The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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Cardolan Law

A legal matter of great importance to the realm arises and Chancellor Nimhir convenes the High Council.  Princess Nirnadel's ability to rule is tested but she finds that she has unexpected allies during dance lessons.  

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37) The Gwathló River, Gwirith (April) 28^th, 1410

Nirnadel

 

The journey up the Gwathló River was a mix of both joy at finding the lost treasure and trepidation over Nimhir’s dispatch.  The rhythm of the oarsmen blended with the lap of water against the hull of the Royal Barge.  A navy caravel, the Amathel, escorted them, a smaller, swift warship with triangular sails.  Nimble and stealthy, she was an excellent vessel for destroying pirate activity along the coast.  Captain Baranor had made arrangements for the ship to carry the mithril panels back to Tharbad and it was well guarded with marines.  Haedorial and his son, Mindolinor, sat near the prow of the barge, under the canopy, playing harp and lute for the crew and the royal party.  It was an elegant, dreamy tune that evoked visions of pastoral fields under sunny skies.  Nirnadel sat with her ladies in the royal quarters in the aft section, listening to the music.  She looked out through one of the windows to see the thick Gwirith fog along the river. Captain Davion had ordered half speed due to the low visibility.  The morning sunlight was diffuse, keeping the temperature low with a pervasive humidity.

Kaile leaned over to the Princess and smiled.  “Now, the ceremony, do tell.”

Anariel looked like she was about to intervene, but she had learned to just let Nirnadel be a young lady…with limitations, of course.

Galadel nodded.  “Yes, Nirnadel, do tell.”

The Princess blushed deeply, her ears turning nearly purple. “I…I ummm, saw a vision of my mother, the Queen.  It was when I was a child, and she held me.  It felt so real.”  She silently begged the Valar for that to be the end of it.

Kaile narrowed one eye.  “Yes, as wonderful as that was, you told us about that one already. Something happened after…you let out a little moan, and your face,” she said, mimicking a face at the height of intimacy.

Galadel giggled while Nirnadel blushed even redder.  The Princess poked Galadel in the arm.  “What are you giggling about?  You’re just as much of a virgin as I am.”

It was Lady Tinarë’s turn to blush.  “I…I…well…yes, but.”

Anariel snickered, something that was unexpected. “Ah, to be young again.  You will always remember your first, my dears.”

Nirnadel shot her a look as if she didn’t recognize her old maid.  “Good Anariel, are you not going to shut us down with a stern look?”

“A hundred and thirty years ago, I sat on the Royal Barge with your dear grandmother, giggling about the same things,” she said in a warm, motherly way.

“So, spill it,” Kaile urged, tapping Nirnadel on the emerald sleeve of her dress.

Nirnadel coughed and took a drink of pear juice from her glass.  She looked nervously out the window.  “Oh look, the fog is so thick.”

The nurse wagged her finger.  “Uh uh uuuhh.  Don’t change the subject.  I tell you everything.”

The Princess made a mock, pouty face.  “Huuu,” she sighed heavily.  “Very well, very well…dear nurse.  Yes…so…I saw a vision.  One of King Araphor and he was…he was very happy.”

“And…?” the ladies all asked in unison.

“We were…together and he was…unclothed…there, I said it.  He…he embraced me and I…I could feel his…he was…very happy.”  She looked up and blew out a long breath.  “Good Kaile, good Anariel, is this what it is like…to be in love…to be with a man?”

Kaile smiled in a warm, but lascivious manner.  She nodded.  “It is.  Jonu will propose soon.  I cannot wait.  Our first time was in front of the fireplace at the Houses on the wolfskin rug.  Like Anariel said, you never forget.”

Nirnadel beamed with joy and held her hands over her heart. “Oh, good Kaile.  We shall have such a wedding for you, and I will invite Jonu to join the Royal Household.  The two of you will always have a place of honor in my court.”

Anariel tittered as if she were a girl again. “My first time was on this very barge. Oh, he was a handsome knight,” she said with a faraway look and hugged herself.  “I miss my good husband too.  He has been gone far too long.”

The Princess touched the old nurse on the hand.  “Our kingdom has suffered far too much loss.  I wish for joy to return to our lands.”

“Well, joy is what you will have when you marry Araphor,” Kaile said with a wink.  “In your vision, did you ummm do it?” she asked, poking her palm with a stiff finger.

“Oh, you wicked nurse!” Nirnadel protested, tossing a balled-up napkin at her.  She held up a finger towards the sky.  “He was…he was, like this.  I’d never seen that before.”

Kaile laughed.  “Oh, that’s good.  Just wait till he,” she began and then stuck her tongue out, making a licking motion.

Nirnadel’s eyes opened wide.  “What?  What is that? What are you doing?”

Anariel laughed but then clapped her hands.  “Alright, that’s enough, young ladies.  We must be nearing the docks of the Bar Aran.”

The Princess was glad for the change of subject, but her body tingled, especially between her legs.  She stood, attempting to appear dignified and led the way onto the deck. The cool mist coated her face, droplets forming on her skin.  Haedorial and Mindolinor continued to play as the other stewards, Brondon, Angion and Allion, came out to attend them.  The three young men blushed, eyes huge.  Apparently, they had overheard the conversation.  Anariel leaned in towards them.  “You heard nothing, and you will say nothing,” she warned.

They nodded their heads.  “Yes, Nurse Anariel.”

Dim lights could be seen ahead.  Davrion called out, “Oars, slow to one quarter!” and the pace of the oars slapping the water slowed to half of what it was.  “We are approaching the tributary of the Sîr Caramaid, that joins the Gwathló.  Tharbad is just ahead.  We can already see the lanterns on the naval docks.  The Amathel will follow us to the Bar Aran.”  Soon, the structure of the wharf came into view and sailors began to swing the lanterns back and forth.  “Ahoy! Ahoy!” called Davrion.  “We have returned from the coast with good tidings!”

They could barely make out a man standing on the tower of the naval barracks.  “Ahoy! T’is I, Captain Asgon!  We welcome you back!  I have prepared the docks at the Bar Aran for your arrival, and an escort will meet you to take the cargo to the treasury!”

Nirnadel waved back.  “Good Captain Asgon!  I thank you for your work!  I also have a mission for you to help our new allies.  We will speak soon!”

“Most excellent, Your Highness!  I shall meet you at the Bar Aran shortly!” he called and then headed down the tower.  The two ships under construction were in a dry dock at the base of the tower.  With any luck, they could fund a fleet soon.

The city docks came into view through the fog.  A small red building could be seen and Mercatur pointed to it.  “That there is the Broken Oar, a tavern run by a nasty salt named Arleg.  I had to buy a round of drinks on Eärdil’s money to get information.  That was when Valandil and I were investigating the drug ring.  Oh, and that one there,” he added, pointing to a larger structure that looked as if it would fall into the river for as shoddy as it was made.  “It’s a quality establishment known as the Sign of the Orc’s Head.  The food and drink are atrocious, but the brawls…,” he said, laughing.  “I had to drag one Gondorian sailor across the bar to gain a little respect.”  The ladies held their hands over their mouths. “And the proprietress, Bereth the Fat…lots of cushioning…ummm, if you’re into that sort of thing, I mean.”

They sailed past the docks and then the Merchant’s Quarters and soon saw the great Iant Formen, the North Bridge, a massive structure created by the Númenóreans with means now lost.  Houses and shops now covered it in a patchwork of buildings.  The barge passed under the huge span, its shadow covering the entire vessel.  Just beyond were the city offices where the efficient bureaucracy kept the wheels of Cardolan moving. Revamped and reorganized under King Ostoher, the government officials oversaw the movement of funds, crops, trade and the maintenance of infrastructure as well as it being part of the arm of the King’s justice.  It was quiet but effective.  It would be Ostoher’s greatest gift to his daughter.

The oars continued to strike water, though at a slower pace.  The docks of the Bar Aran came into view where a platoon of the Chancellor’s Guard awaited in the foggy gloom.  Davrion raised his arm.  “All stop! Raise oars!” he commanded, and the paddles stilled and then pointed straight up in unison.  He guided the rudder gently to let the barge coast into the dock where guardsmen tied the vessel down with thick ropes.  The Amathel continued around to the far side of the dock where small boats guided it in to tie down.

Baranor led the royal party down the plank where they saw sailors of the Amathel carrying the mithril panels towards the treasury. Nirnadel breathed a sigh of relief as the treasury doors were closed and locked.  She would send messages to the dwarves and to other artisans in the city to begin cutting the panels apart for the distribution.  Baranor spoke to the captain of Nimhir’s guard and then returned.

“Your Highness, the Chancellor awaits you in the Council Chambers.  He has convened the High Court with Minister Eärdil, Mayor Minastan and Legate Ciramir as the matter involved Gondor.  He has also summoned the Hiri, who will arrive later today.  Please follow the guard and they will escort us.”

The royal party approached the Chancellor’s guards, and they bowed in respect to the Princess.  Their captain put his mailed fist over his heart.  “Welcome home, Your Highness.  I am captain Taerion.  It is an honor to meet you.  Captains Guilrod and Tardegil are already seated as is the mayor.  Please follow us,” he said solemnly.  The gravity of the situation was beginning to sink in for Nirnadel.  She turned and gave a silent nod to her ladies.  The guards led them into the Bar Aran and up the wooden staircase to the third floor where Nimhir and the others awaited.

The Royal Herald stood in front of the doors, flanked by two large guards, holding halberds.  They wore steel breastplates with green doublets underneath and red flat caps of velvet with hawk’s feathers.  The herald pounded his staff thrice on the wooden floor as the guards raised their weapons and opened the doors.  “Announcing the arrival of Her Royal Highness, the Princess Nirnadel and the royal party!” The longstanding tradition in the north was one strike for a commoner, two for a noble, three for a prince or princess and four for a king or queen.

Nirnadel looked in to see Nimhir and the others rise and bow as she entered.  Nimhir blew out a long sigh of relief as everyone remained standing.  “Thank the Valar you are home safe, Your Highness.  Please have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the King’s chair, an elaborately carved and crafted piece of furniture with elegant cushions in green and red fabric with gold tassels.

The Princess was stunned.  As a girl, she had played on the rich carpet while her father conducted the business of the kingdom from that chair.  Her brothers would sit in it when the room was vacant, pretending to be the next king.  The seat was never meant for her.  She gulped hard and squeezed her lady’s hands tightly before walking to the symbol of power in the land.  Even now, she felt small and insignificant in the face of what that seat stood for.

Nimhir nodded as he pulled the chair back for her.  “This is your place now, Your Highness.  I understand how you feel.  You will grow into it.  Please be seated and let us begin.”  The Princess’ ladies stood behind her while Valandil, Mercatur, Firiel and Haedorial stood behind their seats.  The rest would have to remain outside.  Nimhir gestured to the party.  “We have gathered people who are essential to the realm.  Captain Tardegil of the Army, Captain Asgon of the Navy, Captain Guilrod of the Garrison, Eärdil, Minister of the King’s Justice, Sir Valandil, Captain Mercatur of the Royal Mercenaries, Firiel Halatani, the Royal Healer and Haedorial, the Royal Bard and scribe.”

Nirnadel trembled as she looked around at those standing for her.  “Please, good people, I praythee, be seated,” she said, and the gathering sat, people murmuring about the agenda.

Nimhir extended his hands outward.  “As the Regent of the Realm, I call this session of the High Council to order.  Your Highness, upon your coronation, this will be your duty, so please learn it well.”

She nodded, grateful for the lesson and for her “Uncle Nimhir’s” concern.  “I understand,” she said solemnly, her soprano voice lowering.

He smiled at her, setting her at ease.  “I hear that your search for the Mithril Room was a success,” he said proudly.  “I will admit that, when news first arrived, I was initially upset that you made a…treaty with the Beffraen on your own without consulting me per protocol, but…you did well.  We now have an ally in Minhiriath that will bolster our trade with Gondor by protecting the shipping lanes.  And…it was the right thing to do.  I would have done the same thing myself if put in your tiny shoes,” he said, adding a little humor.

Nirnadel put her hand over her mouth and snickered. “Thank you, uncle.  Honestly, I tried to invoke you during negotiations, thinking, what would you do?”

He winked at her.  “And, I see that your speech and mannerisms have changed as well, spending so much time outside of the walls of the Bar Aran.  It is now, me and I and you make eye contact with people.  I am torn between tradition and the fact that this is now a new kingdom…your kingdom.  I will guide you, but you must rule and make Cardolan your own.”

His words struck her like a tidal wave, and she fought to keep from trembling.  “Until Úrui of last year, I was content to sing and dance, read and play, and prepare to wed some random noble to secure an alliance.”  She gestured down to the seat of power.  “I was never meant for this.  Seeing you all gathered here…the people whom my father trusted with his life, the people who guided and counselled him.  I am nothing.  You people were as the Ainur to me.  How do I…how do I grow into this?” she pleaded.

Captain Guilrod extended his hand towards her.  “Your Highness.  I was there with you…at the riot when we feared that the Bar Aran would be overrun.  We turned it around but we still feared that so much blood would be shed that the realm would never recover.  But then you appeared…seemingly out of nowhere and stood bravely between the two warring factions.  It was you who brought peace and saved the realm.  You were meant for this, Your Highness.  I can think of no one now that I would rather follow.”

A tear ran down her cheek, and she wiped her nose with a handkerchief, laughing at herself.  “I…I am so touched by your words, good Captain Guilrod,” she said, her voice cracking.  “Now, enough about me.  What of the business of the kingdom?”

Nimhir reached into a leather case and brought out a parchment.  “Agents of Hir Tinarë intercepted a courier who was enroute to Pelargir in Gondor,” he said, sliding the paper along the smooth wooden table to her.  She began to read as Nimhir continued, “It is a letter from Hir Mablung Girithlin, addressed to Lord Castamir of Gondor, who was here recently.  As you can see, it is subversive and threatens your rule with foreign intervention. I have convened this High Council to investigate and adjudicate this alleged crime.  Beyond that, a spy is reporting to Hir Girithlin of your activities.”

Nirnadel’s blood ran cold.  It was if her private thoughts and experiences were being broadcast to the world and she was gripped with both fear and anger.  “Who is the spy?  Do we know?”

Nimhir shook his head.  “No, but we are searching.”

She read the letter again that accused her of engaging in vile magic and lewd behavior and requested that Lord Castamir intervene to force her to marry Falathar and cleanse the realm of lesser races.  She wanted to tear the letter apart and put Hir Girithlin’s head on a pike.  She now felt foolish for holding an election that brought him one step closer to the throne. But the law was the law.  He would have a fair trial.  As a noble who was related to the crown, he would first be adjudicated by a court of his peers.  The other Hiri would render a decision if enough evidence existed to proceed to trial.  If that happened, Minister Eärdil would preside and determine Hir Girithlin’s fate if found guilty.

The doors opened and the herald pounded twice. “Announcing Lord Ciramir, Legate of Gondor!”  And then twice more.  “Announcing Maerion, Hir Ethir Gwathló!”  Nirnadel knew nothing about the new Hir of Ethir Gwathló other than that he was entirely unrelated to the family that was wiped out in the war.  In fact, no replacement had even been found for the Hirdom of Tyrn Gorthad.  She noticed that Maerion and Nimhir exchanged knowing glances, and she suspected that her ‘uncle’ had him selected as the Hir for situations just like this.  She was no good at politics and wondered if she would ever be.

The herald pounded twice more.  “Announcing Duin, Hir Tinarë!” he called and Galadel perked up, seeing her father.  He only gave her a warm head nod.  This was not the place for public affection.

Within a minute the herald repeated the tradition. “Announcing Barahir, Hir Feotar, Thangar, Hir Eredoriath, Annael, son of Celeph, Hir Calantir, who is unable to attend due to health and Mablung, Hir Girithlin!”

Nirnadel was unable to look at him, her blood near a boil, but she knew that she had to remain calm under any circumstance.  Hir Girithlin would exploit any weakness on her part.  She saw Haedorial scribbling furiously, keeping up with the unfolding events.  He looked up and moved his lips silently, casting his voice to her ear.

“Your Highness, he will try to provoke you. You must not overreact.  I am here for you.”

She gave him a barely perceptible nod and whispered back, “I see him now for what he truly is.  I regret that it took me so long.”

 

“You see the good in people.  Do not lose that.  Let us look out for you.  Be wary though.  I am concerned that the four arrived together.”

Hir Girithlin snorted, his wide girth jiggling under this tight red doublet.  The others bowed to the Princess, but Girithlin just took his seat, tossing his scarlet flat cap on the table in a clear sign of disrespect.  He looked thoroughly disgusted, his nostrils flared over his graying black goatee and gray eyes narrowed.

Nimhir bit his lip and then spoke, “Hir Girithlin, you will show respect to the Crown.”

Mablung rolled his eyes and sighed.  “I would, but I see no crown here.  Just a frightened girl who needs real protection.”

Nirnadel tightened her fists under the table and felt Baranor tense behind her.  She wanted to lash out at him, but she held her tongue.

The Chancellor’s face darkened.  “Very well.  Haedorial, please note that in your official transcript.”

“What farce is it that you gather us for this time, bureaucrat?” Mablung growled, crossing his arms.  “We warriors have real business to attend to.”

Nimhir held up the document.  “This is the business of the realm,” he said, his anger barely concealed.  “We have intercepted this dispatch, written in your hand, to Lord Castamir of Gondor. It impugns the character of the future sovereign and plots insurrection.  I have called you all here to the High Council to address this grave matter and to administer justice.  Minister Eärdil, you have the floor.”

The Minister of the King’s Justice stood and glanced around the room, finally making eye contact with Nirnadel.  “Your Royal Highness, esteemed Hiri of the realm, captains, knights and other important persons to the kingdom.  We are to adjudicate the accusation that Mablung, Hir Girithlin has plotted insurrection against the realm.  Hir Girithlin, how do you answer the charges?”

Mablung made an offhanded gesture with his fingers, not even looking up.  He pushed his chair back and put his boots up on the council table.  “This is preposterous.  Who found that ridiculous fake?  It is an obvious forgery.  I am stunned that you people fell for such nonsense.  Actually, no, I am not.”

Eärdil’s lip twitched, and his face went a shade redder. “These charges are no trifling matter, Hir.  And I would ask you to remove your boots from council table.  You sully the memory of good King Ostoher,” he said in a tense monotone.

The Hir scoffed and began picking his nails, daring anyone to make him.  The Princess felt Captain Baranor tremble for a moment and start to move.  She stood up to block his way.  She took a deep breath, calming her frayed nerves.  “You forget yourself, my lord,” she began, turning her nose up and putting her finger to her cheek, not even bothering to make eye contact.  It was the way that royals showed lesser people their place, something Nirnadel would never do unless forced.  “We ask that you show proper decorum in this august chamber and restrain yourself in our royal presence,” she said in a calm, but venomous monotone.  She could not believe that those words came from her mouth.

He paused for a second, one eye wide.  Then, without another word, he placed his feet back on the floor.  Nirnadel returned to her seat and dug her nails into her arm to keep from shaking.

Eärdil nodded to her.  “Hir Girithlin, am I to take your previous statement as a not guilty?”

“Yes, yes, get on with this farce so that I may return to my lands to do real work.”

The Minister then held up the dispatch.  “I have examined the evidence, and it is enough to proceed with formal charges.  It was obtained by soldiers of Hir Tinarë and presented to this court with proper credentials under Cardolan law.  Esteemed Hiri, you will have the opportunity to view the document, one by one, under watch. I caution that anyone destroying or defacing it will be removed and detained in the naval tower to await charges of obstruction of the King’s Justice.  Do you wish to examine the evidence?”

The gathered Hiri all nodded, and they were brought up to view the parchment.  Mablung took one look at it and then turned to council.  “This is a fake!  Obtained by Hir Tinarë, huh?  A man who holds a grudge against me because it is my son who courts the Princess. He has been biased against me for many years, jealous of my valor.  How can anyone believe this…this disgrace?  I will endure this vile smear on my character only for the Princess.”

Eärdil pursed his lips.  “Very well.  Your dispute of the authenticity of the evidence is noted.  Per Cardolan law, you are a noble, a Hir of the realm and this must go to a council of your peers.  I call upon the Hiri to deliberate and then to affirm or deny the charges.  Should the vote be made to affirm the charges, we shall proceed to a trial by a jury of Cardolani citizens.  Should the Hir be found guilty, I, as the Minister of the King’s Justice, shall determine the sentence.”

Girithlin shook his head.  “Sad, simply sad.  Do you not see how Tinarë seeks to exploit this for his own gain?  If not, you are blind.  This is the biggest hoax in the kingdom.”

The Hiri deliberated for a short time and then nodded to the Minister.  Eärdil then pointed at them, one by one.  “Maerion, Hir Ethir Gwathló?”

“Charges affirmed.”

“Duin, Hir Tinarë?”

“Charges affirmed.”

“Barahir, Hir Feotar?”

“Charges denied.”

“Thangar, Hir Eredoriath?”

“Charges denied.”

“Annael, son of Celeph, Hir Calantir?

“Charges denied.”

Mablung laughed and stood, picking up his cap and flipping it on his head.  “We are done here,” he said, gesturing to the other Hiri.  “Come, let us remove ourselves from this…place and I will press my suit for the Princess to marry my son.  It is the right thing for the kingdom and numbers are no longer on your side, little Regent,” he finished and walked out, followed by the Hiri who had sided with him.  This was bad. Four of the seven Hirdoms stood in a coalition against the crown.  Another civil war would destroy the kingdom.

Nimhir seethed, clenching his fists and Nirnadel knew that they had been beaten.  “He always has something up his sleeve, that one,” the Chancellor said and then gritted his teeth.  “He now holds great power in the kingdom.  We must move quickly to counter his lust for the throne.”  He looked at Nirnadel.  “Your Highness, do you trust me?”

She nodded, feeling overwhelmed at the turn of events. “I do.”

“I will draft a dispatch to Arthedain…  We will accept Araphor’s proposal.  If you are agreed, that it.  It will end Girithlin’s attempts to solidify power and his proposal for you to wed his son.  I don’t mean to be vulgar, Your Highness, but I firmly believe that he intends to wed you himself and I fear for his poor drunkard wife.”

Nirnadel’s illusions about the Girithlins evaporated and she grit her teeth.  She nodded her head.  “Yes, good Nimhir, I agree.”

He leaned forward onto the table with one arm and pointed at her.  “You put him in his place, my dear and, for that, I am so proud of you.  But he will not forget that, mark my words.  I fear for you should he ever be alone with you. He is a dark and violent man.  Your father valued him because he was an able warrior and commander, but I could always see undertones of his ambition.  My agents constantly reported how he would speak in private against your father, calling him weak and indecisive and that he should be on the throne.  One of his ancestors was brother to King Cirion and so he claims that he has a purer bloodline to Elendil than you.”

She knew that the Hiri in times past were Ernil, or princes rather than the barons that they were today.  All of them were once younger brothers to kings, holding great power and autonomy until King Tarandil the Prosperous reorganized the realm and brought the Ernil to heel, reducing them to Hiri.  It was he that established a national army with the intent of ending civil wars between lords and provided subsidies that allowed farmers and shepherds to prosper and grow, providing the realm with an abundance of crops, wool and meat.  She inhaled deeply.  “My great grandfather was Tarcil the Mariner, cousin to King Calimendil.  I know about the great civil war that nearly destroyed Tharbad and devastated the land after Calimendil was trapped and slain in Cameth Brin by orcs.  My bloodline may not be as pure, but it was Tarcil who was elected king by the council, the Dwarves of Moria and the Gondorians who intervened.  My forefathers were the rightful rulers of Cardolan.”

“That is the law,” Minister Eärdil stated.  “And we are sworn to defend the law and we swear our loyalty to you, Your Highness.”

Nirnadel thought for a moment.  Something did not sit right with her and her foot tapped in nervous movement.  “Good people, I am disturbed with some aspects of the law.  Hir Girithlin was able to subvert justice by being…popular, by having wealth and influence.  I do not see the justice in that.  I believe that all of Cardolan’s citizens should be subject to the law, high and low alike.  How might I propose that the law be changed?  I would ask that anyone accused of offense be held to the same standards and receive the same trial and be subjected to the same sentence, regardless of birth.”

The Minister pondered for a moment.  “That is very noble of you, Your Highness, but would that not include you as well?”

“It should especially include me, good Minister.  How do I demand that our people obey the law when I am above it?  I was…offended by how he scoffed at our laws and traditions.  All of you tried to warn me about him but I refused to listen.”

Galadel touched her from behind.  “It is your good nature, Your Highness.”

She nodded, touching her lady’s hand.  “I propose the dissolution of the jury of nobles and the creation of…a grand jury, composed of citizens from all walks of life.  It would represent the diversity of our people and better demonstrate our commitment to the law and to justice.”

Eärdil pursed his lips for a moment before smiling.  “I shall draft the proposal and consult the barristers as to its legality.  Once that hurdle is passed, we move to ensconce it into law.  Hir Girithlin may challenge the proposal, but the nobles will have no say in its passing.  This matter is purely in the hands of the Regent, good Nimhir.”

Nirnadel grinned, feeling good for the first time that day. “And, good Minister, I will need some of your time to draft a treaty with our new friends, the Beffraen.”

Nimhir put his finger to his lips and then nodded, a wide smile beaming across his face.  “I see so much of your parents in you, my Princess.  Rest their souls, but they are looking down upon you with pride.”  He put his hand over his heart.  “I only wish that we could coronate you today but, by law, we must wait until you are Eighteen.”  He clapped his hands.  “We are adjourned and we know our tasks.  Let us get to them.  And, Your Highness, I suggest that you return to your normal routine here as soon as able. We want to show Hir Girithlin that we are not rattled.  Good day, gentlemen…ladies.”

But, she was rattled.  Her life had gone from an incredible high to a devastating low.  But then, she thought about her father on the Barrow Downs, surrounded and desperate, her brothers falling around him. She made a fist and bit her lip.  She had to see this through for them.  She looked up at the pendulum clock in the chamber. She would normally begin music and dance lessons about now, followed by riding and then swordsmanship.  Every royal needed to be able to fight, no exceptions.  After the death of King Calimendil, his gentle family was massacred in one of the sackings of Tharbad by a former ally.  The account of the viciousness and murder was a horror story.  She stood and the council all rose as one and bowed.  “My good people, I thank you for your participation in this difficult matter and for your wise guidance.  I bid you good day.”  She walked to the exit where the door was opened by the guards, her ladies following two paces behind.

“We should go to the dance hall,” Anariel said.  “We shall provide you with a dance lesson. You have been digging for too long in the muck.  It is time that we recivilize you, Your Highness.”  The older nurse snapped her fingers at Kaile and Galadel.  “Have the room prepared and Her Highness’ dance clothing ready.”  The two younger ladies sped off.

Haedorial and Legate Ciramir caught up to them as they descended the staircase.  “Your Highness,” the Legate said with a bow.  “If I may beg a moment of your time?”

“Walk with me, sir,” she answered, continuing down to the first floor.  “I have dance practice to perform,” she said with a hint of distaste.  Her adventures to Lond Daer had been beyond thrilling and her return to Tharbad was a significant let down.  Still, there was duty.  “We shall speak during breaks,” she informed.  They entered the dance hall, a long and wide room with mirrors on one wall and a pliable, wooden floor.  Musical instruments hung on racks, polished and tuned.  Nirnadel had a flash of a memory of her mother playing the lute while Anariel strummed a harp.  The old nurse had to be beyond One-Hundred and Fifty years as a Dúnadan.  With her lineage, the Princess was likely to live past Two-Hundred, barring some tragedy.

Anariel went to retrieve a harp while the other ladies returned with a glittering silver leotard with a frilly, stiff, pleated skirt for the Princess along with finely made dancing shoes, courtesy of Ibal.  Galadel took a lute while Kaile took a small drum. Nirnadel went to the changing room and returned in her outfit, hair pulled back tightly.  She looked in the mirror and saw how thin and waiflike she was. Would King Araphor even want someone like her?  Kaile was much more womanly and filled out.  Her doubts were interrupted by the start of the music, slow and dignified.

Haedorial clapped his hands, and she rushed up and curtseyed to him, her back straight, her knees slightly bent apart, not swaying at all as she pulled the pleats of her skirt out.  “Basse Danse,” he called, signifying the elegant dance of nobles of the north.  Kaile beat out a slow rhythm and Haedorial bowed with an elaborate flourish of his emerald green flat cap with a golden feather.  She stood still while he glided around her, precise, practiced steps, stopping back in front of her with a click of his shoes on the floor.  She then dipped her finger to the floor and then to the ceiling, her eyes following her hand.  With a step, she mirrored his path around him as he stood still, stopping before him with a click of her shoes, one arm arced upwards above her head. This repeated twice more before they moved closer and touched hands, turned away and touched hands again.  They linked arms, facing Ciramir, stepping forward, then back, forward then back in steady, measured and deliberate movements and gestures. As the music trilled for the final notes, the two separated and Nirnadel curtseyed to the bard, and he returned a flourish.  They turned towards Ciramir and did the same.

The Legate clapped, smiling broadly.  “Most excellent!  Most excellent!”  He stood and approached.  “Your Highness, if I may?  I would like to show you the dances of the Gondorian Court.  We are in a warmer clime, you see.  Our hearts are as fiery as the deserts of Harad.”  She nodded and he went to the musicians, whispering into their ears.  “I think that this would make a fine…gift for King Araphor.”  He gestured to the bard.  “I also think this would make a wonderful addition to your repertoire of arts.”

Haedorial gasped and then nodded enthusiastically, his face beaming.  “I would like that very much, good Legate!”

Ciramir clapped and the players began a faster, lively tune, the drum beats coming in a rapid three tap rhythm.  “You already know the basic movements, Your Highness.  I will show you the rest.  Just do what I do.”  He moved in behind her, so close that she could smell his cologne, a spicy fragrance from the south.  She could see Anariel wince.  The old nurse shook her head and then picked up a horn and began blowing out a powerful succession of notes, low and constant.  “You must always keep your eyes upon me, Highness,” Ciramir said as he gestured to her and began a series of tapping steps, his shoes clicking on the floor.  She began to follow, her shoes tapping in sync.

He gestured again and they began to circle each other, the tapping of their shoes filling the room, the Princess moving her skirt back and forth with her hands.  He gazed at her sideways, eyes full of want and desire and she blushed, but returned the same.  He gestured to the center and skipped to her quickly.  They leapt past each other, landing and spinning back to face one another.

Haedorial joined in with a recorder, playing rapid, higher notes and Ciramir hopped in place, his feet kicking and turning in an intricate series of moves until he stopped and bowed his head slightly, his eyes always on her.  She knew the steps, only they were much faster and more intricate.  She hopped in place, kicking and turning her feet, bouncing on her toes.  They circled again in kicking steps, eyes locked, rushing to the center to leap and spin once more.  Then, they linked arms, facing in opposite directions, a slower, measured pace with stutter steps.  “Smile, Princess, smile.  You will be electrifying.”  They released arms and spun in place, left then right, feet tapping the floor.  They leaned to the left and then right in opposite movements, hands making graceful movements.

The music accelerated, quicker and more intense and they rushed together, leaping and spinning.  He grasped her hand and twirled her around to face him, and his other hand went around her waist.  They moved in a circle and, with the heavy beat of the drum, he lifted her into the air by her thighs and spun her in a circle.  Nirnadel gasped as he caught her and lowered her to the floor, her hair twirling about her face.  No man had every touched her like that.  He did it thrice more before the music drifted off with a trill into silence and he stepped back with a bow and flourish of the Gondorian Court.  She paused for a moment, flush and out of breath, mouth open before performing a deep curtsey and tilting her head slightly down.

“This dance is garish…daring and I dare say, scandalous. I love it!” she exclaimed, clapping and then holding her hands over her chest.  Northern traditions had ruled Cardolan since its founding and Arnor before, established and passed down by Elendil and Isildur.  Nirnadel thought it was time to invite new culture into the kingdom.  “What is this dance called?”

“Sogenne naru miruvor, Your Highness.  It’s a lively tale of getting drunk on wine, of all things.”

“It sounds wonderful, and I cannot wait for the day that I visit Osgilliath or Minas Anor.”

Ciramir smiled.  “I would like that very much.  Now, if I may beg a moment of your time, I must tell you that Gondor stands firmly behind you.  It is of great concern to our kingdom that one of Cardolan’s lords seeks to undermine you. Should Hir Girithlin move against you, Gondor will come to your aid.  We desire a strong, prosperous and stable north and we are behind your potential alliance with Arthedain.  You must know this, however, that there is growing unrest in the south.  There have been factions, quiet for now, that advocate for Prince Eldacar to vacate the line of succession as he is half Northron. We are keeping these factions from gaining strength for now, but I believe that you should be informed as to the politics of such a powerful kingdom as ours.”  He then stepped back and bowed low.  “I thank you for this wonderful dance, Your Highness, and I bid you a good day,” he said and then turned and left.

This day had given her a great deal to think about, and every month seemed to bring a new challenge.  She dabbed perspiration from her face with a handkerchief and turned to see Kaile and Galadel holding up her riding outfit.  She was already a masterful rider, but she had to show the people that she was fit to rule and training was a must.  Afterwards, she would join Baranor on the training grounds for swordsmanship.  That was something that she needed improvement with.  She changed with her ladies into tight pants and high black boots with a coat and cloak.  Galadel was also an expert rider, but Kaile was still learning, often yelping as the horse trotted, something that amused everyone.  Walking to keep up, Haedorial scribbled notes on the music and dance.

Nirnadel paused as she guided her horse out of the stable. It was good to know that Gondor would support her in case of civil war.  She thought about her sword training for a moment and how she had improved since the incident at the bridge.  She only hoped that she would not need either one.

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Chapter End Notes

I'm a nut for medieval and Rennaissance art, music and dance.  The dance between Nirnadel and Ciramir is La Tourdillon with a bit of a Volta.  I'm hoping to showcase the politics and other things that go into a kingdom for some world building.  I'm using some inspiration from Elizabeth I and Anne Boleyn for Nirnadel.