will soon press the Princess to marry my good son, Falathar and unite the land under pure Dúnedain rule.  No elves, no barbarians and no heathens will undermine our destiny.  Your loyal friend, Chancellor Mablung Girithlin.’