"Papa," a girl of five peeked into her father's rooms, bringing a blank piece of canvas and small glass jars of paint he had one of his squire boys bring from across the sea. She had an affinity for the arts and even at a young age had proved she was quite good at painting and playing both the harp and flute. Her favorite place to paint was on her father's personal balcony that overlooked the endless sea.
Ohtar looked up from the scroll of parchment spread out on his desk and placed his quill back into the pot of ink. "Have you finished your lessons, Aeardis?" She avidly nodded and he stood, pulling out the small easel he had crafted. The lord of the isle finished up his duties for the day with alarming haste. He sat behind his daughter and watched as she painted a vibrant red-orange sunset over the dark waters of the sea.
That night like many others she asked her father of the elves and the island of Númenor and he told her great stories of battles and magic, of evil things and fairies. Her enthralled expression reminded him of Ioreth's own wide hazy green eyes when she learned of his elven heritage and the history of the island she would call home until her final day. Aeardis begged for another story but Ohtar would tell her no more for the night. He leaned forward, kissing her forehead and took up the candelabrum, bidding her a sweet sleep.
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Word had been sent by raven from the Citadel of Minas Tirith. Ecthelion was unwell in his elder years and he wished to see Ohtar to discuss things of a political nature with one of his closest friends and most trusted advisor.
Aeardis was seven now and far too clever for her own good. She read over the small slip of paper while her father busied himself with packing. Ohtar gathered his old sword and shield and placed it beneath the layers of courtly clothes that were to be taken on the journey over the sea. Aeardis sat, still in her smallclothes, on her father's bed and watched, reminding him to bring a spare pair of boots and several more freshly woven tunics. Her own things had been packed the prior day.
"Where are we going?" It was the fifth time she had asked that question over the course of the week since the letter had been received. He had pointed out the White City on the map the first three times, the fourth time he described the splendor of the city telling her that he had met Ioreth there, her mother.
Ohtar scooped his giggling daughter off the crumpled bedsheets and set her upon his shoulders to look out over the sea, past the Enchanted Isles and the dark abyss to the east. He pointed in no particular direction, "Over that far horizon."
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A caravel loomed overhead from the port's docks. White sails were being tied to the masts as men carried on crates of goods to be traded with the races of Middle Earth and maybe even those on the mainland of Valinor. Aeardis watched with wide eyes as barrels of salt pork and fresh water was lowered below the deck of a ship by crane.
It was her first time at the port city of Avallónë, it was not the size of the city itself that had left her in awe, but the bustling population and the numerous ships that had come to dock. Some carried spices, others fine silks and instruments, while still others brought herbs and remedies for healing that were not found on the island.
In the center of the city was a large citadel hewn from the mountain that had once stood in its place. The hightower extended into the sky where smoke billowed from a beacon light. Aeardis had never dreamt such places could be a reality, all she knew was the quiet northern shores and her castle by the sea. Nessamelda was the small seaside village on the northern shores of the island where Ohtar had been named warden and granted a castle by the Eldar for his services. It had been named after the fragrant tree that was unique those shores. A village town of no more than three-hundred paled in comparison to a port city of thousands.
As one ship set off a white elven ship shaped to be a swan took its place. Aeardis had seen elves before, but never those from the mainland of Valinor. No more than a dozen departed from the ship, all wore pale colored robes that accentuated the darkness of their long hair and the paleness of flawless skin. They would be going to the citadel, where the elders met for councils and a vast collection of historical records remained.
Past midday every dock had a ship anchored at it, "Which one is ours?" Ohtar picked his daughter up so she could see above the crowds and pointed to one of the smaller ships with white sails, the deep blue flag at the stern bore a white tree with seven stars and a crown above it. The sigil of the realm of Gondor.
Their traveling party supped at a tavern near the docks with the captain, a sailor employed by the realm of Gondor to work in both trade and warfare if needed. He was a stout man with white hair and red cheeks both friendly and stern. The captain showed Ohtar and his daughter to their quarters; a spacious room with a writing desk, table, and two featherbeds. He even provided them with a cabin boy for the duration of the cross-sea journey. At dusk, the anchor was pulled and the ropes at the dock untied. Ohtar brought forth the bundle of oiolairë leaves he had procured and tied them at the bow of the ship, as it was tradition when setting sail past the Enchanted Isles.
Aeardis stayed at the stern of the ship for a long while, watching as the city lights grew dim. The distant beacon of the hightower floated in the damp of night like a hazy orange moon, growing smaller. By nightfall, they were well into open water. The girl looked over the railing in awe of how the lanterns reflected on the black surface of the calm water.
Two days passed and the Enchanted Isles that protected the realm of Valinor came to pass, as did the unease that had come to lie over the crew of men as the ship left the Shadowy Seas. Aeardis sketched the new lands she saw while sitting at the bow of the ship and took her lessons in the afternoon with Osric.
On the tenth night, a strong wind filled the sails from the storm and the waves that beat the boat were relentless in the pursuit to drown them all. Aeardis could not sleep, she and her father's quarters were warm and dry, but the rocking of the boat set her stomach at unease until she slipped out in the dead of night to the open deck and cool air. Her fingers clasped onto the rigging and when the waves broke against the side of the boat a salty spray and foam kissed her cheeks and bare feet. "Come back inside, child," the sound of her father's voice had startled her, but despite her love to feel the spray of the sea she followed Ohtar back into the heavy and warm air of the cabin.
When the storm broke and the sea had once again calmed, on the port side of the ship there stood a lone island. Too small to have any inhabitants for it was a barren mountain with steep slopes that dove beneath the surface of the water. "What is that?" Aeardis looked up at her father, curiosity had consumed her countenance. Ohtar laid his hands on his daughter's shoulders. Something about seeing the only visible remains of his forebears' home stirred a deep sadness within him. "That is all that remains of the great island of Númenor. The mountain, Meneltarma."
"It also marks the halfway point of our journey by sea," Cadarn had come to stand next to them. He had been the head of Ohtar's household guards since Aeardis had been born. He had a swarthy appearance, with deep-set amber eyes and hair the color of coal tar. On his leather belt hung a sword and sheath on which he had his left hand resting on. The mountain isle passed until they were on open water once more, it was yet another new sketch to be stored between the pages of her book.
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The ship had been at sea for a month before it landed on the shores of Middle Earth at the mouth of the river Anduin, from there their journey would be on land. The port city was no match to that of Avallónë, but the sight of earth was welcomed. Merchants and traders that had been on board unloaded their goods and went separate ways. Ohtar spoke with the captain as both Osric and Cadarn had gone into the small city in search of sturdy horses and a cart in which Aeardis could ride.
Within the hour they returned with a wooden wain and four saddled horses. "It's a nine-day ride to Minas Tirith if all goes well," Cadarn proclaimed, rolling up a map.
Ohtar nodded and looked to the west at the setting sun, "Let us rest here for the night and leave at first light on the morrow." The inn was small and close to empty, the communal area alone was smaller than the sleeping quarters on the ship. It hardly mattered to Aeardis though, even with her love for the sea sleeping on unmoving land was far more desirable than in a swaying bed aboard a creaking ship. She slept soundly after a meal of summer greens and ripe fruit and was not eager in the slightest for morning to come.
Past the port was nothing, only an open plain of nothingness with braided streams cutting across it to eventually reform into the mighty Anduin. The morning air was cool and as their luggage was loaded into the covered wain and horses being both bridled and saddled, Aeardis looked onward at the sea. Every day she had looked upon the murky green seas of Tol Eressëa, now she looked out upon the dark and dangerous waters that surrounded Middle Earth. This side of the sea was a stranger to her. "Come, child, we must be on our way." Cadarn lifted the girl into the wagon and mounted his chestnut mare.
The sun beat down the small procession with all its might, for now, they were in the barren and desert lands of Lebennin. They always traveled near the river across the baking and cracking ground, within the third day they would come to Pelargir to either stop and rest or take only a short break to continue on the road to Minas Tirith. Within the red waste, Aeardis had never missed the sea more, even if the river was never far.
It was in the great river city that an envoy recognized Ohtar and bid him travel within his party to the Tower of the Guard. With more horses and swords they would travel much faster and the nine-day ride could be shortened to six. The envoy had introduced himself as Belegorn, named after the fourth ruling Steward of Gondor and a messenger in service to the House of the Stewards.
The following day they would arrive at Minas Tirith, for now, a camp had been set up, at its center was Ohtar's tent lit and warmed by several iron braziers. Aeardis sat on her bedroll, picking at her dirty nails and dry skin. "What if I don't like it there, papa?"
Cadarn and Osric excused themselves upon hearing the question, it was not their place to be involved with family affairs. Ohtar had never known Aeardis to show fear in the presence of an adventure, she had a fiery heart and iron resolve for one so young. Her concern had risen only after it had been mentioned that their stay could possibly be extended for some unpredictable amount of time. With the ruling steward in such poor health and Denethor, being a grim, was not overly loved by the commons and would need guidance upon the transition of power.
Ohtar tipped his daughter's chin up, "Didn't I promise that you would love it there?"
She nodded, "Yes."
"Have I ever broken a promise to you?" Ohtar pushed his fingers through her hair and held her cheek softly, stroking away the few tears that fell from her eyes. It was the sight of her eyes that unnerved him that night, not just because they served as a reminded to Ioreth but because eyes like hers belonged near the sea.
Aeardis lowered her gaze back to one of the braziers within their tent, almost ashamed that she had ever doubted her father's wisdom and word, "No, papa."