Land of the King
Chapter 50: The Worth of Our Choices
Jaenara had almost finished telling her tale now, barely able to hold in her tears from remembering the painful way her mother had left her.
"After that, I was in a daze for the next few years. I didn't know what I wanted anymore, didn't know if I wanted to be Valyrian or Arnorian. All I knew was that I had to get out of Valyria, it was too painful to stay there any longer. As soon as I came of age at eighteen, I submitted my expedition details and left Valyria."
Túrin was speechless, "Jae- Jaenara, I'm so sorry."
"There's nothing to be sorry for."
"I made you tell me about your past, I dragged up all those old memories," he said guiltily.
"It's fine. If anything It's made me feel better. After all these years, I finally confided it all in someone. It's like a weight was taken off my chest."
"But Jaenara-," whatever Túrin had wanted to say was interrupted.
"Yet even now I still can't choose. No matter what choice I make I'm betraying a part of myself, a part of my family."
"It doesn't matter. You don't have to choose to embrace one half of your heritage and reject the other. It's impossible. You were raised Arnorian yet you ride a dragon and know Valyrian customs. You don't have to tear yourself apart like this because you will forever be both. I don't see Jaenara Belaerys or Jaenara Nimloth in front of me, but just you Jaenara, someone who is both and cannot be only one," Túrin said.
"Is it really possible I wonder? It seems like those two cultures, those two nations are the antithesis of each other. How could it ever be possible to have one foot in one and another in the other?"
"You're already doing that."
"Will all Arnorians be as understanding as you?" Jaenara asked.
"No. I can't promise they all will be. Yet if you tell any of them your story, I think any good person would sympathize with you," he answered honestly.
Allard walked into the tent then, "if you guys are done, we need to pack up soon. Scouts have reported more Brindled Men moving in and I don't want to be around when they get here."
Túrin turned back to Jaenara and she nodded.
"We're done. Pack up everything Allard. We leave by nightfall," he ordered.
Fully recovered, Jaenara packed up all her belongings and helped the crew load the last of the items onto the river ship before calling Terrax to her.
Sensing that they were leaving, the dragon reluctantly landed for Jaenara to mount him.
"I'll cover your retreat. Get yourselves downstream as fast as possible," she said as she took the reins of her dragon.
"Sōvegon Terrax!" she commanded her dragon as they took to the skies and climbed high. Below them on the river, the fading rays of the setting sun receded as the ship set off.
Upstream, the Brindled Men began pouring out of the jungle and converging on the ship.
Like a bird of prey descending, Jaenara urged Terrax into a downwards dive.
"Dracarys," she said softly.
Jets of orange flames hot enough to melt stone burst from the maw of the dragon, eviscerating those who had dared to incur her wrath.
Those not killed by her first round soon fled, abandoning the attack as they fled into the safety of the jungle.
If she was feeling particularly vindictive, Jaenara might have torched the rainforest as well, but it was unnecessary. Her allies were safe now, and all that was left was to escort them safely back to Zamettar.
What a picture it must have been to see an Arnorian ship sailing on the dark waters of the Zamayos as the wings of a mighty Valyrian dragon beat overhead beneath the star-studded sky of a moonless night.
It was weeks later when they returned to Zamettar. Jaenara set Terrax down on the outskirts of the city before dismounting to meet with Túrin and Allard.
"I suppose that this is the end of our partnership," Túrin said as she approached.
"It seems so. All good things must come to an end one day," she replied.
"Oh, so you considered our company a good thing then? I'm happy to know it," Túrin said cheekily.
Jaenara rolled her eyes.
"I think Allard here has something to say to you," Túrin continued.
"Oh?" Jaenara asked as she raised her eyebrow expectantly.
If it wasn't just her imagination, she could have sworn that Allard was acting embarrassed?
"Well… I'm not sure how best to put this but I was wrong about you and I'm sorry for judging you based entirely on your family name. You're better than most Valyrians we hear of. It's been surprisingly enjoyable working with you, just don't expect us to be friends or anything anytime soon alright?"
Jaenara couldn't help it. She burst out laughing and Túrin joined her.
"You two…" he scowled.
As Allard left, not willing to be around them any longer, Jaenara called out after him, "Allard!"
As he turned around to face her, she said, "Your apology is accepted."
Allard gave her a nod before walking off.
Túrin lead her up the stairs to the top of the ruined tower. Jaenara took in the view as she walked up. The Arsarothod and the river ship were moored near the mouth of the Zamayos and all around them, a vast jungle full of life covered the hills around them, almost covering the ruins entirely.
"Is it safe up here?" she inquired nervously.
"Probably not, but nothing has happened yet so don't worry too much."
"Good to know."
They stood there for a while, admiring the view
"Will you be stopping by in Gogossos on your return trip?" Jaenara asked.
"No. The Arsarothod ran a supply run recently. We have more than enough to make it back to Arnor. The men are loading everything onto the ships already. We got what we came for."
"And what exactly was that?"
Túrin shrugged, "Wyverns, monkeys, and all other kinds of exotic flora and fauna. A nice adventure and a new friend perhaps?"
Jaenara punched his shoulder in jest, "I highly doubt that you came here expecting to make friends with a dragonlord of the Forty and her massive pet dragon or nearly die in Yeen."
"Well no, but I wouldn't change a single second of it," he said as he stared into her eyes.
It seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn't work up the courage to say it.
"Something on your mind?"
"This doesn't have to be the end you know," Túrin told her.
"What do you mean? Are you planning another expedition? I'm all ears for partnering up again."
"That, that's not what I meant. Look, you told me that one of your dreams when you were a child was to visit Arnor right? Do it then, come with me now and see the homeland of your mother. Your homeland, you have the right to call it that as much as I do," he suggested.
"Jaenara?" he asked seeing her downcast and grim face.
"My father allows me many things, but one of the few things forbidden to me is to visit Arnor. I may never be able to return to Valyria if I disobey him."
"And what's so wrong with that? If your family won't let you go back to them because you visited the homeland of your mother, does it matter that you can't go back? Why would you even want to do so? What kind of family does that?" Túrin demanded.
"They're still my family Túrin! No matter what they do, I will still love them!"
"Are you sure about that? You said it yourself, they ignored you for the first eleven years of your life and then you get a big dragon and suddenly you're the golden child of the Belaerys family? They're just being nice to you to cement your loyalty to them! And you fell for it!
These people enslave and torture others like it's nothing. That's why your mother committed suicide, because she couldn't bear to see you become loyal to them, to watch you become them.
Your mother gave up on you Jaenara, but I won't."
"Why are you asking this of me? You said it yourself? I don't have to choose. Why are you making me now?" Jaenara demanded.
"I said you didn't have to choose to deny a part of yourself Jaenara. You don't have to reject your Valyrian heritage. You don't have to be loyal to Valyria to be a Valyrian. Being a Valyrian does not make you are inherently evil. That's what the expedition taught me and all of my men. It's what you taught us Jaenara. But like it or not, Valyria itself is a nation that is evil. Not every single aspect of its culture or people is evil, but many things are. If you stay there it will eventually corrupt you!"
"Even if I was to go to Arnor with you, who would shelter me from the wrath of Valyria? Would your people be willing to go to war for my sake? Because that is what will happen if I join you Túrin. Valyria will never accept a dragonrider joining its greatest rival. War will be inevitable. What power do you have to vouch for me?"
"I…, I am the fourth in line to the Arnorian throne, the third son of the King's Heir, Crown Prince Arahad. I can vouch for you."
Jaenara looked at him in shock. Túrin was a prince? Yet so many things made sense now. It explained how his expedition had been funded. Yet it was too much to take in too fast.
"You're a prince!?" she asked.
"Yes. For safety reasons my identity was not openly revealed to those not part of my crew whilst on our expedition."
It was still surprising but Jaenara recovered quickly.
"Only two weeks ago, you told me that I did not have to choose between being Arnorian and being Valyrian, and now you're asking me to choose between Arnor and Valyria. Those two things contradict each other," Jaenara said, her face impassive as the mask slotted back into place.
"Not necessarily. Whatever choice you make, you will always be part Arnorian and part Valyrian. You will forever be a child of two races. Neither truly Arnorian or Valyrian. You can't run away from that Jaenara. What I meant back in Yeen is that choosing one or the other does not mean you have to wholly reject the other half of your heritage. Yet, the choice between either nation will always lie in front of you and it will haunt you."
"You don't have to torture yourself anymore," Túrin said as he offered her his hand.
Jaenara couldn't understand. How could she choose to be Arnorian without rejecting Valyria and her Valyrian heritage entirely? It simply couldn't compute. Perhaps if she had the wisdom then that she had later in life, she might have made a different choice.
"I'm sorry Túrin," she said as she closed his hand, "But I can't take your offer, I can't make that choice."
The hurt in his eyes was clear to see but it was gone soon enough, "I understand. I guess it was too much of me to ask this of you. Yet the offer remains. If you ever feel like you can't find a home in Valyria anymore, Arnor will be waiting for you."
Jaenara did not speak another word as she turned and left. Her mind confused and broken, torn between her two halves.
As she left, Túrin whispered, half to himself and half to Jaenara's retreating form, "Someday soon, that choice will present itself to you once again and you will be made to choose once and for all."
Months later, the Arsarothod sailed into Annúminas Harbour. Túrin and his crew members were welcomed back by a delegation of Royal Knights who escorted Túrin to Amon Erain. Knowing that his father wanted his report as soon as possible, Túrin had ordered Allard to handle their crew's affairs.
The Council of the Sceptre awaited their report. Traditionally, the Council of the Sceptre was divided into two iterations. The first was the Lesser Council, composed of the King, his heir, the Steward and other advisors and ministers, high ranking generals and admirals, and representatives from each of the provinces who together handled the day to day administration of the Kingdom. The Greater Council was convened on occasions such as the coronation of a new king and the making of important new laws. All major lords of Arnor would attend on those occasions, or the representatives of their Houses who were already in the capital would attend in their stead per the Alternate Attendance laws of Arvegil II.
For his own part, Túrin was more than a little nervous to report to his father. Crown Prince Arahad was not the King yet, but with his father bedridden and wasting away from his old age, all of Arnor knew that it was only a matter of time before the Sceptre passed to the King's Heir.
As he entered the council room, Túrin took in the sight before him.
His father, the King in all but name, sat at the head of the table in a chair that was more like a throne. To his right sat Lord Dior, the Steward, and to his left sat his elder brothers, Aragost and Ciryaher. Seated in decreasing levels of status and hierarchy afterwards were the generals and lords who had seats on the Lesser Council.
The Knight Captain who had escorted Túrin to the council room heralded his arrival.
"Announcing His Royal Highness, Prince Túrin, third son of the King's Heir!"
"You may leave Captain," his father ordered. The knight obeyed and left the room, leaving Túrin alone before the eyes of the Council.
"Well then Prince Túrin, tell us your tale," the Lord Steward said.
So Túrin told them of how he and his crew had made their way to the Basilisk Isles, finally mooring in the accursed city of Gogossos. He told them of how they planned their expedition, how they were forced to partner with a dragonlord by the name of Jaenara Belaerys and how together they explored the Zamayos river basin as far south as Yeen.
"And the secondary expedition objectives? Were they completed?" his brother Aragost asked.
Secondary his brother said, but Túrin was well aware that in the eyes of the council, the secondary objectives were most definitely the true primary goals of his expedition. His father Arahad had been loath to allow his son to go gallivanting on a random exploration on the eve of war. The preparations were near complete. War would begin upon the death of his grandfather, there was no doubt about that in Túrin's mind.
The supposed secondary objectives were the conditions given to Túrin for the permission and funding of his expedition. He was asked to seek out and bring home certain flora and fauna such as wyverns, basilisks, and other exotic plants that could allow their scientists to further develop their dragon poisons. Turin's expedition had been made a tool of the war machine and as much as he resented that, he knew that Arnor could only benefit from it.
With his report concluded, Túrin begged for his father's leave to depart.
"Wait," his father commanded. "This dragonlord, this… girl, do you believe she could be convinced to join us? You mentioned how she confessed her true heritage to you, do you believe she would choose her Arnorian heritage?"
Túrin clenched his fists. He hadn't asked Jaenara to join them so she could be made a weapon and turned against her family but he knew full well that was what would happen.
"I believe she may. Her mind is confused and torn. Perhaps one day she will wake up to the true horror of Valyria and side with us."
"Do you have any more you wish to say of her?" his father asked.
Túrin was confused, he had said all there was to say of Jaenara.
"No Your Highness," he said formally.
"Very well then, you may go."
"Aduadar, tell me a story," the young Túrin asked of his grandfather as he laid in bed.
"If I tell you a story my dear grandson, you will take even longer to sleep and when you wake up tomorrow at your usual early time, you will find yourself increasingly sleepy in the day," Araglas said.
"No. If you tell me a story I will sleep later and thus wake later."
"Will you now? Very well then," his grandfather said, raising one eyebrow.
"Well let's see, shall I tell you of the coming of Elendil and the Nine Ships to Westeros?" he asked.
The young boy laughed, "I've heard that story a hundred times!"
"Now young Túrin, you can never be told the Akallabêth too many times. It has many important lessons," his grandfather said with a smile though the young prince did not notice the sad look in his eyes.
"It's boring. I want to hear a different story!" Túrin demanded.
His grandfather laughed, "Demanding aren't you. Well then let me think. Ahh, I don't believe you;ve heard this tale before. Tell me, have you ever heard of the Foolishness of Lann the Clever?"
"No," Túrin said, confused. How could a clever man be foolish?
"I thought not, it's not a story many history books will tell you. Lann was a clever man you see, very, very clever indeed. He was not one of the Dúnedain yet he was so clever that the stories tell that he could outsmart even the King of Arnor himself!"
The young Túrin was amazed but also angered by that statement. How could any lesser man be smarter than a Dúnadan, and the King at that? Still, he kept quiet to hear the rest of his grandfather's tale.
"It is not remembered which king it was that he outsmarted, all that is known is that he came to Annúminas in a time when Númenor had not yet passed out of living memory. For many years he served as a loyal and clever servant of the Royal House, but Lann's greed and hubris were too great. He tried to usurp Annuminas and Amon Erain from the King through means all disagree about and was promptly executed. Hence the name of the tale, the foolishness of a supposedly clever man."
Túrin had been surprised to hear Lann had died but thought to himself that he deserved it.
"What's the lesson in the story then? Was it to not to try and steal from the King of Arnor?"
"Well I suppose that could be one lesson. Another is to never think you are so clever that you are untouchable," his grandfather answered.
"That was too short a story thought. Tell me a proper long one!"
"Alright. Let me tell you of the story of your namesake, of Túrin Turambar and his Black Sword, Gurthang."
How many years had passed since his grandfather had tucked him into bed? More than any other member of his family, Túrin had been the closest to Araglas and believed to be his favourite grandson. He had always wondered why that was so but likely it was because his late grandmother had been the one to name him, after her favourite Silmarillion hero.
The guards stepped aside to give him entry to his grandfather's chambers, none daring to bar his way.
He made his way inside and took a seat beside the bed of his bedridden grandfather in an ironic reversal of how it had been over a hundred years earlier.
"I've returned Grandfather."
"So you have. Welcome home Túrin," his grandfather rasped before coughing furiously.
"You finally went on your long desired expedition eh?"
"Yes Grandfather."
"Good, good. You were never meant for war. You have the heart of an adventurer and explorer.
I was so foolish in my youth. As foolish as Lann was, and as the King my mistakes are even worse. Everything that is to come will be my sin."
"It's not your fault Grandfather," Turin said, uncertain of what his grandfather was saying.
For the first years of his reign, Araglas had been a war hawk who had stirred the old grudges of the Arnorian people up again and urged them to prepare for war against Valyria. Emboldened and encouraged like never before, the Arnorian people had assembled an armament that could rival Ar-Pharazôn's impious armada.
Yet fifty years ago, his grandfather had suddenly had a change of heart. He refused to consider further plans of war but the people would not, could not back down. Preparations continued under his firebrand son, Arahad, Túrin's father.
"You never told me why you stopped. Why do you make yourself suffer like this?" Túrin asked, wishing to finally know what had cause his grandfather to abandon the war.
His grandfather remained silent on his bed, turning his back against Túrin.
"Tell me, please. Before it is too late."
Softly and slowly, his grandfather confessed, "Many years ago, dreams came to me. Warning me of the future. In them I saw that the path Arnor was headed for would be our ruin. The armada would sail and how glorious it would be. The Stepstones would be reunited with Arnor after so many years and from there we could move further to enact our vengeance and put an end to Valyria! Yet it would be all for naught. The dragons would come and turn all our work to ash. Hundreds of dragons we would fell from the sky, paid for with the lives of hundreds of thousands of Arnorians.
And all for what? For some rocks in the middle of the sea? Islands ruled by Valyria for so long that its people can no longer remember the days when the flag of the White Tree flew from their standards."
"What of the slaves? Do we not have a duty to avenge them and return them home?"
"What of them? We failed that duty centuries ago when we warred with each other over defending our people from the dragons. Are the lives of the few slaves that remain, men and women who have never even seen the homeland worth the lives that will be paid to save them? Will you tell the families of our soldiers that their loved ones gave their lives to reclaim some rocks in the Narrow Sea? That they sacrificed everything to bring home some slaves who knew nothing of Arnor anymore?"
"It would be a worthy sacrifice some would say," Túrin answered.
"Yet if it was you who said goodbye to a loved one, would you say the same? The blood of hundreds of thousands will be spilt, all for nothing. Arnor does not and never will have the power to end Valyria just as they have not the power to end us. Hundreds of thousands of men will be asked to throw their lives away for a lie. The lie that Arnor can truly defeat Valyria. That there will be a true victory in this war.
You will realise that one day my grandson, when you stand on the frontlines and wonder at the worthlessness of your every sacrifice when it has bought you nothing.
Valyria's sins will be judged one day and they will be doomed. Yet their doom will not come at the hands of men."
Turin sat there for a while, shocked at his grandfather's prophecy.
"The gift of foresight is rare. I ignored my visions once and I lost your grandmother. I refuse to be a part of this war. Leave me, Túrin."
His grandfather's dismissal clear, Túrin departed from his presence and returned to his chambers which he had not seen for almost three years.
Everything in his rooms was exactly the way he had left them.
Walking onto the balcony, Túrin's eyes were cast eastwards. He still did not fully believe his grandfather's words, yet he could not truly deny their value either.
Had he not himself told Jaenara that the pragmatist had long ago accepted that those lands were lost to Arnor? Yet the patriotic prince demanded justice, demanded vengeance and the return of lands lost over a millennium ago.
Just as he had presented the choice between Arnor and Valyria before Jaenara, Túrin himself now had a choice before him.
And the choices of some, can define history.
Author's Note: This is the 50th chapter of Land of the King. I am extremely thankful to everyone who has stayed with me throughout this journey. I hope you will continue to support this story as it approaches its endgame.
Araglas's visions allowed him to see what every single world leader before WW1 failed to. That the war they would soon fight would be a bloody and vicious war fought in vain.
In the eyes of Araglas, why throw away hundreds of thousands of lives now when they can reclaim their lost lands for basically free when Valyria's inevitable doom comes? Yet the pride and ego of Arnor demands war, and so they will have it. And what a war it will be.