Chapter Nine: Hail to the King

"I will take this matter all the way to Tar-Ciryatan if need be!" barked Almon one night at supper. "How dare Geldur continue to contest me? He will soon learn what the words 'check mate' truly mean."

Irimë was grateful when her father shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. His constant ranting over the past several months had become nearly unbearable. His only concern was fighting Geldur tooth and nail for the promised dowry, something any reasonable person would deem ridiculous, but not good old Almon. He felt that he was entitled to Geldur's shipping company because of his only daughter's defilement at the hands of Aldamír. Yes, Almon's lust for wealth proved to be more important than doting on his 'tainted' daughter, as he referred to her in front of the magistrates.

By Narquelië (October) 1886, their case had already been heard by four out of the five Tribunals in Númenor. None of the magistrates was too eager to make a decision in the most unusual lawsuit, as both parties were prominent Lords of Andúnië. If the final assembly did not reach a verdict, then the case was to go before the King of Númenor himself. By the look of things, that's exactly what the Tribunals wanted.

The entire experience showed Irimë her father's true colors. Morgoth had been right when he had said that her father loved riches more than anything else, including her. Every single time that she had to testify before a cabinet of men, revealing intimate details of her ordeal, her ire towards Almon intensified. To hear him say, in a public forum no less, that she was 'tainted' and 'unfit to find a husband of noble birth' made her want to rip his throat out. Yet she kept her composure, biding her time.

If not for Eärtur, the young woman would have fled her father's halls months ago. However, her half brother needed her to act as his eyes and ears in Almon's house. While she had originally wanted to break her father's heart, his greediness and lack of empathy made her want to destroy him in every aspect of the word. It was the lovers' goal to take the matter before the King, for the Captain of Andúnië had a very good relationship with Ciryatan.

Two days later, they appeared before the final Tribunal. It was no surprise that a verdict was not reached. Although Irimë did find it rather amusing that Geldur brought forth men of 'noble stock' that were willing to wed the young woman despite Almon's claims.

Three weeks later, they received word that they were scheduled to appear before the King of Númenor in Armenelos on Lótessë (May) 15, 1887. That left the lovers only seven months to finalize their plans.

Eärtur and Irimë rang in the New Year by throwing a great celebration at his house. Only their closest friends came, mostly mariners with their wives or lovers, those that knew of the forbidden love of the half siblings and had accepted it. These were the future lords and ladies of Umbar.

"Let us hear from our most gracious host and Captain!" shouted a drunken Arqueno from across the room, his words slurring slightly. "Speech! Speech!" he chanted. All eyes turned to Eärtur as the inebriated crowd joined the sailor in his chant.

"Alright, alright," laughed Eärtur, taking a sip of his spirits. "First of all, I'd like to thank all of you for coming to my halls this evening. There are no finer people in Númenor that I'd like to welcome the New Year with."

"Hear, hear," voiced several men in unison.

"The Dark Lord is smiling down upon us, my friends," the Captain of Andúnië continued, his smile widening. "1887 will be our year, make no mistake of that. Come tuilë, we will break free from the bonds that those in the West have placed on us and seek our fortunes elsewhere." Eärtur's face then contorted to one of rage. "Those fools have rewarded us richly indeed! They have taken away our true inheritance: Endor, the home of our forefathers. Our people had fought and died in the Great War and what did we get in return? Nothing but this wretched isle and a few extra years added to our life span! Curse them! Curse them all!

"We are the only ones that see the truth: that the Valar are liars and thieves! Already, they whittle away at the years promised to us. How long has it been since any lord of Númenor lived as long as Tar Minyatur?" he queried angrily, looking from face to face. "That's right; none have been given such life as the first King. We have suffered enough! Let us extinguish the Light, and relish the Darkness. Let us take back what is rightfully ours! We, the mighty lords and ladies of this land, will conquer all that stand in our way, whether they be Man, Elf, Dwarf, or Ainu. The world is ours for the taking, and take we shall! All hail Melkor the Magnificent, the giver of life…" Eärtur turned his lustful gaze on his half sister, "and the granter of dreams."

"In his name!" said the revelers in chorus.

"Let us raise our glasses," started Irimë, wrapping one arm around Eärtur's waist, the other holding her glass aloft, "in honor of both the New Year and the Dark Lord. May Melkor bless each and every one of you as much as he has blessed Eärtur and me. Happy New Year everyone!" Everybody took a drink.

"Happy New Year, Irimë," whispered the Captain, before nibbling on his lover's earlobe.

"Happy New Year, darling," she cooed in reply. "I have a very special gift for you, my lord."

"Oh, and what might that be?" he asked in a suggestive tone, running his fingers through her golden hair, oblivious to all except his beloved.

"You'll have to wait until the festivities are over."

When the last guest left at three o' clock in the morning, the lovers made their way upstairs. After a passionate lovemaking session, the two lay on the bed, utterly exhausted, their heavy breathing the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

"That was wonderful, Irimë," said a panting Eärtur, turning his head towards his lover. "I enjoyed your 'gift' very much."

The young woman rolled onto her side, facing her half brother. "That wasn't my gift," she chuckled.

"No?"

"No." She climbed out of bed and walked over to her bag that sat on the dresser. Irimë dug through the contents until she found what she was looking for. "Ah, here it is," she remarked, hiding the 'gift' behind her back as she crawled back into bed.

"What is it?" asked Eärtur, stifling a yawn.

The young woman smiled. "Close your eyes." He did as his beloved instructed. For a moment, he heard a muffled jingling sound. "Alright, you can look now." Eärtur opened his eyes. Dangling on the long silver chain that Irimë held before him were three keys.

"You've nicked Almon's keys!" he said excitedly, shifting to a sitting position.

"No," she answered, placing the keys in his hand. "These are copies. And before you ask, yes, they do work. I opened father's vaults with them myself."

"Brilliant, absolutely brilliant."

With Irimë's last task completed, she looked pleadingly at her lover. "Now, can I move in with you? I cannot endure living in father's house any longer."

Eärtur rolled his eyes, sighing heavily. "Irimë, we've been over this time and time again… "

"But I've done what you had asked of me!" she whined, knowing that he was about to say no again. "Please Eärtur, don't make me go back. I hate sleeping alone. I want to be with you day and night."

The Captain tossed the keys onto the bedside table. He tenderly placed his hand on her cheek. "We cannot stray from our original plan, Irimë," he said softly. "We're so close to pulling this whole thing off. I promise; we'll start our life together when we leave Armenelos. Until then, I must insist that you stay at Almon's halls. You're the only one that can keep a close watch on the old man." He took her hand and kissed the top of it. "Believe me, Lótessë will be here before you know it."

"Fine!" she said in a huff, lying down with her back to her half brother. "Blow out the candles, I'm ready for sleep."

"Irimë?" He placed his hand on the young woman's hip, gently caressing her smooth skin. "Please do not go to bed angry at me… Irimë?" She refused to speak any more. "I love you," he said before blowing out the flickering flames of the candles.

In the ensuing weeks, Eärtur showered lavish gifts on Irimë in an attempt to placate her. Fortunately, her outburst on New Year's Day became nothing more than a distant memory and everything returned to normal. The golden-haired woman remained on her best behavior, counting down the days until she and her family planned to depart Andúnië for Rómenna.

The entire household set sail from the harbor nearly two months before the actual hearing was to take place. Almon had decided that they would remain in Armenelos after the celebration of Erukyermë, which was a festival held on Meneltarma every spring in honor of Eru Ilúvatar. The Lord of Andúnië deemed that remaining in Armenelos would allow him the perfect opportunity to convince the King (and his kinsman) to his way of thinking.

As they entered the harbor, Almon carefully navigated the boat across the waters, bypassing the numerous ships already anchored there. Many men stood along the docks, waiting to assist the mariners with the mooring of their vessels. Rómenna was bustling with activity for it was mandatory that the citizens of Númenor attend all ceremonies honoring Ilúvatar (three were celebrated each year). Needless to say, the city of Armenelos tripled in population at those times of year.

Irimë smiled to herself knowing that scores of men from Andúnië would not be attending the annual ritual, as they had things of greater importance to attend to.

As descendants of Tar-Minyatur, Almon and his family were provided with horses and an escort, (courtesy of Tar-Ciryatan), and put up in a fine home near the King's citadel. The only thing that Irimë was looking forward to was the massive shopping spree that her mother promised to take her on. Armenelos, being the chief city on the island, had numerous shops, more so than Andunië, and Anvanyë, like her daughter, had expensive taste. Both were eager to spend Almon's money as if it were going out of style. Unfortunately, they both had to wait until after the holiday feast.

A few days after they had settled in, the King led the procession of people up the steep slopes of Meneltarma (the great mountain of Númenor). All were clad in white and wore garlands of flowers in a myriad of colors around their neck. Those descended from Elros were given a blossom from the Nimloth tree that grew in the courtyard of the King's citadel to denote their noble bloodline. It was custom that none spoke on the slow march to the mountain's summit or on the summit itself (save for the King). The trek was supposed to be a time to reflect and give thanks to the Allfather for the blessings that he had bestowed upon his younger children.

Even from mid-way up the mount, Irimë could see the three eagles of Manwë Súlimo flying high above Meneltarma, as they always did on those occasions. To help pass the time, the young woman envisioned Melkor's flying dragons appearing out of nowhere, attacking the sacred birds of the Lord of Arda. She chuckled at the image in her head, which caused Sero to nudge his elbow into her ribs. Irimë winced as her half brother locked his scornful gaze on her, gesturing her to be quiet. Those within earshot looked at the young woman with contempt, finding her chortle both inappropriate and disrespectful. Rubbing her side, Irimë hastened her pace, putting some distance between her and those with angry expressions on their faces.

Before she knew it, she found herself walking behind the King, his family and members of his Household. She surprised herself by making such headway, considering that the air was becoming thinner. She hadn't made the trek to the summit of Meneltarma since the previous spring, shortly before her wedding was to take place. Irimë had managed to get out of going to the last two festivals (one in summer, the other in fall), due to her emotional distress from Aldamír's 'attack.' She wasn't thrilled to be there now but she had no say so in the matter.

She continued to climb, feeling the burn in the back of her legs. The King's son, Atanamir, who was no more than seven, kept peeking over his shoulder, smiling at the young woman. As she started to fall behind, the boy pulled away from his nurse and quickly ran to Irimë's side, taking her hand. He gave her a reassuring smile as he led her up the slope. While they walked, the young woman could feel the boy staring at her with those keen gray eyes of his. Yet whenever she glanced at him, he would look ahead or at the eagles flying above. There were several times when she shuddered as a direct result of his penetrating gaze. She had no idea why she responded that way, especially since he was only a mere child. It would be some years later when she finally discovered the reason. Atanamir remained by her side throughout the King's speech, even walking with her back down the mountain. For some reason, the boy refused to let Irimë out of his sight, she even sat beside him at the feast later that evening, much to Almon's delight.

"Whom might you be?" asked the King, upon noticing Irimë seated at his table.

"I am Irimë Laitarína, daughter of Almon from Andúnië, direct descendant of the line of Nolondil, my Lord," she said, locking her blue eyes on the King.

"Irimë!" said the King overly loud, drawing the attention of those seated nearby. With raised brows, he scrutinized the golden-haired woman. "My, how you've grown! The last time I saw you, you were but a child. Now, I can see for myself that you have indeed grown into a lovely woman."

Irimë's face reddened, not at the King's words but at the whisperings that suddenly broke out around the table. The young woman quickly shifted her gaze to her plate, absently pushing the food around with her fork. She could feel many eyes upon her, and murmurings of what had happened to her the previous year.

The Queen gave her husband a reproachful look. A mortified expression came to his face when he realized that his boisterous voice had caused Irimë great embarrassment. The King shifted uneasily in his seat.

"Forgive me, Laitarína," continued Ciryatan in a softer tone. "Even the mighty Lords of Elros are known to err in judgment from time to time." He leaned across the table before adding, "I am deeply sorry to hear about the… ordeal that you were forced to endure… "

"My Lord!" snapped the Queen in a low hiss. "Do not speak of such things on this most Holy Day! The situation with Irimë will be addressed soon enough. Do not make the girl more uncomfortable than she already is!"

"Aye," he replied, nodding his head apologetically.

"It's alright," Irimë sighed, looking from the Queen to the King. She was well aware that many sets of eyes were still staring at her. "I must say that I'm not used to being in the company of so many people of late. I've grown weary of the looks of pity I get from complete strangers, some even look upon me with shame."

"No!" exclaimed the Queen in an affronted tone. She leaned across the table, patting Irimë's hand with her own. "You've done nothing wrong, my dear. Heed not those that say otherwise!"

"Was it not you, my dear wife, that said we should speak no more of this matter?" Ciryatan smirked before taking a drink from his bejeweled chalice. He noisily smacked his lip together and belched, as one of his servants refilled his cup. He fixed his eyes back on Irimë. "I was saddened to hear that Eärtur was unfit to make the journey to Armenelos. I was so looking forward to speaking with him," said the King, changing the subject. "Your brother is an honorable man."

"I agree with you wholeheartedly, Lord," answered Irimë with a forced smile. Just the mention of her lover's name increased her longing to see him and her sadness at his absence. "I already miss him terribly and it's only been a week!" The young woman glanced back down at her unfinished meal. "If you don't mind, Lord, I'd like to be excused. The march has left me utterly exhausted and I feel the need to retire for the night."

"Of course, of course," replied the King, getting to his feet. "Would you like an escort to your lodgings?"

"That won't be necessary," she answered, rising from her seat.

"I'll escort her, father," piped in little Atanamir, jumping to his feet.

The King smiled broadly. "That's my son, always the gentleman," he said, bursting with pride. He shifted his gaze to Irimë. "Good night, my dear. Perhaps we'll have you over to supper at a time when my halls are not teeming with people."

"Thank you, Lord, that would be lovely. Good night." She nodded to the Queen before taking the young boy's arm. Together, they left the King's citadel.

As the days turned into weeks, Irimë passed the time with her mother, buying many beautiful things from the shops that lined the cobblestone streets of Armenelos. The young woman enjoyed spending so much quality time with Anvanyë. Her mother would be the only one she would truly miss after leaving Númenor.

When the first of Lótessë arrived, Irimë rode her horse to Rómenna searching for the tall black sails of Eärtur's ships amongst the many vessels anchored there. When she did not find his boats, she decided to ride along the sandy shores of the firth, where numerous people were enjoying the warm, sunny day by swimming and frolicking in the cool waters.

Two days later, she finally saw the fleet of ships owned by her half brother entering the harbor, Corma-ëarollë at the vanguard. She paced back and forth along the pier, impatient to see her lover after their two-month separation. The men on the wharf tried to engage the beautiful woman in conversation but she was uninterested in their words of flattery. She could think of nothing but her much anticipated reunion with Eärtur.

Her heart nearly pounded out of her chest when she beheld the fair face of her lover at the helm of his ship. The Captain of Andúnië smiled and waved to his half sister as his vessel glided beside the platform. Only a few minutes later, Eärtur was off the ship and in Irimë's loving arms. He pulled her off her feet, spinning her round in his excitement while quietly cooing words of greeting.

"You're making me dizzy," laughed Irimë, motioning the Captain to put her down. His fellow mariners, who were leading their horses from the ship, chuckled at the sight.

"As you wish, Laitarína." He set her on her feet, but the young woman's head continued to spin, making her nauseous. "Irimë, are you alright?" She grabbed hold of Eärtur's chest in an attempt to steady herself.

"I'm fine," she answered with a forced smile, the dizziness beginning to subside.

"Do you need to visit the Houses of the Healing?" he queried, his gray eyes full of concern.

"No, I think I might be coming down with a cold, is all. I've felt a little under the weather for the past few days." Irimë looked reassuringly at her lover. "I'm fine!" she repeated firmly. She paused before adding, "I'm happy that you've finally made it, Eärtur. I've missed you more than you could ever imagine."

"Know this, my dear Irimë: never again shall we be parted for so long. I was miserable without you."

"Then I deem that we have a lot of catching up to do," she said with a wink.

Some of the mariners of Andúnië accompanied the couple to Armenelos, while most remained behind on the ships. The King provided the Captain with excellent accommodations across from the citadel's courtyard. From his bedroom window, one could see Nimloth blooming amidst the swath of green grass and fragrant flowers. The lovers had only been there for a few minutes when a message arrived from Ciryatan, inviting Eärtur to dine with him privately the following evening.

So far, everything was going according to plan, including the rather urgent summons from the King. Almon would soon learn the words 'check mate' in a literal sense.

The following evening the Captain joined the King at his board in a humongous dining chamber occupied by only three people: Ciryatan (of course), Eärtur, and the King's chief councilor, Arachas. They exchanged pleasantries while the servants were present but once they left, the conversation quickly turned to business.

"What is this nonsense with Almon?" asked the King before shoving a piece of buttered bread into his mouth. "Why does he think he's entitled to Geldur's company when no wedding ever took place? Does Almon, son of Alyon, know of some law that even I,the mightiest Lord in Númenor, do not know of?" He chuckled to himself, amused by his own comment.

"Father seeks only profit and unrightly so if you ask me."

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to fatten one's purse, Eärtur. I'm all in favor of that," replied a smiling Ciryatan.

"But at the expense of your only daughter?" queried the Captain, cocking his brow. "Surely, there are limits to how far one should go to obtain wealth. Seeking to profit from the rape of Irimë is criminal."

"That, I agree with," answered Ciryatan with a nod of his head. "I'm astonished that none of the magistrates have ruled on this thus far? Do they fear your father's power that much?"

"I deem they fear his wrath more so."

"Hmm," sounded the King, taking a sip of wine. "And what would you have me do: rule against him, and in favor of Geldur?"

Eärtur looked long at Ciryatan before answering. "No, my Lord. I'd grant Geldur's shipping company to Irimë herself. It is she who should be compensated for the attack." Ciryatan choked on his drink.

"Award the victim Geldur's shipping company?" repeated the councilor wide-eyed. "That's preposterous!"

"Is it?" asked Eärtur, narrowing his gaze at Arachas. "Irimë is the one who suffered at the hands of that brute Aldamír. And it is she who still bears the scars, both physically and emotionally, to this very day."

"What scars? I've heard nothing about any scars?" questioned the King with a bewildered expression on his face.

"My Lord, she was raped! Is that not scarring enough?" replied the dumbfounded Captain with a shake of his head. "Not to mention that one of her breasts has been permanently disfigured by the bite of that fiendish despoiler." Eärtur picked up his chalice of wine before leaning back in his seat. "So, yes, I deem that my sister should be compensated for her injuries."

"Never before have we compensated a woman for any act of violence," remarked the King.

"This is the first such case, my Lord," commented Arachas.

"The first reported case," corrected Eärtur. "I believe there have been other instances, but the women fear reprisals from their attackers. Do not think that this isle is free from evil. There are bad apples here, even amongst the mightiest of the Dúnedain."

Ciryatan sat there for a few minutes, deep in thought, digesting the information. "You would have me give Irimë Geldur's shipping company, you say," started the Lord of Númenor softly. "And why should Geldur be responsible for compensating your sister when his son was guilty of the deed?"

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, my Lord," answered the Captain. "Surely, Aldamir's behavior was learned, and whom do sons learn from but their fathers? Geldur is responsible for rearing an uncouth son, who violently attacked a woman of noble birth. Surely, he should be held accountable for the actions of his seed."

Both the King and his councilor remained silent for several minutes.

"Is this what Irimë desires, to run a shipping company?" queried the skeptical King. Without missing a beat, he cocked his head to the side and added, "Or is it Eärtur's wish to add more ships to his fleet?" with a wide grin on his face.

"It is neither of our hearts desire to keep Geldur's ships or company. We wish to give the business to you, my Lord." He took a sip of wine, watching for the King's reaction over the rim of his cup. To his pleasure, the Lord of Númenor's jaw dropped, his eyes widened in surprise. Ciryatan quickly regained his composure, snapping his mouth shut.

"Why would you and Irimë give the company to me?" asked Ciryatan, attempting to restrain his excitement upon hearing the words of his fellow Dúnadan. Gifts of great value delighted the King more than pleasures of the flesh.

"To fatten your purse," replied Eärtur with a chortle. He knew how to play to the Lord of Númenor's greatest weakness - material possessions. "Is it not your desire to gain new wealth? One does not need to look wholly to the east to achieve wealth when the opportunity to do so is before your very doors."

"Hmm," sounded the King. "That is an interesting proposal, my dear Eärtur, very interesting indeed! Let me ponder on that for a while. I'll announce my judgment at the hearing."

"As you wish, my Lord," answered the Captain with a nod.

On the morning of the hearing, Irimë awoke feeling slightly under the weather. She moaned as she climbed out of bed, and walked over to the washbasin. As she splashed water on her face, an overwhelming feeling of nausea overcame the young woman. She let out a small cry before vomiting into the bowl. When she finished heaving, she sunk to the floor, unable to control the tears that spilled from her eyes. She felt awful.

A sudden knocking on the door startled the young woman. "Time to get up, Irimë," Almon said from the other side of the door. "Breakfast in ten minutes." His footfalls faded as he walked down the hallway.

Irimë pulled herself to her feet, wiping her weepy eyes on the towel she clutched in her hand. She looked at her reflection in the mirror that hung over the dresser, her face was pale and glistening with sweat. Another wave of sickness suddenly washed over her, forcing her to empty the remaining contents of her stomach in the washbasin. It ended up taking the young woman over thirty minutes to pull herself together before she was able to join the rest of her family downstairs.

Anvanyë immediately noticed her daughter's sickly appearance. She told Irimë to go straight back to bed, but Almon would hear none of it.

"She's going to the hearing, sick or not," proclaimed Almon to his wife. His indifference infuriated his bride. A heated argument broke out between the couple. "I've waited for a resolution to this matter for a year! There's no way on Eru's green earth that I'm about to allow some illness delay this hearing! She's going, Anvanyë. I refuse to discuss this any further," he barked, slamming his fist on the table. "It's time to go. NOW!"

Only a few minutes later, the family left their lodgings for the citadel. Dacil assisted Irimë on their short trek to the King's Court. He kept his arm wrapped tightly around her waist, speaking words of comfort and support along the way. When they entered the chamber where the proceedings were to take place, many people were already milling around inside, Eärtur included. As soon as the Captain set eyes on his lover, he could see that she was ill. Quickly, he came rushing to her side.

"What's wrong, Irimë? You look terrible," he remarked, his voice full of concern.

Before she could respond, Almon hissed, "Get away from us before I have you thrown out! You have no business here."

"Father!" cried out his teary-eyed daughter. "I want him here."

"Quiet, Irimë," said Almon, in a low but commanding voice. "You're drawing unwanted attention to us." Many of those in the room watched the scene unfolding before them, surprised to see that there were problems in the Lord of Andúnië's household. "You've been a bad influence on my only daughter. How dare you show your face here!" Their father was trembling with rage, his face reddening. He no longer concealed his contempt for his youngest son.

"I'm here to support Irimë," replied the Captain, his narrowed eyes ablaze with fury. "You know the one whom you regard as nothing more than a meal ticket."

"LEAVE THIS CHAMBER AT ONCE!" shouted Almon at the top of his lungs, spittle flying from his lips. If the Lord of Andúnië was trying to be discreet, he was failing miserably. A hushed silence fell upon the spectators as every eye shifted to Almon and his family. A quarrel broke out between father and son just as the King made his entrance from a side door to the chamber. Irimë sat there in silence glaring at her father.

"What is this?" queried a stunned Ciryatan, coming to a stop just inside the doorway. Father and son immediately ceased their arguing. "Almon! Explain yourself."

The nervous Lord of Andunië, his face still scarlet, gave Eärtur a quick glance before facing the King. "I-I apologize, my Lord," he stuttered, bowing his head respectively. He quickly pulled himself together before continuing. "It seems that my youngest son and I disagree on some personal issues… "

"I will have none of this in my chambers," reprimanded Ciryatan in a booming voice, cutting Almon off mid-sentence.

The Lord of Andunië's embarrassment escalated, he apologized profusely to the King.

"I wish to see Irimë in my private chambers," declared the mighty Lord before going back through the doorway that he had just entered from moments before.

The young woman looked to her lover, who nodded encouragingly. She rose to her feet, walked across the chamber and disappeared through the same doorway as the King. When Irimë entered the smaller room, she found herself in the company of many men, and, surprisingly, little Atanamir. She was ushered to a seat across from Ciryatan, while the others stood in a semi-circle around the Lord of Númenor.

"I know that this whole ordeal has been trying, my dear, and after speaking with Eärtur, I deem that Geldur is at fault. However, you must forgive me for my boldness, as I have but one request of you, Laitarína. I wish not to increase you discomfort, but I would like to see the scar on your… er, bosom, if I may. If I can see for myself that you've been physically scarred, it will sway me to rule in your favor."

Irimë looked nervously around at the dozen or so men in the chamber, including the boy. "In… in front of everyone, my Lord?" she stammered, glancing at all the men within the room.

"They are merely witnesses, Irimë. They will be able to attest to the fact that your… er… person has been marred by the son of Geldur," said the King in a soothing tone, his cheeks flushing.

"Alright, my Lord." She undid the buttons on her blouse, nervously looking anywhere but at the many faces staring at her. Her face turned beet red as she exposed her right breast to the group. The men leaned in closer for a better look, deeply embarrassing the young woman. She turned her head to the side, closing her eyes tightly. She didn't want to make eye contact with anyone.

Several men gasped upon seeing her injury. Apparently, one of them was the King's chief healer as he explained to the others how deep the teeth must have penetrated her flesh to leave such a ghastly scar. Young Atanamir tried to take a peek, but his father covered the boy's eyes with one of his large hands.

"We've seen enough, Irimë. You may cover up now." She quickly pulled the material over her naked bosom, and started buttoning her blouse. "I cannot believe that such an atrocious act was committed in these lands. I am truly sorry that you have to live with that constant reminder, my dear." The King uncovered his son's eyes. The boy gave his father a how-dare-you kind of look before returning to his position beside Ciryatan's chair. Irimë stared at her lap, absently fiddling the sapphire ring on her finger.

"I've spoken with Eärtur, and all my councilors," he motioned to the other men in the room, "and we've reached a consensus." They young woman lifted her head, fixing her blue eyes on the King. "The time has come to realize one of my greatest dreams: to establish a permanent colony in Endor. I will grant your prayer, and award you Geldur's shipping company. In return, you shall sign it over to me. Out of my love and respect for your brother, he shall become my vassal in Middle-earth and rule those that choose to go with him, you included, Irimë."

"Thank you, Lord," she replied with a small smile. If she didn't feel so ill, she would've been jumping up and down with glee.

"I hope that you find peace in Endor," said the King, rising from his seat. The young woman started to do the same. When she got to her feet, she felt beads of sweat form on her forehead as the room began to spin. She reached for the arm of the chair to steady herself, but missed, falling to the fall unconscious.

"Irimë. Irimë." She heard a voice calling her name repeatedly. It sounded hazy and faint at first, but gradually it became clearer and louder. Blinking her eyes open, she saw the face of the King's healer looking down upon her.

The young woman found herself lying on the floor with her head resting on the man's lap. "What… what happened?" she whispered, licking her dry lips.

"You fainted, my dear," he answered, placing the back of his hand against her clammy face. "Are you alright?"

"I-I became dizzy," she remarked, as the healer slowly helped her to a sitting position. As Irimë's senses returned, she felt the throbbing in her head. She moaned, placing her hand on the side of her head.

"Let me see," instructed the healer, pushing aside her hand. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. It seems you've broken the skin." Irimë tried to get up, but the man prevented her from doing so. "Just sit here for a few minutes. I'll need to tend to your wound."

"I'd… I'd like to see Eärtur," she said, looking at the men congregated around her, a look of worry on their faces.

Ciryatan then ordered one of his men to get the Captain. Only a few moments later, Eärtur came running into the chamber. He dropped to Irimë's side, a frantic look in his eyes. The young woman assured her lover that she was fine, but the healer was adamant that she go to the Houses of the Healing so that he could tend to her injury properly. Irimë vehemently protested, insisting that she was alright.

She looked imploringly at the King before saying, "My Lord, please… let me sign what I need to and let us be on our way." The urgency of her tone baffled the Lord of Númenor. "As long as I remain on this isle, I shall continue to whither. Please!" she said pleadingly, tears spilling from her eyes.

The King took pity upon the young woman. "Alright, Irimë. Sign over your claim to Geldur's shipping company and you and Eärtur can be on your way."

Irimë grabbed the King's hand and kissed his bejeweled finger. "Thank you, Lord. You shall forever go down in the histories as the most merciful Lord of Númenor."

Ciryatan beamed at her comment. Eärtur helped his half sister to her feet before leading her to the table where the King's Declaration lay. Grabbing the quill from the bottle of ink, Irimë signed her name to the document, sealing the deal with Ciryatan. Still refusing to visit the Houses of the Healing, the Lord of Númenor allowed the young woman to forgo his ruling so that she and Eärtur could depart Armenelos as quickly as possible.

Even though the siblings would have loved to see the look on their father's face when Ciryatan gave his pronouncement, the lovers were most anxious to leave Númenor before Almon returned to Andunië. Eärtur and his men not only cleaned out the vaults of Almon, but they also seized all the ships belonging to the son of Alyon that had remained anchored in the harbor of Andunië. Those ships had already set sail to Endor, never to return to Middle-earth.

By the time a bitter Almon left the citadel for his lodgings, the lovers were already boarding Corma-ëarollë in Rómenna. Ciryatan had kept the Lord of Andunië preoccupied while the lovers made their escape. Both Eärtur and Irimë were joyful to be starting their life together in Endor, where they would carry out the will of their Lord, Melkor Bauglir, the mightiest of the Valar.