Land of the King

Chapter 80: The Gathering Darkness

5399 E.L.

"A mirian for your thoughts Your Highness?" the man asked. His name was Elured, one of the members of the local colonial government who had been assigned as Aragorn's guide as he visited the colony of Arnen, one of twenty-two which made up the southern region of Hyarmen in the greater Arnorian Empire.

"Breathtaking, and certainly very impressive, how tall can they grow?" Aragorn asked as he continued to look at the giant redwood trees.

"Almost 400 feet, Your Highness, the tallest we've found is around 390," Elured answered before explaining more to him as they continued to walk through the forest.

Aragorn's daughters walked behind them, awed by the immense height of the trees which surpassed any in Westeros. They were not alone, the whole of the party, including his wife Ashara, and his companions and guards, Arthur, Boromir, Faramir, and Halbarad among others were all staring in awe. It certainly was an experience to see trees that could rival the height of the mythical mallorn of Elenna. Perhaps in some way, it reminded them of the ancient homeland they did not truly know yet yearned for all the same.

Hyarmen was a very beautiful land, he had thought that the moment he had landed in the port of Cair Arnen two years ago, and his time in the colonies since had only further reinforced it. It reminded Aragorn of Westeros in a lot of ways, yet it was clearly distinct. It was rich and diverse with many climates and biomes.

There were massive temperate and boreal forests of pine, and fir, and evergreen conifers, and all other manner of trees. Most notable of all were the giant redwoods he currently beheld, mighty trees that grew as tall as small hills and had trunks thicker than castle towers.

Beyond the forests, hills rolled for leagues, intertwined with massive plains and plateaus, fit for ranching, herding, grazing, and farming. Many great mountain ranges, from lower hills, to mountains with heights that could rival the Frostfangs and Bones crisscrossed the land. Further deeper into the interior, there were rocky scrubs and savannah that slowly gave way into the large sandy dunes and desert plains that separated the colonies from the tropical Green Hell in the far north of Sothoryos.

Perhaps most wondrous of all, was how weak winter's grip was on Hyarmen. The southern promontories and capes were not that far from the cold extremes of the southern ice caps, yet compared to Formenor, or Uilos, the Lands Beyond the Wall, winter had little effect on the continent of Sothoryos. Snow was not unheard of, yet most commonly found in the mountains or in the coldest times of the year. And in Hyarmen, the seasons were almost regular.

Aragorn still remembered his lessons as a child, of how Arnorian explorers and scholars had theorised that the commonly held 'long seasons' of summer and winter were in truth erratic ice ages and warm periods, with the true seasonal cycle masked by them, evidence for this seemed to be found in the growing seasons of the harvest cycle, which were not year round in 'summer' as one may expect, nor absent entirely in 'winters'.

Regardless of the truth, the long 'seasons' seemed to have less, if any effect on the southern hemisphere and Hyarmen was no exception. When Aragorn had left Westeros for his tour of the empire some nine years ago, summer had just begun and to his surprise when he had learned of the fact, it was still to end. The longest summer in living memory, many were predicting a grim and long winter to follow.

While Westeros prepared for a long winter, an entire continent the size of Essos and all its bounty and riches were in the hands of the Hyarmenians, and none to stand in their way, not even the cold of winter or the savage Brindled Men they had driven into the interior. In time, Hyarmen would undoubtedly become another great realm of the Dúnedain, a mirror of Arnor, fulfilling the purpose for which it had been created long ago.

Centuries ago, before the Doom of Valyria, Arnor had established colonies in Hyarmen on the southern coasts of Sothoryos at the far end of the Summer Sea and in Annúrómen as well on the east coasts of Essos, westward from Arnor across the Sunset Sea. The purpose of the colonies had been twofold, to relieve some of the population pressure experienced by the increasingly densely populated continent of Westeros and also to provide a safe refuge for Arnor's people in the event that the worst came to pass and Arnor was destroyed by Valyria in the Fifth Dragon War deemed so inevitable. It was thought that from the colonies, Arnor could rise again. After all, the Dúnedain were no strangers to exile.

As the years passed, more and more began to leave Westeros for the colonies, fearing the coming of the dragons. Hyarmen and Annúrómen's population swelled into the millions and war seemed inevitable until suddenly doom came to Valyria and all the fears were proven utterly false.

In the four centuries that followed, Arnor had expanded its power and influence into western Essos, securing control over strategic ports and territories in the Summer, Shivering, and even Jade Seas. Yet the colonies that had once been intended to be the last hope for Arnor were no longer deemed necessary nor important and instead were now curiosities on the remote corners of the greatest empire in the world.

Because they had originally been intended as safe refuges, a last resort, Arnor had not applied any form of direct rule to the colonies and had mostly left them to rule themselves. After the Doom, this had become even more apparent.

In Hyarmen as well as in Annúrómen, the King was far away back in Westeros. While glass candles and palantiri might enable instantaneous communication, they hardly sufficed for proper governance. Especially once the Doom passed, the Kings often lacked any interest in giving directives to faraway colonies which were of little priority to them, nor did they care to appoint viceroys. Where once direct representatives of the Sceptre to rule per Morlond's direct command had not been appointed out of wisdom and forethought, now they were withheld by apathy and indifference to far-flung and remote lands.

Those long centuries of little attention or oversight from Arnor had left the colonies with unprecedentedly high autonomy over their local governance and laws, and very low taxes. Barely anything in truth, tokens of Arnor's sovereignty over them at most. And in the place of the king, a strange penchant for an oligarchic republican form of government had come to arise, similar in a way to that which had once existed in Braavos before the Third Dragon or in Valyria or its colonies when they had been allowed self-rule by the motherland. Landowners and rich merchants and magisters sharing power and voting on matters of governance in councils. One might almost call it a freehold, which answered nominally at best to the High King in Morlond.

To most in the homeland, such a system was strange at best and treasonous at worst. Arnorians held in high esteem their kings who had governed wisely and capably for over five thousand years. While the system of councils was not wholly different from that of the Council of the Sceptre or the various lesser councils that made up the royal and provincial governments in the homeland, many still disliked the idea of their fellow Dúnedain using a system of governance that was in any way similar to the accursed dragonlords, for all that it had been inevitable once the homeland stopped paying any attention to them.

Aragorn himself was not sure what to think about it. But, he supposed, Arnor and its kings had left the colonies to their own devices for centuries already and for all their strange notions on governance, they had remained steadfastly loyal to the House of Elendil.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as Elured led them back to their horses for the ride back to Cair Arnen. As they rode, Aragorn intended to turn his conversation with the man to other matters. As a member of the governing colonial council of the colony of Arnen, Elured was a man Aragorn believed to be equipped to give Aragorn the answers he sought.

Aragorn looked back at his daughters, Silmariën, Telperiën, and Vanimeldë. The Princesses of Arnor were his pride and joy. They had each inherited the beauty of their mother in their own way, each having his wife Ashara's haunting violet-grey eyes. Yet they were more than just beautiful princesses, Aragorn saw in each of them the potential for a queen.

For the past nine years, Aragorn had been touring the entirety of Arnor's great empire. His family had been the guests of honor in every location they visited or stayed at and greeted excitedly by the locals. It was not often that the highest royalty in Arnor visited its far flung outposts after all.

While Aragorn had been pleased and lightened to see the excitement and joy in which the peoples of the empire had greeted his family, the way his daughters had smoothly entertained their hosts and endeavoured to learn and potentially even solve the issues and disputes of the far flung territories of the empire had filled him with more pride and fatherly love then he had thought possible. It had further cemented the determination he had begun his tour with, to see his daughters be recognized by all the empire as his heirs.

He had hinted as much to Elured and to other members of the Arnen Council for the duration of his stay in the colony.

"Your Highness," Elured began after Aragorn had finally stopped dallying and asked him directly. "I can safely say on behalf of most of our esteemed Council that most of us find ourselves in agreement that Princess Silmariën should inherit the Sceptre. However, you ask for more than empty words, but rather real support, and in that we find ourselves with an issue," the man said, letting the silence hold.

"And that would be?" he asked, knowing this was a power play.

"Arnen and the colonies of Hyarmen as a whole have long since stopped having any active… involvement with the homeland's business. We do not get involved in the affairs of the royal court, and in exchange we rule ourselves however we see fit, though of course with Arnor as our sovereign and overlord…" the man said.

"And I take it you're afraid any meaningful support might jeopardise that situation?" he asked, sensing the point.

"Too right, Your Highness," the man said with a broad, and if he was any judge fake smile. "That being said, I shall again reiterate that we here in the colonies have a much less… dogmatic view on things, and would all be glad to support your daughter's claims… but not if that means that two generations down the line we find ourselves with mainland nobles carving up our homes," the man finished.

"A valid concern, though one that is exaggerated. I can promise you, neither I nor anyone in my family have any desire to disturb the colonies," he said. At that the man gave him a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"Of course, Your Highness, however, it's hard to speak anything of tomorrow, and of the people that shall succeed us. So, in order for the Council to feel truly comfortable throwing its full, if I may say so, rather extensive support behind you, we would want the status of the colonies to be confirmed in written form, which would guarantee not only our rights and privileges, and include our obligations to the Sceptre of course, but also guarantee of our autonomy, our institutions, and our system of governance, which we are aware that many in the homeland may not like," the Councilor said.

And therein, Aragorn realised, laid the catch. The peculiar institutions of the colonies. Equal rank and prestige for the nobles aside, what the colonies really wanted was clear. The man might have a silver tongue, Aragorn could tell what was being offered. Support in exchange for a formal recognition of the status quo. It seemed like a fair bargain, and he had been truthful that he had no intention in interfering with the colonies.

"That can be arranged. When I am King, I shall, with the wise advice of the colonies of course, issue a charter guaranteeing the status of the colonies. Would that be acceptable?" he asked.

"An excellent idea. And yes, I dare say that would alleviate all the concerns of the Provincial Council of Arnen, and of all the other colonial councils if I may be so bold," Elured said. It gave him the feeling that the colonies had long agreed together on such terms.

When their tour of Hyarmen finally concluded weeks later, Aragorn was not afraid to admit that he would miss the beauty of Hyarmen and the welcome of its people. Perhaps he might visit it again in a few decades, when more pressing matters were settled.

As he boarded his ship, his close friend and goodbrother, Sir Arthur Dayne greeted him and Aragorn nodded to him as he helped his family aboard.

"Everything ready Arthur?" he asked.

"Yes Your Highness, Boromir and Faramir are here as well."

"That's good. I was afraid Faramir would be so enamored with the colonies that he would forget we were leaving today," he jested with Arthur before heading into his quarters.

In his hands were exactly twenty-two written endorsements of the heirship of his daughters, gathered over the course of the year he had spent in Hyarmen, and but a fraction of what he had gathered in the past nine years. Arnor and its empire had spoken.


5400 E.L

When Aragorn arrived in Morlond after ten years of absence, he found himself arriving to an autumn on the heels of the longest summer in memory.

Armed with the support of the greater empire, Aragorn felt much more confident in presenting his case before his father and the Council of the Sceptre to amend the Law of Succession. While it was certainly possible for him to do so by simple decree once he became King in his own right, facilitating the chance in law now would ensure a smoother transition of power and ensure his daughters were not denied their birthright should the worst come to pass and he predeceased his father.

Aragorn's uncle Rickard had arrived along with his sons, his cousins Brandon and Eddard, to present their own case to the Council of the Sceptre. Aragorn meant to meet with them before the council meeting on the morrow, and convince them to drop their claim for the good of Arnor.

Meeting in a private room, Aragorn greeted his kin warmly when they entered. "Uncle, Bran, Ned, welcome. Please, take a seat."

"I think we all know what you have called us here to speak on Aragorn, so let us not mince words and trade niceties. The realm has been debating this for decades, and now you have pushed the Council and my brother into finally making a ruling on it. So tell me nephew, what makes you think that either I or my sons will step aside for your daughters in a breach of the traditions of our realm?" his uncle asked.

Aragorn had expected this and fired his first attack, "Isn't it strange Uncle? Do not the Rhoynish laws of inheritance passed down to Norda indicate that the eldest child, regardless of gender, should succeed? Did you not yourself break with tradition when you caused a succession crisis in the North? Why then do you feel so strongly that you and your sons have more right to the Sceptre than my own daughters?"

His uncle took it in stride, "It was a different time, and a different people. Norda was not ready to be directly ruled from Morlond, I knew that and your father knew that. We both acted in the best interests of both kingdoms to prevent a civil war like what happened in the Vale."

"By the laws of both Arnor and Norda at the time, my father Arathorn was the rightful heir to both kingdoms. You and my grandmother denied him that and for the sake of peace and love of kin, he accepted the compromise to name you Prince of an autonomous Principality of Formenor. I remember Uncle, I may have been but a young lad at the time, but I remember this much at least."

"You speak of the laws of Norda, yet what of the laws of Arnor cousin? Never has there been a ruling queen of Arnor for the law does not allow such. This has been so since Elendil himself, from Valandil, first Lord of Andúnië in Númenor of old, do you despise your own traditions so much or do you simply think us unworthy to rule Arnor?" Brandon asked, with a bite in his voice.

"Calm yourself Brandon," his uncle rebuked.

"I mean no insult cousin, but might I ask you a question? What name does your father rule under?"

Brandon was confused and Aragorn pressed his advantage, "His regnal name and title Brandon, tell me you know that at least." Perhaps he shouldn't have taken the opportunity to disparage his cousin, but Aragorn was more than a little annoyed at his brash attitude and words.

Brandon gritted his teeth, "Prince Rickard Stark of Formenor, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

"And therein lies the problem. Your names. Your father rules as a Stark Prince, not as Prince Araphant of the House of Elendil. Do you even remember your Sindarin name Brandon? Because I don't, and neither does Arnor, none of you ever use them. How do you intend to rule Arnor bearing a Nord name, dressed like a Nord, and spoken like a Nord?" Aragorn said, before turning to his uncle.

"Uncle, you claim to have pressed for Norda to maintain some autonomy and independence from Arnor because you felt the Nords were not ready for a full union with Arnor. You are aware that if Brandon or his son does succeed myself, you are ultimately creating the scenario you so hoped to avoid? Unless you have a confession to make that it was greed and ambition that motivated you and not love of country as you claim?"

"We have already created a precedent for a second son to inherit Formenor, no reason it could not happen again," his uncle said with a steel gaze.

"While that may be true, have you ever considered that just as you claim Norda was unwilling to accept my father as its king, that perhaps Arnor does not desire to have a Stark carry Elendil's Sceptre? Rightful heirs you may be by the laws as they stand, yet the people think differently," Aragorn said as he placed a box on the table.

"This box contains letters of endorsement from every part of the realm and the empire. Each one declaring that the peoples of those regions support the proposed amendment to the Law of Succession."

"What of it?" his uncle asked as he raised his eyebrows. "Myself and my sons have supporters aplenty, traditionalists who do not believe in breaking the line of kings. The desires of faraway colonies and territories, or of subjugated lands in Essos is of little import in the homeland, what Arnor decides they will follow. Are you so sure Aragorn, that the Kingdom is ready to end the male line of Elendil himself?"

"Are you so sure of yourself Uncle? Many have called for ruling queens in the past, and not without precedent, Aldarion's Law of Succession gave Númenor three ruling queens."

"An ancient law of little relevance that was never followed in Arnor. Like Brandon said, Arnor has never had a ruling queen."

"Neither did the North until Serana, granddaughter of Nymeria, won the war against her cousin that made her queen and ensured the rise of Norda and the Rhoynish laws in the North. Neither did the Vale until Queen Alyssa rose to power upon the murder of her father and brothers at the hands of her uncle.

"The time is ripe for a change in Arnor. All three of my own daughters are intelligent and well-groomed to rule. The Arnorian people know and love them, while you and yours have spent decades secluded away in Formenor.

"Can you not see Uncle that this is best for everyone? You and your descendants can continue to rule Formenor and not have to concern yourselves with the affairs of Arnor and the empire. Arnor will have a queen who has toured every corner of its domain, has seen all its lands and peoples and heard their petitions. The compromise you and my father secured will remain intact with little need to upset or disturb the delicate balance. The people of Norda should rejoice, for at long last Arnor too has seen the wisdom in adopting Nymeria and Aldarion's laws on succession."

His cousin Brandon got up from his seat, "We're done here. It's clear that this discussion is going nowhere."

"Yes I think we are," his uncle said as he himself rose. Ned followed the two of them, having not spoken at all, but he looked somewhat regretful to Aragorn.

Before they left however, Aragorn called out to them. "Do not forget yourself Starks. Remember that I, not you, am first in line to the Sceptre. Who is to say I do not follow Aldarion's example and simply change the law by decree? What will you do then? Follow in the steps of Argeleb the Traitor? We all know how that ended," he warned.

The next day, Aragorn walked out of the council room annoyance coursing through his veins at the verdict. While many on the Council had acknowledged his letters of support and his words, enough had also heeded his uncle's arguments on tradition and precedent to make the vote inconclusive, giving no advice to his father the King, who had thus postponed the final decision to a later date.

"Why are you waiting Father?" Aragorn could not help but think as he walked.

He was temporarily drawn from his thoughts by white in the corner of his eyes, turning to look out the window to see a light fall of snowflakes upon Morlond. Winter had come.

On a dark, frigid, moonless night, he stirred. Seven chains wrapped around his soul, keeping the pieces from reforming. For thousands of years he had been trapped in this state, neither living nor dead. An undead wraith-like being, yet his power had been felt across the world, affecting the seasons, lengthening the winters which his treacherous siblings had responded to by lengthening all the others.

As he struggled against the spiritual chains, he felt two pieces of his soul connect, and power thrummed through his fëa, more power than he had felt for thousands of years. Little by little, the links in the chains holding him became brittle, the last shreds of power left to his siblings disintegrating as his soul fragments connected and slowly reformed his hröa, his body.

Until at long last, the chains snapped entirely, and he was able to reform his body, taking the shape he desired. Truly alive for the first time in millennia, he took a deep breath of the cold icy air, and felt it invigorate him. The Lord of Winter had returned, and the Long Night had begun again.


Author's Note: Sothoryos as continent is inspired by a combination of South America, Australia, and Africa. The Arnorian colonies in Hyarmen probably have the terrain and climate of the Andes, Argentina, Australia, and New Zealand.

Notably, unlike absolutist Arnor, the colonies are more democratic and meritocratic, much like the British Thirteen Colonies were, due to Arnor not wanting to directly rule its last refuge from Valyria and later being too disinterested to do so. This difference is interesting because on paper, the system of councils handling day to day administration looks similar in both Arnor and Hyarmen (and Annúrómen likely) and yet in practice is very different in the colonies. 'Democracy' is well, let's just say it's not universal suffrage, probably more akin to the 'democracy' of ancient Greece or to the Thirteen Colonies before American Revolution.

The 'mirian' is the Arnorian currency, being the Sindarin translation of Westron 'castar'.

Finally, after a long, long time, we have reached the final arc. The Second Long Night. It's been a long ride! I look forward to taking you all on to the finish line from here! Stay tuned!