The Council of Mardil
It was but a few days before the Yuletide feast, yet there was not a soul from Minas Tirith to Dol Amroth who looked toward the celebration with customary joy. For Earnur son of Earnil had disappeared from the lands of living Men, and a King no longer sat upon the throne of Gondor.
At first, the people had been merely curious about Earnur's solitary ride into the East. It soon became known by gossip that he had crossed the Anduin on the Harlond ferry on the eve of the first of November, vowing to return at dawn of the next day. But he had not returned that day, nor the day after, nor the day after that. And as days stretched into weeks and then months, the puzzlement of the citizens grew into alarm, and then fear. When news came that the ancient White Tree of the Fountain Court had suddenly withered and died, the fear of the people was inflamed into outright panic. Riots had begun to break out in the cities as angry citizens demanded the return of their King, and Steward Mardil had to declare martial law and deploy soldiers in the streets to maintain order. Yet the citizens were sullen and fearful, uncertain of their future now that their realm no longer had a rightful monarch.
That was only the beginning of Gondor's troubles; for while Earnur was childless, and had no living close relations, yet there were many amongst the nobles of Gondor who could claim some ancestry from Anarion the First King, albeit none according to the right of primogeniture. As Earnur's absence waxed ever longer, and the people began to become ever more fearful that he might not return, those nobles who felt they could stake a claim to the throne began to form their plans, and maneuver against each other in a struggle for power that all knew might swiftly escalate into civil war.
Mardil, determined to prevent Gondor from turning against itself when it was beset by external enemies on all sides, had shrewdly realized that decisive action was needed to forestall a crisis. While issuing bribes or threats to squelch the more dubious claimants, he had summoned the leading contenders to a conference in the Citadel of Minas Tirith. There they would determine by reason and consent, rather than violence and force, who should sit upon the Throne of Gondor in the absence of the rightful King.
Thus, Mardil now sat at the round marble table that occupied the onyx-pillared Council Room, with those four Men who could most plausibly claim the strongest descent from the line of Anarion. These were Guilin, the Lord Mayor of Pelargir; Caranthir, the Prince of Dol Amroth; Elurin, the Duke of Lossarnarch; and Hathol, the Baron of Lamedon.
"The meeting will come to order," said Mardil solemnly, sweeping his sable cloak over his shoulders. "I thank all of my lords for their graciously accepting my invitation, and attending this Council. Here, may the Valar be willing, reason and good sense shall prevail. I remind you that I am merely the Chair of the Council, placing the good offices of the Steward at your disposal as an honest broker and mediator. It is up to you, gracious lords, to decide for yourselves which of you most deserves to sit on the Throne of Gondor, until the King returns."
"Until the King returns?" asked Elurin, a tall, broad-shouldered man of middle years with lanky brown hair, dressed in plain robes of green cloth. "And what prospect is there of that?" he continued. "If any of us thought that Earnur would return from his solitary venture into the East, surely none of us would be sitting here at this table, debating who should take his crown from him."
"With respect to my lord Elurin, I have questions regarding Earnur's fate before I formally stake my claim for the Throne," exclaimed Caranthir. He was a tall, lean man with auburn hair, green eyes, a youthful mein, and a strikingly handsome face; indeed it was rumoured that his great-grandmother had been a Sylvan Elf. He leaned gracefully in his high-backed ebon chair, smoothed a crease in his flowing azure robes, and continued; "In particular, a satisfactory account of Earnur's motives for journeying into the East has not been made to me, Steward Mardil, nor I daresay to any of us. What did Earnur seek to accomplish? Surely you would know what he was about, if any Man does. And if we know Earnur's motives, then perhaps we can understand why he has not yet returned."
"I know this much," sighed Mardil, "though all of you must swear to keep secret what I tell you; at least until a new King has been agreed upon." He stared somberly at each of them, and then said, "Earnur rode alone to Minas Morgul, to fight a duel one-on-one against the Witch King."
Exclamations of shock and disbelief filled the room, as the nobles took in this harrowing news. "I tried," continued Mardil, raising his hand in a gesture for the others to be silent, "to dissuade him from this folly, but he was as a Man possessed. We know not with certainty Earnur's fate; however, there is every reason to fear the worst. The death of the White Tree in its Fountain Court, which you surely noted for youselves as you entered the Citadel, is surely a fearful augur with regard to Earnur that cannot be gainsaid. I hope with all my heart that Earnur returns to us, alive and well; but, my hopes cannot be sustained by reason. All of us must accept what seems to be the bitter truth, as the basis on which to proceed."
There was a grim silence for some moments. Then Guilin, a grey-bearded man of many years, pulled his fur-trimmed cape more tightly about his spare frame, and said, "Are we sure he is not being held hostage by the Morgul Lord? Surely the King of Gondor would be a valuable prize to him."
"And with what would we ransom Earnur?" replied Mardil. "Riches? I doubt the Witch King can be bribed with coins from our treasury. Slaves? He has slain all his captives mercilessly; he seeks our destruction, not our mere servitude. Our kingdom itself? We have neither authority nor inclination to surrender it for the sake of a single man, even if that man is our sovereign. But in any case, if Earnur yet lived, and a ransom was sought, then where is the ransom note? We must surely face the facts, gentlemen, however unwelcome they appear to us."
"Unwelcome indeed," smiled Hathol, a thick-set man dressed in heavy dun-coloured robes. He had been a manorial lord on a country estate until the Black Plague had slain his cousin, the former Baron of Lamedon, and all the Baron's close relations. Plucked from obscurity to sit on a throne of carven silver and feast in the great hall of a marble-walled palace, Hathol yet retained the shrewdness and crude manners of the peasants amongst whom he had spent much of his youth.
"Admit it, gentlemen," he exclaimed, "we all know Earnur has snuffed it; and not one of us is upset. We all want his Throne for ourselves; aye, and his palace, and his treasuries, and his estates, and all the fair maidens who'll look on us with a willing eye once we're the King of Gondor, even if mad Earnur spurned their advances. Perks of the job, eh? So let's stop ambling about, and get to the point. Who is to be King, and why has he more right than any of the rest of us?"
The others stared at him silently, while Mardil frowned in disapproval of his distasteful remarks. Then Caranthir said, "That's precisely the problem. Earnur's close relatives save his father all perished in the Black Plague, leaving us only to claim his Throne. Are not the four of us all Earnur's second cousins once removed? Indeed we are, and since all of us are related to him in the same degree, none has more right by virtue of descent from Anarion than does any other."
"I claim the right," said Guilin, thrusting forth his grey-bearded chin, "by virtue of my many years. Age and wisdom ever take precedence over youthful eagerness."
"We're looking for a King, not a schoolmaster," smirked Elurin. "As for myself, I held a post in the civil service of Minas Tirith for many years, before inheriting my title as Duke. I claim the Throne by right of my administrative skill."
"Now it is my turn to say that we are looking for a King, and not a bureaucrat," smiled Caranthir, and the others broke into laugher – save Elurin, who fell into a sulk.
"Speaking for myself," said Caranthir smoothy, "I claim the Throne by virtue of the ennoblement of my bloodline with Elven ancestry but a few generations ago; for the Half Elven have ever been known as the only rightful Kings amongst Men."
"Your Half Elven-blood makes you more than half a foreigner, to my mind," scowled Elurin. "You don't belong at this table at all." Caranthir glared fiercely at him, and seemed prepared for a stinging riposte.
Hathol then interjected, declaring, "I claim the Throne by virtue having every Man of Lamedon who can wield a pike or spear ready to stand by me through thick or thin. And claim it I will, by hook or by crook."
The others fell silent, and Mardil frowned deeply at him. "That," said Mardil coldly, "is precisely the sort of attitude that is unwelcome here, Baron Hathol. As Chair, I will not permit any threat of violence to be uttered at this Council."
"Then this may be a short Council," grunted Hathol, "and the matter best decided elsewhere, and by more direct means."
Mardil rose to his feet, about to issue a stern rebuke to the Baron of Lamdeon, when he was interrupted by a guard opening the polished ebon doors of the chamber. "Forgive me, my lord," said the guard, "but you have a visitor."
"What are you talking about, man?" cried Mardil, his patience seemingly exhausted by the grim course the Council had taken thus far. "I forbade any interruptions, save on matters of the utmost urgency! Tell whoever it is to cast himself into the Anduin!"
"Come come, my good steward," replied the tall figure who then strode through the doors and into the Council chamber. "A swim in the Anduin would be most unpleasant at this time of the year. Besides, I'm sure you'll find me a useful addition to this little meeting."
"Curunir the White!" gasped Mardil. "You're alive! And well! You have not been seen in these lands for seventy-six years, not since you tutored me in my youth. From whence did you come, and with what purpose?"
"Indeed, Curunir is my name in these parts," smiled Saruman, who stood garbed in robes of brilliant white, and bore an ebon staff in his slim hand.
"Who the devil is this gangly fellow?" scowled Hathol. "Tell him to begone, Steward. We don't need strangers in a Council of State."
"Peace!" cried Saruman, his dark eyes glinting for a moment. Hathol seemed about to reply, yet suddenly fell silent, and all the members of the Council stared at the White Wizard expectantly.
"I was a friend of Gondor long before you were even imagined, Hathol son of Hador," replied Saruman evenly. "I have journeyed long in the East, and learned many things of great import – though I fear I cannot discuss them at the moment. But it appears I have arrived not a moment to soon, for sadly Gondor has fallen on hard times during my absence. And now you are even without a King."
"Your wisdom is most welcome at this table, my lord Curunir," said Mardil. He ordered the guard to bring an extra chair for Saruman and then close the doors, and the guard did so. Saruman leaned his staff against the wall and took his seat at the table, graciously accepting a crystal goblet of white wine from the Steward. He sipped at it delicately, nodded approvingly, and then turned to the Men assembled before him.
"So, my friends," he smiled, in a deep, mellow voice the echoed against the walls of the chamber, "you all seek to be King! My, my. Men have ever desired powered above all else, it seems."
"It is not only our own desire for…I mean, it is not at all a mere desire for power that has led us here," Guilin exclaimed, while Hathol grinned knowingly. "Gondor must have a King!" continued Guilin. "How else shall she survive in the face of so many enemies who seek her ruin?"
"Ah! Naturally," replied Saruman, with a curious smile on his white-bearded face. "Clearly, the Men of Gondor, heirs of proud Numenor, are such children they cannot manage their affairs without a father to hold their hands." The nobles sat back in their chairs, shifting uncomfortably, but Saruman turned his dark gaze upon Mardil.
"Tell me, Steward," inquired Saruman. "Have you consulted the book of the law, regarding the succession to the Throne?"
"Of course," nodded Mardil.
"And what does it say?" asked Saruman.
"None of the nobles present have any stronger claim to the Throne than any of the others," replied Mardil. "Hence we are at an impasse, unless we can reach a consensus as to why one of them should be King."
"But that is not the whole of the law, is it, Steward?" chided Saruman gently. "Come, my friend, tell these fine gentleman what is already known to you. Is it not the case that there is another Man who has a stronger claim to the Throne than any present?"
"What?" exclaimed Elurin, while the others glared at Mardil. "Is that true?" continued Elurin. "What sort of game are you playing at, Steward?"
"It is – technically true," replied Mardil uncomfortably. "I have not invited him here, partly because I am not sure exactly where he is, and partly because I was unsure how your lordships would react if he were at this table."
"We'd be no more displeased with you than we are now," scowed Hathol. "Who is this fellow, and why should he be ashamed to show his face to us, or you to invite him here?"
"Well," replied Mardil diplomatically, "the law of the succession in Gondor is the same as that of fallen Numenor, from whence it is derived. It is based on the principle of primogeniture as articulated by the Numenoreans, not on simple blood inheritance."
"We all know that," snapped Elurin. "Get to the point."
"The point," replied Mardil, "is that the line of primogeniture descending from Anarion has failed. But Anarion was not King of Gondor by his own right. He was appointed as such by the High King Elendil, whose own claim to the Kingship through the Lords of Andunie from Tar-Minyatur was possible only with the extinguishment of the Royal House of Numenor during the cataclysm that destroyed our ancestral homeland."
Mardil paused. "Because the line of Anarion – the line of primogeniture, that is, not of blood descent – is extinguished, the Throne of Gondor reverts to Elendil; and he being deceased, it reverts to his other son, and Co-regent of Gondor during his lifetime, Isildur."
Mardil paused again, as the nobles turned pale, and began to shift in their seats.
"And since Isildur is desceased," concluded Mardil, "the line of primogeniture must be traced down the generations to Isildur's Heir; and that is Aranarth, son of Arvedui, Lord of the Dunedain of the North. And as you doubtless know, Aranarth is also more recently descended from the line of Anarion through his maternal ancestry, which some might view as a reinforcement of his claim through the paternal line." He swallowed audibly. "In any case, as a technical matter of law, Lord Aranarth is by right the King of Gondor as we speak."
There was an appalled silence, as the nobles took in the implications of what they had heard. Then Hathol cried, "Are you trying to tell me none of us present has the right to claim the Throne of Gondor at all?"
"That would seem the obvious implication," replied Caranthir wryly.
"Peace, my friends!" replied Saruman gravely. He turned again to Mardil. "So Lord Aranarth is the rightful King of Gondor. Dear, dear, that is indeed unwelcome news to you ambitious gentlemen, is it not?"
There was a strained silence, as he continued his remarks. "Well, surely the law is the law. Aranarth must be summoned to Gondor to claim the Throne, despite," – Saruman raised a sable eyebrow – "well, despite the difficulties that he met with, during his youth."
"By difficulties," fumed Elurin, "I take it you mean the loss of his own sovereign realm in the North, and the renunciation of his title as King of Arnor?"
"Well, there is that to consider, I suppose," replied Saruman with seeming reluctance.
"Consider?" sputtered Elurin. "The man lost his own Kingdom! His father led it into the grave, and then he himself buried it! Should Gondor be ruled by such a man as he?"
"Never!" cried Hathol, slamming his fist on the table. "Lamedon would secede from Gondor first, I promise you that."
"What? Do you threaten war then, Baron?" cried Guilin. "For the second time this day? I didn't travel all this distance from Pelargir at my age to listen to such talk!"
"Peace, gentlemen!" boomed Saruman, in a loud, clear voice that shook the walls of the room. Astonished by the power hidden within his slender frame, the nobles pulled away from him, chastened by his disapproving stare.
"Let us at least behave reasonably," chided Saruman, his voice now mellow once again. "No more threats and bluster if you please." He stared at each of them individually, and then smiled once again, the image of calm wisdom.
"So," he remarked, "it seems that your laws have led you to an impasse. The only Man who has a right to sit on the Throne of Gondor is unacceptable to you; yet it is also plain that none of you will ever consent to any of the other being made King. It is indeed a pity that your laws and traditions have placed you in such a predicament."
"Well, we must do something," replied Hathol sourly, still in an ill humor. "We cannot leave the Throne sitting empty."
"Can't you?" enquired Saruman innocently. "For that, gentlemen, is precisely what I propose you must do!"
"What?" they all gasped, astonished by the White Wizard's almost blasphemous remark.
"But there must be a King!" cried Guilin, his aged hands growing palsied in his agitation. "There must be a King, because…"
"Because what?" interjected Saruman, his face suddenly hard and shrewd. "Because it is written in some hoary old book? Because there always has been one? Because you can't imagine anything else?"
The others stared at him uncomfortably, as he continued pressing home his point. "Come, gentlemen," he insisted, "shall the dead rule the living? Will you be bound to a certain course, because of the wishes of Men who breathed their last ages before you were born? Leave the Elves to live in the past, my friends. You are Men, and must look to the future. You do not need a King to rule your fate."
"But why should we not wish to have a King?" frowned Elurin. "And who else is to rule the land of Gondor? Without no ruler, there will be chaos."
"You should not wish to have a King," replied Saruman, "for the reasons you and I have already stated. The Man who your law books say is King is nothing but a penniless Ranger. He is a vagabond of no account, living off the charity of his betters, who has never so much as set foot in Gondor in his life. And not one of you gentlemen shall become King, save that you first gain the victory in a civil war that would result in Gondor's final ruin. What good would it do any of you to seize the Throne, only to find Gondor so weakened that you could not resist the onslaught of the Morgul Lord? For mark my words; as soon as Gondor is bled dry by a war of brother against brother, he will strike at you, and strike hard."
Saruman stared at them meaningfully, to ensure that the point had sunk home. Satisfied, he then smiled, and continued, "Of course, your remark concerning the need for a ruler is well taken, my good Duke. Beyond any doubt Men require someone whom they can look to as an authority. But let reason and common sense prevail; necessity does not require that a Man must be barred from such authority, simply because the blood of such-and-such a Man who is long dead does not flow through his veins."
"That sounds most irregular to me," frowned Guilin. "But who shall exercise authority over Gondor, if not a Man of the Royal line?"
"Who has already exercised authority over Gondor these past two months, even though he is without a drop of royal blood in his veins?" replied Saruman triumphantly. "I propose that our mutual friend, the good Steward Mardil, shall rule the land in place of any King. He shall exercise the functions of the sovereign, without claiming his title or prerogatives. In this fashion you shall have order in the realm, and you shall keep the peace between the rival claimants to the Throne – for none of you four gentlemen shall have been bested by the others, and your honour shall be satisifed."
Mardil stared up suddenly, an astonished expression on his face. The nobles seemed equally surprised, as if the thought would never have crossed their own minds in a thousand years. Then Hathol stood to his feet, scowling darkly, and said:
"So that's your game, is it Mardil? This whole Council was a ruse, the purpose of which was to draw us up here to Minas Tirith, so that this Curunir, this scheming friend of yours, could deposit you on the Throne in our place, and use his fancy talk to fool us into meekly submitting? Well, by the Valar, I won't allow it! I'll…"
"You will sit down," interjected Saruman coldly, his dark eyes now hard and inscrutable, "and you will remain silent for the rest of this Council. My patience with your stupidity is exhausted, and it bodes ill for any Man to cross swords with Curunir the White."
Hathol glared at Saruman, as if ready to leap across the table and strike him. But as he stared into the midnight depths of Saruman's eyes, he suddenly felt his blood turn chill, and his legs collapsed beneath him. He fell into his chair and hung his head, like a dog that has been chastened by its master. The other nobles stared grimly at him, and exchanged alarmed glances with each other, before one of them finally found the nerve to speak again.
"No doubt your words are wise and fair, O Curunir the White," declared Caranthir. "But if I may make so bold, I do see one difficulty with what you have proposed. Whatever the merit of your criticism of the institution of royalty, or the practical elegance of your proposed solution to our dilemma, the people believe in Kings. They expect a King; nay, they demand one. What shall we say to them, when we tell them that Kings shall rule them no longer?"
"That is merely a matter of form and rhetoric, my good Caranthir," smiled Saruman. "The people will believe what they are told by their betters; namely, the five of you. This crisis was created by the departure of King Earnur, was it not? So tell the people that the Steward shall exercise the functions of the sovereign, until the King returns."
"But he won't return, surely," objected Elurin.
"An irrelevancy," replied Saruman smoothly, with a wave of his hand. "They will understand the principle that the Steward rules in place of the King, and shall do so for the time being. Eventually, they will accept the rule of the Steward by his own authority."
The nobles fell silent again. Then Mardil said, "It is a heavy burden that you would place on me, Curunir. I am most reluctant to shoulder it. But your solution is more practical than any other that has been proposed this day. If my lords will allow it, I will humbly accept the responsibility to exercise the functions of the sovereign, to maintain order within the realm, and defend our borders against our enemies – until, that is," he said with a smile, "the King returns."
"As Prince of Dol Amroth," replied Caranthir with a shrug, "I am prepared to accept your exercise of the sovereign's functions, Steward Mardil. You shall have the support of my House."
"It pains me," sighed Guilin, "to think that a Man without a drop of royal blood in his veins, being only of noble descent, should dare to sit on the Throne of the King of Gondor."
"I shall not sit on the Throne," replied Mardil solemnly. "I shall place my chair at its base only, and I will not lay hands on the Throne itself at all. Then all Men shall see that I exercise merely the powers of the sovereign, and not any of the prerogatives that are peculiar to those of his bloodline."
"Well, in that case," nodded Guilin after some moments, "I can support you as well, Steward. I am not entirely satisfied, but I cannot see any other feasible solution to our impasse. Pelargir shall stand behind you."
"You shall have the support of Lossarnach as well," pledged Elurin, quick to ingratiate himself with Mardil now that the tide had clearly turned in the Steward's favour.
"That is three of you spoken for," observed Saruman. "And what of you, Baron Hathol? Do not speak your reply, for I care not to hear your voice again. You may nod if you give your assent to the rule of Gondor by its Steward."
Without looking up, Hathol nodded briefly.
"Then it is settled," beamed Saruman, rising to his feet. "Let us proceed to the Throne Room forthwith! You may pledge your oaths to the Steward, and then you may inform the people of the wonderful news that Gondor once again has a ruler."
That day passed as Saruman had envisioned. First the black chair of the Steward was installed at the base of the Throne. Then Mardil took his seat in it, and one by one the nobles and dignitaries at Minas Anor filed before him, pledging their loyalty to the Steward of the House of Anarion.
When the receipt of these oaths was concluded, Steward Mardil and the courtiers then filed out across the Fountain court, past the dead husk of the White Tree, and towards the tall white tower that soared above the Citadel. Mardil gave the word, and a group of soldiers climbed the steps of that tower, at length hauling down from its battlements the Royal Standard of Gondor, with its seven stars and its crown surrounding an image of the White Tree on a field of sable. In its place they raised the banner of Mardil's own House; a pennant of plain cloth-of-silver. They then solemnly folded the Royal Standard, carrying it down the steps of the tower, for safe-keeping in the deepest vaults of the Citadel.
When these ceremonies were completed they filed down the steps to the sixth level of the Minas Tirith, where a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered, eager to know why the Steward's banner now flew from the highest tower of the Citadel. Mardil then issued a proclamation signed by all the nobles and officials declaring the Steward's status as ruler of Gondor and executor of the sovereign power in place of the King – until the King returned. Mardil ordered the proclamation to be circulated across the length and breadth of Gondor, declared that the Yuletide feast would serve as a banquet to honour the elevation of his status, and then dismissed the courtiers.
As Mardil strode back up the steps to the seventh level and approached the Fountain Court he was accompanied by Saruman, whose ebon staff clacked loudly on the tiles of the path that led to the remains of the White Tree. Mardil stopped briefly, staring at the sad remains of the sacred Tree, and then said:
"That went rather well, didn't it old friend?"
"Surely you didn't doubt that we would succeed," smiled Saruman. "I must confess that I enjoyed myself immensely. I do appreciate a bit of theater, now and again."
"I'm only glad you arrived some days ago, and not too late," confided Mardil. "Imagine if one of those vain and pompous peacocks sat upon the throne of Gondor right now, solely by virtue of an accident of birth? The fate of Earnur was enough to demonstrate what happens when the leader of the realm is chosen without any regard to his own merits. I did everything I could to keep that man on the path of reason; but he was obsessed, and in the end his obsession degenerated into madness. As you told me when you returned, some days ago, Gondor is better off without a man of his ilk at its head."
"Earnur was a valiant warrior," acknowledged Saruman. "And also my pupil, as were you. But alas, he never showed as much promise as you did. I always knew you were destined for greater things than him, and once again I am proven right."
"You are always right, it seems," nodded Mardil. "At least now Gondor shall no longer suffer under the rule of mad Kings and their pretensions and flummery; Kings who have led us into one disaster after another these past fifty years with their twaddle about star charts and divinations, and their fixations on false pride and chivalry and such. Sane and sober Men shall rule in their stead, and Gondor shall be the better for it. Still," he admitted, "strangely enough I admit to feeling a trace of melancholy, for beyond any doubt we have reached the end of an era."
"Indeed, the age of the Kings of Men is finished," observed Saruman. "For good or for ill. They played their part, but now their role in the story is at an end."
The White Wizard smiled serenely. "Now common Men, ordinary Men of decency and virtue such as yourself, Mardil, must rule their own fate; though guided, of course, by the hand of Wisdom."
"Ah, indeed your counsel would be invaluable to me, my old teacher!" exclaimed Mardil. "There are many things I would ask of you, if you can spare the time to aid me."
"Oh, I am sure I can," replied Saruman, his eyes gleaming with hidden mirth. "After all, there is no higher calling than to serve others."