This chapter took a different direction than what I had planned and it was somehow difficult to write, so it might not flow as well as I would like. Anyhow, the wedding is nearing and with it the end of the 1st part of this story, so we can move on to the real problems Arvedui and Fíriel will have to face!


Chapter 9 – A Sweet Secret

Fíriel slept only for a few hours and she woke up at dawn, when she heard her brothers moving around the tent. Upon opening her eyes, it took a few minutes for the memories of the previous night to sink in and when it did, the widest grin spread on her face. She could hardly believe that Arvedui – stern and gruff looking Arvedui – had proved to be so tender with her and so touching when talking about his dreams and Annúminas. There had been signs that a golden heart was hidden behind this impassive figure of his, yet she had not dared imagine she'd ever uncover it.

At some point, when she had been dozing in his arms, Arvedui had offered her to take his tent, saying he would not mind sleeping under the stars. Yet she had thought the night was too fresh for that and had assured him her brothers' snores were not as terrible as she may have had told him. And whatever sounds Artamir and Faramir produced, it had not bothered her much after all, for she had been too absorbed reliving these moments she had shared with Arvedui to be aware of her surroundings.

"Why are you smiling like this, silly? Was catching crayfish so fun yesterday?" Faramir asked.

Not suspecting in the least bit what could cause his sister's joy, he was all dressed up, ready for the day, and he carelessly threw some clothes on Fíriel. It was his own not so subtle way of telling her to hurry, for he was eager to depart for Annúminas and to explore its ruins.

"It was pleasant, indeed," she answered, prompting herself on one elbow.

"Today seems even more promising," said Faramir and, as he was about to leave the tent, he added, "Be quick, Fíriel, for the city of the old kings awaits us."

It did not take her long to get ready, yet she tarried a little, wondering how it would be to see Arvedui in the morning daylight, after they had kissed. Even though they were betrothed, she could not expect him to be demonstrative and he would surely look as he always did, calm and unaffected – it'd only feel disappointing, would it be otherwise. Fíriel needed not much though, one smile from him would be enough, one small smile meant for her, solely her.

She spotted him soon enough: he was seating by the lake, with her brothers and some of the Gondorians, and together they were having a copious breakfast, consisting mainly of the previous evening's leftovers. However, before she could join them, Fíriel was hailed by Meldis and the other ladies and they had prepared a finer meal, for they offered the princess hot tea and crispy bread.

"I was so tired yesterday, I fell asleep the moment I laid down," Meldis told Fíriel, as they took place under a tall walnut.

"I wish I could say the same. Sharing a tent with Artamir and Faramir was perhaps not the best of ideas."

"There is plenty of space in our tent, you should sleep there tonight."

"I will." And as her eyes lingered on Arvedui, she saw it – briefly, shyly, he smiled at her.

"Is something the matter, princess?"

"No," quickly replied Fíriel. "It's just… I like it here."

"So do I." For Meldis, who had dwelled most her life in the countryside nearby Bree, lake Evendim could compare to the Great Sea and it seemed to be a magical place.

"Today shall be a good day," said the princess and although her cheeks had reddened, no one noticed.


Their camp was not too far from the ruins of Annúminas, but it still took them an hour to reach it by foot. The road itself was enjoyable, for it was large and paved, and it unfurled alongside the lake's banks, flirting with the water. The gates of the old city were wide-opened, as if to welcome the visitors, yet there was an eerie feeling about it – it was a reminder the Northerners had gone in despair, leaving behind the great capital Elendil had built.

Past the walls, Annúminas had remained frozen in time and it was enveloped in a solemn silence none dared disturb. However, the city was far from being intact and the damages it had suffered were more visible in the inside than in the outside. It would have been risky to venture in most houses, for their wooden framework were worm-eaten and it seemed their roofs could give up at any moment. But even though green backwater filled the fountains they saw and spider webs veiled the windows of many buildings they passed by, Annúminas had not completely lost its grandeur. Wonderful statues still stood tall, wide avenues connected the different areas of the city and great marble stairs rose from the lake to the palace. And this was where Arvedui lead the small group, to their utter delight – aside from Artamir, Faramir and Fíriel, very few Gondorians had been admitted and they were all lords of Númenórean descent.

The palace was partly built on pillars, for it overlapped on the lake, and, by what seemed to be a miracle, it was almost entirely intact, for it had withstood the passing of time better than the rest of Annúminas. Its grandiose architecture echoed that of the lost cities of Númenor, or so it was said, based on descriptions found in old manuscripts. They lingered in the halls and chambers for hours, admiring finely crafted stone carvings, old tapestries and forgotten paintings, but their appreciation of the place was not purely esthetic. There was something still haunting the palace, perhaps the spirits of the elder kings themselves, and it commanded respect.

"Those ruins are a spectacular sight, are they not?" said Artamir in a low voice, as he linked his arm to his sister's.

They were standing on one of the palace's widest balcony, overlooking of the eastern part of the city, and both were dazzled by what they had seen.

"Their size is what surprises me most. To imagine it was once filled with Dúnedain, does it not highlight their decline, in a terrible way?"

"It does… Yet, please, never say this in front of the King, for we would never hear the end of it."

"Indeed," said Fíriel, chuckling. "Although, it seems he took a liking to you, perhaps he would listen to you without getting too angry."

"I did manage to avoid his bad temper so far, but I do wonder how long it can last. It'd be a lie to say I am not glad Father will handle most of the talk once I will be back in Minas Anor."

"Oh, by then, I do hope King Araphant will have accept the fact that this alliance is his best option." For once, Fíriel did not wince at the mention of her brothers' departure – it was not impending, yet by the end of the summer, they would be gone and long years would pass before the sibling could be reunited again.

"In a decade or two it should have sunk in this thick skull of his…" muttered Artamir, but there was something else on his mind and he was watching his sister closely.

Fíriel was glowing and he thought their little expedition in Annúminas had little to do with this radiant happiness she exuded. Since his arrival in Arthedain, Artamir had noticed a change in Fíriel's attitude towards Arvedui and although it had been slow, it had also been steady. These days, there was admiration in her eyes when she looked at him and always a smile lingered on her lips when she talked to him. And Artamir was no fool, he had understood she had become enamoured with her betrothed.

At first, he had been worried Arvedui might not reciprocate his sister's feelings, for it was hard to decipher what was going on in his mind and his impassive attitude could easily be mistaken for indifference. Yet since they had come to lake Evendim, there were a few fleeting moments during which Arvedui's stern mask had fallen off and Artamir had missed none of them. The prince rarely smiled, but when he did, it was mostly directed at Fíriel, and sometimes when his gaze landed on her, he seemed to forget there were other people around them.

Artamir would have been unable to tell exactly how close they had become, but, as they had been walking in Annúminas, it seemed both shared some sort of secret – a sweet secret. Whatever had happened, he felt relieved Fíriel was to marry not only a good man, but also one who genuinely cared about her. If truly it was love that had sparked between them, then it would be less difficult to leave Arthedain when fall would come. It would be less painful to ride back to Gondor, leaving behind his little sister.


Their days by lake Evendim eventually came to an end and although it was hard to bid goodbye to this wonderful place and to the ghost of the elder kings, they could not delay their return to Fornost any longer. The wedding neared and other important celebrations were to be held as well, formalizing the alliance between the north-kingdom and the south-kingdom. Everyone would have to focus on the preparations, in their own way, and one prestigious guest was yet to come – Queen Russiel, wife of King Ondoher and mother of Artamir, Faramir and Fíriel.

King Ondoher himself would not make the journey to Arthedain, not that he did not wish to, but the steward and his closest advisors feared the Wainriders would strike during the King's absence. He deemed these concerns legitimate and, since King Araphant had not insisted on welcoming him in Fornost, King Ondoher had resolved not to attend his daughter's wedding. For a man like him, who loved deeply his family, it was a cruel yet not unexpected disappointment, but he had never failed to his duty to Gondor. Fíriel too wished her father could have been there and though the prospect of spending her life in the north had grown less burdensome, she missed her father greatly.

However, for the moment, Fíriel was also preoccupied with another matter, that of her future husband. She and Arvedui had stolen a few alone moments during their trip and it had only confirmed their mutual attraction. And now that they were back in Fornost, it had crossed her mind the greenhouses would be the perfect place to meet with the prince, far from prying eyes. She thought Arvedui would easily guess where she would wait for him – and he did, for he found her standing by one of the fountains, after everyone else had retired in their chambers.

"Fíriel," he said, taking her hand in his. "Have the plants been well tended to during your absence?"

"Oh, the gardeners are for more skilled than I will ever be, I am not sure these greenhouses need me at all."

Despite having become more intimate with the princess, Arvedui was not sure what the proper thing to do was, when they were alone together – could he hug her, could he kiss her right away, as he dearly wished to? Hopefully Fíriel settled the matter for him, huddling herself against him, closing her eyes as her head rested on his chest – in his arms, even the prospect of winter was rather pleasant, for she'd know where to go when seeking warmth. Arvedui let out a small sigh of satisfaction and he put a kiss on Fíriel's forehead, holding her tightly.

"You are not too disappointed to be back in Fornost, princess?"

"I am not. Are you?"

"Why should I be?"

"You seemed happier during our days by lake Evendim."

"I was happy. I still am."

And he bent down to kiss her, slowly and gently. He cupped her face, yearning for more, but, with Fíriel, Arvedui was careful and he did not allow himself to give in his deepest desires. Thus, he did not kiss her nearly as often as he wanted to, for he feared he'd be too rough, too clumsy… And he had the hands of a soldier, large and calloused, and it felt as if he could never be graceful enough when caressing her cheeks or holding her waist.

Although he had not dared ask her if it felt as good for her as it did for him, he reckoned Fíriel found some sort of enjoyment in his company, to say the least. She had quickly gotten used to being held by him and she would bury herself in his arms and simply stay there, as if his embrace was all she really wished for. It was a gesture Arvedui found incredibly endearing and he was always a little reluctant to let her go when it was time to part. And what he also really appreciated about being with Fíriel, was that there was no need to always talk, for silence was something they both found comforting.

And as far as discussions went, they had not uttered a word about their peculiar situation – yet it was implicit they were to be discreet for the time being. They were doing no wrong, on the contrary, their situation seemed ideal, for despite their marriage being arranged, they were slowly falling for one another. Yet they both deemed they needed to keep things quiet, for their own sake.

Truth be told, Arvedui was also worried about his father's reaction. King Araphant did not dislike Fíriel, he simply did not concern himself much with her. However, it was plain he would despise this growing proximity between his son and his future daughter-in-law, for where everyone would see love, he would see betrayal. Fíriel could bear his grandchildren, but she could not take Arvedui's heart – according to King Araphant, it would be risking losing the realm to the Gondorians.


T.A. 1940 – May

Queen Russiel was a tall lady with long auburn hair, bright blue eyes, and enough freckles on her face to make King Araphant scowl fiercely. While she shared her husband's views on the necessity to forge an alliance with Arthedain, her journey to the North had only been motivated by the desire to see Fíriel. She knew Arthedain was a small realm, almost insignificant compared to Gondor, and she had been displeased her daughter was to wed a prince of the North. She did not doubt Arvedui was a valiant man and, since he was a descendant of Isildur, he was as worthy of Fíriel as could be. Yet Fornost was not Minas Anor and the halls of King Araphant paled in comparison to the Citadel.

However, the Queen was reasonable and she had promised her husband her attitude towards the Northerners would be impeccable – she'd comply to their demands, she'd feign humbleness. She also came ready to face the King of Arthedain and his difficult character, although she could not have guessed King Araphant's mood had worsened as of late. It was as if he had been holding himself back too long in front of the Gondorian princes and whatever shadow that clouded his mind had begun to spill, tainting his soul.

A few days before the Queen's arrival, during one long tedious dinner, King Araphant had managed to be simultaneously disappointed King Ondoher would not do him the honour of travelling north for the wedding and glad that another monarch would not step onto his lands. He was also a little crossed he would have to deal with a woman, for he would surely have never sent his wife in his stead to take care of important matters, and he hoped Queen Russiel would not try to be anything other than a charming guest at their children's wedding. At the beginning, no one seemed to notice his foul mood. Fíriel and her brothers were eagerly awaiting their mother to come and they spent a lot of time pacing along Fornost's high walls. Queen Gilwen was overwhelmed by the upcoming wedding, leading the preparations, and even Arvedui paid no heed to his father's snide remarks – he was also a little taken by the marriage, although for reasons quite different from his mother's.

Thus, when Queen Russiel arrived, King Araphant was having one of these bad days, during which his patience was but non-existent and he felt prisoner of a burden he alone carried. And even though the first few hours passed by without any incident, things escalated quickly after the welcoming banquet, when the King and Queen of Arthedain had invited Queen Russiel to a small intimate gathering in the King's parlour – of the younger generation, only Arvedui and Fíriel had been allowed. Queen Gilwen, enthusiastic as always, had only meant to get better acquainted to her Gondorian counterpart, yet her husband, who had had his fair share of wine cups, was less cordial.

"King Ondoher was kind enough to send his wife here, in the north, and his sons, and his daughter…" he said, after he had been poured plum liquor by his dutiful wife. "Pray, who shall I expect to be next? The steward or one your mighty captains?"

Queen Russiel was not one to be intimidated and she managed to smile, while replying, "I suppose you would rather be sent soldiers, for it is said winter is dangerous in Arthedain."

"Cold is harsh, indeed. Perhaps too harsh for men who were raised in the warmth of the south."

Hearing these words, Arvedui's jaw clenched and he thought it was time to put an end to this evening. However, before he could say anything, Queen Russiel scoffed.

"King Araphant, I am not sure you realize the differences in numbers and strength between our two kingdoms," she said, barely hiding her growing irritation. "I say, we are doing you a favor, sending our daughter here to marry your son, and promising to come to your aid, should you need it."

Sensing her mother was treading on a dangerous ground, Fíriel grabbed her hand, trying to get her attention, but her gesture was vain.

"Oh, I never was the one seeking this alliance, for it was your husband who implored me to listen to his plight and I cannot be blamed for having been cautious before agreeing to this… deal. There is more at stake for me to ride south to help your dear King battle these Wainriders, than for him to come here."

Perhaps he was envious, perhaps he wished the might of Gondor was his, perhaps he cursed his forefathers for having dismantled willingly the great kingdom of Arnor. Leading armies as mighty as Gondor's, would he have not crushed the Witch-King himself, without having to beg for help? Would not have his son been plagued by a sinister prophecy? Would not his name be another?

"Father, how dare you–", Arvedui muttered, glowering at the King.

"Let me speak, son!"

But Queen Russiel had become angered too and, rising from her seat, she exclaimed, "Should we then call off the alliance and the wedding? Should I tell my men that we are to leave on the morrow and bring back my daughter with me?"

"Oh, they will be wedded and I shall be loyal to my words and answer your call when the time comes!" said the King as he got up, ignoring his son's attempts to calm him. "Yet hear me well, Queen of Gondor, this alliance and those good intentions of yours will lead to naught, for we are doomed."

And King Araphant genuinely believed his own words. He was not trying to impress or to threaten Queen Russiel, he was merely enouncing a fact and he was convinced his sense of foreboding was a manifestation of the foresight his line had been gifted with – that was perhaps what everyone, including Arvedui, failed to understand about him.

"Father, how can you…" whispered the prince, truly abashed.

King Araphant said nothing more and he stormed out the room, soon followed by his wife who was confused, muttering unintelligible excuses as she exited.

"Queen Russiel, I must apologize for my father's awful behavior. Never did I imagine he would treat you in such a despicable way and if there is anything I can–"

"Worry not, Arvedui. It is in you I shall put my trust, not in him," said the Queen, still frowning. She'd never forget the words King Araphant had pronounced.

"Mother, you should go rest…" Fíriel said, distressed. "You must be weary from the road and…"

Taking a deep breath, Queen Russiel turned to her daughter and smiled. "Yes, my dear, you are right. I should like to rest, indeed."

"I'll show the way," Arvedui said, opening the door of the parlour.

And as he lead Queen Russiel and Fíriel through corridors and stairs, he swore to himself he'd never let his father ruin another evening.


"It was disastrous," said Fíriel, heaving a sigh, letting herself fall on a small divan.

After they had escorted Queen Russiel to her room, Arvedui had walked with her to her chambers and she had offered him to come in – it was perhaps not exactly proper, yet they both needed to vent.

"I can hardly blame your mother for her reaction, my father did all he could to provoke her." Arvedui sat down beside her and his hand grabbed hers. He did so absentmindedly, as if from now on having some sort of physical contact with her was an essential part of their discussions.

"Yet we have warned her that your father can be difficult to deal with. I… I disagree with him on many matters, yet one word from him and the alliance would be over."

Arvedui's brows furrowed, for something intrigued him about the commitment of Fíriel's family to the Dúnedain of the North.

"Do tell me, Fíriel… why did your father seek this alliance? Ever he has spoken of loyalty, of the elder kings, yet I must admit your mother is not wrong when she says Arthedain needs Gondor more than Gondor needs Arthedain. We barely have enough men to resist the assaults of the Witch-King, and so few we could spare if your kingdom was to seek our aid…"

"My father, like yours, has fears of his own," Fíriel explained. "The Witch King in the North, the Wainriders in the South, they share a common goal – our downfall. For, Northerners or Southerners, we are Dúnedain, descendants of those who came from Númenor, and he reckons it is precisely what has ignited our enemies' loath."

"These wars would be orchestrated?"

"Perhaps the evil that destroyed Númenor is not yet satisfied."

"Why has your father not shared these suspicions with us?"

"He meant to help Arthedain, more than he wished for aid himself, yet, upon discussing with your father, he thought it appeared wiser to make this alliance seem as equal as possible... And has not your father guessed some of it, already?"

"I suppose. The Witch-King is by no mean an ordinary foe, we have long wondered if he was not some wraith that had fled from Mordor when its master was defeated…"

As he pronounced these words, a shiver ran through Fíriel's back and Arvedui, letting go her hand, passed his arm around her shoulders and pressed her against him.

"Had not Artamir told you about this?" she asked, in a low voice.

"No… He might have presumed you had told me already," said Arvedui and he considered her awhile, his expression serious. "I am sorry, Fíriel. Had I been less obtuse, we could have had this conversation long ago."

And many others, for he had found a valuable ally in her. It was inexcusable he had not sought out her opinion earlier, convinced as he had been that her brothers were his only valuable Gondorian counterparts.

"Oh, truth be told, I am not sure I would have had the courage to confide much to you," she admitted, thinking about these long winter months, when she had felt relieved whenever she could avoid him.

"We lost precious time, I'm afraid."

Whether he was talking about the alliance or their newly found intimacy, Fíriel knew not and she did not inquire about it. She was pleased merely to sit with him, in her chambers, far from all the bustle of the King's halls and far from the King himself. It was quite enough they could speak openly to one another, quite enough that they were learning to trust each other.

Fíriel said nothing, yet she leaned over to kiss his cheek – his beard was freshly trimmed, it tickled a little. She was still too shy to tell him what it meant to her that he was there, by her side, holding her. Yet she thought he understood, for he smiled and tightened his embrace around her, his lips brushing her hair.