Notes - Character arcs for Falathar Girithlin, Princess Nirnadel and Firiel Halatani. A cameo by Castamir the Usurper and a glimpse into the future Gondorian Kin Strife. Merry Christmas!
Balost – Ninui 3rd, 1410
In the snow-covered tower of Balost, also known as Barad Girithlin, a meeting was held to celebrate Mablung Girithlin's recent political victory. The great tower was the ancestral home to the Girithlin princes in the days of Arnor and now held sway over the lands managed by the Girithlin barons. Its construction heralded the dying days of Númenórean might in the sunset years of the Second Age and its heptagonal design was considered almost unique among the towers of the Dúnedain as was its alabaster covered walls.
Young Falathar Girithlin stood at the entryway to the tower complex with his father and their guests. Though elated about his father's victory in the election, he was troubled by the tone of recent events. His father had been the rock of House Girithlin, holding their lands and family together through sheer force of will at times. He had learned that nothing happened in the family without his father's blessings and their house had now achieved the pinnacle of its fortunes. Upon the passing of Chancellor Nimhir, Mablung Girithlin would hold all power in Cardolan until Princess Nirnadel would be coronated in 1411 upon reaching adulthood. Still, the sudden change of plans caught the young man off guard and his father spoke more often now about consolidating all power in Cardolan under their roof. "This is not a democracy, my son. The people need to be ruled with an iron fist. It is what is best for them," he would say at the dinner table. "I'm doing this for you, son." Falathar would then look to his mother, quiet as a mouse, drunker than a sailor.
Entering the courtyard, Mablung laughed loudly among the group, more of the bellow of an ox than any true mirth. He gestured broadly at the walls of the fortress and then to the tower itself. "This fortress has withstood many sieges," boasted Mablung as he led his guests through the tasteful rock garden in the central courtyard of the tower on the ground level. "We are prepared for any eventuality." The Hir wore his finest outfit, designed to impress: a velvet doublet of forest green and gold, let out to hold his wide girth; hand-woven breeches laced with gold cord; a green and gold beret, adorned with gold cords with part of an eagle feather; and, most important of all, the chain of office of the Chancellor around his neck. He had one made just for occasions like this.
Barahir, the new Hir of Feotar, nodded and looked at his brother Annael. "I'm glad we could come to some sort of arrangement, Hir Girithlin. I am looking forward to assisting you in the amber trade and I'm sure you could use the winter barley that we have been stocking."
Girithlin slapped Hir Feotar on the back. "I'm honored that you came around to my way of thinking. You and your brother accompanied the Princess to Arthedain, and I know you are fond of her. I tell you now that I only think of her best interests and the interests of Cardolan."
Barahir and his brother nodded enthusiastically. "You represent strength, Hir Girithlin," the elder one said. "We stand with you. I look forward to hearing your idea of how to install Annael as Hir Calantir, now that old Celeph cannot have many winters left."
As they strode along, Annael, a tall, dark man of mixed Dúnedain blood, studied the defenses of the tower with wondering eyes. Bringing up the rear, Falathar trailed behind, glancing at the enchanting rock formations and well-tended plants in the garden. His thoughts were preoccupied by the Princess, who was troubled by politics in their last meeting. He so wanted to comfort her and show her that he would give them a better life and a better chance for Cardolan.
The group continued past a magnificent reflecting pond that was fed by a small spring. Two intricately carved figurines of dolphins spouted water, casting ripples in the pool. Mablung gazed down at his reflection in the water and smiled – his ascendancy was assured.
The four nobles sat on stone benches, flanked by four Girithlin knights. Mablung leaned in toward the Feotars with a conspiratorial expression.
"I intend to press Falathar's suit to marry Nirnadel. With the power I have gathered, that fool, Nimhir will have to acquiesce. Falathar will be named the new King of Cardolan, and we shall enhance the position of Chancellor with additional powers. I will also remain in the palace as the King's Counsel. From that point forward, the Kingdom will once again be strong and free of foreign control. We will expel Arthedain and retake eastern Cardolan from the Rhudaurans. I know we see eye to eye here."
Barahir smiled broadly. After all, a reinvigorated Cardolan was what they all wanted.
Falathar forced a smile. This was all beyond him. He wanted to be with Nirnadel, but was this truly the way? He cared little for the trappings of power and strength. The war was behind them and Cardolan had survived. Could there be no time for happiness or peace? He felt someone shake his shoulder and he stirred from his thoughts to see his father scowling at him, eyes narrowed.
"Pay attention, boy. Is this not what we have striven for? I do this for you, son."
"Yes, father. We are all in agreement."
Mablung's scowl faded back into a mischievous grin. "After all, you will get to bed the Princess." He shook his head with a lustful grunt. "She is something, after all. So prim and proper with the face of an angel. I would take her myself if not for…for your mother," he added with obvious disapproval at the end. "Best prepare yourself, son. You will be the King of Cardolan and our friends will prosper by our guiding hand."
The Bar Aran in Tharbad
Princess Nirnadel sat in the Royal Meeting Room with the Gondorian Lord of Ships, Castamir. Anariel was in the back of the room with Galadel and Kaile while Baranor and Legate Ciramir sat at the table with them. Nirnadel wore her red and black checkered gown with the golden chain of office of the Chancellor. She would represent him today in that capacity. Castamir was dressed in his Gondorian finery, a doublet of sea blue and silver with mithril buttons and a felt hat, crafted to look like a kraken. The meeting room was full of bright paintings of past Cardolani royalty, ending in the painting of Ostoher and his family. Nirnadel glanced up at that moment of happiness back when she was 12. It now seemed longer ago than the fall of Númenor.
She looked over at the Lord of Ships and was nothing but intimidated. Everything about him spoke of knowledge, experience and power. She had heard that he fought in bitter wars down south in far Harad, but didn't know any of the details. She took a deep breath before speaking like Nimhir had taught her. She needed to calm herself. "My good Lord of Ships, We wish to thank you for coming to our house to talk of trade. This is what our land needs to recover and thrive. The good Chancellor remains in his bed, under the care of our healer. As you know, a foul assassin attempted to murder him in this very house. That assassin has been dealt with and the situation is under control. We will represent him in this discussion." She gave Castamir an official smile, one used during functions, pleasant, but not particularly warm. Could he see how frightened she was? He had to see it. But whatever she felt, she had to do this.
He looked around at everyone in the room, sizing them up. "Good, everyone here is of pure blood. Wait," he said, then pointing at Kaile with a look of disdain, "she is of the lesser people. This is a meeting of Dúnadain for Dúnadain. The High Men are rulers of this land. She should not be here."
Baranor started to rise, but Nirnadel motioned for him to sit. She wanted to follow what the Lord of Ships demanded. This had to go well. She looked over at Kaile and saw the nurse's eyes misting over. What should she do? Her stomach churned.
"Good Castamir…Kaile is our nurse and lady in waiting. She…she has shown herself to be a true hero of Cardolan. She saved many lives after the war and put herself in harm's way more times than We can count. We trust her with our life. We…We apologize, but Kaile must remain. Pray, good Castamir, let us…let us get to the matter of trade. Cardolan stands ready to be a friend of Gondor." Nirnadel couldn't believe that she said that. She literally did not know what she would say until it came out. She felt ashamed that she even thought about sending her friend away.
Castamir snorted, but then took a deep breath. "Should I not treat with the Chancellor himself? And I hear that Hir Girithlin will be Chancellor one day too. May I speak with one who has the authority to make decisions?" While he said this respectfully, the meaning behind the words was clear: Nirnadel was just a figurehead.
She swallowed hard. "We will be the true sovereign of Cardolan in under two years. We think it would be advantageous for us to conduct these negotiations here. Besides," she began, finding a sly angle, "We could learn a great deal from your experience with trade. We look forward to hearing of your tales of valor and of the sea, good Castamir."
He sat back and smiled, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Very well. Your servant may remain. He laced his fingers and put them on his chest. "Good. There is a little fire in you. I like that. We Dúnadain must have that in order to rule. You cannot hold the respect of the people by being a wall flower." He leaned forward and steepled his hands. "As the Lord of Ships, I have travelled the world from Arthedain to the Kingdom of Tantȗrak in the far south. Tantȗrak is a former Númenórean colony, established in the Second Age. There is so much of our heritage down there."
"That sounds amazing. We would love to see such a magnificent land."
"And I would show it to you, Your Highness. You cannot imagine the architecture there. It is as if the paintings of old Númenor have come to life. The king even takes the title of 'Tar' as the Kings of Númenor had done. I would show you far Harad where I fought against the Haradrim and helped to subdue them for Gondor. I led the raids that crushed their navy and secured the seas for our lands."
"Your valor does our people proud." She smiled demurely, playing the ingenue, the naïve young girl looking for guidance. "I seek to learn all about these things." She placed some documents on the table and opened one. It was time to shift into work. "Now good Castamir, We have here a list of our current merchant fleet and drawings of the docks. It includes the figures on imports and exports that pass through our port. We consulted with the…new Harbor Master and Mayor Minastan for these. We are sure that you will find them accurate. We have found additional dock space for your ships and hope that you will agree to increase exports to our land." She felt like she was finding her voice. Her meeting with the Mayor and Harbor Master had gone well and she studied the figures late into the night.
The Lord of Ships looked them over and pursed his lips as if impressed. "You have an eye for detail, Your Highness. Details are important to those of the sea. The sea is an unforgiving mistress, pardon the expression." He looked over to Ciramir. "I believe we can make this happen. Our Legate here was instrumental in bringing supplies to your land last year and I approved those. I will authorize three additional ships per month. We have grain, fish and oil for your lamps. In return, I would ask that Cardolan increase its exports of lumber and glass. The glass from Tharbad is the finest in the known world, I can assure you."
Nirnadel held her breath for a moment. This was all going very fast. All such decisions had been Nimhir's to make for some time now. But the world was changing and changing quickly. She nodded. "We will agree to that," she said proudly. "We look forward to working with our Gondorian cousins. And we thank you from the bottom of our heart for the supplies last year. It was through your grace and generosity that our realm survived." She extended her hand, palm down and Castamir took it and bowed his head, kissing the back of her hand.
"It is done, Your Highness. I, too, look forward to helping our Cardolani cousins. A strong north means a strong Gondor."
"We have always been envious of the martial prowess of Gondor," she said and then pointed to Baranor. "We, too, have our martial experts though."
Ciramir, who had been silent, spoke up. "Lord Castamir, I can tell you honestly that Baranor is the greatest knight of the north."
Castamir nodded in agreement. "So, I have heard. Captain Baranor, we have heard of your prowess in the south. Your name is spoken even in Pelargir."
Baranor bowed his head. "I am honored, my lord."
Nirnadel touched the knight on the back of the hand and smiled. She looked over at Kaile and saw her face full of pride. She stood up and pushed her chair in. "Come, my Gondorian friends. Though we are nowhere near the glory of Gondor, We wish to show you our gardens. It is a place of quiet refuge that We have come to treasure. There, We beg you to sample our wine, a fine claret from the Hirdom of Tinare, known for their expansive vineyards."
The lords of Gondor stood and followed Baranor. As Nirnadel passed her nurses, she touched Kaile on the cheek and nodded with a smile. A tear ran down the nurse's face as she mouthed, "Thank you."
The meeting had turned out far better than Nirnadel had dreamed. Perhaps she had some potential for governing. She only wished that Nimhir was here to see it happen. He would be so proud of her. All of his teaching was coming to fruition. She took several fast steps to catch up with Castamir. "Please, my Lord of Ships, tell us more about the exotic lands that you have seen. It fuels our imagination."
The Houses of Healing – Ninui 7th, 1410
Firiel Halatani brushed her blonde hair from her face and breathed a sigh of relief. The number of plague victims had been declining significantly and the recent intervention by the Princess had repaired the aqueduct systems, cleaning out the city's water supply. Additionally, a very important patient had shown much improvement.
"I hear the Chancellor is up and around," voiced Valandil as he approached the healer from behind and massaged her shoulders.
Firiel cooed and closed her eyes. This was a much-needed break. "He is doing quite well…physically. Upon the breaking of his fever, he was notably perturbed by the recent political events. I daresay he was very upset with Nirnadel for allowing the election. But he had to give her credit for negotiating the trade deal with Gondor."
The knight cocked his head, thinking. "I grew up in Girithlin and my opinion of the Hir is high. After all, he was the only surviving Lord of those present at Tyrn Gorthad. His warrior skills are legendary."
Firiel lowered her head for a moment. The savage imagery associated with that battle was still too much. "Yes, Tyrn Gorthad…I don't think of that place very often anymore."
Valandil nodded sadly. He was about to speak when Jonu entered and brought a letter for the healer. She took it and examined the wax seal, noting the insignia of her mother's family in Lindon, three gulls over a wave. Her heart skipped a beat. She loved her elven relatives. They had taught her so much and were always kind and patient. She especially missed her Sindarin mother. She excitedly tore the wax, letting the red crumbs scatter on the dark wooden table.
Firiel read the letter quickly, scanning the flowing Sindarin characters, known as the Tengwar, written by an elven hand. "My mother in Lindon…she has heard of the plight of our house and is sending medicines to assist us. We are to meet her in Bree."
"I had forgotten that you are half elven," mused Valandil. "We would have to journey through Tyrn Gorthad once again. Would you be alright with that?"
"Since the war, the downs of Tyrn Gorthad are desolate. We should be safe. Let us prepare to depart." The healer rose and handed the letter back to Jonu. It was times like this that she missed Kaile…and Nel.
The Great North Road – Ninui 9th, 1410
Snow covered the broad road that had linked Arthedain to Cardolan for the past three thousand years. Tar-Minastir, the Númenórean King that defeated Sauron after the fall of Ost-in-Edhil in the middle of the Second Age, commissioned his Admiral, Pharconatar, to pave the road to link the Dúnedain citadels of the North. Pharconatar used the might and technology of the Númenóreans to build a road that would stand the test of time. Fifteen hundred years in the future, hobbits would traverse the same stretch of road on an epic journey.
On this day in 1410 of the Third Age, four horses plodded along through the snow as the bitter wind howled along the barren landscape, throwing drifts of snow into the air. The primordial forests that once covered Cardolan an age ago were leveled to build the fleets that fulfilled Númenórean ambitions, leaving rolling hills and scrubby brush in place of the trees.
Firiel squinted her blue eyes in the swirling winds as flakes danced around her. She pulled her thick blue cloak about her slender frame as her teeth chattered. "I…I don't seem to have inherited my mother's immunity to the cold," she complained to Valandil and Mercatur. "Damn elves get all of the good stuff."
Haedorial the bard piped in, "Good lady, was it not possible for your mother to send the shipment all the way to Tharbad? Surely this journey was unnecessary. We could be home beside a roaring fire."
"I'm afraid not," she said, shaking her head. "My mother is rather spiteful of our city and refuses to go there. Bree is as far as she will travel, I'm afraid." Firiel thought deeply for a moment. "I have not seen her in some time…maybe fifteen years."
Mercatur wrinkled his nose in the cold. "Fifteen years…not since you were a child?"
The healer laughed. "I have not been a child in a long time, sir. I am fifty-five years old. We half elves live a long time. We still write frequently. Thankfully, the mail is better than it was last year."
The mercenary snorted. "I don't trust anything elvish. Valandil, how did you talk me into this?" Just then, the howl of a wolf rang out. Mercatur's attention was drawn to it. He pulled his crossbow from its sheath and nocked a bolt.
"It's just a wolf," said Valandil reassuringly.
The mercenary shook his head. "Not a wolf…a warg. Twice as big and five times as mean…and they come in packs."
Suddenly, a cloaked figure was among them. He was thin and clad in white. He quickly pulled his hood off, revealing his pale features and pointed ears.
"They're right behind me! We have to flee!" he shouted over the wind. His face was full of fear, eyes huge. He gestured behind him and the sound of lupine snarls filled the air.