The Winter of Discontent. Shadow over Rhudaur V

[Caelen]

late afternoon of December 12, Cameth Brin marketplace

Caelen fidgited impatiently as the tailor, Master Harnor, re-pinned the darts around her waist yet again.

"You're losing weight, M'Lady," he commented conversationally, speaking around the pins in his mouth. "Anything troubling you? Troubles from the past? Problems with the family?"

"I'm fine, thank you," answered Caelen, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. The tailor was so inquisitive!

He sat back, surveyed his work with a critical eye, and finally let an approving smile cross his face. The young lady was shapely and attractive; should be a good advertisement for his work. And good money to be had for his other work concerning this particular young lady ...

"Will that be all?" inquired Caelen, eager to get out of the shop and away from his questions.

"Yes, that should do it," he answered. Then, as an afterthought, he added, "And your riding habit is ready now - over there," he indicated with a nod of his head.

The first real smile since she had entered the shop now came to Caelen's face. She walked swiftly over, grabbed the repaired riding habit (an errant nail in the wall of the tack room had made a tear in the skirt which had needed the attention of the tailor), and took it with her into the dressing area, where the tailor's wife helped her out of the pin-boobytrapped gown and added her own questions to those of her husband.

"My word! These people must lead dull lives!" thought Caelen, as she deflected her questions as politely as possible and hastily got into her riding habit. To her delight, the tailor had been able to repair the tear flawlessly - it was near a seam, so apparently he had moved the seam over to cover the tear. It was so good to be back into riding clothes again ...

Caelen came out of the shop in a happy mood. Even the presence of her faithful shadow, Narwaith, made her happy: he now represented her lover's care and concern for her, instead of an irritating restriction on her much-loved freedom. And now that she had a riding habit again ... a mischevious grin crossed her face as she pictured Narwaith, a novice horsemen (like most of Eryndil's woodsmen, for that was not their particular area of expertise) trying to keep up with her as she rode ...

Well, it was good for people to learn how to ride, she reflected. I'll be doing him a favor!

Turning a corner, a horse caught her eye. "Average, rather old," thought Caelen critically. "Looks like a good mount for a novice ..."

And looking at the rider, she saw that her guess was correct. A bemused-looking young woman was sitting astride the animal, attempting to get him to head down the street, while the horse had as clear an expression of "Sheesh!" as a horse can have written on his patient face. An apple merchant was guarding his wares protectively; obviously the horse had different goals from his rider, and knew which one of them was in charge, as horses always do.

Caelen noticed a hundred little details all at once that showed that this rider was most probably on a horse for the first time in her life. Feeling happy with the world, and always ready to be around horses, she decided to offer this unknown lady her assistance.

[Wilwarin]

Streets of Cameth Brin, late afternoon of December 12th.

“Look,” Wilwarin said slightly frustrated to the horse. She had given up trying to make it listen to her gestures and in a fit of desperation she was trying to reason with it, however futile that operation was. “Neither of us wants to spend the night here on the street, I take it. There’s a nice, warm stable at the palace. So. Move. Your… Feet.”

The horse simply looked from the apple cart to his obviously dim-witted rider and back and did the horse-equivalent of a sigh.

At that moment Wilwarin heard someone say something that filled her with relief: “Do you need some help, with your horse?”

An enthusiastic and slightly desperate “Yes!” escaped from Wilwarin’s lips before she caught herself. “I mean, yes,” she said with more self-control, “I um, could really use some assistance in getting of this horse, if you would be so kind.”

Caelen answered with a short laugh. “I will hold him steady,” she said as she gently took hold of the horse’s head-gear. “Just stand in one of the stirrups and swing your right leg over the horse's back. You can steady yourself by holding onto the saddle. Then just lower yourself slowly to the ground - but be careful, first-time riders' legs are very shaky when they get off!”

Following the instructions, Wilwarin descended and immediately noticed that Caelen's words proved true. "Oof. I'm glad you warned me!" she said, clinging gratefully to the saddle while her legs recovered themselves. "Thank you, Miss Caelen.” For Wilwarin had recognized her rescuer clearly. There could be little mistaking the brightly coloured hair, or the loving look she have the horse, for that matter.

“Oh, you know my name,” Caelen said, wondering briefly if this should worry her. But at least Narwaith was always near.

“Yes, I imagine everyone in the palace knows it by now.”

Wilwarin winced as she saw Caelen’s smile disappear and she realised what she had said. “Ack, how terribly rude of me! Please forgive me. Ten minutes stuck on a high horse and I have worse manners than an orc!”

[Caelen]

Caelen shrugged and replied sarcastically , "Oh, no need to apologize to such a wanton woman as I!" Turning her face slightly away, she held out the reins for Wilwaren to take.

But Wilwaren, not wanting to deal with the horse again right now and sincerely remorseful for her words, didn't take them. She quickly decided on her course of action and said innocently, "Are you now? You mean all those rumors are true, then? Funny, and here I was thinking how utterly contrived they sounded. Silly me."

Caelen looked quickly back at her, her eyes flashing with fury, then something in Wilwaren's face made her pause and check her angry answer. Wilwaren added a tiny smile to the twinkle in her eyes, and a few seconds later, it was joined by a shaky one from Caelen.

"No, they are most definitely NOT true," said Caelen, and the smile faded from her face. "At least the ones I know about, that is, although I don't see how they could possibly get any worse."

"Oh, they probably could - rumors are like that, you know," said Wilwaren sagely.

Caelen looked at Wilwaren thoughtfully. One could see that this woman had Hillman blood in her, yet something in her face - or more accurately, her eyes - invited confidence and trust, and Caelen slowly continued.

"You've probably only heard the rumors, not the real story, although I told it to Thillas. The truth never seems to get around, though - only the rumors!" She shook her head in frustration, then looked Wilwarin straight in the eyes and continued.

"The man I came here with is my brother, not my husband; it was a last-second idea of his that we try to pass as man and wife with me expecting a child. He thought that that would make me more safe. You see, we were attacked on the road ... " She stopped for a moment at the dread memory, then pushed on. "... and he - well, he just thought that I would be safer if people thought we were married. Then he got called away to drive a waggon for the army ..." She trailed off to a stop.

With a grin on her face, Wilwaren helpfully added, "Which gave you the opportunity to entrap the Crown Prince ..."

Caelen laughed. "Yes, that's right - I forgot about that one! Yes, with my "husband" gone, I "killed" my unborn "baby" and made evil plans to entice the Prince to come to Arinya's room, where I was visiting her, and see my famous beauty, " and here Caelen rolled her eyes in disgust, for she had a low opinion of her looks, especially after having seen all the lovely dark-haired Dunedain ladies of the court around her - "and fall madly in love with me and propose marriage. And having gained my evil goal, for some reason I turn him down and choose the third son of a Thane instead!"

"Hmm, sounds like you need some practice in carrying out evil plans," commented Wilwaren wryly. This young lady that she had heard so much about was turning out to be rather different than expected. She was either a damn good liar or telling the truth. And Wilwarin was inclined to believe the latter. There was something about this Caelen that Wilwarin felt she could come to trust.

Caelen laughed rather bitterly, and fell to absently stroking the horse's soft muzzle. The horse, happy to be with a person who finally understood him, nuzzled her back.

Caelen came out of her reverie. "Anything else? Or did I cover it all? Deception, murder, plots to become Queen ..."

"I think that about covers it," answered Wilwaren. "You must lead a busy life!"

"Yes, it's exhausting being so devious!"

Both women laughed, and then Caelen added softly, "That's why I like horses so much - they're so simple and straightforward and easy to deal with!"

Wilwarin fixed the horse with a disapproving stare. "I find that depends on the horse ... But he certainly seems to like you, however," she said as she saw the animal looking upon Caelen with such loving eyes, like he would follow her to the ends of the earth (or at least to the stables!)

[Wilwarin]

"I suppose you couldn't help me get him back to the Palace stables, could you? I've learned my lesson not to trust soldiers as riding tutors."

"The Palace stables? Oh yes, I know where they are..." Caelen trailed off and Wilwarin could almost see her wondering how they had never met before if they both had lived in the Palace.

"I was transferred out of the servants' wing before you arrived in Cameth Brin. I've been serving as night watch for the two princesses since." Wilwarin offered as explanation. "My name is Wilwarin, by the way," she added, only now thinking of introducing herself.

Caelen smiled. "Nice to meet you, Wilwarin."

They walked the horse back to the stables. Wilwarin was content to let Caelen hold the horse's reigns reins for the trip.

"I've always loved horses," Caelen said as she rubbed the horse's nose. "And riding has always been a great pleasure of mine. You shouldn't give up on riding yet, Wilwarin."

"I'll have to find myself a more reliable teacher before I ever crawl on top of a horse again," Wilwarin said determindedly. "If you hadn't come along, I'd still be stuck back there. Stupid soldiers, hmpf."

"I suppose I could teach you..." Caelen said thoughtful.

"Any excuse is good to be on horse-back again, I see." Wilwarin said with a grin. "But I really wouldn't want to trouble you with this, Caelen. I already owe you for this rescue, and I'd rather not make a habit out of it!"

"Oh, it won't be any trouble - I'd enjoy it!" Caelen said, for whom indeed any excuse to ride again would be good enough.

"Well, then. I'll gladly accept!"

When the horse was put back into the care of the stable-boys, Caelen and Wilwarin briefly discussed how and where the riding lessons would take place. After that Wilwarin had to hurry away to eat something before she would be needed on guard duty.

[Caelen]

December 12, just before dinner, Eryndil's house in Cameth Brin


Caelen sat in a chair next to Eryndil's bed, studying her sewing with a concerned look on her face. Eryndil lay in his bed, studying Caelen with a broad smile on his face.

"I think I did something funny here," she said, picking at the work with her needle.

Eryndil's smile just grew broader. She often did funny things without even realizing it! But the smile was a tender one, and his heart warmed towards his betrothed, who was taking up her sewing to please his mother. With all her funny little ways and mistakes, he loved her very much, for he saw the warmth of her heart. "And the curves of her body," intruded the ever-present thoughts again. Eryndil clenched his jaw, averted his gaze from Caelen and firmly pushed the thoughts back down. "Not yet, not yet," he told himself firmly, "but some day... " for he had faith in love.

Suddenly, both their heads turned towards the door; they heard loud, hasty footsteps in the hall, as if a whole group of people were approaching at high speed. Eryndil, ever cautious (especially where it involved Caelen) struggled up to a sitting position and looked around to see where his sword was, but before he could find it, the parlormaid came bursting into the open room (the door being firmly propped wide open by the ever-careful-for-propriety Rildorien), out of breath as if she had been running (which she had), and her announcement of "His Highness, the Prince Daurendil!" preceded the arrival of the Prince Daurendil, his arms full of packages, by less than a second.

Eryndil was the first to recover, and greeted his unexpected visitor as gracefully as he could from among the pillows. Hearing Eryndil's greeting, Caelen remembered her manners and, rising from her chair, gave a graceful curtsey to the prince.

"Will you have a seat, Your Highness?" inquired Eryndil politely, while inwardly wondering what in the world would come next from this impetuous youngster. He pointed out another chair in the room, adding, "I'm sorry that I cannot get it for you myself, but I have not yet recovered my strength."

"Thank you, I'm well," replied Daurendil somewhat absently, tossing the packages onto the foot of the bed and then grabbing the chair and pulling it over to the bedside, sitting across the bed from Caelen. "Sit, sit," he added to Caelen with an impatient hand movement, seeing that she was still standing.

Caelen sat back down, and silence reigned for a moment as she and Eryndil waited to see why the prince had come.

"I wanted to inquire after your health in person," muttered the prince to Eryndil, tapping his foot nervously and looking at anything but the object of his inquiry.

"I am still rather weak, but improving steadily, thanks to you," answered Eryndil graciously.

Silence reigned again until Eryndil, curious about the packages strewn on his bed, asked, "Err, are these medicines or something from Sarador?"

"Sarador? No!" said the prince. "No, they're just - well, they're the other reason why I came in person." He stood up and walked around the room, then turned suddenly to face Eryndil and Caelen with doubt and resolution mixed in his face.

"They're - well, they're wedding presents," he said in a somewhat defiant tone. "Go ahead, unwrap them!" he added, again with that impatient hand movement, as Caelen and Eryndil looked at each other, rather bemused at the odd situation and the unusual manner of the prince.

Eryndil nodded to Caelen, and Caelen reached out for the one closest to her, a large rectangular shape wrapped in fine linen. She undid the cord, and then drew in her breath as folds and folds of fine velvet in a delicate sea-foam green slid off the bolt.

"It's - it's lovely!" she said softly.

Eryndil drew in a quick breath and his eyes narrowed slightly as memories of the improperly-given riding habit flooded back. Daurendil looked nervously between the two of them, then said quickly to Caelen, "Go on, go on - open the others!"

Eryndil seemed about to speak, but thought the better of it and remained silent. He sighed, not sure what he should do but imagining whatever it was, it probably wouldn't be pleasant, and then turned to look at Daurendil and found the prince looking at him with anxious, almost pleading eyes. Eryndil turned thoughtfully away and watched as Caelen opened the remaining packages.

The next few minutes were full of "ooh!"s and "aah!"s, as several more packages of very expensive fabrics and trims were opened and admired - some of them suited for women, some for men. Eryndil watched Caelen admire the gifts, shooting occasional glances at the prince, who was now staring out of the window and tapping his foot. Eryndil was no expert in clothing, but he knew that these materials had to be very expensive indeed.

As Caelen set down the last card of trim back on the bed, she looked over at Eryndil with a hopeful expression on her face and her eyebrows raised in a question. Eryndil's brow furrowed slightly and he shook his head very slightly, "No." Caelen looked down with a sigh, trusting Eryndil's judgement but desiring the beautiful fabrics. She ran her hand gently over the sea-foam green velvet one more time, bit her lower lip, let out a deep breath, and then put both hands firmly in her lap.

Eryndil cleared his throat, and Daurendil turned back to look at him, this time with a more defiant look in his eyes.

"Your Highness, this is most generous - this is extremely generous," begin Eryndil formally, "but I'm afraid ..."

"Oh, never mind the formalities," interrupted Daurendil impetuously. "Just say it - you don't want anything from me. No one ever does." He shrugged his shoulders in frustration, then continued with bitterness in his voice, "No, wait - most people do - they want money - but you wouldn't, of course." Eryndil and Caelen were silent, not quite sure what to say, as Daurendil walked quickly to the end of the bed and then back. "No one wants anything from me but money, and you don't even want that!" he shouted in frustration, throwing his hands in the air.

He turned to face them both, shoved his hands into his pockets and added sullenly, "Well, throw them out if you want, but I'm not taking them back! Congratulations and all that!" and with that, he headed towards the door.

In a flash of insight, Eryndil finally saw something that few other people had seen - a 20-year-old boy whose father was too busy trying to prop up a failing kingdom to pay him much attention. A young boy who had lost his first desperate love to another man. A young boy who was trying to do better - and who could easily have let Eryndil - the "other man" who had taken the woman he loved - die the other day, and had every reason to do so. Eryndil even saw the fabrics with a new eye. Clearly, the prince, who loved being well-dressed, was only giving them something that he himself would have loved to get.

Eryndil was filled with remorse. "Wait!" he cried out, as Daurendil headed towards the door. But the impetuous prince would not stop. Eryndil swung his legs out of bed, steadied himself on the small bedside table - and promptly fell on the floor.

Caelen rushed around the bed to his aid, but Daurendil was faster. He aided Eryndil back into his bed, and then stood there with an uncertain look on his face.

"I thank you for your aid," said Eryndil, blinking hard and trying to make the room stop spinning. Caelen was holding onto his hand and kissing it, and then she pressed it tightly to her breast, which only made the room spin more!

After a few moments, Eryndil was able to speak clearly again. Yes, the prince had done many things wrong, including trying to steal his fiancee away from him. But Daurendil had made the right choice on Thursday, and was doing the right thing now - he deserved another chance. Maybe he was finally growing up ...

"I must apologize, Your Highness," Eryndil said, this time with sincerity, not formality, in his voice. "It was only my false pride that made me refuse your generous gift. I wished to be able to dress my wife in clothes like this myself ..."

"But with the expenses of your family in town, you weren't able to - I understand!" interrupted Daurendil quickly, coming up with an excuse for Eryndil that would be easy for him to take, although both men knew that Eryndil couldn't afford material like that even if his family weren't in town.

Eryndil smiled wryly, decided to accept Daurendil's excuse in the spirit that it was offered instead of being strictly accurate and correcting him, and then continued in the same sincere tone, "We accept your generous gift, with many thanks."

"It's nothing, really," Daurendil said, fingering the decorative trim on his tunic.

"It's lovely!" said Caelen firmly.

Daurendil looked up quickly to meet her eyes, then looked back down with a blush. "He has it almost as bad as I did!" thought Eryndil compassionately, remembering his own first crush on a girl. And to have your first crush on a girl like Caelen ... Eryndil, naturally prejudiced towards his fiancee, finally pardoned Daurendil in his heart as well as in his words.

"Well, you know, I hope you come to visit me sometime in court and all, and I thought - well, I thought you might like it," he finished rather incoherently, filling in with that imperious hand gesture again.

Daurendil walked over to Eryndil's wardrobe and flung open the doors. "I'll just take a tunic and breeches here for size," he said, rummaging through Eryndil's neatly-arranged clothing and tossing anything in the way on the floor - clearly, he was a man who was not used to picking up after himself. "I'll run them by my tailor so he can get your measurements - he already has Caelen's - um, ..." and he trailed off, blushing furiously and glad that he was facing away from them.

"No, Your Highness; I'll send one of my servants!" protested Eryndil, but the prince waved him off with a gesture.

"Oh, I have to drop by anyway; check on my clothes for the ball, you know!"

Eryndil nodded his head in concession. "Well, my betrothed and I thank you again for your generous gift." He quickly searched around in his mind for something nice to say about Daurendil as the prince made his thank-you's, and then added, "Interesting that you came just now - I was just telling Caelen, um, recently (he couldn't lie and say "just now") about you, and how your swordwork is quite good, and that you have improved so much and so quickly at archery. I think you have great promise."

Daurendil drew in a quick breath and looked at Eryndil with eyes that made Eryndil forgive him all the more heartily.

"Well, thanks - good teachers and all that, you know," he said with a trace of pride, for he was rather good with a sword, although his archery skills needed work, to say nothing of his outdoor skills. He looked shyly over to Caelen, and then quickly away, adding to her, "And I'm sure the Lord Eryndil will help me even more."

"He will; he's helped me so much," she said softly.

Daurendil looked at her with such a funny expression of confusion that she had to laugh. "I'm sorry, I speak so poorly - I don't mean with archery, I mean with - with life, I guess," she finished, turning to look at Eryndil in a way that made the Daurendil blink back a stinging tear.

"Good at that, too," muttered the prince uncertainly, blinking hard - this was awkward territory, and he had had enough of it now - too difficult ... but kind of nice, too ... none of the kissing-up that he saw all too often. One thing about Eryndil, he was honest ... He wondered why people at the palace weren't like that ...

"Well, I must go - I'll drop these off, too," Daurendil said, reaching out to gather up the materials on the bed.

But Eryndil extended his arm to the prince in a way that couldn't be ignored. Daurendil took it gently below the wounded area, gave it a quick squeeze, avoiding his eyes, then turned to gather the fabrics off of the bed. But Eryndil didn't release Daurendil's arm - he held on to it tightly, although it wrenched his wounded arm painfully to do so, until the prince turned back and finally looked at him. Eryndil let a small smile come to his face as he looked the prince in the eyes and gave him as firm a clasp as he could manage with his wound. A shy answering smile came into Daurendil's face as he returned the clasp, and Eryndil inclined his head slightly in a "well-done!" gesture and finally released his grip.

Daurendil's smile widened for a fraction of a second, then he blushed, muttered his goodbyes, looked at Caelen (who had risen and curtsied), nodded to her, let his eyes linger on her for a moment with a small sigh, tore his eyes away from her with a quick guilty glance at Eryndil, gathered up the precious fabrics and Eryndil's neatly-pressed clothing into a big wad in his arms and fairly ran out of the room, trailed by a streamer of gold trim.

[Caelen]

"Well, I must admit that the prince has good taste in clothing - AND in women!" said Eryndil teasingly.

Caelen shook her head with the bemused expression that often appeared on the faces of those around the prince, and then stood up and gathered her sewing things together. "I'd better go and see if they're ready to sit down to dinner - I've been up here long enough - your mother is probably having propriety fits!"

Eryndil nodded his head in agreement, a long-suffering expression crossing his face.

Caelen went up to his bed, ran her fingers gently across his cheek and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "You're better than any prince," she said softly, intending it to be her exit line.

But with that kiss, Eryndil decided that perhaps the scene could go on just a little longer ...

A few minutes later, Eryndil whispered into Caelen's ear, "Your kisses are so sweet - who taught you to kiss like that? He must be a good teacher indeed!"

"Why, the same talented man whose teaching skills both Prince Daurendil and I praised so highly just a few minutes ago!" she said, giving him one last exhibition of the art under discussion before managing to free herself from his arms.

She picked her sewing up off the floor, made sure she was out of Eryndil's reach and added coyly, looking at him from under her long lashes, "And the same man who will be instructing me in the art of lovemaking in a few weeks ..."

She could hardly stop herself from laughing out loud at the wild mix of expressions that crossed her lover's face at this proclaimation.

Eryndil finally managed to shove his heart from his throat, where it had leaped up and prevented him from talking, back down to its accustomed place in his chest.

"So ... um ... you don't think we'll be waiting 10 years?" he asked, hardly daring to believe what he had heard her say.

Caelen looked down at the floor, a blush spreading across her face, and then said softly, "Probably more like 10 minutes..."

Eryndil's heart pounded so hard in his chest that it made the pain in his arm seem like nothing. Caelen, wondering at his silence, took a quick look at him from under her eyelashes, and was so moved by the expression of love in his eyes that her own heart ached.

Eryndil couldn't say a word; he just held his arms out to Caelen. Her sewing hit the floor again as they came together in a kiss mixed with tears and laughter, which are so often the language of love, anyway.

Things were getting to the point where the engagement period might have fallen short of the wedding date when they heard noise in the hallway again, and they quickly pulled apart, Caelen frantically smoothing her hair and dress and diving for her sewing things; Eryndil groaning, drawing his knees up under the sheet and adding a few new words to Caelen's vocabulary.

"M'Lady, the Lady Rildorien requested me to come up and tell you that dinner is served," said the parlormaid to Caelen, looking at the interesting situation without appearing to do so.

"Thank you - I'll be down immediately," said Caelen, trying to get the shakiness out of her voice and succeeding by the end of the sentence. The parlormaid curtsied and, after one more glance around the room, left.

"Well, um, good-bye for now; I'll be up later with your dinner," said Caelen to Eryndil, too shy to look at him now. But again, his silence made her sneak a peek at him, and again, she saw that look of love in his eyes, accompanied this time by a huge smile.

She smiled shyly back and left Eryndil in his bed, alone except for his visions of what would be in two weeks.

[Gildurien]

Eryndil's house in Cameth Brin. December 12, just before dinner.

Gildurien stood in the corridor of the third floor concealed by the open door of Eryndil’s room. The wide slit between the door and the doorpost gave her a good view of her brother’s bed. She caught her breath when Daurendil stalked past her, his hands full of undone packages and trailing folds of fabric. What a crazy scene she had just witnessed! They must have lost their minds – all of them - to act like this!

She grinned at the thought of a report it would make: it was bound to be most interesting for the Queen and very incriminating for the Prince and Caelen. Unfortunately, the situation was rather awkward for her brother as well – wasn’t Eryndil foolish to let his betrothed accept all these unseemly gifts? Not that she had any warm feelings for her straight-laced Faithfil brother Eryndil, but incriminating him too deeply could result in his banning from Cameth Brin - along with his whole family. That was clearly undesirable. But perhaps she could avoid mentioning Eryndil’s presence altogether, thought Gildurien, taking another peek through the door slit. What were they doing now? - Ugh... kissing!

Gildurien shrugged in disgust and quietly made her way downstairs. She wore soft house slippers and moved with utmost care. Once in her room, she opened the lid of her writing-desk and produced a stack of virgin paper, an inkwell and a quill.

She sighed, feeling put upon - in the last few days she had to write quite a lot: 32-pages report on the previous relations of Daurendil and Caelen taken mostly from the palace gossip, 6 pages on the strange accident when “a burglar” had been sighted on Caelen’s balcony at night, then the 18 pages depicting the poisoning accident and what she was able to overhear from Caelen’s and Daurendil’s private conversation in the drawing room. All this recent epistolary activity made her fingers ache.

The thought of a reward cheered her somewhat, moreover, she thought, the Queen, seeing her dedication, would likely grant her some extra-favors. What if she would be offered a place at the court among the Queen’s ladies? Much as Gildurien liked dwelling at Marugond with her brother Vilyandur, the courtly life in the capital had its own allure. If she stayed long enough, perhaps she would have an opportunity to meet Gimilbeth, when the Princess returns from her unexpected trip to Amon Sul, and discuss some finer points of sorcery… With the new-found determination, Gildurien dipped the quill into the ink and started writing the next letter in her small spidery hand:

“Your Ladyship, greetings,
Please allow me to recount the recent events that have happened in my brother’s house. I am grieved to report that this very afternoon, my future sister-in law got a visit from her noble admirer…”

[Celemir]

On the road near Penmorva, morning of December 15, 1347.

Celemir reigned in his mare at the end of a long climb and looked back impatiently at his five servants and three pack-horses that were trailing far behind. He decided to wait for them – in such troubled times it wouldn’t do to ride alone even for a well-trained and a well-armed man. Celemir dismounted and stomped his cold feet on the frozen ground, while idly surveying the dark snow-covered fir-trees by the road. The mare puffed steam out of her nostrils like an undersized tame dragon.

The little party started from Cameth Brin in the morning of the 11th of Girithron. Now, on the fifth day, the high spires of the castle of Penmorva were already in sight. All things considered, they had made reasonable time: about 20 miles per short mid-winter day. Thankfully, Broggha’s army they were striving to catch up with had taken another, longer road via Dol Duniath and Dol Mithlad, while Celemir wisely chose a shorter road via Penmorva. The two roads came together again before the pass guarded by Dol Hithaer, the army’s final destination.

There were still a few inns by the Penmorva road with ample supplies of food and fodder. The previous night they had stayed at a quite decent one, called “The Three Goats Inn”. They had had a good meal, slept in warm feather beds and had but little to complain about: namely the endless bloodcurdling stories told by the talkative innkeeper, all about vampires and mewlips and murderous Elves and other weird thing that go bump in the night. Incredible, how superstitious the Hillmen proved to be!

Celemir didn’t believe in vampires, or anything supernatural for that matter – he was a rational man and had little fears in life. Like many nobles, first and foremost he feared the King’s displeasure. And it was exactly what had befallen him – to put it mildly. Celemir shivered and drew his fur cloak even closer about his frame remembering his last day in Cameth Brin.

It had started so well – Celemir had little difficulty to stub Eryndil’s arm with his poisoned sword. Naturally, the ranger never suspected a thing and would have died, still ignorant of what had hit him – but for the dirty traitor Rhaglas and the coward Daurendil. Celemir snorted. The whiny fool Daur would never get anywhere if he dared not stretch his arm and take what he wanted! Now because of his stupid, outdated notions of honor, or, more likely, because of his cowardice, the Prince himself had lost the wench he loved – and ruined Celemir’s life.

What was wrong with using the poison, anyway? It was a traditional Rhudaurian method to solve problems and to eliminate unwanted people. One had only to pay some attention to one’s history lessons: didn’t kings Isilcar and Tarondacil use poison far and wide? That’s what Celemir had said to the King, blast him, and in return got a long lecture on honor and treachery, rightful heirs of Elendil and shameless usurpers… Such crap!

The King was exceedingly wroth with him and Daurendil’s half-hearted intervention for his former friend did little to alleviate the King’s anger. Celemir was fully prepared to die –he was already imagining the coldness of an axe on the nape of his neck, when the King unexpectedly relented.

“You fully deserve to be tried and executed for your crimes, young man, but I must put the welfare of my kingdom above my personal wishes,” Tarnendur said, frowning. “It will not do to accuse a Dunadan noble of murder before all these Hillmen scum… so I wish the matter to remain secret.” Daurendil and Rhaglas, the only people present at the trial, bowed in acknowledgement, as did Celemir himself. They waited breathlessly for the King’s judgment

The King rose from his throne and uttered in a solemn voice “Here is my ruling, Celemir. The taxes from the lands of your father, Count of Dol Aglardin, will be doubled for the next five years. As for you, Celemir, you shall wash the stain of your crimes by your own blood, serving in the Northern army to which you are henceforth assigned. You must swear a solemn oath to fight valiantly for your King and Country until I decide to pardon your faults. What say you to that?”

Not daring to believe in his good luck, Celemir muttered “I will abide by your decision, my Lord King.”

“Swear then!” Tarnendur held out a naked sword. Celemir fell to his knees on the lower step of the dais and kissed the blade. Looking into the King’s eyes he said “I swear by Eru to fight for my King truly and valiantly, wherever my Lord sees fit to send me, until I die or until my Lord pardons me. Let me be forever accursed if I break this oath.”

Tarnendur seemed satisfied. “Go now and prepare for the departure to Dol Hithaer. You will report to the General Nimruzir – he is the only person you may trust with your story. All the rest should only know that you have volunteered to fight the orcs. Now go and never use your little poisons on anyone… unless it be Broggha himself.” The last words came in a whisper, and Celemir quickly lifted his gaze to the King. “Was it a subtle hint?” he thought – but the King’s eyes remained cold and unreadable.

Celemir made as if to kiss the King’s hand, but the King withdrew it, his face showing disgust. Blushing in shame at the affront, Celemir quickly made his way out of the room, without a glance to either Daurendil or Rhaglas.

And now he was here, far from home, alone on the winter road, striving to catch up with the army of brigands and murderers…

The King must have thought it only fitting…

[Eryndil]

December 16, 1347, mid-morning – Cameth Brin

Eryndil sat alone in his Library. It was good to have peace and quiet for awhile. Normally Caelen would be with him, but she was back over at the Palace Grounds, teaching her new friend to ride. She had even taken Hendegil along this time. Gildurien was probably at the dress shop yet again. Why she had to go there so often he could never understand. Vilyandur was probably still asleep, and his parents found ways to keep themselves and the younger ones occupied.

Eryndil looked out the front window. It was surprisingly mild for so late in the year. Two months ago, it looked like they were coming into a harsh winter, but the weather had moderated – to the point where young ladies could still go out riding. He sighed. The peace and rest were nice, but he did look forward to Caelen’s return. His strength was coming back, and today might bring an opportunity to spend some time together... alone.

He smiled as her teasing words from a few days ago kept coming back to him, “the same man who will be instructing me in the art of lovemaking…” He didn’t know yet whether Hendegil had heard about it directly from Caelen or a servant or wherever, but she had worked up an ornate little “Teacher’s Certification” along the same lines and discreetly slipped it to him earlier today with a wink and a grin.

His men had also made him an object of good-natured ribbing – at least before this poisoning incident. Most of them had their dalliances when the chance arose, and they didn’t understand why he hadn’t done likewise. Eryndil supposed he’d had a few chances for some ‘tutoring’ too: from a wayward thane’s wife, an innkeeper’s daughter and a serving girl or two. Even Glimwen, five years ago when he was back home, had once made it pretty clear she was willing. Sometimes he had chided himself for refusing (and it had sure been misunderstood at times), but he had clung to the notion of waiting… waiting until he was properly married.

And now – it looked like he had made it, and he was glad for it. He could enter this marriage without memories of ‘what it was like’ with someone else. Still though… it didn’t exactly make him much of an expert instructor. And after Caelen said what she did – along with Hendegil’s little joke, he wondered if she would expect him to know more than he did. Inwardly he sighed and supposed that he and Caelen would just have to find a way to teach one another. He hoped she wouldn’t be disappointed… by his lack of prior knowledge. He also wondered if she would do some of the things he had heard other men talk about…

Eryndil’s reverie was interrupted by bustling sounds from just outside the room. He waited at first, wondering what it meant. But in a few moments, a rap on the door was followed by the entrance of his father. Eryndil rose at his father’s presence.

Camglas stood before him, dressed in his finest clothes.

“Eryndil, come with me,” he said simply, beckoning his son to approach.

“What is it father? Is something wrong?”

Camglas smiled very slightly. “Just something you will want to see. Come along now.”

Eryndil stepped out into his inner hallway, or gallery. He was surprised to see all his men in full uniform, with all their gear, drawn up in ranks. He was puzzled to see another man – taller than his father and dressed in finer robes still. But he was speechless for a moment when he recognized in this tall man the face of Harda… his blacksmith!

“Fa… father, what is the meaning of all this?”

“We are going to the palace,” answered Camglas. Then he nodded for one of the household servants to place the cloak he held around Eryndil’s shoulders.

- - - - - - -

The whole thing made Eryndil feel a bit odd. They marched through the streets of outer Cameth Brin, he and his father side-by-side, leading the way, Rildorien just behind her husband. Then came the blacksmith Harda, with his friend Harma. These two were surrounded by Eryndil’s twelve soldiers, each with spear and shield.

They marched to the gates of the palace grounds, open before them. Then on they went across the palace courts to the palace itself. There, they were ushered immediately into the King’s Throne Room. Tarnendur sat upon his throne, with his Queen Eilinel seated to one side and his son Daurendil standing at the other.

Camglas strode three paces forward and bowed, “Your Highness,”

King Tarnendur replied impatiently, “Well… what is it? You sent word for us to prepare for the arrival of a great guest, long…”

Tarnendur’s voice trailed off, and he sat staring at Harda for a few more moments. Then he jumped to his feet, his face a display of utter shock.

Camglas rose, smiling broadly. “My King, I present to you Prince Mithrond, of Mitheithel. He is returned at last alive, after ten years missing and thought…”

“I thought you were DEAD!” exclaimed Tarnendur, tears beginning to fill his eyes. “How can this be?”

- - - - - - -

Eryndil watched in stunned silence as Harda… that is, Prince Mithrond, stepped forward to tell his story. All knew – or thought they knew – what had befallen him. Taken by trolls with his two sons, while they hunted in the wild. Disfigured so badly that the claim was made that his body was not recovered. Just as did his King, he wondered how this could be.

“My King,” began Prince Mithrond, with a slight bow of his head. “Let me explain all this to you.”

“It is now ten years since that day when my sons and I went forth to hunt. But our guide betrayed us. He led us into a remote place, where we were suddenly beset by a dozen men, all mounted, armed and with faces masked.”

“I knew not what their purpose could be, but we three could not withstand 12, so we laid down our arms and dismounted, as they commanded us. They brought forth a man – a man who looked much like me. They forced us to change clothes.

“Once we were bound, our faithless guide stepped forward, asking that he could be paid and go his way. He was struck down.”

“Then, before my eyes, the man who looked like me – wearing my clothes - was slaughtered!”

“My sons were next, and they were treated cruelly. They tortured them, and taunted them to beg for death. One of my sons would not beg them… so they left him alive. But first they… they broke his legs… they put out his eyes… they cut off his tongue… and they cut off his hands.”

“After witnessing this last, I was blindfolded and forced to mount. By what I heard, I think the group divided in two, those left behind ordered to ‘make it look like trolls’ work’. We rode then, all that day, the next and most of the day after that. When we reached our destination, I was placed in a cell. There I sat for ten years, and none spoke to me.”

“At long last, my faithful servant Harma, found me – and somehow he contrived my escape. The place of my confinement was an otherwise abandoned tower – so I still knew not who worked all those evils upon me. But we journeyed to my old home. I would not reveal myself, for fear of my unknown enemy, but I learned that my maimed son had indeed died, and that my wife had failed of grief. But I also learned that my lovely daughter, Odaragariel, last of my family… was here at Cameth Brin… under your care.”

"And here, this good Thane," he continued, acknowledging Camglas, "discovered me, and took me into his care. He brought me into his son's home and prepared me for this day."

The old man smiled and continued. “I thank you for your care of my daughter these ten years, oh my King. Please bring her to me now. I long to see her… to ease at last my broken heart.”

There was a long silence. Daurendil shifted slightly on his feet.

At last King Tarnendur replied, “Your daughter is no longer here.”

[Eryndil]

December 16, 1347, evening dinner – Eryndil’s Home in Cameth Brin

It had been an eventful day, and Eryndil was still taking it in. Prince Mithrond had wished to continue to stay at Eryndil’s home while preparations were made to receive him at his own city house – which was just outside the gate to the palace compound. The King had assigned an extra detachment of guards, and additional servants – and the place was even more packed out than before. Fortunately, lots of provisions had arrived, so Eryndil wasn’t on his own to feed everyone.

He had surrendered the seat of honor to the Prince, and his father had the second highest place, because of the service he had rendered the Prince. He didn’t mind going a little un-noticed himself – especially if he might have a chance to slip off with Caelen as the dinner broke up. Even with all the extra activity, he had a hard time keeping his eyes off her, or even paying attention to anyone else. Happily, as his betrothed, she was seated to one side of him, with Hendegil at his other side. So he was able to whisper something of his intentions, and assurances that sufficient strength had returned to him.

Then, just as the ladies rose to retreat into the Drawing Room, Eryndil managed to press a small note into her hand. She rose and passed most of the way from the room before reading it, her eyes on her the whole way. She blushed only slightly as she turned and smiled at him, then went on her way.

His note was very brief: “15 days… X”