Land of the King
Chapter 16: Brothers
Cirion
He had never run as fast before. Not even on the field of battle had he run as fast as he was now.
It was just a jest right? A cruel heartless jest. After all, there was no way his father was truly dead right? He was going to turn the corner just like always and find his father alive and well, and then he was going to give him a piece of his mind for scaring him like that, right? Right!?
It was just a short way from his own chambers to his father's, yet to Cirion, the run felt like an eternity. When he finally reached his father's chambers, he threw open the doors and entered.
His father lied on the bed, peaceful, almost like he was sleeping. Yet, Cirion could not see the rising of his breaths, and his skin was too pale. Even so, he did not want to believe it.
His mother sat on the bed beside his father's body, crying as she caressed his father's face. Both of his brothers were there, as was Amlaith's wife and son, Beleg. Hesitantly, he turned his gaze to Ostoher, asking for that last final confirmation. Ostoher nodded, his face grim with grief.
Cirion's knees buckled. He dropped to the ground in agony, the denial was fading, the truth setting in like a thousand needles through his heart.
He did not know how long he had been sobbing on that floor, when, as perhaps the kindest thing he had ever done for him, Amlaith gave him his hand, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Slowly, surely, Amlaith lead him to their father's side, so Cirion could look upon him and accept the cold, bitter truth. Earendur Falastur, High King of Arnor, was dead, leaving a wife and three sons behind.
Yet even as he cried next to his father's body, Cirion retained enough awareness of his surroundings to see Ostoher glaring at Amlaith before leaving the room. Knowing he needed to be there for him, Cirion tore himself away from his father to follow Ostoher.
He caught up to Ostoher in a corridor near their father's old solar. Cirion almost jumped when Ostoher slammed his fist against the white walls.
"Ostoher? Are you alright?"
"How can I be Brother? How can I be alright when our father is dead?" Ostoher answered, his voice almost breaking.
For a while they just stood there. The younger sons of their father, united in their grief. Cirion did not want to say anything in fear of upsetting his brother further.
"It was Amlaith," Ostoher said after a while, "I'm sure of it."
Cirion looked up at his brother in confusion. Surely Ostoher could not be suggesting what he was thinking?
"You can't believe- "
"I didn't want to at first either. Despite our differences, Amlaith is still our brother. Yet, Father was only 313. There's no way he died naturally. Tell me Cirion, who else has the ability and motive to kill our father!?"
Cirion struggled to answer. His mouth felt like ash. "The Reach could have done it."
Ostoher laughed, "The Reach? There's no way the Reach could have possibly done this. They don't have anywhere near the resources or capability to kill the High King of Arnor in his own bed. It had to have been someone in Arnor at least, if not Amlaith. Yet, who else could have done it? The Purists? They adore Father, he was their ideal king! And all the other lords wouldn't dare. It had to have been Amlaith!"
Ostoher's voice was becoming increasingly loud. Cirion, afraid that someone might hear his treasonous words, hushed his brother, "Quiet Ostoher!"
Looking around to make sure no one had been eavesdropping, Cirion continued, "We'll continue this elsewhere."
As he led his brother to a private room where they could converse unheard, Cirion struggled to reconcile his image of Amlaith with what Ostoher was accusing him of. Yes, he thought Amlaith to be often immature and undeserving of the throne, yet a kinslayer? Cirion had never once thought Amlaith capable of such a thing.
Are you sure about that?
His secret treasonous voice asked, disturbing Cirion yet again. Cirion brushed it aside, this was not the right time at all to think like that.
When they were alone, Cirion continued his questioning of Ostoher and his wild theory.
"Ostoher, Amlaith had a disagreement with Father over Fornost. Killing Father would ensure he could never return to Fornost as he wished."
"Not so much as you may think Brother, as King, Amlaith will have the authority to delegate all matters of state to his steward and reside in Fornost, using the Palantir to communicate with the capital. Who knows? Perhaps he might even move the capital there!"
Cirion made to answer, before he stopped. Ostoher's point made a lot of sense, yet to kill their father over the matter of Fornost? Cirion did not feel like defending Amlaith, yet there was no way he would do something like that, and he told him as such.
"I would agree with you Cirion, but I honestly think Amlaith had more than enough of a motive when you consider that Father was about to disinherit him."
What!?
"What are you talking about!?" Cirion demanded.
"Follow me."
Ostoher led him to their Father's solar and after a short search, took out a scroll of paper from a cabinet before handing it to Cirion.
Unrolling the paper, Cirion looked down at it, and almost dropped it in surprise when he read the words.
Looking to his brother he asked, "Were you there when it was written?"
Ostoher shook his head, "I believe it was written last night, but it could have been prepared a while back as well. I found it this morning, before word of Father's death spread. I had come to deliver some documents and saw it on the table. Knowing it was dangerous to have something like that out in the open, I kept it in the cabinet, intending to ask Father about it. That was when word came of his death."
Cirion looked down at the roll in disbelief. Written in his own father's hand (and he knew that handwriting very well), and signed at the bottom with his signature, was a decree disinheriting his elder brother Amlaith and his son Beleg after him, whilst simultaneously naming him, Cirion, as the King's Heir.
"There's no way that this is true. Father would never have disinherited Amlaith."
"You would think so brother, but Mother has told me that there have been many fights between Amlaith and our Father over various issues. Last night was not the first such argument."
"Yet, even assuming that this is true, how would Amlaith have known about it?"
"I… I don't know. Yet it is suspicious is it not?" Ostoher asked.
Cirion could not help but agree with him. It was highly suspicious that their father died right after a major argument with Amlaith. An argument in which Amlaith was threatened with disinheritance.
"I… I doubt Father was going through with it, but he might have tried to use it as a threat to force Amlaith to do his duty?" Ostoher pondered.
Yet as Ostoher wondered, Cirion was even deeper in thought. It was possible, it was a narrow window, but it was possible that their father had written the decree last night after their troublesome dinner, and then retired to bed. Exhausted from the fight, both with his eldest son and his wife after, he could have easily forgotten to keep the document in a safe location, free from prying eyes.
The more Cirion thought, the more suspicious things became. It was possible that it was not Amlaith, yet even if it had not been, this document named Cirion as heir, and with their father's sudden death, King as well. He doubted Amlaith would yield the throne without a fight. Yet, if Amlaith had truly been responsible, he could not stand by and let a kinslayer sit upon Elendil's White Throne.
"Ostoher, we must be discreet about this. Gather more evidence. Tell no one of what you have shared with me. An accusation like this could see us both dead."
A week later, at their father's funeral, Cirion watched Amlaith closely throughout the entire ceremony. On the outside he was the perfect picture of a mourning, dutiful son. Yet on the inside, Cirion wondered what he was truly thinking. Was he pleased that his plan had succeeded?
Cirion and Ostoher had spent the past seven days hard at work investigating and collecting evidence. First, Cirion had stored the document naming him heir in a safe false-bottomed drawer in his room. No one should know he had it, but he knew that if Amlaith had been aware of the document, he would be searching high and low for it.
Second, Cirion had confirmed with his Mother about Amlaith having had similar fights with their father in the past. She had told him that they had been fighting on the matter for many years and that in the past few years, his father had become increasingly desperate on wondering how he could discipline his errant firstborn. Yet as far as he could tell, she knew nothing of the disinheritance edict.
Thirdly, Cirion, as discreetly as possible, asked around and found that not only had his father gone to sleep early that night, but he had slept in a separate room than his mother, making it even easier for any assassin to get at him.
The weeks after the funeral had revealed even more damning evidences, many of them were circumstantial and coincidental, yet taken together? They became highly suspicious. Cirion soon became even more convinced that Ostoher's theory was true than Ostoher himself.
According to a guard schedule, the night his father died, there had been a shift of guards, around halfway through the night, and the guards that had replaced the previous shift had once served in Fornost under Amlaith. Furthermore, a number of servants reported hearing or seeing someone move inside the king's solar, but had thought it their imagination. While the latter was quite weak, Cirion knew the former was especially damning, yet who could he tell? Few would believe him, and he could find himself quickly silenced. He could not even openly interrogate many guards and servants in fear of alerting Amlaith.
Cirion would soon find out that his attempt at being discreet had failed. About three weeks after his father's death, Cirion had returned to his room to find the disinheritance edict missing. Panicked, he had begun searching his room frantically, thinking he had misplaced it after the last time he had viewed it, when suddenly he heard a loud rap on his door.
Opening the door, Cirion found ten armoured guards outside his door.
Their captain proclaimed, "By the order of His Majesty, you are under arrest Your Highness!"
"On what charges?" Cirion demanded.
"…Treason, Your Highness. More specifically, the murder of His Late Majesty, High King Earendur, and conspiracy to unlawfully usurp the throne."
Cirion felt enraged. Amlaith was accusing him of things he himself had done!? He had no doubts anymore, Amlaith was the true murderer, the true traitor.
Knowing he stood no chance, Cirion had been about to surrender when almost like a miracle, Ostoher came running with a small host of men, surprising his would-be arresters before spiriting him to safety.
Cirion could hardly believe it, Ostoher had come in the nick of time. As they rushed to the horses, he asked his brother how he had known to come.
"One of the servants overheard Amlaith giving the order, she came running to me when she heard. I gathered up as many loyal men as I could and came to your rescue with as much haste as we could. It seems Amlaith had wanted to keep your arrest quiet, because the rest of the Citadel Guards have not been alerted yet." Ostoher said as they rode out of the citadel of Amon Erain.
It was not long before their pursuers had given chase, but by then it was too little, too late. Yet Cirion knew their struggle had only just begun, the true challenge laid ahead. He would have to rally men to his cause without the very decree which would have enabled him to do this more peacefully. He cursed Amlaith in his head, his actions had doomed Arnor to civil war.
Dowager Queen Idril
The past few weeks had been stressful. Ever since her husband had died, Idril had felt so very alone. She regretted that her last conversation with Earendur had been an argument. It would haunt her until the end of her days.
In the past three weeks, Idril had been busy planning her husband's funeral and her son's coronation. She could not have known then, that her sons would soon be at each other's throats.
For a long time, she had always thought of her three sons with pride. Amlaith the eldest, her sweet stubborn son had once been the perfect prince, but he had not truly been happy. He had blossomed at Fornost, and though her husband had not seen it, it was at Fornost that Amlaith had truly learned how to rule.
And then there was her little knight, Cirion. Long had he idolized his father and looked up him, taking eagerly to all his lessons in an attempt to make him proud.
And last but not least, her favourite son, Ostoher. Mothers should not have favourites, yet if Idril was ever forced to choose one, she would honestly pick her youngest child. Whilst Amlaith had governed Fornost and Cirion had sat at his father's feet, it had been Ostoher who had spent the most time with her, and she had passed on to him her knowledge of court intrigue.
Yet despite her love for her sons, Idril was not blind to the animosity between them. Amlaith knew not how to interact with his younger brothers, and had eventually settled for ignoring them over unintentionally offending or hurting them. She had tried to tell him many times, but his neglect had only made them resent him. Soon it was too late, and she had cried herself to sleep a few times when she realised her younger sons disliked her eldest, and that there was nothing she could do about it.
The door to the room blasted open, interrupting the meeting she had been having with her eldest over his impending coronation. Outraged, she had made to reprimand the man who had interrupted them before her son had waved away her reprimands.
Idril swallowed her outrage. She was no longer Queen Consort, and her son clearly wished to hear what the man had to say.
"Forgive me Your Majesty, but your brothers, they've escaped!"
It was now Amlaith's turn to be outraged, "You incompetents! How could you have let them escape? They were just two men in a fortress of our soldiers!"
The man gulped, "They had help sire. Some of the guards joined them and aided in their escape."
Amlaith went silent.
"Get out of my sight. Do not come back until you have rounded up the families of each and every deserter and interrogated them!"
It was here that Idril felt the need to interject. "What do you mean the king's brothers have escaped? Tell me why my sons would need to escape the fortress they were born in?" she demanded from the man.
Amlaith cursed, "I forgot she was here."
"Go, do as I have told you, I will handle this," he ordered the man.
With a swift bow, the man left the room as quickly as he could, eager to get away from his temperamental royal lieges.
"Amlaith, answer me! Why have your brothers felt the need to escape Annúminas?"
Amlaith sighed and slumped into his chair, "Because they're guilty mother. I have found evidence suggesting that they mean to overthrow me, and that they were possibly even responsible for Father's death."
Idril was indignant, "Amlaith, you are a fool for thinking your brothers could possibly kill your father!"
"I thought so too Mother, but the evidence does not lie. They even went so far as to create this," he said, revealing a roll of paper.
Idril unrolled the roll and could not believe the words written there.
"This is impossible! Your father would not have disowned you!"
"Exactly my thoughts Mother, yet my brothers would have no doubt tried to use this against me."
"The writing is clearly fake. I knew your father well, his handwriting is nothing like that, yet I cannot believe your brothers made this document with the intent to usurp you!"
"Can't you Mother? Cirion clearly desires the throne. Oh, he thinks he can hide it well, but I have seen it in his eyes many times, seen the unadulterated greed in those eyes. I would not put it past him to do this," Amlaith said coldly, before he stomped out of the room.
Idril was left alone, looking down at the roll. It was a very convincing fake, and on first glance she had almost thought it to be genuine. Yet she had known her husband for centuries, she knew every single habit of his, every single mistake or quirk he had in his writing style. The forger had done a good job, but they could not trick her eyes into thinking this was her husband's writing.
Something was afoot here she feared. Someone was manipulating her sons into war against the other. Be it the Reach or some ambitious Arnorian lord, Idril had to get to the bottom of this mystery, before her sons dragged Arnor into civil war. Her greatest fear now was that her sons would end up killing each other on the battlefield.
She was Idril of the House of Anárion, Dowager Queen of Arnor, and she was now in a race against time to find her husband's true killer, before it was too late for Arnor.
Author's Note: Well that was a wild ride! Who do you think is Earendur's killer? Is it somehow the Reach? Some ambitious Arnorian lord? Or is Amlaith actually a kinslayer who has successfully convinced his mother he is innocent? Let me know what you think.
