Land of the King
Chapter 42: Kinslayer
3154 E.L
Five years. That was how long this blasted war had lasted. Arvedui had not been the one to start it, but he would finish it. He owed it to those who had given their lives for the cause. The prisoners he had let die in Morlond, the friends he had sent to their deaths in Tircarnë, and everyone else who had died for him in this war.
"Launch another volley," Arvedui commanded. It had been over sixteen hundred years since Arcalen had last fallen, and back then it had been named something else altogether.
Following his orders, his army loosed yet another volley of arrows and stones upon the city, falling like hail upon it.
"Your Majesty! Another giant has been slain! The battering rams are not breaching the gates fast enough!" one of his generals reported.
"Send more. The gates must fall. Intensify our attacks on the walls as well."
Before the war, Arcalen had been a city directly ruled by the Crown and so had also had walls built out of black stone. Indestructible as they were, the only way to overcome them was through breaching the gates or capturing the walls with ladders and siege towers.
Arvedui's armies had surrounded Arcalen for the past month and he had decided to launch his assault, having felt that the defenders had been starved enough.
His army was taking heavy casualties but Arvedui refused to call off the assault. Argeleb was trapped in the city, the end of the war was in his grasp and he refused to let it slip from his fingers.
As Arvedui watched his army try and assault the walls and gates of the city where his cousin had made his last stand, his mind was drawn back to an old memory of him and Argeleb.
"Why am I thinking of that now?" he wondered.
The young prince Arvedui was very excited. Today would be the day he started learning how to use a sword! Cousin Argeleb was already waiting for him in the yard and Arvedui could not wait.
When he arrived in the yard, the young prince saw his cousin easily facing three other men. To the young Arvedui, the way his cousin easily and skilfully weaved in between the blows of his opponents to land his own strikes was amazing.
He was almost cheering when Argeleb beat all three of them, making them realise they had an audience.
"I'm sorry I didn't see you there cousin," Argeleb said.
"It's fine. I came early. You were amazing!" Arvedui exclaimed excitedly.
"You flatter me. I am far from being as skilled as I could be but I'm glad my skills are worthy of your praise. Worry not, enough time and you'll do just the same thing."
"Really!?" Arvedui asked.
"Really," Argeleb answered. "Here," he said as he drew a small dagger and handed it to his young cousin.
"It's so light!" Arvedui was astonished at how light the blade was, he had thought that metal weapons would be much heavier.
"That's right. And the swords I train with are much the same. However, they still have weight and if you're swinging them around for hours you'd tire quickly. You're like a twig at the moment so you'll need to exercise and train a lot to get strong enough to wield a blade properly. Can you do that? If you can't, I can't teach you anything."
Arvedui nodded furiously.
Argeleb smiled, "Good. First lesson, what do you do if you have a blade in your hand and an enemy in front of you?"
"Stick them with the pointy end!" Arvedui shouted.
His cousin let out a loud booming laugh then, "Yes I guess you're right. It's a lot more complicated then you made it sound but that is basically what it is. Any ideas on why it won't be as easy as simply 'sticking them with the pointy end'?"
"Because they can move," the present day Arvedui thought in his head, answering the question he had been asked many, many years ago. He had gotten the answer correct back then as well.
"Your Majesty, the gates have been breached," his general reported, interrupting his thoughts.
The past was dead and gone. He could not let it distract him from what had to be done. Argeleb had to die.
"Move into the city. Kill all who refuse to yield."
It would be two whole days until the last level of the city had fallen to him, the ancient keep that had once been Highgarden, surrounded by its green maze. Arvedui had had no patience to deal with the maze and had ordered it all burned to the ground.
As he entered the throne room of Arcalen, Argeleb was met with the sight of his cousin kneeling before him.
"I surrender Arcalen to you Arvedui," Argeleb said. Yet there was no anger in his voice, no frustration. Only a tired recognition of his loss.
"Take him to the dungeons," Arvedui commanded, "I will decide his fate later."
As Argeleb was escorted to his prison cell, Arvedui's commanders and generals entered the throne room.
"We've won Your Majesty. The usurper is at your mercy and Arcalen has fallen. The Purists are finished," Lord Pelendur said.
Arvedui's eyes remained fixed on the Oakenseat, a legendary throne, carved from a living oak tree, supposed planted by the legendary Garth Greenhand.
"The war is not quite over yet. Hyarmenna remains defiant and Argeleb's sons remain at large there. Yet for the most part the war is over."
Turning back to his lords and commanders, Arvedui proclaimed, "Rejoice my lords and celebrate. Through perseverance and valour, we have prevailed over our foes and the end of the war is nigh. Yet for my own part, the name of 'Last King' no longer befits me."
"My throne was fought for with the sword. I will no doubt wield Narsil many more times in the many wars I will have to fight in my reign. I have been doomed to live by the sword through no fault of my own and so I shall for the sake of my people and kingdom. From this day forth, I shall be Arvegil, a man of war to lead in these dark times, a sword against the foes that dare take up arms against us now that our golden age has come to an end," Arvedui declared as he sat upon the Oakenseat.
"Long live King Arvegil!" Prince Earendil exclaimed and all present chorused after him.
Arvedui, no Arvegil had been victorious, yet he wondered if the price he paid had been worth it.
"I heard you got yourself a new name," Argeleb said to his cousin as he entered his cell.
"I certainly will not be the last king of Arnor anymore so it only makes sense that I change my name," Arvedui replied.
"Royal Sword, how fitting a name for a king who won his throne by the sword," Argeleb said mockingly.
"Only because I was forced to. By all the laws of succession, my ascension should never have been contested," Arvedui rebuked with more than a little venom in his voice.
"Was it worth it?" he asked his long estranged cousin.
"Any answer I give would be tainted by the fact that I lost would it not? But if you really want me to answer… then no. I think I knew even back at Morlond that the war wasn't worth it anymore, I just refused to see it."
"I see. And all for a war you lost the moment you failed to take Annúminas. Your memory is forever tainted. History will not be kind to you, it will remember you as worse even than Cirion. You would be a traitor, a usurper, a murderer of prisoners, and the fool who weakened our kingdom enough to let the Dornish and Valyrians attack us and bring an end to our Golden Age. Yet in the end it shall be I and not you who will be the kinslayer," Arvedui said softly.
"You have two choices, one last mercy from me, the cousin you betrayed. The first, you die by my hands tomorrow, your head cut off by Narsil," Arvedui told Argeleb.
"And the second?" he asked.
Arvedui removed a small glass bottle, filled with a clear liquid, from his pocket and placed it on the dungeon floor in front of Argeleb.
"How generous of you. I would have thought that you would have been far more wrathful. Did I not kill the Anárionath?"
"I cannot truly lay the blame for that at your feet. Men die in battle, it is known. We will all die someday," Arvedui answered almost indifferently.
"You can keep your mercy to yourself," Argeleb spat out as he threw the bottle at the ground, smashing it to pieces. "Behead me yourself if you have the balls to do it."
Arvedui's face remained stone cold, impassive and unfeeling. Not a single hint of unease at the idea of killing his cousin.
"As you wish," he said nonchalantly as he locked the prison cell and left Argeleb alone to stew in his regret and misery.
"Will you mourn me Cousin?" Argeleb called out after him, needing to know.
"No," Arvedui answered.
His cousin was dead to him, had been dead for years now. Yet somewhere in the depths of his heart, Arvedui allowed himself to mourn the cousin he had once loved.
A long time ago, Argeleb had been his closest friend. He had been his idol, almost like a big brother to him. Arvedui had wanted nothing more than to be like him. Argeleb had been his mentor, the man who had taught him how to hold a sword, how to fight. In some ways it had been Argeleb that had taught him how to be a man.
There was once that Arvedui would have thought him the last person to betray him, but those days had long since passed.
At noon the next day, Arvedui beheaded Argeleb. His head was mounted on a spike above the gatehouses of the castle and his body was unceremoniously thrown into the Mander River for the fish to feast upon. A fitting end some would say for a traitor and usurper.
When I was born, a greenseer prophesised to my mother and father and told them that I would be the last king of Arnor unless the Dúnedain made the choice that was less hopeful.
That prophecy came true almost five years now when the people of Annúminas refused to surrender my family and I to the usurper. I will forever be grateful for their loyalty.
It is an honour and privilege to be graced with the Kingship of this great land and its people. My crown was bought with blood, my throne fought for with swords. I will repay my debt to my people who chose and fought for me as their king. From now on I will be a sword to defend my people and bring ruin to all their enemies.
I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend. It is Arnor that they defend. It is Arnor that I now will defend.
Yet for too many years now our great kingdom has been split. Lines of division drawn based on the 'purity' of our blood. These things matter little and less. Few now can claim to have not a single drop of the Blood of Númenor flowing through their veins and those that do are no less our people, no less loyal to our kingdom.
Dúnedain, Tergil, Casterrim. These terms matter not anymore. We are all of us the scions of Númenor, be it by blood or by culture, and from this day forth we are one nation, one people, one race. We are Arnorian. And by the power vested in me as King, I proclaim the Kingdom of Arnor anew!
- King Arvegil's Proclamation of Unity
The sun was setting on Hyarmenna when the Purist Fleet sailed out to sea. The Loyalist army was at the walls and the treacherous Hightowers had betrayed them and opened the gates.
It mattered not however to Arantar, eldest son of Argeleb III, Rightful King of Arnor. He had always known that Hyarmenna would fall. Yet it was in the sea that their salvation would be found.
Even now, at the end of the war, the Loyalists had no ships with which to truly contest their control of the seas. And though they had lost for now, they would rise again.
One province in particular would be their home until the time came that the rightful heirs of Elendil once more sat upon his throne. Angren would be safe from the mainland until they had the strength to return and Tarondor's Iron Fortress would never fall. They would grow stronger and more powerful with every year, waiting until the time was right to strike. For what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger.
Author's Note: So ends the Kin-Strife. Stay tuned for Annals of Kings III but be warned that it may not be coming for a while. It always takes a while for me to write Annals.
Just for reference, in-universe, "What is dead may never die…. etc," is an unofficial motto of the Arnorian Iron Fleet. It's a reference to canon and also to the residual Ironborn culture still in the Arnorian-ruled Iron Islands.