The darkness of the night crept up around him even with the stars shining brilliantly- yet when they used to give him hope they now offered him nothing but foreboding; it had been ten years since he had last made this trek into the East. The war in the West and the loss of Umbar had taken much of his time and focus and now he stood upon a precipice. After his time of preparation the support for the war had begun to wane in the West, the Lords of Gondor and of Eriador had begun to speak openly of withdrawing support; though the great warships he had built did not rot for the skill of the elves crafted them, they sat idle in their havens, taken out only to practice attack maneuvers. He now made his way into the East to speak to the Alliance known as the Seven Nations of the Red Mountains, to see and hope that they would assent to an escalation in the war, which he hoped would bring victory in a few short years. In appearance he did not look too different from when he had left, the long years of battles and politics had etched in gentle lines of worry upon his brow and his lips were more often in a frown of deep thought than in a quizzical look of confusion. He had shaved his beard after the manner of his people and looked resplendent in the garb of a warrior king; now he should not fear entering these lands, though some part of him still did.
Narmacil, loyal, young and level-headed captain of the eastern garrison had sent an envoy of Hamadjon and Gondorian soldiers to greet him where the Dwarf Road met the end of the Iron Hills. In a guarded caravan they entered the lands of the Seven Nations and in stealth they made their way rounding the mighty Orocarni and coming at long last to the river of gold where as a boy he was tended by the daughter of the Utashtegu, when he came to her people weary and travel-worn. He expected a large envoy of the Seven Nations or a gathering of the Great Council. Instead he saw a small tent erected by the shores of the river; the tent was sable in hue and embroidered with a fine handicraft of silver thread depicting a great raven flying amidst a sky filled with stars, if he looked at it through the corner of his eyes it blended in with the dark horizon and the black night surrounding him. Two cisterns of flaming coals burned outside the tent and standing beside them were Narmacil and Cedlal, who greeted him silently, gesturing for him to enter the tent. When he entered he saw only a strangely clad figure within; Queen Ashthera sat with her hand folded upon her knees and by her feet was laid a great labrys, the great double-headed axe of the Hamadjon Chieftain, Hipholuta. A desert owl hooted from a cage hanging in the corner as she gestured for him to sit in front of the axe upon a small red carpet. He sat before her as two attendants offered him water to bathe and drink and a sweet nut cake made with honey and a grain that grew in the floodplains of the south. When he had finished washing his face and hands and had eaten the cake and drink, the Queen spoke, her voice deep and melodic, yet husky and filled with a smoked tenor.
"I know why you have come, son of Ciryandir…Already my scouts tell me your war goes ill. The Haven of Umbar is lost and the Ayab-Mamuk who are allied to us have been run out of their homeland and slaughtered in the process. Khamul's eyes have followed you closely and in this you have failed us."
Meeting her steely gaze he said strongly,
"What you have heard is true. Though I have not failed you, even now I am ready to make war upon Khamul and capture the city of Khahalazul."
"I assure you Ciryaher, Khamul knows about your great naval force in the Northern lands…Even now he is gathering a great force from the sea-peoples of the Khand to match your great army to do battle upon the sea."
At this Ciryaher was astounded, wordlessly he looked at her and his furrowed brow and confused expression bade her to speak on.
"Your movements have always been watched both by us and by Khamul, for this reason you cannot meet with the full council as you once did. There are spies even among us and all the nations of the world are turned against one another. The Council still trusts you Ciryaher, but that trust is waning…"
Ciryaher at this stood,
"And why should I trust the Council? If my movements are followed and if what you say is true then what other recourse is left for me? What benefit have I left in trusting you people?!"
Silently and without emotion she spoke,
"Because the fact remains…you need us."
It hit him harshly in the chest, the realization and the truth of her words. He looked out of the tent, the two dark figures of Cedlal and Narmacil speaking to one another in the distance. Sighing he turned to face Queen Ashthera, her eyes filled with stoic and unrelenting wisdom.
"What must I do?"
"The war stands upon the edge of a cliff; we can no longer trust in secrecy. Even now as Khamul stretches his hands to orchestrate the great battle that is to come to your shores, his eyes turn to the North and to the Red Mountains. It will not be long till he has us in his sight and when he finds us the retribution and death will come swiftly."
Ciryaher turned to face her and began pacing around the area of the tent,
"Then we must surprise him, strike when he thinks we are weak, set him off balance."
With a gentle nod Queen Asthera stood, her height now imposing; picking up the double-edged axe she hands it to Ciryaher.
"Move your navy into position. The forces of the East will handle the city of Khahalazul, and the north as we have always done."
"But how?"
"Even from you the council keeps its secrets and it is not for you to know the true size of our power. Only that to sway the Council to use its full force I will need more than your word that this victory will come swiftly…I will need an action, binding yourself to us."
"Why must I be bound to you?"
Silently she turned, the beads upon her face scarf clinking and tingling like little bronze bells, soft and deep their sound filling the silence of the air. She looked into the hearth in the center of the tent, her eyes glistening like a pair of stars through the opaque veil she wore and Ciryaher almost sees a glint of a tear.
"Because…the council trusts in its own power and friendship, not through a mutual goal but through a union much stronger and viable…through blood. A great secret of the council is not that we have weathered the storms of the past, nor that we come from different walks of life and histories, but that we are united by the oldest institution imaginable…We are family."
Ciryaher looked upon her, almost wanting to touch her yet her presence, her almost ethereal quality of her movements and voice stop him, knowing almost instinctually that if he were to lay a finger upon her he would be killed. He nods and kneels upon one knee before her,
"What would you have me vow?"
"You must first promise that if this war is to be won and Khahalazul falls under your hands, no man of Gondorian blood shall sit upon its throne…it shall pass to the council of the Seven Nations and all the lands of Khamul shall belong to us."
Ciryaher's eyes widen in shock,
"I cannot promise that, the Lords of Gondor will not allow me to…"
At this Queen Ashthera seemed to grow in size and majesty, she stood towering over him her body blocking the light of the hearth and her shadow filling and surrounding him, the mirrored beads of her gown and diadem catching the light, seeming to dance upon her form as bits of flame,
"Are you not King of Gondor?! Is it not your will to sign whatever treaties you wish and to make whatever alliances seem best to you?! Or are you simply a figure-head king at the mercy of a gaggle of old men who send younger men to do their bidding? Send me the true rulers of Gondor so that I may parlay with them and not some princeling!"
At this Ciryaher stood and looked at her in the eyes, the smoky veil separating his eyes and hers seemed to burn away and he could peer into her soul for a brief instant.
"I am King of Gondor and servant to no one…Not even the Queen of the East!"
Then in brief moment he lost himself and stepped back swallowing a lump that was caught in his throat, a rustle came from behind them and standing in the entranceway of the tent was Cedlal, his sword half drawn and a look of anger upon his face. With a wave of her heavily tattooed hand Queen Ashthera bid him depart, which he did with a slight bow. For a few brief moments silence passed between them as Ciryaher paced and as Queen Ashthera walked to her seat and silently placed her hands upon her lap laying the axe once again beside her feet. At long last Ciryaher spoke,
"Give Gondor the lands of the Easterlings and the city and lands of Umbar. You may have the eastern lands of the Harad and Khand for all I care."
"The council will need something more, a promise that this treaty will not be forgotten and will be honored, even by your descendents."
"What more would they want?"
Without hesitating she looked into his eyes and said,
"You will take for your wife a woman of the Seven Nations and marry her under our laws and customs, or name Narmacil's daughter as your heir."
"And those are my only choices?"
She rose to meet him eye to eye placing the hilt of the labrys in his hands,
"You must bind yourself to us as Narmacil has done…in this way the council can ensure that regardless of what happens to you or to us, the treaty is honored in the next generation and beyond. Do you swear to this?"
Breathing in deeply Ciryaher took the labrys and attached it to his belt,
"I so swear."
The rest of that night Ciryaher and Queen Ashthera of the East spoke of battle plans and he was amazed that a woman would know as much about waging a war as he; in the morning Ciryaher left to the East escorted by Narmacil and his guard, the labrys of Hipholuta upon his belt glistening in the sun. When they found a few moments of peace together, Ciryaher told the young captain of his oath and treaty, at this the young captain was silent at first and then said,
"Now I do not know who got more out of this bargain, you or her."
Ciryaher taking it for a jest said simply,
"Marriage contracts are not that uncommon in Gondor, I would still be forced to marry some nobleman's daughter, at least now I will bind the lands of the east under my domain."
Narmacil shifted uneasily upon his horse and said,
"May I be frank with you my lord?"
"Of course Narmacil, you have earned that right as my captain. I trust your word."
"You do not know the truth of all that you have sworn to my lord…Under their customs it is not the woman and her lands that come under the rule of her husband as it is in the marriage customs of Gondor…You will be absorbed into their lineage, and the rule of Gondor will pass to them…It is the same oath and marriage I made."
"But Narmacil…"
"I do not regret my marriage my lord and king…I was my father's third son and when I returned to Gondor all that would be waiting for me would be a position in the Tower Guard or a captaincy in the army of my father's brother, the Lord of Edhellond, at best. Here at least I am given the status of my wife and am captain of the garrison and men of the Hamadjon. I could never seek to be higher…but you, my king, I wonder now how the Lords of Gondor will take this news."
"They will not know of it till the end of this war, if it ever come… Who is even to say if the oath will be fulfilled, at least now I have the Seven Nations in league with us."
Ciryaher rode off now with his escort leaving Narmacil and his guarded caravan to return to their mountain stronghold; in silence Narmacil whispered to himself,
"Will even the king be oathbreaker in these uncertain times?"
And for a brief moment Narmacil's love for his king faltered as he considered this and then prayed to Varda that no oath should be broken when this war was over, lest it bring the destruction of the home he loved so much.