Author's note: Turns out, I hate the idea of updating FFN thirteen weeks behind AO3. Here's all thirteen chapters at once; FFN will now be concurrent with AO3. Sorry for the spam.

Recommended listening: Rimsky-Korsakov — Scheherazade

CHAPTER XVIII: HERUMOROS

Far in the distance, the peaks of Ered Enaid broke the vast sea of sand, rising up like battlements in the east, dividing the realms of Harad and Khand. From a series of lakes in the mountains' upper reaches, fed by rainfall off the less arid eastern region, the Sîr Talath coursed down to provide life-giving water to the flat Sunlands. This river flowed eastward for some distance before eventually curving south, thereby creating a basin in which wheat, barley, and other crops could be grown.

Against this mountainous backdrop, at the intersection of the road from Umbar and another sweeping across the landscape from north to south, stood Herumoros: the city of clay upon a hill, surrounded by tremendous battlements and towers. At its summit loomed the citadel of Luxumarto, home of Ephor Herufoth, descendent of Herumor himself. Many millennia ago had the Black Númenóreans sailed forth under the shadow of Sauron to establish such strongholds, and though nearly all others had since vanished into the sands of time, Herumoros still domineered over the region as a serpent over mice.

Here, along the road between caravanserai and fortress, the earth did not shift beneath the kamels' feet as the dunes did. The company's pace increased nearly twofold, and Castamir did not did not slacken it until they stood before the massive city gates. Merchants and tradesmen, farmers and travellers streamed in and out of the archway, each halting in turn before a contingent of guards for inspection. As soon as the Captain approached, however, those upon the road drew aside and all movement ceased. A horn sounded from the guard tower, and was answered by another within the citadel high above.

'Hail Castamir, Captain of the Corsairs of Umbar!' cried one guard, stepping forth into the company's path. 'What business is it that brings you to Herumoros?'

'I seek an audience with the Ephor,' Castamir replied, his voice laden with an affectation of indifference. 'Will he grant it to me?'

The guard peered at Aragorn, Éomer, and each of their Forodrim companions in turn, suspicion written clear upon his furrowed brow. 'And who is it that travels in your caravan?'

'These are emissaries from the northern realms of Gondor and Rohan, come to seek the Ephor's favour, and to bolster the accords between our lands.'

The Captain's failure to properly identify his guests by name did not evade Aragorn's notice, nor that of the guard. Even so, the harried Southron hesitated just a moment longer, eyes passing back and forth along the company.

'It was only this morning Ephor Herufoth returned from surveying the eastern border,' he said at last. 'My lord rests now, and so I cannot hazard how soon he will grant you an audience – or whether he shall grant it at all. But Umbar and Harad are yet allies, and thus you may enter the city and bide amongst our people… so long as you understand you shall be held accountable for any misdeeds the outsiders commit.'

Castamir glared at this guard so long it appeared as though he was attempting to set fire to the tails of the man's brigandine, but then he gave a cursory wave. 'It is agreed,' he said, urging his kamel forward with such swiftness the guard was forced to leap aside.

The stream of Haradrim began to flow again as the company passed through the main gates into a tunnel, vast enough to allow a fully-grown oliphaunt passage, and nearly so long as the beasts were from tail to trunk tip. Once into the city itself, buildings of rammed earth rose up around them: armouries and inns, crammed shoulder to shoulder with alehouses and – just around the corner from the gates – a caravanserai.

Unlike the sprawling complex where they had passed the previous night, this caravanserai was cramped and boasted far fewer amenities – though it had little need to. The company swiftly stowed their kamels in stalls reserved for especial use by Umbarian officials, and guards settled in to watch over the creatures as Castamir assisted his daughter in descending from the litter. The two set out into the main city with the Forodrim in tow, the Ploíarkos and his men lurking as ever in the rear.

As it was at the entrance to Herumoros, so was it throughout the rest of the city; between a series of concentric defensive walls, watched over by sentries at their guardhouses, the press of earthen structures drew ever closer. The small party passed granaries and shops, bathhouses and bakeries, from the windows and walls of which hung woven tapestries bearing floral or geometric patterns, their golden and silver threads glimmering in the midday sun.

Despite being garbed in a manner similar to their companions, the northerners' pale complexion – and Éomer's golden locks especially – drew many a sceptical glance from the residents of Herumoros. These Haradrim did not approach, however; they knew the Captain by sight, and so gave the company a wide berth, choosing instead to glare from doorways or behind food carts, never taking their eyes off the strangers.

As Aragorn and the others progressed up the hill towards the citadel, the roads of hardened earth gave way to narrow passageways paved with glazed tiles, bearing geometric patterns similar to those of Coronon. Despite the blazing afternoon sun, the tiles were cool beneath the travellers' feet, for the residences and shops crowding each side of the street were built with overhanging upper floors. Between the small gap that remained between rooftops, swaths of calico had been stretched, shading the street below.

The buildings ultimately came to a very sharp end, opening onto a bare strip of land, where not a single boulder or shrub offered even the slightest suggestion of cover. Beyond lay the formidable defences of Luxumarto: lofty battlements constructed of limestone blocks the height of grown Men, plunging featureless down to sheer, rocky cliffs; embrasured corner towers – the more ancient origins of which were evidenced by their square construction, unlike the drum towers set into the main fortifications. There was but a single tiny gate, set deep into the wall and approached via a curving, steep-sided causeway.

The guards stationed at this gate were far less welcoming than those below, their halberds glinting in warning. More than one scimitar was drawn at the company's approach.

'Halt!' came the predictable cry.

The Captain slowly came to a standstill halfway up the causeway. Undómírë was still at his side, though Tharbadír now strode to the forefront and stood protectively before them. Acutely aware of the trouble their presence might arouse, both Aragorn and Éomer lingered behind the Corsairs, with Maeron and the Gondorian guards at their back.

Then Castamir spoke, his voice clear in the sweltering stillness: 'I know the Ephor is returned to his halls of late,' said he. 'I have no intention of disturbing his rest; I will wait until he sees fit to grant me audience.'

'Then you will have a long wait,' the guard said in reply, 'for you come in the company of the Kings of Gondor and Rohan, and many Forodrim. I myself recognize them, having witnessed with my own eyes the atrocities they committed before Morannon. The Ephor will not be pleased.'

'His displeasure I shall suffer at my own choosing,' the Captain insisted mildly. 'Will you not send a messenger, to learn the Ephor's mind; or, if he is not awake, the counsel of his Yüzbashı?'

The guard's face the travellers could not see, for he was cast in the gate's shadow, and wore a headwrap that concealed his features; yet his irritation was apparent in the clipped tone of his response. 'To what purpose do you wish to speak with the Ephor?'

'It is regarding peaceable notions, nothing more,' said the Captain. 'I seek to reforge the connection between our lands, and the Forodrim have expressed they are amenable to colloquies of a more… reciprocal nature.'

The guard appeared unswayed by these words, however. 'I will send a messenger, but perhaps you ought to return to the city and wait there. Should the Ephor respond positively, I will send my guards to fetch you.'

'Or perhaps you could ask now,' Aragorn spoke suddenly, nodding towards what little of the inner bailey could be glimpsed through the archway. A dark-cloaked figure descended along the path between palace and gate, joined by his many attendants. It could be no other than the Ephor himself, tall and broad, true master of the armies he had led north.

'Please excuse my gatekeepers,' the Ephor called out when he drew near, waving the guards aside. 'They are overzealous, which indeed makes them well-suited for such duties.'

As one, the contingent snapped into low bows, then stepped back into formation as their ruler strode through the gate, the hem of his silk robes wafting on the insipid breeze.

'Ephor Herufoth,' said the Captain, inclining his head only slightly. His cold tone was in stark contrast to the heat of the day.

'Castamir, and lords of the North,' the Ephor replied. He did not give even an approximation of a bow. 'I cannot say that I am unsurprised to see you here, but whatever your purpose, it strikes me as a tale long in telling. Yet I am certain you are weary from your journey; it is no easy trek from the Havens to Herumoros. Come, take your ease in the shade of my halls, and we shall talk when you are rested.'

'Such hospitality would be sorely welcome,' said Éomer King, though the Ephor merely smiled and turned back up the hill, leading the company along a path lined with the same spindly trees that had grown about the Oasis.

The outer wall of the palace itself seemed more to serve aesthetic rather than defensive purposes, though it did this with great success. Across the clay surface, glazed tiles of black and red were embedded to draw the eye to its keyhole archway, which was outfitted with a door of mottled wood smelling faintly of pine – though it was of no variety any of the northerners were familiar with. Within the palace walls, arid wasteland gave way to a lush garden patterned with winding paths and raised flowerbeds. Trees of orange and jasmine towered overhead. The temperature plummeted and Aragorn breathed in the cool, earthy scent of rich soil.

Beyond the garden, the party came upon a courtyard paved with a bold patchwork of diamonds and flowers, an immense copper fountain bubbling at the very centre. On all three sides, the courtyard was surrounded by a portico of arched columns, their arabesques painted in vibrant yellows and blues. Hidden within the portico's shade were swaths of deeper darkness that suggested halls and passageways unseen.

The Ephor did not stray towards either wing, however, and instead made straight for the corps de logis in the rear, where beckoned a series of latticework doors. The centremost of these opened onto an expansive and colourful throne room, the floor and walls of which were adorned in their entirety with tessellations and polygons and overlapping circles. Even the wooden ceiling bore a mural depicting the stars of the night sky.

Atop a dais against the far wall sat a bronze throne, but Herufoth did not take his place upon it. He instead led the company through a secondary door into a more comfortably situated side-room, where plush rugs and the Sutherlands' ubiquitous pillows littered the floor. Already attendants awaited, bearing chilled mint tea and other refreshments.

In the very middle of the room sat a figure whose very presence demanded rapt attention: that of a woman most elegant, adorned in silks and jewels. She could be none other than the Ephor's daughter, for when she rose she was near equal to her father in stature, and the light pink of her robes was offset by skin darkened beneath the unrelenting Harad sun, as her father's was.

Immediately upon entering, Undómírë dashed forward to wrap the woman in her arms. 'Oh, Indil!' she exclaimed. 'How I've missed you!'

'Have you?' the woman questioned, though there was no edge to her voice as she returned the embrace. 'Not since the War have you ventured east to pay me any visit!'

'Nor have you come west to see me,' Undómírë countered.

'Ah, and so we justly accuse each other!' Indil laughed, a beaming smile breaking across her youthful face. She then gestured to the travellers. 'And who are these companions of yours?'

'My dear lord and lady,' said Castamir, stepping forward. 'Might I introduce you to Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur and High King of Gondor? He has come in the company of Éomer, sister-son of Théoden, who by rights ascended to the throne of Eorl the Young of Rohan.'

'Yes,' said Herufoth, his tone and expression inscrutable. 'I know their faces.'

Aragorn bowed before both Ephor and Princess. 'Terrible acts have passed between our lands, which can never be undone,' said he. 'But as I stated to your envoys those many months ago, at the negotiations following the Final Battle's conclusion, my hope remains as ever to set forth into a new age of peace amongst the many nations of Men.'

'Yes, I remember.'

'As do my own hopes,' said Éomer, quick to follow with his own greeting. 'Though I imagine you have little concern for the humble Riddermark – far as it is from your borders, and few in number as its people are – we are similarly dedicated to establishing concord amongst north and south. Our alliances have historically placed us in opposition, yet it needn't be so in perpetuity.'

'Your reassurances are well-met,' said the Ephor, though his manner spoke otherwise.

'Come, sit!' Indil interjected, motioning for the company to take places about a low table. 'I thank you for ensuring Undómírë's journey across the barren expanse was safe and – I hope – uneventful.'

'As uneventful as such things are,' said the Captain, only taking a seat once the Ephor had situated himself at the table's head. 'It is always a pleasure to find myself once more within the walls of Herumoros.'

Herufoth turned a discerning eye upon the Captain. 'You wish to speak of business so hard upon your arrival?'

'I gave no indication of any such aim!' Castamir sputtered. 'Though if you would perhaps be open to considering—'

'I would not,' the Ephor cut him off sharply, accepting a beaker of tea from an attendant. 'As you are well aware, I have but recently returned myself; let us enjoy this brief respite together, then take our sixth hours before commencing any talks.'

The Captain sat back, rebuffed. In an effort to salvage the mood, Indil turned to him and said, 'Perhaps your journey across Laurinairë was uneventful, yet what of Umbar? Surely you cannot suggest things remain unchanged in the Havens – not with such unusual guests in your midst! How is it these lords came to the Sutherlands?'

'It was a misunderstanding,' Undómírë interjected, giving both her father and Aragorn a significant look.

'Indeed,' said the latter, understanding the Princess' intentions at once; discussing Umbar's attack on Gondor would only cause the Ephor to question the reasoning for such actions, leading them to the topic of Umbar's malcontent with Harad. Given the Ephor's disinclination to discuss politics, this was best avoided. 'Yet I am thankful for the opportunity to truly explore the Haradwaith that this misunderstanding has brought me.'

'And what are your impressions thus far?' asked Indil, playing perfect host in contrast to her father's sullen silence.

And so the company set upon their tea, engaging in agreeable yet insubstantial pleasantries. But Éomer had scarcely begun narrating Aragorn's initial messy encounter with the kamel Deve when the Ephor downed all his tea in a single, long draught. He then stood and stretched, the muscles of his arms rippling beneath the sheer white silk of his tunic sleeves.

'I am tired,' he declared. 'I go to my sixth hours. When you are done here, my attendants shall escort you to the baths, then to your quarters to rest your fill.'

With that, the Ephor swept through a door leading deeper into the palace. Castamir scrambled to his feet and rushed after him. After glancing back and forth between the door and Undómírë several times, expression conflicted, Tharbadír followed after his Captain, leaving a rather bemused gathering in his wake.

Indil cleared her throat. 'My father is always rather short when weary,' she explained apologetically, 'and his recent travels have not been easy. Our relations with the city of Fuinuros upon our borderlands are increasingly fraught with tension these last few years; disagreeances were temporarily set aside during the War, only to resume with redoubled vigour upon its conclusion. You must forgive him.'

'It does not fall upon one so good as you to make apologies for the Ephor,' said Éomer kindly, causing Indil to duck her head and blush.

'Come,' she said, taking the still half-full cup of tea from the horselord's hand. 'The caravanserai's common baths are reputedly horrid, and not even the Óasi's pure waters can compare to the spas of Herumoros – though your company smells as though you have not taken advantage of any such resource.'

'Forgive us our tresspasses, milady, for we are but humble northmen, and it has been a long and strenuous journey,' laughed Maeron.

With all hope of talks now vanished, the Forodrim rose and followed the two Southron princesses back through the throne room without complaint. When the party emerged onto the courtyard once more, however, Indil paused.

'There are separate baths for your servicemen – though they are no less luxurious,' she said, motioning for Maeron and the Gondorian guards to follow a pair of palace attendants. 'But if it pleases you, my lords, I shall guide you to those reserved for the royal family.'

And so Aragorn and Éomer were led in the opposite direction, along winding paths back through the garden and around the palace's western wing, until they came upon a lattice screen. Beyond lay an azure pool fed by the clear, cascading waters of a waterfall, with cobalt and white tiles encircling its edge. Vegetation grew thick behind the lattice, creating a second screen. An attendant, startled by their sudden appearance, hastily laid swaths of cotton fabric and robes of muslin upon a stool before scurrying away.

'You need merely ring the bell when you would like to be shown to your rooms,' Undómírë explained, demonstrating a tiny bronze bell's melodious tinkle. Aragorn and Éomer had scarcely thanked the princesses before they melted into the garden, their blithe voices audible long after they were gone from sight. The northern kings were left staring at each other.

'They are so very nice,' Éomer began. 'Though the Ephor—'

Aragorn shook his head slightly, nearly imperceptibly, cutting Éomer off. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, yet in spite of the Haradrim's generosity, nothing of their situation was changed; north and south were still lands at odds with one another. Who knew what ears lurked in the dense brush? Far in the distance, the sound of an oud struck up, and the faint laughter of Undómírë and Indil drifted on the air.

And so Aragorn and Éomer washed swiftly and in silence before donning the robes laid out by the attendant, thoughtfully coloured in the tinctures of Gondor and the Mark. No sooner had Aragorn smoothed the silver-gilded sable muslin across his breast than Éomer gave the bell a chime and the same attendant reappeared. He wordlessly escorted the Kings along the portico of the palace's western wing, stopping briefly before an empty room with doors ajar.

'Your servicemen are still indulging in their baths,' said he. 'When they have concluded, I shall show them to this room, which adjoins yours.'

He then led them to the neighbouring doorway, which opened onto small yet ostentatious accommodations. Spread across the tiled floor, nearly from wall to wall, was a thin rug depicting the charge of oliphaunts across the desert. Upon the far wall, the lattice of an oriel window projected out over a steep hill, which was covered in foliage and fell steeply to the palace's inner wall. The attendant rushed to arrange cooling pots of water in the window's wide bay.

In the afternoon heat, only an occasional gust of stifling wind came through the latticework, drowning Aragorn in a languorous mood. All his mind could focus on was the pair of divans arranged on the floor, cushions propped against the wall. He fell upon one, allowing his long limbs to splay across its patterned upholstery. The oud's gentle melody still drifted upon the languid air, and sweltering afternoon sleep soon washed over him.

He bolted upright at the sound of a gong. Casting about in uncharacteristic confusion, he found nothing amiss, though darkness had fallen beyond the latticework of lilies and serpents. Lanterns had been lit as he slumbered.

Éomer likewise sat up on his divan, rubbing his eyes. 'I have not slept so well since Edoras, I don't think!' he exclaimed.

Aragorn rose silently and padded into the portico beyond, moving swiftly next door to peer into the guards' room. All were present, though they slumbered so soundly they had not awoken even at the gong. As Aagorn moved about the room, gently rousing each, an attendant appeared in the doorway.

'The Ephor Herufoth summons you for the evening meal,' he declared.

'Summons, hm?' Éomer remarked quietly to Aragorn, but the Gondorian guards expressed great delight in the notion of dinner.

'I do believe I've made myself hungry with all that sleeping!' Maeron exclaimed.

The attendant returned the northerners to the courtyard and a door just beside that of the throne room, which opened onto an expansive dining theatre. Every inch was draped in tapestries or curtains, copper lanterns casting dappled light upon a sea of cushions. Already the Ephor was seated before a low table, the Captain and Ploíarkos at his side, in addition to a number of advisors. They chatted amongst one another, though all conversation ceased the instant Aragorn and company entered.

'And how did you find your sixth hours?' inquired the Ephor amicably enough.

'Perhaps a bit too enjoyable, thus they became seventh and eight hours,' Maeron remarked, generating laughter amongst the Haradrim.

'So it often is with us, too,' spoke one advisor, his full beard greying and the silken wrap upon his head of a bold pattern. 'It is said a man lives longer the more often he indulges in sixth hours, and I intend to live a very long time indeed.'

'My Yüzbashı, Nubol,' said the Ephor by way of introduction. 'Yüzbashı is a somewhat similar rank to that of Umbar's Ploíarkos.'

Perfunctory greetings were exchanged as the Forodrim took seats at the table. In a brief moment of reflection, Aragorn swore to himself not to test the truth in the Yüzbashı's words overly much; he had no desire to outlive Truva by even a day.

As attendants presented the guests with bowls of water with which to wash their hands, the door slid open once more to reveal Indil and Undómírë.

'Ah, my beautiful daughters of the sun!' exclaimed the Ephor. 'Come sit and regale us with your charms. Your father claims there are no developments in Umbar, dear Undómírë, yet I would hear your perceptive thoughts.'

'He speaks the truth; there is little to tell,' the Princess replied. 'Though perhaps our guests' perspective might prove more insightful? They are far less familiar with these lands.'

'Yes – though it is not the King of Gondor's first venture into the Sutherlands, is it?' Castamir said archly. It was not subtle which incident the Captain's words invoked, but Aragorn's self-possession did not falter, and he was soon rescued from any discomfort by the Ephor.

'There is none here unaware of your father's killing, Captain,' he chided in a manner most blunt, never taking his eyes from Aragorn before addressing him. 'My Lord, you have found yourself in Umbar on at least two occasions, but what of Harad? Have you travelled in this realm before?'

'Never have I come into any of your admirable cities,' said Aragorn, 'yet I have ventured ever so slightly into the northern region, where the Haradwaith meets the lands of South Gondor.'

'The lands of contested South Gondor,' insisted Nubol the Yüzbashı.

'Our negotiations upon the War's conclusion stipulated the region between Poros and Harnen belongs explicitly to Gondor,' said Aragorn, fixing the Ephor's second-in-command with a steady gaze.

Herufoth hemmed quietly in disagreement, but did not pursue the matter further. 'And what did you find in those northern lands?' he asked instead. 'Were they to your liking?'

'I found the people to be most hospitable and welcoming, and their agricultural methods inventive; more than one discovery – such as the use of food scraps and ash to create dark, nutrient-rich earth – I took back to my own lands, and have subsequently been rewarded with unprecedented crop yields.'

'And has your current excursion proven equally informative?' asked Nubol. 'Though perhaps on a more militaristic bend? Have you seen behind our battlements, sussed out our weaknesses, assessed our strength?'

The atmosphere of the room grew suffocating. Whilst some members of the party sought to test the thinning veneer of diplomacy, others strove to maintain it; all were manoeuvring for position.

Aragorn pursed his lips in unspoken frustration. The Yüzbashı was preoccupied with his suspicion for the north, but had Harad any knowledge of the tremendous navy Umbar amassed? Or perhaps it held no concern for the Sunlands, landlocked as the region was; what care had they for an assault by sea?

'Ever since we sailed into the Havens with a white sheet upon the Alcarindur's prow, our purpose has been one of peace,' said Éomer, breaking the tense silence. 'We come with palms empty, swords sheathed – to establish more amicable relations between each of our nations; for there is none a cessation of aggressions would not benefit.'

'Yet the resources of Umbar benefit others more than is returned to us,' scowled the Captain.

His words were a miscalculated overstep. Herufoth rounded on him at once.

'You would start bargaining before we have so much as begun our meal?' he exclaimed. 'And to open with accusations in bad faith! Let us show a little more hospitality to our guests.'

The Ephor gestured to an attendant standing by the door. Within moments, a stream of dishes was paraded before the diners: lamb meat in flaky pastry shells, mounds of grained flour piled high with roasted vegetables, fruits carved into delicate flowers, various kinds of flatbreads – the flow of attendants was unceasing. But especial care was given to a bronze dish so large it had to be carried by five men, and which bore a hill of yellow rice (a sight unfamiliar to the northmen in and of itself) and steamed meat. Upon the very crest sat the immaculate skull of a creature even Aragorn failed to recognize. This dish was laid with aplomb in the very centre of the table.

Herufoth rose to spread his arms wide. 'This is how I treat honoured visitors to my realm: with the meat of a whole kamel, seeped for a full two days in spices found only upon the western foothills of the Ered Enaid, then steamed for another day further. And – as demonstration of my esteem – it is to you I offer the first bite.'

A glance passed between Aragorn and Éomer, yet the latter indicated deference. Aragorn looked upon the dish with trepidation – not for any hesitancy to eat that which he had never eaten before, but for his unsurety in how to eat it. There were no utensils, but the northern Haradrim had eaten with their hands; perhaps the practice was consistent throughout the region. Aragorn tore off a small corner of the flatbread, then stretched out his hand and took a section of kamel flesh in his fingers. Piling it with rice upon the bread, he drew the morsel towards his mouth, all under the watchful eye of the Ephor.

The food had nearly reached his tongue when Herufoth suddenly held his hand up and cried, 'Stop!'

Aragorn froze as the Ephor beckoned another attendant forward. This young man knelt before Aragorn and took the very bite of food he held in his hands, placing it instead in his own mouth.

'Men of our station cannot be too careful,' said the Ephor, an unsettling gleam in his eye. 'In the gardens of the palace itself grow plants that harbour the ability to incapacitate – or to kill. Now let us be silent, for these might be the last moments of this brave taster's life, and we owe him our respect.'

Wordlessly, the guests stared at the attendant as he chewed and swallowed. Several minutes passed as he knelt, unmoving, suspense tangible upon the air. The dining theatre was so quiet that the sounds of a rather asthmatic advisor attempting to mask his breathing could be heard, until at last the Ephor clapped his hands with evident glee.

'Of course, it is all a pointless formality,' he remarked, waving his hands dismissively. 'There are poisons that require a great deal more time to take effect – days, even. Some might be delivered over multiple meals! Yet do not allow such knowledge to temper your enthusiasm; there are none in all of Luxumarto who would dare jeopardise the welfare of their Ephor or his guests.'

Breathing a halfhearted sigh of relief, the northerners fell upon the feast in an effort to diffuse tensions. At a motion from the Ephor, a small ensemble tucked in one corner struck up a cheery tune. Conversation welled as advisors rose to serve each other and their guests palm-wine, only to be returned sorghum beer and offered a new seat. All were careful to avoid any hint of politic, and talked instead of crops or livestock or the way in which the sturdy rammed earth buildings of Herumoros were constructed.

As the evening wore on and apprehensions eased, Éomer was pulled away from his seat beside Aragorn by a particularly insistent (and rather inebriated) advisor, though the space soon became occupied again: by Undómírë. She filled Aragorn's untouched cup even fuller.

'Do you find the drink of Harad as distasteful as its food, milord?' she asked, one brow curved teasingly. 'You hesitated to eat the kamel earlier, and now you refuse to drink.'

'Neither such food nor such drink do I find distasteful,' said Aragorn, hesitant to jest about these matters at all – let alone in the presence of the Ephor and all his men.

'Come now, do not be so inflexible!' Undómírë smiled and gave a surreptitious nod towards Herufoth. 'Look at the man; he can scarcely tell an ox from a sheep in his state.'

Indeed, the Ephor swayed from side to side even when seated. Each time he leaned too far and the honey liquor in his mazer spilled, pitiable attendants swooped in to mop up every drop from the woven rug. Undómírë lowered her voice further. 'There will be no talks tonight.'

'Perhaps,' said Aragorn. 'Yet it is not in my habit to drink amongst those with whom I am unfamiliar.'

'You find me unfamiliar still?' If the hurt was not apparent in Undómírë's voice, it was unmistakable in her expression.

'I have known you but a few brief weeks,' Aragorn explained, but there was no recovering. Undómírë took his cup into her hands and drank deeply. No sooner had she set it down than she picked it up once more and drank it to the very dregs.

'Will you not indulge me in one favour?' she asked, her grey, unblinking eyes gazing into Aragorn's own, daring him to refuse her.

'What favour would that be?'

'A walk, nothing more. I desire to wander amongst the garden beneath the night sky. The stars are strange to you, and – unless I am much mistaken – I do believe they are a point of curiosity; I will show you the way in which we Corsairs draw upon these beacons for our navigations.'

Aragorn considered her words carefully. Such a proposition would ordinarily cause him great concern, as the Princess' intentions were still obscure to him. But there were several strains of thought that urged him to accept, namely that he could equally use this opportunity to his own purposes – not only to learn of the Haradwaith stars, but also to discern the Corsairs' position more fulsomely.

In the end, Undómírë's request proved irresistible. Aragorn rose and offered a hand to the Princess, helping her to her feet. As they made for the door, he exchanged a glance and nod of reassurance with Éomer, who had become entangled in conversation with the Ephor's daughter, again at the advisor's exhortation.

They slipped out into the courtyard otherwise unobserved. The heat of midday had abated, and though the garden air was still warm, it was no longer unpleasantly so. As the duo wandered aimlessly along the maze of footpaths, Aragorn paused before each variety of grass and shrub and tree, committing its properties to memory, and thus their pace was quite leisurely.

Along a track near the baths, one plant with thick leaves of dark green caught Aragorn's attention. He knelt for some time, inspecting its tiny umbel blossoms which effused a sweet scent before turning to Undómírë. 'Do you perhaps know of what variety this is?' he asked.

'I believe it is some form of wax plant,' said the Princess. 'A hardy bush from distant shores; though it flourishes only because the gardeners lavish it with water, I have heard. Beside it is the bird of paradise, which is native to these lands.'

'And this one?' Aragorn pointed to the spade fronds of another plant.

'I'm afraid I do not know,' Undómírë admitted. 'There are too many varieties with a similar leaf.'

Aragorn nodded and rose from his crouch. They continued for a short ways in silence, descending along a series of switchbacks down the steep hill towards the citadel's battlements. As Aragorn craned his neck to gaze up at the lush fronds of a tree which bore strange, cylindrical yellow fruit, Undómírë began to fidget with the hem of her robes, revealing some perturbation of mind.

'You must think me a most unpleasant walking companion,' she blurted quite suddenly. 'I have lived these many years, and yet how little knowledge have I to sate your curiosity!'

'Not at all, milady,' Aragorn reassured her, turning his attention away from the garden and fully upon the princess. 'I imagine my years greatly outnumber your own, and while it is not often I am afforded the joy of encountering the unfamiliar, the matters of which I am ignorant are undeniably more vast. I find it reassuring, rather – to know I shall live the full length of my life, and still have not discovered the entirety of the world's mysteries.'

'I must confess, aesthetic botany never held any particular interest to me,' Undómírë conceded, ducking her head. 'I could see in it no quantifiable trade value, nor did it offer any influence in negotiations, or potential to feed my people. Ask of me the Sutherlands' diverse grains, and I shall be able to identify each by any part of the plant at any stage of the growing and harvesting process – yet my knowledge does not extend beyond the practical.'

'It is a formidable strength you afford your people,' said Aragorn. 'You will serve Umbar well in these talks with Harad. I see now what you are up against, and comprehend better your decision to accompany us to these lands.'

'The Ephor does not respect my father, and in truth I cannot entirely blame him. I suspect the Havens' current plight is due not entirely to Harad's exploitation, but also in large part to the Captain's incompetence and mismanagement. I cannot allow either to go unrectified.'

Before Aragorn could reply, they emerged into a clearing at the base of a watchtower along Luxumarto's eastern wall. Undómírë did not hesitate to cross and mount the spindly ladder, beckoning Aragorn to follow. The uppermost nest was open to the elements, protected only by a conical roof, though even this was ornately painted; the Ephor was a military man, and was a frequent visitor to the towers.

Undómírë dismissed the watch with a wave, and the guards disappeared back down the ladder at once. She turned to Aragorn with a self-satisfied smile.

'Corsairs wield equal power as the Haradrim in these lands,' she said, crossing to the parapet and leaning upon its wooden beams. 'Whether it is out of respect, or simply because they do not consider us a threat, the effect is still the same.'

Aragorn joined her, gazing out across the expanse beyond the walls of Herumoros. Beneath the wan moonlight, Sîr Talath coursed from the foothills of Ered Enaid to trace a black ribbon across the landscape. Had it been day, far more would have been visible: green and gold farms fanning from the river's banks, and the land's gradual transition back to ruddy, cracked earth, and three large oval tracks nestled to the south of the city.

When Aragorn turned his eyes to the sky and the mystifying map it now seemed to him, Undómírë sighed gently before drawing ever so slightly nearer, saying, 'I do not think it shall surprise you, but it was not botanical classifications I wished to speak with you about this evening.'

Aragorn did not respond, or even look away from the stars; he sensed the princess would speak without further prompting.

'These past several weeks, I have conveyed to you nearly all I know of the Havens, and indeed a great deal of myself, as well,' she continued. 'Yet still I know so little of you and the lands you call home. It is an unusual position I find myself in, for typically I do not like to be so uninformed of people – particularly people upon whom my negotiations rely so heavily.'

Aragorn looked then upon her, disbelieving. Over the course of his time in the Sutherlands, he had in fact shared a great deal more than he ever intended. 'What is it you wish to know?'

A relieved smile spread across Undómírë's face to hear his welcoming response. 'I have heard many tales of the beauty that lies upon the White City, and that not even Sîr Talath can outshine the tremendous Anduin. My brethren who returned from the Northern War said the Forodrim wear strange clothes, and do not eat with their hands, and sleep on straw like barn animals.'

'Barn animals?' Aragorn questioned, but then laughed gently when realisation dawned on him. 'I do believe I can explain that final observation. It is true we do not sleep upon mattresses laid on the floor, in the manner of the southern lands, yet nor do we ordinarily sleep on haystacks.'

'Ah, I knew it!' the princess exclaimed. 'Nubol was always prone to exaggeration.'

'On the contrary, he was quite right. At the conclusion of the Battle of Minas Tirith, accommodations within the city were limited, and thus we housed captive warriors such as your brethren in the only space available: great halls strewn with hay. It was not meant as any slight, for many of our own soldiers were similarly situated – though conditions have since improved.'

'I imagine an august king such as yourself would go to great lengths to rebuild his realm, following war's destruction,' she remarked. 'I heard also that an Elf lingers within your walls to aid in the process. Have not a great many of his kind set sail for the Undying Lands?'

Even seemingly innocent statements bore hints of purpose when spoken from Undómírë's lips. Perhaps she wished to suss out the strength of Gondor's allies beyond Rohan – in which case, inquiring after the Elves was a miscalculation. The loss of Galadriel and her ilk would be tremendous, yet nearly all others who had a hand in striking Sauron down would linger yet a while longer in Middle Earth. Those that would leave had already made their decision long before the War.

'It is true,' he said, choosing to be forthright. 'Many of the Eldar are gone now from these lands, never to return, and more are sure to follow.'

'Were you not raised among them?' Undómírë whispered. 'Surely there are many upon the departing swanships with whom you hold a special bond.'

It was not the princess' question, rather the fact that it did not disturb him which gave Aragorn pause. He most certainly felt acute sorrow for the loss of all those he had come to consider kin during his years in Imladris and beyond, and though such pains could never be eliminated, Truva's arrival had undeniably eased them in a way he could never have expected; in the very moment when one light was dimmed, another, brighter one took its place.

Undómírë pressed further when Aragorn did not answer. 'You were betrothed to an Elven maiden, were you not? Her departure is surely a great loss for Gondor.'

Aragorn inhaled sharply. He could not fathom by what means Undómírë had obtained this information, and while he sensed she had shown her hand at last, he did not quite trust the underlying intent he had parsed out.

'The choice to sail to the Undying Lands was Awen's alone to make,' said he, 'and I do not grudge her it. Gondor shall persevere as ever, guided by those who wish to see the lands revived and its people prosper.'

'I did not wish to imply otherwise,' said Undómírë, her smile now one of genuine warmth.

Silence fell between the two then, and they passed a short while playing audience to the symphony of cicadas before returning to the palace, where the feast's exuberance had not slackened whatsoever.