The Marshal of the Mark

by blue1cemoon

'Evil labours with vast power and perpetual success - in vain: preparing always only the soil for unexpected good to sprout in.' —Tolkien, Letter 64. Adrift in the wake of the War, Truva is tasked with discovering the whereabouts of the Blue Wizards — and the origin of her own identity in the process. Sequel to The Lady of the Rohirrim.

10. The Havens of Umbar

As Aragorn paced the Alcarindur's stern, there was only just sufficient light for him to perceive the prow of the Cirthaid trailing some distance behind. He longed for such vision as Legolas had, so that he might discern whoever walked about its decks – yet he could not deny there was only one warrior in particular he desired to see. How he loathed that it was in his official capacity as King alone that he had been afforded the opportunity to bid final farewell to the company sailing northward!

Yet even as he looked out across the distance, the shadowy outline of a figure appeared: one whose subdued assurance made their stride unmistakable. Aragorn quickly released an oil lamp from its hook and ignited the wick, for he knew Truva's vision was even less perceptive than his own. Perhaps she would see the single speck of light and know that it was him.

Then there – upon the Cirthaid's bow a light appeared! By it, Aragorn could make out Legolas who, with a brief wave, passed the lantern to Truva and disappeared. Aragorn smiled to himself, resolving to thank the Elf for his keen discretion when next they met. Yet even as he leaned upon the Alcarindur's bulwarks and gazed out across the span of the two ships, Aragorn's mood grew darker, in tandem with the gathering night.

His heart was contented to know one last wordless greeting passed between himself and Truva ere the future swallowed them whole. He held no fear for himself – nor indeed any doubt in Truva's ability to ensure her own safety; and yet, and yet… some uncertainty, some apprehension nagged in the corner of his mind.

'Go swiftly,' he murmured, 'and may no misadventure cloud your journey. Would that we were only ever parted by tides of good fortune.'

In that very moment, Captain Maeron approached from behind. 'Milord,' he said gently. 'A scouting ship has just come in with news of the Corsairs' defences.'

With one last lingering glance behind, Aragorn turned and extinguished his lantern. 'Very well.'

He followed Maeron into the navigation room, where already Éomer paced about the table, conversing in low tones with Captain Bardlorn. Each paused every now and then to rub his chin contemplatively and pore over the map. Two sailors from a scouting vessel huddled together in a corner, though they straightened the instant Aragorn entered.

'Milord,' said the foremost sailor, stepping forward and bowing deeply. 'We have come to report the complete absence of any Corsair vessels upon the waters between here and the Bay of Umbar, yet we have witnessed extensive reinforcements transported to fortifications all along the coastlines – most particularly at the headlands, where once stood Tar-Calion, the monument to Ar-Pharazôn.'

Aragorn released a long sigh. 'Long ago was that white pillar erected to commemorate Sauron's obeisance to the Númenórean king; yet if all is as you say, I do not suspect it shall be resurrected any time soon,' he said. 'They would offer us a blade when we come bearing an olive branch.'

'Even so, they demonstrate no open hostilities,' added the second scout. 'Save men, their terrestrial resources are scarce; we have observed few war machines, and witnessed no martial activity beyond ordinary patrols.'

'And their fleet?' asked Aragorn. 'Umbar is not known for its infantry.'

'It seems any boats we might have expected out on open waters have all moored within the Havens: more than a dozen flagships at least, and untold smaller vessels – most positioned at the wharfs of the City's port, though others have amassed along the bay's northern cliffs to support the peninsula.'

'So it is true they did not attack Pelargir with the full strength of their navy,' Bardlorn murmured, almost in admiration. 'How did they come by such a force, and in so short a time?'

'And these are strange ships, milord,' the first sailor cut in again. 'Of a peculiar shape, they are, and far larger than the dromunds we commandeered after the War. Had I not witnessed the sight with my own eyes, I would not have believed them to be Corsair vessels.'

Aragorn's face was stony, though his thoughts were known to all in the cabin – for these very same thoughts plagued the others' minds, as well. 'Thank you for your efforts,' he said to the scouts. 'You may go to your rest. It is best you get it while you might.'

The sailors bowed in unison and exited without a word; though with their treacherous duty executed and the promise of ale in their near future, they had few plans of rest. In their wake, the four leaders lingered in the navigation cabin, gently tracing with distracted fingers the lines of the map, though they had long ago committed its every detail to memory.

Aragorn inhaled deeply, wishing a solution to the precarious situation would occur to him, if only he held his breath long enough. 'Perhaps it was foolish to have ever aspired for peace,' he said at last, absentmindedly tapping the map where the title of Umbar was scrawled stark upon the pale parchment. Such a small place to cause such terrible chaos.

'These aspirations – for the avoidance of lives lost, for a swift resolution to conflict – are never foolish, my friend,' said Éomer.

'In addition to our own vessels, a flotilla of Swanships guards the entrance of the Anduin,' said Captain Bardlorn. 'Prince Imrahil defends Dol Amroth, and Lord Faramir with his forces stands between Gondor and any who would seek to take Harad Road and come by land. Our straits are not entirely desperate, milord.'

'Nor should you think lightly of Truva Marshal, who will ensure the Mark's Riders are prepared for whatever may come – whether it be defence of our own lands, or lending succour in the defence of yours,' said Éomer. 'It is as strong a position as we might have under present circumstances.'

Though he heard such reassurances, Aragorn did not answer immediately; he sat silent a moment longer. 'What do you suppose it is that drives these Corsairs with such desperation, to seek vengeance so swiftly upon their defeat in the War?' he mused.

'Who can say?' said Maeron. 'Perhaps they will be so kind as to enlighten us when we conquer their armies once more.'

'As Ar-Pharazôn the Golden did so long ago,' said Bardlorn.

Sudden resoluteness overtook Aragorn. The furrows of concern eased from his face and his shoulders drew squarely back. 'I am still committed to following our initial course of action,' said he. 'Though I think it prudent to station more ships than initially intended just before the fortress at Tar-Calion; we must keep the Umbarian forces there occupied, and prevent them from swarming the bay, should the worst come of our talks with the Captain.'

'And the remaining Swanships and dromunds?' asked Maeron.

'Let them be divided equally and positioned before each of the Corsairs' strongholds, as originally planned.'

'Would you array our navy so brazenly, despite the Corsairs' aggressive stance?' asked Bardlorn.

'Our numbers are not so great as to invite interpretation as a threat, and – supported though it may be – still a single ship will sail into the Bay,' said Aragorn. 'A white banner is not yet meaningless in the southern realm, or so let us hope.'

And so it was with bated breath and a cloth of purest white lashed to the foremast that the Alcarindur alone sailed around the headland and entered into the Bay of Umbar. Azure waters stretched ahead, patchy macchia scrub clinging to steep, rocky escarpments of the north and south banks. Hamlets dotted these slopes, their circular walls spiralling down from the highest bluffs to the very waterfront itself – where stood a veritable armada, black pennants streaming in the breeze.

Upon the bay's eastern end, however, the towering sandstone cliffs of the headlands tapered down to lowland hills, where an offshoot of the River Harnen – the Heren, though this was demarcated on no map possessed by the northern realms – emptied into the inlet waters. Splayed along both banks of the river were the entrails of a city: low storage houses running parallel to expansive wharfs, and the mansions of their ever-vigilant merchants behind; modest shops and residences of craftsmen and tradesmen; hovels of day labourers clustered on the city outskirts, beyond the looming semi-circle of its fortifications. Protruding from the chaos were the domed spires of bell- and watchtowers, lords' turrets and captains' keeps.

In the very midst of everything, at the City's very forefront, the fortress of Ka'phos dominated. Its granite foundations rose directly from the Haven waters (though it had not always been thus) and was serviced by no more than a single causeway connecting the fortress' sole entrance to the quay. Battlements and embrasures sat silent and menacing, not a flicker of movement or whisper of sound evident.

The Alcarindur faced no attack, it would seem.

Any northerner not at the oar – commander and sailor alike – stood upon the ship deck and stared in awe at the sight that greeted them. As Gamhelm loosed a low whistle of astonishment, Aragorn scanned the fleet crowding the bay's waters with a calculating eye. Sloops and galleys, schooners and carracks bobbed upon the gentle swells: a formidable rank of mast and sail.

'A chill hangs sharp on the air – it is not so warm as last I came to these lands,' he murmured to Éomer, throwing eyes up to a sun which glared fiercely down but failed to lend any significant warmth.

'Our scouts' information wholly underestimated the Corsair forces,' Éomer replied, 'or were perhaps intentionally misled. There is nearly a score of great ships here; see how more come down from the river even now.'

'An uneasy situation made all the more dangerous,' said Maeron.

'Yet still you would not deviate from your determined course, milord?' asked Bardlorn.

'There is a reckoning that must be had here, whether by word or by blade,' Aragorn replied. 'As our victory in Pelargir was secured by no great margin – and I do not think it wise to suppose we might be so lucky a second time – let us hope that it is the former, and an accord shall be reached through peaceable means.'

'I will accompany you,' stated Éomer King.

Aragorn tensed, unease evident in each muscle. 'Ought we risk more than necessary?' he asked quietly, no more than an aside to a close friend. 'It is far better to lose one king than two, I think. Will you not remain behind with the fleet and your riders?'

'I am no sailor,' said Éomer, loath to lay in wait, away from the action. 'And am uneager to watch you endanger yourself alone. If it is violence we face, let us draw swords together; if negotiations, pens.'

Aragorn pursed his lips before conceding. 'It shall not be the first time we face untold dangers together.'

'And Gamhelm shall serve well in my stead,' said Éomer, turning suddenly to his Riders.

'Very well, milord,' said Gamhelm with a bow, though he hid a frown of disappointment – for he, too, longed desperately to go ashore.

'I will be grateful for your assistance,' said Bardlorn to the horselord captain. 'We now count a great many sailors of Dol Amroth amongst our number, but still it is no easy feat to defend a ship, and the support of a cavalry will be a great boon indeed.'

'Do not disembark without permission when we are gone,' Aragorn advised. 'The Umbarians will see it as an act of aggression. Be cautious also of any invitation to do so. The Rohirrim's mounts will not fare well if they are kept belowdecks for any protracted period of time, but you must be circumspect.'

'And should our fates so unluckily devolve into violence, milord?' asked Bardlorn.

'Lay siege first to the fortress at Tar-Calion. Do not allow those upon the headland to reinforce their brethren in the main City. We will rejoin you there, beyond the treacherous mouth of the Bay. But do not fear,' Aragorn hastened to add, noting the suppressed hint of misgiving on the Captain's face. 'There is yet hope that each of us will emerge unscathed from these precarious circumstances.'

'It is one thing to send my King into battle behind the defences of Pelargir,' said Bardlorn. 'Another entirely to watch him walk into the open arms of the enemy. It would bring me no joy to fire my bow or draw my sword, knowing you defend yourself elsewhere.'

'Then let us concoct plans with no intention of ever finding them necessary,' said Aragorn with a gentle smile.

He bade the Alcarindur be moored – distant enough from the fortress of Ka'phos as not to seem threatening, yet sufficiently near to allow a hasty retreat if necessary. A skiff was lowered, and when Aragorn and Éomer descended, they were joined also by Captain Maeron and a guard of three additional Gondorian soldiers. As they rowed the tiny boat across the waters of the cove, Maeron raised yet another standard of white, but there were no horns, no fanfare, no delegation – nothing to indicate how they might be welcomed by these Umbarians.

Each northerner sat grimly within the skiff, clutching oar handles or shield enarmes or sword pommels, watching the City approach. Indications of an ordinary, bustling port carried across the waves: shouts and clatterings and flickers of motion in the distant reaches of the city. Yet the waterfront was wholly abandoned, as seemingly lifeless as the Ka'phos fort itself. When the skiff drew near the foremost pier, there was only discomfiting stillness.

Then suddenly a voice cried out from the battlements of Ka'phos: 'Hands!'

Startled, the Gondorian guards glanced amongst each other, but were swift to follow when neither Aragorn nor Éomer showed any hesitation in raising their arms into the air. Even as they watched, a company of men materialised from the space between two storehouses and strode down the pier, their wide pants billowing behind them, waist sashes flapping in the air.

'Be advised you are at the arrows' point of our most prolific archers,' shouted one as he pulled in the skiff with a long hook and roped it to the dock. 'Not only you, but your ships before Tar-Calion and all along the coast, as far as Harnen.'

'You see by our white standard that our intentions are peaceful,' said Aragorn, his voice even and reassuring. 'We bear you no ill will; we wish merely to negotiate.'

'Yes, a great many of you would be dead already, were it not for your absurd bedsheet,' said the man, motioning with a jerk of his thumb for the northmen to disembark. 'It happens to be your good fortune that the Captain likewise wishes to have words with you.'

'Weapons,' ordered a second man. There was another glance amongst the Gondorian guards, followed by a prolonged rustle of buckles and straps being undone. Éomer made as if to offer his blade to the Corsair nearest him, but the man gave him a disgusted look.

'You ask me to deign touch so foul a weapon?' said the Corsair, incredulous. 'Place it on the dock. An attendant will collect your weapons and transport them to the palace after you have arrived.'

'I will not be separated from my blade, or have it treated so!' the Eorling King cried, fury quickly rising. Aragorn laid a calming hand upon the arm of his friend, a peculiar smile cracking his face in spite of the situation – for it was not long ago he himself had so adamantly refused to relinquish his own weapon into the care of Háma at the foot of Meduseld. The memory of Edoras swiftly brought the thought of Truva rushing to the forefront of his mind, and a painful twinge seized his chest; they had been parted no more than a few days, and though he stood upon the edge of circumstances most precarious, still his concern for her far outweighed that for his own self.

But it would not do to dwell on that which could not immediately be rectified. Aragorn gave his head a shake and, with all weapons surrendered, he and the others followed their Umbarian escorts along the dock. Upon reaching the stone quay, another heavily-armed company fell in behind, and they turned and were marched in this fashion towards the Heren. Yet the guard did not turn up the causeway of Ka'phos, and instead continued until they came to the very riverbank itself.

From here, they were directed upriver along the towpath, and at great last Aragorn and the others were given a glimpse of the life behind the City's storehouse screen: granaries and guildhalls, mills, the cooper's workshop… And yet, while the institutions were familiar, the architecture was unlike anything in the north, for in place of paved byways was hardened earth, with sand and grit chuffing beneath their feet; unforgiving stone gave way to mosaic and baked mud and both flat and domed roofs.

Ahead, bridges crisscrossed the river's span – some more sturdy than others – ferrying townspeople and their wares or livestock from bank to bank. Though Aragorn had descended upon the Havens in a bygone year, a great deal had changed since, and his pace unwittingly slowed as he attempted to take in the sights.

'Keep moving,' a Corsair growled from behind, though the rough shove he levelled was towards Maeron, who similarly struggled to mask his astoundment.

The lead Corsair only deviated from the towpath once they came to a narrow alley, tucked between a tannery and a cobbler. The party turned northward along this narrow route, walking single file and squeezing between storage crates the stench of which caused their eyes to water. Here they did not once encounter any other persons, even as they drew nearer to the sounds of bustle and commotion.

'Why do I sense we are being shown the back way?' Éomer murmured to Aragorn.

Aragorn cast his glance about, reconciling his past knowledge of the City with their current path. 'Because we are,' he replied, casting a significant glance to Éomer.

'Quiet!' the Corsair head commanded. 'We do not traverse through the bazaar for your own safety; you Forodrim are not well-liked here in the Havens.'

It was thus in silence that the company was swiftly ushered round a corner. Even so, Aragorn caught the briefest of glimpses through a narrow gap between the rear of a textile shop and its greengrocer neighbour: beneath a vast patchwork awning that sheltered both permanent stalls and improvised tents from the sun's flaring rays, throngs of Umbarians swarmed an immense square. Merchants parted the multitudes with carts ladened with flatbread or almonds or pottery, while shopkeepers caught would-be prospectors by the cloth of their angular vests to demonstrate the quality of their copper jewellery.

Yet in an instant, the view was gone and the walls of the narrow passageway closed in once more. The Captain's Coronon reared overhead, the copper sheeting of its domes gleaming in the sun, embellished with tiled mosaics of deep blues and greens more evocative of the sea than the sea itself. Only the palace's lofty upper reaches were visible, however, and soon those too disappeared from sight as the northerners' escort drew them sharply into a hidden alcove, guarded by half a dozen Umbarian warriors.

Tucked within the alcove was a tiny wooden door, scarcely large enough for a Hobbit. The briefest of nods passed between escort and guard, then a key was produced and the door unlocked to reveal a flight of stone steps descending into darkness. A torch passed from one hand to another, then was ignited, and once again the party set forth.

After the scorching high noon sunlight, the cool passageway raised gooseflesh on Aragorn's arms. Footsteps soughed on smooth flagstones as the company progressed along a series of disorienting turns before ascending a second stairway. On the landing stood a heavy pine door. With a shove of the lead Corsair's shoulder, it opened onto a bustling kitchen.

Deafening chaos ceased the instant the Umbarian cooks caught sight of Aragorn and the others.

'As you were,' the foremost guard commanded gruffly. The commotion resumed at once, though curious glances were cast surreptitiously over shoulders as the party wove between tables and darting cooks to squeeze into a narrow passageway on the opposite side of the kitchen.

When they emerged onto an immense hallway beyond, Even Aragorn was taken aback by the opulence that greeted them; for in his prior travels, he had seen no necessity in entering the palace itself. Rohirric King and Gondorian guard alike craned their necks back in awe, taking in high, arched ceilings with a patchwork of precise, colourful geometric patterns. These tessellations were mirrored in floral arabesques lining the walls, and integrated into the glazed tiles which cooled the ground beneath their feet.

'This way,' the guard urged them, allowing little time for observation. He leaned into a set of double doors, plated in copper and embellished with the depiction of a snake and eagle locked in deadly combat, to reveal an equally breathtaking hall beyond. Great marble apses swept upwards and outwards to create a wide, open chamber – vaster even than any hall Gondor could boast of. In the very centre stood a tiered dais, which bore an imposing bronze throne laid with silk cushions; about its edges, warriors knelt upon the floor, facing in all directions so that none might approach undetected.

From the throne rose a man whose towering height rivalled that of Aragorn, and whose dress was no less ornate than the palace itself: glimmering silver thread embroidered upon cloth of deep indigo. Beading rustled as the Captain descended the dais tier by tier, until the heels of his boots clacked against the stone floor and he stood but a short distance from the northerners.

'So you have come,' he said, voice reverberating strangely upon the walls. His tone was sharp but rich, imbued with indecipherable meaning. The echoes had not fully died away before Aragorn bowed. He did not fully incline before the Captain, but nor was it a slight act. The others quickly followed suit, only to straighten hurriedly when a dark laugh followed.

'You would bow before me, Thorongil – or shall I refer to you as Aragorn son of Arathorn, High King of the Dúnedain and of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor?' said the Captain. 'And you, Éomer of the House of Eorl, first of the third line of the Kings of Rohan! Do you truly consider me worthy of so obsequious a gesture?'

'Every sovereign is deserving of obeisance in his own halls,' said Aragorn.

The man who called himself Castamir peered at the company before him then, his sea-grey eyes blinking in an eerie reflection of Aragorn's own; for all the millenia the Black Númenóreans had dwelt in the western reaches of Harad, still some infinitesimal trace of their ancient ancestors lingered upon their features.

'It was a crushing defeat my fleet suffered in Pelargir,' said the Captain at great last. 'And yet it is you who sails beneath the white standard. What is your purpose here? Do you wish to mock me? Have you come to kill me, as you once slew my father? Yet you came then under a false name, and in the deep of night – out of fear, I presume – to slit his throat; have you so little regard for me that you would fell me in broad daylight?'

'I did no more than inform Steward Ecthelion II of your father's assaults upon the southern reaches of Gondor, and to warn him of Umbar's intent to ally itself with Sauron,' said Aragorn. 'In hearing my counsel, it was the Steward who determined to negate the forces amassing in the Havens – and we see now that my conjectures were correct. Bitter were the conflicts between our lands during the War.'

'Or perhaps it was those very conjectures that drove us into Sauron's arms,' the Captain countered. 'And now, in the desolate days following the War, you presume Umbar does not possess sufficient strength to defend against the waxing might of Gondor.'

'I will not assert the power balances of Men are unshifting and unchanging.' Aragorn spoke at a slant, hedging each and every syllable. 'It is true that, should you wish to usurp me, you would likely find your task far more daunting than your forebears might have. Yet just as it would behove you to abstain from drawing your sword, so too would stringent consequences exist for myself, and for Gondor, were I to take action against you.'

Castamir considered these words a moment, his light eyes flickering between each of the visitors. 'So if it is not to kill me, then why have you come?'

'We would have peace – if you be willing,' Éomer spoke at last.

A brief pause elapsed before the Captain's dry chuckle filled the hall once more. 'Peace?' he spat. 'It is not so simple, horselord. Not merely—'

A gong sounded, cutting his words off. In the following silence, an attendant emerged from a side door and bowed low, declaring: 'Dinner is served, my lord.'

'Excellent!' exclaimed the Captain with a clap of his hands, his demeanour altering in an instant. 'Let us set aside our quarrel for a time, and dine together.'

'Dinner?' questioned Maeron, who had until then been content to quietly seethe in the presence of his enemy. 'But it is scarcely past noon!'

'I know little of the barbaric habits you Forodrim keep,' the Captain quipped, ' but in the south, we are accustomed to taking our meals as they ought to be taken.'

He then ushered his guests back along the hall through which they had come, giving Maeron an opportunity to turn to another Gondorian warrior and ask, 'How ought meals to be taken, then?' The man shook his head in bewilderment.

The company emerged suddenly from the palace's shady recesses onto a vast garden, enclosed by immense sandstone walls. While elsewhere in the Havens bore inescapable signs of drought, there was no such indication in the lush greensward and its decorative rose bushes, towering cypress trees, and bubbling fountains. At the far end of the garden, a low tent had been erected, its maroon canvas casting dark shade in opposition to the torrid sun. Already a number of Corsairs lounged beneath it – one of whom was immediately recognisable as the primary guard who had escorted Aragorn and the others from the wharfs to the Coronon. They all leapt to their feet upon spying the Captain.

'Sit, sit!' he urged, waving his hands.

At once, the assembled advisors retook their places, settling upon great pillows and throws strewn across the ground. Low tables were scattered about the tent. The Captain bade Aragorn and Éomer join him at the foremost one, motioning for Maeron and the others to take their place just beside them. Each was proffered a bowl of rosewater with which to wash their hands, even as an array of small dishes appeared before them: dates, figs and grapes, walnuts and pistachios, soft cheeses and sliced tomatoes – each fresher and more appetising than the last.

Even so, Aragorn did not touch these offerings, and instead bent close to the Captain. 'My lord—' he began, but Castamir held up a hand to silence him.

'There is to be no business conducted during meals; such are our manners,' said he. 'And I suggest you be circumspect in your consumption – there are a great many more courses to come; it would not do to eat your fill upon fruits and nuts, only to watch in envy as more luxurious delicacies pass beneath your nose.'

Aragorn sat back, rebuffed but unwilling to press when circumstances were so evidently not in his favour. In a subtle sign of good grace, the Captain selected morsels from the very same vessels as his guests, yet still Aragorn did not partake. His companions, however, were not nearly so hesitant, and quickly set upon the appetisers as a hum of conversation swelled amongst the Corsair advisors, who eyed the guests warily but made no overtures.

Soon, a young man bearing a low stool came forward. Placing the seat unsteadily upon the grassy turf, he sat before the congregation with a self-conscious clearing of his throat; yet though his hands shook and his breath rattled, there was a gleam in his eye as he gazed upon the gathering.

'Ah, yes!' said the Captain with evident glee. 'Our youngest orator-in-training. Let us hear what he has accomplished since last he came before us! Speak, boy!'

The young man took a deep breath, and though his body still trembled, his voice rang clear in the turgid afternoon air. A poem unspooled, painting for its listeners the image of deep night, and gallant warriors garbed in black and red, defending against a "swarm" of unmarked sails – until the very slaying of their Captain himself. As the poem concluded and the Corsairs devolved into rowdy applause, Aragorn shifted uncomfortably; this performance had been crafted as a remonstration for past transgressions yet unforgiven.

'Wasn't that delightful?' said Castamir, feigning oblivious enthusiasm.

'The boy does indeed boast great skill,' said Aragorn with a strained smile as another, more seasoned artist replaced the young orator. This new recitation was one of more jovial spirit, however, and enumerated the praises of seas sailed and lands traversed. It was accompanied by a change in fare, as well, for the fruits and nuts were replaced with thinly sliced smoked meats, olive assortments, salads of celery and dandelion leaves, and artichokes steamed with butter and mint.

Despite their every intention of remaining wary, Aragorn and the others soon found themselves wholly absorbed in the splendorous meal and entertainment. Poem was followed by song, which in turn was followed by dance, then more songs and more poems. Afternoon transitioned unmarked into evening, the blushing sky shifted to periwinkle; lanterns were lit to glow diffusely in the gloam, and a contented mood washed over the garden.

'Can you imagine the delight your Holbytlan would take in such a feast?' Éomer remarked to Aragorn at the end of a particularly sentimental song, as yet another course was placed before them: one of roasted quail and cod, accompanied by freshly-baked flatbread.

'I suspect even young master Peregrin's stomach might at last be sated by Umbarian hospitality,' Aragorn replied.

'Doubtful,' Éomer scoffed.

Yet in that very moment, all music and conversation ceased and the Corsairs' heads turned towards the palace. From one of its many side doors emerged a figure most regal: that of a young woman. She was dressed in flowing silk robes, the colour of seafoam and embroidered handsomely, but even this enchanting garment seemed inelegant in comparison to her beauty. Elves would be envious of her dark hair, and – like the Captain – her pale eyes pierced with no more than a glance.

'My daughter, Undómírë!' cried Castamir.

The congregation rose as one. With a jolt, the woman's graceful entrance recalled to Aragorn the appearance of Arwen at the feast in Imladris, when last he visited during the War. At that time, he had been so certain the regal Elf was his inescapable destiny; yet he knew now that it was not to be – that even then Truva had unwittingly become embedded deep within his heart. He found himself longing for the shieldmaiden's reassuring presence, her steadfast countenance, her practical deductions during the tumultuous proceedings in Umbar.

Even as he indulged in these thoughts, The Captain beckoned to Undómírë, who appeared to glide as one ethereal to her father's side. 'I should like to introduce Aragorn, King of Gondor, and Éomer of Rohan, King of Rohan's third line,' he said.

'Two kings of unparalleled majesty,' said Undómírë with a gentle smile. 'It is our great fortune that you grace our shores so.'

'On the contrary, it is we who are thankful to be so warmly welcomed,' said Éomer.

'Then let us delight in the remainder of our evening – for there is certainly much more to be revelled in,' she said.

Upon hearing this declaration, the entire gathering settled once more upon the ground and welcomed the following act. This in turn was followed by a recitation of Undómírë's own – which was surely more musical than mere spoken words – and many other displays of Umbar's finest artists.

When at last a dessert course of poached pears and almond biscuits was served, many of the Umbarian statesmen had eaten their fill, and disappeared in ones and twos towards the palace. After a time, none save the Captain and the guard from the wharf remained lounging upon pillows with their northern guests, who wrapped furs loosely about themselves to ward off a sharp evening chill that had stolen upon them.

'So, my lord Aragorn,' spoke the Captain, suddenly resuming the conversation they had begun in the interior hall as though nothing had transpired in the meantime, 'you would have peace.'

Aragorn leaned back against a cushion, glad to finally begin in earnest. 'It is clear to me now the accords we struck in Minas Tirith seem unfavourable to you – so much so that you would openly defy them and attack the ports of Gondor. What am I to make of such bold transgressions?'

'If you acknowledge our discontent, you must also be willing to make concessions,' interjected the guard.

'Concessions!' scoffed Éomer. 'You are in no position to bargain, Southron!' He made as if to speak more, but the strain in Aragorn's jaw caused him to fall silent.

Castamir waved his hands dismissively. 'You must forgive my Ploíarkos,' he said. 'I believe you call this rank "lieutenant" in your northern armies? Tharbadír is overeager at times, but while his manner lacks nuance, he does express my sentiments.'

'I would be willing to listen to what concessions you would ask of me, then make my determination as to whether they are agreeable,' said Aragorn. 'Yet as my companion makes clear, there is little that works in your favour. We have seen your fleet; it is undeniably vast, but it is no match for the might of the unified West – depleted though our ranks be in the wake of the War.'

The Captain pursed his lips, his mouth no more than a tight line as he gazed steadily upon the Kings' stony features. At last he gave a slight sniff and said, 'You think Umbar weak – which is true – yet you understand little of our plight, Aragorn son of Arathorn. It is not willingly I throw myself upon the treacherous rocks of Gondor's coasts; desperation, not greed, is what drives me.'

'You would dare hope for more than that which was afforded by the terms set?' said Éomer. 'Umbar retained its borders unaltered, you pay no levies or stipends, nor was any great disarmament demanded – the last of which we see now was a tremendous oversight on our part. For a state that brought the Black Lord down upon all the people of Middle Earth, you ought to count yourself rather fortunate.'

'You speak from ignorance, horselord!' seethed the Captain. 'Umbar had little dealings with Sauron, who instead wrought his workings in the minds of the Eastern lords – the descendents of Herumor and Fuinur, in whom evil seems to amplify with each passing generation.

'Since long before you ever came to our shores under the guise of Thorongil, Harad exploited the slight lands of Umbar beyond reckoning. Not content to strip all that could be gleaned from our copper mines, they then demand payment in other forms: labourers and agricultural levies, arms, and the soldiers to bear them.

'And when Sauron promised power and resources to the lords of Harad, their armies pressed us into service – whether we willed it or no. Umbarians are a proud people, and are our own separate ruling entity, a city-state distinct from the lands of Harad; yet we had not the power to resist the overwhelming might of our neighbours, let alone Sauron.

'If you desire peace, it is not with us whom you must negotiate,' the Captain concluded. 'You must seek out those eastern lands.'

Silence followed this impassioned monologue; both Aragorn and Éomer had fallen into deep contemplation and gazed upon the garden about them, wholly preoccupied. Maeron and the other Gondorian guards sat with muscles tense, fingers reaching for sword hilts that were not there.

Éomer brushed nonexistent crumbs from his hands to break the stillness. 'To speak in truth, I had until now considered Umbar and Harad one and the same,' he confessed.

'So do all who fail to pause and learn the ways of those they do not count amongst their allies,' quipped the Ploíarkos.

'And so you continued to assail the North, for the long-embittered enmity tainting our relations prevented you from turning to us for aid,' mused Aragorn, half to himself, before inhaling sharply and fixing his eyes upon the Captain. 'And Harad persists in demanding these levies, even following the cessation of hostilities?'

'If anything, their ill treatment has grown even more exacting; for they lost a great deal in the War, and now rely upon Umbar to supplement their weakened forces,' said Castamir.

Aragorn resisted the urge to shift in his seat. It seemed increasingly apparent that the best path forward lay along a most unpleasant route. 'Were we to journey eastward and seek peace with the Haradrim, what assurance would you give me of my fleet's safety here in the Havens?'

'I lack strength, not wits,' said Castamir, feigning offence but clearly pleased his entreaties had proven effective. 'I sailed against Pelargir knowing the might of the East lay at my back, but I have no desire to trap myself between two enemies, should Gondor and Harad ally themselves against me – which you surely would, given an unprovoked attack upon your ships. No, my Lord Aragorn, I desire peace as much as you do, or perhaps a great deal more; and if Gondor's influence were able to reign in the Sunlands' long reach, I truly believe we could live harmoniously – or, at least without aggression – at last.'

Aragorn maintained his impassive expression. This was small reassurance from one so crafty as the Captain, and the precise nature of the dynamic between Umbar and Harad was more ambiguous than ever; he could not rely on Castamir's word alone to navigate his course of action. He and the others lapsed back into silence, grappling with their individual thoughts, until the torches sputtered one by one into darkness.

After a time, the Captain arose and beckoned to his guests. 'Come,' he said. 'You are surely weary from your journey. I will show you to your accommodations.'

Leading them back within the palace, he traversed a series of elaborate staircases and long corridors, each successively more ornate than the last, before arriving at a series of bedchambers.

'I bid you goodnight,' said he. 'As fate did not kindly favour my father the last time Forodrim stalked the night in Umbar, I have posted guards at your doors. Do not venture into the west wing, for there lie my chambers.'

Then, with a swish of his beaded gown, he turned and left the travellers to retire. Aragorn's eyebrows rose slightly; all information he previously gathered had indicated the Captain of the Haven slept in the east wing, as dictated by tradition.

'I will take first watch,' Maeron murmured, moving to stand opposite the Captain's guards, who flanked each doorway.

Éomer was the first to enter his chambers, shoulders bent by exhaustion, and the remaining Gondorians were quick to follow. Once in his own spacious apartments, Aragorn washed in the basin and soon lay abed, staring up at lace curtains wafting in the cool breeze off the Bay. Yet he could not so easily set aside his ruminations. Finding no rest, he rose and slipped from the chamber doors, then padded silently down the carpeted corridor, shadowed by two guards.

Guided by curiosity, he wandered the maze-like Coronon with his inescapable companions, and eventually came upon a high-arched door adorned with intricate patterns of mirror fragments, cut with remarkable precision. Beyond was an expansive gallery, every inch of its pillars and vaulted ceiling decorated in a similar manner to the doors. Lit by the soft glow of lanterns, these gleaming tessellations refracted the light and cast a glittering flare across the tiled floor, yet many beams gathered to illuminate a series of paintings and statues lining the wall.

Aragorn approached the first portrait and immediately recognized it as Castamir – not the current Captain of the Corsairs who claimed that name, but the grandson of Calimehtar, the usurper of Eldacar who effected great slaughter upon his own people. There were a great many other works of art, as well, not least of which were Angamaitë and Sangahyando, great-grandsons of Castamir. Manuscripts kept within the library of Minas Tirith asserted their line had died out, yet it was not freely that information flowed between Umbar and Gondor; Aragorn wondered whether the current Captain's claim was perhaps more than merely in name.

As he gazed upon one scene which depicted the toppling of the White Pillar of Ar-Pharazôn, he detected the light sounds of another figure approaching. The guards, however, had vanished.

'In search of any architectural idiosyncrasy constructed since the last northern occupation?' The voice of the Captain's daughter was low in the night stillness, her amused expression only just visible as she strode through the patchwork of light to take a place beside Aragorn.

'Forgive me my tresspasses,' he murmured.

'Your presence here is no trespass,' the Princess replied. 'You may walk freely as you would in your own castle.'

Aragorn cast his gaze about the gallery. 'I heard there were extraordinary wonders contained within the palace of Coronon: great halls of mirror and crystal, with windows and walls more colourful than the most vibrant of paintings. Until now, I had believed such rumours to be born of imaginative fancy, and yet I find myself happily mistaken.'

'If you also believe you shall find any weakness not already known to Gondor, you will again be mistaken,' said Undómírë. 'The Captains have always considered this palace hallowed, and will not allow a single stone to be altered; any fault in structural integrity surely exists already in your own records.'

'I come in admiration, not investigation or scrutiny, or hope of assault,' said Aragorn, a gentle smile upon his face. 'I see now the Coronon boasts no fortifications, and is a place of residence, not military conflict. A terrible misdeed it would be to alter such beauty, save to enhance it.'

'Just so,' said Undómírë decisively, guiding Aragorn to an adjacent hall, where paintings depicting the Havens and surrounding lands were displayed from floor to lofty, golden rafters. 'And what of your meal this evening? Was it to your liking?'

'I have travelled the many corners of this Earth, and yet never been afforded the pleasure of tasting many of the delicacies presented to me this evening. The Havens boast not only architectural marvels, but culinary ones as well.'

Undómírë's eyes twinkled archly. 'My father knew of your coming, and so made a great show of presenting our finest dishes,' she said. 'To speak frankly, the meals in our daily lives are rarely so splendid – even those of the Captain. Likewise, it was with especial care that he selected the dress in which he greeted you.'

Aragorn glanced down at his own travel-worn garments then back to his companion. 'And the performances; the orations, the music and dance? Were they similarly a display of unusual extravagance?'

'Most certainly not!' Undómírë's musical laughter echoed up into the ceiling's lofty arches. 'To Umbarians, the arts are an indispensable aspect of even the most ordinary evening, and business is customarily conducted all the while – though I know my father told you otherwise. I believe he sought to make you uncomfortable by delaying your purpose quite abruptly.'

Aragorn drifted further down the gallery, turning his attention to each ornately framed masterpiece in turn. 'Do you not risk the Captain's ire in revealing such secrets to me?'

'Perhaps,' said the Princess, a blithe smile belying the solemnity of her words as she trailed slightly behind Aragorn. 'But my father is a proud man, a vain man. With one hand he would serve a grand feast, and with the other blame Harad for all our misfortunes – and in doing so, I fear he ruins our hope of securing Gondor's aid by presenting a façade of wealth, while failing to admit the depth to which the Havens' struggles delve.'

'Your troubles extend beyond those which Harad press upon you?'

'While it is true some fault lies with the Sunlands for our present circumstances, my father would seek to lay a heavier blame upon them than is truly deserved; for it cannot be denied that our lands provide little by way of natural resources, and our primary recourse is to seek it elsewhere.'

'In places such as Gondor,' concluded Aragorn.

'Such as Gondor,' said Undómírë, ducking her head so her gleaming hair fell about her face. 'Yet would it not be beneficial to both our peoples to set aside grievances of the past, and forge a new alliance by which we could both prosper?'

The pair stopped then before a vast painting, its rough strokes of muted browns and tans depicting a scene in motion: an eagle with its wings in mid-draught, confronting a rearing black serpent. Aragorn reached out, his fingers hovering over the mural.

'And yet it was Umbar that betrayed our recent accords.'

'As Gondor did – as you did – when my grandfather was struck down for mere fear of an action not yet taken.' When Undómírë turned to face Aragorn then, he did not even consider remarking upon her selective interpretation of that surprise attack. Her eyes pierced him, pinning his chest to the painting itself. 'The eagle always strikes from above.'

'And yet it was the eagle, wings broken and unwary, that felt fangs sink unexpectedly into its back,' he replied.