44 – THE DARKNESS UNSEEN

The days drew on, and before he knew it, the coronation was only a week away. Aragorn wasn't sure how he felt about it; he was eager to get into the city and begin the work of rebuilding the world after the war. But he was also dreading what he knew would inevitably become a downward spiral into politics and diplomacy, a world he had never really enjoyed.

What made it worse was the knowledge that he was doing it alone. After they'd won the battle, he'd envisaged a coronation not only of himself as king, but of Tíniel as his queen. That dream had quickly fizzled and died upon his return.

He knew she had a point; no king in the history of his lineage – or, for that matter, in the West – had ever had an Eastern bride. It would be strange at the least, and at the worst, it would undermine his popularity and deteriorate support that he was relying on.

And he knew she had a people of her own to lead back in Khand. Who was he to demand that she step away from that duty for him? But it still stung, and he allowed a little time each day for feeling sorry for himself. The rest of the time, he focussed on being happy.

They'd won the war. He'd led the free people of Middle-earth to the very Black Gates of Mordor, and they'd come away victorious. The days that followed – the small lapse of peace between war and his coronation – he spent with his friends, telling stories of what had passed and conjecturing about the future. Their speculations were always bright.

And yet, the hollow space that Tíniel had occupied remained in his chest, and it felt like it grew bigger every day.

"What are you thinking, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, jolting him from his thoughts. "You've ignored the last three questions asked of you."

"Sorry," he said. "I'm sorry. I was pondering our move into the city."

"Ah," Gandalf said knowingly. "Coronation day."

"It's in a week, is it not?" Frodo asked.

"I'm terribly excited for it," Merry said, "but I shall be glad to go home afterwards, back to the Shire."

"Me too,'" Sam said feelingly.

"Will you go home to your forest, Legolas?" Pippin asked. "Will all those spiders be gone now?"

Legolas paused in his pacing, his fingers twisting and untwisting. Aragorn frowned; his friend had become uncharacteristically restless of late, and he didn't doubt it had everything to do with the sea-longing.

"Perhaps," the Elf said. "I do not yet know."

"You won't be going home until you've fulfilled your promise to me!" Gimli announced. "I'll explore the accursed Fangorn Forest with you once you've explored the caves of Helm's Deep with me!"

"A stranger friendship there never was," Aragorn muttered, giving a half-smile.

"Oh, I can think of a few," Gandalf said, getting to his feet. "But it's time for me to go, I'm afraid."

"Go?" Pippin asked, sitting up and frowning. "I no longer trust what you say, Gandalf, and I shan't for a while. Do you mean leave for good, or are you off for a quick stroll but shall return in an hour?"

"Neither, Peregrin," Gandalf said, putting on his hat. "but I have people to speak to, places to be. I shall be back before the sun sets."

As Gandalf left them, Halbarad arrived.

"Hello, Sam," he said. "Hello Pippin. Hello everyone. Is Aragorn here?"

"Here I am," he answered, getting to his feet. "Am I wanted?"

"Well, sort of," Halbarad said. "There's a party of kings from the South, and they're about to enter the city."

Gimli rolled his eyes. "I would wager half the treasure in Erebor that Gandalf already knew of this and neglected to tell us."

"I'll take that wager," Legolas said.

"I should go," Aragorn said, reaching for his sword and strapping it on. "Halbarad, will you tell the Company? We need to be present – not threatening, just… there."

"Done," she said, and disappeared.

"Strider," said Merry. "What's happening?"

"Our old enemies are coming," he said. "They need to know that there's a King."

Tíniel took another step, leaning heavily on the waist-height stone wall.

"Well done!" Éowyn said encouragingly. "You're nearly there!"

"Is it really that hard?" Lothíriel asked, sighing. "Even children can walk."

"Your jokes aren't helping," Éowyn said, elbowing her in the side.

"Éowyn," Tíniel said through gritted teeth. "You have my permission to chop off her head if she says another word."

"Hey!"

"Best keep an eye out," Éowyn said, a wicked grin on her face. "You are pretty annoying."

"You can't chop off my head!" Lothíriel said. "I'm important!"

"Not to me you're not," Tíniel said, dragging her left foot forward for another painful step and stifling a groan.

"Who's chopping off whose head?" came a voice, and she turned to see Éomer standing at the entrance to the sectioned-off part of the gardens they were in.

"Me," she said. "I'm beheading anyone who dares to say that I'm not good at walking."

He raised an eyebrow. "You're great at walking."

"Exactly," she said, gritting her teeth and taking another step. "I am a master."

"Three more steps and you're at your chair," Éowyn said hearteningly.

"So we'll only be here another hour," Lothíriel muttered. Éowyn swatted at her again, and Éomer stifled a smile.

"I don't believe we've met."

"Allow me to introduce the infuriatingly childish daughter of Imrahil, Princess Lothíriel of Dol Amroth," Éowyn said wryly. "Lothíriel, my brother Éomer. Please wait at least a few minutes before you make him want to kill you."

"Lovely to meet you," Lothíriel said. "If you're the king of Rohan, why are you dressed like a farmer?"

Éomer frowned and looked down at his tunic. "I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I am not!"

"Yes, you –"

"Shut up, Lothíriel," Tíniel grunted, and collapsed into the chair, breathing heavily. "You've been chattering for so long that I've taken three steps."

"What can I say?" Lothíriel smirked. "I'm a conversationalist."

"Oh – Tíniel," Éomer said. "There is a reason that I've come."

"Thank goodness," Éowyn said. "For a moment there I thought you actually wanted to see me."

"What is it?" Tíniel asked, trying in vain to massage the aches out of her lower back.

"There's a party of kings from Harad who have just arrived, and Faramir sent me to find you," Éomer said. "It's quite urgent."

"Well I'm glad you wasted all this time bickering then," she said sarcastically. "You'll need to wheel me there, I can't push myself fast enough."

"Wheel you?" he asked, looking confused.

Éowyn sighed. "I'll do it," she said. "Éomer, you can babysit Lothíriel."

Lothíriel scowled. "I don't need to be looked after."

"Yes, you do," Tíniel said. "Éowyn, let's go."

"You look like a farmer," she heard Lothíriel say as Éowyn wheeled her away.

"No, I don't," Éomer replied.

"Yes, you do. But you're a handsome farmer, so you mustn't worry."

Minutes later, they arrived at the doors to the Great Hall.

"By the stars, I'm glad you're here," Faramir whispered to her when she came to a stop beside him. "I've been trying to make small talk for five minutes, but they speak very little Westron, and I speak none of… whatever they're speaking."

"Fear not," she said wryly. "I am come to save you."

She surveyed the people before her. There were eight of them; two had the coal black skin of Far Harad. Two more wore brightly coloured turbans, marking them as of Near Harad. One was from East Harad, his head covered with something similar to a vadi. One was a woman with a strong jaw, her hands and forearms covered with tattoos, a chief of a coastal tribe in Harad. One was an old man she recognised, the Khondyë of the Kheviag tribe in Khand. And the last…

"Akhund," she said, speaking in Westron and shaking her head. "You were here the whole time and you let poor Faramir suffer?"

The wizard grinned. "I couldn't help it," he said, shrugging apologetically at Faramir. "But he did admirably."

"Should have known," Faramir muttered darkly. Éowyn patted his arm comfortingly.

Tíniel turned to the other chiefs. "Welcome," she said, speaking slowly in Westron. "Which language would you like to speak in?"

"We all speak Kakathi," one of the kings from Near Harad said. Tíniel breathed a silent sigh of relief; she knew the language well.

The woman spoke first. "Introductions are required, I suppose. I am Jekilah Sambah."

"Tchamar Homara," said the Eastern king, his fist to his chest.

One of the men of Far Harad raised his hand in greeting. "I am Babebo," he said. "And this is my son, of the same name."

"Magakh Khondyë, of the Kheviag tribe," said the Khandi man, saluting with his fist to his shoulder. "We have met before."

"Bahar, of the Red Scorpions," said one of the kings of Near Harad.

"And Hassif of the Sand Leopards," the other said, bowing.

"And we two are already well acquainted," Akhund said with a smile.

"Then I welcome you all to Gondor," she said. "You have met Faramir, son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor in the absence of the King. And I am Tchakhura Khondyë of the Maruvikh of Khand."

"We know who you are," Jekilah said, eyeing her.

"Might we go somewhere to discuss matters?" Akhund said. "Perhaps somewhere under the open sky? Many of us dislike the heavy stone buildings of the North."

"A dislike I understand well," she said, and turned to Faramir, switching back to Common. "They wish to speak somewhere with us. Where can we go?"

"The council chambers?" he suggested, but she shook her head.

"Somewhere outside. This is Southern diplomacy, my friend. We do things differently."

"How about the gardens next to the Houses of Healing? Éowyn said. "There are plenty of quiet places. You could set a guard to make sure you are not disturbed."

"It will do. Have a servant bring mulled wine," Tíniel said, and turned back to the kings. "Follow me, if you please."

There was an awkward pause where they just stared at her and nobody moved, and then Tíniel cleared her throat. "Faramir?"

"Right, yes, sorry," he said, jolting into action, and began pushing her chair to the gardens. Magakh Khondyë fell into step beside her.

"I see you have been recently injured," he said, glancing down at her chair. "I am sorry."

She shrugged. "An injured Khondyë is still a Khondyë. There are challenges, yes, but I can still do my duties."

"Of course." He hesitated and tugged on his vadi. "I wanted… to apologise to you, Tchakhura. When your father was still Khondyë, your tribe came to me several times, asking for refuge from Gondor's attacks, as I am sure you know."

"I know it very well," she said shortly, shifting in her seat. "I was there, Khondyë. I lived it."

"I apologise," he said. "I see things now in a different light. We should have allowed you onto our lands."

"Your apology comes late," she said stiffly. "Years too late, and with a bad motive behind it."

"Bad motive?"

She looked up at him. "I know you have all come here to surrender, so of course you see things in a different light now. You see them from the perspective of someone who might finally have to pay for what he did in the past." Magakh's jaw tightened.

"But you don't need to be afraid," she went on, smiling slightly. "It is not me who will make the final decisions on what to do with you. Apologising for our history will not make things any better for you, but nor will I do anything to make things worse. Here in the North, we foreigners must band together."

He nodded slowly. "You are just, Khondyë. You do your father proud."

She blinked. "Whether or not he would agree with that is a different matter."

Magakh shrugged. "He seemed a hard man, yes, but I met him many times. He wanted the very best for his children."

"It will remain a mystery now," she said.

They walked through the gardens for a while until they came to a green clearing. There was a still pool to one side, and they were hedged in by trees with sweet-smelling white flowers. It was peaceful and serene.

"There is nowhere to sit," Faramir began to say, but stopped when the kings began to sit cross-legged on the ground. "Oh," he said.

"Like I said, Southern diplomacy," Tíniel said, laughing at his confusion. "Will you help me sit?" She got out of the chair by herself, and Faramir took her by the elbows and lowered her to the ground. It was clumsy and ungraceful, but it did the job. He settled beside her.

The servant arrived and distributed cups of warm, spiced wine. Tíniel surveyed the circle as they took the cups with nods of thanks. They were an impressive bunch; all proud, tall, sharp-eyed and arrayed in the richest clothing the South had to offer. Some of them stared at her, trying to read her in return. Others exchanged glances of reluctance for what was to come.

"So," she said at last, deciding that she'd let them suffer enough. They all knew what was going to be said, but it needed to be said anyway. "Why have you come here, to the capital of Gondor?"

"We are here to sue for peace," said Hassif. "We want the violence and war to end as much as you do, and we have come to negotiate its terms."

"Let us not pretend that you have anything to bargain with here," Tiniel said flatly. "The violence has ended. You are not suing for peace; you are surrendering to Gondor and the Northmen. You didn't win victory even when Sauron was on your side. You think you have a chance now?"

"We could continue," the elder Babebo said, "foolish though it would be. We could muster every man, woman and child in Harad and the East and throw them at you. Many of our peoples would prefer to die free than continue to live in slavery."

"And yet it would result in the utter decimation of your people," she replied.

"It would also result in great losses for the Northmen," Jekilah said sharply. "You are trying to regather, to heal after your costly victory. Further attacks would be disastrous for you."

Tíniel sighed. "You are trying to create a bargaining chip where otherwise you have none," she said.

"We do not do this out of arrogance, Khondyë," Tchamar said quietly. "You should know better than most how Gondor has treated those whom they perceive as their enemies in the past. This is our last resort. This is an act of desperation."

"We are afraid for our people," Hassid agreed. "For most of us, it was an act of survival to join with the Master. But now, we are going to be punished by Gondor for it." He shrugged. "We are doing what we have always done: trying to survive."

"For many of our people, it will matter little," Jekilah said. "Sauron will be replaced by the King of Gondor, and they will continue to live out their lives as thralls. But for us, their leaders… if there is a difference that can be made, we want to make it."

Tíniel took another slow sip from her cup, thinking their words over. "I know how you feel," she said at last. "My tribe and I have been in your position, caught between a rock and a hard place and punished for whichever we do not choose. If it were up to me, you would go free back to your lands. But it is not up to me."

"Then who?" Magakh asked.

"The King," she said, "when he is coronated in a week's time. He will decide Gondor's actions and its future relations with the South."

"And what are our chances?" Hassif asked.

"He is a good man," she said. "He is just and clear-thinking. But he has spent almost all his life in the North, and the time he has been in the South he has spent fighting us. And Gondor has spent almost its whole history at odds with the South."

"That does not bode well," the younger Babebo muttered, shifting.

"I wish I could guarantee freedom, or even safety for your people," Tíniel said. "But I cannot. I hope, like you, that the King will be lenient. But I have never spoken to him concerning the future of our relations, so I do not know." She paused, and sighed. "I am sorry."

"You are saying that there is no one in Gondor who knows our ways, who understands our plight?" Bahar spoke up desperately. "How in the world are we supposed to negotiate with that? What chance do we have?"

"There is one person," Akhund said. "One of us knows the King well and has also become acquainted with the ways of the North. There is one who could argue your case."

"Akhund," Tíniel said tiredly.

"Who is it?" the younger Babebo asked.

"It is Tchakhura Khondyë," Akhund said, turning to her. "You are not as powerless as you seem to think, my dear. Have you forgotten the words of the prophecy?"

"Far from it," she said, a warning in her voice. "But that is irrelevant now. Anyway, I will be gone before the month is out. I am returning to Khand with my tribe."

"But if you could intercede for us," Tchamar said, "it could make all the difference!"

"Or no difference," she said shortly.

"If there is anything you could do," Hassif said. "We would be grateful."

They all looked at her, eight pairs of hopeful eyes in eight dark faces. She sighed. "I will do what I can, though it is not much."

"Thank you," the elder Babebo said, inclining his head.

"And I will give you this advice," she added. "When you speak with the king, after he has been crowned, do not threaten him with further war. He knows as well as you and I that it is a futile, desperate move. But he is not like other Northmen." She gave a small smile tinged with sadness. "He is special. Tell him the truth; tell him you have been oppressed by Sauron, and that your people could be peaceful and powerful allies, if only they were free."

"We will do it," Jekilah said. "We thank you, Khondyë. It is something beyond what we hoped to have someone like you to speak with."

"Any of you would do the same in my position," Tíniel replied. "In the North, we are one people. Go in peace."

All of them, save Akhund, Faramir and Tíniel, got to their feet and made their way out of the little clearing, talking quietly amongst themselves.

"So," Faramir said. "What happened?"

Tiniel grinned, tipping her head back and finishing the cup of wine. "We came to a cautious agreement that the Southrons will not try to invade Gondor again."

"They threatened us?!"

"Oh, and also that I would intercede on their behalf for a favourable peace with Gondor."

"You didn't actually tell them that there would be an outcome like that, did you?" he asked, frowning slightly. "Because in all likelihood, there won't."

"I promised nothing but that I would speak with Aragorn," she said. "But there are many things you do not understand about them, so do not make your predictions too readily."

"We can discuss policy later," he said, getting to his feet and stretching. "We've been here long enough. Do you want me to put you back into you chair?"

Tíniel winced, feeling like a baby that had to be carried around by its parents, but Akhund replied before she could.

"If you don't mind, my dear boy, I'd like a moment alone with our good friend Tíniel," he said. Tíniel and Faramir raised an eyebrow each, but Faramir nodded.

"As you wish," he said. "As long as you'll be able to get back alright?"

She nodded. "I'll be alright," she said. "Akhund will look after me."

"As I have always done, despite your constant resent and accusations," he said, the fatherly smile reappearing. "Oh, and Faramir – if, on your way out, you see a wizard who looks quite a lot like me, send him our way."

Faramir bowed and exited, and Tíniel turned back to Akhund. "Gandalf is coming?"

"Gandalf?" He frowned, but then his expression cleared. "Oh yes, Gandalf. Yes, he is coming, and he might bring along a friend or two. You know, I used to have a name in the West, but I forgot it a few hundred years ago. I think I shall acquire a new one, for they struggle to pronounce Akhund up here."

"Friends?" she said, her curiosity rearing its head. "Who?"

"Oh, you shall see soon enough," he said, taking his hat off and brushing off its brim. "Though they may not be accustomed to sitting on the ground. Would you like me to help you into your chair?"

"I suppose," she said. He got up and lifted her under the arms just as Faramir had. Once she was standing, she lowered herself back down into the chair.

"Ah, just in time," Akhund said, looking behind her. "Here they are."

Tíniel turned in her seat to see Gandalf step into the clearing, followed by Elrond and Galadriel. She swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly dry. This was going to be some discussion.

You are not gonna believe the stuff that's about to go down next chapter (well actually there was a prophecy about it in chapter 1, so you might I guess lol). This chapter was great fun to write – I hope my undergrad diplomacy training didn't come off too strong...

One intrepid reviewer was wondering what Tíniel might look like, suggesting Octavia Blake (never seen the show but I did some googling for you girl). I was thinking Tíniel would be more of a super-muscley Shaunette Renee Wilson. What do you guys think?

But for real, we're getting close to the end. How exciting/devastating (choose one)! Make sure you follow, favourite and review. Your mothers aren't the only ones who think you're beautiful: I do too.

S