The Winter of Discontent. Shadow over Rhudaur V

[Daurendil]

Daurendil’s rooms in Cameth Brin Tower, evening of December 31, 1347

Daurendil stood in front of the full-length silver-framed Gondorian mirror admiring his reflection. His hair was washed, combed, perfumed and treated with circling-irons to fall in elaborate waves over his shoulders and back. The hair was held in place by a golden circlet with a ruby.

The Prince was not simply richly dressed – he was resplendent. He wore a rust-colored velvet tunic with beautiful Khandian lace collar and cuffs, matching trousers with gold buttons on the sides, and a short dark-green cape with so much golden embroidery that the material was hidden almost entirely. The ruby-eyed stag of Rhudaur and seven stars of Elendil were emblazoned in gold on his chest.

Sure, Daurendil was well aware that his outfit was more suitable for a coronation than for a simple annual Yule ball, but he had dressed like that on purpose – to let Caelen see full well whom she had disdained and what she was about to miss.

Over the last few weeks, Daurendil pondered over her choice quite a lot, alternating between bouts of self-pity and pride at making the noble and rightful decision. Still, he was not sure what made Caelen choose a Thane’s third son over the King’s first. Rhaglas, the only friend left to him, maintained that Caelen was in fact even more calculating than everyone believed her to be and preferred a stable position and immediate marriage to some vague promises for the grand future that the Prince was able to give while the King lived. Or else that she preferred her own intrigues to those of a Royal Court, and was sure she could control Eryndil more easily than a future King. Daurendil tended to agree with that theory, because the alternative hurt even more: that Caelen might be genuinely in love with Eryndil, and not with him.

Yet, deep in his heart, Daurendil knew the truth, so he decided to step aside and act noble and disinterested. He poured gifts on the couple and made Ilyanon, the best tailor in Cameth Brin, prepare their wedding dresses at quite moderate prices. The difference was charged to the Prince, which, coupled with his own commissions, would make the monthly bill from the tailor downright outrageous. The King would be angry… again, but Daurendil cared little about it now.

It was getting late – Caelen must have already said her marriage vows. Lost… lost to him forever… Daurendil felt a stab of pain at the thought and quenched it with a goblet of Lebennin wine.

Now it was high time for the newly-weds to arrive. The Prince left his room on tiptoe and sneaked to the gallery to look down upon the crowd gathering in the Great Hall. Caelen was still not there. He saw his parents greeting the guests his brother Amantir following them sullenly. What a weird idea for the Royals to forego the grand entrance and mix with the guests like some commoners! Whatever reasons the King had for this decision, Daurendil was not going to abide by it. He would not miss HIS grand entrance –after Eryndil and Caelen arrive. Let her see what she had lost!

There was some commotion by the doors: joyous exclamations, people making way for the new arrivals. Daurendil caught a glimpse of pale green and deep blue and backed away from the railing in haste – right into the arms of the early Arnorian knight displayed on the landing. The assorted pieces of armor rained to the stone floor. The heavy winged helmet rolled down the steps with a hellish bang. Daurendil heard frightened gasps from the guests below and flew to his room to await the right moment for his grand entrance.

[Eryndil]

December 31, 1347 – at dusk, Eryndil’s House

Camglas realized all at once that Wilwarin and Arinya needed to get to the Yule Ball as well, and that they had just walked from the palace to attend the wedding. It would be utterly inhospitable to allow them to walk back.

“Well, it looks like we’ll need to take two trips after all,” Camglas announced as he sized up the group.

“Go ahead then father, you and mother and two more,” responded Eryndil with a smile. “The rest of us will follow you when the carriage comes back for us.”

Eryndil and Caelen, holding onto one another, gave each other a slight squeeze. Whether prompted by that, or whether he would have done the same otherwise, Camglas laughed, and with a twinkle in his eye replied, “No… no, you’d best be getting there yourselves, right away. Or else no knowing if you’d come at all, good intentions notwithstanding.”

“Besides,” he continued, “the King will want the newlyweds there to grace the start of the Ball. And your dear wife’s friends (he said the word ‘wife’ with such emphasis), belong to the palace and will need to be getting back straightaway. And above all that, if you want to make it a short night there, you’d best get it started early, so you can get in a reasonable appearance, before… you return.” And he winked broadly at that last, bringing laughter from those around him.

Most of those around him anyway. Gildurien had her arms crossed and seemed pouty, while Vilyandur looked bored, as usual.

Camglas saw to it that Caelen went up into the carriage first, followed by Arinya and Wilwarin, then Eryndil. He looked back and counted, “Let’s see… that still leaves five of us. We’ll never get five in there once Vilyandur and I get inside. Better see if we can fit one more in now. Hendegil! Come on down, girl. You’re the thinnest – and you should be going with Caelen anyway!”

Gildurien fumed. Rildorien thought she was the only one to hear her mutter, “That little… baby!” and raised an eyebrow, a bit dismayed at her elder daughter’s display of emotions, which were becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

Hendegil though, came down the front steps and allowed her father to help her up into the carriage, where Eryndil helped her settle in between the two women from the palace – across from himself and Caelen.

The door was closed and they all waved to the four who awaited the carriage’s return. The driver snapped the reins and called out to the horses, and off they rode.

“Well,” said Eryndil, “on to the Ball!”

- - - - - - - -

They soon reached the gates to the palace grounds and were ushered through. There was a crowd of similar carriages clustered around the base of the Tower – some just arriving, some unloading, some trying to depart. Most of these latter were pulling around to the area designated for them to wait, but some headed back toward the gates, apparently making more than one trip themselves.

Their driver, unused to these kinds of city crowds, pulled them off to one side and waited. Eryndil thought it best that they just walked the short way left to go, so he tapped on the inside of the cab in signal. The driver pulled on the brake, a bit relieved, and the footman jumped around to open the door. Eryndil came out first, then assisted the ladies down – and the carriage was off to get the rest of them.

There was already quite a crowd gathered at the entrance, but after a little waiting as the line moved before them, Eryndil gave their names to a herald and was announced, along with Caelen and Hendegil, while a scribe recorded them (for Arinya and Wilwarin had slipped in discretely, belonging to the King’s Household themselves). Then the King and Queen stood before them, with Amantir and Tarniel. The King beamed with joy as the trio did him their homage and approached.

“Welcome to the newlyweds – husband and wife! Come to join us for our Yule Celebration! What better time to be wed than the Yule? And what better way to celebrate the bliss of your wedding than a Yule Ball?”

Eryndil suspected the King had already had a bit more to drink than he usually took. But he smiled and bowed. Caelen seemed pleased and clung to Eryndil. Hendegil hung back a little, but her eyes wandered to and fro, taking in the whole scene.

“Here now Orefim,” continued King Tarnendur, “do now your office! Give each of this party their piece of gold. But no, six... no… EIGHT gold pieces for the new groom, and eight more… no, TEN more, for his lovely bride! Mark that down, scribe. And you two,” he said returning to Eryndil and Caelen, “as the newest wed here tonight, be sure to join us for the opening dance!”

Eryndil was surprised, but delighted as the money was counted out first to him, and then to Caelen. He caught the eyes of the Queen, who didn’t seem so pleased at first, but smiled when she saw that he looked on her. Puzzled, Eryndil saw the same look of reserve on Amantir. The young lady Tarniel, whom he had before only seen in passing, looked more friendly, and a bit curious about this entourage. He wondered why Daurendil was not there.

Echoing his thoughts, the King turned aside and called out, “Where on Middle-earth is Daurendil? There’s something I must tell him about this…” he indicated Eryndil, “…this man’s family!”

Eryndil wondered what that could mean, but just then there came a loud crash from the Great Chamber inside, and then a series of banging sounds, like a hollow metal object rolling down stone stairs, all followed by what seemed like an even louder hush.

[Queen Eilinel]

Great Hall, Cameth Brin Tower, Yule Ball - December 31, 1347.

Queen Eilinel winced at the noise and looked at the King disapprovingly when he exclaimed – far too loudly - “Why, I bet some tottering clay-brained miscreant must have upset the kingly armor up on the gallery AGAIN!”

Despite his wife’s admonishments, the King had drunk definitely too much at dinner. Pleading that it was Yule, for Valar’s sake, he had sent away the watered wine prepared for him and ordered a bottle of good old Dorwinion, which he absorbed alone. To the Queens chagrin, the effect was now plainly visible.

“Come with me, let us have a look!” Tarnendur dragged Eryndil and Caelen into the main hall and to the foot of the stair leading down from the gallery. And indeed, there laid a lofty old-fashioned helm with silver wings of a seagull on its sides. The King picked it up.

“Do you know whose helm it was?” he asked Eryndil. “It belonged to Isildur’s son Ciryon, who was killed at the Gladden with his father. When Earendur’s sons divided the heirlooms of the house between them, this helm fell to Dauremir, my ancestor. But nobody can wear it now. Guess why? – It is too big for the modern Men. The stature of the Dunedain had dwindled.”

Tarnendur stepped closer to Eryndil and lowered the helm upon the Ranger’s head. It was indeed too big. Eryndil took it off reverently and admired the fine craftsmanship. “It is a wonder to behold” he commented.

“Yes, finely made, isn’t it? Dates back to Numenor, I believe.” The King ordered a servant to return the helm to its place of honor. His mood turned jovial again.

“Why, you and your wife have passed beneath the mistletoe without kissing! That is a grave breach of protocol and an offence to Father Yule. You must remedy to this straight away!” Laughing, he carried Eryndil and Caelen back to the doorway and left them to kiss each other.

It took quite some time. When they were finished, everyone was applauding and Caelen was beet-red from embarrassment. The Queen frowned at first, but than her smile returned. After all there was nothing improper for a man to kiss his wife. She looked up at Tarnendur and squeezed his hand. He was a good husband, even if a bit too old for her. She was a happy woman and now, with Gimilbeth away and this dangerous Caelen finally properly married, she was determined to enjoy every single day.

Today was her Ball! She wore a new light-grey dress with magnificent silver embroidery over a yellow under-dress. There were diamonds around her milky-white neck and a matching coronet in her hair. She felt young, happy and carefree.

Suddenly three loud taps sounded from the gallery followed by a shout from an usher. “His Royal Highness the Crown Prince Daurendil of Rhudaur,” the courtier announced.

Eilinel looked up in gladness – so her favorite son finally deigned to come – but then her smile vanished and was replaced by a worried look. What a crazy idea to make such a grand entrance and to dress like that – as if it were some sort of official ceremony in his honor, not a Yule Ball! She glanced at the King’s darkening face and promptly pulled her husband aside to whisper into his ear.

“Tarnendur, please, don’t comment on Daurendil’s appearance. Just, please, don’t! Our boy feels upset and insecure, that’s why he has dressed so magnificently. It is like armor, you see, to protect his broken heart…”

“Armor...” grunted the king derisively. “I guess I know who has scattered Ciryon’s armor this time…” he added somewhat inconsistently.

“Tarnendur, please…”

“Fear not, Eilinel my dear, I won’t say a word – until the Ball is over, at least” promised the King, shaking his head.

[Daurendil]

Like a flagship majestically entering a harbor, Daurendil slowly descended the stair, two pages following him with torches. Pity he didn’t have a mantle with a train for the pages to carry, he thought. He was glad to see that all eyes were on him. He schooled his face into its most graceful and indifferent expression and slowly advanced towards his parents … and Caelen… nodding benevolently left and right to the bowing courtiers.

“My lord King, I apologize for being late.” He inclined before his father, who was red-faced and obviously seething with suppressed anger. “My dear Mother, what a magnificent Ball,” he smiled at Eilinel. “Tarniel, you look splendid today,” he nodded at his slightly bewildered sister. “Amantir, nice to see you,” he greeted his brother.

Then he turned towards those for whose sake all this performance had been planned. “Sir Eryndil, Lady Caelen, may I congratulate you on the happy occasion of your wedding” he said formally. “I wish you unending happiness,” he added, his words somehow lacking all warmth, despite the accompanying smile.

The Prince gave Eryndil no time to reply. He already turned back to his mother and said with affected gaiety “My lady Queen, I would have been happy to invite you for the first dance, but I fear my lord father would not let me beat him to it. Therefore, I will use my rights of the firstborn and claim the hand of my charming sister for the first dance.” He winked to Amantir and bowed before the wide-eyed Tarniel.

[Wilwarin]

December 31st, The Palace grounds of Cameth Brin

Wilwarin and Arinya slipped away while Caelen and her new family were announced by the heralds. Both knew the palace well and by taking another entrance, they managed to enter the ball without undue attention. There they separated, Arinya went towards where the royal family –and her charge Tarniel - were while Wilwarin sought out her own friends.

The first one she saw was Sírien, who was still working this evening, carrying around drinks. But that didn’t seem to hamper her spirits: her eyes shone and her cheeks were somewhat flushed, making Wilwarin suspect Sírien had found a good way to dispose of wine left-overs without wasting them.

Sírien was standing on the tip of her toes, and like so many, tried to catch a glimpse of the bride.

“Where have you been?” she asked when she caught sight of Wilwarin. “Merinel told me you had left already early today, and already in your best dress.”

Wilwarin smiled. “I had a social call to see to first,” she said, without going into specifics. “Have I missed much?”

“The King’s been very generous, each guests receives a small donation. Ah, I wish I was invited rather than working today!”

Wilwarin nodded. Even a silver penny was a nice gift, just for attending a ball.

“He’s also been generous with drinks,” Sírien added more quietly, but with a telling look.

"Would you recommend the Lebennin wine, or rather the Belfalas one?" Wilwarin asked innocently, alluding to Sírien's own flushed cheeks.

Sirien laughed but then looked ahead and nudged Wilwarin. “Oooh, look! I think the dance’s about to commence!”

[Odaragariel of Mitheithel]

December 30th, Dol Mithlad, Odaragariel's sitting room


"My Lady," Dinen's respectful voice broke in upon her thoughts, "There is a question I must ask you."

Despite his formal way of addressing her, his voice had the easy tone of familiarity in it. The fort of Dol Mithlad was more of a military outpost than a town where people lived out of choice, given its close proximity to the disputed territories to the North. Certainly very few highborn families - of a rank, education or breeding that might be considered fit companions for a princess - were present. Odaragariel had found herself alone in a fortress full of soldiers; and Dinen was one of the only men cultured enough, who had seen enough of the outer world to at all match her in conversation and taste. As a result, they had been much thrown together, and had developed a sort of friendship. Dinen was always curious to hear about life in Cameth Brin. Odare, who was really missing her home, was glad of this outlet into which to pour out her fond recollections; and by degrees, she had acquainted him with the characters of all the royal family to some degree.

That morning, she had been thinking very much of her friend Amantir; and had told Dinen with much humour of his failed attempt to have a say in the Council. She had fallen silent after telling her tale, absorbed in the past, and had not noticed that Dinen himself had been driven into a deep meditation by her tale.

"Ask away, Dinen."

"You mentioned that Broggha asked, as a price for the conduct displayed by the Prince and his friends that he have Nauremir's head, and some lands. I believe you mentioned that he actually demanded the lands of Mitheithel?" he gestured out of the open window at the plains that stretched ahead.

She realised his interest at once, "But the King paid no heed to him! He told him quite clearly that those lands belonged to me, and he was holding it in trust as I am his ward!"

"The King rules over this land, though you own it and I am Seneschal." Dinen murmured.

Odare looked suspiciously at him. Simple statement of fact, but what double meaning hid in it?

With a sigh, Dinen said, "I do not wish to sound impertinent; but you have honoured me with many confidences. May I, as a friend, tell you truthfully what my reading of the situation is? I have seen much of politics in my time, and perhaps I can advise you a little."

Odare shrugged, "I will not be offended. Tell me what you're thinking."

"This land of Mitheithel - you are its princess. You are the surviving heir of the family that has long looked after it. But since the death of your esteemed father, my friend," thus Dinen tried to remind her that he had been her father's friend, and was thus doubly her friend, "it is ruled over by the King at Cameth Brin. The situation is of course, a delicate one. The people here do not know Tarnendur, but they know well enough, your claim on them. However, you were his ward; he was considered in the light of a Regent. When you came of age, there might be friction; but considering you were brought up with them, and the friendship that existed between you and them, it was widely supposed and not incorrectly, that an amicable settlement would take place."

"Very good, Dinen, very concise, only why must you talk of it all in the past sense? I am still his ward; friendship still exists between me and them!"

"Forgive me - I have been hasty. I do not wish to offend. Perhaps, I had better talk of this another time; or not at all, as my lady wishes."

"No," curiosity won out over anger, "You would do better to finish what you started."

"The situation has changed, however. I think I am right in conjecturing that you were being reared there with an equal status as their own daughters, because of the expectation that you would be the future queen. I know you do not like me to mention this subject -" he paused.

"Dinen, please leave off the delicate pauses, and speak plainly to me. No, I do not like you to mention Daurendil, but you already have, so you might as well say what you're thinking. In fact, I will make it easier for you and say it all myself. Yes, there was an idea that we would be married. It would be a very neat solution, doubtless." She got up on her feet angrily, and strode to the window.

"We are of the same age, we were friends, and politically, much was to be gained on each side. It would provide a perfect melding of the lands of Mitheithel and Rhudaur, as symbolised by our marriage, and if I was Queen, my people would give their whole-hearted loyalty to the throne, finally, but the beautiful plan has one fatal flaw - Daurendil will never marry me, and nor I him, and there rests the matter!" said she, with an emphatic shake of her head.

In a slightly softened tone, she continued, "If you are going to advise me to reconsider, I am telling you, politically sound move or no, I can not, and I will not! If you wish to warn me that it was foolish of me to quarrel with the Royal Family, to sour my relations with them; well, perhaps it was. And if you will tell me how to mend it, I will listen. But some other solution has to be come up with; some other solution of what is to be done with me!"

[Dínen]

December 30th, Dol Mithlad, Odaragariel's sitting room


Dinen had listened to Odaragariel in patience, and sympathy. He waited a while more in silence, watching her bring herself back under control. When she seemed calmed, he said once more, in his reasoning voice, "I will not argue with your course of action. I merely point out to you that we have entered a somewhat volatile situation. I am sure your friendship with the Royal Family subsists. You have however, quarreled with the Future Heir, and I think I am not wrong to assume you are no longer as much in favour with Tarnendur as before. Do you not see how it will strike him? For all these years, you have been an obedient girl. If he had had any fears that you would rebel against his rule and try to pit Mitheithel as a separate kingdom of your own -"

Odare looked up at him, startled beyond measure. Such a course had never occurred to her as possible! It was unthinkable! And Dinen uttered it with such casual freedom, as a thing that was obvious. She actually recoiled from his person as he said the words, but shock kept her tongue tied. She sank back into her chair, faint with surprise.

"-then his fears would be dispelled at once."

"Dinen," she found her voice at last, "you do not know of whom you speak! He was a dear friend to me! You have no idea of the kindness I have experienced in Cameth Brin, of the love and friendship. But you would have them sound heartless monsters, whose only motive in keeping me with them was to buy my loyalty!"

"No, of course not. I do not say that at all, my Lady. However, you must admit that royal families are not as the same as other families; their relationships are not always as disinterested. It was a neat solution, as you yourself put it - they loved you, and they cared for you, but it also conveniently solved their Mitheithel problem for them, so they did not need worry about it all those years you were with them."

"Perhaps - I do not know. No such motive influenced my Tarniel, I know that. Or Amantir, and certainly not Daurendil!" For he would not then have chosen Caelen, was her secret thought, but this she did not voice to Dinen. "As for Gimilbeth - if she had any such idea, it never influenced her enough to result in any kind action or thought."

A note of hesitation then crept into her voice, as she proceeded to acquit the parents as well as the children. "And I am sure - that the King and Queen had no such thought in their head either."

"Whether they did or no - I will not argue that with you either." Dinen replied gravely, "But are you so sure he will not think of that now? When by your - forgive me if I sound critical - your precipitate action in thus leaving Cameth Brin against his express wishes, you will certainly give him pause. He has not, I think, been faced with ah, independent action so directly contradicting his on your part before." Disobedience - that was the word he had not said, and which he yet conveyed to her. "Even more so, you will certainly not comply with any wishes he had of uniting Daurendil in an alliance sealed by marriage."

"If he is worried, he need fear nothing!" Odare's voice held scorn in it. "I have trusted them all my life, and they will not find their trust in me ill-placed! I will not move my people against him; if the neat solution does not work, then a compromise must. I will give him my support and thus my people's support without marrying Daurendil, and no one can ask fairer than that."

"That would be a course of action that I would certainly commend. But are you so certain you will get such an opportunity?"

"What are you trying to imply now?"

Dinen pulled his chair closer, and leaned forward. "It was the story you told me - of how Broggha demanded your lands. Yes, the King refused. At that time, he had hopes of keeping it for you, and through you, for his own son. But now, that no longer applies. And the King seems reluctant to oppose Broggha in anything."

"Surely you are jesting, if you suppose the King would choose Broggha over me!" Her eyes were wide with horror.

"I only remark on the fact that Broggha targeted your lands; that it is in the King's interest, or perhaps he imagines it is Rhudaur's interest to keep Broggha appeased. That on Broggha's suggestion, the King has sent him on a military campaign here, which one would imagine he would have entrusted to the Seneschal and the armies here, and that if Broggha were successful in such a campaign, he would demand, nay be entitled to some great reward. That perhaps he thinks a few years under Broggha's brutal rule might teach the people of Mitheithel to prefer the gentle rule of Tarnendur and no longer murmur if their princess is not the one that rules them."

There! It was said. The initial shock had been delivered, and the rest was left to her. She had his opinion; he had concealed nothing, used no disguise, no artifice, but spoken his honest, true opinion, but in such a way that at least part of her would be forced to admit it to be truth. Whether it was the truth or not, it had about it the air of a 'neat solution', and as such, would have a double attraction to be considered truth. Of course, Tarnendur, if he heard him at all, would have considered him an artful, lying fellow who was trying to turn Odaragariel against those who were her true friends. Dinen would have disagreed; he thought, indeed, that he was helping a young girl who was tied to him in many ways, to perceive the world around her as it really was, and not through the rose-tinted glasses of her youth. The fact that his judgement of Tarnendur's actions were themselves clouded by the impression that the Hillman had made on him, he did not realise. All the same, his words had a half-truth about them, an almost-truth, a fiction that he certainly believed, and so it was tantalizing to accept it as truth.

And thus Odaragariel sat there, and battled in her head between what she wanted to believe, and what she feared was the truth.

[Caelen]

Caelen watched as Daurendil led his sister to the head of the line of dancers that was rapidly starting to form. Eryndil looked down upon his wife with some momentary misgivings in his heart. He had so little to offer right now ... even her wedding dress was provided by another ... did she regret turning down Daurendil's advances?

Caelen turned her head to look up at her husband. Surprised at his expression, she said, "Penny ... no, a gold piece! for your thoughts..."

Despite his misgivings, Eryndil had to smile. Those gold coins would go a long way towards discharging the debts that his less-responsible family members had managed to run up. He was no expert on dress, but by the looks that Gildurien's dress were getting, she must have managed to talk the tailor into some more credit ...

Caelen reached up and gently ran her fingers across his cheek, stopping just at the corner of his mouth and bringing Eryndil out of his household management worries and back to her.

"Oh, just ..." he started and then stopped, as his eyes involuntarily went back to Daurendil. "I wish I had more to give to you," he said, half-embarassed and half-frustrated, as he reached out and touched the tiara in her hair. Pearls! Those must have cost a fortune! How many dinners would one of those pay for? How many were there, anyway? and he started to count them.

Again, she brought his attention back to her with a touch of her fingers on his face.

"Those are just trinkets. You've given me everything!" she said firmly. He took his eyes away from the tiara and looked into her eyes, and what he saw there finally made him forget his worries and smile.

Her answering smile set his heart beating faster.

"Now, where's that gold piece you owe me?" he teased.

"I've hidden it - you'll have to search me when we get home!" she teased back, and then laughed at his expression as she dodged his grasp and ran to join the line of dancers.

[Daurendil]

Two steps and a turn, then three steps holding his partner's hand, then … Daurendil craned his neck to look down the line of dancers. He glimpsed Caelen's green dress, but little else. Eryndil and she took a long time to join the dance, whispering to each other… And not a single glance spared for him, despite all his efforts.

Now two steps back and two towards Tarniel, then a pivot, with the right foot held in…Daurendil looked back again. Oh, Caelen was smiling up at her husband, love written all over her face… Daurendil stumbled.

A half-yelp-half-moan from Tarniel warned him that he must have stepped on his sister's foot. He looked at his partner for the first time and observed that Tarniel's face was contorted in pain and barely suppressed anger.

"Sorry, sis," he whispered, smiling apologetically.

Tarniel glared back unappeased, going silently through the steps of the complicated dance. She hadn't spoken with Daurendil ever since their quarrel, when he had treated Odare so disgustingly. Now she wondered if Daurendil had as much as noticed her scorn? Apparently he didn't, because he asked

"Now, why so glum, sis? Um…I guess I was not paying enough attention, but it can't have been THAT painful!"

That was more than Tarniel could stand. She hissed back "You never seem to pay attention to anyone but yourself and your desires. How COULD you treat Odare this way? How COULD you let her go away to the cold wastes of Mitheithel, alone and unprotected? And she had always been your good friend and future bride…"

"What all this has to do with Oddie?" asked Daurendil, bewildered. Since Odaragariel's departure, he never spared her a single thought, his mind totally occupied by his heart-wrenching new love. If he thought of Odare at all, he was congratulating himself that their union would never come to pass. Now he knew what it was he wanted from his future wife, and Odare, dear friend as she had been, would never make his heart beat so fast, would never make his blood so hot and his knees so weak, as Caelen was able to do with a single glance. Now he knew he wanted not only a suitable future queen but a beloved woman. He would be content with nothing less.

"You are hopeless, Daurendil," stated Tarniel scornfully and relapsed into silence.

The Prince shrugged his shoulders and resumed watching Caelen and Eryndil. Twice or trice he did trample on Tarniel's feet again, but she offered no comments and he only muttered "Sorry" and went on.

***
Tarniel



When the unpleasant dance was at last over, Tarniel stormed away. The crowd was suffocating, and she wanted to be alone for a while. She needed a moment to allow her anger to cool, lest she embarrass herself at the ball. Hastily she disappeared among the long tables which had been pushed over to the sides of the great hall to make room for the dancers. Moving behind a wide stone column, she leaned up against the smooth marble and wiped her hand across her brow. In this secluded place, the sounds of the ball were an indistinct din of laughter and music.

Why had Daurendil even asked her to dance? It probably had something to do with Caelen, Tarniel fumed to herself. Her brother's obsession with that woman was unhealthy, not to mention embarrassing to the family and to Rhudaur itself. She had thought that his infatuation would end with Caelen's marriage to Eryndil, but she had been woefully mistaken. Daurendil was openly lusting for a married woman! Why, he was acting as uncouth and boorish as one of the hillmen! He had never behaved in such a fashion before. Had this improper fascination driven him insane?

Though he sometimes acted like a spoilt child, Daurendil was a grown man, and thus responsible for his own actions. His treatment of Odaregariel had been utterly abominable. How he had hurt and betrayed her! Had he no conscience left at all?

A pang of yearning filled her heart with melancholy. How she missed Odare! Nothing was the same without her old friend to keep her company. Everything felt hollow and lonely. She wondered how Odare was getting along in Mitheithel. How was she faring in the long, cold winter? Odare would be well-protected in Dol Mithlad, but still Tarniel worried. What if the attempt to recapture Dol Hithlaer was unsuccessful? That was a possibility she did not want to think about.

"Oh, Odare, why did you have to leave?" she thought painfully. "Why did Daurendil have to be so cruel to you?"

She felt like crying, but parties were no place for tears. Odare would want her to enjoy herself, if for nothing more than to spite Daurendil. Taking a deep breath, she emerged from behind the column and headed back towards the festivities. She would try to have a good time at the ball in spite of Daurendil's arrogance and apathetic disregard for the feelings of anyone other than himself.

[Tarnendur]

Having danced vigorously for the first three dances, Tarnendur now proudly led his Queen off the dance floor, back toward their station by the entrance, nodding and smiling at those he passed by, most of whom applauded them for their dancing, even while they bowed at their monarch’s passage. Tarnendur was quite pleased with himself. The Ball was going well, there was a great turn-out and all were enjoying themselves, and though Eilinel had accused him of drinking too much, he had handled the dances quite masterfully, if he thought so himself. Another drink or two, he thought wryly, and he might even enjoy dancing with his Queen.

Above all that, Broggha was not in town, nor was Gimilbeth, and though he missed the latter of the two, her absence did make his Queen so much more carefree – and congenial.

He saw just ahead of him the Prince Mithrond, and saw at that very moment that his friend Thane Camglas was just arriving. A broad smile came to his face and he began to pick up his stride. “Come my dear,” he began, “two of the most worthy nobles in our land, though one is accounted the highest and the other grouped among the low.”

But just then, there came a sharp tug at his elbow. He turned to face his Lady, the Queen. Despite all that he had observed that should give them joy, she did not seem happy – at all! She arched her eyebrows severely, then pointed with her eyes off to one side. Turning in that direction, the King saw his elder son approaching the young man Eryndil – the son of the very same Thane Camglas who had just arrived – and that new bride of his.

Oh no. But wait… maybe he could make something of circumstances here. They were almost back to their former station, and Orefim had come forward to receive them.

“Orefim!” began the King. “I espy my son over yonder,” he said, indicating the direction. “Bring him to me now, at once, here at the entrance. There is something I must tell him. He is to come immediately!”

As Orefim bowed and made his way directly toward Daurendil, Tarnendur turned toward Eilinel to see if this had pleased her. Well… she did not look quite as troubled, but her icy stare passed beyond Orefim to the object of his quest.

“Come along now, darling. Your King will see to this. Think back, now to our own first Yule together! And come, let’s greet the newest arrivals.”

The King greeted Camglas warmly, and then received Rildorien, Vilyandur and Gildurien. He couldn’t help but think Gildurien looked a bit flustered, but at least he had not heard her complain to her mother that they had indeed missed the opening dances, and how it should have been her place – their place – to go first, and let the newlyweds make the later appearance. For she wanted the distinction of taking part in the opening dance, and now it was over and she had missed it.

Hendegil had already been received by the royal family, but left alone since Eryndil and Caelen had begun to dance, she now edged over toward the rest of her family. Prince Mithrond disengaged himself from the ladies he had been entertaining and came to join them all.

“Stay here a moment, all of you,” said King Tarnendur. “There is something I must tell you. But first my son Daurendil must be with us, that he may hear it as well. Where is he now?”

At that moment, Daurendil arrived at last, leading Tarniel and closely trailed by Orefim, who seemed rather distressed. Daurendil’s face was a mask of innocence, if also impatience at being dragged away from his intentions.

“Good!” began Tarnendur. “Now, gather around all of you, and listen to my story.”

Ignoring Daurendil’s rolling eyes Tarnendur proceeded by placing a hand on Camglas’ shoulder and continuing. “This man… comes from a line which has served as protectors of rightful Kings, from a house that shelters them against their adversaries.”

“You know about this, don’t you?” he asked Camglas in a lower voice. Camglas acknowledged that it was so.

“For you see, my family, and family of Thane Camglas;” Tarnendur’s voice was raised once more. “When Histendil the Usurper lifted up his hand against my great-grandfather, who was rightful king, and struck him down, and also against my grandfather and slew him as well, it was this man’s ancestor, long ago, who gave refuge to my own father, Tarenion, who was but a child of five.”

“Father, is this so?” asked Tarniel.

“Yes,” continued Tarnendur, pleased to have at least one interested listener among his own family. “For a royal servant stole my father away as a small boy, saving him from the death that pursued him. He was taken first into the wilds, but was discovered by the local Thane. This Thane was great-grandfather to Thane Camglas, and he gave shelter and refuge to the child. This happened two hundred and twenty years ago.”

“Seeing that he could not protect him there for long, he sent him on to Gondor, through Fornost and Tharbad. There my father grew, until he returned to the north – first to Arthedain and then to Cardolan, finally launching the attack that toppled Tarondacil the Treacherous, son of Histendil, over 90 years ago. Alas…” and here Tarnendur paused, reflecting sadly, “He perished while slaying the Treacherous One…” and then he lifted up his head once more and looked deeply into Camglas eyes, “else he would have given rich reward to your house, of that I am certain.”

“What now can I do for you, Thane Camglas, heir of my father’s helper? For now you have helped another as well, our dear friend the Prince of Mitheithel. Deep is your loyalty, and true is your heart. Never was title or honor bestowed so well as on your house, except that it is too small for the service you render. How shall we now honor you and yours?”

Camglas was speechless for a moment. At last he mumbled humbly that he had but done his duty as he saw fit, as had his fathers before him. And further, that the old tale had not been fit for the telling for most of the years since it happened, for it would have not been a popular tale in the royal courts of those troubled years, and now his family had nearly forgotten it. And also, that the honors and favors bestowed on his youngest son were sufficient reward for any service rendered by the family. Vilyandur stiffened a bit at this.

“Father, is it true?” asked Hendegil. “But for our ancestor, would…”

“… Would my grandfather Tarenion have been slain as a child?” continued Tarniel, looking up into her father’s face. “Never to have retaken his rightful land of Rhudaur? Never to have… I never to have been…?” and she looked away.

And Daurendil thought once more how dishonorable it would have been had Eryndil been deceitfully slain by one of his own companions – how that crime would have stained him so deeply.