Land of the King
Chapter 32: Break the Yoke
"Another letter to Winterfell, Your Highness?"
"Yes, thank you Rendil," Araphant answered the Rookery Master.
The past eight months, Araphant had sent quite a few letters north to Lyarra, yet he had received no replies. It was coming to the point that Araphant was wondering if she was perhaps ignoring him as all his letters after his first, informing her that he was to wed soon, had gone unanswered.
Araphant did not believe it was the work of any malice either as his letters to Elladan and his other friends in Winterfell had been answered. It seemed that Lyarra had been upset to hear of his impending nuptials and had stopped corresponding with him to soothe her broken heart.
He could not really blame her for that, yet he had still tried to reach out to her.
"Your Highness, are you sure that you wish to continue attempting to reach the Princess? Has she not made it clear she no longer wishes to correspond with you?" the Rookery Master inquired.
At Araphant's gaze he backed down, "Forgive me. It was not my place."
Araphant smiled sadly, "No Rendil, it is fine. Perhaps this will be the last. I am to be wed soon after all."
Per his father's wishes, Araphant had begun taking seriously his various courtships and meetings with high ranking noblewomen of Arnor. Currently the decision was between Princess Idril of Dol Amroth and Lady Aredhel of Minas Anor. Both were from the Line of Elendil and hailed from two of the oldest and most powerful houses in Arnor.
To his honest surprise, Araphant had found that the two ladies were far better than he expected, certainly better than Luthiel and he would not be displeased to have to live with them for the next century and a half. Yet he remained indecisive. His mind was plagued by thoughts of a princess with winter roses in her hair.
As he left the Rookery, Araphant failed to notice the Rookery Master keeping the letter in his desk instead of sending it as he should have.
He was Boromir, son of Anamir. Though minor in nobility, his father had been favored by King Araval and so at a young age, Boromir had become a companion to Araphant, at the time the second in line to the throne during his self-indulging grandfather's reign.
For many years, Boromir had been the closest friend of Araphant. There had been others, Elladan amongst them, but Boromir had always been the one Araphant had confided in the most.
Boromir had betrayed that trust when he had told the King about Araphant's relationship with Lyarra. He had seen it when his former could not. Somewhere along the years, Araphant's fondness had morphed into something more.
He had put duty over friendship, and it had cost him everything. No longer favored by the Prince, he had been thrown out of Amon Erain with little to his name. His status as a noble and his inheritance from his father had allowed him to rent a room at the inn and he had soon joined the ranks of the city guard.
It was a lowly position when he had once served as attendant to future King of All Arnor but it was honest work. It was comforting in a way.
Yet on nights such as these, when Boromir could endure his shame and disgrace no more, he would come to the tavern to drown out his sorrows.
Ordering a few pints of ale from the tavernkeeper, Boromir eagerly awaited to let the drink soothe his shame. Dúnedain had a stronger constitution that all but the most tolerant of younger men so it took quite a fair amount of alcohol to intoxicate them.
Nevertheless, Boromir was more than halfway there when he heard a familiar voice.
"By Eru what has happened to you Boromir?"
Boromir turned around to see Calmacil, one of their companions that had stayed behind in Winterfell and once a close friend of his though he had no doubt that he had already been informed of his disgrace.
"What do you want Calmacil? Come to rub in my disgrace?"
"Disgrace? Boromir what are you talking about?" Calmacil asked, confused.
"You have not heard? I betrayed the confidence of our prince and was thrown out of Amon Erain for it."
Calmacil became even more confused at that. "I could hardly imagine you of all people betraying our prince."
Boromir chuckled bitterly, "Yeah, a year ago I would have thought the same."
"What exactly did you do to anger the prince so?" Calmacil asked.
"I informed the King of Prince Araphant's close relationship to the Princess. He was quite displeased with me for that."
"I can't say you did the right thing, but neither can I say it was a wrong decision. All of us could see how close they were getting. Yet it seemed only you were brave enough to speak on it. Knowing now of the consequences, would you still have done it?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not. At the very least I would have remembered that it was not my place to inform the King, I would have advised Araphant to do it himself."
"Then is your loyalty still to Araphant?" Calmacil asked, cautious.
Boromir thought hard. The last time he had seen Araphant, he had been told to never show his face around him again. Yet if Araphant changed his mind and asked him back, would he refuse?
"If the Prince found it within himself to forgive me and summon me back to his side, then my loyalty would once more be with him."
Calmacil did not look wholly satisfied with his answer, but it was enough as he then informed Boromir of his true purpose in returning to Annúminas.
"Surely you jest?" Boromir asked unbelieving.
"I wish it were so. You know as well as I that only one person has the power to do something like this."
Yes, Calmacil was right. Only one man in all of Arnor had the power to do something like what Calmacil suspected. Fear of being caught by that person had lead Calmacil to try and find more secret ways of contacting the Prince. He had asked around discreetly and had found Boromir in the inn.
"Well, will you help me with my mission Boromir?"
There was only one answer he could give.
"Of course, I have a few more favors in Amon Erain to call in. I can get us in."
He would do anything to redeem himself in his prince's eyes.
Araphant had been told that a guest was awaiting him in his chambers when he had returned from the training yard that afternoon.
It was strange that any guest would be allowed to wait in his private chambers, and Araphant had kept his dagger on his person in case it was some harebrained assassin.
When he entered his chambers, Araphant was quite angered to see Boromir waiting for him.
"I told you-"
"I know, Araphant. Forgive me, but regardless of your feelings toward me. This is information that you need to hear," Boromir interrupted, gesturing towards his companion.
The man in question removed his hood to reveal the face of Calmacil, one of their friends. But what was he doing here?
"Boromir made a mistake Araphant, yet he has more than repented for it by helping me get to you undetected."
"Why would you need to be undetected? You have permission to come and go from Amon Erain as you please."
"Araphant, we have received no letters from you in Winterfell. In fact, the only letters we have received from Annúminas the past eight months have been official missives."
"That… that cannot be right, I've been writing you, all of you, and the princess as well. I've been receiving replies."
"Replies? Araphant, all of our letters have been asking why you haven't been writing us. We were surprised that even the Princess's letters had not been answered."
Araphant had gone stiff then. Had Calmacil said what he thought he had?
"What do you mean by the Princess's letters?"
"The Princess was despondent when no letters came from you. She wrote you almost every day for a few months before King Brandon ordered her to stop."
And so Araphant learned the whole story. None of his letters had made it to Winterfell. King Brandon had apparently been sent a private letter and the debt owed for all the construction work Arnor had helped finance used as a noose to ensure Brandon kept Winterfell from learning why Araphant was not answering them and prevented anyone from leaving to go to Arnor to speak with him, at least until after his wedding to a Númenórean noblewoman.
Brandon it seemed, had caved when he had seen his daughter's despair and had confessed everything. He had then allowed Calmacil to leave in secrecy so as to inform Araphant personally.
Araphant's rage was growing, and he knew exactly who to point it at.
"You know who did this." Araphant growled out. It wasn't a sentence, simply a statement.
After all, the only person who could possibly have the power to tamper with the letters of the King's Heir would be the King himself.
"Where are they?" Araphant demanded.
"You have to be more specific than that. I would also advise you to watch your tone when speaking to your king Araphant," Araval said coldly, not even bothering to look up from the documents on his desk.
"You know what I am speaking of, where are Lyarra's letters?"
"The fact that you address the princess by name should tell you already why I withheld them from you. It is hardly appropriate for a man courting his future betrothed to be writing intimate letters to another woman."
"You had no right!"
"On the contrary, I had every right to take such drastic measures when you my son and heir was dangerously close to endangering everything for a foreign woman."
"You could not have known that I would abandon my duty so. You merely assumed and then you trespassed on my privacy and withheld letters addressed to me."
"And? Were my assumptions correct? Why are you so wroth that I withheld those letters from you? Your anger is not even that the letters of your friends were tampered with, not nearly as much as I expected. You rage because I kept the princess's letters from you."
Araphant brushed him off, "Regardless, the fact remains that you tampered with my private correspondences. That is an egregious breach of trust Father."
"And is it nearly as egregious as lying to my face when I asked you of your relationship with this girl? You're confused, you're wondering what it is that you are feeling. Let me tell you Araphant, these feelings you possess are not love, merely an infatuation. They will pass like the morning dew and when they do you will understand that everything I do, I do for Arnor," Araval said as he rose from his seat.
"You felt the same way once didn't you?" Araphant said in realization. "Marrying Mother was never your wish, but as you watched Grandfather waste away in indulgence, you chose to marry for duty to secure the throne."
"And that is the lesson I am teaching you now. If you persist in your defiance, one day you may very well end up marrying this girl. Do you know what the cost of that will be? The Purists will never accept a half-blood as their king, regardless of whether or not I repeal the Act of Succession. Luthiel will push for her son to ascend, and Arnor will fall into chaos. The blood of thousands would be on your hands when Arnor descends into civil war."
"You don't know that for sure. The Reformists hold a great deal of power in the Council as well. If enough of them could be brought to our side, the Act of Succession could be repealed peacefully, with enough support that not even the Purists dare contest it. You strengthened the power of the Sceptre more than the past five kings Father. We can do this."
Araphant's rage had cooled now. He needed to convince his father that it could be done without bloodshed.
His father sighed and slumped back into his seat.
"The risk will always be there. Even if we repeal the Act with the support of the Reformists, the Purists will always remain defiant. It may not come in either of our reigns, but I fear war will be inevitable."
"I wish it would not be so. We can work to curtail their power and prevent dissent, yet if war is truly inevitable…. some fires are needed to burn away the rot of the forest to allow new growth."
Araval sighed again, before opening the drawer in his desk and placing a bundle of letters on the desk.
"For whatever it's worth, I did not plan to keep them from you forever."
"No, just until I was safely wed to a woman you approved of, too late to do anything," Araphant answered snarkily."
"Araphant, if you truly love this girl, if you truly intend to marry her one day, then go with my blessing, begrudgingly given though it may be. Yet I must warn you, if you fail to earn enough support to repeal the Act, I will have no choice but to invoke it and disinherit you."
Araphant nodded, before leaving with Lyarra's letters.
The King of Arnor remained in his solar, troubled by all that had transpired.
2976 E.L.: Five Years Later
Winterfell had been decorated well for the occasion. Rarely did the Northmen indulge in luxuries, but weddings were a rare exception to the rule.
For his own part, Araphant was a bit nervous. Any man would be on his wedding day, yet Araphant was not feeling the usual pre-marital jitters.
Perhaps it was fear? He loved Lyarra, he truly did, and when he had returned to Winterfell all those years ago, he had found her a woman now grown and blossomed into maturity. They had only waited five years because it had taken so long to repeal the Act and also because despite her impatience, Araphant had felt uncomfortable marrying Lyarra too young.
Yet strife would always be a possibility and deep down, Araphant feared he had doomed Arnor to civil war.
That was why he was here now, waiting at the door of Old Maggie.
Hesitantly, Araphant knocked on the door. Almost as if she had been expecting it, Maggie opened it swiftly.
"What do you want son of Araval?" she questioned.
"I seek your guidance," Araphant answered simply.
"And why would a prince of Arnor come to a wizened old woman from the races of lesser men for guidance?"
"Because you are a greenseer, are you not?"
The old woman raised her eyebrows but did not answer the question. Instead she moved aside to let him enter the room.
"The last time you talked to me, before I left Winterfell back then, you told me I was making a mistake. What did you mean by that?"
"Our choices are never completely right or wrong, that is not how the world works. When you chose to leave Winterfell, you made a mistake by abandoning love for duty, and had you persisted in that path, you would likely have been miserable your whole life. Yet you made another mistake again when you returned to Winterfell, this time abandoning duty for love. The question is which mistake would you rather make?"
Araphant hesitated on his next words, desperately wanting to know the answer yet also fearing what it would be, "And am I making a mistake now? By marrying Lyarra, am I dooming my people and my kingdom to a civil war?"
Instead of answering, Maggie said instead, "Do you know why the Men of the Watch swear to take no wives and father no children? It is so-"
"So they will not love, for love is the death of duty, the bane of honor. For what is duty when compared to a woman's love? What is honor to the newborn son, cradled in your arms?" Araphant finished.
"Cirion said that. He of all people would know," Araphant said sadly.
"He was the most famous and beloved commander the Night's Watch had ever seen, yet he was born a Prince of Arnor. To a certain extent it was love that lead him astray, not purely ambition as the history books would have you believe. Love for his father that saw him desire to avenge him, love for his brother that made him trust him when he would betray him." Maggie said.
"So am I repeating Cirion's mistake? Am I letting love cloud my judgement to the extent that I can delude myself into believing I can avoid any problems that will come, that I can avert war?"
"Who knows? Even to me the future is uncertain. Regardless of whether you marry Lyarra or not, the beliefs of the Purists would have led Arnor to ruin anyway. All I can tell you is that there is hope for a better future, no matter what happens."
She had not quite answered the question. Yet it was enough for Araphant.
"Thank you," he said.
His heart put to rest, Araphant married Lyarra in the Godswood of Winterfell later that day.
The Princess looked beautiful, wearing a blue dress and a crown of winter roses.
Maggie had been asked to administer the ceremony. Yet her heart broke as she watched them say their vows, as she watched Araphant remove the Direwolf cloak from Lyarra's shoulders and drape the Standard of Elendil over her, the White Tree beneath the Crown and Seven Stars.
In the end, she hadn't been able to bring herself to tell Araphant the truth. She had been honest when she had said she knew not with certainty exactly what would happen, yet she knew enough.
Regardless of Araphant's attempts to mediate the situation, war was inevitable. And what a war it would be.
2978 E.L
Childbirth was messy affair. Araphant had not been allowed into the birthing room and instead had simply paced outside for the entire time.
His friends and companions were all there to keep him company, as were Lyarra's father and brothers.
Maggie had come as well, waiting with them as Lyarra's mother and the midwife helped her push their child into the world.
It had been agony hearing Lyarra's screams for the past few hours, knowing there was nothing he could do to help.
He was a Prince of Arnor, well over two hundred years old, yet he had not the slightest idea what to do.
Finally, after hours of agonizing screams, they had heard the cries of a baby.
The midwife had come out and told them that the birth had gone well, and that both mother and child were healthy and well.
Araphant had entered first, followed by Lyarra's family. The others had remained outside so as to not overly crowd the room.
"Araphant, come meet our son," Lyarra said.
Almost in a daze, Araphant walked over to see his beautiful wife cradling their newborn son in her arms. His newborn son.
Gently, Lyarra passed their son to him and Araphant looked down at him.
Light tufts of black hair adorned his small head and his eyes were a shade of grey that was neither like his or Lyarra's completely but rather a union of them both.
This was their child, the proof of the love they had. And Araphant knew that he would always love and treasure him the moment he held him.
"He's beautiful, Lyarra. What should we name him?"
It was in that moment that Maggie spoke, her words an omen of terrible things to come.
"Arvedui you shall call him, for he will be the last in Arnor. Yet a choice will come to the Dúnedain and if they choose the one that seems less hopeful, than your son will change his name and Arnor be reborn anew. If not, then much sorrow and strife will come for the Land of the King shall be sundered."
Author's Note: Well that prophecy sounds cheerful.
Araval can technically repeal the Act of Succession by his own power and everyone would just have to suck it. However, when the Purists are so powerful, such a belligerent move would only incite war.
