The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Curse of the Barrow Downs

Mercatur sells trinkets at the Traders Bazaar.  Haedorial scribes for the Princess and the Regent as they create new laws and plan the way forward for the kingdom.  Nirnadel worries if she will be enough of a woman when she marries King Araphor.  Mercatur begins planning for the Rhudaur expedition.  Valandil pops the question to Firiel.

Warning - some adult themes and a scene of intimacy.  This arc is inspired by a reader, Gianna Aurora with some humor inspired by another friend, Tara.

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38) The Traders Bazaar - Lothron (May) 4^th, 1410

Mercatur

The big mercenary walked through the rows of kiosks, north of the city gates, that sold food, wool and trinkets as rare afternoon sunlight poked through gray clouds.  The bazaar was nearly destroyed in the riots that overwhelmed the city guard in the days after the war.  Starving and desperate refugees in the nearby shanty town would storm the kiosks, resulting in harsh crackdowns by Chancellor Nimhir in the dark days of 1409. But the former agitator, Lamril, met with the Princess a few days ago to propose resettling parts of Tyrn Gorthad and it seemed to go well.  The forces of Angmar were all but destroyed in the war and there was little sign of them lately.

Summer would be just around the corner with clearer skies and warmer temperatures.  Winter and spring always reminded Mercatur of Rhudaur, snow and rain, rain and snow.  The recent talk about an expedition back to his homeland set him on edge.  Though it was good to hear word from Dagar, he had left all of that behind.  The thought of facing those Blood-Wights again made his skin crawl.  He knew of nothing that could defeat Blogath, and he pictured one of her forms in his mind, half falcon, half woman, wings sprouting behind her, her fingers as razor sharp claws and her face, a pointed beak. Her eyes were ablaze, her bare body growing feathers.  Then, her serene form, an elven princess, austere and powerful, able to take his will from him with a thought.  He shuddered and pulled his cloak tighter over his body.  Nirnadel said it best, Blogath was a demon of the ancient world, unimaginable to mere mortals.

He grunted, knowing that he needed to face his fears.  Perhaps, somehow, he might find Silmarien, his cousin.  Any foray into Rhudaur would be fraught with peril.  It was an untamed and often hostile land even without the armies of the Witch-King.  The power of a mage would be useful.  If called for this expedition he would also need an old friend, the Haradan, Jaabran. Jaabran took his earnings from the Tirthon and retired to a quiet life in a little town northwest of Tharbad.  Rumor had it that the guy married some farmer’s daughter and had a kid and he was drinking ale on some farm porch on his rocking chair.  Not a bad life at all.  Mercatur wasn’t sure why they lost touch.  He chocked it up to his life in Tharbad now.  Things were always busy and dangerous, and he liked it that way.

He pulled his wool tunic down into his leather belt.  He elected to wear rustic clothes from his bargeman days on the Mithiethel and the Baranduin Rivers.  The outfit was warm and comfortable, convincing him that he was not losing his edge as a jumped-up captain of mercenaries now.  He always thought of himself as the rough and tumble rebel, raging against the establishment, defying his parents, scoffing at his birthright.  Now, he was ‘respectable’, a leader, a part of the kingdom.  He couldn’t be certain if it was a good or bad thing.

He dug into his pouch, remembering the trinkets he pilfered from the barrows.  Well, they were gems, emeralds, sapphires and few others, plus items crafted in a metal that he did not recognize.  No one was going to miss them and that sneaky elf had no idea what he was talking about.  At least here, they would do someone some good.  He had stashed them in his wall safe back in his room and decided that maybe now was the time to sell them off.  After all, he wasn’t the type to wear jewels.  Part of him felt guilty but he shook it off.  Guilt had little place in the mind of a mercenary.  It was usually, kill or be killed, or how much money could you make to live until the next job?

He went to the kiosk run by a middle-aged Dunlender, Remodoc, a decent fellow who always bought things from Mercatur when he happened by.

“Hey Rem, got some things for you that I gotta unload.  I need some coin,” he said, falling back into an old habit before the money was plentiful.

The portly man looked up from counting coins, his messy brown hair spilling down his rough face.  “Hey Merc, whatcha got?  You know, we’re all real happy for your security here.  I remember you busting up that thieves rings and keeping the thugs out.”

“Nah, it was good coin.  I don’t do shit for the good of it, you know that.” He knew that he was lying through his teeth.  He had a reputation to uphold.  He liked busting the heads of those idiots, but it made him feel good deep down to help the vendors.  “How’s Ciga?” he asked, putting the gems on the counter.

“Crabby as always.  Everything is a problem to her.  ‘The door squeaks, the kids don’t visit, the stove isn’t hot enough.’ Don’t get married, Merc.  It’ll be the end of you.”

Mercatur chuckled, watching the sun lower on the horizon.  “Don’t I know it.  I’m going to spend some of this at the Silken Veils later.  I need some…companionship.  It’s been a while.”

Remodoc blew out a breath.  “Too rich for my blood.  Hey, I thought you said you needed coin.  Obviously, you don’t if you’re talking Silken Veils. One hour there is a week’s pay for me. And I’m hearing that you’re some kind of big shot now around here.”

“Paaah, it’s all bullshit.  I still fight for coin.  It’s all I need to do.”

“If you say so,” the vendor said with a hint of doubt.  “But if you go downscale, say Lover’s Delight or Artan’s, I just might join you,” the merchant said with a snicker.  “That’s more my price range.  Like I said, don’t get married.  Half of what I spend there is just to get a woman to say nice things to me.  Hell, sometimes, that’s all a guy needs.”

Mercatur had to agree.  Settling down was never his thing.  Any woman he had spent more than a few months with eventually became baggage with nagging.  Buying a good time was fine with him.  No strings attached.  And no one bitched about your beard.  “Well, whatever you do, don’t ever go to Velima’s Ambrosia down on the docks.  It’s cheap and you get what you paid for.  That shit’ll give you nightmares.  Best thing I can say is that the lighting is dim.”

Remodoc laughed.  “I’ll keep that in mind, my friend.”  He looked over the items on the counter.  “What do you say to two gold sovereigns?  I think that’s fair.”

“Make it two sovereigns and twenty crowns.”

Rem thought for a moment and then nodded. “Done.  You have a deal.”  He opened his safe and then took out two platinum-colored coins and twenty gold ones.  One sovereign was worth a hundred gold.  He put the money in a bag and handed it to Mercatur.  “Good doing business as always.”

The mercenary pocketed the bag and began walking back into the city as the sun began to set.  He wanted to check in at the Bar Aran for any updates on the expedition but first he might have to stop at the Royal Arms for a drink.  It was a sedate, family establishment but their honey mead was the best in town.

After he walked away, Remodoc examined a silver jewel that Mercatur sold him.  He swept the gems into a bag and put them in his safe.  Other kiosks were shutting down for the night, and he would be doing the same soon.  Jellek down in the merchant’s quarters would buy all of this for four gold sovereigns and he would make a decent profit.  It just might be worth a trip to Artan’s.  He spun the silver jewel around, admiring how light it was, the design being that of a dragon wrapped around a tree.  It was quite beautiful even if dragons were merely legend, fanciful tales nobles told each other or cautionary stories to scare the kids.  Something pricked his finger and he yelped, sticking the finger in his mouth.  He shook his hand and winced and noticed a drop of black sludge on the tip of his injured finger, which was then absorbed into his skin.

“Pah, stupid thing.  Well, it’ll be Jellek’s problem now.”  He put the object in his sack and pointed to his two assistants. “Hey, close up, guys.  I’m heading down to Jellek’s and then over to Artan’s. You’ll get your share tomorrow. It’s been a good day.”  As he walked off, he looked at his finger, and the tip was beginning to turn black.  “Damn, stupid thing.  I’m not letting a little poke ruin my evening.”

 

The Bar Aran - Lothron (May) 4^th, 1410

Haedorial

 

It was an absolute honor to scribe for the Princess and Regent as new laws and treaties were being forged.  The feeling of being part of history in the making was electrifying. Minister Eärdil was also a frequent participant, coming and going to consult with the Guild of Barristers on the legality of the proposals and providing legal guidance.  The Princess seemed tireless in her effort to reforge the kingdom, going with little sleep between sessions of deliberation, music, riding and swordplay.  It was already late into the night as Nirnadel and Nimhir went back and forth on another point of law and the economy as lanterns blazed on the walls of the Council Chamber.  Paper, written in Haedorial’s hand, was strewn about the rectangular wooden table, the product of their musings, debates and ideas.  Platters of snacks and fruit filled in the gaps on the table, crumbs, half eaten sandwiches and pitchers of water and wine rounding out the work into the night.

The good Princess was kind enough to invite the bard’s wife, Faeliriel, their son, Mindolinor and their young daughter, Istriel, who was now ten.  It was a blessing for Haedorial and a boost to his morale for as tired as he was. Even for a Dúnadan, he was no longer youthful, entering the age of maturity and he could tell that his stamina was not what it once was.

Announced by the herald, Eärdil reentered with a smile. “Regent…Your Highness, the treaty with the Beffraen has been approved by the Guild as legal and correct.  We are also at the final stages of your proposal for the new law to guide the courts.  He produced a stack of paper from his document case and pointed to some signature blocks. “I will need you and the Regent to sign on these lines to complete the treaty, and it will become a reality. Captain Asgon has already seen to it that patrol ships make regular sorties to the coast to assist the Beffraen. And, the two new naval ships are nearing completion.”

Nimhir signed it sleepily and nodded while Nirnadel beamed and signed her distinctive, flowing signatures.  She always penned her name slowly in a controlled manner.  “It is done,” she said in a voice full of relief. “I hear that the farmers and craftsmen are doing great work with the Beffraen.  I am so proud of our people, good Minister.”

He gave her a warm smile.  “With that, I bid you all goodnight.  My good Rîneth has been far too patient with me, my job keeping me away so much.  But the work of the kingdom never ceases.”

Haedorial looked up.  “Indeed it does not, good Minister.  The Princess and the Regent have authorized funds to hire three additional judges to work for you and reduce your exceptional workload.”

Eärdil seemed surprised.  “That is…wonderful.  You all have made my night,” he said and then departed with a bow.

Without hesitation, Nirnadel gestured to the Regent.  “Is there any news on the identity of the spy? Until then, we must swear any involved in our work to secrecy.”

Both Nimhir and Haedorial shook their heads.  “No, Your Highness,” the Regent answered, clearly tired, “but I am having…less trusted members of your party quietly questioned by my agents.  We will get to the bottom of that, I assure you.”  Nimhir was into middle-age as a Dúnadan and the last few years had been hard on him.  His dark goatee was now mostly gray and his hair a salt and pepper color.

The bard was starting to fade too, blinking heavily, and looked at Kaile, sleeping on one of the council chairs.  Anariel had already gone to bed, while Galadel rubbed her eyes, reading through one of the proposals.  “Your Highness, perhaps the remainder of the business could wait until the morrow.  We can continue first thing in the morning like we have done.”  It was likely that Faeliriel was already sleeping but Mindolinor would still be up, awaiting news of the day.

She put her finger to her lips, thinking.  “I apologize, dear Haedorial.  I have so many ideas running through my head.  I promise, good sir, I have only two left for the night.”

He chuckled and nodded, admiring the energy of youth. “Of course, my Princess.  I am honored to be part of this process in healing the realm.”  He truly felt that.  Being here, being part of this was one of the events that he would take with him for the rest of his life.

She gave a broad smile, her perfect teeth gleaming. “First and foremost, I would like to offer you a commission as my personal bard.  Your family would be given residence in the Bar Aran, and you would become part of the Royal Household,” she said and then winced. “It would require you to resign from the Night Singers, however.”

His face flushed with surprise and delight. “Why…why, Your Highness, I would be…I would be honored.  I accept!” Such a position would ensure his family’s well-being and the Nightsingers would actually benefit, having one of their own in the Royal Household, a great reputational boost.

She took his hand.  “And thus, I name you, Sir Haedorial of Cardolan.  Please enter this into the register of nobles of the realm. You have done the land a great service and I shall not ignore such courage.  I had this made specially for you by Lothiriel the Jeweler,” she said and presented him with a royal cloak and hat pin, made of mithril in the form of a hill, flanked by two silver trees, surrounded by the form of an eight-pointed star.  It was intricately carved, the etchings clear and clean.  The detail in the hill and trees were so precise on such a small object that one could make out grass on the hill and leaves and fruit on the trees. “It was carved from the panels that we recovered and I thought that would make it a special gift.”

His hand began to shake as he accepted it, and he could not steady himself.  His heart flooded with emotion as he remembered the excitement of the dig, the terror of the Nurga and the thrill of the discovery.  The fact that Nirnadel had this made for him from the fruits of their expedition was such a thoughtful gesture.  “I…I am so grateful, my Princess, ever so grateful.  This is so, so unexpected.”  He felt his eyes mist and his cheeks became hot.  He had to wipe his nose with a napkin.

She touched him on the cheek and smiled.  “And please extend an offer to Sir Valandil to join the Royal Guard.  I wish to reexpand their number to sixteen.  Valandil is a brave and noble man who has consistently shown skill and valor. I need a warrior like him.”

Haedorial wiped his eye and began writing another missive. “Of course, Your Highness.  I think he would also be honored.  He intends to ask Firiel for her hand.”

Nirnadel made an O with her mouth, clearly surprised. “This is wonderful!  Kaile will wed soon too.  Jonu has already proposed and she accepted.  We will have two grand weddings at Thalion, I think.  I will authorize Jonu to move into the Bar Aran when he wishes.  I fear, though, that I have taken two of Lady Firiel’s finest healers.”

“But her healers already number eighteen.  They will be fine, Your Highness.  The worst has passed.  And, might I mention that we are awaiting King Araphor’s response to your accepting his proposal.  We will have a third wedding to prepare for.”

New energy flooded into her and her eyes grew big. “Yes, yes, perhaps, if all are amenable, we will have all three weddings in Fornost.  Perhaps Yüle or New Years.  It would be wonderful, don’t you think?” she asked, holding her arms over her heart and twirling in a pirouette.

He nodded.  It was a grand idea, and it would be one for the ages.  “I do indeed think that, I do indeed.”  To cover such an event would be the accomplishment of a lifetime for a bard. The songs about it would last the age.

Nirnadel put her hand over her heart.  “I know you are tired and wish to rest in your wife’s loving arms, dear bard, so this is my final request for the night.  Funds and artisans from the Blue Mountains and Moria are already pouring in and the mithril is being distributed as I commanded. In fact, I have never seen so many dwarves before.  They must be so disoriented being above ground,” she mused, repeating odd rumors about dwarves that she must have heard.  “Anyhow, I wish you to pen a letter to the Royal Treasury for funds to plan the expedition to Rhudaur.  Good Dagar will have need of our help, and my father made a promise to House Amrodan to reclaim their castle from the Dunnish tribes.  Please have the treasury allocate funds for Captain Mercatur to hire reliable mercenaries for these tasks.  Please request that Mercatur begin to plan our foray as we will need his expertise on Rhudaur.”

He began to write but she stopped him.  “Good Haedorial,” she said in a sympathetic voice, “Please, please do it on the morrow.  You are tired and the treasury is closed anyhow.  And tomorrow we can work on Lamril’s request for funds to reestablish a town in Tyrn Gorthad.  Right now, it is only we mad fools who are still working.”  She pointed to Nimhir, who was snoring, face down on the table and then to Galadel whose head was back, papers falling to the carpet.

“I have all night for you, my Princess.  I am still glowing from your fabulous gift. Whatever you need, I am here.”

She looked around and then leaned in with a conspiratorial look on her face.  “Two more things,” she chuckled.  “I deeply apologize as it’s always two more things with me, isn’t it?  Well, one serious and one not so much.”

He nodded, curious.  Grateful that she would put such trust in him.  “I am all ears.”

“First,” she said quietly, eyes still looking about. “What do you think that I should do about Hir Girithlin?  I still think fondly of Falathar, but I would daresay that I would no longer marry into that family.  I already know Nimhir’s thoughts, but I need someone less…invested in the outcome and more knowledgeable about the lore.”

“Your Highness, Cardolan has a long history of treachery, murder and civil war.  We cannot allow that to happen again.  Girithlin is nothing, if not smart and slippery.  He is masterful at manipulating young minds and he knows the law as well as we do and will use it as a weapon against us.  Any military move against him will bring public opinion against us.  The good Regent and Hir Tinarë have already deployed agents against him and Hir Tinarë’s intelligence arm is the best in Cardolan.  We will get answers, this I am confident of.”  He took a breath.  “So, my advice will be to wait and uncover answers.  Then, you will have the law behind you, and you can act.  The other best course of action is to marry Araphor. With the power of Arthedain behind you and the assurances of Gondor, Girithlin would be a fool to act out.  But be wary.  A desperate Girithlin will be a dangerous one.”

She nodded.  “He is like an angry glutan from the Minhiriath, the farmers call them badgers, so I hear.  It is quick, fierce and insane when provoked.”  She pursed her lips, thinking.  “I shall heed your advice.  You are indeed as wise as your voice is silver.”

He grinned and made a little flourish with his hand.  “And you are as beautiful as you are intelligent, Your Highness.”

Nirnadel giggled, putting her hand over her mouth. Then, she looked down, seemingly sad. “Now for my second thing.”  She put her hands over her flat chest under her whalebone bodice.  “Haedorial, my dear bard, how…how will I even be attractive to King Araphor?  I have no womanly traits.  Firiel is gorgeous, strong and, even though she is slender, it is clear that she is a woman.  Kaile is voluptuous and curvy and she emanates sensuousness.”

Haedorial’s eyes widened, partly with horror.  The Crown Princess of Cardolan was asking him what it meant to be a woman.  “Ummm, errrr, Your Highness,” he started, invoking some formality back into the conversation.  “I…I am probably not the one to ask these things of.  Kaile and Galadel would be much, much more knowledgeable about being a woman.”

“Please Haedorial, you are knowledgeable in the ways of courtly love.  I wish…I wish for your experience in this.”  She put her hands together.  “I need a man’s perspective.  I need to know…will Araphor desire me?  Will he see me as a little boy, a child, skinny and without form?”

He could see how full of doubt she was, and he reluctantly nodded.  “I will…I will do my best to answer.  I believe in my heart that Araphor will see you as the woman of his dreams.  My Princess, you are so fair of face, a rare beauty and the flower of the kingdom.  Your gray eyes are as the sea after a storm, powerful and full of life. You have full, gentle lips and high, sculpted cheekbones along with a delicate, elegant nose, the desire of any man.  You have the beauty of Tar-Vanimeldë, the most desirable Queen of Númenor, though I daresay that your governing is far superior. And, my dear, you will fill out. Trust me.  Look at Lady Galadel.  She is only a year older and has…filled out nicely, if I may say so in a chaste manner.”

She gave him a grateful, awkward smile.  “Thank you, my dear Haedorial.  I have so worried about this.  Now, if I may beg of you one more question…how would I please him?  I have no experience in this at all.  I have no idea where to even begin.  Good Kaile has told me some things but I would be with a king. I need a man’s experience.  What would he want me to do?  Otherwise, he would know…he would know how inexperienced I am…what a silly girl I am,” she pleaded with a face full of fear.  “Please sir, I need a man’s perspective.”

The bard could imagine no greater horror than what he was in right now.  He put his hand on his forehead.  There was probably some way that he could be executed for this.  He prayed that no one would be awake.  He glanced around nervously.  “Ummm…well…that’s ummm…,” he stammered.  He was rarely without the right words for the occasion, but this was such an occasion.  “So…ummm, what has Kaile told you?”

She held up a pickle and opened her mouth wide and Haedorial thought he would die on the spot.  She moved the pickle towards her lips but was interrupted by the sound of the herald pounding his staff once and the guards opened the doors.  Nirnadel dropped the pickle on a plate, and her eyes went wide in surprise.

“Announcing Captain Mercatur of the Royal Mercenaries!”

Haedorial breathed a huge sigh of relief.  “Oh, bless you, good captain, bless you.  It is so good to see you.  Come in, come in.  Please sit down, good sir.  There is still a lot of food as you can see.  Bless you.”

Mercatur gave him a strange look, and a half smile.  “It’s good to be seen.  And good to see you too,” he said as the bard guided him to the table and pulled out his chair.  He looked at the Princess and bowed.  “Highness, I hope you are well.”

She practically jumped out of her seat.  “Yes…yes, we were just discussing a matter of great importance to the realm…yes, the quality of pickles, yes,” she stammered.

The mercenary narrowed one eye.  “Pickles…important to the realm?”

She nodded emphatically.  “Yes, pickles…they are oh, so good to eat, being large and thick and tasty…and…,” she said, blushing furiously.  “And I am just going to shut my foolish mouth now.”

Haedorial desperately wanted to either laugh or have Mercatur kill him with a dagger, a sharp one, preferably.  The Princess was growing up so fast.  She would be a woman in less than a year.  Her questions were natural but coming from the future queen, it was horrifying.  He knew that the Beffraen ceremony had awakened something in her.  With the fire of her being, he knew that she would figure it out with Araphor.  Valar help him when his daughter, Istriel, came of age.  He would have to hide the pickles.  He noticed that Kaile and Galadel were awake again.

Mercatur gave the Princess a sideways glance, not quite wanting to believe what he was hearing.  Kaile ran over, giggling and picked up the pickle, pushing it into her mouth, poking it into her cheek.  She then took it out, licked it and took a bite.  “Mmmm, large, thick and tasty.  Mmmm.”

Mercatur’s eyes widened, and he bellowed out a laugh.  “Oh…you were talking about…Oh!  I get it!  I see why you were so happy to see me, Haedorial.  Whew, I’m going to have to visit the Silken Veils after this…get my pickle taken care of,” he joked, referring the expensive brothel nearby.

Nirnadel turned a violent shade of red, and she put her head down.  “Oh blessed Manwë, strike me down now and cast me into the void.”

Haedorial joined the laughter now.  “Oh, Your Highness, everything you asked and everything that you feel is natural.  A young woman of your age will have these feelings, a desire for closeness, a desire for love.”

Kaile hugged the Princess from behind.  “You know that I love you.  You are more of a woman than I will ever be.  Fear not, my dear Princess.”

Nimhir roused and scratched his head, eyes blinking sleepily. “What’s going on?  Did I miss something?”

Nirnadel didn’t miss a beat.  “We need to order more pickles, dear Regent,” she said and the room burst into laughter.  It was another moment that the bard would never forget.  The dear Princess was most human.  So many royals were distant and superior.  Nirnadel’s dear mother was a gem, generous and giving, but the Queen was always cold and remote, sometimes even pompous to commoners.  And she was notoriously prickly if she felt slighted.  Watching the young lady mature into a kind, warm and even humorous woman was a joy.  The fact that she could not only make a joke, but take one in stride was a sign of her character.

The bard motioned to Mercatur.  “It is fortuitous that you have come, good mercenary captain.  We are funding the expedition to Rhudaur and we will need to meet with you on the morrow to plan.  Your expertise will be crucial.”

Nirnadel wiped the tears of embarrassment and laughter from her cheeks.  “I am authorizing you to hire a troop of mercenaries for the task.  We will first meet with good Lord Rhudainor, then take Castle Amrodan for Lady Éanfled and then proceed to Blogath’s Vale to end the Blood-Wights for good.  You will lead them, good Mercatur.”

He perked up.  “I can do that.  I’m going to pull that lazy Haradan, Jaabran, out of retirement first thing.  I sold a few of those Barrow trinkets so that will help the funding.”

Haedorial narrowed his eyes.  “I thought we left all of the items in the Barrows?”

Mercatur waved his hand dismissively.  “These were nothing.  Bits of glass, some pins, nobody wanted those.  I got some good coin though….which I think I’ll spend some of at the Silken Veils.  All of this talk about pickles in mouths has got me going.  You all have a good night…Haedorial, Chancellor, Your Highness. I’ll be back tomorrow to discuss the details.  It’s been too long since I had a good fight…and the chance to sink my axe into that demon…”

As he left, Kaile took the pickle again and bit another part off, chewing loudly.  “Mmmm, so large, thick and tasty!  Juicy too!”

Nirnadel’s face showed horror again, her lips opening wide. She was about to say something when Kaile put the pickle in her mouth.  The Princess rolled her eyes and took a bite.  Between chews, she looked at Nimhir.  “Yes, dear Regent, we need more pickles.”

The Houses of Healing – Lothron 4^th, 1410

 

Valandil

After the fight on the Barrow Downs and the terror of the Nurga, just being at home in the Houses of Healing was a great comfort and relief.  It was pretty late, and he and Firiel sat by the fireplace in the common lounge.  There was a fireplace in Firiel’s room, but she liked to spend time with the nurses before bed.  The flames crackled as they drank tea, covered in quilts, gifts from her mother after the expedition.  The other nurses sat around the room, murmuring about the day’s events. Pelemeth had stepped up to fill Kaile’s role and the staff now numbered 18, more than enough to handle the current load of patients.  Things were quiet, calm and stable, just the way that they were before the war.

“I’m so glad that you reconnected with your mother,” Valandil said, holding his warm cup in both hands.

“I dreamed of that, Valandil.  We spent a lot of time together.  She is a frequent traveler between Lindon and Rivendell and she’s in Rivendell now.  This is so weird to think, but one day, she will be ‘younger’ than me.  She was born in Lindon when the Númenóreans were just exploring the coast.  I was…an unexpected child.  It’s hard to imagine how elves are immortal.  Círdan of the Havens is ancient beyond our understanding.  Mother told me so much about him and some of the tales of lost Beleriand.  Imagine…like those Blood-Wights, knowing legends like Fingon or Gil-Galad?  Now I was raised as a Dúnadan so my understanding of elves is limited.  She did tell me that, as a half elf, my lifespan would be very long though.”

He nodded.  “You said you were…sixty something?”

“Sixty-Four,” she responded with a snorting chuckle.  She made a face, scrunching up and narrowing her eyes.  “I don’t know what it is, but I still worry about everything.  I know that this is the best that things have been, but I can’t shake this anxiety.”

He thought for a moment.  He couldn’t quite grasp her feeling.  For him as a soldier, when things were bad, they were very bad. When things were good, one tended not to worry so much.  Perhaps that was King Ostoher’s mistake.  But, whether he understood her anxiety or not, he would show empathy.  “There are always things that we need to be on the lookout for.  After all, Hir Girithlin must be plotting something.  I can’t believe that I thought so well of him.  I was pretty naïve.”

“Yes, you were, young man,” she said with a giggle.  “What are you, Thirty?  I think that I’m what they call a cradle robber.”

He laughed, considering that they looked the same age and, as a pure Dúnadan, he looked much younger as if he were only slightly older than Kaile or Jonu.  “Actually, I’ve heard the term, cougar, in the Army.”

She smacked her lips.  “Cougar, huh?  I like it, rawwrrr,” she said, raking her fingers as if they were claws.  They both laughed and she put her cup down and snuggled up to him, putting her head in his chest.  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and leaned over to kiss her when there was a knock at the door.  Jonu hopped up to answer it, and it was Mercatur.  The mercenary nodded to the young man.  They had long since gotten past the bad old days.

“Sorry, I know it’s late, but I just came from the Bar Aran. Nirnadel’s requesting funds for the Rhudaur expedition.  I think I’m going to need you two.  She put me in charge for some reason.”  He poured himself some tea and sat down.  “I’m going to be hiring some mercenaries too.  I’m thinking that we leave Cardolan in Cerveth, just before the temperatures begin to cool.  We’re going to want to be done and out of Rhudaur by late Hithui when the snows begin to fall.”  It was clear that he’d been thinking this through.

Valandil was just feeling comfortable back in Tharbad and it showed on his face.  “Another expedition…?  Really?”

Mercatur smiled through his beard.  “It’s a good one, I promise.  My friend, Dagar, needs help.  I tell you, if these Blood-Wights get loose, it would be bad, very bad.  And besides, I highly suspect that Nirnadel will be tagging along and she gonna need her personal guard…you, Sir Valandil,” he said with a weak flourish of his hand.

The knight narrowed his eyes, suspicious.  “What do you mean, me?”

“Oh yes, you’re hearing it from me first…she has named you to the Royal Guard.  Well, that is, if you accept and you’re going to accept.  She’s expanding the Guard back to sixteen.  I seem to remember that it was almost thirty when we went to war.”

Valandil stood up, putting his hand to his chin. “What?  Wow…that’s unexpected.  Yes, I’d absolutely accept.  Yeah, fine, count us in.”

Firiel shrugged.  “Well, I go where the Princess goes.  So, what do you need from us?”  She put her hand on Valandil’s shoulder.  “A Royal Guard?  That’s fantastic.  We really couldn't ask for more from the Princess.  I cannot imagine where we would be if she died on the bridge or if Hir Girithlin were King.”

Mercatur grunted.  “I’d probably be on a boat to Gondor, looking for work in some dump like Far Harad or Umbar.  Good, you’re in.  I think the Princess and the others finally went to sleep.  They’ve been at it all day.  New laws this, treaties that, financial reports and so on.  Apparently, the dwarves are paying big bucks for those panels and cutting them apart for shipping.  Shit, I get nervous when things are going too good.”

Firiel gestured to the mercenary in a ‘see, I told you’ stance. “He gets it.  Yeah, I just can’t shake this anxious feeling.”  She walked over to give him a hug and then she recoiled. “Oh, Manwë’s breath, you’re covered in cheap perfume and you smell like…sex.”

He bellowed out a laugh.  “Well damn, it was the Silken Veils so it wasn’t that cheap.  Oh, and get this, guys, when I came into the Council Chambers, Nirnadel was holding a pickle and simulating…,” he started and made a motion of sucking on his finger.  “I almost fell over.  She turned bright red, but we all had a good laugh.  You know, for a royal, she’s pretty decent.”

Firiel snickered and gave Mercatur the embrace anyway. “She’s a young woman.  She’ll start to think about these things.  I remember my first crush.  A young squire in the Tinarë household…”

Valandil blanched.  “You mean I wasn’t your first?”

She snickered.  “Oh dear boy, remember, I’m Sixty-Four.  I been around the block.”

Mercatur laughed again.  “Man, I might have to go back to the Veils now.  Whew, I bet Nirnadel gives good pickle, so young and innocent but full of fire.”  He shook his head.  “Just a thought,” he said with a wink.  “Well, don’t let me stop you from getting your pickle on.”  He nodded and headed to the door.  “See yah.”

Valandil sighed.  “Another adventure.  Well, he’s right.  We need to end those Blood-Wights.  I worry though if the Princess joins the expedition.  I think she puts herself at too much risk.”

Firiel nodded.  “I worry about that a lot.  We can’t lose her, you know.”

“I know.  I’m not going to let that happen while I still draw breath.  And Baranor…no one is better with sword and poleaxe in the kingdom. You know, Nirnadel gave him the laen sword recovered in Lond Daer.  It’s a relic from a lost kingdom.”  He looked around to see that the nurses had cleared out and gone to bed.  He stood and grasped Firiel by the waist.

She gave him that look, sideways with a sly smile.  “You know, Kaile and Jonu first did it on this wolfskin rug.  She thinks I don’t know,” she said in a motherly way.  She reached down his pants, and he gasped.  “Let’s take care of that pickle, shall we?”  She undid the ties of his pants and slid them down to his ankles. “I give good pickle,” she said, snickering and holding him in her hand as she knelt down.

He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, groaning. “Oh…I’m sure you could show Nirnadel a thing or two,” he said, his breath ragged.  “I’ll never look at another sandwich the same.”

Morning came all too quickly, and they maybe got a few hours of sleep.  Morning sunlight streamed into the common lounge.  Jonu and Pelemeth came into the room but quickly left, seeing the Healer cuddled on the wolfskin rug without even a blanket, the fire just smoldering now. Firiel stirred.  “Ohhh, I’m going to be walking funny today.”  She stretched and groaned, her body gleaming in the sunlight, blonde hair streaming down her back and in front of her face.  “Time to get up, young man,” she said softly, shaking Valandil.

He felt her hand rocking him and he opened one eye, stretching his arm.  “Ugh, can we sleep the rest of the day?”

She looked around.  “Oh my, I guess we didn’t bother to go back to my room.  Well, I’m sure Jonu has already made coffee.  I can smell it.  Mmmm, I’m hungry too.  Some eggs and bacon sound great.”

Valandil watched as she stood.  Her lithe body was radiant.  He had to be the luckiest man in Middle Earth.  He certainly felt like it.  He loved everything about her, her sly smile, her passion for healing, the way she put her blonde hair behind her ear when thinking.  And the way that her hair fell on his chest when he looked up at her…  It was time. Before she stood to go, he held her hand and dug a felt box out of his pants that were crumpled on the floor. He opened it to show her a ring.

She gasped, holding her hands over her mouth.  Before he could even speak, she nodded.  “Yes, yes, of course, yes!”

There was clapping at the doorway to the kitchen, the nurses standing there, some giggling, some just smiling.  Valandil’s eyes shot open, and he put one hand over his manhood and Firiel scurried to cover herself with a blanket.  Jonu winked.  “It’s about damn time, Valandil,” he said, nodding approval.  “You know, Kaile and I-”

Firiel waved him off.  “I know.  I heard it.”

It was his turn to blush.  He was about to retort when there was a loud banging on the front door. It sounded urgent.  Firiel slung on her robe and rushed to the door, opening it. A middle-aged Dunnish man stood there, his face twisted in pain.  He was holding his wrist with his left hand and…his right hand was nearly all black.

She ushered him in and snapped her fingers.  “Nurses, prepare the exam room.  Pelemeth, Jonu, get him prepped.  I’ll be in shortly.”  She shot Valandil a worried look and he quickly rose, stored the ring and dressed.  They ran back to her room and washed their hands and faces.  “I may need you to help me hold him.  His eyes were full of panic.  Come on, I need to find out what this is.”

They rushed into the exam room where the man was seated, groaning in pain.  “Please, it hurts so much.  Please help me!”

Firiel pointed to Valandil and Jonu.  “Hold him down.  I need to look at the hand, sir.  What is your name?”  Valandil gripped the man’s shoulder and held him tight.

“Remodoc.”

She scanned the blackened skin, finding a puncture on the tip of his index finger.  “You were poked, Remodoc, what happened?  Is this a bite?  Was it a snake?”

He shook his head.  “No, no, I got poked by some old trinket that I bought.  It stung at first but it went away.  Then, my finger started turning black but it felt fine. Is it poison?  Was I poisoned?”

Firiel gestured to her kit.  “Jonu, the test strips please.”  He handed her a few wooden sticks, and she touched one to the wound. She handed it to Pelemeth who held it over a burning candle.  The flame looked normal.  Firiel narrowed her eyes.

“What is it?” Valandil asked, his concern growing.

She shook her head.  “It’s not poison.  The fire would turn blue or purple depending on the poison.”  She pushed a little on the puncture and some black fluid came out and Remodoc winced, sucking air through his teeth.  Firiel recoiled, shaking her hand.  “Ouch!  What was that?”  Valandil could see that there was a smudge of oily substance on her finger, and she washed it off in the basin.

Another loud banging was heard at the door and Omah ran to answer it.  In a minute she came back with two more people, a young woman who was obviously a prostitute and a blond man who appeared to be a merchant.  The young woman had brown hair that fell over her face that now had black streaks that followed her veins and arteries.  The man held his right hand like Remodoc, the entire index finger black.  The man pointed at Remodoc.  “What did you sell me?  The damn thing poked me and now I’m like this!”

Remodoc groaned.  “I don’t know, Jellek, I don’t know.  I just bought the damn thing.  Came from the Barrow Downs, they did.”

Valandil gasped.  “Barrow Downs.  We were there recently.”

Firiel’s face showed horror.  “Oh no…oh no, this isn’t poison, this isn’t a disease, this is a curse. I have no power over this.  We need to isolate this room and we need to warn the city.  Pelemeth, Omah, go, go to the Chancellor.  Let him know that we may have an epidemic on our hands.  It’s a curse brought back from the Barrow Downs. We need outside help.  Go quickly!”

Valandil held her by the arm.  “What do we need to do?  What’s going to happen?”

She pointed to two of the newer nurses.  “Vicri, Sissi, lock this room down.  No one comes or goes without my say.  Bring anyone else afflicted here, but do not touch them!” She looked Valandil in the eye.  “According to my mother, they may become wights, similar to what those Blood-Wights are, horrible spirits trapped in agony.”  She grabbed him with her left hand and guided him to the door.  “You need to go.  Go, find my mother.  Tell her to come immediately.  We need the elves.”

He shook his head vehemently.  “No, no, I’m not leaving you.  We’ll get through this together.”

She pushed him out the door and held it.  “You need to go,” she said, shaking, a tear rolling down her cheek.  “You need to find my mother in Rivendell.  Go now,” she added, holding up her finger, which was just beginning to turn black. “I’m infected.  Go quickly, please.”

As she shut the door, his stomach fell through the floor and he began to shake.  There was always something lurking in the shadows, trying to destroy them.  He pounded on the door.  “I’ll find her!  I’ll be back with help.  I need you to hang on, Firiel.  I need you to hang on!”

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Chapter End Notes

I want to show Nirnadel awakening as a woman.  I'm also working on Mercatur's character arc as he prepares to return home to Rhudaur to face his fears.