AN: I own nothing. The OC names are thanks to Navaer Lalaith. Their personalities come from a sudden 1812-era muse. Tolkien owns the rest.
Thank you very much for your encouraging and helpful reviews! As a Hurin fanatic, I assure you that I'll be doing my best to keep Denethor as firmly book-verse as possible. I also have found a capable spell-check, so I hope I don't embarrass my Inner Grammar Nut quite so badly this time. All comments are appreciated!
"Now how am I to take my produce up the river without a ship? Lord Denethor, surely you can understand the need to keep clothes on the backs of your people?" The head of the Trader's Guild attempted to appeal to the inlander, as his prince's expression did not prophesy any sympathy in the near future.
The Steward's heir wisely kept his mouth shut, knowing that in this meeting, at least, someone was bound to jump in before he had to come out with his opinion. If one listened, one could all but let these matters solve themselves. Denethor had noticed that for all the shouting that typically went on during these "discussions," the Prince of Dol Amroth rarely stated his opinion outright until all the fight had gone out of his councilors. Adrahil merely let his body language do the talking. Only when fisticuffs threatened to break out did the prince speak before the debate was over.
"I trust Minas Tirith has a few darning needles about herself. They are in no danger of famine. However, Master Hithaer, our people are in danger of coastal raids. We need every ship we can get," the Admiral interrupted, as Denethor thought he would.
"Are we Umbarian barbarians, though, that we must abduct free men and vessels for the navy?" Hithaer of the Trader's Guild snarled at his associate.
"Someone must man the ships. Would you prefer to trust your craft to some know-nothing inlander?" Finduilas spoke up. Her father's expression darkened further, and Imrahil let his forehead drop into an open palm. She had put her foot right in the fish offal, hadn't she?
"I'm sure my daughter means no offense, my lords," Adrahil said, attempting to forestall further hostility. Denethor had barely raised an eyebrow, unwilling to let the young woman and the rest of the council affect his calm. "But she is right, despite her rather impolitic method. We must all make sacrifices with the Dark Lord rising in the east and corsairs harassing our ports. The recruitment of able-bodied sailors and conscription of private ships will continue until the new frigates are finished, but owners and enlisted sailors should be amply rewarded for their trouble."
"I don't see why we can't just put the cavalrymen on the ships," the Guildmaster grumbled, but nodded at his prince's decree.
"We can't fit our horses on the boats, and not many are trained to fight at sea," Imrahil explained. His father had insisted that the youth would be trained for amphibious battle, but unlike his sister, the dark-haired young man preferred the roll of a cantering steed to the rock of a boat on the waves.
"'Tis well enough, Imrahil," his father halted him. "Now, Master Hithaer, I believe you wanted to discuss security measures for the docks and trading fleets?"
"Aye, my lord. We're doing what we can, but even Admiral Nemir must understand the need to leave the docks open. Yes, there are pirates out there, but there aren't many fish inland, either." The head of the Trader's Guild eyed the pleased military commander vengefully.
"The docks shall not be closed. We patrol them merely for your own safety," the Admiral insisted.
Hithaer snorted. "Some safety! My guild-members complain of harassment on the docks, and there's no protective escort for the caravan ships when we're out on the open water."
"We're low on craft, man! There's no way we can go out with every two-man fishing boat." Nemir pounded a fist into the table. "And they're soldiers. They are designed to search a vessel thoroughly, not dance about merchants' overly delicate tempers."
"Train them so that they are more gentle, Admiral," Adrahil told him. "The harassment of Dol Amrothi merchants will stop, although we must continue to check for smugglers. I would hate to have to tie up my Swan Knights with so simple a procedure." Although Imrahil did not look forward to this potential assignment, it was nice of his father to suggest it. There was a long-standing friendly rivalry between the fleet and the cavalry, something that had allowed Imrahil's fellow riders no small bit of pride when the heir of Belfalas gravitated to their side. He'd been teased for being a "seal on a horse," but welcomed as a sign of good things to come, after both his father and elder sisters had long favored the navy.
The rival military groups could agree on a couple of things, of course: both traditionally felt themselves above the small land-bound infantry, both would willingly die for their land and their prince, and both hated dealings with civilian groups. Imrahil was very glad to see pride in his men outweighed the Admiral's distaste for dock duty. However, the prince's son would not wish to be amongst the soldiers being trained for the search brigade, given their superior's expression. "Sir," Nemir said tonelessly.
"Once we have enough free ships, we will see about escorts for the merchant fleets. Until then, I recommend you stay in groups and keep a few men armed. The flag of Belfalas flies for your protection, Master Hithaer, but it cannot fly everywhere at once. Thank you gentlemen, but I believe the goals of this meeting to be accomplished. Unless Minas Tirith has anything to add, Lord Denethor?" Adrahil asked the Steward's heir.
"I would not presume to tell you how to run your country, Prince Adrahil." Denethor nodded, and the Admiral and Guildmaster slipped away at their lord's dismissal. Imrahil stood as well, assuming that his father would not need him for the next item on the agenda. To his surprise, the prince motioned for him to sit back down.
"I appreciate your confidence in me, my lord," Adrahil said with a light smile. "But we know that it is your father, and someday, you, who is the ultimate authority in Dol Amroth. I know that we currently run ourselves with little interference from the capitol, but with Sauron rising, there shall be greater matters to concern ourselves with than merchants' fears of harassment by our own soldiers. I would like to better know the man in charge of coordinating the providences."
"What is it that you would wish to know, your highness?" Denethor spread his hands as if to invite further questions, but Imrahil could tell that for all his niceties, the man's mind was on something else.
"I suppose the first thing we should know is your opinion on sailing," Imrahil gave his sister a devious look. Finduilas set her teeth, refusing to get riled up during this meeting.
Denethor raised an eyebrow, noting the siblings' silent exchange. "It is good enough as any as means of transportation, but I doubt we'll be too worried about going out in this weather, aye?"
"You'll want to be; trust me," the younger man leaned forward conspirationally.
"You'll have to show Lord Denethor the ships once this storm clears," Finduilas suggested icily, her tone hinting that it should prove a most interesting trip to the dockyard for both of them.
"Sounds like a fine idea, Finduilas. And I know you'll hardly let any ship out of the docks without seeing it off personally. I trust you will wish to accompany these two out to the harbor? We truly don't have many of our larger ships free, but surely a smaller boat can be spared so that Minas Tirith might better survey our defenses." Denethor had to admit a grudging admiration for Adrahil at this point. The prince might allow a mob mentality in his court, but he was well versed in manipulating those fiery tempers into doing exactly what he wanted.
Finduilas, meanwhile, leaned back against the stone wall, convinced of a mass male conspiracy. At least she could still hear the irregular staccato of the rain against granite. She hoped the storm would never end.
