Land of the King
Chapter 18: Truth
Cirion
"Keep your shield up, Ostoher, or I'll ring your head like a bell," Cirion told his young brother. In his efforts to train him into something passable as a warrior, Cirion had taken the effort to remove Ostoher from their mother's side that day and take him to the training yard. In Cirion's humble opinion, it was far past time for his younger brother's martial training to start and had begun drilling him a few weeks ago.
Despite his best efforts, Ostoher failed to defend against Cirion's next blow and ended up in the dirt.
"What's up with you? You aren't usually so distracted?"
"Brother Amlaith, he…he's here isn't he? Why is he ignoring me? Does he not care about me?" Ostoher asked, his face full of the innocence only a small child could have.
Cirion grimaced. Amlaith had indeed returned to Annúminas the previous day from Fornost. It had been for some meeting for another. Still, it did not excuse him for his negligence in Cirion's mind.
"Look, Ostoher," he sighed, "Amlaith is very 'busy' with all his duties and responsibilities and that sadly means he is either unable or unwilling to spend time with you. I was the same when I was your age. 'Why was Amlaith ignoring me?' I wondered. Yet, let me tell you. It doesn't matter. We can do our own things without Amlaith little brother. Mayhaps we are even better off without him around."
"What about Father then? He's doesn't spend much time with me either. Only you and Mother do."
Cirion thought for a while. That was a tougher question to answer.
"Father… is even more busy than Amlaith but don't blame him for that little brother, he is the king after all. Much depends on him."
He decided to avoid telling Ostoher that Father spent most of his free time with Cirion himself. He didn't want to make his little brother feel jealous. Nevertheless, feeling a little guilty, he endeavoured to convince their father to pay more attention to Ostoher, and as for Amlaith, well he could care less.
Despite his best attempts to reassure him, Ostoher's expression became increasingly downcast and troubled.
Close to crying, he whispered, "Do they not love me? Am I not important to them?"
Cirion knew he needed to act fast before Ostoher broke down in the yard. Mother would never let him hear the end of it. Without thinking, he wrapped his younger brother in a tight embrace.
"Hey, don't say that alright. Yeah, maybe you aren't that important to Father and Amlaith, and they can't bother spending time with you, but you know what? That is their loss. You are my amazing, smart, and adorable little brother, and even if no one else is there for you, I always will be. Never forget that."
Holding back his sobs, Ostoher choked out, "Do you promise?"
Cirion smiled at his brother, "I promise, even if the whole world turns against you, I will always have your back."
'Where did he go?' Cirion wondered to himself. What had happened to that sweet and innocent little boy, the same boy he had sworn to always love and protect?
As he stared into the remorseless eyes of his father's killer, Cirion wondered how long ago his little brother had died. Resisting the urge to vomit, he took a cup of water and chugged it down.
Ostoher's shocked expression morphed into a cruel savage smile, like he was tearing off the mask of the devoted little brother to reveal his true, twisted self.
"So Mother figured it out. I should have known. She taught me everything of course, I was foolish to think I could trick her."
Cirion choked. "Is that all you have to say!?" His eyes were blurring now, tears filling them and his vision growing darker.
"Well what do you want me to say Cirion? Did you want me to assuage your fears? Tell you it was a lie? Some falsehood perpetuated by Amlaith to drive a wedge between us on the eve of our glorious victory? I admit I did consider that, but I know when to concede my loss."
"Why!? Why would you do something like that?"
"Why? To be King of course. Oh I knew I needed to get rid of Amlaith and his annoying son as well. Helping you win a war against them would be perfect to disinherit Amlaith's line entirely, and then when you died mysteriously, I would be the dashing hero who avenged the treacherous murders of his father and brother by Amlaith the Kinslayer, becoming High King of All Arnor."
"Did you truly love Father so little, that you would plot his death without a single shred of remorse!? Did you really care for Arnor so little, that you would tear her apart in civil war for your own personal gain!?"
Ostoher scoffed, "Me, care about Father? When Father never gave a damn about me? And Arnor? Don't make me laugh. Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven. I judged between being the supreme ruler of a weakened kingdom than a mere servant in a strong one and found the latter… wanting."
"What about me? Did you care about me so little as well?" Cirion said, his voice having grown soft and whispered. It hurt so, so much. He felt weak, like everything he knew had been taken away from him. He had lost a part of himself.
Ostoher's face softened. "No, I did love you, more than anyone else. You were my closest friend, in a way not even Mother could compare. Yet a time will always come when you must choose between those you love and what you most desire, and I chose. I had to let you go, to fulfil my dreams, my ambitions, my vision for Arnor."
"Why are you even admitting all this to me then? Did you just give up once you were caught and decide to just let out the whole story?"
Ostoher smirked, "You know me brother, you tell me."
Cirion's confusion swiftly turned to realisation as he looked down at his cup of water. His vision began to blur further, and he felt his throat clogging up as he found it harder and harder to breathe.
As Cirion choked on the ground, Ostoher calmly got up from his seat. "For what it's worth brother, I am sorry. Thank you for being the best brother I could have ever had, but it's time we parted ways, for good."
The last thing Cirion saw before his world went black, were the cold, storm grey eyes of his brother, staring into his.
The sun was shining brightly when Cirion awoke. As he returned to the land of the living, he was vaguely aware that he was now in bed. His mother sat behind him, smiling at him as he awoke.
"Good morning my son, you gave us all quite a fright."
"How…how long?"
"Two days. Your friend Aratan was very helpful in ensuring Ostoher did not take control of the army. He's in a cell now, awaiting your judgement."
"No," Cirion said. "Not my judgement, Amlaith's. He is the King."
If it was possible, his mother's smile grew even wider.
"So you have realised your folly then?"
"Aye. Ostoher knew me well, and he exploited that to manipulate me into betraying Amlaith. I must right this wrong."
Struggling to breather, Cirion began to ask, "How, how am I-"
"How are you still alive?" his mother finished for him. "Your brother is not as far gone as I feared. When he realised his plan had failed, he surrendered the antidote to me."
Choking, she continued, "He told me only one of my sons would be dying if he could help it."
Cirion stared at the ceiling of his tent. Ostoher was right. The penalty for his crime was death.
Somewhere deep down, it soothed the pain of betrayal, that at the end, his brother had cared enough to let him live. It made the pain hurt a little less. Just a little though. Nothing would ever change the fact that Ostoher had killed Father and betrayed him. His brother was forever lost to him.
A few days later, when he had fully recovered from Ostoher's assassination attempt, Cirion had gathered his lords and commanders and revealed to them the horrible truth he had learned. All had been horrified to learn the truth.
Cirion had declared that he, an honest and honourable man, could no longer wage a war based on a lie, against his brother and rightful king, Amlaith. He swore to vouch for the safety of those who had followed him and that the conditions of his surrender would be that all punishment for the rebellion fall upon his own shoulders.
His loyal followers had all protested, but Cirion would not hear it. He was guilty, he had made these men traitors for a lie. He owed it to them, to take responsibility. Cirion was resolved now, to accept whatever punishment Amlaith gave him, although the smug face he would no doubt have when he surrendered would make him feel like punching him.
"Cirion, are you really sure about this?" Aratan asked, after the meeting.
"Yes, Aratan. I have to redeem myself." Cirion replied firmly.
Staring up at the sky, Cirion looked in awe as he beheld the flock of passing birds.
The world is beautiful…and cruel.
With his mother's aid, Cirion was able to negotiate a surrender with Amlaith on the condition that all those who had declared for Cirion be pardoned in full, Ostoher would be turned over to Amlaith for execution, and Cirion himself would accept any punishment Amlaith deemed suitable.
To his surprise, Amlaith did not look triumphant or pleased. Only solemn and serious. Cirion was beginning to wonder if he had misjudged his brother and allowed his personal resentment to influence his opinion of him too much. How ironic it was, the brother he had disliked had proven to be true and loyal, and the brother he had loved and doted upon, had in the end betrayed him. If Eru truly existed, he surely had a wicked sense of humour.
Two weeks after his surrender, Cirion stood before Amlaith in a courtroom in the citadel of Amon Erain. Seated beside Amlaith were his wife, son, and their mother. To Cirion's left were all the lords and commanders who had sided with him in the war, and to his right, the neutrals and those who had declared for Amlaith.
Amlaith spoke then, and Cirion felt like a child again, being lectured by his father. In that moment, he finally saw the resemblance between Amlaith and their father.
"Cirion, son of Earendur, you are summoned before the court here today to answer for your crimes. You are charged with falsely accusing your king of murder, inciting rebellion, attempting to usurp the throne and crown, and of high treason. How do you plead?"
Crushing his nervousness and steeling his resolve, he answered, "Guilty, Your Majesty. I have no excuse for any of my actions, save that I allowed myself to be misled by one I trusted. I submit myself to your judgement and accept any punishment you may choose to give."
"The penalty for treason is death, however, the Queen Dowager and the Lord of Minas Ithil have both interceded on your behalf. They have suggested an alternative to death, one I am inclined to agree is fitting for your crimes and the nature and reason of why you committed them. Your sentence is thus, you will take no wives and father no children, and all the rest of your days you shall live as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, serving an honourable penance shielding the realms of men. Do you accept?"
Cirion forced himself not to show relief. He would not be executed. He would have a chance to regain his honour. "This punishment, I do solemnly accept Your Majesty. Thank you, for your mercy."
"Release the prisoner Captain, I trust in his word. He will stand witness to the next trial."
Cirion knew what was coming next, yet deep down he was still not prepared for it.
The doors of the courtroom opened, and Ostoher was walked in. He was chained and filthy, looking more like a mad dog than a Prince of Arnor.
With a look of disgust, Amlaith declared, "Ostoher, son of Earendur. You have been summoned to answer for your crimes. You are charged with patricide, regicide, high treason, and of intentionally and purposefully manipulating Cirion, son of Earendur, into open rebellion against the crown, all with the goal of eliminating your rival claimants so as to ascend the Throne. How do you plead?"
"You think you are so wise Amlaith?" Ostoher rasped. "This trial is a sham! It matters not what I plead! You will find me guilty regardless! Go on! Execute me already! That is if you have the balls to do it yourself!"
Amlaith sneered, "As the prisoner wishes. He will be executed at midday. By our customs, the man who passes the sentence shall swing the sword, I will execute you myself."
Their mother stepped up then. "My son, please do not do this. Do not give in to your brother's goading! He wants you to execute him! So that you will become a kinslayer like him! Do not taint your hands with the sin of kinslaying just to keep custom. Give it to any other and none will think lesser of you for it. I dare any to do so."
Amlaith drummed his fingers on the armrest of the throne, for a while, deep in thought. None in the courtroom dared to meet his eyes as they flitted around, searching for any disagreement.
"Very well then. The execution of the criminal will fall to the Captain of the Citadel Guard."
The man in question nodded, obeying his king's command.
Their mother sighed in relief. Ostoher screamed, calling Amlaith a coward. Amlaith himself walked out of the courtroom swiftly. Cirion could only stare at the broken remains of his family.
At noon, a crowd gathered to watch the execution of Ostoher. To ensure the people of the city could see his death as well, Amlaith had ordered for Ostoher to be executed on the steps between the citadel and the city leading up to the Amon Erain.
As Ostoher's head was forced onto the block, and the guard captain sharpened his executioner's sword. Cirion watched with increasing apprehension.
Right before Ostoher was to be executed, Amlaith interrupted his executioner to speak to Ostoher, whispering a few inaudible words in his ear.
Ostoher's eyes widened and he looked at Amlaith in shock before he began laughing. The crazed laugh of a madman with nothing left to lose. He was still laughing when the sword sliced through his neck.
Cirion refused to let himself turn away. For in some part, he felt guilty, that he had not seen his brother's plan, had not stopped him. Most of all, Cirion regretted that he could not have saved his brother from himself.
Tragedy. That is the sum of the Tale of the War of the Three Brothers. So much wanton death and destruction and for what? One man's vainglorious ambition. Just as Prince Amroth before him had been held as an example all younger princes should aspire to be like, Prince Ostoher was seen as an example of what a younger prince should never be.
For his treason and betrayal, Ostoher was beheaded on the steps of the Amon Erain, his body was not even buried in the crypts of the citadel, for his brother Amlaith had deemed him unworthy of it. It is not known if Ostoher even has a grave. Some tales say King Amlaith threw his traitorous brother's body into the sea for the fish to feed upon.
King Amlaith himself would not long outlive the brother he had sentenced to death. Only four years later, in the year 1162 E.L, Amlaith would die at the Second Battle of Goldengrove during an unwise attempt to reclaim his father's conquests. He was only 164 years old. Gawen Gardener had finally avenged his father's death seven years prior.
The Queen Dowager Idril is said to have broken when word came of her eldest son's death. With the death of her husband and two of her sons in quick succession, and the exile of a third to the Wall, the old queen could take the pain no longer. In 1163 E.L, only a year after King Amlaith's death, Queen Idril threw herself from the Tower of Elendil. Her body was never found.
And of Prince Cirion? His sentence had been to live the rest of his days in the Night's Watch, and live he did. He died at the age of 403, in the year 1460 E.L. During his time at the Wall, he eventually rose to become Lord Commander and would serve in that role for almost three centuries. Countless numbers of the soldiers who had fought for him in the war would follow him to the Wall out of loyalty and love, and together they made the Watch stronger than it had ever been.
Under Cirion's leadership, the Night's Watch again began to fortify its keeps at the Wall, something they had been forbidden to do ever since the reign of the Night's King. New methods of farming and engineering were introduced, making the lives of the black brothers easier and better than ever before. A great Númenórean road would link every castle on the Wall's breadth, making travel between the Nightfort and the other castles easier than ever before. A great port was even built to the south of Westwatch-by-the-bridge to easily bring in supplies from his homeland. It was said in later years that the Watch had never been stronger than it had been under Cirion.
When Cirion finally died of old age in 1460, he died mourned and missed by all the men of the Night's Watch but by then he had been forgotten by the people of his homeland, little more than a footnote in history and a cautionary tale against foolishness and ambition. And so passed Cirion, last of the sons of Earendur.
Unknown
"Don't look at me like that. Something like this was always going to happen. It is perfect really. Cirion and Ostoher are now both out of the picture and Arnor has been stabilised. I must thank Ostoher really, he did the job for me. I was always going to kill you. You were an idiotic fool. Who shows such blatant favour to their second son over their heir? Were you planning to start a rebellion?
Thankfully Ostoher did it for me first. I knew the whole time what he was planning of course and I immediately thought on how to exploit his machinations for my own uses. I even subtly helped him in his plot. He was too dumb to realise it though. For the supposed intriguer in the family, he was quite bad at it. I suppose I can't blame him. I do have eighty years of experience over him. You should have seen his face when I thanked him for killing you! It was priceless!
I must admit though that things almost got out of hand. Certainly Cirion was too close to victory for comfort but it was not that hard to lure Mother onto the right track. Once she discovered that Ostoher was the true culprit for your death, she was quick to tell Cirion and so predictably his honour compelled him to surrender. With a single stone, two birds were killed, and two threats to my reign were eliminated.
After all, the very first thing you taught me dear Father, is that a king should know when and how to act," said Amlaith as he stared at the portrait of the man he had let die.
"When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die. There is no middle ground. And for now, at least, I have won completely. Will I win next time? Maybe not, but at least I won the first round. That is more than either Cirion and Ostoher can say. See you in hell, Father."
