Storms at Weathertop. Shadow over Rhudaur IV

[Aegnor]

Aegnor laughed quietly to himself over his two companions. Amdír was so certain that he was cleverly concealing his true purposes from Aegnor, who in fact knew all about them - and in the meanwhile trying to put Aegnor off the track by conspiring with him to get Barund to reveal information that he would surely rather Aegnor not know. And then Barund would have no idea that there was anything even to conceal. This was sure to be an entertaining morning.

Aegnor had been surprised when Galphant had called him in the previous day and revealed to him that he was now betrothed to the Lady Gimilbeth. It was all shockingly fast - just a few days before Galphant had been reluctant to engage in the whole business. He had been considerably less surprised at the revelation that Amdír was attempting to use Barund to work out some complicated plan for a Rhudaurian king in Cardolan - he had been sure that Amdír was up to something, and this seemed likely. There was no need to let Amdír in on his suspicions, though.

So there he sat, aiding Amdír in trying to ply secrets from the Rhudaurian. Amdír appeared to be seeking out the purpose obliquely. To Aegnor, this hardly seemed necessary - Barund had no real discretion, and would almost certainly spill everything at the first opportunity. During a lull, Aegnor decided to make his attempt. "So, our Council today goes to have their first conversations with Gondor via the seeing stone. Your mistress, I think, has already used the stone?"

"Oh yes - although not with Gondor yet. She spoke with Malvegil yesterday. That man is a vicious monster, there’s no getting around it."

Amdír looked over at Aegnor and bowed his head in defeat. Looking back to Barund he continued. "So the discussion did not go well?"

"Malvegil demands half of Rhudaur in exchange for his help! He is nothing but a greedy tyrant. And to think we are offering that poor dear girl up in sacrifice to his disgusting appetites. ”

“Poor dear girl?” Amdír looked at him quizzically.

“Oh yes, the Lady Tarniel, our King’s younger daughter. She is barely more than a child, and we’re to offer her up as a wife to that disgusting old man. It is outrageous, is what it is. To think of some poor little girl in the arms of some awful old man – it makes me sick!”

“Barund, I think you may be mistaken. Malvegil already has a wife, I believe.” Amdír said.

“I can’t see how that could be. Everyone has been talking for some time of this Arthedain marriage for the King’s daughter. Lots of painting of portraits and secret communications with Malvegil and so forth. Perhaps Malvegil’s wife has died – a recent widower, unnaturally taking a new wife younger than his own granddaughter to satisfy his unhealthy lusts – entirely despicable.”

Amdír’s response this time was “I’m quite sure that cannot be. My father had me draft a message of congratulations and best wishes on behalf of the Council of Cardolan on the occasion of the Queen of Arthedain’s most recent birthday – and that was only two months ago. And if she had died since then, her son would be in mourning garb – but we can all see that he is not.”

“Well, I know the girl is being married off to somebody. That Lord Celebrindol has a wife as well, I suppose…”

“Perhaps she’s to be married to one of Celebrindol’s sons,” Aegnor suggested.

Barund looked at him with relief. “Yes, yes, that must be it. Now that I think of it, that makes much more sense, I suppose.”

“So Malvegil wants half of Rhudaur as a dowry for the girl?” Aegnor asked. “But why should your king agree to such a thing? Surely he can find a husband for his daughter who doesn’t demand such an outrageous price.”

Barund paused a moment before answering. Perhaps somewhere, deep within him, a part of him was aware that he had already told these foreigners more than he should have about his mistress’s business here. If this was so, the part of him that controlled his mouth was blissfully ignorant of it. “Oh, no, not a dowry, I don’t think. We want help with fighting orcs and so forth – or something along those lines, I think. The orcs have certainly been aggressive of late. I’ve told you, I’m sure, about how I rescued the Lady Gimilbeth from a band of orcs, have I not?”

As Barund regaled them, once again, with the story of his rescue of Gimilbeth, Aegnor decided that the man had told them virtually everything he knew. The foolishness of the man was remarkable. But still, this was useful information. Clearly Rhudaur was facing some sort of military threat of a very serious nature. He was sure Galphant would be interested to learn more of this.

[Orogost]

Orogost was quite disappointed with the result of the Palantir session. Some midlevel Palantir expert in Osgiliath going on about proper usage of the stone! Who was this fool to waste the valuable time of the Council of Cardolan on such trifles? The man had been unable to provide any useful information - only promising to relay their concerns to his superior, whoever that might be, who would apparently speak to them during their next session.

Orogost felt distinctly that the officials in Osgiliath did not take the issue of tracing Caryontar’s line nearly as seriously as they ought. It had been two years since King Dirion had passed on! Several letters had been written to the Steward of Gondor detailing Cardolan’s needs on this matter. And it seemed as though nobody had made any effort to do anything at all. It was entirely infuriating. The whole endeavor looked likely to take even longer than anticipated. As he walked down the corridor from the Palantir chamber towards his own quarters, he looked back to see that Hador and Belecthor were conversing behind him. Where Adrahil and Galphant had gotten to he did not know – they seemed to have slipped away at some point. “What are you two gabbing on about? Why don’t you make yourselves useful? There may be some legal texts in the library here that are not available to us at Harnost. Why don’t you go see if there’s anything useful? I know that our copies of the case law on inheritance for the last five kings of Númenor has been lost – try to see if they might have it there. There’s a case of inheritance of a childless Lord of Ondosto during the reign of Tar-Telemnar [or Ar-Gimilzor?] that might have some interesting parallels. What are you goggling about? Get to it. Let me know if you find anything interesting.”

Having dispatched the remaining members of the council, he proceeded back to his room, where he found his servant alone, dawdling idly. “Well, what are you about? Where’s Amdír? Go summon him, I’ve some correspondence to get through.”

Putting on his spectacles, Orogost looked through his latest correspondence – more disputes over the toll fees in Tharbad – he would really have to do something about that. A letter from the City Prefect of Harnost about a bread shortage in the city…he was engaged in reading the latter when the servant returned. “Your son is here – and he has brought with him a Rhudaurian.”

Orogost was irritated – if his son wanted to carry on clandestine negotiations with Rhudaur, that was all very well, but he wanted no part of it personally. Still, there was nothing to do about it now. “Very well, very well, have them come in.”

Amdír entered with a Rhudaurian soldier. “Father, may I present to you Captain Barund of Rhudaur? Captain, this is my father, the Steward of Cardolan.”

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” said Barund, giving a slight bow.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Now what is this all about Amdír? Why are you wasting my time with this when there’s important matters to attend to?”

“Father, Barund and I have been discussing matters which are of mutual interest. As that cursed Aegnor follows me wherever I go, it’s hard to find time to discuss such delicate matters, but as he was called away, I thought this might be a good time to bring the matter to your attention.”

“You oughtn’t think I have any idea what you’re talking about Amdír. But now that your friend is here, I suppose I will hear him out.”

Barund was puzzled and irritated by Orogost’s attitude. Here he was ready to do a service for the old man, and he acted like he barely had time to pay any attention to him at all. After spending a few moments calling back his mistress’s instructions to him, he began. “Sir, your son and I have spent some time discussing the issues of the succession to the throne of your kingdom. He has told me that you all fear that your mission here will have no success in finding an heir of – er – Cardolan,” (Barund had tried to remember the name of the first king of Cardolan, but had failed) “and that then, you would have to choose between making that brute Malvegil your king or putting that usurping weasel Galphant on the throne.”

Orogost interrupted him. “I must object to these characterizations. The King of Arthedain is the Heir of Isildur and the greatest prince of the north, and all honor and respect is due him. And the Lord Galphant is a true and honorable gentleman if ever I have met one, and one of the honorable members of the Council which I head. Amdír, why did you bring this vulgar man to me?”

Before Amdír could figure out what to say, Barund had respond. “My Lord, I apologize if I am a bit rough. I am no diplomat, but a soldier, and we are accustomed to speaking plainly.”

“Well, well, I’m sure it’s as you say. Go on with whatever you were saying.”

“At any rate, your son suggested to me that neither of those two options was very attractive to, um, the true patriots of Cardolan, and that some other possibility might be appropriate. I immediately thought to the fact that our wise king is just as much a descendant of Isildur as Malvegil, and that he has a fine young son who I’m sure would prove an excellent king for your land. I discussed the matter with my mistress, the Lady Gimilbeth, and she told me that…” here Barund again struggled to remember what Gimilbeth had told him, “her father has a very strong claim to the succession of Cardolan. She suggested that as the heir of, er, the youngest of the three brothers who split up the kingdoms,” (here again Barund could not remember the proper names involved) “there is a good case to be made that he has rights to succeed to Cardolan ahead of the representative of the oldest brother, who, er, gave up his claim to Cardolan.”

Barund was quite pleased with himself. He had struggled mightily to remember what Gimilbeth had told him to say, wishing to prove his abilities as a diplomat as he had already, he hoped, shown her his prowess as a warrior.

Orogost cut short his self-satisfaction. “Amdír, this fellow has nearly no idea what he is talking about – he’s just repeating something he has memorized by rote. Captain, how much of what you just said did you even understand? Your mistress may have some clever ideas, and they might indeed be ones that we would be interested in hearing. But you are a fool, and I don’t see that any use can come of talking any more to you. Amdír, see if this fellow can arrange a meeting between you and his mistress. I can’t imagine he’s any good for anything more than that. When you’re done with that, come back – I have some correspondence I need your assistance with.”

Barund stood, pale and speechless, in the wake of Orogost’s verbal onslaught. Orogost looked down to continue reading through his correspondence. Amdír, his face flush with anger, guided Barund out of the room. “Barund, my friend, I apologize for my father’s rudeness. He is a difficult old man, and has little patience for others – you must not take his words too seriously.”

Orogost could hear Amdír continuing his flood of soothing words to the Rhudaurian for several minutes. Finally, his son re-entered the room.

“Ah, very good. I hope you’ve arranged things as I asked. Now, there’s another letter we need to write to the customs master in Tharbad. ‘My dear sir, I write to inquire again as to the surprisingly low figures you report as to – Amdír, why aren’t you taking this down?” He looked up to see his son standing in front of him, a grim look in his face.

“Father, I think I have barely calmed down the poor fool, and he will indeed seek to arrange a meeting for me with his mistress. But your behavior just now was indefensible.” Amdír had a determined look on his face that Orogost had never seen before. “You very nearly upset days of effort I have put into cultivating this man. Of course he is a fool! Do you think I can be unaware of this? But he can be useful to us, and for our sake you should treat him with a modicum of courtesy. You are a petty tyrant, and I’m sick of dealing with your every ridiculous whim. The old king tolerated your foolishness because you were his friend from boyhood, and the Council tolerates it now because they find it more convenient to allow you to continue on until all is settled than to try to find someone to replace you. But no new king – even if he is just a foolish boy from Rhudaur – would possibly tolerate you if you continue to behave as you do. You will very quickly find yourself in force retirement, or worse. And I think, father, that I am going to take the rest of the day off. The customs revenues can wait until tomorrow.”

Then Amdír turned and strode proudly from the room before his father could recover enough to say anything. After he left, Orogost found he was too disturbed to continue with his correspondence. Anger welled up within him – how dare the boy speak to his father with such words? But his anger was diminished by a sinking realization that his son was right. He had been for too long without anybody to call him to account. Dirion in his later years had paid little attention to matters of state, and had generally let Orogost have all his own way. And in the last two years even what little restraint the king had imposed had been gone, and Orogost had begun to think of himself as the proper ruler of the kingdom. But he had been foolish to suppose that such a situation would last. He was an intermediary only, and it would perhaps be wise to try to be more agreeable – or perhaps wiser still to accept that his time was reaching its end. Orogost put away his correspondence – he had a great deal to think about.

[Gimilbeth]

Library of Amon Sul. Afternoon of November 18, 1347

As Gimilbeth found out, much to her pleasure, the Library of Amon Sul was situated quite close to her own chambers - in fact it occupied the main part of the East Wing, as far away from the hazards of the kitchen fires as possible. The library was an impressive long room with high narrow windows on both sides. Unlike in her room upstairs, the diamond-shaped window panes were uncolored, of simple clear glass, letting the afternoon light in unaltered. On the sides of the central aisle stood two parallel rows of shelves containing innumerable scrolls and books, while by the windows there were rows of desks, most of which were, to Gimilbeth's surprise, occupied. Some of the readers appeared to be simple soldiers or servants, which was amazing in itself. Gimilbeth grinned: perhaps the incredible boredom and the shortage of taverns in the fortress made even the commoners seek entertainment in the library.

A lean old man in a scholarly attire sitting at a large desk by the entrance rose with agility belying his age and offered her a polite bow. "It is a pleasure to see you here, Lady Gimilbeth," he said in a rich and pleasant voice. "Fornsael, the Chief librarian of Amon Sul, at your service, my lady. How can I help you?"

Gimilbeth nodded to the librarian and bit her lip looking around. So many eyes were riveted to her, so many ears listening intently. She was loath to tell what she needed: it was a give-away in itself. But then again, how could she get the scroll, if she didn't tell its title? She took a step closer to the desk, leaned over it a little and replied almost in a whisper "I wish to perlustrate the full text of the treaty of Annuminas, dating back to year 861, if it is possible."

The long wrinkled face of the librarian instantly lit up. "Ah, you mean the Peace of Amlaith!" he cried, much to Gimilbeth's annoyance. But the old man didn't notice her displeasure and plunged headlong into a lengthy explanation.

"Naturally we have several copies of the Annuminas treaty, not the original, you see, as Amon Sul had changed hands so many times over the last centuries that the original document somehow got lost. Nobody knows exactly when it had happened: most likely at the time when the Tower had been held by either Cardolan or Rhudaur. In a way, it's a surprise that the Library has survived with any degree of intactness. Though... it's easy to explain, since the various conquerors were all Dunedain, and the library and its contents would have been considered priceless to them all. They were valued to such a degree, they say, that nobody would even shed the blood of any enemy inside its walls... they would drag them outside before slaughtering them!" Fornsael grinned broadly.

"The document in question was originally known as 'The Peace of Amlaith' - though of course, that term later became used for describing the reign of King Amlaith himself, which was a very peaceful reign. At least it was so in Arthedain, and remained peaceful for a bit longer there, although the same cannot be said for the sister kingdoms of Cardolan and Rhudaur... begging your pardon, My Lady - although in truth, they were the very ones who eventually dragged Arthedain into the conflicts.

"We also commonly refer to it with the year of '861', though as we all know, that was the year of Good King Earendur's passing and the beginning of the Division of Arnor itself, and the document itself was actually composed in 862, the following year.

"Interesting thing about the copies of this document which we hold here at the Library of Amon Sul. Over the years..."

By this point Gimilbeth's patience was worn thin, so she interrupted the babbling librarian. " I am sorry, but can you give me one of the copies of the "Peace of Amlaith," please?"

At this point Fornsael's face reddened in embarrassment and confusion. "I am sorry, my lady, we used to have three copies of it made at different time and two nights ago I set my scribes to make a fourth one, considering the high demand for this text just recently…but my lord Celebrindol has borrowed one copy, lord Adrahil upon his arrival to the fortress has taken another, lord Amdir got the third, and a few minutes ago I have lent the last one to the lord Hador along with some priceless scrolls on case law on inheritance for the last five kings of Númenor. I am really at a loss, who would have thought that this ancient treaty would become such a popular reading…"

Gimilbeth almost hissed in frustration. At this moment she noticed the grey robed Mithrandir-Incanus, watching her quietly from his place by the window, the thick book bound in green leather forgotten on his table. He bore a curious expression that might have been a sarcastic smirk, but it was hard to tell, because most of the old man's face was concealed by his thick grey beard. Meeting Gimilbeth's eyes he nodded briefly in acknowledgement then lowered his gaze back down to his book.

She was preparing to leave, but the librarian would have none of it, it seemed. He walked around the desk and barred her way speaking in agitation "But my lady, there are plenty of books in the library! Surely you would be able to find something to your liking! We have a prominent Elven section, there in the place of honor, lots of books in Sindarin - most of them I had copied myself during my studies in Rivendell many years ago. Lord Elrond and Lord Erestor had been so very kind to accept a young insignificant scholar from Fornost to study Elven lore… And I have also made a lot of translations into Westron, though with poetry it is not always that easy… But perhaps you have the same books in Cameth Brin, as you are fortunate to live so close to Imladris." Fornsael's face fell for a moment.

Gimilbeth was drawing in her breath to say that most of Cameth Brin's library had been burned during the last Hillmen insurrection, but she got no chance to speak.

The librarian's eyes lit again and he hurried on "Then, maybe you would be more interested in Arnor and Arthedain literature? We have got lots of books from the library of Annuminas, when it was being transferred to Fornost. King Amlaith saw to it that we get a copy of everything… Would you like to read the Lays of the noble lady Voronwen, a very rare book? She was a companion of the great Elendil himself and a very gifted poet - her lays are hauntingly beautiful and heartbreaking. I remember some by heart…He proceeded to cite several lines of Sindarin poetry, but Gimilbeth, a polite smile plastered on her face, attempted to walk past him towards the door.

At this point the indomitable Fornsael actually dared to catch hold of her sleeve and looking into her eyes imploringly babbled on "Oh, but likely you would prefer something more recent: The Fables of Mithrilbeth the Bard, perhaps? - very entertaining. Or maybe you prefer some recent works? Here are the novels of lady Arienel of Fornost, she is almost our contemporary, for she died hardly 70 years ago. She has written a number of love stories and I must say I have seen grizzled veterans of many battles dissolve in tears over them."

Fornsael picked a well-used book from a nearby shelf and thrust it into Gimilbeth's hands. "Here, try this "Love on the Edge of a Sword," it is by far her best, but she has more, many more: "Love at the Spear-Point", "Love and the Mace of Doom", "Love Pierced by a Dagger" "The Golden Arrows of Love"...

"Er, thank you," muttered Gimilbeth, looking at the small book in her hands in bewilderment and wishing to be as far away from the library as possible. A love story - ugh! Well considering that she was now newly betrothed, perhaps it was high time to start reading such kind of books and "dissolve in tears" over them… She grinned. "I believe I am permitted to take it with me to read at leisure in my room?" she asked.

"Certainly, my lady. I will only make a little note in my book…" He proceeded to do it, when the door opened to let in another visitor, none other than Belecthor of the Cardolani delegation. Gimilbeth curtsied in reply to his bow and lingered by the table, curious about his errand to the library.

Her expectations proved to be correct, for she was able to overhear his excited whisper

"Do you happen to have the 861 treaty of Annuminas?"

[Vorondariel]

"Finally!", thought Vorondariel as she made her way from the lady Sulawen's rooms and toward her favorite place, the library. The lady had made several time-consuming demands on her favorite lady-in-waiting this morning, including the request of a very intricate hairstyle. As she worked on her lady's hair, her nimble fingers quickly and deftly braiding and twisting, she let her mind wander. Sulawen had chattered on and on in a cheerful manner about the latest happenings in the lives of the other young ladies, specifically their flirtations during choir practice. Vorondariel rolled her eyes, but made polite, listening sounds. She didn't have any interest at all in the girlish behaviors of the younger ladies. She considered them to be little more than children, even though she was not much older herself. Truth be told, Vorondariel was quite shy, and never really had related well with the other girls, who were more extroverted and always giggling over boys. She had always felt like an "older soul" around them, never quite fitting in. She was more inclined toward solitude and daydreaming, and being in her own world. But despite this attribute she was able to be observant and aware of the things going on around her when it was necessary, for she knew that there was a proper time and place for everything.

"And why did you not join the ladies' choir this time, Vorondariel?", Sulawen asked.

At the sound of her name, Vorondariel was brought back from her drifting thoughts. "My time has been taken up by... other interests", she replied calmly, continuing her exacting and efficient work on Sulawen's hair. Why her lady had asked for such a style on a common weekday, she couldn't guess.

"Oh," Sulawen replied, with a tiny smirk and a slightly raised eyebrow. Vorondariel rolled her eyes again. Surely her lady must think that her "other interests" involved some young man or other. But it mattered not. She smiled a little to herself. Eventually, perhaps, that day would come, but right now it was the farthest thing from Vorondariel's mind.

At last she was finished, and Sulawen dismissed her for the day with a wink and a smile and a motherly "Now don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Vorondariel laughed lightly with her, with a half-joking "Yes Mother!", and headed off.

Stopping in her own adjoining room for her soft pale grey shawl and placing it gracefully over her hair and shoulders, she decided to go outdoors and take the long way around to the library, needing some quiet and some fresh air. It was cold, and her small rabbit-lined grey boots crunched softly in the snow. The wintry air brought a pink flush to her face, and she breathed it in deeply, smelling the crisp scent of snow. The wintry sky was allowing a small amount of sunlight through the clouds, and occasionally a lonely snowflake swirled down. A wayward breeze wafted through her shawl and hair as she made her way to the library's great arched wooden door.

Stepping in, she sighed. Joy filled her heart at the quiet atmosphere, which was infused with the smell of old books and what she liked to refer to as "the feeling of the past", which she found was quite strong here at Amon Sul. As she walked closer toward her favorite section of the library, she took everything in again as if she were seeing it all for the first time. The great arched windows, the tall shelves made of dark, rich wood, filled with ancient tomes, and the slight dustiness in the air. Lost in her own world, her heart leaped as she approached the area that held her most beloved histories. She selected a few cherished favorites, and went to sit in her usual chair in front of a south-facing window. The ancient green velvet chair seemed to welcome her into its arms like an old friend. Before her on the centuries-old, beautifully carved table she set down her treasured books - a small, dark red-bound copy of the story of Aldarion and Erendis, and a large dusty brown volume containing the history of the Last Alliance - but in her hands remained the most beloved of all. She curled her legs under her pale skirts and opened the slightly tattered sea-blue brocade-bound book and began to get lost in it, forgetting all else, even where she was... "They went up out of the sea and found a country fair and fruitful, and they were glad. And they called that land Elenna, which is Starwards; But also Anadûnê, which is Westernesse, Númenórë in the High Eldarin tongue..."

Vorondariel was so absorbed that she did not notice the entrance of the Princess of Rhudaur. But what happened next pricked her ears in a way that she could not ignore.

The librarian had been droning on and on to a patron, the sound of the voices distant to her ears, as if they were in another world - that is, until a smattering of recited verse slapped her in the face like a wave of cold water.

"Would you like to read the Lays of the noble lady Voronwen, a very rare book?", the librarian went on. "She was a companion of the great Elendil himself and a very gifted poet - her lays are hauntingly beautiful and heartbreaking. I remember some by heart…

"At last, soon after, word came to the house of Annuminas of impending war
And Voronwen knew her lord would go, with the Elves and many from Numenor
Against the menace of the East rode the armies of the West, in line after shining line
And she bid farewell to Nimruzir, embracing him one last time..." "


Vorondariel's breath caught in her throat, along with her heart, and despite herself she sighed. She knew that poem, as well as if she had written it herself. The words brought a smile to her face and a distant look to her deep grey eyes. These were the words of her ancestress, the lady Voronwen, who was a high-ranking lady in Elendil's court. It was said that she may have at one time even visited Amon Sul, so very long ago. Vorondariel wondered to herself whether this ancient great-aunt of hers had even sat in this very room.

Lost in thought, silently reciting the next stanza to herself, Vorondariel allowed her mind to drift far away in time. She barely even noticed the elderly gentleman who had walked up to her and seated himself at her side.

"Good day, young lady", the old man said with a smile.

Gandalf had been watching and listening to the goings-on in the library from behind his great green book. While most of his attention had been upon observing the discourse between the Princess Gimilbeth and the librarian, he could not help but notice the young woman who had walked in a bit earlier and seated herself among the histories of Numenor. Something about her appearance and demeanor made him think of a conversation he had with the two elves of Gondolin about the young lady who bore a striking resemblance in both looks and temperament to her ancestress. Seeing her reaction to the librarian's recitations, he smiled to himself, knowing that this must be she.

With an eyebrow raised in thought, he regarded the girl from a slight distance away. Draped comfortably in the huge dark green chair, leaning propped up on her elbow against the chair's arm with her face against her hand, her feet crossed and dangling off the chair in the opposite direction, he noticed that even in this informal posture she had the bearing of a noble lady. Coming around closer he could see clearly her pale skin and fine brunette hair with highlights that picked up a silvery-ash cast as it was touched by the window's light, and a slight pink blush to her cheeks as she gazed away out the window, a forefinger absent-mindedly touching her small rose-colored lips, which were curled ever so slightly into the barest whisper of a smile. Gandalf smiled in a grandfatherly fashion as he sat in the neighboring chair to her left.

Vorondariel immediately straightened herself into a more suitable position upon hearing the elderly man address her. Gandalf smiled even more at the way in which the girl suddenly cleared her mind of daydreaming and politely refocused her attention. Her dark, sea-colored eyes still had a slightly wistful and far-away look in them as they met his.

"Good day to you, sir", she said, clearing her throat demurely and hoping sincerely that this man could not read minds.

Gandalf's smile still didn't leave his eyes. "May I ask what interests you so on this fine morning?"

Vorondariel smiled. She could feel warmth rising to the top of her cheeks. She imagined dunking her face in the snow, so as to trick herself into not blushing, and as far as she could tell it was working.

"Studying history", she said, with the tiniest of demure and innocent smiles. Her shyness was about to get the better of her - not to mention the fact that she had been so suddenly disturbed from her daydreams - and she wished she could hide under her shawl and sink into the floor, but for some reason she felt an immediate calm around this old man that she couldn't really place or understand.

"Ah, history, of course!", he said with a glance at the books on the table in front of her and noticing the one she still held cradled in her arms. "I am a student of history myself. Do you have any particular points of interest?", he asked, sensing the girl's reticence and attempting to make her feel a bit more comfortable.

"Why, anything concerning my Numenorean ancestry, of course", she answered, her enthusiasm suddenly springing into her words. She wasn't aware of it, but Gandalf noticed her holding the well-worn copy of The Akallabêth closer to her heart. "And by extension, anything regarding my ancestors the Exiles."

Gandalf let her chatter a little bit more as he noticed her shyness dissolving, and was somewhat amazed at how much this quiet girl could talk, once she got going on her most beloved subjects. "...and of the great defeat of the Enemy..." She stopped, suddenly, remembering her manners. "Sir, I don't believe we've met before... have we?" The blush was creeping back into her pale cheeks again.

His smiling eyes made her feel comfortable once more, almost as if she were with a family member or old friend. "No, my dear, and forgive me for not having introduced myself sooner. I am known here as Mithrandir."

By now both of them were standing in front of the table and its window. "Lord Mithrandir!" Vorondariel exclaimed. She had heard of the Grey Pilgrim, and knew he was around, but had not yet seen him. "How nice to have met you", she smiled, dropping a neat and graceful curtsy. "I am Vorondariel, lady-in-waiting to Lady Sulawen," and, after a slight pause she added, "...and descendant of the Lady Voronwen". She was unsure as to whether she should add that last part, but she felt a kinship with this old man due to their mutual love of history, and felt right in doing so.

Gandalf beamed at her, winking. "And heartfelt poetry she wrote indeed." Vorondariel smiled, knowing his words to be true.

Turning toward the table, he picked up the large dusty tome containing the history of the Last Alliance era. Opening it reverently, he turned its pages with great care. He came upon something and read aloud.

"It is said that the towers of Emyn Beraid were not built indeed by the Exiles of Numenor, but were raised by Gil-galad for Elendil, his friend; and the Seeing Stone of Emyn Beraid was set in Elostirion, the tallest of the towers. Thither Elendil would repair, and thence he would gaze out over the sundering seas, when the yearning of exile was upon him."

Vorondariel listened to the familiar words that she had read a thousand times. The sound of Mithrandir's voice was as a calming narration to the pictures in her mind's eye of the great lord in his sorrowful longing, bent over the Stone in reverence with his heart turned toward the West...

Finishing, Gandalf turned to see the young lady's distant and enraptured expression. He placed the book down quietly, leaning closer to her to look in her eyes, his own eyes smiling in that old loving grandfatherly way. "Would my fellow student of history enjoy a visit to the place where Elendil once stood waiting for Gil-galad at the top of this very tower?"

Vorondariel's eyes widened. "Yes! I would enjoy that very much." She could hardly contain her joy.



~* ~* ~* ~* ~*[/size]

[Amdir]

Amdír was still fuming from his earlier conversation with his father. He was entirely sick of the old man, and of being treated practically as a servant. Having decided to ignore his father for the remainder of the day, he made his way towards the tower library - perhaps there would be something of interest there for his plans. As he approached the entrance to the room, he was surprised to see the Lady Gimilbeth exiting.

Thinking that this was perhaps a chance to engage her in a conversation, even if Barund had not yet paved the way for it, he decided to greet her. "My lady, I hesitate to greet a lady I have not been introduced to, but I believe we have a mutual friend. I am Amdír, son of Orogost - I wonder if we might speak on a subject of mutual interest, if you have the time."

[Galphant]

November 18, afternoon

Returning to his chambers after the Palantir session, Galphant found Aegnor waiting for him. "My lord," the younger man said, "a messenger has arrived with a letter from your father."

He handed Galphant the letter, bearing Galphant's father's seal. "Thank you, Aegnor, you may go."

After Aegnor had turned to leave the room, he broke open the seal to read the letter, feeling a mixture of dread and guilt. To leave his father in what was almost surely his final illness in order to pursue these sordid intrigues! Even though he had done it at Rammastir's own request, Galphant could not help but feel that the whole business showed him to be lacking in proper filial duty.

He was more upset to see that the letter was not written in his father's own hand - Rammastir always wrote out his letters to his son himself. Clearly he was too sick to put pen to paper.

The letter read:

My son,

I trust that you and Herunarth will have arrived safely at Amon Sûl by the time you received this. Give my grandson my love - he is a good lad. I do not think that I have much longer before the end. I was quite well for the first two days after you left, and even went to take a walk through the garden on the first day, but then on the third day I found myself very weak and unable to rise from bed.

There is very little else occurring here. I am told that the halflings that Aegnor rousted from the area a few months ago have returned, and will need rousting again, but I've no idea any longer how to go about this. If only Aegnor could have remained here! He is such a useful young man, though I know you have more need of him than I. The halflings will have to be allowed to squat in peace for the moment, I suppose.

It is all a terrible bother. There is so much more that I wish to do, and yet my doctors tell me that all I will likely have strength for for the rest of my days is to lie in bed and wait to die. And to think that Tar-Minyatur lived 500 years! In that time, perhaps, we might accomplish all there is to do.

My days may be numbered, my son, but you have much time before you. Soon you will be the Prince, and, should Eru will it, the King as well. And though it is not my fate that I shall see you achieve this great work, for as long as my mind is sharp I would have you keep me updated in your progress. Tell me everything that you do, and keep me informed of all that happens. The expectation that you will soon be king is the only pleasure left to me.

And I must also urge you to be strong. Your claim is uncontestable, and Malvegil is nothing but a vile foreign tyrant. You are Caryontar's clear heir, and it is known to all that succession in the female line was permitted under the law of Númenor. It was your dear departed mother's greatest wish before she died that you should succeed your uncle on the throne of our beloved homeland, and you would dishonor not only yourself, but your mother and I as well, should you give up your just claims.

The doctor tells me I should rest, now, so I will close now. I will eagerly await your reply - you can send back the messenger I sent with your reply. He is a good lad, and you should be sure to treat him well for doing his duty.

I remain always your loving and devoted father,

Rammastir

The letter had moved Galphant deeply, and he found that a tear had found its way down his cheek. He felt more terrible than ever that he could not be there to comfort his father in his last days, but also a renewed determination that this absence should not come to nothing. Enough of this pussyfooting about - he needed to put things in motion, to take action.

First, he would take out his pen to reply to his father. Taking a sheet of paper, he began to write:

My dear father,

I am most saddened to hear of your affliction. I still hope that I may finish my business here in time to return home to see you before the end. Herunarth is well, and I will be certain to pass on your greeting to him.

The work here has only just begin. Orogost is as tedious as ever, and we have not yet received any serious answer from the authorities in Gondor as to the existence of any heir-male of King Caryontar in the south. Our plans move slowly. I have hired a pair of bravos from Gondor to deal with any illicit matters that might arise in the course of our activities, but have not yet had much opportunity to set them to any particular task. The tower is well-guarded, and it looks as though the task may prove difficult.

Furthermore, we were surprised to discover here Celebrindol, the heir of Arthedain, and his entire family. Because the guardian of the tower here is father-in-law to Celebrindol, they apparently visit Amon Sûl for Yule quite frequently. Herunarth has become fast friends with Celebrindol's sons, though I trust he is too loyal to his family to say anything indiscreet to his new friends. Still, this is, I fear, another obstacle in the face of our plans.

Here Galphant paused. Should he tell his father of this strange engagement he had entered into? If he did not, he was certain that Hador would, so there was likely no helping it. He continued

I have other unexpected news to report to you. Here at Amon Sûl there was another unexpected guest when we arrived - the lady Gimilbeth, eldest daughter of the king of Rhudaur. She is a most remarkable lady - strong, independent, a trusted member of her father's council, and is here on an important mission on her father's behalf. She is also very beautiful. I will not say to you that I have fallen in love with her, for I have not, but I think her a most worthy lady and have thought that the friendship of Rhudaur is worth having, both for our own family and for all Cardolan. It is thus that, perhaps rather foolishly, I have asked this lady to be my wife, and she has accepted my offer. Soon we shall send messages to Cameth Brin to ask her father's permission for the match. I hope that the match will prove a happy one, and an advantageous one.

For now, this is all I have to report. I will write again when I know more.

I remain your loving and devoted son,
Galphant

Galphant put the letter down. He would add a postscript before he went to bed, and then send it out the next morning. He called Aegnor back into the room. "Aegnor, we need to get moving on all this. We must all have a meeting to discuss our situation after dinner this evening. And do make sure that Herunarth comes. I've hardly seen him since we arrived."

"As you wish, my lord," said Aegnor, bowing as he left the room.

[Vorondariel]

Vorondariel sat in the courtyard outside of the library, waiting for Mithrandir. It was now early in the afternoon, and the sun had broken through somewhat, making long striated patterns in the clouds. She sighed as she gazed into the wintry sky. What an afternoon this was going to be! She had only ever dreamed about going to the top of the tower, and now she would finally go.

Having lost herself completely in daydreams, she almost didn't hear the footsteps on the walkway as they came toward where she sat waiting. Not one set of footsteps, but three resonated on the flagstones. Gandalf approached the girl in their agreed-upon meeting place, at the appointed time, but he wasn't alone. Two Elves walked with him, their footsteps lighter than his own. Tyaron and Alagos saw the girl seated gazing at the sky, and both exchanged glances. She was indeed familiar, but not like to someone they had seen in this age of the world.

Gandalf finally cleared his throat, stirring Vorondariel from her thoughts. She was surprised at the sight of the two Elves with him, and smiled. Wonder of wonders! She wasn't only going to visit the top of the tower today, but in the company of Elves, no less! She stood, hardly concealing her excitement. It was time.

"Lady Vorondariel", Gandalf intoned. "I'd like you to meet Tyaron and Alagos, of Gondolin." Each Elf inclined his head politely, and Vorondariel curtsied. A smile bloomed on her rosy lips.

"A pleasure to meet you, my lords!" she said. Then her eyes met Gandalf's eagerly.

He smiled down at her in that knowing way. "It is time, my dear!", he laughed. "Follow me!"


Vorondariel followed Mithrandir’s slightly bowed form, along with the Elves. The afternoon sun slanted down through the dusty corridors as they made their way up flights of stairs. Outwardly she was calm, as befitted a lady of her station, but inwardly she felt as giddy as a girl of half her age. Up each flight they climbed, and as they got closer she could barely feel her feet touching the ground for all of her excitement.

Finally they reached the door that led out onto the lookout level. Gandalf opened it slowly and, with a sweeping gesture, motioned for Vorondariel to walk through first. She smiled at him, then all but ran out onto the stone floor of the lookout.

Finally she stood at the edge of the lookout, leaning out against the wall which ended about waist-high to a tall man, and gazed out over the countryside to the west of the tower. The view from up here was amazing, but it wasn’t just the view that was taking her breath away. She could feel, as she always could, the sense of the past all around her. Her extremely vivid historical imagination ran wild. Elendil stood here, she thought to herself with a sigh and a wistful smile, imagining the King of old standing here looking out over the land, waiting for the company of Gil-galad. High above the tower, the long clouds in their wintry colors painted the sky with bands of dark and light as the lowering afternoon sun filtered through. Across the vastness of the countryside, shades of brightness and shadow alternated over the rolling hills, which were dusted with snow. The wind whispered softly, caressing Vorondariel’s face and through her hair like the gentle touch of a lover.

Vorondariel smiled to herself, lost in dreamy thought. Ah, how beautiful was Amon Sul! I could stay here forever, she thought to herself.

[Gimilbeth]

Near the library of Amon Sul. Afternoon of November 18, 1347

Gimilbeth stood scrutinizing the young man who had addressed her. The son of the Steward of Cardolan was a thin man with straight and limp dark hair framing his pale face; deep set grey eyes were sharp and intelligent. Yet he certainly didn't have a look of someone of high nobility: if he had some blood of Elendil in his veins it had to be much diluted. Gimilbeth was not so sure he deserved to be addressed as "lord", but still she nodded politely and said "It is a pleasure to meet you, lord Amdir."

Amdir's pale cheeks colored slightly at this address. She smirked slightly and continued. "I believe the "mutual friend" you have mentioned is Captain Barund, the head of my escort? Lately he has been devising some extravagant political schemes, far beyond his own understanding, I am sorry to say."

Amdir nodded gravely. "Yes, my Lady, it is exactly the ideas of Captain Barund that I would like to discuss with you, with your permission. As wild as they may seem at the first glance, they might contain a grain of rational thought. Maybe Captain Barund has stumbled upon a solution to Cardolan problems, the one that would benefit not only my country but Rhudaur as well."

Gimilbeth arched her brows and said keeping her voice low "If you find Barund's schemes worth discussing, then I would be glad to hear what exactly Cardolan has to offer to the line of Dauremir. I believe, though, that we have to find a quieter place for this conversation. Perhaps we can take a stroll along the ramparts..."

"That would be a pleasure, my Lady." Amdir bowed again and offered Gimilbeth his hand. She made him wait till a servant brought her fur cape and then let him lead her along the busy corridors and outside onto the snow-covered rampart.

It was a cold sunny day and many of the Amon Sul denizens were outside, enjoying fresh air. The Rhudaurian princess strolling along the circle wall on the hand of a Cardolan man attracted a lot of curious glances. It was rather difficult to find a deserted stretch of the wall, where they could not be overheard, but finally they managed. They stopped gazing south-west at the wild expanse of snow-covered plains stretching all the way to the dark line of the Barrow-Downs on the horizon.

"If everything plays out well, I will be Queen of this land," thought Gimilbeth, smiling slightly. But the man at her side had no inkling of her secret hopes and how she was planning to dupe everyone. He shivered slightly in the cold, cleared his throat and eagerly launched into his proposal.

[Kirael]

Amon Sûl Kitchen, Afternoon of November 18, 1347


“Cats!” Nimraen spat in her blatant Southern Gondorian accent. “She has over a dozen of them!”

Nimraen had gone down to the Amon Sul kitchens in the hopes of finding some coffee and some conversation. Now that her mistress was so wrapped up in her own affairs, Nimraen was being called upon a bit less than before and was grateful for the occasional free time.

“I left Tamyris in charge of all those cats”, she laughed, and could only wonder at how her niece was handling it. Tamyris didn’t seem like the type to enjoy being tied to such a task. Nimraen shook her head, thinking how her niece would likely much rather be skipping off outdoors or flirting in her spare time, but she had thought it might be good for her.

Old Kirael sat listening over the long wooden table in the kitchens as the afternoon sunlight slanted down. It was quiet and peaceful now. And as the evening meal was still hours away, most of the kitchen staff was allowed to leave their post for the time being. There were only two maids still working at the other end of the kitchens, scrubbing recalcitrant cooking pots.

And then there was Kirael of course, who seldom left the kitchen in this time of year and who was ever able to offer both a cup of coffee and a listening ear. Coffee wasn’t drunk very often in Amon Sûl, as it was a more Southern custom. But Kirael and Narian always kept a small supply for foreign guests. (Kirael even had a small personal supply, to be savoured and used sparingly. She considered it one of the perks of seniority.) She now made the mental note to buy some more the next time the merchants came to Amon Sûl, the Cardolani ambassadors and the Rhudaurian princess were rather fond of the drink.

Kirael noticed Nimraen rolling her eyes after mentioning her niece. “Your niece is young, then?” she asked.
“Yes,” Nimraen answered. “Twenty-seven this year, but still as flighty as a bird!” she laughed. “But I feel sorry for the girl, so I don’t press her to grow up.”

Kirael raised an eyebrow, as if to encourage an explanation.

Nimraen exhaled, shaking her head yet again. “Aye, a sad story, that. She was sent to me when she was little more than a child.” Nimraen’s mouth twisted into a slight grimace. “My elder brother had owned a portion of ancient land on the Bay of Belfalas,” she went on. “He lost it all, and his life, to fire. His daughter was rescued and brought to Rhudaur, to me.”

Kirael’s face fell into a wrinkled frown. “Ah, poor child”, she said.

Nimraen exhaled. “For a long while she wouldn’t even speak, except in tears. But in time she grew to accept that this life in the palace was her new life. Eventually she grew into a very bold young woman!”

Kirael, with her uncanny insight into people and noticing the sudden amusement in Nimraen’s eyes, cracked a smile. “Too bold?” she laughed.

“Ah, you don’t know the half!” exclaimed Nimraen, a bit too loudly. “She really needs to settle down!”

The two women laughed, the sound echoing in the kitchens. Kirael’s face bobbed up and down in an exaggerated, knowing nod. Old and wrinkled though she looked now (and while most people could hardly imagine it) Kirael, too, had been young one day.

Nimraen went on. “Of course, if she loses one of those cats, she and I would likely end up paying with our lives!” Both women laughed again, but Nimraen shrugged, putting nothing past the Princess.

Their conversation turned back to the care of cats until their cups were empty and it was time to begin work yet again. Kirael had shared some knowledge of which herbs were the best for controlling the odour of cat litter, which Nimraen was now determined to try.

“So many cats,” Nimraen sighed to herself as she walked back down the hall. She could only hope that, back at the palace, Tathwen was keeping Tamyris focused on her work. As she went through the motions of readying some fresh cosmetic potions for the Princess to use in the evening, her thoughts were filled with concern for her niece. But it’s no matter, she thought. There’s nothing I can do all the way from here.

Kirael cleared the cups away after Nimraen had left. After washing up, she bent down and stroked the kitchen cat that lay dozing near the fire.

“All things considered,” Kirael said to the purring creature, “I think I’d rather have you than one of Princess Gimilbeth’s cats.”

The cat couldn’t agree more and lazily rolled over to offer its belly to Kirael for an overdue scratching.

[Amdir]

As they stood along the wall, looking out at the expanse of land before them, Amdír began the speech he had prepared in his head on a number of occasions.

"My lady, you have heard something, I'm sure, of the situation which faces us in Cardolan. King Dirion passed on two years ago, and since that time we have been without a King. My father wishes to be certain that there is no male heir of Caryontar living in Gondor, but even he has little hope in that regard. If there is none, then we face a perilous situation. You know, I am sure, that our kingdom has been the scene of much civil strife, of rebellions and other conflicts. But the conflict which faces us today is much worse, and I fear for our land."

He paused. Gimilbeth regarded him thoughtfully, but said nothing.

"There are two strong candidacies for the throne, should the male line of Caryontar be at an end. The Lord Galphant, who is here with us at Amon Sûl, is the son of King Dirion's only sister. For some time now his father and he have been contending that the throne is rightfully his. Even upon the death of King Dirion the claim was made that Galphant, as the King's nearest living kin, should ascend the throne, even if there were more distant descendants of Caryontar in the male line living abroad. It is even said that the old Prince troubled the King his brother-in-law on his deathbed, trying to secure his support for Galphant's ascent. But these claims the council has deferred for the moment, without rejecting them. Should the line of Caryontar indeed be finished, doubtless Galphant will renew them."

Amdír noticed that as he spoke of Galphant a strange light glinted in the lady's eyes - perhaps there was something to Barund's jealousy after all. But there was no time to consider it. He pressed on.

"The other claimant is another who I'm sure is familiar to you - the King of Arthedain. Malvegil claims that, in the absence of male heirs to Caryontar, the throne should revert to him, as heir of Isildur. The King has seen for some time now the possibility that the three kingdoms should become reunited in his or his son's reign -- " here he suddenly recalled that the lady he was speaking to might have been involved in Malvegil's plans for reunion with Rhudaur, and for a moment was tongue-tied, before proceeding, "and now, in the waning days of his life, he is most eager to secure his goals with respect to Cardolan.

"These claims, too, have been deferred without decision. But the day of reckoning cannot now be long delayed. And in the views of many of us who hold Cardolan's interest closest to heart, both of these claims have deep flaws. The people of Cardolan are proud and patriotic. They will not consent willingly to be ruled by a foreign king and his foreign lackeys. If the Council should accept Malvegil's claim, there are many who would rally behind Galphant in resisting it. But Galphant, and especially his father, have made many enemies over the years. And the name of Isildur's house remains strong with the people at large - many cannot imagine a king who is not of Isildur's own blood. There are many who would resist a decision in Galphant's favor, as well - and Malvegil would support them with money, and perhaps with men.

"For those of us with the true interests of the country at heart, we cannot look forward to either of these futures. Some other option must be considered. I know there have been efforts for some time on the part of Arthedain's friends in Cardolan to persuade the King of Arthedain that he should allow his younger grandson to take our throne, but, so far as I know, he is implacably opposed to this. We must consider this option closed. But there is another possibility, one that your man Barund stumbled upon. Your father is an undoubted descendant of Isildur, the heir of King Earendur's third son Dauremir. And he has two sons, your brothers. The younger of them would seem an auspicious choice for our kingdom, simply because he is neither Malvegil nor Galphant. And his claim, or at least your father's, seems at least as strong as either. I have read the Treaty of Annuminas of 861, and it provides no clear guidance on the issue. But in it Amlaith of Fornost renounces his claim to the thrones of Cardolan and Rhudaur in favor of his brothers - could this not mean that the youngest brother should inherit Cardolan ahead of Amlaith's heirs? Thus, I come to you, my lady, to ask that you speak to your father of this, and bid him consider whether he and your brother might help provide our kingdom with an escape from the terrible choice which seems to face us. Our lands have not always been friends, it is true, but your father now stands in a position to do us a great favor, one which would bring honor and glory to his own house. Let him do it!"