Land of the King
Chapter 17: Traitor
Cirion
They had been riding for weeks. Cirion was well aware that by now, all of Arnor had been sent missives from Annúminas claiming that he had killed his father and attempted to usurp his brother's throne.
It mattered not though. For years, Earendur had shown Cirion favour in a way he had never shown either of his brothers. The Lords had seen it. Few could have seen the love between Cirion and his father and thought that he could have ever killed his father.
And Cirion was not without his own allies either. For years he had fought alongside his father. From the Misty Islands to Goldengrove, the armies of Arnor had seen Cirion standing beside his father, their king. Amlaith had never been there, and neither had Ostoher for that matter. Cirion had always been the most like his father, and with his death, the loyalty of the Arnorian armies would transfer to him. At least he hoped so.
As their party rode to the crest of the hill before them, Cirion saw it. Hope. The Tower of the Rising Moon stood before him. The white fortress of Minas Ithil, its cloud-white walls contrasting against the clear crystal blue waters of Lake Lhunael.
Minas Ithil had been the basing ground for their war against the Reach, and that had not been so long ago. A vast majority of the veterans of that war were still stationed in Minas Ithil, a perfect location from which they could control the newly annexed territories. Cirion had fought alongside and commanded those men, he had to believe they would side with him against a man they had never met.
Yet in the back of his mind, Cirion doubted their loyalty. Aye, he had fought with and commanded them in that war, but from the day they were born, loyalty to king and country was ingrained into the heart and soul of every Arnorian. Cirion was the second son, his elder brother, rightfully or not, was now the king. If Cirion asked them to, would these soldiers betray their country for him? Would they commit treason for him? Would they become traitors for him?
It is too late to turn back now. If I cannot gain the loyalty of Minas Ithil, my cause is lost anyway.
As they neared the walls of Minas Ithil, Cirion espied the great gates of the fortress opening, and a great host of riders sallied forth. Barely six hundred yards from the fortress, Cirion brought his party to a stop as he waited for the riders of Minas Ithil to intercept them. When they finally did so, their leader spoke in a loud voice, one familiar to Cirion.
"Who would enter the lands of Ithilien?"
Unbidden, his brother Ostoher answered, "Those who would have your allegiance. I am Prince Ostoher, third and youngest son of His Late Majesty, High King Earendur! I ride beside my brother, Cirion, the true High King of Arnor!"
At that the man said not for a while, seeming to Cirion as if to think, before replying.
"With the death of Earendur, would not the throne by right pass to Amlaith, and from him thence to his son Beleg? How can you claim for Cirion to be the King?"
"Before his death, our sire disinherited Amlaith on account of his irresponsibility. It is our belief that Amlaith acted to prevent this by killing the king. By the will of the late king, and by his own actions in becoming a kinslayer and traitor, Amlaith has proven himself unworthy and unfit to hold kingship over the Dúnedain and the rest of the people of Arnor."
The leader of the riders was swift to rebuke, "You say that Amlaith was the traitor, yet ravens have already flown to all Arnor, claiming that you are the traitors. Who are we to believe Prince Ostoher? Why should we not obey the king's command and hand you over to be given a traitor's death?"
Cirion finally spoke up, "I know your voice. Tell me Aratan, do you believe me to be a man capable of killing his own father?"
The leader of the riders removed his helm, revealing the face of Aratan of Minas Ithil, son and heir of Lord Celeborn, and a man Cirion had considered a friend, before his father had died. Aratan had been his lieutenant in the charge against the Goldenhand at Goldengrove and it hurt Cirion greatly to think that he could possibly believe he could ever have done something so grievous and accursed as kinslaying.
"Forgive me Cirion, you are right of course. I needed to be sure it was you before I said anything. None here believe the lies of Amlaith. All know you to be man, loyal and true, a man any of us would be glad to have as our king. When word came of your father's death, all in Ithilien mourned his passing and when your brother's accusations came, none believed it."
Dismounting from their horses, Aratan and all his men knelt before Cirion, "The allegiance of Minas Ithil is yours, Your Majesty. Even if no other would stand with you, Ithilien will rise for the rightful king."
"You honour me with your oath, Aratan. Where then is your lord father?"
"He would not see reason Your Majesty. It is my shame to say that my father believed the lies of the Traitor and would have handed you over. I and all other loyal men could not stand for such treason and confined him to his quarters. I am now the acting Lord of Minas Ithil."
"And now you are the Lord in truth as well," Cirion said, stunning Aratan.
"My king…?"
"As my first act as King, I deem Lord Celeborn as disloyal to the oaths he swore and strip him of all lands, titles and incomes, to be passed to his son and heir, Aratan, effective immediately. Rise Lord Aratan, as Lord of Minas Ithil and Ithilien."
"You honour me, Your Majesty. What is to be done with my father?"
"I would not ask you to become a kinslayer old friend. His fate I leave to you, be it the Wall or house arrest for the rest of his life."
"Thank you, my king."
"No, thank you, Lord Aratan, for your honour and loyalty."
Their oaths sworn and accepted, Lord Aratan and his men then escorted their chosen king and his party into the fortress of Minas Ithil, where they were welcomed with cheers.
The next morning, Cirion, Ostoher and Aratan gathered in the council room along with the generals and captains of the Southern Army, stationed at Minas Ithil.
"What news of the rest of Arnor?" Cirion asked.
"There is a mix of news, both good and bad. The Misty Islands have declared for you Your Majesty, as have Amon Sul and Crakehall. The majority of the Southern Army has also joined us. However, Minas Anor has not stirred, and half the realm with them. Angrenost, Castamere, Faircastle, Fornost, the Crag, and Dol Amroth have all declared for Amlaith."
"In other words, we are outnumbered. Badly," Cirion said.
"Aye Your Majesty."
"What of the lords to the south? Houses Osgrey, Oakheart, and Rowan among others?"
"With all due respect Your Majesty, they are more like to rebel than give any support to you. The war must end quickly, lest the Reach entertain ideas of reclaiming the lands your father annexed."
The meeting continued for hours after that. Four major territories had risen for Cirion. Four against his brother's six and the vast majority of the Royal Army.
Yet Cirion's cause was not hopeless. Minas Ithil alone was powerful enough to allow him to stand against Amlaith, and his brother was not yet secure on the throne. Yet perhaps even more important than Minas Ithil was the support he had garnered from Arnor's Southern Army. These soldiers were battle hardened and experienced, the veterans of no less than two wars, far better in Cirion's opinion, than the inexperienced northern forces at his brother's disposal and they were fiercely loyal to Cirion. He had a further advantage, Amlaith had commanded a fortress, but Cirion had commanded armies in war. That experience was nothing to scoff at.
Half of Arnor had not risen, and they were like to sway to whichever side was winning more. And Cirion believed he could convince them to join him, after he had won a few battles.
After the war council ended, Cirion ordered all the lords and captains out of the room so he could speak to Ostoher alone. As he stared at the map and pieces on the table, he asked his brother a question.
"Do you think we can win this?"
"Yes," came his reply. Short but full of confidence.
"Dol Amroth has joined Amlaith. So has Castamere, Faircastle and many others."
"And yet there are many more who have not. I know you Cirion, you came to the same conclusion I did. We can win by convincing the recalcitrant houses to support us. Prove the righteousness of our cause with victory on the battlefield."
"You know me well Ostoher. Aye, that is the plan. Yet of all those who have not declared for anyone, Minas Anor is greatest. How do you think the dithering House of Anárion would enter the fray?"
"Marriage. Either to you or to Beleg. But they are reluctant to join any conflict lest their power be limited."
Cirion was thoughtful hearing his brother's words. "A daughter of Anárion as Queen, long have they desired such a boon."
Minas Anor was the single most powerful fief yet to declare for either claimant. Whoever won their allegiance may very well win the war. And the Lord of Minas Anor knew this as well. He was not likely to give his support for anything less than his daughter as Queen, and even then only to the winning faction.
Yet it was not just victory on the battlefield that would win him this war. Cirion needed to win the hearts and minds of the people as well. Right now, most of Arnor had heard only the story that he was a traitorous kinslayer. If Cirion was to have any chance of victory, he needed to convince them of the truth and refute Amlaith's accusations.
"Ravens must be sent to all corners of the realm. We must tell our story Ostoher, we have to reveal the truth. I will need you to help me. My word alone may not be enough, but with you with me, I think we could persuade the people to our side."
Ostoher agreed, "Of course brother."
Yet Cirion was not done, "When you sign those letters, you will sign them not as prince alone, but as Steward to the True High King as well."
"You're naming me Steward?"
"I trust you more than any other Ostoher. I can think of no one else I would have as my right hand"
And so the months passed. Ravens flew back and forth over Arnor, waging a war of words even as swords and ships clashed, shedding the blood of Númenor and watering the ground. The Realm-in-Exile fell into the embrace of civil war, neither side being able to truly defeat the other. Word had even come of rebellion in the far south by the newly conquered lords. Of the way Gawen Gardener marched into Southern Arnor, greeted as a liberator.
For a little while, all of Arnor had been united in their fury against the Reach for their seizure of King Earendur's hard-won lands. Yet the Queen Dowager Idril's hope that her sons would put aside their enmity to unite against their common foe proved a futile one, for soon they were back to lambasting and warring against each other, and now they were saying the other was guilty of weakening Arnor.
Yet little by little, Cirion's armies pushed northwards, moving ever closer to Annúminas. All he needed now was one decisive victory, to fully tip the balance. If he could secure that victory, Amlaith would be defenseless before him, and all the neutral lords would be tripping over their feet to join him.
Before Cirion knew it, the 1158th year since Elendil's Landing arrived, and in the second month of that year, his army was encamped within half a hundred miles of the capital, like a sword to his brother's throat. It had been hard and bloody fighting their way here, but soon they would be in position to lay siege to Annúminas itself.
Yet deep down, Cirion wondered if he could truly conquer Annúminas. Never had he thought the day would come when he would have to ever attempt such a thing. From a young age, Annúminas had always been impregnable and indomitable in his eyes. How could it not have been? Was it even possible to breach the indestructible outer walls? And even if he did so, could he then proceed to break through all seven levels of the city and seize the citadel of Amon Erain? Cirion was not sure. He could not be sure even if he had a million men. Giants would be of no aid, even if Cirion could convince them to abandon Amlaith for him, for not even they could damage the black stone of Númenor in any way.
And he could not starve it out either. Putting aside the obvious fact that it would be a bad start to his reign to starve his capital into submission, Cirion had not the naval ability to blockade Annúminas's port. Most of the Royal Navy had joined Amlaith and supplies and reinforcements could be ferried into the city with ease. Furthermore, most of Amlaith's power base laid north of Annúminas, and by now, were sure to have fortified the city like never before in history.
It was these concerns that had kept Cirion up awake in his tent, long after his army had taken to sleep that night. As he paced up and down his tent, trying to find a way to take Annúminas, be it by force or by treachery, he was interrupted by one of his guards.
"Forgive me, Your Majesty, but there is someone who wishes to meet with you."
"Turn them away, I gave orders that I was not to be disturbed."
"…They are claiming to be the Queen Dowager, Your Majesty."
Surprised, Cirion ordered the guard to let them in. He would confirm their identity himself. He was shocked to see his mother when she entered. She looked tired, and old. Her hair, once as black as the feathers of a raven, was now streaked with locks of storm grey. Her eyes were haggard and worn, and a shadow laid beneath them. She had clearly been very stressed, and perhaps even crying.
It broke Cirion's heart to see her like this, but he also dared to hope that his mother had come to join him.
"Mother! Why are you here? I cannot believe that Amlaith would have let you come," he said as he embraced her joyfully.
His mother's response was curt, "Amlaith did not give me permission to come."
Cirion grew excited at that, "Have you come to join me then? I know it could not have been easy for you to accept the truth, but I am glad to see that you realised the truth."
His mother's face was pained and bitter, "No Cirion. I have come to convince you to put aside this folly of yours. Surrender now, there is still time. You can still save many lives, and Amlaith will show mercy, I promise."
Cirion grew wroth, upending a table, he shouted at his mother, "What nonsense is this? Has Amlaith convinced you of his lies? He killed Father! How can you stand there and ask me to surrender to my Father's killer!? Did you not have any love for him whatsoever!?"
His mother slapped him. Hard. His face stinging, Cirion turned to face his mother, whose anger had now grown to rival his.
"How dare you! How dare you accuse me of such a thing!? Did you never stop to realise that I am here because Amlaith is innocent? Or are you too far gone to care?"
Suitably humbled, Cirion looked down, before realising what his mother had said.
"What do you mean Amlaith is innocent?" he asked, confused.
His mother's eyes softened. She withdrew a scroll from her coat, and unrolled it. Cirion recognised it as his father's disinheritance edict.
"How was that not burned?"
"Because it was false. Tis a good fake, very, very good. Yet I knew your father far longer than you did Cirion, and I know full well that he would never have disinherited Amlaith and he would never have written this."
"But, but that is his handwriting! And he had threatened Amlaith with disinheritance only the night before!"
"It does look like his writing, but I guarantee you it is not. And he would have had no time to write it that night, because I know for a fact that he retired to bed right after our argument that night. He never went to his solar at all, Cirion."
Cirion's world was spinning. Could his mother be right? Yet if she was, it meant that he had allowed himself to be manipulated, it meant that Cirion himself, not Amlaith was the traitor. He would have to live with the knowledge that he had betrayed his king and country, had allowed himself to be led by his ambitions, if he was even allowed to live that is.
His mother's next words ended his world entirely. Cirion's jaw dropped open, his eyes wide in shock. Surely his mother had not said that? She had not even suggested it? How could it even be possible? There was no way the person she named had killed his father, right? Right!?
"I know you don't want to believe it Cirion. I did not either, but all the evidence points to it. He paid for the poison in your father's cup that night, arranged for the forgery of a fake document. It is him, no matter how much both of us may want to deny it. Confront him yourself if you don't want to believe it. I guarantee you will be disappointed and your heart will only break further," his mother said, her voice breaking, tears falling from her eyes.
A few hours later, Cirion called his brother and Steward to his tent. Their mother had broken down crying, and Cirion had arranged for her accommodations. He needed to share his new information.
Ostoher walked into his tent, clearly annoyed at have been roused from his sleep, but as the loyal Steward he was, he had answered his king's call.
"You summoned me, Cirion?"
"Yes, forgive me for waking you from your slumber Ostoher. There are matters of great import to discuss. Our mother is here, Ostoher."
His brother grew excited, "She is!? Has she seen the truth? When can I see her?"
Cirion smiled sadly. Ostoher had always been the closest to their mother. It was no surprise he would be excited to see her, especially if she had come to join them.
"Not now, Ostoher, she is very tired from her journey. She came without Amlaith's permission you know. However, she did bring information with her, information which could change the war entirely. She claims that Amlaith is innocent of killing our father."
"But how? You and I both saw the evidence! Who does she say it is? The Reach? They have surely benefited the most from tearing Arnor apart in civil war. Yet I would be stunned to hear they had the ability to do such a thing."
Cirion laughed bitterly, "No, no it is someone far far closer to us than the Reach. And it is not any Arnorian lord either."
Taking a deep breath, Cirion continued, "The person she claims to have killed our father, is you, Ostoher."
Ostoher looked stunned. Yet whether he was stunned by the accusation or stunned that he was found out, Cirion did not know.
"So tell me please, Ostoher. Tell me it isn't true. Tell me you didn't kill our father." Cirion said, his voice pleading and broken.
The look in his brother's eyes told Cirion all that he needed to know.
Author's Note: Sorry for the two-week hiatus, I had mock exams and was not really in the mood to write. Also sorry I glossed over the war but I never planned to write about the war anyway.
