Land of the King
Chapter 28: Let the Past Die
The Stormlands were a bleak, rainy and windswept land. It was only fitting for the name they bore. Even the name the Arnorian people had given it in Sindarin meant very much the same.
Celeb, Crown Prince of Arnor stood beside his father King Malvegil on a hill. The rain was lashing over their faces and they stood firm and unflinching, even as thunder rumbled over the bay. Before them stood the last bastion of their foe. Storm's End.
The stronghold of Durran was truly impressive. Even when Celeb compared it to Annúminas and the other great cities and fortresses of his homeland. If the legends held true, then the castle was built by none other than the man who had built the Wall and Winterfell. Storm's End was built to endure and had earned its name by surviving storms supposedly sent by gods.
Even in Arnor, many had doubted they could take the castle. Countless armies of lesser men had been broken before the walls of Storm's End. Yet his father had sternly rebuked them, reminding them that they were no lesser men. They were Dúnedain, scions of Númenor of old, and the walls of Storm's End would not be breached, they would break entirely, so did his father boast.
Yet now at the last moment, Celeb found his faith wavering. For hours on end, their siege engines and giant vassals had launched boulder after boulder at the castle walls. Yet though battered they appeared, the walls of Durran remained firm and tall and the stag of House Durrandon continued to proudly fly over the castle battlements.
As rock after rock continued to be hurled at the castle walls with sometimes nought but a scratch appearing on the walls, Celeb continued to be awed at the craftsmanship of the walls of Storm's End.
There was something in these walls that was far beyond the capabilities of the First Men, of even Bran the Builder.
"Sire, the walls are not breaking! We've thrown over a hundred boulders at them already and they have yet to weaken at all! It would be much easier for us to breach the gates!" said Lord Gareth Gaermegil, one of his father's chief generals.
"No! The world must see. They must see and know that no one and nothing, not even the walls of Storm's End can stand against the might of our people."
"But Sire, the bombardment is doing nought but weaken the men's morale when they see the walls emerge unscathed from the barrage!"
"Enough! See to it that the men and the giants continue their bombardment until the walls fall. I promised that the walls of Storm's End will break, I will not be made a liar," his father commanded.
Lord Gaermegil bowed, "As you command sire."
"Watch Celeb. Just watch. Those walls will fall," his father said to him as he turned his gaze back on the fortress, almost sounding more like he was trying to convince himself more than his son.
Yet despite their misgivings, his father would be proven true when two hours later, large cracks began appearing on the left side of the front gates of Storm's End.
With excitement in his voice, his father ordered that the bombardment be concentrated on the area and the army began to cheer when they saw the great walls of Storm's End beginning to crumble, their morale rising swiftly.
With every rock that smashed into the wall, every great crack that appeared on its crumbling surface, the cheers and chants of the Arnorian army grew louder and fiercer.
The cracks grew and grew, deeper and further until at long last, the wall came crumbling down.
With a great war cry, the Arnorian army swarmed towards the breach as their advance was covered by a massive volley of arrows that joined the rain falling upon the castle's defenders.
Celeb made to join the army but was surprised when his father remained rooted upon the hill.
"Are you not coming Father?" he asked.
Yet his father said nothing, his eyes fixed upon the broken wall.
When he at last spoke, it was with words that confused his young son.
"It's time to wake up Argeleb and leave the past where it belongs."
And the eyes of Argeleb, King of Arnor, opened with a sudden jerk as he was pulled back into reality.
He was disorientated at first, but the memories of reality came back to him swiftly.
That's right, the Siege of Storm's End was almost sixty years ago. It seemed like yesterday that he had had borne witness to his father's greatest triumph.
Today was the anniversary of the Fall of Storm's End, and ironically and bitterly the anniversary of his father's greatest moment was also the anniversary of his death at the hands of Dornish raiders four years ago.
Deciding to dwell on the former of the noteworthy events of this anniversary rather than the painful latter, Argeleb's thoughts turned back to his dream. Fifty-eight years ago, his father had stood on that hill and had said nothing when his son had called him to battle, only shaking his head before following him to the castle.
With the breaking of the walls, the garrison of Storm's End surrendered entirely but in the chaos, the Storm King and his sons were all killed. They had thought House Durrandon extinct until Mallor, one of Argeleb's friends had found a young girl cowering under her father's bed.
The raven-haired little princess could not have been older than eight. As he had looked into her terrified sapphire-blue eyes, Argeleb could not have helped but take pity on her and so he had taken her into his custody and raised her as his ward.
Argeleb, the then Prince Celeb, had spoken on behalf of his new ward, Allana Durrandon, and had convinced his father to allow her to keep her family's ancestral home.
Celeb had then been appointed regent of Storm's End, now renamed to Raumgûr, with Allana as his ward and Mallor as his castellan.
For the next fifteen years, Celeb would govern Raumgûr in the stead of the ward he had begun to see as the daughter he had never had. Raising Allana had been very different to raising his son Beleg, who had already been over forty by that time.
In those fifteen years, he would see his friend, Mallor, a common-born Tergil, growing closer and closer to the maturing Allana until the two had fallen in love.
With Celeb's blessing, the two had married, and Celeb had used their marriage as an example to convince his father to arrange similar matches between the nobility of the former Stormlands and influential members of their own people so as to speed up their assimilation and integration into the realm.
Celeb had believed in the purity of Númenorean blood just as much as his father, yet unlike the more extreme Purists, the two of them were also more pragmatic. Believing that a single generation of interbreeding would not be overly harmful to the continued longevity and purity of their people, they had arranged the matches for political gain, allowing Númenorean nobility to more peacefully gain control of the various lordships in the Stormlands.
The matches however had caused a growing rift in the kingdom between those of pure blood and those of mixed descent. The Purist Faction itself split between those who nominally believed in blood purity but could compromise for pragmatic political reasons and those who began to swear to defend the purity of Númenorean blood and culture at all costs.
It did not help that to arrange the matches, his father had had to either abolish or grant exceptions to many laws governing the purity of Númenorean blood in the kingdom which had been in place since the reign of Beleg the Young.
War was never considered, but all had been aware that continued resentment and division would not be good for the country's stability.
Finally, after months of tension, a full meeting of the Council of the Sceptre had agreed on a compromise under the mediation of the Royal Family. Known as the Compromise of Malvegil, the agreement allowed for the intermarriage of pure-blooded Dúnedain with non-Númenóreans under strict conditions and also expressly legitimized the political matches arranged in the Stormlands.
The Purists would be appeased by the unanimous decision of all present to uphold the purity of Númenórean culture, history and traditions, as well as the Act of Succession which allowed the head of a Purist Númenórean House to disown non-pure members of their dynasty and exclude them from the line of succession.
The Royal Family, long seen as the pinnacle of Númenórean purity and wisdom, was a key part of this law. Under the Act of Succession, any member of the Royal House who married a non-Númenórean must renounce their inheritance and their place in the line of succession to Elendil's White Throne.
The Mavlegililan Compromise and the Act of Succession were two very important documents that secured the stability of Arnor's consolidation of new territories while also appeasing those who desired to preserve the purity of the Blood of Númenor. Little was also given up on the part of the Royal Family for the compromise as they had already been practicing as such and few even amongst the Casterrim or Tergil, could imagine that they would ever have a king that was not of pure Númenórean blood ruling over them.
Yet to many who had hoped for reforms and an end to the obsession with blood purity in the kingdom, the Malvegilian Compromise and the Act of Succession were both a step forward and yet also a step back. Arnor would remain a nation divided by race and blood purity.
But Argeleb would soon shake his thoughts free of matters of decades-old history and blood purity. For his feet had carried him to his destination in the Hallow, the Houses of the Dead in Annúminas. The Kings of Arnor all the way from Elendil the Founder were buried here, and even some queens as well such as Silmariën, wife of Elendil, considered by many to be the Mother of Arnor just as Elendil was their Founding Father.
And the latest person to join the might company of their forebears was his father.
Argeleb stood in front of the tomb of his father, the statue carved in his likeness making him feel like a young boy again, like Prince Celeb and not King Argeleb. Yet those days could never be again.
Kneeling, Argeleb prayed that wherever his father's soul had found itself, it was at peace now, at rest.
"Father, forgive me. The Dornish who killed you remain free and unpunished. Yet I swear to you now, you will be avenged, and no Arnorian will ever have to bury a loved one again because of the violence of Dorne," Argeleb said softly to his father's remains, refusing to allow himself to cry.
Kings had to be strong, King Argeleb could never be seen crying and openly showing weakness, but as a single tear dripped down his face, Argeleb allowed himself, for the briefest of moments, to be Celeb Elendillion again, a son bereft of his father.
"I thought I would find you here," a familiar voice said.
Argeleb rose and turned around to see his daughter in all but blood.
"Allana…"
The years had not been the kindest to Allana Durrandon. Her once raven-black hair was greying like coal in places, and wrinkles had begun to mar her beauty. Yet though sixty and six had she become, and that was a great age for lesser men, her strength of body and mind had not yet failed her.
"You haven't aged a day since I last saw you, but then neither has Mallor, or any of my children," Allana said bitterly.
Though proud of her Durrandon heritage and name which she had passed to her children, some part of Allana had always resented that she had not been born a Númenórean, that she was now cursed to wither and die while everyone she loved was still in the prime of life.
The last true Durrandon stepped toward the tomb of his father and placed her hand upon it, admiring the craftsmanship.
"Impeccable likeness."
"The masons got it wrong. He's too stern, too harsh and cold," Argeleb said softly.
With a sad, amused smile, Allana rebuked him, "That is the way he appeared to everyone else. A mighty king, powerful and stern. After your mother died all those centuries ago, you were the only one who ever saw that other side of him."
"And how did he appear to you?" Argeleb asked, curious.
Allana's smile faded, choosing her next words carefully, she answered, "He never appeared kind to me. To me, all your father was, was a man who had ruthlessly conquered my homeland and subjugated my people. My family died because of his conquests, whether he intended to do that or not, I could never forgive him for that. Yet I do not hate him, I see the legacy he left behind, you are his legacy, Celeb. And as I can never forgive him for taking away my family from me, so will I never be able to repay him for giving you to me."
"How do you let go of all the pain and grief Allana? After everything we did to you? To your family? To your people? How did you move on?" Argeleb almost begged, desperate to know, his mask as the indomitable King of Arnor breaking entirely.
"Perhaps it was because of my short life. I have no time to dwell on the past. You Númenóreans are far too often obsessed with the past. You have long lives and longer memories. Let it go, Celeb. Let it die. Linger in the past and you will never be able to move into the future," Allana said before making to walk away.
As he stared at his father's likeness, Argeleb realised she was right. He would have his vengeance, his justice, and when that was over he must move on. How must it feel to her, seeing him waste the long life he was blessed with, wallowing in the past.
"Allana!" he called out to her as she left.
She turned around and for a moment, Argeleb saw in his mind's eye the little eight-year old girl she had once been. Where had all the years gone he wondered.
"Thank you… daughter of my heart."
Her smile returned, joyful and mirthful. "You are very welcome… Father."
The conversation he had had with Allana would be fresh on Argeleb's mind when he marched to Hyarmenna months later.
Desperate pleas for help had come for the city, messages speaking of how Samwell the 'Starfire' Dayne had besieged the walls and crushed their armies.
Argeleb kept Allana's words to heart as he beheld the army of House Dayne before the walls of Hyarmenna, daring to attack an Arnorian city. They were useful in reminding him that he was not here for vengeance against the Dornish, no, he was here to defend his people.
Somewhere across the battlefield, before the gates of Hyarmenna, the Starfire was waiting for him.
Author's Note: The muse was inspirational in getting the chapter out early. I'm such a genius for so cleverly blending the suggestions of either portraying the Siege of Storm's End or skipping straight to Argeleb aren't I?
I hope this chapter has answered how House Durrandon survived and also built some setup for you know what.
"No member of the Royal Family may marry a Non-Númenórean without forfeiting their right to the throne" Right, they're totally gonna keep that promise.
