The Thieves of Tharbad by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Council of the Sceptre

Princess Nirnadel presides over the Council of the Sceptre, passing judgement on cases brought before the realm.  But an old spectre haunts her and offers her power and pleasure.

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57) The Bar Aran - Narbeleth (October) 2^nd, 1410

Nirnadel

The Princess stood on the balcony of the chamber for the Council of the Sceptre, looking out at the city under gray skies.  It was noticeably cooler than when they set out on the grand expedition with light rain the whole week, creating a thin fog over the Gwathló River.  She wondered if this was a view that Tar-Aldarion saw when he met with Galadriel in Tharbad when it was still a small Númenórean town on the river in 883 of the Second Age.  She held her hand up, catching a few drops of rain before turning back to the chamber. This was the first council since Mablung Girithlin was elected to be the alternate regent.  It was something that Nirnadel had almost forgotten about between the curse and the horror of Thuringwethil.  She stepped back into the room with her ladies, awaiting the commencement of the session.

It had been an odd morning where she felt uneasy and her stomach was in knots.  She chocked it up to the upcoming Council, which would be her first, so it had to be nerves, she was sure.  She cupped her hands over her mouth, letting out some gas that she swore tasted like apples. But she hadn’t had an apple in a week.

In the Chambers, the fireplace on the far side was already lit, logs burning, with stewards Mindolinor and Brondon tending to the blaze, a sign of the oncoming winter.  Leaves on the trees in the city had begun to turn and fall onto the streets.  Another summer had passed, and fall was halfway over. On the opposite side of the room, two other braziers burned, casting an orange glow onto the oak table where the papers of the business of the realm were stacked.

Nirnadel spent part of the morning being dressed by her ladies, a time-consuming process for affairs of state.  Her emerald green and scarlet kirtle was of the finest silk brocade, a product of the excellent textile industry of Cardolan, with a long train, befitting a Princess of the realm.  Her placket was of matching brocade, woven with silver and cloth of gold lining with a golden girdle below, filled with emeralds and rubies set in gold quatrefoil mounts.  Her foresleeves were of reddish fox fur and her hood of stiff black fabric, laced with pearls.  The centerpiece of her outfit were the crown jewels of Queen Lossien, a necklace of mithril, also set with emeralds and rubies, the national colors of Cardolan with the letter ‘A’ set in platinum for her family name, Aranyónorë.  No knight could claim greater effort to dress for battle, be it on the field or the Council Chambers.

The ladies were dressed in similar, but far less ostentations gowns and jewels.  Kaile looked positively uncomfortable, fidgeting with the hood, pinned to her ginger hair as Anariel told her to stand still.  Members of the Tirrim Aran bowed to the ladies, standing ready to protect the Royal House.

Nimhir was in his emerald green robes of state, his mustache and goatee waxed to perfection above his Chancellor’s chain of office. “Your Highness,” he said evenly, “you will be of age in just under three months.  At that time, we will schedule your coronation where you will become the first ruling Queen of Cardolan.  Today, you will learn some of the duties of sovereign of the realm.  You will hold court today where petitioners will see you to make requests, air grievances or to seek justice beyond what could be provided by the ministry.  This is part of what it will be like to be the Queen.  You will be granted approval to hold the Sceptre of Thalion for this. Consider it…practice.  I will be here to assist as regent and Eärdil will assist on legal matters, but the session will be yours.”

The Minister of Royal Justice nodded.  “Your Highness, I will be here to ensure that you do not get into legal…hot water.  Otherwise, your word today is law.”  He was also dressed in fine silk robes of emerald green and scarlet with his golden chain of office around his neck along with a matching flatcap.  He had been instrumental in implementing her new ideas on law and diplomacy and was critical to the realm.

The Princess took a deep breath and then nodded.  She knew that a leader wasn’t just adventures, danger and expeditions.  This was the hard, but necessary parts of governing and she knew that this was her weak area. “I understand, good Nimhir.  I praythee, both of you, to please speak out should I err. I wish to do this properly.”

Nimhir smiled, but with an air of seriousness.  “Two points of order before we bring in the attendees and begin the session.  One, you are now very used to speaking less…formally.  For Court, you should return to Royal Mannerisms.  It is tradition.  Two, I have approved Lady Galadel to serve as your body double when needed and I have received the blessings of Hir Tinarë.  She is already an aristocrat so only a little training need be done to have her be a convincing double.”

Galadel curtseyed.  “I am honored, your grace…Your Highness.”

The Chancellor nodded.  “Very good,” he said, looking around the room.  “Haedorial, are you ready to scribe?”

“I am, your grace,” the bard answered.

Nimhir gestured to the Princess.  “The session is yours to call into order, Your Highness.”  He walked over and passed her the Sceptre of Thalion, a yard long silver rod capped with a bejeweled eight-pointed star with an eagle atop it that had tiny rubies for eyes.  It was a precise copy of the Sceptre of Annúminas in Arthedain, which was passed down through the Lords of Andunië in Númenor.  Eärendur, the Tenth and last King of Arnor had two identical sceptres crafted, one of each of his two younger sons.  One was here and the other, the Sceptre of Cameth Brin, was lost in Rhudaur upon the assassination of King Elegost, some fifty years ago.  Nimhir held the sacred symbol of Cardolani power out to her.  “This will soon be yours upon your coronation.  It is…on loan today.  Use it wisely.”

Nirnadel bit her thumb for a second and looked at her ladies, each of whom put a hand on her shoulder for support.  Even Anariel gave her a warm look.  “We are with you, Your Highness.”

The Princess gazed upon the silver Sceptre and then gestured to the herald who opened the door for the Hiri to enter.  The herald pounded his staff twice on the wooden floor. “Announcing the Hiri of the realm: Mablung, Hir Girithlin, alternate Chancellor; Maerion, Hir Ethir Gwathló; Annael, Hir Feotar; Thangar, Hir Eredoriath; Celeph, Hir Calantir and Duin, Hir Tinarë.  Absent is any representation from the Hirdom of Tyrn Gorthad!”  The highest nobles of the kingdom entered in single file and bowed their heads to Nirnadel, hands on hearts and took their appointed seats. 

Hir Girithlin even smiled.  “Your Highness, it is good to see you well.  I wish to extend my congratulations to you for your victory over the demon of Morgoth.  Your courage gives the land strength,” he said, extending his hand.  When she took it, he knelt and kissed it.  This was an interesting turn of events.  Perhaps her show of power convinced him that cooperation was superior to conflict.  At least she hoped so.

She raised him up, smiling at the crowd.  “Welcome to our loyal Hiri.  We are most glad to be back in your company,” she said, tilting her head up, finger to her cheek.  “Our expedition to Rhudaur has been successful but not without loss and sacrifice. We are most grateful to our brave allies and the strength of Cardolani arms.”

She then touched Hir Calantir on the shoulder.  He was thin and frail now, only a few whisps of snowy hair left on his head.  “We are ever so pleased to see you in good health, my dear Celeph.  You have always been a supporter to the realm, and our illustrious Royal father held you in high esteem.”  It was now more difficult to speak and interact with such formality, which had once been her ingrained custom.

The wizened old man smiled, his intelligent but cloudy and sunken eyes focused on her, and he kissed her hand.  “I am honored to continue to be of service.  And blessings to Lady Elanoriel for giving me a few more good years,” he said in his raspy, weathered voice.  Like Captain Targegil, Hir Calantir had been a rock for Cardolan for many decades.  Old Celeph had once been a lieutenant in the Tirrim Aran, one of the most renown knights in the kingdom.

The Princess went to the King’s seat and Baranor pulled it away from the table for her to sit.  She placed the Sceptre over her chest with her left hand and gestured to Haedorial.  “Dear Haedorial, please call the Council of the Sceptre to order.”

The bard stood and removed his flatcap, placing it in the crook of his arm.  Every movement, every gesture here had to be precise in a time-honored tradition that dated from the time of Elros Tar-Minyatur in the golden city of Armenelos in lost Númenor.  “Hear ye, hear ye, I, Haedorial, the Royal Scribe of Cardolan, hereby call the Council of the Sceptre to order.

The herald pounded his staff once for the first petitioner.  “Announcing Brethil the Old, who requests the blessings of the realm to open new trade routes.”

The aged Dúnadan strode in purposefully, head held high in an old naval captain’s uniform and performed a military salute to the room and then knelt for the Princess, his bones creaking.  “Your Highness…esteemed members of the Council, I wish to petition you to allow me to open new trade routes to Pelargir, Dol Amroth and Lindon.  With the boom in the economy, I plan to increase my merchant fleet to four,” he said in a creaky but strong voice, all business.  There was just a little twinkle in his eye and a faint grin through a thick white goatee.

Nirnadel gestured to him, trying her best to strike an imperious pose.  “My good Captain Brethil, We praythee, please explain to us how this will affect the realm,” she said and then held her finger up.  “However, before you do, please tell us a little about yourself.  We may have heard High Captain Asgon mention your name.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.  Many of your esteemed Council members know me or of me.  High Captain Asgon was my First Mate for some years when we sailed under High Captain Rossendir under King Minalcar.  I was just a midshipman when Tarcil the Mariner was King.  I retired to build my fortune and my experience on the sea has rewarded me handsomely.  I sail a fleet of three vessels now, the swift three-masters Tinmdomerel and Tolfalas, and the slower cog, Mindeb.  We trade with Arthedain and occasionally with Gondor.  What I seek today is the blessings of the Crown to proceed, along with the appropriate writs that I may sail with the protection of Cardolan,” he said and then laid a leather binder on the table.

“These are the trade agreements that I will finalize with local merchants.  Cardolan wool, lumber, barley, apples and honey are prime commodities in Arthedain with Tharbad glass, beer, ale and gems in high demand in Gondor.  In turn, we will import wax, silk, coffee and exotic fruit from the Southern Kingdom.  I feel that this is a golden opportunity to expand our routes and solidify our alliances with other lands,” he said and then leaned in, putting his open hand to one side of his mouth in a conspiratorial manner.  “And we get a lot of information about the goings on in the world that I have always provided to Chancellor Nimhir,” he added with a wink.

Nirnadel looked to Eärdil and Nimhir for guidance.  “My lords, is such a proposal legal and beneficial to the realm?”

Nimhir nodded and the Minister said, “There are no legal objections.  By law, let us put it to a vote.  All of our votes count as one with Her Highness’ counting as three.”  He and Nimhir raised their hands, followed by all of the Hiri and the Princess.  “All are in favor,” Eärdil announced.  “Captain Brethil, I will have the legal documents drawn up and delivered to you by the morrow.  Copies will be housed in the archives.”

He bowed low, his military awards bouncing on his chest.  “Many thanks to the Council and Her Highness.  I will have the trade agreements finalized and submitted to the Crown for the archives.”  He took three steps back and departed.

Nirnadel couldn’t help but do an eyebrow bump.  “Well, that was easy,” she said, pulling her chin back with a smile.  “Shall we see who is next?”  This might turn out to be easier that she anticipated.

The herald pounded the staff once more.  “Announcing Eithadis, petitioner against Olien of the Innkeeper’s Guild.”  Olien entered, wearing a burgundy-colored dress with the gold cockade of the Innkeepers on her chest with a white veil over her hair.  The innkeeper was a plain, mature woman whose looks and voice were all business.  She took three steps forward and performed a curtsey of the merchant class, less flamboyant than that of the aristocracy.  “Your Highness…esteemed members of the Council.  I apologize that your valuable time will be wasted here,” she said with barely concealed impatience which piqued the Princess’ curiosity.

Another woman followed in, dressed in an ostentatious gown of multiple colors who wore her blonde hair short with an odd, asymmetric cut.  She was attractive and slightly into middle-age and bore a deep scowl as she stomped to her station as petitioner.  “I demand to see Nirnadel!  Hah, there you are.  It’s about time that I was seen for this matter,” she harumphed, hands on her hips.

Eärdil sighed with a face palm.  “Your Highness, if I may sidebar with you?” he asked and she nodded as he whispered into her ear.  “This woman is what we call a chronic complainer.  She is never satisfied with the legal outcomes of her…issues.  Your father dealt with her many times.  He was far too patient in my opinion.”

Eithadis flared her nostrils.  “Are you going to pay attention to me or not?” she asked, shrilly.

The Princess closed her eyes for a moment and then looked to the ceiling.  “We praythee, good Eithadis, tell us of your matter so that we may judge the outcome.” She had a feeling that this wouldn’t be as easy as the last one.

“Well, I’ve brought this to the Mayor and the…so called Minister of Justice and nothing.  Nothing!”

“We see.  But what can you tell us of-”

“Are you going to help me or not?” Eithadis screeched and Eärdil shook his head.

So, this is what her father and poor Nimhir had to deal with and Nirnadel felt her patience strained.  Her stomach groaned and she burped up an apple taste.  She stood and held up her finger.  “Silence!” she said loudly to the surprise of those in the room.  “You forget yourself, Eithadis.  You enter this Council as a petitioner, not as a peer and you address the future sovereign of Cardolan.  Behave appropriately,” she scolded.  Ever since she ate that apple from Thuringwethil she felt more confident…sometimes even more aggressive.  Maybe that was a good thing.

Eithadis huffed again.  “Well, I never…your good father would never treat me like-”

“Must we repeat ourselves?” Nirnadel said coldly with her hand held up as her lady’s eyes widened.  “Now speak your petition but should We raise a hand again there will be consequences.  Have We made ourselves clear?”

The woman’s face went red, but she nodded.

“We did not hear you,” the Princess said, her voice dripping with disdain.

“You have,” the woman answered in a tremulous voice.

“And to whom do you speak?”

Eithadis began to shake.  “You have…Your Highness.”

Nirnadel stood and pointed the Sceptre of Thalion at her. “And what is appropriate when you address your betters?” she said with a distinct chill, her chin up imperiously.

Eithadis knelt, lowering her head.  The Princess waited a full minute before ordering her to rise. Kaile had a look of horror in her eyes but remained silent.  The woman looked shaken now, her hair disheveled.  “I…I want justice here.  That woman did not provide me with the services that were promised.  I was supposed to get a suite at their…abysmal inn but I was put in another room!”

Nirnadel gestured to the innkeeper.  “Olien, We praythee, present your side to this matter.”

The woman curtseyed again.  “Your Highness, she was never promised such a thing.  She showed up, claiming to have reserved a suite at the Traveler’s Rest but her reservation was for a standard room.  I have the record here,” she said, passing a parchment to Mindolinor.  “She then created a scene, claiming that I insulted her and that she deserved a suite for free.  We have already appeared before the good Minister…several times,” she added, gesturing to the Eärdil, who nodded.  Mindolinor brought the parchment to the Council, who read it over.  It clearly showed that Eithadis had reserved a standard room on a date months ago.

As Nirnadel read it, something gnawed at her gut, and she felt an unusual anger.  “Eithadis, do you have anything to refute this record?”

“What?  Of course I do!” she said, her voice becoming shrill again.  “That woman insulted me!  I deserved the suite.”

“Olien, what did you say?” the Princess asked, trying to regain her patience.

The innkeeper took a deep breath.  “I told her that she was not reserved for such and showed her the record.  She could pay for the larger room or keep what she had reserved.  That seemed fair.  I have witness statements,” she said, handing over additional papers. The Council read them over, with Eärdil merely glancing them over.  He’d already seen them several times.

Nirnadel sighed and handed the papers back to Mindolinor. “We do not even see why this needs a vote which would waste the Council’s time.”  She glared at Eithadis.  “We are offering you two choices,” she said, pointing the Sceptre at the woman.  “You may pay a two crown fine to the inn and an additional one to the Crown for your frivolity and bother the Council no more with this matter…or, you can spend the night in the company of Mardil the Jailer.  We are sure that you would find the accommodations there…less to your liking. We hear that the rats can be quite hungry.”  Hir Girithlin smiled and chuckled out loud in approval.

Eithadis’ jaw fell open.  “B b but…Your Highness?”

Nirnadel gestured to Baranor.  “Captain…Master at Arms, would you kindly escort this woman to Mardil for processing?”

The woman held her hands up, palms out.  “No, no…please.  I withdraw my petition.”

“Haedorial, please record this judgment into the record,” the Princess added.  “Now Eithadis, get thee from our sight or our next judgment will be less…lenient.”

Hir Girithlin blew out a sharp whistle.  “Here, here!  Well done, Your Highness.  I concur.”

As the woman scurried from the Chambers, the bard wrote it down, but his eyes were wide.  “Y…Your Highness…are you feeling well?” he asked in a voice full of concern.

“Never better, my good bard,” she answered.  “Good Olien, We bid you to have a wonderful day,” she said and the woman curtseyed before departing.

Kaile leaned in behind her.  “Nirnadel, this is most unlike you.  I know that she was difficult, but are you sure you’re feeling-” she began before the Princess waved her off.

“You must address us as, ‘Your Highness’ within the Council, my good lady,” she said coldly.  She wasn’t sure why she said that, but it felt right.  She gestured to the herald.  “Next.”  This whole thing was becoming tedious.

He pounded on the floor once again.  “Announcing petitioner Samnod of Docktown and Celmon of the Thieves Quarter.”  Nirnadel sighed and rolled her eyes as her stomach burbled, and the taste of apples grew stronger on her tongue, and she tapped her chest several times.

She leaned back and gestured to them offhandedly.  “Speak and explain to us why this was not resolved with the Ministry and why are you here before the Council?  Do not waste the Council’s precious time.”  Both men’s eyes widened from the verbal lashing but they bowed to her and the Hiri.  They were commoners, dressed in worn wool clothes of workmen.

Samnod pointed sharply at Celmon.  “Tha’ one there’s a thief!  ‘e stole me ma’s ring, ‘e did.”

“Liar!” Celmon shot back.  “’e’s a liar, that one.  Your ma lost it.  Quit blaming me.”

Eärdil shrugged.  “There was no proof, Your Highness.  We could not move without evidence.”

Nirnadel stood and set the Sceptre down on the table. “We understand,” she said as her senses became heightened.  She could smell the sea salt and sweat on the two men.  She could smell her ladies’ perfume.  It was as if she could hear the two men breathing, even hear their heartbeats. She could see Celmon twitch…hear something that he was thinking.  He was worried about someone, someone dear to him.  “We may have the solution to this,” she said and went to Samnod as if someone were pulling her to him.  She grasped his hand and looked into his eyes for a moment before he looked away.  He flinched as her mind invaded his.  “He believes his accusation to be true.  This We can see.  Now let us see what the other side says,” she said playfully with a sinister edge.  She reached out to grasp Celmon’s hand, but he pulled it away sharply and Baranor’s sword was out of the scabbard in a blink.

“Don’t try anything, lad.  Do what Her Highness demands,” the captain said in a deep, commanding voice.

Celmon began to tremble but held his hand out.  Nirnadel grasped it and her eyes bore into him as sweat trickled down his face.  He tried to fight her, but her mind became like a dagger and plunged into his mind, tearing thoughts and memories from him, peeling away layers like an onion.  He gasped and clenched his teeth and jaw, shaking. She began to enjoy his squirming. It fed her.  She pushed his hand away abruptly as if discarding trash. “He is guilty.  The ring is hidden at his home, and he will sell it for…it doesn’t matter.  He is guilty.”  She saw an image of a pale, sick daughter, coughing and empty cupboards, but it was irrelevant.

Eärdil narrowed his eyes.  “Your Highness, how do you know this?” he asked, clearly concerned by her revelation.

Celmon fell to his knees.  “Yes, yes, I am.  I did it, but please!  Please. We needed the money.  I’m sorry Samnod.  I am!  Mercy please! I’ll return it.  It was for my sick daughter, it was!  We cannot pay for ‘ealing or herb, much less food!”

Kaile raised her hand.  “Sir, the Houses are open to anyone who is ill at whatever you can afford. Bring her there.  Firiel will help.”

He looked at the lady.  “I didn’t know!  I didn’t. We live in the Thieves Quarter, we do. We don’t ‘ear things.  Please, I will take her there.”

Nirnadel gestured coldly to Baranor.  She’d had enough of the whining and mewling.  “Master at Arms, take him into custody,” she commanded. “We hereby pass sentence that he will be flogged with twenty lashes and that his hand will be removed tomorrow morning.”  It felt good. She felt powerful.  His fear fed her.

Celmon groveled on the floor.  “No, please!  Mercy, Highness, mercy!”

Kaile ran up behind the Princess and put a hand on her shoulder.  “Nirnadel? Your Highness, what are you doing? This man has a sick daughter.  They’re starving.  Please give him mercy.  I’m begging you.”

Nirnadel trembled.  There was something inside her mind along with the strong taste of apples in her mouth.  She turned and her eyes flashed red for a moment, and a snarl began to form on her lips. Kaile stepped back and covered her mouth.  Then, it was as if the Princess were struck by a tribesman’s sword and her breath left her. She blinked hard, biting her thumb. Something felt as if it were lodged in her throat and she coughed up a bit of apple.  “I…I…what was happening?  I feel…,” she said and then her eyes focused on her friend.  “Kaile, oh blessed Manwë, Kaile.  I…I am so sorry.  I don’t know what.  I feel so strange.”

She turned back to Celmon, appalled by her own actions. “Good Celmon…I hereby rescind my sentence.  You will return the ring and perform service on the city drainage for two weeks.  You are also to bring your daughter to the Houses for care.  The Crown will pay for the medication and lodgings there as well as for some food for your family.  You both are free to go.”

Celmon crawled to her feet, his hands held together. “Bless you, Highness, bless you. You will never see me ugly face ‘ere again, never.  Bless you!”

She reached down and raised him up.  “We were both not at our best.  Go in peace and health to your family,” she told him with a sincere smile.  “You will report to the constabulary for your sentence in two days and I will have the funds left at the Houses for you.”  As the two scrambled out, she turned to face Kaile, her cheeks red with shame.  She was horrified by what she had done.  “I am…I am so sorry, my dear friend.  I don’t know what happened to me.  It was as if I were in a dream, watching myself. You brought me back.  Can you forgive me, my dear lady?”

Kaile wiped her nose and nodded as they clung together. “I forgive you, my dear friend.  But we must get you to see Firiel,” she said quietly, not wanting the Hiri to overhear.

“Why?  I feel normal now.”

The nurse pointed at her face.  “Your eyes…they flashed red at me.  Did uhhh…did Thuringwethil do anything else to you?”

Nirnadel thought for a moment, the vision of the vampire touching her, stimulating her, seducing her to evil.  A tingly sensation shot through her body.  “She…she fed me an apple.”  

Kaile’s mouth hung open.  “Oh no.  Come, Nirnadel, we have to get you to Firiel quickly.”  She went to Nimhir and whispered to him, “Sir, something of the vampire, Thuringwethil, is inside of her.  We have to get her to the Houses now.”

Nimhir nodded slowly.  “Yes, yes, I saw her eyes flash red.  Oh no.”  He stood sharply and held up his hand.  “The Council will be in recess for an hour.  Her Highness ate something that didn’t agree with her.”  As the Hiri filed out, he turned back.  “Kaile, Valandil, get her to Firiel.  Go out the back.  We must keep this secret.  Lady Tinarë, are you ready to assume the role for the remainder of the Council.  You do not have to do anything.  We will handle the petitioners.”

Galadel curtseyed.  “I will do my duty for the realm.”  They rushed back to the Royal Chambers to change, Galadel donning the Royal Gown of state.  Lady Tinarë looked radiant in the kirtle and bejeweled hood, but her expression clearly showed worry as she returned to the Council with Anariel.  

Nirnadel felt giddy, almost drunk as Kaile and Valandil tugged her out the secret entrance to the Royal Chambers.  “I never knew that this was here,” the knight said, marveling at the construction.  “This blended right in with the wall.”  He ran his hand along the door as it shut, sliding back into place.

The Princess wobbled, giggling.  She felt that this was a dream.  And if it were a dream, nothing mattered.  She felt lightheaded and tingly and she let out a sensuous growl, grabbing Valandil between the legs.  She wanted that wonderful feeling again.  It had been too long, not since her bath.  “Kaile, you said it was good, didn’t you?”

The knight jumped back, eyes wide.  “Oh, Your Highness.  I…uhh…come, we need to go.”

Kaile took her hands and held them to her side.  “Ummm, not like that.  Let’s get you to Firiel and we can relax then.  Sound good?”

A wagon was waiting for them, and it was a short dash to the Houses where the nurse practically had to sit on the Princess who kept trying to reach for Valandil.  “He’s a man. I need a man,” she cooed.  “And it is time that we conquered the north.  I want our army to set out for Rhudaur! All of the north will become Cardolan and we will rule Arnor!” she added gleefully.  

Valandil ran up to the front door and opened it, Kaile dragging Nirnadel through.  “Firiel! We need you!” he called and she came running with Pelemeth, Neldis and Jonu.  Kaile held the Princess towards her.

The Healer grasped Nirnadel’s face, looking into her eyes. “What’s happened?  Fill me in,” she said as they moved her to a stateroom.

“Firiel, you have to keep this a secret,” Kaile urged. “The people and especially the Hiri cannot know.  It would be a crisis.  Galadel is filling in for her.  Listen now, Thuringwethil fed her an apple and she’s acting bizarre today.  Her eyes flashed red at me.  His Grace saw it too.”

Firiel narrowed her eyes.  “So…a curse?  Alright, let’s get her settled,” she said as they sat her down in a plush chair.  “Relax, Your Highness.  We’ll get to the bottom of this and fix you right up.”

The Princess pursed her lips.  “I am so sorry, good healer.  I don’t know what is happening to me.  I…I touched your man.  I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

The Healer raised an eyebrow and looked at Valandil. “You’re not yourself.  No apologies needed,” she said, giving the Princess as sedative herb, popping it into her mouth.

“Oh, this is wonderful.  I feel so…,” she said as her eyes closed.  She felt as if she were floating in another world, seeing things through the eyes of another.  She flew high above the land, seeing cities as tiny dots, great rivers as mere blueish threads, mountains as small hills.  Was this what it was like to be a Vala?  She looked up to see stars, bright and clear, free from clouds.  This was the realm of Varda or Elbereth as she was also called.  She felt no cold or heat, just surges of power.

Someone whispered into her ear.  “I can give you this.  Your heart’s desire.  You can have any man that you want to keep you satisfied.  Wouldn’t you like that?”

She looked around but no one was there in the sky with her.  The sky exploded in a great flash of light without sound, and she flew low over the ocean, feeling the salt spray on her face.  It was exhilarating, skirting over waves and rocky cliffs.  “You could be immortal,” the voice told her.  “Give in to me and we will be together.  I will guide you better than any of your kin or friends.”

“Who…who are you?”

There was a faint giggle.  “Why, I’m your best friend.  I’m the part of you that’s strong, vibrant, powerful, alluring…  The other part of you is weak, helpless, whiny. If you give into me, you give into yourself…the better self.”

“This can’t be real.  I’m in the Houses of Healing.”

“Well, not really.  Not anymore.  But that’s besides the point,” the voice cooed.  “You said that you wanted a man.  I’m delivering.”

“What?  No, that’s not exactly what I meant.  I want to be with King Araphor, but…but I am curious.  I want to know what to expect.  I want to be the woman that he wants, not just a queen to him.”

“Yes, that is what I want too.  We are the same.  But let me show you what to expect,” the voice said with a snicker.  “Now awake,” it said.

Nirnadel’s eyes flickered open and she rubbed them, trying to focus.  The aromas hit her first, scented spicy oils mixed in with incense like jasmine and sandalwood with a hint of musky amber.  As her eyes cleared, they were filled with vibrant hues of red, scarlet, ruby, candy apple and vermillion.  The fact that she recognized these shades spoke to her education.  Sounds began to filter into her ears, low voices, giggles, whispers and other things.  Things like when she could hear Gildor and Alquanessë on the roof of the Tirthon.  Her eyes shot open wide along with her mouth.

She focused on a man in front of her who was…nude and…excited. “What?  Who are you?  What are you doing?” she blurted out.  He was young but not an adolescent with a mop of brown hair, clean shaven and rather attractive.

“Oh Neldis, I didn’t know you were back at Artan’s. Well, this makes my day.  You were my favorite, you know,” he said smoothly in a mercantile accent and stepped towards her.

Nirnadel looked down for a moment to see that she only wore black stockings, gloves with a velvet choker around her neck.  “I…ummm…you have the wrong person, good sir,” she blurted out, covering herself with her hands.

He touched her cheek and cupped her breast.  “You are just as beautiful as I remember.  I really missed you.”

CODEX

Weapons:

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

Glaive – a polearm with an long chopping blade.

Flail – a spiked ball on a chain that attaches to a stick.  Also called a morning star.

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.

Armor:

Pauldron – plate armor that covers the shoulder.

Couter – plate armor over the elbow.

Cuirass – solid breastplate

Basinet – a conical helm with varying movable visors, some elegant, some grotesque.

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

Sallet – a squat helmet that may have a movable visor and a flange that protects the back of the neck.

Spangenhelm – A conical helm that has a fixed visor and sometimes ear protection.  Akin to a Viking or Rohirric helm.

Bevor – the throat protector that goes with the sallet.

Pikeman’s Pot – a morion helmet.

Clothing:

Bycocket hat – Robin Hood hat.

Hood – pieces of stiff fabric that fits over a noblewoman’s head from ear to ear, often with gems, jewels and other decorations.

Kirtle – a gown.

Placket – a stiff piece of fabric that fits over the kirtle over the breasts.

Foresleeves – removable sleeves that are usually extravagant, made of fur, cloth of gold of brocade.

Battle Formations:

Thangail – shield wall formation.

Dírnaith – wedge formation.

Tûrtan – turtle formation with shields all around and held high.

Other terms:

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-

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Chapter End Notes

I couldn't resist throwing a Karen story in there.