Notes - I am still so sorry that I am such a poor correspondent. As of today, I have flown or done other work 25 of the last 27 days. I shifted into being a corporate pilot so I wouldn't work so much. Hah! And with the reserve gig, I'm back to working two jobs. So, I haven't forgotten any of you. I just need some down time. I called it the curse of competence. If you're good at what you do, everyone wants a piece of you. If you suck, nobody bothers you. Don't get me wrong, I love flying, but too much is too much.

Introducing a new group of people. Some tidbits on the culture and economy of Cardolan. A little foreshadowing of the Gondorian Kinstrife. I'm forming the concept of a story for that civil war. Will the party find the mithril? Will Nirnadel grow into the queen that the land needs?

Beneath Minas Mellon

Haedorial

Standing in a large chamber, full of rotten wooden racks, Haedorial looked around. "Now that we have a bit of time to sit and think, I think it was a bad idea to not bring along any of our men-at-arms," said the bard as he sipped from a bottle that had been on the wine rack in the basement of Tiras Formen.

"Well, we made a mistake," retorted Valandil with a sigh. "I didn't think that anything could be living down here."

Haedorial nodded slowly. "We're safe for the moment, except for our two poor workmen," he said, looking at the remaining two men in red shirts. "It is a true tragedy, and we will honor them and take care of their families." He reached down and touched the workmen on the shoulder. "We will do our utter best to get everyone out of here. You have my word."

He then walked over to a rusty metal shelf and pointed at some bottles. "Look here, now, I've found the most delightful cognac. It must be over three thousand years old." He held the mouth of the bottle up to his nose and inhaled deeply. The rich aroma filled his nostrils, and he allowed himself a smile. "Ah, Númenórean oak and a hint of peat." He took a sip and let it linger on his tongue before swallowing. "Mmmm, pear and spice too. Magnificent." He held the liquor out to the mercenary."

Mercatur accepted the bottle and took a frothy swig. "I dunno, ale from the Starry Crown is just as good," he said with a shrug.

"Oh, of course it is to you, my good mercenary. What would you know about Númenórean cognac?"

"About as much as you know about fighting demons."

"Point taken…. However, my good mercenary, I do have a tome that I brought with us, and I have been thinking upon the visions that I have had since our visit to the Barrow Downs. I didn't have time to read the tome prior to our descent, but it has notes written in the hand of Prince Braegil that talk about a beast in the water. It seemed that he had enough soldiers to frighten it away. As a learned scholar, the prince speculates that the totems are indeed religious in nature and belong to a people called the Beffraen."

"Beffraen?" asked Firiel.

The bard nodded to her with a smile. "Ah yes, the Beffraen…. Legend has it that they are the original inhabitants of Cardolan and are related to the Drúedain people, called Woses by the Northrons. It is said that they have the gift of night sight. Apparently, they are rather primitive and were nearly annihilated by the Númenóreans in the Second Age."

"Well, they probably won't take too kindly to any Dúnedain," said Valandil, looking at Firiel and then back at Haedorial.

"I guess I'm fine here then," joked the mercenary, hinting at his mixed blood.

Valandil made a wry smile. "Regardless, we should continue on to Aldarion's House. Hopefully, we can get to the surface there and call for help."

The two workers had discovered a series of large drainage pipes that led away from the wine cellar. Haedorial carefully rolled the bottles of cognac into a blanket as he followed Valandil to the pipes. "It smells like more seawater in there."

The knight motioned for the workers to enter, and he looked back at the tunnel to Minas Mellon. "If I'm correct, we're getting closer to the water. Haedorial, you go up with the men. Mercatur and I will guard the rear in case that thing comes back. I think we wounded it pretty good, so I hope it learned its lesson."

The bard nodded and stepped into the huge pipes followed by Firiel. His feet sloshed in several inches of brackish water, and he held his lamp ahead to light the way. The pipe soon began to slope downward and Haedorial heard Valandil say, "I think that I was wrong. We need to hurry. That thing has broken through our barricade."

The Gwathló River

Nirnadel

The carriage ride from the palace of Thalion to Tharbad brought back so many fond memories for the Princess. The annual visit to the palace with her family for Yüle was always such a treasured event where bards like Haedoriel would play, sing, dance and make merry with the royal family. Then, there were the festivals of Erukyermë in the spring, Erulaitalë at midsummer and the grand harvest faire of Eruhantalë in autumn when the crops were harvested and marketed in the city. These traditions stretched back to mighty Númenor where the king and queen, dressed all in white, would ascend holy Mount Meneltarma. The King would offer prayers to Eru, and the Queen would offer fruit picked from the orchards of the great kingdom.

But it was the journey down the Gwathló River in the royal barge that really made Nirnadel long for the simpler times of the past. Paneled in rich fabrics of green, gold and red, the vessel was the height of luxury for the royal family. The magnificent barge had cushioned seats and a covered aft for the family and guests and comfortable seats for the rowers. The eight-man Royal Guard accompanied the Princess along with a royal chef, four stewards and her ladies in waiting.

"It was not easy to convince Nimhir to let us come on this expedition," Nirnadel said with a sigh as she sat on a burgundy-colored cushioned seat in the lounge, which was paneled in rich, textured woods with a sea foam colored carpet. "I think that he preferred that I was away, however, so that I could not make decisions that would affect the kingdom. He is still upset over my decision to hold an election." She was very torn about her ruling. She did what she thought was best for the kingdom, but was it? There would be a million decisions like this, and she knew that she was not ready to make them. Would she remain a lost teen, or would she grow into the queen that the land deserved?

Kaile looked out the glass window onto the wide river. "I'm glad he let us make the journey. This is really quite exciting."

Galadel picked up a brush and began combing Nirnadel's hair. "Your Highness, please believe me when I say that Hir Girithlin has only his own best interest at heart. I say this with all due respect, but who provided the realm with crops right away and without any urging?"

Nirnadel thought for a moment and then looked at her lady. "It was your father, Hir Tinare. I will not forget his kindness in service of the realm."

"All I ask is that you remember, Your Highness." Galadel gave her a warm smile and nod and the Princess could see just how much alike they looked. At one point, there had been a passing mention of Galadel serving as a body double.

"I shall not forget, dear cousin, this I swear." She took a handful of blueberries from a pewter bowl and tasted the sweetly tart flavor on her tongue. She listened to the rhythm of the oarsmen as the paddles struck the water and propelled the barge forward. The air became moist, and she noticed the patter of rain now on the roof of the royal enclosure.

Davrion, the Captain of the Royal Barge called out, "Rig the canvas and light the lanterns!" and the canvas cover was pulled over the oarsmen amidships to protect them from the rain.

Nirnadel stood and looked out of the forward window to see the synchronized oars hit the water and pull. The grayish-green caps and cockades worn by the men signified their status in the Bargemen's Guild. There was a knock at the door and Kaile went to open it.

Baranor poked his head in. "It's a little wet out, ladies, but I think you'll want to see this."

Nirnadel's heart quickened. Anything that would break up the monotony of the journey down the Gwathló was welcome. She followed Baranor out along with her ladies and could see a large shape on the river, shrouded in growing fog and the steady downpour. She could feel the moist air on her face, and it made her feel alive. This would be her kingdom soon. Her land. "What is that, good Baranor?"

"Wait for it…" he said as the shape grew larger and clearer. It was clearly a ship, a large one.

"Ahoy! Ahoy!" called Davrion as he waved his arms. He put on a yellow leather jacket that the rainwater just flowed down off of. "Ahoy there! You approach the Royal Barge of Cardolan!"

A horn blew from the other ship. "Ahoy! We bring supplies from Pelargir, courtesy of Gondor! Lord Castimir sends his compliments to the Princess Nirnadel!"

She could see the black banners with the silver tree of Gondor now and her heart swelled with pride and relief. The great Gondorian ship was twice as long as the barge and sat eight feet higher in the water. Two banks of oarsmen propelled the ship forward at a leisurely pace and brightly colored shields lined the walls of the upper deck. Nirnadel waved upwards towards the crew of the Gondorian vessel. "Ahoy, my friends! Welcome to Cardolan! You are most welcome!"

One man, dressed in heavy black and silver robes, waved back. "I am Herucalmo, Captain of the Narchor! The journey is safe all the way to the coast, if you're going there. It should only be an hour more for you! But can you tell me the depth of the riverbed further up? I don't want to run aground."

Nirnadel had no idea what he was asking about so she looked at Davrion. He put his hands to his mouth and called back, "The draft of your bireme will be fine all the way to Tharbad, my friend!" He smiled at the Princess. "It's how far below the water his keel is. He needs to be careful in rivers where the riverbed may be too shallow."

Herucalmo waved a hand. "Thank you, my friends! And well met, good princess! We wish you safe travels!"

She waved back as the great bireme passed and then receded into the fog. "Thank you, good Davrion. I am so pleased that Lord Castimir has been true to his word. We must send good King Eldacar our thanks and best wishes."

Kaile frowned and the Princess noticed this. Nirnadel put her hand on her friend's shoulder. "Please, good nurse, speak your mind."

Kaile blew out a long breath and pursed her lips as if thinking deeply. Nirnadel knew that her friend didn't want to offend her, but it was important that she heard the truth. The nurse twirled her blonde hair nervously before speaking. "I am concerned that Lord Castimir…doesn't like…Northrons like me."

Galadel chimed in. "And his relationship with King Eldacar is…fraught with conflict. The King is part Northron. I would advise caution when dealing with the Sea Lord."

Nirnadel looked down for a moment. "Hmmm, a sticky situation indeed. I have no wish to offend the Sea Lord, but all of my people are Cardolani, without exception. I will take your advice to remain cautious. Thank you both for your honesty."

Kaile smiled warmly as she made eye contact. "I knew I could count on you to listen…Your Highness."

Nirnadel opened her arms. "Nonsense…I was simple Nel to you before I was anything else. Please, you can use my name. Both of you." The nurse embraced her and Nirnadel gestured to Galadel too, and the three hugged tightly.

"Thank you…Nirnadel. Our lives would not be the same without you," the nurse replied.

Galadel took a deep breath. "There is one other thing I wish to say," she began.

The Princess suspected that this was coming and Galadel Tinare was not one to hold back. Much like her. "The election? I have worried that I may have made a grave mistake."

Galadel nodded. "It was your decision to make, and you had every right to do so, but giving power to Hir Girithlin will not end well."

"I appreciate your honesty. I have struggled with this since I made the decision. How should I proceed, do you think? If I rescind the election, I offend the hir. If I leave it be…I just don't know." It seemed that at every hour Nirnadel felt she should change her mind.

"I don't know, my Princess, but I am sure that you will figure it out and we will help and support you."

Then, at the forecastle of the barge, Davrion called out to the crew, "Oarsmen! Slow to half pace!" He looked back amidships at the ladies. "We are approaching Lond Daer! We should dock in ten minutes!"

The ladies rushed back to the royal quarters where stewards were already packing their bags under the direction of Anariel. Four young men, dressed in black tunics and pants with white lace undershirts, came to attention and bowed in unison to the Princess and then resumed their packing. Each of these stewards was a son of a prominent merchant or guildsman and this was a way of improving the social standing of the house. Nirnadel approached them and smiled. "My good stewards, you have recently come unto the Royal House, and I wish to get to know you. Please, introduce yourselves."

One young man bowed low. He had a wine-colored cockade on his shirt pocket. He was chubby with bright red cheeks and a scruff of a brown beard. "Brondon, Your Highness. Of the Vintners Guild. My father provides the finest vintages to the Royal House."

"Angion, son of Halfred, of the Smiths Guild, Your Highness." He wore a black cockade that was surrounded in white.

"Allion of the Carpenters Guild, Your Highness." He wore a light brown cockade.

"Mindolinor of the Nightsingers, Your Highness." He wore a pink cockade on his pocket and was a lean, handsome man with ginger hair.

Nirnadel cocked her head. "Nightsingers? Do you know Haedorial, our most excellent bard?"

Mindolinor bowed with a wry grin. "The most famous bard in Cardolan? My father? Who doesn't…Your Highness?" He blushed deeply red.

Anariel glowered at him. "Do not be so familiar with the Princess. Know your place, young man."

Nirnadel waved her off. "It is quite alright, my dear Anariel. It was I who asked them. Besides, any stories by or about dear Haedorial will certainly be entertaining. And I am sure that the best stories will come from his son. And we shall see him anon once we dock at Lond Daer." She touched the young bard on his shoulder in a reassuring way. "He would love to see you."

Davrion could now be heard yelling to his sailors. "Oarsmen, all stop! Prepare to cast lines! Bring us in slowly…slowly! Ahoy! Ahoy! You there on the dock! Prepare to receive the Princess!"

They could feel the barge slow, and the Princess gazed out of the window as dock workers gathered to receive them. Ropes were thrown to the dock, and the workers pulled them in carefully, securing the barge to the landing. "Tie down!" Davrion called. "Extend the gangplank!" Nirnadel could see a man with a horn, who then blew out the Royal Welcome, a pomp and flourish to announce the arrival of royalty. She felt bad seeing these loyal men soaked in the rain.

She led the way out and Anariel tried to hold an umbrella over her, but she waved it off, letting the steady downpour soak her hair and clothes and run down her face. Is this what it was like to be a normal person? The rain felt good, and she looked up for a moment and closed her eyes, just feeling the drops. Anariel grumbled that she'd catch her death of cold but put the umbrella away. Her Royal Guardsmen led the way across, but as she stepped onto the gangplank she waved to the men on the dock. "Good people, please! Please get to shelter and dry off. This is far too kind for me. Please, I beg you."

No one moved, until the hornsman knelt and all followed suit. There was a moment of silence when only the patter of rain could be heard. "Your Highness, we live to serve the realm, and you are the realm. The rain is nothing," he said. "When all was lost, you saved the realm from destruction. We can do no less for you."

Her heart nearly stopped in her chest as she wiped her eyes with the back of her lace sleeve. It was of no help in the rain, and she chuckled. "You do me too much honor. Your name, good sir?"

"Gwaendir, my Princess."

Nirnadel extended her hands out, palms up and lifted them. "Please, good people, rise. Thank you, Gwaendir. I shan't forget this auspicious greeting. Now, let us all go to shelter. I could do with a hot cup of tea, if you please."

The Gwaendir laughed and gestured towards a wooden longhouse that was built for the expedition. They all ran towards it, splashing mud along the way. The Princess' boots and stockings were soaked and muddy, but it was the most fun that she had in a while. The game of politics was so complex and fraught with peril. She turned and kicked water from a small pond at Anariel and then laughed out loud.

"Oh! You wicked little girl!" shrieked the older nurse, but then began to laugh too.

They piled into the longhouse where roaring fires blazed in braziers and in a cooking pit. The smells were simply delightful with the aroma of roast beef and mince pies. Racks of herbs lined the walls along with tapestries of Cardolani life; farmers, fishermen, weavers and herdsmen. The true heart of the kingdom. Nirnadel shook out her raven hair, spraying drops all around as Kaile and Galadel giggled. It was simply wonderful. Anariel covered her with a towel and began to wipe her down as Mindolinor brought her a cup of hot tea. As they sat, there was a commotion at the far end of the longhouse where the other entrance was.

"Stop! You cannot come in here!" someone yelled and Baranor pointed towards that end of the hall. Swords were drawn and Anariel and the ladies instinctively moved between the Princess and the noise.

"We come in peace!" another voice called out in a thick accent. "We wish to speak to the leader who just arrived. It is important!"

Nirnadel pushed past her ladies to see a half dozen of the strangest people she had ever seen. They were short and squat with dark skin and had bizarre tattoos on all of their exposed skin. They were dressed in animal furs and their hair was braided in strange and unique patterns. Baranor and his men, along with men at arms, surrounded them, swords drawn. She stood behind Baranor, waving her arms. "Please, good guards, stand down! Stand down! They are unarmed. I wish to hear them out. Good stranger, do you wish to parley?"

One man stepped forward and tilted his head down in a seeming gesture of respect. "I am Ghȗn-Zama-Ghȗn. We are the people you call Drúedain or Woses. Ours is the Beffraen Tribe and this is our land."