The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137

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A Sense of Normalcy

The threat of demons and undead has been defeated and there is time for a small celebration. Haedorial goes back to composing and bringing culture to the realm. Nirnadel shows her gratitude for the efforts and sacrifice of the people. However, something stayed with her from the encounter with Thuringwethil.

55) The Tirthon - Ivanneth (September) 17^th, 1410

Haedorial

The cleanup and departure from the Temple of Sauron took about a day where Gandalf cleansed the evil from the sanctuary and collapsed the tunnels, sealing it as a tomb. Hard work went into laying the fallen to rest within, all of the tribesmen and the six fallen mercenaries of the cohort, wrapping them in linen and placing them in the waiting room on the top floor. “We treat these fallen tribesmen as honored enemies,” Nirnadel stated, helping to clean and wrap them as one of the nurses. “They were tricked or forced into Thuringwethil’s service and deserve no less.” Seeing the Princess doing the work that she asked of others was an inspiration to the bard. There was no way that Queen Lossien would have had anything to do with this. However, the closure here was so needed by everyone and the sense of relief was truly felt.

Nearby, Baranor and the Guard sat with Sergeant Cedhron’s body, the nurses washing him and dressing him back in his clothes and armor before wrapping him in linen. The Tirrim Aran were stone-faced but it was clear that they felt deeply for the Sergeant. Their eyes were focused, their bearing stoic and professional in vigil of their fallen comrade. This was an elite service, the best of the best of Cardolan’s martial prowess. They were nearly wiped out in the war but had not lost a man since…until now. Only a ripple of tension along Baranor’s jaw belied his feelings.

They then moved onto Coru, washing her with the love and care that she showed to all patients who passed through the Houses. Neldis wept openly as she dressed the body and wrapped it in the linen shroud, helped by Firiel and Kaile. Firiel was beside herself, never having lost a nurse until now. This one hit hard. She let out a painful moan as Kaile held her. Alquanessë did the same for her siblings, occasionally stopping to regather herself, comforted and helped by Morelen and Dagar. Dagar and Finculion had been close, the elf teaching his family and helping to raise young Cicrid. Haedorial felt every hurt here, every loss. Many of these people he knew well. He remembered Sergeant Cedhron from last Yüle when he was part of the Princess’ escort to the Houses. He remembered Coru from when he was injured in the Houses and she was one of those who attended him with loving care and professional service.

Lord Oswy and a troop of lancers rode up to the entrance as Elrond placed a blessing on the room. “We received Lord Glorfindel early this morning and I set out immediately. We at the Tirthon are beyond relieved and I will escort you back to the tower when you are ready.” It was all after the fact, but just seeing Oswy and the lancers approach was a huge comfort. It represented some king of normalcy.

Haedorial stood beside his son, Mindolinor, both rapidly scribbling in their journals and sketching the scene. This one expedition would encompass an entire volume by itself. “You don’t know how glad I was to see you safe, my son,” he said as he put the final touches on the image of Elrond blessing the dead. “I do feel for good Neldis though. She’s taking Mercatur’s condition and Coru’s death hard. She’s lost so much in her life.”

Gandalf walked around and began to usher people out of the sanctuary. “Everyone out now. Come on, everyone out. It’s time to put an end to Blogath’s Sanctuary.” Neldis and Kaile touched their friend’s face one last time as Firiel tugged on them and they closed the linen flap over Coru’s face. There was a painful sense of finality there.

They all scurried up the steps ahead of the wizard and Lord Elrond. As they exited into the gray morning, Gandalf held up his staff and gave a shout, collapsing the entire entryway to rumbling and crunching sounds. “There, it is finished. There is nothing in there to draw any element of evil. It is time to depart,” he said in his rich baritone. It was as if a storm had passed.

Haedorial glanced over at his son’s sketchbook to see a rough image of Gandalf already done and he nodded in satisfaction. When they had a chance, they would complete the drawings with color and detail. The rough sketches were just to capture the moment.

Nirnadel and the ladies approached, the Princess and Galadel dressed in their armor and Kaile in a healer’s robe with a leather apron. The Royal Party was somber, feeling the gravitas of the moment. Kaile’s face was particularly red, her eyes wet. She had served with Coru for years, the two starting as apprentices well before the war. They made it through the war, the plague and the curse.

Nirnadel touched the bard on the arm. “Good Haedorial, it is time to head home. We have been gone far too long and have lost much. The kingdom deserves our attention again. But I wish to create a memorial for those who served here…something that, a thousand years from now, bards will look at and see the courage of our people and our allies,” she said, then giving him a sly smile. “I can imagine the Night Singers in the Year Twenty-Four Ten, reciting the lore of Haedorial and his son, Mindolinor. The wise will gather in Imladris and tell the tale of the destruction of Thuringwethil by the brave and the free.”

He nodded. “I would like that very much. We shall design a suitable monument. And yes, it is time to return,” he said, feeling very homesick. “I didn’t realize how much I missed my family and Tharbad until now. There was a time where I was sure we weren’t coming home, and I am ever so glad to have been wrong.”

Nirnadel gave him a playful punch on the chest. “Oh, ye of little faith. I never had a doubt,” she said. “Oh no, that’s a complete lie. I was…umm…terrified. Thuringwethil had me in her grasp, bound…helpless, screaming for mercy like a child,” she said, her jawline tightening. “I realized that only my mind could save me. I shrouded my thoughts with Alquanessë’s music and then used your bardic technique to call for Calarmë. It is a miracle that I am alive.” She reached down and stroked the mother cat behind the ear as little Gîliel sat on her shoulder.

He smiled. “Not as terrified as I was, Your Highness. And I do apologize in that I saw…ummm, I saw your body in the sanctuary when we entered. That was untoward of me,” he said, turning a little red.

She snickered. “I praythee, make no mention of it. I have heard that my brother, Thôrdaer would bathe with his knights and, perhaps good Alquanessë is rubbing off on me. She has no shame of her body…nor did Finculion,” she said, blowing out a long breath. “He was…yes. I think I have a very clear picture of the male…anatomy now.” It was her turn to shade a little red.

He laughed with her. “Well, thank you. But please, whatever you do, do not parade around like her with fake wings. I would see that as a sign of madness. And please, please, do not handle any pickles around me either. I nearly had a heart attack.” He had to chuckle inwardly at the level of comfort that he had around her now although he secretly hoped that his daughter wouldn’t become quite as precocious.

She belly laughed this time. “I will leave the pickle handling to Kaile. But, I would at least wear shoes and socks, my good bard. After all, my feet are quite a bit more tender than hers.”

He closed his eyes and groaned as she appeared in his thoughts clad only in shoes, socks and fake white wings. “Oh, please don’t put that image in my head,” he said and then he tapped his son on the chest, whose eyes were wide. “And you, young man, get that picture out of your mind. This is the Princess that we are speaking to.” He simply had to get home to Faeliriel.

Nearby, Elanoriel and Hirgrim finished preparing a litter for Mercatur. The sons of Elrond strapped his body to it, making sure that he would be comfortable. She mounted a horse as did Elladan and Elrohir and looked down at Firiel and they held hands. “Good daughter, I return the Houses of Healing to your care. I daresay that I have learned as much as I have taught in my time with you. It was…it was good to have you at my side once more. We should endeavor not to make it so long in the future,” she said in her imperious manner but with a twinkle in her eye. She clapped her hands over her head. “Come, my good guardians, we should be off once I bid farewell to our friends.”

She guided her horse to the nurses. “My good apprentice healers, Jonu, Neldis, you have shown me of your skill and caring and you can be the equal of any elf if you put your mind to it. Please honor Coru and I will be sure to erect a monument to those who were here. And please, attend Firiel as you would me and I shall see you all again soon, this I am sure of.” She touched the heads of each of them and then rode to the Princess and her party. “Good Kaile,” she said. “Although you have downgraded to become a royal lady,” she added with a smirk, “you will always have the heart and hands of a healer. I beseech you to continue to hone your skill and work with my daughter and I beg you to serve Nirnadel well.”

Kaile stifled a sniff. “That is most kind of you, Lady Elanoriel. You do not know how much I have learned from you.”

The elf cocked her head with a smile. “Oh, I do know, dear girl. And you, Lady Galadel, dear bard Haedorial, you may sing and dance in Imladris anytime and not feel ashamed. And you, young Nirnadel. I can assure you that songs of your courage here will be sung by the elves a thousand years from now. I will be sure to have a copy of Haedorial’s journals and sketches within our libraries and those of Lindon.” She reached out to touch each of them and then clapped her hands. “Let us make for Imladris. Poor Mercatur requires our care.” They rode off as Neldis and Firiel waved and came over to the Royal Party.

“I can’t say as my mother has ever been this nice,” Firiel said. “I like it.”

“You mean she wasn’t nice?” Haedorial asked.

Firiel made a face. “Well, you’ve seen her sarcasm and the edge that she projects. Multiply that. And she was impossible to please when I was younger. There was constant pressure for me to marry a sea captain and choose to be an elf. She was…difficult with my father. He could never live up to the sea lords and so he left and I went with him.”

He nodded. “Hmmm, I can see that. She is a force to be reckoned with.”

The Princess turned to Neldis. “How are you doing, dear nurse? Please tell me.”

“It hurts, Your Highness. It hurts. I am so worried for Mercatur too.”

“As am I,” Nirnadel answered. “He is in the best care that we can imagine, and we have been so fortunate to have Elanoriel with us for this long. And please, please, Nirnadel is fine. We have been through fire and blood together and you are my sister in spirit,” she said grasping Neldis’ hand.

The blood seemed to drain from Neldis’ face, and her eyes went wide. Nirnadel appeared to notice and was about to say something when Haedorial touched the Princess. “How are you doing, Nirnadel. You have been through a lot as well. I worry for your wellbeing.” She had been through so much lately and he was afraid that it would sneak up on her and hit her all at once.

She pursed her lips. “Honestly…I have not had time to slow down and think. I am ever so grateful for the mercy of the Valar. I begged Manwë and Varda to save me and the idea came to me. I have been in danger before, but never like that…so helpless. She had me bound like a Yüle turkey, naked, completely at her whim. I was sure that this was the end of the north because of my stupidity.” She trembled for a moment as Neldis held her.

Haedorial nodded slowly, digesting the Princess’ horror. Seeing the nurse with her, it was true that he could not tell the two women apart other than for their clothing and behavior. Curious. “You do not know how relieved we were to find you. Everything was coming apart when we lost you. The horror of Thuringwethil and her Blood-Wights will not soon be forgotten, this I know.”

He looked over as the others were saddling horses and preparing to depart. Angion and Ethirdir brought their mounts over and bowed to the Princess. She swung her boot into the stirrup and climbed into the saddle of her swift palfrey, followed by the others. Her cats leapt up onto the horse and took their posts at the front of the saddle. The bard touched Ethirdir on the shoulder and smiled his approval of the young man’s growth. It took a life-or-death situation, but it worked wonders. On horseback, they flowed in with Gandalf and the others where the wizard was deep in conversation with Morelen and Alquanessë. “Ah, there’s the good bard,” Gandalf said. “Please, join us. This is a time for lore.”

He was ever so pleased to be invited, and by one of the Istari no less. “It would be my pleasure, dear people. I have learned that I have not been a bard until I met good Alquanessë.”

She reached out and touched him on the hand. “You do me too much kindness, sir. The natural talent was always within you,” she said warmly. She was dressed in what had once been her elegant robes, now just shreds and rags, strategically, but not entirely well placed. She noticed his eyes glance at the rags and gestured down to it. “Oh this? This happened all of the time. It was easier to just…you know.”

“You could wear a loincloth, perhaps?” he suggested, just trying to be helpful. The Blood-Wight radiated sensuality that was hard to ignore.

She nodded with a laugh. “Everyone says that and I did try it…more than a few times,” she said, making a fluttering motion with her hand. “Last time I dove for the ground, whoosh!” she said, looking back and waving. “Flew right off of me. Anyhow, you can’t see anything right now, can you?” she asked looking down. “Ooops, you can. Oh well,” she added with a shrug. He knew that she was just teasing him as was her nature.

Gandalf leaned in and narrowed his eyes. “So, I want to understand this for this is incredible lore, don’t you think, Haedorial?” he asked and the bard nodded. The wizard pursed his lips, thinking. “Morelen, you are the daughter of Morgoth, so Sercë said?” he asked and Haedorial’s eyes flew open wide in surprise and horror. If he thought an ancient vampire demon was enough to keep his writing occupied for the next decade, this blew that idea out of the water.

Morelen was clad in her armor but without her visored helm. She nodded. “I am indeed. He…impregnated my true mother, Ardana, in the depths of Angband. She was one of the Eldar, an astrologer who was seduced by Morgoth. I was destined to be sacrificed in a dark ritual but by some quirk of fate, I was switched with my twin brother, Moran, and was rescued by my…adoptive mother, Yavëkamba and Fëatur. Ardana went on to form the Court of Ardor in the south, an organization that we fight to this day. After I was taken from Angband, I was raised in the south by a group called The Three in an ancient compound, Ty-Ar-Rana, which was built by the Vanyar on their journey west.”

Haedorial still couldn’t close his mouth. “The Vanyar? The legendary Fair Elves?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. And The Three are…were Noldor from the House of Fëanor, secluded and monk like. They were linked with The Guild of Elements and the Starseer Enclave to form the Luingon Alliance. I went north to serve Prince Fingon, becoming a horse archer in his company. I went on to serve Orodreth of Nargothrond and then Turgon of Gondolin and then…,” she said as her eyes narrowed and she looked away. “I’ll skip that part for now.”

The bard looked back and forth between Morelen and Alquanessë. “I am astonished, hearing names like these. You. Knew Fingon?”

“Yes, very well. He gave me this armor and my weapons. We rode together, we ate together, we even played Coron Mittarion together. He was very kind and a natural leader. It was also I who witnessed the death of Fingolfin after the Dagor Bragollach. What you read is my telling of his fall.”

“I…I…this is incredible!” Haedorial blurted out, scribbling down every word. “You bring to life things that are just writing in a book for me.”

She gave him a sad look then, remembering the loss of so many. “I wanted to rush in…to try and save the High King, maybe convince him to retreat, but I was terrified once the Dark Lord emerged from the gates of Angband. I couldn’t move. I then rode with Rochallor to the gates of Barad Eithel where he passed. During the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, I saw Fingon…,” she began, her voice cracking, “beaten into blood and dust by the balrogs. I tried to get to him. I tried. Then, I was there on Tumhalad when Orodreth was slain. I practically worshipped Túrin Turambar and his bridge and we were destroyed because of it. We wandered and then fled to Gondolin, and I was in the White Tower when Turgon fell.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself. “After the War of Wrath, I fled to the east in the Second Age, destroyed by the revelation that the Dark Lord was my father. I became a conqueror, a tyrant, proclaiming myself Queen of the land of Helkanen, a land of Avari elves ruled by a matriarchy. You see me as an archer, but I am also a formidable mentalist, and conquest was easy as it often was for my father,” she said grimly and then gestured out into the distance, changing the subject. “You would be surprised that the remnants of Lake Cuiviénen are there in a smaller lake called Kelkeneni by the Avari. I swam and bathed in the lake of the birth of our people.”

Even Gandalf and Elrond seemed impressed. “That is truly an amazing thing,” Elrond said. “I will delight in reading Haedorial’s account of all of this. What happened in Helkanen, if I may ask?”

She put her finger to her lips, remembering something both pleasant and painful. “Someone there enlightened me as to my madness and grief and how I was becoming my father. He was…influential,” she said, inferring something intimate. “So, I repented and returned the land to its rightful rulers and returned to the west, becoming a smith in Ost-in-Edhil, working for Celebrimbor, a rather good one if I may say so. It was there that I ran into Sercë and met Alquanessë.”

The Blood-Wight smiled, and they held hands for a moment. “She is a good smith indeed. As a half Vala, she can master nearly any skill as I have seen. Well, you know my story, good bard,” Alquanessë said, then narrowed her eyes, thinking. “Oh, I nearly forget to put my pin back on,” she added, digging into a pocket and pulling out a mithril image of a swan. She pinned it to a thin shred of fabric on her chest. “There. Not the original made by mother, but the one you crafted for me, Morelen.”

Haedorial was amazed. He knew that Morelen was leaving something out after the fall of Gondolin, but he was too respectful to press. It might come out in good time but, even if it didn’t, her story was astounding. “I am in the presence of gods. I may as well be in Valinor, speaking with Vairë, Nessa and Mandos.”

Morelen reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “I can assure you that I am just a sad, broken woman who tries to do some good in this world. At one point in my life, I lost everything…nearly everyone that I cared about, and it was my arrogance and naiveite that brought me there. I am just glad that I could help my friend and you all. It is a small part of my redemption, so to speak. I believe that Alquanessë understands this.” She embodied the sad, bittersweet soul of the elves.

All of this was stunning. In under half a year, Haedorial had journeyed to Rivendell, sang with a bard from the Elder Days and learned her story, recorded the tale of the future Queen of Cardolan, survived the terror of a demon of Morgoth and met a woman who had lived with and knew people who were legends, having been at events and places that were just fairy tales to most men. He was a fortunate man. In the brief span of his Dúnadan life he would do justice to these stories.

Near sunset, they arrived at the Tirthon where the cohort and the camp followers gathered with Glorfindel to greet them. Haedorial noticed that it had cooled considerably since when they set out from Cardolan and the skies were grayer and darker. He was thankful that the rain stopped last night though. Maelil had prepared a feast and the stewards who remained behind stood in a line, prepared to receive the Princess. Of the nurses, Omah, Vicri and Sissi stood, waving, Sissi having recovered from her leg wound.

Nirnadel rode in front with Gandalf and Elrond beside her, representing the Free Peoples and the crowd bowed to them, the stewards taking the reins of their horses. A cheer rose up with Maelil shouting the loudest, “Bless you, Your ‘ighness! Bless you! We ‘ave a right feast for our ‘eroes!”

The Princess rose up in her stirrups and waved. “Please, good people, please, this is the victory of the elves, the Istari and our great allies. We supported them in cleansing the vale and the thanks goes to them! And yes, good Maelil, I am ready for a feast!”

She dismounted with the others, picking up little Gîliel and the stewards led the mounts to the stables where the stable boys leapt in, cleaning, feeding and watering them. Lord Oswy had ordered the camp like an Arthedan clock, everyone knowing their role and moving with haste. They walked to the tables, under canvas covers and servers came out to bring roast turkeys with thick gravy, chicken breast in cranberry sauce, minced pies, steamed vegetables and salads. Haedorial could not remember being this hungry and the aroma alone was killing him. Maelil had outdone herself.

Stewards had already placed glasses and carafes of wine, pitchers of ale and honey mead on the tables. Chubby Brondon poured a white wine into the Princess’ goblet, and she thanked him rising to perform a toast and bless the feast. “Good people! We give thanks to the Valar who saved me and to our brave friends, all of whom sacrificed to end this evil. We pray for, honor and mourn those who fell to defend our realms. I cannot thank enough my Lord Elrond and his people and good Istari, Mithrandir, along with brave Lords Rhudainor and Oswy Amrodan, our loyal mercenaries, my Tirrim Aran and our good nurses. And I cannot overlook good Maelil for this feast, who was kind enough to set out minced pies for me!” she declared to laughter and the raising of glasses and mugs. “Docktown, born and bred!” she added to cheers from the cooks. “Now drink, honor and praise the Valar!” she said, draining her goblet.

Alquanessë had gathered an informal band and began to play her flute to a lively mannish tune, one from the countryside, Lambë-i-pȃr, the Swaying Peas, full of edgy sharps and flats. Recorders joined in along with a tambourine and tapping wooden sticks, sounding like peas, rolling around on a plate. People began to rise and join hands, swaying back and forth and then hopping like bouncing peas.

Nirnadel devoured a turkey leg, dipping it into the cranberry sauce. She fed some of the tender, moist meat to the cats and then leaned towards Haedorial. “When we return, I wish to have a…reasonable festival to honor our brave and our fallen. I shall endeavor to not be as extravagant as my dear mother was. But I wish to have you create new music and dance for our people. I find that I like the lively, energetic dances from Gondor and I wish to infuse our culture with that. I want to bring in music from the countryside and show that we are all Cardolani, high and low alike. I fear that it may offend the older aristocracy who are wed to the old ways of Númenor, but we are Cardolani now. I will never stop honoring the old ways, but I feel that we must grow and form our own identity.”

He was thrilled. Since the reign of King Minalcar, Nirnadel’s grandfather, the King of Arthedain was informally considered to be the High King of Arnor with Cardolan as almost a vassal state under them. King Arveleg of Arthedain had even been pushing for the King of Cardolan to be reclassified as Ernil or Prince. Haedorial grinned broadly. “I would absolutely love to create that along with my son.”

Nirnadel had been on the cutting edge of a cultural revolution in the realm. He knew that young ladies throughout the kingdom practically worshipped her after she ended the conflict on the Bridge of the Iant Formen this past Yüle. Every young man wanted to be in the Tirrim Aran to serve her and fight for the kingdom. The land was broken after the war, coming apart at the seams but now the energy of recovery was palpable and the treasury full from the mithril panels. Perhaps this could even be another golden age like that of King Thorondur the Magnificent. He would very much like that. “And yes, I agree that the realm needs a collective sigh of relief after this. I know that I do,” he said downing a glass of thick red wine in one long drink. That felt amazing. It was a time to rejoice and feel good about being alive.

The Princess smiled. “Most excellent! I look forward to learning the steps. And I am sure that Lady Kaile will master it first,” she said, gently elbowing her in the ribs with her mithril couter over her arm.

“As soon as you master the brewing of potions,” the nurse shot right back to laughter.

Nirnadel grinned, slapping her hand on the table. “Challenge accepted, good lady! Haedorial, you are a witness. I shall master the brewing of potions and good Kaile will lead the introduction to the festival!” She summoned the cook over. “Good Maelil, a moment of your time, if you please!” she called, bringing the cook over. She held up a finger. “First, I would like to invite you to prepare a feast for the festival that we are planning upon our return. Second, I wish you to be the other witness to the challenge between Lady Kaile and I. I shall learn the intricacies of potion brewing and she will learn the new dance for the festival. And third, would you kindly affirm to the good lady the authenticity of my Docktown accent?”

Kaile facepalmed. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Nirnadel took a bite of minced pie. “Oi, this’s a righ’ lovely minced pie, iffn I say so meself. An’ this ‘ere feast is fi’ for a princess, innit?”

Maelil and the Princess did a fist bump. “Docktown born and bred, she is. She’s go’ me vote for Docktown festival queen, she does.” They winked at each other.

Kaile shook her head. “Oh, merciful Valar, slay me now. Fine, fine, if Galadel can be quieter I can learn whatever dance Haedorial throws at me.”

Galadel shot up, hands over her mouth. “I am not noisy!”

Haedorial could barely contain himself, slapping his thigh as he roared in laughter over the ladies’ prattling. Maelil had staff bring over the dessert trays, pumpkin pie and raspberry trifles, pound cake soaked in brandy with layers of cream cheese, heavy whipping cream, chocolate, raspberries and jam, baked in a ceramic bowl to perfection. The cook bowed low. “We’ve been preparin’ all day since we ‘eard of your victory. I would be right honored to accept your kind invitation, Your ‘ighness. Tha’ is most kind of you. Please, please, sample the dessert.”

She took a clean spoon and scooped a portion of the trifle and slid it into her mouth, followed by a satisfied nod. She chewed slowly, closing her eyes with a face full of ecstasy. “Mmmm, divine! This was surely baked in the ovens of Lórien. I cannot imagine a greater pleasure, my good Maelil.”

Kaile and Galadel immediately made faces as if they were in the throes of ecstasy, letting out a little moan and pointed at the Princess and Nirnadel’s face turned red, but she burst out laughing. She raised her hands in surrender. “Well played, my ladies, well played!”

Haedorial pounded the table in mirth. This was what they needed. The darkness had infected them for so long. Then, something coalesced in his mind, a flash of inspiration. “My ladies, if you would indulge me,” he said and then jogged up to Alquanessë and her impromptu band. “I need a verse-chorus structure in four verses, if you please,” he said, giving them instructions on the chords and the tempo.

He beckoned Nirnadel up, along with others. “Your Highness, if I may have this dance. Others, please observe. We will do a step-hop, step-hop and then a step-step-hop, step-step-hop and repeat. I will signal the spins.” He pointed to Alquanessë and the players began, a lute, flute and drum, tapping out a lively, energetic beat. In sync, the two began the step-hop, holding hands. After the four verses, he spun and then her, finally lifting her off of the ground. “Even for mithril, your armor is a little heavy,” he said with a groan and she giggled.

More instruments joined in, including a viol and a dulcimer, accelerating the tempo in circular set of chords. They raised their arms and spun one way with a clap and shout, “Hey!” and then the other way. They began the step-hop again as the music further accelerated. Haedorial could feel his heart pounding with excitement. The Princess of Cardolan was dancing a creation of his. He looked out to see Alquanessë, a look of joy on her face where she was in her element. This was what it meant to be a bard. It was all that she really wanted to do in her life. What would her life have been like without Thuringwethil?

Nirnadel spun into him, and he held her from behind, circling to the climax of the music as he tossed her into the air one last time, grunting from the effort. She spun in the air, and he caught her just under the arms, lowering her gently as the music faded away with a final trill. They turned and made a deep bow to the audience to thunderous applause. They bowed again, the bard’s heart full.

“Thank you, thank you!” he called. “I have decided to name this piece, I-Rian, the Queen, for our future sovereign,” he declared to more applause. “Now, please, please come up and join us!”

Nirnadel bowed to him and then kissed his hand. “Thank you, thank you, good Haedorial. I love it. It’s lively, energetic, flashy and downright scandalous! I was so right in selecting you to be the Royal Bard, Sir Haedorial.”

He held his hands together in pride. “You do me much honor, Your Highness,” he replied with a bow and flourish with his red flatcap in hand.

She stretched her back and adjusted her cuirass over her chest. “Oh, this is really tight now. I simply have to get this off. We will have it adjusted back home. Thank you again. This is the highlight of the expedition,” she said and walked to the tower with Galadel and Kaile.

He smiled, tapping his chest over his heart. It had been too much to ask that they would come out of this alive and be able to celebrate a victory and not watch the destruction of the north. It had been too close, simply too close. He just hoped that their luck wouldn’t run out. He turned back as the music began again and Morelen was standing in front of him and he popped his eyes open in surprise. She was at least a head taller than he, with the blood of a Noldor and a Vala and she had changed out of her armor into a cobalt blue and silver robe, her raven hair free. She wore a pin on her chest that bore the image of the Sun and the Moon, one gold and one silver, in a partial eclipse. She pointed to his mithril cloak pin that Nirnadel had given him. “That is quite beautiful, sir. The sigil of Cardolan, if I am correct?”

“You are correct, my lady. And yours is…?”

“The great and total eclipse…well, almost. It is the time of the ritual that the Court of Ardor wishes to perform on my brother and once, almost on me. One occurred in the Year Five Seventy of the First Age.”

He narrowed his eyes, immensely curious. “What, praytell, happened then?”

She took a deep breath and then sighed. She smiled at him, clearly a distraction from the topic. “Shall we dance, master bard?” she asked, extending her hand. The I-Rian was going through its third iteration, and no one was slowing down. Jaabran danced with Neldis, Dagar danced with Nurse Omah, Kaile with Jonu, while Valandil and Firiel were laughing and spinning.

Haedorial smiled back and took her hand and his heart skipped a beat. “I would be delighted, my fair lady,” he said as they began to step-hop. “My dear Faeliriel would be most jealous. It is as though I am dancing with one of the Valier in the blessed realm.” He had no untoward intentions with her, but it was truly a dream. “I daresay, my lady,” he said as he spun her in the air and she was surprisingly light, “that you and Alquanessë are the most astounding women that I have ever seen.”

She giggled joyfully, spinning with a clap. She seemed almost girlish for someone so ancient. “Hey!” she called with the other dancers. “Well, you have not yet seen Lady Arwen or Lady Galadriel. That would surely change your mind. I first met Galadriel in Nargothrond in…Three Eleven? First Age, that is. Yes, I think that’s right,” she said spinning again with a clap. “Hey! We were debating how to slay the dragon Glaurung for I had encountered him on the plains of Ard Galen. They seemed to think that I was some kind of expert. I was just happy to escape.” Haedorial flung her into the air again and caught her by the waist, setting her down. “Galadriel wasn’t fond of me at first. She sensed who I was then.”

His eyes went wide. “Glaurung? Galadriel? Again, I am merely stumbling in the fog of your vast experience. I really must sit with you and hear your tale some time.”

The music came to a close with one more great toss and spin, and everyone bowed to great applause. Morelen made an elegant elven curtsey, her eyes lowered and her body poised with one hand held up like a flower. “I would love that,” she said. “Perhaps I shall visit your fair city. I did tell good Captain Ferui that I would find my own way home and I am no longer in any sort of rush.”

“I am deeply grateful. If I may beg a pair of questions?”

“Of course.”

He put his fingers to his lips, thinking how to ask. “You mentioned Coron Mittarion and your curtsey, please tell me of it.”

She gave a genuine smile that was electrifying. She looked like what he thought a Valier should look like. “It’s a sport,” she began. “There are three teams, and each tries to put a ball into a basket in the center of the field. It’s…very physical,” she said with a faraway look. “And the players only wear a loincloth…women not excepted. Besides, only Sercë and I were players in the company.”

Then, she performed the curtsey again. “I was taught this particular one in Nargothrond, a city of light, beauty and culture. My husband and I visited under the reign of Finrod Felagund. After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, we lived there under his brother, King Orodreth. Haedorial, you should have seen the caverns, docks from the River Narog, bringing in trade, a bazaar filled with the wares of the elves, dwarves and the Edain, the ceilings in the vast musical halls showing the sky above through magic. These are memories that I will always treasure.”

Nirnadel and the ladies returned, now dressed in their royal gowns. “Ah, much better,” the Princess said. “Just a little let out from all of Maelil’s fine cooking that I ate.” She was about to say something else when the ranger, Hirgrim approached and knelt. He was dressed in his rigid leather armor and scars snaked along his exposed arms with a couple on his face beneath his salt and pepper hair. Everything about this man was taut, serious and intense, a lifelong woodsman and tracker. Like Mercatur, he exemplified Rhudaur.

“Your Highness,” he said curtly in his gravelly tenor and his harsh Rhudauran accent. “I was once your enemy. I served Cameth Brin which served Angmar. My order is no more, destroyed by Thuringwethil. Thank you for allowing me the chance for vengeance. And, I have known, fought with and fought against Mercatur for many years now,” he let out a gruff chuckle. “I would see it as a great boon if you would send word of his health.”

Nirnadel took his hand and raised him up. “I will certainly do that, good Hirgrim. I am proud to have fought alongside you. May I now call you a friend, or at least an ally?”

He nodded. “Aye, my lady, you may. I have offered my services to Lord Rhudainor and will be residing in his manor. I suppose that makes me a vassal of Cardolan now,” he said ironically. “But I will take my leave of you now. I have things to gather and a couple of scores to settle first so I will bid you goodbye for now.” He gave a curt bow to everyone there and then strode off purposefully.

“Mercatur spoke often of him with great respect,” Haedorial said admiringly. He looked about as it was getting late. Maelil and the staff were eating and cleaning up. It would be quite an effort to pack up and return to Tharbad. He stretched his back, rubbing his belly. It was a great feast, and everyone here needed it. Elrond was sipping the wine, speaking with Glorfindel and Gildor while Mithrandir leaned back in his chair, smoking a pipe and rubbing his belly. The bard thought about what Nirnadel had said, a land where high and low alike could thrive and be counted as equal under the law. It was inconceivable. He had grown up in a world where the word of an aristocrat would always trump the word of a commoner, regardless of the truth. Changing the culture like that would be a monumental undertaking with all of the old guard fighting every step of the way. Mablung Girithlin would pitch a fit. Maybe that was a good thing.

Nirnadel was already heading over to the basins to wash dishes. “I think I am getting the hang of this cleaning thing, am I not, good Kaile?”

She ran a knife hand past her neck, shaking her head. “Worse than the accent.”

The Princess splashed some soapy water at her and then picked up a dishrag. “Remind me, this is a…is what you call a rag, correct?”

Kaile rolled her eyes and put a handful of soap bubbles on Nirnadel’s nose, and they both started giggling like little girls.

Haedorial chuckled. “This is simply delightful!” he said as he started to dry the dishes. Nirnadel was truly awful, and he picked off bits of food and handed the plates back to Galadel to be recleaned. The entire camp joined in, scrubbing and washing, folding chairs and taking down tables and canopies. He felt safe. This was just a taste of home again, far from the terror and death that had been their lives for a while now. This was just the sense of normalcy that he needed. He wrapped his arm around his son and nodded.

When everyone had gone to bed, he, Mindolinor and Dagar wandered up to the roof to drink ale and watch the stars. “Here I am again, my old friend,” Dagar said, carrying a flask full of the beverage. “It’s eerie to be back on the Tirthon. I can still hear the battle in my head.”

Haedorial nodded. “I understand. I will never get the scream of the Nurga out of my head nor this expedition. We have seen much and survived. Now, I do expect that you will keep us informed of the goings on in Rhudaur and we will do the same about Cardolan.”

“I will miss you all dearly,” Dagar answered and took a sip from the flask. “Being back in Tharbad was like being home. This has been a…grand adventure.” He handed the flask to Mindolinor, who took a sip.

Haedorial snickered. “I daresay that I no longer see the lost teen, fresh out of jail and seeking employment with the Nightsingers. I see a brave lord, a caretaker of his house…a man with honor and compassion.”

Dagar put his hand over his heart. “I am deeply touched. Coming from my mentor and the man who pulled me from the gutter, I am moved. Thank you.”

Mindolinor made a shushing sound with his finger over his lips and then pointed to the far corner of the roof. Behind one of the empty oil vats, two pairs of legs could be seen, intertwined. Haedorial peered over. “Oh my, it’s Alquanessë and Gildor,” he said softly. “We should leave them in peace,” he said as they slowly went back down the stairs.

“Thank you!” Alquanessë yelled out. She had read his mind and they all snickered. It felt so good that their world had returned to food, friendship and love.

Nirnadel

She was absolutely stuffed. The sense of normalcy was so needed. Every moment since they set out was fraught with increasing fear and tension. It was as if everyone had taken a collective sigh of relief. They had just finished washing the dishes and she could see that her hands and fingers looked…weird, puffy and wrinkled. She showed her hands to Kaile. “My good nurse,” she said in a bit of a panic. “What is wrong with my hands? Is this…is this the curse or some disease?”

Kaile burst out laughing. “My dear, Nirnadel, it’s like your feet when they are in the bath too long, only it’s your hands because you’ve been doing real work.”

The Princess gasped. “Oh my. Oh yes, like my toes. I can see that now. Carry on,” she said, examining her fingers closely and wriggling them. Then she giggled. “Real work, huh? Just you wait until we are on the dance floor. Hrmph, real work.”

Maelil came over to inspect the washing, examining the plates and dishes. “Oi, this’s some righ’ fine werk ‘ere, it is. I juss migh’ ‘ire you royal ladies for the festival, I might.”

Nirnadel laughed and did a deep curtsey, knees bent slightly outward, back straight, head tilted down at the proper angle, tugging out her skirts slightly, followed by Galadel and Kaile. “I would be delighted, good Maelil.” Then, she winked. “No’ too bad a job now, innit?”

Maelil let out a belly laugh, holding her stomach and taking another swig from a mug of honey mead. “Awright, off wi you good ladies. We’ll finish up ‘ere.” She attempted an awkward curtsey, stumbling over her own feet and spilling a little mead. “Cor blimey, methinks I’ll ‘ave to practice a bi’ before I can prance meself on the royal dance floor.” Then she bowed deeply. “Your ‘ighness, it ‘as truly been an honor. When I first realized that it was you in camp, I though’ it was just an act, you know…that you’d just be another prissy royal. But you are a good person, this I know.”

Nirnadel held her hands over her heart and then embraced the cook. “Good Maelil, the honor has been mine. You kept this army moving and kept its morale up. You are the heart of this expedition, and I shall never forget that.”

Maelil snickered and sniffled. “Aw, now you’ve gone and done it, young lady, made me sniffle like that. Awright, off wi you now. Out of my dining ‘all and you three lovelies ‘ave a wonderful night…you gentlemen too.”

The ladies skipped off, giggling and holding hands with Haedorial and Mindolinor trailing behind. They approached Baranor, who was discussing matters with Lord Oswy, Valandil, Sergeant Riston, Jaabran and Sergeant Fendir of the cohort. “How are you gentlemen doing?” she asked. They seemed to be in a serious talk.

Baranor pointed out to the woods. “Not to sound alarmist, Your Highness, but I have thought on our good King Calimendil,” he said, referring to the king who had won the war against Rhudaur, only to be massacred by orcs from Mount Gundabad in the aftermath. Her blood ran cold for a moment.

“You don’t think…?” she began.

He shook his head. “No, there are no signs of any enemy, but we are not about to let history repeat. We will have proper pickets and guards set tonight.” He pointed out along the northern palisade, some of which had been repaired while they were away. “Sergeant Fendir will set a guard with some of Lord Oswy’s lancers forming a mobile picket. The Tirrim Aran will set shifts throughout the night. Alquanessë and Gildor have kindly offered to provide watch from the tower. While we have the wizard and the elves, I won’t feel entirely safe until we reach Fennas Drúinen and the border of Cardolan.”

The story of King Calimendil was horrific, one every soldier, knight and royal knew. Haedorial nodded. “I have to agree. Just when King Calimendil’s victory was complete over the Rhudauran usurper, Rhugga, the orcs of Gundabad arrived from Rhugga’s summons. Calimendil, his two sons and half the army of Cardolan was slaughtered. We all learned the story of the King and the Princes’ heads on orcish pikes.”

“It was the Raggers that covered the army’s flight through the snow,” Baranor added, “hounded all the way to the border by the orcs.”

“Calimendil’s widow, Queen Almariel, tried to assume the crown, given the absence of any male heirs,” Haedorial continued. “The Hiri rose against her, since she was Arthedanian, each house trying to impose their sons as the new king. They called her a usurper. She tried to negotiate, offering to abdicate in favor of their eldest daughter, Princess Mirien, who would be seen as Cardolani. But the Tirrim Aran was no more, and the guards were bought off by the rebellious Hiri. Thalion was sacked and they were massacred, the women dragged out of their beds and violated,” he said grimly. “I apologize. I did not mean to darken the mood.”

Nirnadel knew this horrific tale by heart. “Calimendil was the Minstrel King,” she said with both pride and sadness, “a lover of music and poetry but was called to war when his distant cousin, Forodacil, King of Rhudaur, was overthrown in a coup by his warlord, Rhugga the Usurper. This led to a twenty-year war in which both Rhugga and Calimendil suffered violent ends,” she stated grimly. She could envision so many dead bodies and corpses being carried to the Barrow Downs. She remembered the vision that Elrond gave her of her barrow, dated 1412 and she put her hands over her mouth. “Well, let us not fall prey to that same end, good people. I thank you for your wisdom and your vigilance. Please, I praythee, good Baranor to allow me to stand guard with you. I shall retrieve my armor. This is my duty as the representative of the Royal Family.”

He chuckled but waved her off. “Not tonight, it isn’t. You get some rest, Your Highness. You have done more than enough. Let us support you now.”

Valandil nodded. “Your Highness, it was your sword that ended Thuringwethil. You have done more than enough.”

She accepted the offer graciously. She was nearing exhaustion. “Alright, thank you. And I was just a little angry with the vampire,” she said slyly.

Sergeant Fendir laughed. “I, for one, will not anger you, Your Highness. And you saved my life. I will not forget that.”

Jaabran took a swig of Hirgrim’s Firewater and coughed, closing one eye. “I would not either, nor should anyone who is wise,” he said in his accented Westron. He bowed his head low to the Princess. “And it was she, companion to wise Tarkarun-i-Másra, stars in her eyes and sword in hand to quell the land and bring the Mal-alak together in peace. So sayeth blessed Tayee from the Tarat Balazayn.”

Nirnadel cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “The what of the who?”

He chuckled and took another drink. “Ah of course. In your heathen tongue you would say Varda or Elbereth and Manwë. The Haradan tongue is beautiful, able to evoke deep emotions and capture the essence of life.”

Valandil smirked. “They have twenty words for sand.”

“Of course we do. There is beach sand, desert sand, dirty sand…ah, why do I bother explaining it to you?” he scoffed, brushing his hand in front of his face. “You have ten words for snow. Who has ten words for snow?”

They all let out a laugh and then Baranor ushered them all to their stations. “Everyone stay alert tonight. And Your Highness, have a good rest. We will rouse you in the morning to break camp.”

It had been an amazing and terrible day, one of deep loss and one of great joy. But she was tired. It would be nice to soak a little in a warm bath. It had been too long, scrubbing with damp cloths and squatting over buckets in the field. But if that is what her soldiers and nurses did, she would share their hardships. They walked back to the tower where Haedorial and his son bid goodnight. “I think we’ll roust Dagar up for a drink,” the bard said, bowing low with his son. “Have a blessed evening, good ladies, Your Highness.”

“Goodnight, dear bards. I will see you on the morrow,” she said as they got off on the second floor, letting the men continue up the stairs. As they came to their room, Anariel and Silmarien stood there as if waiting for them. “Good ladies, how may I be of service?” the Princess asked.

The older maid stepped forward first, her face grave and sad but professional to a fault. Her black and green gown was impeccable with a perfectly set Gondorian hood over her styled graying hair, a stiff piece of black felt laced with pearls. “Your Highness,” she said, performing a perfect curtsey. “I fear that my services are no longer needed and that you have grown past my ability to care for you. When we return, I shall retire quietly to the Calantir fiefs, my home.”

Nirnadel was shocked. It was true that she had been so focused on the culture and safety of the realm that she had ignored her oldest friend. “Oh no, my dear Anariel. My deepest apologies. I have indeed bonded with the younger ladies of the Royal Court, but your guidance made me who I am, an intelligent and resourceful young lady who will try her best to be the Queen that Cardolan deserves. You are the glue that has held us together for so many years.” She took Anariel’s hands in hers. “During the dark days after the war, I wanted to die…to join my family who had all passed. You, my dear maid, you brought me out of that. I would not be here had it not been for you. Please, I beg you to reconsider.”

Anariel stifled a sob and then nodded. “Thank you, Your Highness, thank you. I feared that I was useless to you. I feared that you had forgotten me.”

The Princess embraced her in relief. Anariel had cared for her for years. Queen Lossien was a power in the kingdom, attentive and generous, but she was not a very warm mother. “I had forgotten you and I am deeply sorry. I shall not make that mistake again. I shall always treasure our time on the Royal Barge and the stories that you told me when I was a girl. Please remain with me as a valued member of my house.”

The old maid smiled, wiping her eyes. “I will indeed, my Princess. You have set my heart at ease. I have taken the liberty to prepare the large bath for us, but I believe that good Lady Rhudainor wishes to speak with you first.”

Nirnadel motioned for the ladies to continue on into the room. “Please do not waste the hot water,” she said. “And keep it hot, if you please,” she finished and her ladies moved on, leaving her with Silmarien. “My good mage, what may I do for you?”

Silmarien tucked her blonde hair behind her ear, a seemingly nervous gesture. Her purple robes were shredded when she was prepared for possession, but she had done some patching. The bronze wyvern was still pinned to her chest, the sigil of House Rhudainor. “Your Highness, I am deeply sorry for how I treated you when you slew Thuringwethil. You were nothing but kind to me, loaning me your cloak.”

The Princess was perplexed and pulled her chin in, looking at her sideways. “To what do you refer, my good lady?”

“I…yelled at you to finish it or I would.” She smiled and then looked down. “I was…enraged at the vampire.”

“Oh, I praythee, make no mention of that. It was in the heat of the moment, and you had been badly abused as was I,” she said, touching the mage on the arm. “The demon had a way of doing that. I was so terrified under her thumb that I wet myself and I was so ashamed, consumed by dread and fury. I was no longer a princess but a bawling child. She was about to turn me into a succubus like Alquanessë and whore me out to draw powerful followers and rule the north under as her slave. You were angry and ashamed too. There is no need for apologies, my good lady and there is nothing to forgive.”

The mage trembled for a moment and then gathered herself. “Then I thank you and understand what you went through. It was…it was horrible. I have always been strong and self-assured, confident in my power and learning. I had never faced anything that subdued me so quickly and so thoroughly. I was an insect before the power of the vampire. Like you, she stripped me…humiliated me. My confidence is broken now,” she said, biting the back of her hand.

“That is why we missed you at the banquet. I understand. We have endured much, we ladies of Cardolan. We will come back together. I fear that the consequences of what happened have not yet hit me,” she said and then gestured into the Lord’s Quarters of the Tirthon. “Please, come and stay in our room. There is more than enough space, and it is, after all, the quarters for a Rhudainor. And there is a hot bath within that I have been dying for.”

Silmarien smiled. “That is most kind of you and I accept.”

“Most excellent. I will meet you in there. And don’t allow good Kaile to stink it up since she indulged in the all of the fine foods.” She went next door and snuck into the healers’ room, rousing Neldis.

“Good Neldis,” she whispered, not wanting to wake anyone else. “Come, come, I have a surprise for you.”

The nurse blinked. “What? Your Highness? Why are you here?”

Nirnadel pulled her up in her linen shift. “Yes, yes, come.”

“What is it?”

The Princess made a silly face. “It’s a surprise,” she said, putting her finger over her lips, dragging Neldis next door along with the cats, who scrambled in. Galadel and Kaile were already settled into a massive bronze tub full of steaming water. She gestured to the tub. “Please join us.” Anariel was just lowering her old bones into the water as Silmarien pulled off her tattered purple robes.

Neldis blanched at first. “What? This is for the Royal Household and House Rhudainor. I…I can’t.”

Nirnadel pulled at the pins that held the placket that covered her chest over the kirtle. “Oh, this is worse than armor! Ugh!” Neldis came over and unlaced her kirtle and skirt, letting it slide to the rug. “Oh look, good Neldis, you are now part of the Royal Household for the night,” she said, slapping the nurse on the rear. “Get in that tub!” The Princess tore off her linen chemise, wearing only her silk stockings and leather shoes. “All I need are fake wings now and I can fly,” she said, hopping around to the I-Rian. The ladies laughed and she bowed, ripping the rest off and sliding into the tub with Silmarien and Neldis. She felt a slight rumble in her stomach and bubbles came to the surface. She put a hand over her mouth. “Good mage, was that your magic?”

There was a laugh and the Princess looked around, looking at each person as the steam enveloped them, scented heavily with lavender. “Good Anariel, I believe your hair was all black, like mine, from when you were younger.”

She nodded. We Calantirs have dark hair as a rule, why do you ask?”

“Hmm, quiet musings. So, you, myself, Galadel and Neldis have raven hair while Silmarien is blonde and Kaile a ginger. I don’t know, silly musings.”

Silmarien narrowed her eyes, looking back and forth between the Princess and the nurse. “I had heard the rumblings, but it is true that the two of you could be twins,” she said, examining them more closely. “Hmmm, with Galadel, I could not tell you apart from a distance but up close I can tell who is who. But here…now with Neldis, Nirnadel has only slightly larger and lighter eyes. I see a minute difference in the earlobes and the lips, but I have to look closely for those. Creation is an odd thing, is it not?”

The Princess nodded. “Well, life is odd. I will say that, if by some quirk of fate, that we are related, I will have gained another relative in addition to my cousin, good Galadel. They say that King Minalcar’s bloodline was very strong, and his traits could be seen in all of his offspring, legitimate or not. Rumor has it that he was quite the playboy. Well, his brother was Galadel’s grandfather, hence the resemblance.”

“Indeed,” Galadel answered. “My brother Ostomir looks much like King Ostoher did and could be a twin to late Crown Prince Thôrdaer. Our bloodline is strong with deep ties to Númenor.”

The Princess gestured to Silmarien. “House Rhudainor is also an ancient family, being with the Faithful who fled the island with Elendil. They were counted amongst the Lords of Andunië.”

The mage nodded. “Mercatur and I are the last of the true bloodline although his mother was a Tergil, only part Dúnadan. I fully accept Dagar as our successor though. I told him that I relinquished any claim to the title and holdings. He is truly the better person to carry the name, as it should be. Titles mean nothing if the person holding them is weak or foolish. My mother was the daughter of the first and last ruling Queen of Rhudaur, Elewen, and married into House Rhudainor. Elewen was the daughter of Forodacil and seized the throne back after Rhugga and his sons fell to King Calimendil once the war was over. She was a wise and fair Queen but her son, Aldor the Addled, was an imbecile and her grandson, Elegost, became the final recognized King of Rhudaur. So, could I claim the crown of a lost land? Yes. But there is nothing left to claim, and I don’t want it.”

Nirnadel titled her head, curious. “Why not? You are effectively a Princess of Rhudaur.”

Silmarien sighed heavily. “That is true, but I would make a terrible queen. I am very introverted, preferring my magical studies to interacting with courtiers and ministers. I have very little patience for politics, and I would no doubt say or do something that would offend everyone at some point. Though I grieve for what Rhudaur has become, I have my small world in Tharbad, and I am happy with it.”

“Until I met Her Highness,” Kaile offered, “I could not be more boring. My father is Erestol the Weaver of the Common Quarter, and my mother is a midwife under Almiel Vanatari. Northron blood. Don’t know my grandparents.”

“What about you, Neldis,” Nirnadel asked. “I know a little of what you told us. But please, speak only if you wish to.”

The nurse gulped hard. “Well, my mother lived in the countryside…a town north of Tharbad called Squall’s End.” Something inside seemed to be hurting her, and she bit her lip. “I would poke through her things when I was a young teen, and I learned that she belonged to the household of Tyrn Gorthad. She was…cast out for some reason. I found items that I think belonged to the Hir of Tyrn Gorthad. Maybe she was his mistress. I don’t know. According to her my father was…she never said.”

Nirnadel pursed her lips. Hers was a sad story indeed. “And there is no longer a House Tyrn Gorthad. Even their mansion in Tharbad sits empty. But I shall ask Calion Morvana the Scholar to allow us into the Archives. King Tarcil the Mariner reformed the record keeping of the realm and our archives are second only to the ones in Fornost. So, if there is a record of your mother, we will find it. What was her name, praytell?”

“Iorleth,” she said with a faint smile. “I would appreciate it if there were any information at all. And do not worry about anything related to my father. He is…gone and I would prefer not to know.”

Anariel shook out her hands. “Well, I think that I am done here. Bless you, Your Highness. I shall continue to serve you with grace and charm.” She climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel, followed by Silmarien. “I will prepare the bed for you and the ladies.”

Neldis and Kaile hopped out too. “Please, Lady Anariel,” Neldis offered, “allow me to assist. I am not a lady of the Royal Household, but I must earn my keep this evening.” They wrapped towels and followed Anariel into the bedchamber, leaving Galadel and Nirnadel left in the tub. Water sloshed around but it was still hot and soothing. The lavender scent that Anariel put into the tub was invigorating, easing the aches and pains that the Princess felt after a day of battle and a day of riding. They sat in comfortable silence, two friends, two cousins. Galadel fought like a savage during the siege and in the sanctuary and had a wound to show for it. They stepped out of the tub, holding hands and Lady Tinarë picked up a towel to wipe her down with.

Nirnadel took the towel from her with a smile. “Allow me, my friend,” she said, rubbing the towel over her body, high and low, wiping her hair too.

“You are too kind, Your Highness. It is I who must serve you so that you can lead.”

She smiled back. “To lead is to serve, so my brother Braegil told me. Allow me this in gratitude for your friendship.” Galadel then returned the favor, and they wrapped themselves up and went to the bedchambers. Anariel and the others had stretched a sheet over the bed left by the bandits which was actually the bed that belonged to Marendil Rhudainor and his poor wife that died in childbirth. They all slid into bed and Anariel tucked them in and slid in herself along with the three cats.

Soon, all fell asleep except Nirnadel who felt an odd sensation in her stomach. She had been feeling a little off since she ate the apple. It wasn’t unpleasant but she felt invigorated as if some power were working its way through her body. It was as if her hearing, smell and taste and touch were focused…enhanced. She could hear through walls…or was she dreaming? She couldn’t quite tell. She could hear Alquanessë and Gildor making love on the roof and Valandil and Firiel in the next room. Haedorial, Dagar and Mindolinor were talking about history and culture in the hall outside. And Galadel’s breathing quickened as she tried to remain quiet.

Nirnadel thought she might be asleep, that surreal time before dreaming. Perhaps this was a dream? She felt light, almost as if floating. She moved her hands in front of her face, but they seemed ghostlike. How odd. She could feel bodies next to her, warm and soft so she hadn’t moved. After the visions that she saw through Alquanessë of the Halls of Mandos, she was ready to believe anything. Then, she felt a hand on her stomach. It was Galadel. The hand moved lower and Nirnadel gasped. “G…good lady, what, praythee are you doing?”

She felt a face on her neck and then a tongue. The fingers began to move. “Ummm, Galadel…what are you doing?”

Lips touched her ear. “Dream…sleep, my dear…my Lindarë. I am part of you now.”

The Princess pushed the other body away to see the face of Faeleth, the poor Dúnadan maiden who was possessed by Thuringwethil. She gasped and the dream faded as she fell into a deep slumber.

CODEX

Poleaxe – a pole weapon that is topped by a spear at the tip and an axeblade and a spike just below.

Falchion – a thick sword with a blade more like a machete. Also makes for a good tool.

Anket – a longsword.

Eket – a shortsword akin to a Roman Gladius, mostly used for stabbing.

nêl-i-fingel – a wide bladed dagger, akin to the Spanish Cinquedea.

Pauldron – plate armor that covers the shoulder.

Couter – plate armor over the elbow.

Cuirass – solid breastplate

Barbute – a conical helmet with a T shaped opening for vision and breathing.

Fëa – spirit

Hröa – body

Line of Cardolan Rulers:

Thorondur the Magnificent – 861-936;

Turambar – 936-1001;

Ciryon – 1001-1079;

Tarandil – 1079-1153;

Calimendil the Minstrel – 1153-1235, slain by Gundabad orcs;

Civil War – 1235-1248;

Tarcil the Mariner – 1248-1287, elected King;

Tarastor – 1287-1332;

Minalcar – 1332-1381;

Ostoher – 1381-1409, slain in the 1409 War;

Nimhir (Regent) – 1409-

Line of Rhudauran Rulers:

Aldarion – 861-951;

Orodreth – 951-988;

Eldathorn – 988-1031, slain in battle against Arthedain and Cardolan;

Eldarion – 1031-1107;

Forodacil – 1107-1176;

Rhugga the Usurper – 1176-1231, slain in battle against Cardolan and Elewen;

Various claimants – 1231-1235;

Elewen – 1235-1307;

Aldor the Addled – 1307-1347;

Elegost – 1347-1355, assassinated;

Various claimants – 1355-

Chapter End Notes

I've been playing with and researching accents to set apart the different regions and social classes. Docktown is mostly Cockney with some Liverpool. Rhudaur is sort of Northern England, Yorkshire esque. The aristocracy is RP - received pronunciation, very posh and dramatic. I'm American so hopefully it worked. The armor is very Gothic, 1450s with sallet and barbute helms.

Image of Hirgrim the Cultirith ranger courtesy of the Dark Mage of Rhudaur RPG.