The Tale of Tar-Ciryatan's Daughter by Kaylee Arafinwiel  

Ailinel’s gone and learned all the tools of the trade - sailing, that is.

The King’s settlers need wives. There are precious few women among the foresters, prospectors, and miners sent to the coasts, bringing riches to Numenor.

“You do not mind having a ship of women, my lord Captain?” Ailinel asked. Captain Ondoher laughed.

“Is not the Lady the source of our favor? Remember the King is your father now, and make a good match.”

Ailinel’s eyes met Shipman Gaerondur’s as he taught her to tie off the lines.

“Would you sail with a wife, Gaerondur?”

He smiled. “I would.”

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“Gaerondur!”

Captain Gaerondur turned to catch Ailinel in his arms, and kiss her thoroughly. “There you are, beloved. I thought you had got lost!”

“Of course not, silly.” Ailinel laughed, eyes dancing merrily as he twirled her around. “I’ve just been with the medic, is all.”

Gaerondur stepped back, setting Ailinel on her feet. His brow creased with concern. “Are you well, zimra?”

Ailinel smiled. “We are quite well,” she said, cradling her belly.

The Captain’s eyes widened, and he kissed her again, making her giggle. “Will you be safe sailing out with me?”

“Quite safe, love,” she assured him.

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“My lady!”

Ailinel hurried to investigate the commotion, and came to a halt as she caught sight of the disturbance’s origin.

The dark brown stain of Gimil’s blood marred the cartload of pumpkins which lay flaming orange in the hazy autumn sunshine. Ailinel gave a shudder. “Gaerondur!” she cried.

Captain Gaerondur turned from the legion of workers. “My dear?”

She gestured helplessly, trembling with rising nausea, and he gave her a ginger pill-- then he saw the body crushed under the cart, an arrow protruding from Telumendil’s back, and stared as though bewitched. “Whatever happened?”

“A message,” she breathed. Murder.

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Captain Gaerondur took Ailinel aboard his ship, drawing her close to his side as she wept. He wiped away a smudge of dirt that had got on her cheek.

“It’s not for us to investigate,” he told her quietly. “We’ll grieve when we can; but for now we mustn’t look glum.” He understood perfectly how distraught Ailinel was, but there was little he could do short of making it a demand.

“We’re slaves to our schedule, bound like hounds to a leash,” Ailinel muttered.

Gaerondur raised his eyebrows. “I won’t leave you ashore when there’s trouble, my heart.”

“I know.”

They had reached the Gulf of Lune when Ailinel roused early one morning. She came to the rail, to stare out over the water to the skyline, a hand cradling her belly.

She felt, rather than heard, the presence behind her. “Kirinki?”

“Aye,” the stonecutter’s apprentice-turned-sailor confirmed. “Is all well, m’lady?”

Ailinel nodded her head, her face a mask of composure. “I’m… fine.”

“No, I doubt that,” Kirinki said quietly, his usually warbling voice turned somber. “But you trust m’lord to get through the voyage safe?”

“I do.” Ailinel almost breathed easier as a rainbow appeared in the sea spray.

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The Wilwarin had still been at sea when Ailinel’s time came. At first, Gaerondur thought Ailinel’s groan was from the wind in her eyes, and called for eyebright.

“It’s not that,” she protested, taking exception as pain rent through her again. The ship’s healer, a wise old man, offered hospitality in his cabin. “Best leave things to me and Gwilwileth, Captain.”

The weather and the seas looked rough. Gaerondur left his laboring wife in the healers’ hands and turned to the taxes and shipping manifesto of their goods, ready to publish.

The storm passed with a cry--no, two.

Miyât. Twins.

Chapter End Notes

Today was the 6th birthday of Hope Solo's twins, Vittorio Genghis and Lozen Orianna Judith (OJ for short). The former USWNT goalkeeper put a lovely tribute on her Instagram and then the Adunaic word for "twins" showed up as one of the prompts, so I couldn't resist giving Gaerondur and Ailinel twins, too.

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Barliman, the gnarled old healer, brought Captain Gaerondur to Ailinel. She was dressed in Gaerondur’s oversized shirt, a pretty blush in her cheeks as she cradled their newborn children.

“Are you well, zimra?” Gaerondur asked solicitously.

“Just tired, my love.” The swinging lantern hanging in the window danced like a will-o-the-wisp as it scattered a pattern of gold on the bed.

Gaerondur came to greet their children. “Niphredil,” he murmured. “Ulmondur.”

“Aye, fine names, my love.”

Someone gave tongue to a shanty on deck, and Ulmondur whimpered.

Gaerondur listened as Ailinel tended their son. “I think that he is singing.” 

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“One night when the royal bed had been prepared for Silmariën and Elatan in Armenlos, they engaged in pillow talk.”

Gaerondur turned over in bed to find Ailinel reading to their newborns. He groaned. “Really, zimra, The Price of Salt?” He couldn’t believe a volume about his ancestors was here, much less that sort.

“It was in our chamber.” She looked at him. "The only book in our chamber."

“Brandir thought it was a book on trade,” Gaerondur replied, naming one of the Wilwarin’s crew. “He thought I might find it useful.”

Ailinel chuckled. “Of course he did, my love.”

“Usaphda,” Gaerondur sucked in a breath. “You mean he knew all the time?” He leaned over Ailinel’s shoulder to study the…very anatomical drawing on the next page with unabashed interest. At least the drawing's not intended to be of my ancestors.

“Males,” Ailinel snorted. “You’re all the same.” She grinned fondly and took a bite from the box of mint chocolates Gwilwileth had left at her bedside, reveling in the luxurious flavor, and handed her husband one before being asked. “Where do we sail next?”

“Mithlond. Mayhap we’ll see swanships in the harbor,” Gaerondur mused. “Would you like that, my heart?”

“I would.” She envisioned walking on the beach with the wind in her hair, and perhaps seeing Elves for the first time. "What do we trade in Mithlond?"

"We will bring them woad and mustard from our fields along with our pumpkins." Fewer than he would like, to be sure. "Likely they will have pearls and silks for us."

Chapter End Notes

One of the prompts was "Lords of Andunie". I have decided that Gaerondur is a younger son or grandson of the ruling Lord of Andunie in the time of Tar-Ciryatan (whoever the Lord at the time was, I don't think he was named). This would also make sense of a crewman calling Gaerondur and Ailinel "m'lord" and "m'lady" in an earlier chapter.

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"I've always said all the rules are made for bending."

"Of course you have, zimra." Gaerondur smiled wryly, bending to kiss his wife as she lay alone in their bed. Not quite alone, he corrected himself; she was nursing their twin children under the golden light of the lantern. "And what do Niphredil and Ulmondur say?"

"They say their atto is a silly goose," Ailinel smiled impishly as she spoke, though her eyes were still troubled. "What news from the shore, my love?"

Captain Gaerondur sighed. "And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures." It sounded like a quote to Ailinel's ear. "Would that all could be so."

Ailinel sat up. "What's happened?"

Gaerondur exhaled. "Governor Meneldur has been called to the scene."

Ailinel licked her lips nervously. "What did he find there?"

"The ground, still red--well, dark brown, now, with blood. The silence was the loudest thing they ever heard, the messengers said." Gaerondur shuddered.

Ailinel blinked back tears. "Have they found who committed the murder?"

Gaerondur smiled grimly. "Only a message written at the scene. "It is that my hands are also my father's hands."

Ailinel blinked. "What does that mean?"

"As of yet, it remains a secret."

A message came just past dawn, when the mists off the sea still hung over the Wilwarin.

"'Tis from Lord Arminas of Mithlond, zimra," Gaerondur informed Ailinel.

She blinked wearily and sat up. "What does he say?"

"The Sea just sits silently--but sometimes, she does more," Gaerondur read slowly.

Ailinel blinked again. "What does that mean?"

Gaerondur shook his head and continued.

"There comes a half-formed memory, with the coming rain."

Ailinel arched an eyebrow.

Gaerondur shrugged. "Go not to the Elves for advice," he murmured with a twisted smile.

"And yet, we must. Have we permission to come into port?"

"Aye."

Ailinel sighed in relief. Perhaps they would meet this Lord Arminas and get real answers.

When Captain Gaerondur brought the Wilwarin into port, a litter was brought to transport Ailinel and her babes to the shore. She chafed at the delay, and hoped the Elves would not think her weak for needing such assistance.

The peaks of the Ered Luin towering in the distance were snow-capped, and Ailinel shivered. Immediately Gwilwileth brought a shawl to wrap about her shoulders and the twins slung at her breasts.

"M'lady, don't you fret now," the midwife said, keeping pace with the litter as their crew carried it. "You'll be under shelter soon enough. Just look about you, and see what there is to see."

Obediently, Ailinel looked, hearing Elven and Mortal shanties both being sung as the dock-workers labored. "Let me be lawless and beloved, and I know you'll never count the tears you've cried," came the thread of a tavern song, one of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears if she was correct. Such songs were sung among her own people as well. But they were passing the tavern, The Everlasting Flame, and going up past it.

"Looks like we'll never be together our whole life through, There might be changes in the weather, but not for me and you," another thread of song picked up as Ailinel and her twins were carried up the path winding up from the docks, away from the grey mists and sea-spray blowing in from the edge of the waters.

The litter jostled a little as they walked the wooden paths and stone bridges, crossing over the canals below.

"For what reason is Lord Arminas summoning us so far from the harbor?" Gaerondur asked one of their escort.

The Elf gave him a cool look. "He has his reasons."

Another Elf shook his head. "He does. But another message has come from the colony, young lord."

"What is it?" Gaerondur controlled himself so he would not turn too quickly.

"Grief is not the only geography I know.

Every wound closes."

They passed the Mindon Falassiéva, which lit the harbor with its bright tower, and Gaerondur glanced up, wondering if the tower was built in memory of the towers of the West. The mind-picture it called up made him smile wistfully for the briefest of moments.

"Delays are dangerous," he murmured to himself, but they had to go slowly and carefully for the sake of his beloved and their children across the raised walkways and bridges.

Below them, their own cargo of pumpkins, woad, and mustard was being conveyed by canal the same direction as their destination. Other boatloads carried wood of Nísimaldar and other such goods.

"What will Lord Arminas have to say to us?" Ailinel asked, sounding sleepy.

"I imagine he will wish to speak of the thieves' quarrel," one of their escort mused.

Ailinel roused. "What do you mean?"

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