The Bar Aran – New Year's Day, 1410

The house had been lavishly decorated. Colored lanterns and candles lit the premises all along the walls, inside and out. There were even some ancient enchanted lights blinking near the opulent gate to the Bar Aran. There was a true joy in the royal residence. A light sprinkling of snow gave the appearance of purity and muffled the harsh sounds of the street. In the growing darkness, guests began to arrive for the Royal Banquet. Jugglers and players pranced about in the courtyard, entertaining guard and guest alike amid the shaped bushes covered lightly in snow. Inside the main hall, Haedorial strummed his lute, singing of the downfall of Númenor and the escape of Elendil the Tall. He was dressed in his finest outfit, a crimson, fur-lined doublet and a sable cloak, while his boots were of supple leather. His wife and young daughter sat in the audience, beaming with pride.

Ciramir, the Gondorian Legate, also sat in his best attire, a jade green doublet emblazoned with the White Tree and seven stars in silver. He was deep in thought, concerned with the events of the recent past. He had made his superiors in Osgiliath aware of the war and following crisis. Through tireless work, he had been instrumental in bringing food and aid up from the south to ease the famine and end the plague. As in the days of Elendil, Gondor would support her sister kingdoms if he had anything to say about it. The legate breathed a sigh of relief; perhaps Cardolan could recover and continue to serve as one of the leading trade partners with Gondor and a bulwark against the growing evil of Angmar. Meanwhile, the contingent of Gondorian knights wandered about, viewing the many paintings and sculptures in the hall and on the grounds.

Duin Tinare sat with his family listening to Haedorial's song. Tales of Númenor were always dear to him as he could trace his lineage back past Elendil to the Lords of Andúnië. Tinare had also pledged food and supplies to the people of Tharbad and he had delivered. His position and prestige had grown great recently as a result and he felt it was time to take advantage of it. He had heard of Girithlin's idea to have his son court the Princess through his spies. "Perhaps Ostomir would make a better suitor," he said quietly to himself, looking through the crowd to his son.

Eärdil stood by the punch bowl, drinking with Lieutenant Nestor and some of his constables. His wife and children sat in the audience listening to Haedorial. His wife Eärwen, was infinitely glad that her husband could take a much needed rest. Their children gleefully romped around the Royal Hall, chasing each other and squealing with delight.

One new face in the crowd was Annael, the new Hir of Feotar. He was relatively young and strong of body, if not particularly handsome with large jowls and a pug nose. It was said that Annael was an ambitious man who had the intelligence to match.

The entry of Firiel, Valandil, Mercatur, and the staff of the Houses of Healing brought a warm welcome from the occupants of the Royal Hall, who clapped as they walked in. Firiel wore a dress of sea blue and green, created by her elven grandmother in Lindon. It was a marvelous, form fitting dress that accentuated her platinum blonde hair which was now in that intricate waterfall braid that Nirnadel had worn so well. Valandil was dressed in the green doublet of a knight of the Royal House over a gold silk tunic. Even Mercatur had his ruddy hair styled and his beard trimmed neatly. He too, wore a distinctive surcoat of a captain of mercenaries, green with the symbol of crossed silver swords over a red hill. Kaile, already in the service of the Princess, greeted them at the door with a warm hug and kissed Jonu, who was in awe of the house. She was already dressed in the gown of the winter colors of green and red as befitting a lady of the court and her ginger hair was done up in crown braid under a hood of stiff fabric adorned with sapphires. Cardolan was nothing if not rich in gems and minerals.

"Wait until you see Thalion," Kaile told Jonu. "The Royal Palace is amazing!"

They mingled with the other guests, renewing old friendships and establishing new ones. When Haedorial had ended his tale, the herald at the door announced the arrival of another guest. The herald, dressed in an ornately colorful doublet, pounded his staff on the floor. "Announcing the arrival of Falathar Girithlin, son and heir of Hir Mablung Girithlin and Knight of the Realm," he said in a loud, clear voice. Party guests turned and some of them clapped.

Falathar was dressed to the hilt. He wore a red fur-lined flatcap and cape with a plumed doublet and knickers. His long black hair was slicked back, and his goatee finely trimmed. He carried with him a letter, which he displayed to the guard. Though he looked terribly uncomfortable, he nodded to the gathering. He was then escorted through the hall and into the Chancellor's chambers.

Duin cautiously noted the event and surmised what this must be about. His spies were right and it would take some planning to counter this move. Looking around the hall, he saw his distant relative, Firiel Halatani. Planning could wait for a little. He strode up to her and smiled. "It's been a couple of years since I've seen you, Firiel. That is truly my fault. I've heard so many good things about you as of late. It is time I caught up with you."

She turned and gave him a warm smile and a hug. "Cousin Duin, or should I say Hir Tinare?"

He waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. I'm still just the older cousin who taught you to ride. I'm glad I caught you. I wish to thank you and your friends for your service to the realm. I have been sending food and supplies to Captain Tardegil, who in turn, sends them to you. We were blessed with a rich harvest this year, which was untouched by the war, thank the Valar."

She touched him on the arm. "Thanks goes both ways, cousin. We would not have survived without your aid. And that of the Princess."

He nodded. "I heard about the battle on the eve of Yüle. A horrible affair indeed though much good seems to have come out of it."

Firiel took a glass of wine from an attendant and handed one to Duin. They both took a sip. "I would not have believed it had I not seen it. And we have spent every day since going to the shanty town to heal the sick and injured. Nirnadel has been true to her word. She is actually one of my assistant healers now. I daresay she can properly apply a bandage and brew an herbal tincture now."

Duin chuckled. "I cannot imagine. Just take care of her. We cannot afford to lose her, you know."

Firiel took a long, deep breath. "I am infinitely aware of that, cousin. I am wary every time we go out. Thank the Valar for Baranor and his Royal Guards."

"Good," he said. "You really must visit again in the spring during planting. We have much seed stored for wheat, corn, rye and barley and I have to say our heads of hogs and cattle are impressive. I think Fourteen Ten will be a much better year."

The Chambers of the Chancellor

At the door to the chambers, a guardsman spoke quietly to Nimhir. "Your Grace, Falathar Girithlin is requesting to see you. He brings an important letter from his father."

The Chancellor nodded and dismissed the guard. This was troubling. He could send Falathar away, but that would be a grave insult to a very powerful family. If he saw Falathar, Mablung's requests could be outrageous, and he might end up insulting them anyway. Hir Girithlin was nothing if not politically savvy.

Nimhir groaned, "Damn you Mablung," as he rose and opened the door to his reception area. A warm smile instantly replaced his scowl on the experienced politician's face. "Welcome Falathar. To what do I owe this honor." He extended his hand graciously.

Falathar replied in a lackluster monotone, his face impassive and seemingly bored. "Your Grace, my father wishes to arrange a marriage between the Princess and I. He says it would be most advantageous for the kingdom." He held out the scroll that his father had written for him.

Nimhir blinked as he read it, suppressing a gasp. He dared not let his true feelings show. That scoundrel Girithlin had now placed him in a precarious position. The Girithlins were indeed very influential, and little could be accomplished in the kingdom without their support. Denying Falathar the opportunity to court Nirnadel would also be a grave insult. However, allowing the young man to marry her would give effective rule of the kingdom to Mablung. It was well known how the father ruled the son. This was a rock and hard place and the Chancellor had to give it to the hir for thinking of this rather simple line of attack. Why didn't he see this coming?

After a moment's thought, Nimhir replied diplomatically, "I see. The Princess is still only a girl, you see, all of sixteen. Does this not matter to you?" he asked, giving the young man a way out.

Falathar shook his head. "No, Your Grace. My father has spoken," he said with great anxiety as if he would prefer to be anywhere else. "I would like to meet the Princess to begin courting her." He might as well have been going to slop the hogs of the Girithlin farms.

Nimhir sighed and pursed his lips. He could easily see that they both didn't want the same thing. However, he could not openly afford to insult the Girithlins. He nodded slowly. "Very well. She will be entering the Royal Hall very soon."

"Thank you, Your Grace. I remain obedient to my father, but I admit that I am not particularly thrilled by the idea of marrying a complete stranger."

Nimhir was surprised by the honesty coming from the young man. He surmised that Falathar might be 23 or 24, still young for a Dúnadan. "I would not be either," he said, forcing a smile. "Now, if you wait over there, Her Highness will make her entry anon."

The Royal Ballroom

As the sun set into deep reds and purples on the western horizon, the musicians began a Royal fanfare the like which had not been heard in the hall in a long time. Trumpets and horns sounded out, instantly getting everyone's attention. The massive double doors to the Royal Chambers opened with a flourish. The eight men of the Royal Guard formed two lines into the hall, standing tall and still, eyes straight ahead. Nirnadel entered, wearing the fabulous gown that her mother wore during Ostoher's coronation. It was white and silver and adorned with diamonds and pearls like sequins with ruffles around the skirt. Her hair was made up in a crown braid beneath a white and silver headdress that was shaped like a crown and held in a wire frame that was laced with pearls. She beamed with joy and her smile captured the hearts of all in the room. Kaile, Galadel and Anariel walked beside her sprinkling rose petals before her.

As she passed Firiel, the healer gasped. "You look stunning, Your Highness!"

A faint smile escaped Nirnadel's lips. "This is so uncomfortable," she said softly, continuing to look straight ahead as per royal custom. "We prefer our tunic and breeches and a sack of herbs." Both had a quiet chuckle before the Princess continued on.

Nimhir emerged, smiling to all and waving. Each patron in turn knelt before Nirnadel and took her hand. When it was his turn, Falathar knelt down and took the Princess' hand. He then looked up into her eyes and he froze, unable to speak. All he could do is stare up into her gray eyes: gray like the storm clouds.

Nirnadel blushed after a minute and then raised her nose, putting her free hand to her cheek. "Kind sir, We wish to know who you are. You who are unable to let go of our hand."

Falathar stuttered, "Uh, I…I am…sorry. I am…yes, I am Falathar Girithlin, son of Mablung the Hir of Girithlin."

Nirnadel's smile melted him. His mouth fell open and he stood, transfixed. "May We have our hand back, kind Falathar?" she asked awkwardly.

He quickly let go and wiped his palms on his breeches. "Uh, sorry. I am so sorry," he replied hesitantly.

Duin stroked his chin. He leaned over to the Chancellor, who stood next to him. "This is going to be trouble," he whispered to Nimhir, who nodded with a long exhale. They were both on the same page.

"I did not see this coming," the Chancellor said in a tired voice. "I could use your insight, dear friend. Hmmm. Wait, what would you say to an introduction for Ostomir?"

Duin curled the right half of his lip up. "Your Grace, what a brilliant idea. I anxiously await to hear of your plan for that."

Nimhir smiled at the compliment. He had been working so hard to juggle ten things at once to keep the kingdom alive. A year ago this would have been a non-issue, but, at 16, the Princess could legitimately be courted. Still, if he could play each of the players off against each other, he could buy himself a year. Then, there was Arthedain to worry about. Alliance was one thing, but if Nirnadel married Araphor, all of Cardolan could be absorbed into a greater Arnor. Every hir and minister in the realm could be replaced at a whim. He couldn't worry about this now. "Of course. And thank you, Hir Tinare, for your generosity. The city would have fallen had it not been for you. Now excuse me, I must attend to the evening events."

The Royal Ballroom

When the introductions were completed, Nimhir took the stage and bowed low. "Good people! Good people! We have for you this evening a musical event brought by our talented bard, Haedorial. Please, put your hands together for a show of music and lights!"

Clapping filled the ballroom as Haedorial lowered the lights and began the musical show. Players in the ballroom played flutes and strings to introduce the piece. The bard took the stage and bowed low with a flourish. "Welcome good ladies and gentlemen! I am proud to present to you a piece by Elurin, an elven bard from Imladris. It tells the tale of love and pain, hope and despair, darkness and light!" he called and then pranced about the stage, spinning and waving his arms. He held out his hand and a flame burst from it. "Now! For your entertainment!" he shouted and colored lights from lanterns began to pulsate around the hall, throwing reds, greens, blues, and yellows everywhere to the delight of the audience. Sonorous notes rose from the band and grew in intensity, imitating the chaos of battle and then fell into quieter tones as green lights created images of trees to a fiddle making the sound of birds.

As the lights danced and the music played, Firiel gazed at Valandil. They had been through a lot together. He was strong, and brave, and true...and he was also so handsome. She stroked his face, and as he turned she grasped his cheeks and kissed him. Valandil's eyes grew in surprise at first, but then he quickly gave into the moment.

Watching the show, Mercatur tapped him, saying, "Hey, check this out..." He quickly stopped himself as he noticed the two in an embrace. He threw up his hands. "I knew this was going to happen...'guess I'll have to find a new partner."

The music and the dance of lights evoked images of Rivendell with crashing waterfalls and flowing streams around structures that blended seamlessly with the forest and landscape. The piece ended with a grand flourish of strings and woodwinds that fell into silence as the lights went out. Applause reverberated in the ballroom along with cheers. When the main lights came back on, the crowd leapt to their feet and continued cheering as Haedorial and the band took their bows.

As the applause died away, Falathar approached Nimhir and Nirnadel. He excitedly addressed the Chancellor, the earlier anxiety on his face gone. "Your Grace, please express our offer to the Princess," he said enthusiastically.

Nimhir sighed, but tried to hide his facial expression. "Your Highness, Falathar Girithlin has expressed an interest in courting you for the purpose of marriage."

Nirnadel recoiled, her eyes narrowed and her mouth open. "Marriage? What…what is this?"

Falathar went to his knee again, but he seemed more aware, more focused. "Your Highness, before this night I…I knew not what beauty was, but tonight you have captured me."

Nirnadel blinked, still confused. "Ummm, you are referring to Us?"

He nodded as a boy would to a sweet dessert. Nimhir leaned over and whispered into her ear, "Do not insult him. Let him talk for a while. It will work to our advantage." Nirnadel trusted her 'uncle' and would do her best. She blew out a long breath. She had braved danger, bandits and battle, but this was something entirely new.

She smiled at Falathar. "Well, umm, yes, We see. This talk of marriage is so sudden. Perhaps you can tell me more of yourself at the fireworks show," she said, leading them to the courtyard. Her eyes darted around the field where guards stood, and lanterns lit the way. She steered towards the gardens where she always felt safe and comfortable.

Falathar babbled on as the rockets flew into the sky and burst with many brilliant colors. Amid the booms and pops he spoke of his horse, his room, even his frog collection. Nirnadel smiled patiently at him while occasionally looking up to see the bursts of fireworks. She was not sure whether to be interested or bored. The young man tried to reach for her hand, but she feigned an itch and began to scratch her cheek. She kept hoping Firiel, Galadel or Kaile would walk by, but her hopes were in vain.

"I will tell you that the Girithlin lands have the best ducks. My father told me so," Falathar said as a rocket burst overhead in greens and reds with silver sparkles floating down.

The Princess clapped at the burst. "Mmmmm, yes, ducks. Of course, dear Falathar," she said without looking at him.

At the end of the courtyard an old man in a gray cloak and pointy, wide-brimmed hat carefully lit the fuses of the rockets. The old man looked up at Nirnadel with a twinkle in his eye. He gave her a wink before he went back to lighting the fuses. The finale to the show left the audience thunderstruck. Multiple rockets went off at once, bursting into the pattern of a dancing dragon, spouting flame from its maw. Applause and cheers rang through the courtyard. As the smoke and sparks slowly cleared, Nirnadel could hear the faint buzz of Falathar's voice. She gazed at the fading image of the dragon in the sky and said quietly, "Oh, how wonderful."

Falathar, thinking she was talking to him, replied, "Why thank you. I do try to stay up on the latest trends."

Nirnadel forced a smile while racking her brain as to the topic of conversation. "Of course, dear Falathar. We were…so enraptured by…what you were saying." It wasn't so much that she disliked the young man. This was so sudden and her discomfort was overwhelming. What did Nimhir get her into? Why now? Falling back on old habits, she raised her chin and put her finger to her cheek, trying to give off the most imperious vibe that she could. She saw Firiel and Valandil strolling the gardens and started to rise from her chair, but she realized not to disturb them. She looked back at Nimhir with a pleading look, but he looked away. What a fine mess this was.

Almost resigned to her fate, Nirnadel sighed and asked, "Good Falathar, praythee, tell Us more about your…your butterflies, was it?"

"No Highness, it was frogs. I collect frogs. Big ones, little ones, green ones, brown ones," he said proudly. "I would love to show you-"

He was interrupted when Galadel and Kaile came running out, giggling and chattering until the Chancellor gave them a look. The two ladies curtseyed. "Forgive us, Lord Regent, but you and the Princess are needed back in the ballroom for the dancing and to close the ceremonies."

Without trying to seem too eager, Nirnadel jumped up and gathered her skirt close, adjusting her headpiece. "Do We look presentable, dear ladies? Oh, We are sure that we do, of course. Thank you. Yes, yes, We must be there to close the ceremonies and to dance, yes, yes." She gave Galadel and Kaile 'that' look that they had saved her. She practically ripped Nimhir's sleeve off as she tugged him back to the ballroom. "Your Grace, We are needed. Please hurry. We mustn't disappoint our guests. We have practiced and prepared for the dance."

She and her ladies rushed back into the ballroom, and the room became hushed except for the sound of some instruments being tuned. The herald pounded his staff on the floor and announced, "Her Highness, Princess Nirnadel of Cardolan, will enjoy the first dance with the Chancellor and Regent, Lord Nimhir."

The band put bows to strings and lips to instruments and the music began to rise into slow piece as Nimhir took Nirnadel's hand and they bowed and curtseyed to the audience. Together with the music, they presented a dance that was elegant and graceful, their hands and movements designed to evoke images of the Valar in the Undying Lands and to honor the Ainur. It was as if Nirnadel were floating in clouds around the Chancellor. As the music died away, they gave a final bow and flourish to thunderous applause.

"Thank you, good people, thank you!" the Princess called, remaining in her bow. She then raised her head. "And now, good players, praythee, play something more lively." She gestured to the crowd and beckoned them to the dance floor.

Firiel and Valandil walked on as the music grew again to a faster pitch, this time with tin whistles, mandolins and an accordion. The two twirled to the rhythms of the musicians, laughing with joy on their faces. The Princess smiled, seeing that they were lost in each other's gaze. Would she ever experience that kind of love? Or would she be sold like a cow to the highest bidder? Then she saw Mercatur, as he gnawed on a turkey leg while inspecting a bust of King Calimendil. He was such a rough hewn man, but she thought she saw something good in him.

Nimhir bowed again to Nirnadel and extended his hand. They joined in on the step dance as the Princess laughed with gleeful abandon. For these precious moments, she was a girl again, dancing in the Bar Aran with her uncle and father as her mother clapped from the gallery. She noticed a sad look on Nimhir's face. She furrowed her brows. "Good Chancellor, what is wrong? I see that you are distressed."

He stopped dancing for a moment and leaned in towards her ear. "You are correct my dear Princess," he said in a near whisper. "This…this reminds me too much of the old days; days in which there was a King and there was peace. I remember you as a little girl, running through the halls, giggling with pleasure. How simple things were back then. Back then, before war, death, and famine thrust me into the most powerful and responsible position in Cardolan. I…I miss your father and brothers."

She could see how the burden took its toll on him. He had grayed a bit more in the last year. "You no longer have to shoulder the burden alone, dear Chancellor. We…I am ready to assume more of the mantle of leadership. But I rely upon you to teach me."

He smiled a bittersweet smile. "I see that, and I absolutely will. I was just a boy during your grandfather's reign, but I see so much of you in him."

"King Minalcar? I was not born then. But, I beg of you to tell me more when there is time."

He smiled down at her, his eyes misty. "And we will have all of the time in the world."

After a handful of dances, Nimhir became winded. Nirnadel tugged at his neatly groomed goatee, saying, "Nimhir, you are getting old. We remember when you could last the whole night on the floor."

Nimhir laughed. "Not so old to where I still can't pick you up," he replied, lifting her off the floor.

She squealed with delight as he spun her around like a child. Nirnadel treasured this time and wished it would never end.

But, as always, time marches mercilessly on.

Silmarien's Used Clothing

The old man, who had provided the fireworks, adjusted his wide-brimmed gray hat and picked up his wooden staff, which looked like driftwood that had been carefully polished. Having completed his task, he departed the Royal House and headed east toward the thieves quarters. He walked over unconscious drug users and past ruffians in the street, but no one seemed to notice his passing. He stopped in front of a small, fearful-looking shop with tiny windows. Dim lighting could be seen within and the man tapped at the door with his staff. The door opened as if by magic and he entered. He wove his way through racks of clothing that appeared as if they were made in the time of Elros Tar-Minyatur, little more than rags.

Within a small study sat Silmarien the mage in a violet robe bearing the bronze wyvern of House Rhudainor. She smiled up at the old man who returned the favor. His bushy eyebrows stuck out like quills, and he looked quite comical. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

"Greetings, Silmarien. Things look much better here than they appeared in your letter," he said in a deep, sonorous voice that evoked comfort and confidence.

"Well, old man, a sudden turn of events has improved the landscape," she replied. Then somewhat sheepishly she added, "I decided to get directly involved." The old man furrowed his brow. He mulled it over for some time before answering her.

"Things seem to have turned out well. I know it would have been useless to caution you. You will always do as you please. I can only ask you to be careful," he said with a sigh and a hint of both disapproval and pride woven together. He had been her mentor in the ways of spells and magic when she lived in Rhudaur and was a bulwark against the growing power of the Witch-King. The wizard was pleased at how well she had mastered the incantations. He could still recall the night that he took her as a babe from Cameth Brin before the death of King Aldor of Rhudaur, the last king in the direct line of Isildur for that realm. Silmarien was the daughter of Aldor's sister in House Rhudainor. She could very well be the last of that line.

She gave the wizard a wry half smile. "You know I always am," she replied.

"Hah. Well, just the same... Be careful," he lectured as he produced a tome and several vials. He passed them to Silmarien, instructing, "These are for you from the Council. Read the tome and it will tell you what to do. I can only imagine what you plan to do with this."

She accepted the gifts as her face lit up. "Thank you. I fear that this may be a longshot, but we have shown some progress in the experiment." She opened the tome and perused the Tengwar script. "Fëanor. Yes, this will do nicely."

With that, he walked purposefully toward the door. "I won't be seeing you again for a while. I have business in the south," he told her as he looked back and smiled. "I trust that you will be well until I return," he said and then went back out into the night.

Silmarien pursed her lips. "Take care old man. I will miss you."