The trees in the castle bailey were beginning to show signs of autumn, the green leaves tinted with a touch of yellow. The fields beneath the steep cliff of Cameth Brin had been harvested and were now lying fallow for the winter rest. The hay mows in the barn were filled with the ripe riches of the hayfields, and even now gave off a lingering sweetness of August's last mowing.
Tarniel, King Tarnendur's youngest daughter, a girl of fourteen, sat upon the cushioned window seat, looking out through the open window at the scene outside. A tall, willowy girl, her long, rich brunette tresses were bound up in a fat mass of plaits held captive within a net of finely woven thread. She possessed all the traits of her race, that of the Dunedain, the usual dark hair and fair skin, and gray eyes like the sea from which the elves set sail at the ports of Lindon. Her rosy cheeks were not marked with a single freckle brought about by the brilliant rays of Lady Arien, for, as did most noblewomen, she spent most of her days within castle walls or beneath the shade trees in the lovely palace gardens.
And that was just what Tarniel was doing now, sitting in her chamber. A book lay forgotten in her lap; her thoughts were elsewhere, upon the dances which would be held in winter, the court balls in the castle's majestic ballroom... Lords and ladies would come from all around to her father's court, and there would be mirth and cheer, and the logs would burn brightly in the great fireplace... there would be long feasting tables covered with food aplenty, and subtleties of gelatin wrought in the shapes of great animals or castles or scenes from history. Young men, suitors for the king's daughter, would all be vying for the chance to dance with her... she blushed when she thought of them, a broad smile curling out over her lips.
Then her thoughts darkened, for she thought of her half-sister Gimilbeth, a woman almost ninety years her senior. Gimilbeth had little love for Tarniel, her mother or her two brothers. It was commonly believed that she was a witch, and Tarniel tried to avoid her as much as possible. Thoughts of her could ruin those of any pleasant social gathering.
Cameth Brin, morning of October 6, 1347. Written by Gordis
Gimilbeth, the eldest daughter of Tarnendur and his late first wife Inzilbeth, sat at her dressing table looking in the mirror with unseeing eyes. She has just returned from the Tanoth Brin village, her elaborate blue headdress still on her head and her pack of medicinal herbs clutched tightly in her hands.
Yozaneth, the little rosy-cheeked, plump Yozaneth was dead at last. Her little northern handmaid, her adoring and selfless companion, her only friend... Yes, they had been friends an age ago in sunny Gondor, where the wind smelled of the Sea and flowers, where peaches grew in lush gardens, where precious stones were pebbles for children to play with. The land where Gimilbeth was ready to become Queen...
She remembered the beaming Yozaneth at the balcony of their palace in Osgiliath, all flushed and happy, telling her:
"Oh Prince Valacar is in love with you already, t'was plain to see, m'lady! And he is to become King one day, d'you know?"
She knew, of course. Valacar son of Minalcar, the Regent of the realm, was the childless King Narmacil's grand-nephew and Heir to the Gondor throne after his father. Seeing the growing beauty of Tarnendur's noble daughter, Minalcar proposed the eventual betrothal of Gimilbeth with his young son Valacar. It was too early to speak of marriage, of course, even of the regular betrothal, as Gimilbeth had only seen ten summers by this time.
Still, that very day, Valacar was introduced to Gimilbeth. He kissed her hand tenderly and spoke in mock seriousness.
"I see you are growing to be a wondrous beauty, my young Lady. No man could remain indifferent in your presence."
And then, the same year, Minalcar sent his son away, to the far land of Rhovanion, to establish good relations with the northern barbarians. Valacar succeeded in that, apparently, as he returned to Gondor with a barbaric wife and a new-born bastard.
That day Gimilbeth cried for the first time in her life, little Yozaneth wailing at her feet. But it was not the last time...
Yozaneth was one of the children of Tarnendur's servant, Yozadan, half-Hillmen himself and married to a Hillmen girl. Gimilbeth knew how short the life span of Hillmen was supposed to be, but still she was shocked when Yozaneth was married and nursing a plump child before Gimilbeth herself was done with playing with her dolls. She felt abandoned and betrayed, and sent Yozaneth away. Gimilbeth found new handmaidens, dark-haired Gondorian girls, but no one of them could take the place Yozaneth had held at her side and in her heart.
Later, Yozaneth was around, but not too close, growing older and older. For the last twenty years, since they came to the cold, savage land of Rhudaur, Gimilbeth saw her old handmaiden rarely. Yozaneth lived quietly in Tanoth Brin, surrounded by her numerous children and grandchildren, and never came up to the Castle. Until the last night, when a ruddy, sandy-haired peasant, one of Yozaneth's great-grandchildren, begged the Lady Gimilbeth to attend her old friend at her deathbed. It was not a plea anyone could refuse, so Gimilbeth took her bag of medicine, and, surrounded by an escort of armed Dunedain guards, rode down the winding road to Tanoth Brin.
The room in the little cottage below the hill was crowded. Old gray-haired men and women wept, the younger ones sniffed, and the little great-grandchildren watched the bed with frightened solemn eyes. On the bed, covered by fur blankets, lay a small heap of bones, held together by translucent, wrinkled skin. Only the kind blue eyes were recognizable and still able to recognize. Yozaneth smiled at her, showing stumps of rotten teeth, and held out a bony hand. She was too weak to say anything and died within the hour.
And Yozaneth was one year younger than she.
Gimilbeth shook her head and looked into the mirror worriedly. The mirror reflected the face of a young maiden, with flawless creamy skin and dark-blue, almost black, secretive eyes under the long dark lashes. So far, the secret knowledge she inherited from her Umbarian grandmother had worked. And she had used only simple spells, herbal creams and lotions. And dancing alone on the nights of the Equinoxes and summer and winter Solstices, drawing power from the Sun. But her grandmother leagued her more... Gimilbeth also had a little black book, which her dying mother begged her to burn. She didn't burn it, but never dared to read beyond the first page.
Rising wearily, Gimilbeth went to the large chest by the wall, and, opening the secret locker in the lid, took out the book. It smelled faintly of fungus. The small book looked ancient beyond count, the leather cover set with precious stones moldy and fragile. Mouth pressed into a thin line, Gimilbeth returned to her chair and opened the first page.
"The Ancient Darkness is stronger than the Light. And out of it the world was made. For Darkness alone is worshipful, and the Lord thereof may yet make other worlds to be gifts to those that serve him, so that the increase of their power shall find no end"
"It is He whose Name is not now spoken; for the Valar have deceived you concerning Him, putting forward the name of Eru, a phantom devised in the folly of their hearts, seeking to enchain Men in servitude to themselves. For they are the oracle of this Eru, which speaks only what they will. But He that is their Master shall yet prevail, and He will deliver you from this phantom; and His name is Melkor, Lord of All, Giver of Freedom, and He shall make you stronger than they."
Cameth Brin, late morning of October 6, 1347. Written by Gordis and Elfhild.
Tarnendur, King of Rhudaur, his old wrinkled face contorted in a scowl, walked out of the Council chamber. Yet again he had to make concessions: his counselors have been most persuasive and made him accept the unacceptable, to accord Broggha the Rebel, Broggha the Murderer a castle to rule and a place of Chief advisor on his own Privy Council! At this thought the King's fingers curled into a fist. He shook his long mane of white hair and headed out for a gulp of fresh air. He descended to the first level of the tower and passed through the great central hall. This was the public hall, where feasts and receptions were held, petitions were heard, and where many of the courtiers slept at night, either in the Hall itself, or in smaller chambers opening into it.
In the court, the sun was shining, weak and watery, giving little warmth. Cold autumn breezes swept the yard. Near the main gate, he saw his sons with several other boys of their age, preparing to go to the Old Fort for their archery lesson. Seeing the King, the young men approached and bowed, waiting for the King to address them.
Daurendil, the King's heir, a young man of twenty summers, dark-haired and keen-eyed, took a lot after his father. He stood proudly, smiling at the King, his eyes level with his father's. He was clad in an elegant green tunic and a copper-colored cape, a long bow behind his back.
Amantir, of smaller stature, with wavy raven hair, delicate features and soft feminine mouth was a copy of his mother, gentle and loving Queen Eilinel. He was the first to notice the King's concealed distress and looked back at his father inquiringly.
"Greetings, my sons," said the King. "I hope you are fine. I see you are ready for the archery practice. Captain Merendil is quite pleased with your progress, I heard."
The young men bowed again, flushing at the King's approval, so rare these days.
"I won't detain you longer, my sons," the King continued. "Only tell me, have you seen your sister Tarniel today?"
"Yes Father," replied Daurendil. "She is in her rooms reading or dreaming as usual."
The Prince had little interest for his sister. What a shame to be born a girl, to be confined to your rooms and miss almost all the excitement there is in life!
The King nodded and turned to the Palace, a newly built luxurious building surrounded by a small garden. He saw Tarniel sitting at the window and beckoned to her. Tarniel soon appeared at the door and joined the King.
"Come, daughter," he said, looking at her lovingly. "Walk with me in the garden for a while."
They walked for some time in silence.
"I am afraid the news is not good," he said after a while. "Our life is about to change. I was forced to make some concessions to the Hillmen rebels. Soon it will be unsafe to walk alone in the garden or even to remain in your room unattended. Some wicked people will be around here."
Alarmed, Tarniel looked to her father's face.
"Oh, that is horrible, Father! Are these Hillmen here to stay? Will every day be like this?"
Her gaze left his face and she looked about the garden, thinking of all the places which were so wonderful for moments of quiet solace. Would she have to sacrifice her freedom to be alone and dream for fear of marauding Hillmen everywhere?
"I have to be attended even in my room?!" she gasped in disbelief.
Tarnendur turned slowly and looked at his daughter. So young and innocent she was, sheltered and pampered by her loving parents, unprepared to meet the cruel realities of life. It was yet another of his many mistakes...
Tarnendur was long reluctant to re-marry, remaining faithful to the one he held so dear and mourned for so long. But, to his own surprise, he found peace and happiness with his loving, gentle wife Eilinel, and a new hope when, in due time, she presented him with two strong sons and a lovely daughter. Tarniel was by far his favorite of the three, or, at least, it seemed so to casual observers. If he were able to be stern and demanding with his sons, deeming it the only way to raise them properly, every time he looked at his daughter, his old heart melted, and she invariably got everything she wanted and more.
Perhaps, now it was time to change that. Tarnendur scowled from cheer frustration and pain, and replied in a harsh strangled voice.
"Yes, Tarniel. Even in your room, even while you sleep. I will ask the Queen to choose a trustworthy Dunedain woman, skilled with weapons, to be your guardian day and night. I would be loath to order armed men to stay in your room. But once you are outside, an escort of four guards is in order. They will follow you everywhere. Now, go and find Princess Odaragariel. I trust you to transmit my orders to her. She is an orphan, and I am her guardian, so the same precautions will be made for her safety."
With that, Tarnendur turned on his heels, and strode to the Palace. He had a most unpleasant task at hand - to tell Gimilbeth of the Council's decision.