The chamber doors were heavy, and they made an ominous, muffled boom as they closed behind the two men. Imrahil, his arms full of treaty and notes, looked at Khuzayam, who was similarly burdened, having acquired the necessary documents from one of his assistants. The two men looked at the long, narrow table, ill-suited to their purpose now that they were the only diplomats in the room.
"Shall we meet in the middle?" the desert lord suggested, freeing an arm to make a sweeping gesture towards the table. He started down the left side.
"Indeed, my lord. An excellent suggestion," Imrahil said, then cursed himself silently, as he progressed down the right. He had seen the prickly precursors to the negotiation, where the diplomats from both sides had argued numbers and precedence and placement within the hall, and from what his father had told him, those preparations were almost as important as the actual negotiations themselves, each side trying to establish that they operated from a position of strength before the negotiations started. He was sure that the Steward would have disapproved of his ready agreement with Lord Khuzayam, and that the Haradrim lord probably thought him a soft touch. A disturbing thought occurred to him then.
He told me that I would have to kill Faris to become Speaker. But the opposite proved to be true. If I were a negotiator, and had the chance to choose my opponent's negotiator, I would endeavor to select the weakest person I could find! Someone sentimental and merciful, who could be overwhelmed. I am in trouble here!
Unaware of Imrahil's inner musings, Lord Khuzayam selected a seat halfway down the table, and settled himself, spreading his papers out before him. The young Prince followed suit.
"Shall we begin at the beginning? The first articles are the trade provisions. I will read them aloud so that we may both have our memories refreshed," the desert lord stated authoritatively. Heart sinking, Imrahil listened without protest as Khuzayam read the pertinent passages.
"Have you any comments to make?' he inquired when he had done. The Heir shook his head. "Then here is what I propose." The Haradrim proposal contained a substantial rollback of tariffs and considerable relaxation of inspection requirements. Since a lessening of Gondor's tax burden was also in Imrahil's interest, and that of the merchant houses of Dol Amroth, he could not find it in his heart to disagree with that clause, though he suspected that a career diplomat probably would have done so out of principal. But having spent a fair bit of time with tax and custom officials in the last months, he also knew that he could not let pass the inspection protocols that Khuzayam proposed.
Hoping his voice would hold steady, his stomach churning, he said, "The tariff roll-back seems reasonable, my lord, and I believe that my people would agree to that. But you cannot seriously think that we will let Haradrim vessels into Pelargrir or Dol Amroth with only the cursory inspection that you suggest here."
The desert-lord's grizzled eyebrow lifted. "I do indeed, Prince Imrahil. From whence comes this unfriendly attitude of yours?"
"From experience, sir, and prudence. I know all too well the Corsair love of subterfuge."
"These are legitimate merchant vessels we speak of here, not Corsair raiders. Our people have never sanctioned the Corsair raids upon Gondor. Even one so relatively unschooled in diplomatic matters as yourself should realize that."
My suspicions are confirmed! He chose me because he thought he would be able to walk over me,
Imrahil thought bleakly, but resolved to persevere in spite of the demoralizing knowledge. "That is as may be, my lord. But with all due respect, by your own admission you have spent little time in Umbar, and even less, I suspect, upon the sea. I, on the other hand, have spent much of the last eight years at sea, pursuing the Corsairs. I know how they think and plan, and I can tell you that the inspection protocols you propose will be an open invitation for them to sail into our ports under the guise of legitimate merchants. Not to mention the encouragement it would give the smuggling trade. I cannot permit that.""We appear to be at an impasse here. Perhaps I was mistaken in my choice of Speaker."
Imrahil lifted his chin. "No, my lord, we are not at any sort of impasse. My proposal is that the inspection protocols remain the same, not that they are increased in any way. And I have agreed to the reduction in the tariffs, although I do not believe that will make Lord Denethor very happy with me. But you were mistaken in your choice of Speaker if, by choosing me, you thought that you would be able to have things all your own way."
"I will end these negotiations if I feel it necessary, Prince Imrahil," Khuzayam warned.
"As will I," the prince declared in return, and realized suddenly that he meant it. His grey eyes narrowed, sought Khuzayam's and held them. I am not the carpet before your tent that you use to wipe your feet upon, he thought grimly. The desert lord seemed almost to discern his thought; Khuzayam's eyes, darker even than Andrahar's, widened for a moment. Then he chuckled ruefully.
"There are songs among my people about the Black Swan of Dol Amroth, did you know that, my lord prince? I am told that they paint you quite the terrible opponent. I had not listened to them before, and now I think that perhaps I should have taken the time to do so." He looked down, pulled a piece of parchment towards him, and began to write. This took some time and when he had done, he pushed it across the table towards Imrahil. "There. The amended trade provisions, as per our agreement. Review it, please, and make sure that I have scribed the details correctly. You may write the next section, which concerns troop deployments, if I remember correctly. Please read the corresponding section in our current treaty aloud for me, if you would be so kind."
Imrahil did so, and negotiations upon that point and the others then began in earnest, continuing throughout the day and into the early evening. Somewhat more confident once he had survived his first confrontation with Khuzayam, the prince was able to consider the treaty objectively, and to his surprise, had absorbed much more of it than he realized, as he had sat bored beside his father in council. His experience as a commander upon land and sea served him well in the military sections, and the time he had spent the previous winter involved in the more mundane business of his principality proved to be invaluable in the civilian parts.
Diplomacy, he decided in the end, was a game not unlike chess, in that there were times to press forward and times to retreat, and times to hold one's ground. Moderately good at chess, he was, he discovered, better at this--he had a quick wit, a good memory for detail, the ability to read an opponent and the eloquence to be very persuasive when he chose to be. Most importantly, it seemed he possessed an inborn knack for knowing the correct action at any given time, and while Khuzayam made him fight for every concession, as the hours wore on, the desert lord began to treat him as an opponent worthy of respect. Noting that, Imrahil exulted within, but kept a firm rein upon his emotions without; determined as never before in his life that he would not fail in this, that he would work a fair peace for both nations.
So it was, in that sunlit room, which grew warmer as the day progressed, and under the piercing gaze of the desert lord, that Prince Imrahil of Dol Amroth stumbled upon his last and greatest gift, at almost thirty-one years of age. Not the ability to master wind and wave in a ship, nor to command men in war upon land or sea, but rather to look across a table at a potential friend or enemy and empathize enough with them to build consensus without ever forgetting the best interests of his own people. Finally a diplomat as well as a warrior, on that day and in that room he came at last into his own, and was, in truth, a prince.
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In the hall outside the chamber, and the adjoining chambers, the other members of the two embassies waited. From time to time a request would be sent out for further information of various sorts--the tariff figures for Umbar and Pelargir for the previous ten years, a more detailed map of the Harondor region, information upon water supplies in the northern desert. Denethor, seeing all of this, remarked that it looked as if the young prince were actually attempting to negotiate, whereupon Adrahil, who was sitting with his daughter and foster-daughter, snorted.
"Of course he is, and no 'attempt' about it!"
Boromir, who was seated at Finduilas' feet patiently attempting to set his carved wooden soldiers out in some sort of order in spite of Faramir's well-intentioned 'help', looked up at his mother.
"Negotiate means Uncle is trying to keep us from going to war, doesn't it?"
"That is right, Boromir. You are a clever boy to remember that."
"Well, I hope he doesn't do it. I want to fight!"
"Which only proves that you are not such a clever boy," Andrahar remarked, from where he leaned against the wall near Adrahil, arms crossed. "The wise man pursues peace with all his heart, and only when all has failed does he then go to war--also with his whole heart. No soldier wishes to spill his blood to end a quarrel that could have been resolved with well-placed words."
Boromir, momentarily daunted, looked down at his lap, then over at his brother. Hurriedly extricating one of his mounted knights from Faramir's mouth, he looked up at his mother imploringly.
"Mother, I'm bored! Can't Captain Andrahar teach me some knife-fighting now?"
"That depends upon Captain Andrahar, dear. I was about to put Faramir down for his nap--wouldn't you like to come and lie down for a bit as well?"
"I am not a baby, Mother!" He was most indignant.
"Sadly, I fear that I am on duty, and must remain here until sunset, when Peloren relieves me," Andrahar said quickly, before Boromir could question him about his availability. "I would suggest that you either accompany your mother, or remain here and cultivate patience. With your brother gone, you should be able to explore your military strategies without interruption."
Boromir thought about that for a moment, and decided to stay. He spent the rest of the afternoon fighting battles upon the figured carpet, taking castles made of cups and inkwells. His grandfather ended up upon the floor with him, playing the opposition, while chiefs of staff Andrahar and Denethor, and divers others of the diplomatic party, offered military counsel. As wars went, it was a most satisfactory one; endless victories, no true casualties and no blood spilt--unless one counted the small inkblot on the carpet from an inkwell accidentally overturned in the heat of the fray. More than one of the adults present hoped that it would be the only war that resulted from the negotiations.
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Anor had sunk into the West, and only a dim glow on the horizon showed the path of her passing. Within the negotiation chamber, Imrahil finished scribing the second-to-last provision, and pushed it back across the table for Khuzayam's approval. He had stripped to his shirtsleeves in the unseasonable heat of the day, not caring if it showed a weakness on his part, and the desert lord had unbent enough to shed a couple of his outer robes as well.
Khuzayam read, and nodded. "That looks good to me. We have but to put in the last passage, then have it copied so that we may sign it. A job well done, my lord prince."
"My compliments to you as well, Lord Khuzayam." Leaning back in his chair, Imrahil sighed and sipped from the glass of cider that he had asked for instead of wine or liquor, while Khuzayam reached for a date from the plate of food they'd sent for a couple of hours previously. "Now that we have finished with this, I was wondering if you would answer a couple of questions for me."
"What sort of questions?" the desert lord asked, slight wariness in his tone.
"The test for the Speaker. What was all that about? I was certain that I had failed, and it turned out not to be the case. And whatever became of Captain Faris? I do not wish to cause you trouble with your people, but I would very much like to know."
Khuzayam smiled, and laughed softly. "Ah, I wondered when we would come to that! I will warn you, you will not like what it is I have to tell you."
"Nonetheless, I should like to know, my lord." Khuzayam took a few moments to chew and swallow his date, daintily placing the pit in a small bowl provided for that purpose.
"Very well then," he said at last. "The first thing that you should understand is that my people, like the other desert tribes, are poor compared to other parts of Harad, and have little influence in Council. We are regarded as a source of soldiers, and little else, but our soldiers are seldom commanded by one of their own; rather, the coastal lords decide how their blood is to be spent. This has been going on for generations, and it has taken its toll upon us. Therefore, it has come to pass that there are those among the elders of the desert tribes who wish to postpone the war with Gondor for as long as possible, that we might have time to recover somewhat from the unceasing demands that our country's conflicts have placed upon us. Too many of our young men go off to war at eighteen or sixteen or even fourteen, never to return. My own grandson is ten, and I should like to see him live to manhood, and sire sons of his own. So it is that, even though we are regarded as the fiercest warriors in Harad, we are at present very invested in preserving the peace."
"This is something, however, that we have endeavored to keep hidden, and it has not been all that hard to do--the other tribes hold us in contempt, calling us 'sand-rats' and worse, and think us simple-minded barbarians. Those most arrogant, war-minded houses, Bakshir and Khambuluk and the like, wished to hurry the war and simply assumed that we were of a similar opinion, that our young men would desire the gold and glory the war would bring. We did nothing to persuade them otherwise, but in secret we had sent emissaries to the Lord of Umbar, who also desired peace, that we might cooperate in achieving our mutual desire." He paused to pour himself a cup of the bean-tea that had been brought with the food, and cradled it in his hands when he was done.
"As I explained to you before, the Council was divided evenly down the middle, and the Lord of Umbar came up with the plan to leave the matter to the Powers themselves. And it was decided that the customs of the Fahrikhi should be the ones used, for the war faction believed that we would do everything in our power to prevent the negotiations from taking place. Little did they know that, even while protesting our inclusion in the negotiations most loudly, the Lord of Umbar was laughing on the inside!"
"So there was no way I would have failed the test?" Imrahil asked, after a moment's thought. Khuzayam shook his head.
"Had I had my wish, no way at all. I was determined that the negotiations would take place, that we would make peace. You or some other would have been the Speaker, and I was not overmuch concerned about which one it would be. I am a good negotiator, and knew that I could hold my own against any of you. But I was not the sole voice in this matter--the war faction also had a say in how things were to be done. It fell to me to create a test that the war faction would agree to, and to declare in advance which result meant war and which peace, or they would not have agreed to abide by the results. So there was indeed a genuine test, and indeed you could have failed. Now, had we been at home, and had I truly been selecting you as the Speaker for a neighboring tribe, you would have passed the test I often use--Siyesha approved of you; therefore, so did I."
"You let your….dog select the Speaker? Do all of your folk do thusly?" The desert lord shook his head.
"The choice of test is always the visiting Speaker's, and it varies from person to person, and from time to time. But I have used my dogs upon more than one occasion, and it has always worked well for me."
Imrahil set his cider on the table, folded his hands and tried to absorb this rather humiliating information.
"Was there any reason in particular you chose me over the others?" he asked.
"There was, and that had something to do with your other question. Were you aware that Captain Faris is the Lord of Umbar's cousin?"
"No. We did not speak of such things. I knew that he was well-connected, that is all."
"He had been ordered by his cousin to do what he could to bring about a renewal of the treaty, at any cost. When he learned that you had been included in the negotiating party, he decided to give things a little shove in the direction we desired by encouraging you. He knew that the war faction would not suffer such interference, and that he might pay dearly for his daring, but he did it anyway. A brave man, Captain Faris." The desert lord took another sip of bean-tea. Not for the first time, Imrahil wondered where he was putting it all, as he had made but one visit to the garderobe the entire day.
"And his interference paid off. You discovered the custom, and your people named their candidates. At that point, I had a couple of things I wished to accomplish--I wanted the treaty renewed, and I wished to spare Faris' life, if that were possible. The captain's finer qualities aside, having the Lord of Umbar owe me a debt was a situation that could only benefit my people." Khuzayam set his cup down and stretched, with an audible creaking of bones.
"Cushions are ever so much more comfortable," he complained, a touch of irritation in his voice. "I shall never become accustomed to chairs…Where was I? Oh yes--the war faction was calling for Faris' execution for treason, and they wished me to declare what the test for Speaker would be. Asadel spoke to me in secret of your previous meeting with Faris, a meeting which Faris had dutifully reported to his cousin, who had relayed the information in turn to his good right-hand man Asadel. The war faction was unaware of your friendship with Faris. So I thought about it and the idea came to me that we should leave Faris' fate in the hands of the Powers, even as we had done the negotiations. I told them that we should tell the Speaker candidate that he would have to slay Faris in order to become Speaker, and that if he did so, and committed that warlike act, then he would have failed the test, and the war faction would have all that they desired; war with Gondor, and Faris dead. But that in the unlikely event the Speaker candidate should spare Faris, then this would be a clear sign that the Powers wished us to make peace--Faris would be free to go, and I would negotiate a treaty in good faith. The war faction agreed to this plan, liking it very well. They could not imagine a Gondorrim giving up the opportunity to kill one of us."
Imrahil's brow furrowed in puzzlement. "But if it seemed so unlikely that the Speaker would refuse to slay Faris, then why did the peace faction agree to the plan?"
"Because Asadel browbeat them into it. He is the Lord of Umbar's chief councilor, so words from his lips are as the Lord's words. He could hardly give them the information that we possessed, but he pointed out that the person who spared Faris' life would be a weak-willed individual, and that by forcing him to negotiate the treaty alone, we would be able to obtain all sorts of concession from the Gondorrim. A small chance of actually getting a treaty, but a great chance that that treaty would be very favorable to us. Needless to say, at that point your selection as Speaker was inevitable."
"Because you were counting upon me to spare Faris, and you thought that you could have your way at the negotiating table as well when I did?"
"Exactly!" Seeing the prince's disgruntled expression, Khuzayam chuckled. "I told you that you would not like what I had to say."
"So you did. And it would seem that things have fallen out just as you had planned." A thought occurred to Imrahil suddenly. "Wait--does my sparing Faris mean--"
"--that he has been freed and reinstated? Yes, it does. He is safely back upon his ship now."
Imrahil sighed with relief. "That is well, then. I am glad that I accomplished that much."
"You've accomplished a little more than that, my lord prince!" Khuzayam exclaimed with a bit of a grimace. "You see, I did make one miscalculation, and everything did not fall out quite as I had planned." The prince looked at him curiously. "I come from a hard land and a hard land makes hard men, or so my people say. My error was in assuming that a soft land would breed soft men. You are reputed to be a man valorous in battle, but you have no reputation in the council chamber. I thought that I would have my way with you, and I was wrong." He paused for a moment, then met Imrahil's eyes squarely, his expression earnest and open as the prince had never seen it before. "It is a good treaty, Prince Imrahil, good for both of our nations."
Color rising in his cheeks, Imrahil looked down at the table for a moment, savoring the accolade. "If it is so good, then we had best be finishing it. Do you wish to write in the last clause, or shall I? It is your turn."
"I will do it." Khuzayam took up his pen and began to scribe in the final clause from the old treaty, the one short sentence that dictated the new treaty's duration--The provisions described above will remain in effect for five years…" with space afterwards to name the specific dates. But he had scarcely begun to write when the prince leaned across the table and laid a hand upon his arm, halting him.
"What is it?" Khuzayam asked.
"Do we sign this when it is done, the two of us? Or must Lord Asadel and Lord Denethor approve it?"
"It was ours to craft, and ours to sign, for our respective governments. Asadel knows this, and will have informed Denethor by now."
And I can just imagine how well that news will have been received!
thought Imrahil, but he was grinning like a madman anyway, for the idea that had just occurred to him was so right, so perfect that he could not resist."My lord prince?" Khuzayam inquired cautiously, looking as if he were worried the stresses of the day had overthrown Imrahil's reason.
The Heir to Dol Amroth replied with a question of his own. "How long," he asked softly, "for a young desert lord to grow to manhood and make sons of his own?" His finger pointed to one word in the last clause of the old treaty. Khuzayam looked at that finger, and the word, then up at Imrahil, and a similar grin lit up his old, seamed countenance.
"How long for a captain home from the sea to woo a difficult woman and make some sons as well?" He wrote a number in the margin of the old treaty and looked up at Imrahil, who nodded, then the desert lord completed the clause in the new treaty.
When he had finished, the two men rose as one, and walked to the doors together. Cracking them open, they both looked out and called in a single voice, "SCRIBE!"
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An hour later, two fair copies had been produced and signed and sealed by the two men, who then exited the chamber to give them to their respective governments. The Steward of Gondor took his treaty with a firm force that could not precisely be called a snatch, but was close to it.
"Let me see what you have wrought, Prince Imrahil." Imrahil surrendered it and walked away without a backward glance to his father, who embraced him.
"How did it go, my son?"
"Well enough, I think, Father, though you know that I have little experience in this sort of thing. I am sure that the Steward will inform me of any shortcomings in the document."
"Perhaps there will not be so many as you think," Adrahil said comfortingly. Andrahar strolled over. He was supposed to be off-shift, but had lingered, curious about the outcome of things.
"Do you need anything, Imrahil?"
The Prince shrugged. "In no particular order--a proper meal, a bath, some brandy, some sleep…." he glanced over at Nimrien, who had waited the entire day at his father's side. "Some reward for much princely behavior might be in order as well," he suggested, raising his voice slightly so that she might hear. "Negotiating a peace treaty single-handedly is a bit beyond what you originally required of me, my lady."
Smiling, she rose from the chair she had been sitting in and set a book aside. Imrahil, seeing the size and color of the cover, thought that it might be the book of Haradrim love poetry.
"Princely behavior indeed," Nimrien admitted, moving to him and standing upon her tiptoes that she might plant a sisterly kiss upon his cheek. The prince cocked an eyebrow.
"Is that the best you can do?"
"Ask me again after the eighth of May, Imrahil."
"You drive a hard bargain, my lady. We should have had you in there, instead of me. You'd have routed the fellow handily. He would have handed us Umbar on a platter."
Nimrien looked a bit wistful. "Do you know, I might have enjoyed that? But women are not allowed to be diplomats, no matter how wise they are."
"They are allowed to advise their diplomat husbands," Imrahil suggested, and Adrahil laid a consoling arm about her shoulders.
"We know that this treaty would not have happened without you, Nimrien, and all of your help. I don't know if that is any consolation or not."
"Your good regard is always a comfort to me, my lord," she replied, snuggling close to him.
Hurin, Forlyn and a couple of the other members of the diplomatic party came up then, to ask Imrahil about the treaty, and its specific provisions. He answered their questions a bit absently, with one ear cocked towards the opposite side of the room. Denethor was a fast reader, he knew, and Asadel was as well. By now, they should be scanning the last clauses of the treaty, and at any moment would reach the last line…..
"TEN YEARS!" came the almost simultaneous exclamations, and tumult broke out. Imrahil grinned. His father stared at him, astonished.
"Imrahil, did you just make the Haradrim agree to a ten-year treaty?"
"Lord Khuzayam was more amenable to the idea than you might think, Father."
"Even so, what an accomplishment!"
"Indeed," Nimrien said, her eyes alight with joyful pride. "In time, it might very well become known as Imrahil's Peace."
The Heir to Dol Amroth tossed his head back and laughed. But he sobered again swiftly when he saw the Steward of Gondor making his way across the room towards him. His admiring audience drew aside to allow Denethor passage, and the Steward came to a halt before him with a considering look upon his face. Imrahil met Denethor's eyes and knew that there was no way he could ever go back to being Finduilas' callow younger brother--for good or ill, the Steward now reckoned him a player in the games of power.
"'Tis a fair treaty, Prince Imrahil," he said, his manner formal. "You gave more than I would have liked in some instances, particularly the trade provisions, but you also got much more than I would have expected. And the duration clause….very well done. Gondor thanks you for your service to her."
"It was my honor and pleasure to serve," Imrahil replied with becoming modesty, as his father and Nimrien looked on in approval at his consummate diplomacy. "Gondor is most welcome."