Land of the King

Chapter 34: Three Thousand

3000 E.L.

"Do you yield?" Argeleb asked.

Arvedui scowled slightly when he looked at the sword pointed at his throat.

"Yes I yield."

"Excellent, I do believe that makes the score four hundred to none. An impressive figure If I do say so myself."

"Yeah, if you're the one with four hundred," Arvedui retorted as he got up from the ground.

Four hundred was likely an underestimation of Argeleb's victories against Arvedui in the training yard. After all, it was Argeleb who trained Arvedui in the way of the sword (and all other weapons as well).

Contrary to the expectations of many, when the twelve-year old Prince Argeleb had first met his two-year old cousin, there had been no antagonism between the two. In fact, quite the opposite occurred. To the disappointment of many, including the Prince's mother, Lady Luthiel, and the relief of many others, Prince Argeleb took exceedingly well to his younger cousin and treated him like his little brother.

When the time came for the younger prince to learn the martial ways expected of all highborn, his recently knighted older cousin was seen as an excellent choice as mentor, with other instructors filling in his gaps of knowledge.

Argeleb was one of the rare naturals, those to whom the blade was but a mere extension of their arm. Every stroke and every block was natural and perfect, almost like a dance. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of prodigy.

Prince Arvedui was no such prodigy, as seen clearly in his failure to win a single bout so far, but years as the squire of his cousin had honed his skill to the extent that he could win against most anyone his age. Of course, both princes would have a significant disadvantage against their elders, many of whom had had centuries to train.

Currently however, their training was intensifying for the upcoming tourney. By order of King Araval, the most extravagant celebration in living memory, greater even than the infamous indulgent feasts of Alcarin, was to be held to commemorate the Three Thousandth Anniversary of Elendil's Landing.

All the lords of the realm, high and low, were invited to Annúminas where a grand feast, ball, and tourney was to be held. Even the commoners would share in the festivities, with a great fair and festival.

Arvedui felt quite excited. This celebration, would be one remembered for centuries.

There were so many guests that entrance to Amon Erain for the feast that night was limited to those of the higher nobility. As the second in line, Arvedui of course had a place.

It was a night to be merry and celebrate and so Arvedui was casually helping himself to their stores of wine.

Looking down, Arvedui was disappointed to find that his current cup was already empty. Deciding to refill his cup, Arvedui proceeded to the wine barrels.

When he arrived there, he found that others like him had had similar thoughts.

"I see we have all thought the same," Arvedui said, letting the three men know of his presence.

The tallest among them turned to Arvedui. He had the classic look of the Dúnedain, dark hair and piercing grey eyes.

"My apologies, but whom do I have the pleasure of speaking to?" he said.

Arvedui was not surprised. He was not exactly dressed any differently to the whole host of nobles that night, and the man had politely inquired of his identity. It would be rude to not answer.

"Prince Arvedui. Son of Prince Araphant," he answered.

The three men bowed their heads at hearing they were in the presence of royalty.

"Forgive us for not recognizing you Your Highness. I am Artamir, son of Ondoher, the eldest son and heir of Lord Calimehtar of Minas Anor. This is my younger brother, Faramir, and our cousin Minohtar."

"You are forgiven my lord. One can hardly be blamed when I am not dressed so differently to the other guests here. So tell me, what brings the grandsons of Calimehtar to Annúminas?"

"What brings any man here Your Highness. There is glory to be won in the tourney on the morrow, and much feasting and enjoyment to be had beside. It is a rare lavishness that our king has invested in, especially since he has a reputation for frugality," Artamir replied.

"Yes well my grandfather can be quite miserly but not even he could justify not throwing a grand celebration to commemorate our kingdom's three thousandth annum. What competitions are you all competing in on the morrow?"

It seemed that they had all had similar ideas. Just like Arvedui, the grandsons of Lord Calimehtar had all thought to compete in the melee, the joust, and the archery, three out of the five most glorious events, the remaining two being the mock ship battles and the mounted archery competition. Whilst many realms may not consider archery to be nearly as glorious as say the joust, in Arnor, it was revered. After all, the bow, the horse, and the sea were the three great passions of the Dúnedain, and it would not be surprising to find a Dúnadan who was more enamoured with the way of the bow than he was with either a ship or riding.

Compared to competitions in other realms however, in Arnor, their vast lifespans often meant that any competition would be won by those significantly older as they would have the advantage of being just as physically strong or agile as their younger competitors but having such a greater amount of experience and skill from decades of training that it was deemed unfair for them to compete in the same bracket. Hence all forms of competition in any tourney worth attending were divided in three brackets, split according to one's age. The first bracket being for those under the age of one hundred, the second for those between the ages of one hundred and two hundred, and the third and last for the most skilled and capable warriors in Arnor, those of the age of two hundred, or greater.

Arvedui was so enthralled in his discussions with the three lordlings, that he failed to notice the approach of more individuals seeking out the wine. He was thus slightly surprised when Faramir greeted the newcomers.

"Welcome sister, and who is the fine man that walks beside you?" Faramir asked.

Arvedui turned to see his cousin Prince Argeleb escorting a beautiful young lady. Like her brothers, she had the classic look of one of the descendants of Númenor, yet her eyes had a tint of blue that could not be found in either of her brothers, nor in their cousin, Minohtar.

"This is Prince Argeleb, Faramir. The eldest son of Prince Calimir," she answered.

Faramir was amused. "It seems we have a tendency of collecting princes. This one over here is Prince Arvedui," he said, introducing him.

Arvedui stepped forward to greet the lady when his name was called.

"My lady," he said as he bowed slightly and kissed her offered hand, as was courtesy among the highborn, "Your brother speaks truly. May I have the honour of knowing your name?"

"Of course, Your Highness. I am Lady Firiel of Minas Anor, daughter of Ondoher, son and heir of Lord Calimehtar," she said with a curtesy.

Arvedui turned to his cousin and with a silent communication in their eyes, Argeleb nodded and proceeded to help Artamir and the others get the wine for all of their cups, leaving Arvedui to converse with Firiel alone.

In their conversation, Arvedui discovered that Firiel was three years older than himself, having just reached maturity. Her elder brother and cousin, Artamir and Minohtar, were both of age with Argeleb while Faramir was four years Arvedui's junior.

"She really is extraordinarily beautiful" Arvedui thought.

His opinion was justified. Even amongst the high ladies of Arnor, Lady Firiel of Minas Anor was extraordinarily lovely. High cheekbones adorned her heart-shaped face, framing her blue-grey eyes, and though Arvedui was forced his eyes to stay at an appropriate level, he could not deny that many would be able to appreciate the lady's womanly curves and breasts.

Altogether it was quite hard for him to keep his eyes from straying until he had started distracting himself by keeping his eyes in contact with hers. One could easily get lost in those eyes. At one view they appeared grey yet seemed to turn blue the hard you looked.

Some would say it was expected that the Lady would be blessed with such a figure and beauty. After all, was she not a scion of the House of Anárion, greatest and oldest of the cadets of the Line of Elendil? It seemed only natural that she would have a beauty befitting her pedigree.

Yet by virtue of his own heritage, Arvedui considered not those things. Perhaps they were arguably true, for Arvedui knew many great beauties of pure blood, such as his Aunt Luthiel. Yet he had never felt an ounce of attraction to even the prettiest of them because he knew what dwelt in their hearts.

Arvedui was still a scion of the House of Elendil, no matter what the Purists might think. He had the long-sight, the telepathy that few were blessed with, even amongst their people. He could peer into the hearts and minds of men, and not even the Dúnedain could hide their feelings from him.

In all of the other women, Arvedui had always felt their hidden disgust and disdain for him, the halfblood prince. Perhaps the reason why he found Firiel so alluring was that he could sense not a whit of it from her, nor from any of the Anárionath he had met that night and that was an exceedingly rare thing. Even some of the Reformists, those that were supposedly in favor of his ascension were often disquieted when they saw him and realized that he truly was only half Dúnedain.

Yet Arvedui could not put too much trust in his perception, it had failed him before. Those with skill could learn to hide their feelings and he was not about to try and court a stranger without knowing if if they thought him lesser for his heritage. He was about to explicitly ask just that when his grandfather asked for the attention of all in the room.

Standing upon the dais, his grandfather addressed the crowd.

"My lords and ladies. We stand here on the three thousandth anniversary of Elendil's Landing. In those three thousand years, our kingdom has grown to become the mightiest in all the world. None can claim to match our wealth, our splendor, or our power. Not Yi Ti, nor Sarnor, not even Valyria.

Yet we must be careful not to stray from the teachings of our founders. We cannot allow ourselves to repeat the mistakes of Númenor lest we suffer their fate.

We must beware of hubris. We cannot afford to let it seize our minds and our hearts. If we succumb to hubris, we will have spat upon the sacrifices of those upon the Nine Ships.

And yet, should we resist our ego and hubris, greater things still await Arnor. For when we are willing to sacrifice our pride for our kingdom, nothing can stop us.

We are the Dúnedain, scions of Númenor. I ask you, all of you. Will we allow our great kingdom to falter because of our pride?"

"Nay!" the crowd replied.

"Will we fall from our destiny of greatness because we allowed ourselves to be divided by petty and trivial matters?"

"Nay!"

"The Kingdom of Arnor has endured three thousand years, and through our sacrifices, may it endure three thousand more! For Arnor!"

"For Arnor!" the crown answered, and this time Arvedui joined them.

"I agree with the King."

Arvedui turned to Firiel.

"You're uncertain of me. You wonder if I feel like many do, believe you lesser because of your blood. I must confess Your Highness, I was not sure. Yet upon meeting you, I realized that there was no difference between the two of us. Your blood has not made you any lesser. Your grandfather, the King, is right. He did not outright say it but anyone with their wits about them knows he was speaking of blood purity. We cannot allow Arnor to falter because of it."

Arvedui hid his relief, "Did you read my mind?"

Firiel smirked, "You are not the only one who is gifted Your Highness."

"Thank you for being honest."

"You are welcome.

The next morning, Arvedui's attendant, Kevan noted him being far more focused than usual when he helped him put on his armour for the tourney.

Though Arvedui was not victorious in either the melee or archery for the first bracket, he rode down all his foes in the joust, emerging victorious until he had reached his final joust.

The man on the other side was his cousin Argeleb, and Arvedui had never been able to beat him at anything before.

"Pass me my lance Kevan."

As he took his lance, Arvedui patted his right shoulder where under his armour, a blue ribbon was tied. Firiel's favour.

When the horn sounded, Arvedui kicked his steed into motion and he and his cousin broke lances. They would break eleven more until finally on the twelfth and final joust, after which the match would be declared a tie, Arvedui's lance hit right in the middle of Argeleb' breastplate and sent him clean of his horse.

Arvedui was relieved to see Argeleb was fine but was troubled by the anger he saw on his face. It seemed almost an illusion though for in the next moment, the scowl on his face was replaced with a large smile.

"I concede my loss. Behold my cousin, your victor!" Argeleb declared. And the crowds cheered.

With a garland of flower placed on his lance, Arvedui rode to the box where the Anárionath were seated and dropped the crown onto the lap of Lady Firiel.

He smiled when she placed it on her head gracefully and he proclaimed her his queen of love and beauty to all at the tourney.

Author's Note: Does Arnor have tourneys? Well they have knights, they have chivalry, I'd think they'd have tourneys. Andals in Andalos be taking notes.

I know you all are getting a tad impatient to get to the 'good' stuff. Be patient. It will come soon. Savor the peace and prosperity.